WHERE DID IT GO?

Welcome 2017 !

Have you ever wondered aloud? Where have the years gone?  

This painting is in remembrance of my Grandmother Rhoda, enjoying an evening with one of her lady friends.

The ladies never went out in public without

 proper hats and cotton gloves. 

Luncheon dates were de rigueur. Chatting and gossiping, black coffee with cream and sugar, thin sliced spam on crackers. 

Tall ice cream floats, in the deep heat of summer.

The pièce de résistance was the  monthly ladies' bridge club. Bridge was played with concentrated seriousness.

Card tables were set up in the living room surrounded by chintz slip covered chairs. 

Delicate crystal dishes filled with pink mints, mingled with crisp new playing cards,

on the tatted ecru linen table cloth .

My mind is filled with memories. 

I miss my Grandma Rhoda. 

She lived a few months shy of 100.

Where do the Years Go? 

Are you ever overwhelmed by the fleeting essence of  TIME?

May your New Year be filled with warm friendships, harmonious family relationships, meaningful work, spontaneous fun, compassion for all, a time to nurture one's self and a sense of inward peace.

Smiles: Sharon

Quiet Moments

As I look at the beautiful globe of light in the sky, a feeling of celebration and happiness rushes over me. Winter Solstice Moon golden, glowing, wishing we would all look UP and witness HER shine over our entire world. 

 

I wish to think that SHE is sending Moonbeams of COMPASSION and PEACE, if but for a few short days. 

 

It is amazing that we can all look UP into the inky black universe and see the same benevolent beaming moon....
 

SHE shares her all with EVERYONE, no exclusion. All we need is to look UP and SEE.

Hands

HANDS

A Tribute to Women Everywhere.

 The Magical First Years

Smooth as duckling's down

Waxy from purple peeled-paper crayons

Stuck fingers mucky thick with Elmer's.

Moving Into Adulthood

Wet licked fingers zipping homework pages

Knuckles white as pearls gripping steering wheel

Spending first pay check earned

Caressing a secret love's face.

 The Becoming Years

White veil placed by trembling fingers

Watery-wrinkles soaping dinner dishes

Walking life's path, hand in hand.

Germination

Tenderly caressing swollen belly

Cradling a downy head

Feeling a raging fever.

 The Best Years By Far

Throwing crazy balls, sewing frilly frocks

Signing streams of school reports

Wiping tear-stained faces flushed in pain.

The Ebbing Years

Waving goodbye, first-born leaves

Waving hello, longed for company

Sheltering shoulders in great sorrow.

 What It Is All About

Compassionate wrinkles born of service

Aging pigment, mementos of

One's life passing on to another.

These are a Mother's Hands

 Praying for All Mothers Wherever They May Be

Sharon

MOTHERS

Althea Marie Johnson Sorensen

and

Sharon Dail Sorensen

Great-Grandma Mimi~~Grammy Sharon

A sun-drenched "gathering" room scattered with MOTHERS,

retired-separate-removed-discarded

from decades of child bearing; kissing tender hurts;

scheduling omnipresent activities;

car pooling; silently weeping through private trials;

protecting from slights and harm; earning wages; sheltering/protecting physically

mentally and spiritually;

laughing 'til sick-crying 'till dehydrated;

reaching for the Golden Ring to give their child.

Wrinkles like so many "worry beads" grace the prolapsed faces;

cloudy eyes covering, hiding so many memories...

..memories that drift in and out of consciousness,

years having worn the edges away.

Each woman is a single soul,

a single story,

a single history,

a rich and complex tapestry of living life.

SOLO

SOLO in birth.

SOLO in birthing.

SOLO in death.

The sun-drenched gathering room, a tapestry,

is hemmed in pending fear, death, complacency;

welcomed by some, fought by others.

Underneath the worn and frayed covering

is a resilient BATTING,

a rich thickness composed by LIVING.

We spent our last afternoon at Alta Ridge

visiting Grandma Mimi and her fellow "house-mates."

A group of beautiful young women, choosing to live their lives

with care and compassion visit with the residents,

SING to them,

recite POETRY and SCRIPTURE

GRACED the afternoon with a GIFT of LOVE.

Young women from Job's Daughters

Evelyn Swain Furner Velma Howard Furner my BEAUTIFUL MOTHERS.

Women for Women-Hand to Heart

The day was gray and biting cold, below freezing. Howard and I drove to DC, parked at a metro stop, taking the train to Metro Center, DC. Sitting in the barely warm, vacant metro car, I pulled out my invitation from Women for Women, to attend a gathering of country directors, board members, supporters and friends, facilitating an opportunity to mingle and share stories. Four years I have had the opportunity to be a part of this wonderful organization. This event was my first time to actually meet those who make it all happen, the directors, the sponsors and the women who serve as country directors.

It seemed so appropriate to hold this event at the Museum for Women in the Arts. A museum dedicated to women artists through out the centuries.

Hanging from the balcony was a banner honoring women from around the world who rise from the ashes of war fortified with courage to start life anew. These are the courageous women. These are my heroines.

The woman depicted on this banner is working with her strong hands making the stubborn red clay more malleable so that she can create pots to sell, providing the only source of income to sustain her family.

Notice the strength of her hands. It is interesting to reflect upon our hands. Our hands birth babies. Our hands bathe children. Our hands prepare food. Our hands provide shelter and comfort. Our hands tell stories to our children. Some women use their hands working in gardens and growing their family’s food. Some hands create pots, baskets, jewelry, blankets and other items for income or personal pleasure. Some hands work at other types of jobs. Our hands offer hugs and encouragement. Our hands prepare loved ones in death. The story of our lives is etched into the furrows of our hands. Hands are co-partners with our hearts.

Despite the cold, hundreds of women and a handful of men arrived full of enthusiasm and renewed commitment. Others came to learn more about the organization and perhaps join.

Two tables were laden with delicious finger food, served with linen napkins. The hummus was creamy and fragrant, very yummy. The asparagus spears were perfectly tender and crisp. Cheeses and breads, a date loaf dense and sugary teased our appetite.

The museum walls enveloped us with magnificent paintings. This painting is particularly appropriate with its table laden with fruits and vegetables. Standing erect a younger woman helps to lift the burden of another. This is the essence of Women for Women, lifting the burden of another.

Stronger women, Stronger nations. The dichotomy of crystal chandeliers, elegant walls lined with priceless art, linen napkins, marble floors and the feet of women who despite their personal stories of tragedy, now live lives of quiet dignity and service to their fellow sisters.

Niger, Bosnia, Rwanda, Afghanistan, Republic of Congo, Kosovo, Sudan--are countries that hold tight to their breast, unbelievable stories; stories of women and children overcoming the odds of death, rape, hunger, torture and loss of loved ones. On this beautiful evening, we paid tribute to these women who now serve as their country's director. As they once were helped by Women for Women, they now help their fellow sisters.

Each director spoke to her country's needs. Expressed gratitude and humility for all that is being done for them. Their stories inspire us to do even more for others. It is so easy for us. These women are in the United States for two weeks, touring and meeting people from government officials to ordinary women living extraordinary lives. I wonder what impressions they will take back to their own countries.

Each month over 10,000 letters are exchanged between sponsors and women. It is the beauty of the program, the personal touch, the reaching out. I like to think of each letter having wings attached to its words and flying into an other's heart.

www.womenforwomen.org