"When I write stories I am like someone who is in her own country, walking along streets that she has known since she was a child, between walls and trees that are hers." --Natalia Ginsburg

Wednesday 15 May 2013

Shhhhhh...Mother Holle is Sleeping



Winter was relentless this year. Several weeks ago I read an email from a young friend who said in her part of the world Mother Holle was still shaking her pillow. Puzzled, I googled the name. I found a fairy tale about a character, Mother  Holle, who when having her feather pillow shaken in her world, it would snow in our world. I enjoyed the story and smiled ruefully as I watched big fat wet snowflakes fall from the sky outside my kitchen window.

About a week later I was walking into my sister’s house and stopped to tilt my head and listen to the  bird chatter, and a few hours later when I left her house I was delighted to hear the little Peeper frogs singing their night-song from the pond below her home. Spring was awakening.

When I got up the next morning I looked at the tall birch trees outside my bedroom window to see if I could spot the beginning of leaves yet. From then on I checked every morning. I smiled to myself a few days later as I was descending the stairs. It had rained a tiny bit the night before—just enough to coax the buds out on the trees.

Over the next few days the lawns and meadows slowly turned lush green. Sweet grass and damp earth filled the air with the scent of new life as bouquets of bluettes covered the lawn with their lacy blossoms. Dandelions burst forth dotting the fields with their cheerful objectionable abundance.A little friend and I checked often to see if the daffodils had poked their sunlit heads through their glossy leaves. 

The tall birch trees in the yard are now clothed in their green splendor. Soon the apple and pear trees will fill the air with the grace and fragrance of their blossoms.You can hear the low rumble of lawn mowers in the distance and the heady scent of fresh cut grass fills my senses.

I want to climb to the top of the birch tree,(picture that if you will), and shout my joy to the world; but I won't. Number one--I am scared of heights. Number two?? Listen carefully. Hear that? Mother Holle is snoring softly.

Shhhhh…….

She has FINALLY laid her troublesome head on those pillows and I wish her to sleep soundly for a good long time. 



Link to Mother Holle:

Sunday 12 May 2013

Happy Mothers' Day....Missing you!




MOTHER
God gave so much
When He blessed me with a Mother
Whose ever open arms welcome...release
Warm soft cheek, salt and pepper hair
Gentle smile...loving heart
Breath and breast
Rising, rhythmic, reassuring
Ever maternal
Weary with satisfaction, her household clothed
She is contentment, ever changing
Her heart to mine
Sharing and caring
Our relationship bearing
Dreams and disappointments
I write this with much love
And eternal thanks
For my Mother, My friend
---With Love, Always-- Dianne (1994)
Proverbs 31:26 She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness

Happy Mother's Day....A Constant Life


One of my earliest memories is of being in the living room pretending to fly as I jumped from the furniture. I am probably younger than four. I can hear Mom in the kitchen singing as she does the laundry. I can smell the laundry soap and bleach and hear the rhythm of the old washing machine beating the laundry clean. (I can smell molasses cookies baking too, but when I told Mom about this memory years ago she said it would not have been the same day).
This is the strongest memory of my Mom? Surely I loved my mother for more than doing laundry and making cookies? Then I realized--whether she was doing laundry, baking cookies, finding a jam jar for the hundredth bouquet of limp dandelions, or holding the bucket while I was sick—she was a constant presence. It is her presence that is the memory.
When she died it was painful. Who do you turn to when the one you have always turned to is gone? In the first few months I would reach for the phone to ask or tell her something. When I drove home on the weekend and walked through the door—my heart would strain to hear her footsteps in the kitchen or her voice calling out hello. I missed the warmth of her touch.
When people came to visit and offer sympathy to the family---everyone said the same things about her-- whether they knew her as Sister, Aunt, Friend, Neighbor, Jean, Jean-the-bean, or Mrs Ness. They spoke of her kindness and patience, her gentle spirit and laughed about that little bit of mischief in her. Even Dad as her husband and we as her children and grandchildren knew her the same way. All of these relationships were very different, but her character was obvious and constant throughout. What a blessing that was to me.
It has been twelve years since Mom died. After the grief lifted I realized she is still with me, just differently. She is here in the memory of her love. She is here in the example of her faith in God.  She is here in the stories and smiles of family and friends. As her life was constant, so is her memory.

Wednesday 8 May 2013

Joy---My Cup Runneth Over


Almost Apple Blossom time again---this is my most Joyful memory--and this is what fills my heart and mind from my childhood.....


apple blossoms Pictures, Images and Photos




If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.
--C.S Lewis

My Cup Runneth Over
When I was a child I can remember my mother getting us ready for bed and telling us it was time to climb the wooden hill. Mom tucked us in and as soon as I heard her feet going down the wooden hill, I would slip out of bed and go and kneel at the low bedroom window that looked out over our small farm. The wood-house stood to the left. The lawn and field beyond the fence were thick with new grass and dotted with flowers. I could hear the frogs in the nearby pond singing their night song, and the soft trilling of the birds. There was an apple tree that stood outside the window and when it was in bloom it was frothy with pink blossoms. The evening breeze would whisper through it and carry its’ fragrance to where my head rested on my arms. I would have this overwhelming fullness—from the tips of my toes--right up to my heart--then on to the top of my head--an aching sweetness that stung my eyes and gave me a pang of longing, because no matter how long I looked, listened or smelled--I could never get enough of that moment.

Sunday 5 May 2013

....AND I DANCE


… AND I DANCE

As a child,
I danced, I laughed, I loved,
A darkness came
A choice was given---- and taken,
By someone who said they loved me
Paralyzed by fear and shame
My young heart ached,
 If only I could destroy the darkness…
If only I could rip down and tear apart,
 the shame and rage,
 That holds my heart in so tight a grip,
My every breath and love --is measured
‘Dear God,’ I cried...
Forgive--my child’
A choice is given---and taken
I lift my heart to the mercy of God,
I forgive
Ever so gently..so sweetly
I am enfolded in the arms and heart of God
 And in the light of His love
The shame and  fear is damned
The darkness falls and dies forever
Once again,
I love, I sing with Joy
…and I dance
--Dianne Annie Ness


I wrote the poem to share my journey from the fear and sadness of  sexual abuse to the great love and redemption of God through the joy of forgiveness. Please do not be sad for me--rejoice with me that the God of love can redeem our hearts and lives and make us whole when we have been hurt. God has given me more through this journey of forgiveness than was ever taken from me.

 I want to send a message of hope to those who have been hurt—there is healing and wholeness.


( The man who hurt me is deceased—he was a trusted adult who frequented our home. I will not drag his name into this as he cannot hurt anyone else, I also do not want to bring shame to his name or family and with God’s love and grace I have forgiven him.  Please feel free to share--as it may encourage someone else).