Browse By

9 thoughts on “Someone asked me once:”

  1. Evangeline says:

    I appreciate the poetry from all, well done, they give a lovely image to contemplate. We all want to go home, and it’s hard to live in this world. We’re tired, and like all tired children, we want to be safe and secure once more. It’s only natural.
    When 9/11 happened, I was at, of all things, a Herman’s Hermit concert a day or two later. Seeing Peter Noone, up on the stage, carrying little American flags to show his support, hearing the songs that made me think of happy childhood, I cried and cried.
    We’ll all be home at some point children, where no one can harm us nor our loved ones. Keep the faith. Hang in there. We’re together.

  2. Hilary White says:

    I have a clock that ticks which I diligently wind up every night. Somehow on the occasions when I forget and it stops, I feel as though it is a portent of some kind. And every day at this time of year, I clean and sweep the hearth. I like to have a fire in the mornings when the fog is still heavy on the valley and everything is chilly and silent and dripping outside. I usually start it from the coals the night before. While we are still in the early days of autumn, the fog usually burns off by lunch time and it is often very warm still in the afternoons. But in the evening, the fog rises again, and the chill comes on the house, and I kick up the fire again when it gets dark. Before going to bed, I pile all the coals up in the middle, shore it up with a big thick bit of oak, and cover everything in a good layer of ash. This keeps the coals good and hot for the morning again.

  3. John Cahill says:

    Have you ever seen Padraic Colum’s old poem “The Old Woman of the Roads”? Far too sentimental and old fashioned (she thinks she’ll love housework!) for the 21st century but it never fails to move me. Herewith copied and pasted from somewhere on the internet:

    O, TO have a little house!
    To own the hearth and stool and all!
    The heaped up sods upon the fire,
    The pile of turf against the wall!

    To have a clock with weights and chains 5
    And pendulum swinging up and down!
    A dresser filled with shining delph,
    Speckled and white and blue and brown!

    I could be busy all the day
    Clearing and sweeping hearth and floor, 10
    And fixing on their shelf again
    My white and blue and speckled store!

    I could be quiet there at night
    Beside the fire and by myself,
    Sure of a bed and loth to leave 15
    The ticking clock and the shining delph!

    Och! but I’m weary of mist and dark,
    And roads where there’s never a house nor bush,
    And tired I am of bog and road,
    And the crying wind and the lonesome hush! 20

    And I am praying to God on high,
    And I am praying Him night and day,
    For a little house—a house of my own—
    Out of the wind’s and the rain’s way.

  4. Gibbons Burke says:

    The end of all labor is to be happy at home. [Samuel Johnson]

  5. Isabel says:

    Here we have no abiding city.

    I’m an American and we have probably far fewer abiding cities than anybody else. People in the US move all the time and home now is wherever you are at that moment.

    But even if you’re not an American, you can be displaced by war or natural disaster in such a way that there is no more home there.

    The earthly home for all of us is the Church, even though it’s not the final destination but a refuge on the way to the heavenly Jerusalem.

    I have moved and traveled a lot, and I always used to feel secure and at home and able to speak the language when I went to any Catholic church in the world. But now, thanks to the very political and secular nationalist Jorge Bergoglio, I feel that even that home has been taken away.

  6. Karen says:

    Hillary, I was about to second Martha and I still do, but my husband just brought up a good point and that is (and you probably don’t want to hear it), but you are home in a way since you are doing God’s will. Your vocation or call to the religious life is being played out in a way you could never have imagined. I know how hard it is for you and how it must hurt. You will be and are doing MUCH good for Catholics. God bless you. I’m praying for you and I do appreciate your blog.

  7. Long-Skirts says:

    THE
    ROAST BEEF
    HOUR

    Cloth of cream
    China plate
    Crystal vases
    Decorate.

    Blossoms orange
    Mums of yellow
    Autumn eve
    A Sunday mellow.

    Sterling silver
    Piney vapor
    Scents the air
    From brass held taper.

    Dad and mom
    Sipping wine
    Roasting beef
    Upon we’ll dine.

    Chilly children
    Crunch on leaves
    Runny noses
    Wiped on sleeves.

    Whipped potatoes
    In glass bowl
    Salad broccoli
    Dinner roll.

    Children sit
    Carving begins
    Under the table
    They kick their shins.

    Dinner music,
    Harpsichord
    Say the grace
    To thank Our Lord.

    Acorn scented
    Breezes tame
    Swirl around
    The candle flame.

    Soon to yield
    To winter’s power…
    But we’ll stay warm
    In the roast beef hour!

  8. Martha says:

    Brought tears to my eyes.

  9. Michael Yoder says:

    Ain’t that the simple truth, on the smaller level of one’s own home and the larger level of home to God. I think most realize this, but many are own the merry-go-round of the world’s making and can’t figure a way of to go home. Thank you again for your site.

Comments are closed.