A Lighter Take On Swine Flu Pandemonium

I know it’s serious, and I pray no one else dies from this, but I can’t help making fun of the pandemonium and media frenzy that has taken place around the world; the pandemonium taking place today in my province, as people line up for six hours or more, people with chronic illnesses, with their babies and toddlers, standing in the freezing cold, hacking and coughing on each other, waiting to get this vaccine. There’s got to be a better way.

On Swine Flu

I’m standing in line,
and I’ve got a gun.
Gimme that shot for H1N1.

Roses are red, violets are blue.
Let’s make love; not swine flu.

And for your holiday cards:

Kiss me, Santa Baby,
but don’t use tongue.
Let’s not spread H1N1.

Discipline

“Don’t hit your brother.”
“Don’t fight!”
“We don’t hurt people. It’s not nice.”
On the playground, at the grocery store,
on children’s TV shows;
out of our grown-up mouths.
Hear it, believe it, repeat it.

“Don’t fight.” “Don’t hit.”
Drill it into their moldable minds
like an annoying Internet ad,
always in the background.
Be effective parents.
Be consistent; be real.
Teach them about non-violence,
sharing, honesty—
Life’s greatest lessons.

And when you find your youngest
colouring the National Post in purple,
his innocent fingers tracing the truth:
Fighting in the Gaza Leaves 18 Dead;
Pudgy, Band Aid-patched legs
barely covering gruesome photos of
“necessary hits” on families like yours,
hits justified by fear, by greed—
by nothing at all,

Don’t see it, don’t believe it,
Don’t bother to explain it.
Only now learning to read,
he’ll flash an oblivious smile,
his crayons erasing the dead.

'At War' by Heather Grace Stewart

There Will Be Giants

I was watching the morning news with our 4-year-old daughter, and couldn’t help but say aloud, “Oh no, Ted Kennedy died.”

I usually try to hide the heavier topics from her but for some reason, I didn’t this time. I thought she could handle it.

“Who was he?” she asked me.

“A pretty important politician in the States. People are going to be sad,” I replied.

She put her arm around me. “Well, did he get a chance to help people in the world before he died?”

I nearly spit out my coffee. “Yes, honey, I think all in all, he did.”

“Well, that’s good then.” And back she went to colouring Dora and Diego.

Everything became clearer to me in one short conversation with a four-year-old. We’ve lost a lot of Giants this summer,
but that loss seems a little less overwhelming when we look to the giant potential of our younger generations.

We just need to keep on listening to them, and pointing them in the right direction.

The Pilot

Little girl,
golden curls bouncing,
tries to run in
lime green rain boots.

“Hi Daddy! Look! It’s
Daddy!” she shrieks,
quickens her pace to greet him.
Arms up high.
Full speed ahead.
Lips pursed in concentration,
she jumps, groans, tries to
touch the sun.
We laugh, but
stop ourselves from
saying, “you can’t.”

Little girl,
golden curls bouncing,
runs home in rain boots,
dreaming of jet planes.

Promise

Today the lilacs opened;
and I almost missed it.

My spring tradition since childhood:
reaching up on my tippy toes,
plucking down a fresh bloom;
closing my eyes, memorizing that scent,
taking out the inner core, sucking
on the sweet nectar.

And I almost missed it.
I was distracted; glued to my computer screen,
stuck on my cell phone, head in the dirty laundry;
Caught up in things that just won’t matter
100 years from now.

Then you came home,
scooped up our busy
one-year-old, took us to a little lilac tree
you’d planted in our barren backyard.

The scent was so familiar, a reminder
strong and insistent like your
stubborn side,
damp petals poignant
grazing against my face.

So for a moment it was just the three of us,
carefree and content;
Surrounded by that powerful scent
and the promise of renewal:
The promise of purple.

'Promise' by Heather Grace Stewart

Responsibilities, Rewards

floppy head to hold oh so gently,
tiny fingernails to cut;
whispered breaths to check on in your sleep,
chubby rolls of baby skin to clean, dry,
dress in warm sleepers;
diaper rash to prevent,
cradle cap to clear up,
little rosebud lips to keep satisfied.
But when that mouth finally forms a smile,
the world stops spinning on its axis,
and all I can hear is the sweet song
that is your laughter.

'Pure' by Heather Grace Stewart

Spring walk

purple crocus buds
rise from their
winter beds;

spotted ladybugs
dance upon
our window panes;

one small hand
holds my hand;
holds my heart.

Spring awakening by Heather Grace Stewart

Questions you never thought you’d have to answer

Come on, come on. This red light is taking way too long.

I do a double take in my rearview mirror.

There’s a six-foot tall, broad framed guy standing on the main street corner of our small, family-friendly, stand-up-community, wearing a pink Easter Bunny suit.

He’s jumping up and down, madly waving at the passing cars, trying to get them into a Chocolaterie.  Or a Subway restaurant. What he’s selling is not completely clear.

What is clear is the guy is not having a Joyeuse Paques. I almost expect him to say,
“You lookin’ at me? You lookin’ at ME?”

Our four-year-old daughter doesn’t need a rearview mirror. From where she sits in her comfy car seat, he’s precisely in her line of view.  However, she’s more excited about the balloons tied around the corner lamppost than the guy in the bunny suit doing some silly dance.

“Oh, balloons!” she says gleefully, and I breathe a sigh of relief, thinking I’ve once again avoided answering questions I don’t want to answer.

You know, “Why’s the Easter Bunny standing on a street corner? Or “Why’s Santa look different in this mall?”

Then I notice the guy in the suit isn’t jumping anymore. He isn’t waving, either.

He’s leaning against the lamppost. He’s on his break.

The light turns green. Not fast enough.

“Mommy?” I hear her small voice hesitate, then gain power as she formulates the difficult question in her mind.

“Mommy? Why is there smoke coming out of the Easter Bunny’s mouth?”

Holiday Checklist

This Christmas, I am telling
my inner Super Mom to
leave the building.

In the pre-Christmas chaos
I will remember to breathe
while juggling the buying
flying shopping shipping
put-it-on-plastic
happy hoopla
pot luck and good luck
trying to squeeze into
last year’s
little black dress.

Multi-tasking to the point
of burn out will no longer
be my middle name.I will not apologize
or feel inferior
if the cards are late or
the presents aren’t perfectly
gift-wrapped or
the kids look like baboons
in the family photo.

This Christmas
I won’t trip over my words
when I start to say Merry Christmas
to someone celebrating Hannukah.
Screw political correctness, this year
I will remember what’s truly important:
opening a door for a senior
giving food and clothes to the homeless
teaching the children it’s not all
about that guy in the red suit.

This Christmas
I will put on John and Yoko’s
Happy Christmas (War Is Over)—
And listen.
No. Really, truly listen.

Another year over
And what have I done?

And so happy Christmas,
for black and for white,
for the yellow and red ones,
Let’s stop all the fight.

This Christmas
I will be still

between the turkey
and the silly paper hats
between the wine
and the goodnight kisses

I will find my true North star,
make a wish for the world and
count my blessings,
every one.

Poem and photograph
copyright 2008 Heather Grace Stewart, Where the Butterflies Go
http://www.hgrace.com

If you’d like to read more poems like this, please check out my poetry collection at
http://www.lulu.com/content/1506907
or email/ message me if you’re interested in signed copies.

A Child’s View of Politics

On this historic day, I feel privileged to be able to write that my neighbours in the United States of America have elected an ambitious, wise, and inspiring leader who also happens to be black.

Let’s be real now: Barack Obama can’t and won’t do it all. He’s only one man, and this is politics, where it seems like everything is debated and nothing gets done. But this great leader has sparked in us – in so many different people around the world – a sense of hope and joy and promise. This morning, there is a light that I have not seen behind people’s eyes since the fall of the Berlin wall. A light that went out with the fall of two towers. That’s something already, and he’s not even in office yet.

He’s even inspired our three-and-a-half-year-old  daughter. I told her yesterday, while we watched some election coverage on TV and the Net, that Obama was a great man who wanted to help people who don’t have as much as we have; that he wanted everyone to have access to homes and food and jobs and happiness. I said he was going to try to teach people to share and make the world a better place. That was the best explanation I could give a toddler in the early morning before my first coffee.

I educated her in the same way with the October Canadian election, and after listening intently to the choices she had; after Mommy pushing Green perhaps just a little too hard, she said she wanted to vote “Purple.” This time, she seemed to be mulling over everything I’d said more, and really taking it in.

Over supper, before the election results were in, she told Daddy about her day. Out of the blue, she looked at him and said, “Daddy, Obama’s going to change the world!” with a big grin on her face.

This morning, I set up our daughter with breakfast in front of the TV, and together we watched Obama’s historic speech, thanks to a wonderful technology called PVR. “He won? You mean he’s already won?”  she said to me during the speech, not realizing that she’d actually missed this “defining moment,” as Obama put it,  while asleep in her bed.

“Yes, honey, Barack Obama is President. It’s like you said last night, he’s going to try to change the world!” I said.

She looked at me, perplexed. “But Mommy, I don’t want him to change the world!” she began to cry.

My heart skipped a beat. I wondered what could be coming next. Was she seeing his colour? Had someone put ideas in her head? I paused the speech. I would have to talk with her. Then she finished her thought:

“I don’t want him to change it. I like it round!”