Category Archives: beginnings

Moving

This Space of Grace blog is moving soon to a new home, integrated into my newly designed website, FullBlooming.com. All the same posts will be there in the archives and I will be writing more than ever. I am grateful to blogger for this time of connection (since 2009) and I trust I will see you all (and hear from you too) at the new location. You will be automatically transferred, you won’t miss anything so no worries. Thank you to all my readers and to those whose comments encouraged me to keep writing.

Recently I have been researching family history online. Many reasons why this is the time to do it. Questions to answer like: is what I remember actually true? Here is a new poem:

Peony by the Driveway, 2012 Copyright MDMikus

Peony by the Driveway, 2012 Copyright MDMikus

2/8/13

Photo Albums

My mother, one year maybe in the ‘70’s,
took the time to gather all the family photos
and for each of her 7 children made a life story

with bits of baby hair, maybe a curl from the first haircut,
and the tiny beaded wristlet from the maternity hospital
with DUBAY and a blue medal of the Blessed Mother.

Baby pics, posed and natural,
some of us looking so similar, had to tell who was who
by the year on the back or other cues.

And inside the front cover an envelope of negatives
was taped to later make some prints.
In mine, a copy of an old letter from my Grandma Schulte

with news to reassure her daughter, my Mom,
that my brother and I were alright staying with her.
She wrote our daily schedule including snacks and naps,

a newsy description of our interests,
her frequent concern for my hair to stay out of my eyes—
the solution: to give me a permanent.

The love X 7 poured into each album,
her lasting gift, I opened today
and found how close or far off was memory,

how radiantly beautiful
was my mother.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2013

Mom and Me in 2009 Copyright MDMikus

Mom and Me in 2009 Copyright MDMikus

Symbolic

When we save things our babies have outgrown to later pass on to our kids for their babies, it means more than just the things themselves. They symbolize the dreams we have for our children, our wish to be part of their lives, and our desire to support them. Here are two poems about things I saved to pass on and what happened to those plans.

As expectant parents in 1984 we wanted everything to be perfect for our baby. This first poem is in my new eBook, Letting Go and New Beginnings: A Mother’s Poetic Journey.

11/20/06

Passing Love Along

I painted this chest of drawers
when I was big with my firstborn.
I chose the handles of yellow, red, green, and blue.
I drilled new holes, putting wood dowels and wood putty
into the old holes, lovingly sanding smooth.

I added a white, coated-wire shelf
and screwed it onto the side to hold
the powder, cream, and baby wipes.
I sewed a green cover for the pad to act as changing table.
And after he was born this is where we changed him.

This dresser moved with us to the new house
and has been in his closet as he grew. Twenty-two
years he is now and gone to an apartment in the city,
no place here or there for this white chest.
We are ready to let it go with a blessing
to a hopeful family crossing the ocean,

welcoming them to the beginning here of their new life.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2006

The second poem was prompted by the news: a law passed that cribs with side rails that went down were unsafe and could no longer be sold. Since cribs are used for such a short time, most cribs are bought second hand or passed down. When I was pregnant with my son, we picked out a really good crib with matching dresser that would be used for both our babies and handed down the generations. After saving it in the basement for 23 years, this week that crib went out with the trash. What else could we do with it, in good conscience, but let it go?

3/6/11

Old Crib

(as best we can)

The crib that we choose with deliberate care
has now been determined and declared
unsafe for all babies—or some—
even though the slats were closer,
even though we entrusted our two new ones
to its nighttime enclosure with the bumper pads
of bright cars or pink buds with lace, matching comforters.
Now it cannot in good conscience be saved
for grandchildren yet unconceived.
It could be kept as a souvenir
of lost sweet baby days, but what would be the point?
Let it go forevermore
bless what use we had of it
what love surrounded those precious lives
just then at their beginning…

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2011

What have you let go this week? And why?

Choice Point

It is a miracle! The blog “mechanism” allowed me to copy/paste from Word and post this poem! I forgot my past frustration and difficulties and started to put this poem in, then remembered that “It” hadn’t been allowing me to put even one letter from Word into this blog. Oh, do it anyway. Then!! Amazing!! It worked!!

Which means that I can again—easily—share my work on this blog. That light you see is the big smile on my face. As if the Universe is again aligned on my behalf. Silly, I know, but still…

I have been sharing this recent poem with friends, so I am sharing it with you too. As always, many things were swirling around that influenced this piece. Mary Jane is an interior designer (and lovely person) who is interested in healthy environments. I got to know her at the perfect time right before we were going to paint our house. Stephenie Meyer is the author of the very popular Twilight series, which I began reading when William Bloom, recommended them in an email newsletter and then my daughter asked me to read them with her. I already had the first book on my shelf. You know how sometimes you buy a book then it takes a while to actually read it? (Once I started, I gobbled all four of them up.) And finally, I noticed that I had recently met a number of men who were divorced and who struggled with that. This poem is dedicated to them. Of course it could be about any life-altering event.

10/17/09

From Mary Jane and Stephenie Meyer

For Ira, Bob, Geary and Eric

Something that shatters
pre-existing life structure
stretching out to the foreseeable future.

No restoration
of equilibrium
or the familiar,

the details
don’t matter:
a choice point where

all is divided into
before…and after
and darkness is the dominant color,

the decisive end…of what was,
the promising beginning…of what is:

verdant, vivid vibration,
riot of sensation,
vibrant colors of all description,

almost beyond bearing.

You get to the point
where you say this
lightening bolt that struck me

was the best thing
that ever happened.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2009

Making Big Changes

Some time ago I realized I needed to make changes in my home to support my own healing and health (and that of my family). This is a nice house, but things had gotten worn and shabby and repairs were needed. Everywhere I looked something called for attention. It was like a balloon with a thousand pinholes, leaking out the air. I noticed myself often saying that I slept better away from home. Our 22-year old carpet (and its disintegrated pad) had to go to help my breathing and to eliminate my chronic morning cough.

Years went on and though we made plans, the work did not get done. It was a big project to contemplate, a major remodeling: revitalizing the entire house.

In June, I went to my first women’s writing conference at Skidmore College (International Women’s Writing Guild.) (see June and July posts) I was welcomed and found a small group that fit me well. At lunch one day, one of my new friends said she had removed her old carpet even though they could not replace it right away. It was better to live with plywood floors! I was inspired to get going in my own house.

The time was right—or the planets and stars aligned or something. We easily found the right person to oversee the project–and right in our neighborhood! Elliot was one of those experienced, positive attitude, good energy people who was connected to the other good workers we needed.

Early on, I realized this was a huge opportunity to clear away years of clutter, freeing up space for current living. This was a highly charged emotional process for me. Deep feelings surfaced of perceived past failures in my creative work. Self-forgiveness and inner guidance were essential. Also daily energy balancing. Unlike before, somehow I was not frustrated at having to put aside “my work”. It was clear that raising the energy of the house was the work I needed to be doing. And this would pay off in the work arena too.

Knowing me, you can imagine I wrote a lot these past three months. I will release a new collection once the dust settles. (see previous post) Here is a poem from last night (2 AM). Getting toward the end of it all and looking back.

10/6/09

This Big Thing

If you knew how long
it would take to do
this big thing,
this vision,

you would never begin.

If you knew how much
energy at times,
how little sleep at times,
how many tiny details

would make up the whole,
what worries, what waiting,
what driving, what negotiation,
what re-invention, what chaos,

you would never begin.

You would not know how
the progress of day to day
could feed you,
awaken you, open doors for you,

let in light and space and room to breathe.
If you had not trusted,
if you did not understand clarity,
if you thought you were standing alone

you would never begin.

Of so it seems
about all the other times
big plans stalled,
and so it seems

looking back on the
peaceful revolution miracle of
allowing change to unfold,
even embracing.

From fearful to sure,
or sure enough
to take one step…
and then another, not necessarily big leap.

Not to erase the past,
but creating the future, your future,
from the endless supply
of present moments.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
Copyright 2009

Remodeling

A poem written 9/5/9

Remodeling as a Transformative Device

(Better than Illness)

Every summer for a long time,
or often anyway,
illness has caught me—
serious enough to warrant
immediate concern
life-threatening even.

And all time was then divided
into before the diagnosis
and after it, life wiped
away as I had known it,
what had seemed important
became less than trivial.

Amnesia set in
about how things had been
and I couldn’t get back
to “normal.”
The process of healing
took the time it took

and the lessons came
and some stuck;.
some left until
the next time.
And on and on it went
with help coming at key moments.

I learned how to ask and receive.
I learned how to balance in chaos.
How to laugh at darkness.
How to let myself feel
and even cry in the presence of others.
And I wrote it all down:

the insights, the quest, the stories
that seemed to give meaning
to suffering, to healing.
Was there no other way
to transformation than
ripping off my skin

again and again?
Then, this summer:
remodeling—Let everything be different
than it had been. Let clutter
be cleared, past failures forgiven,
all belongings spread out,
nothing where it had been.

Ask: If I were moving,
would I keep this?
And as dusty carpet went out
and clean wood floors went in,
light came too, gleaming.
Kitchen cabinets refaced in rich cherry,

Santa Cecelia (patron saint of creativity)
and the name of our chosen granite from Brazil.
All that was worn and shabby
made new again.
Moving on without moving away.
Color, space, clean air,

promise, possibility, openness.
We can’t find our way back
to what was…
even it we wanted to.
Old habits are breaking
like how high to reach to answer the phone

or where to locate a pair of scissors or stamp or fork,
nothing is where it was,
all part of the 17 or 39 or whatever number
of changes in the environment to sustain
healing changes in me.

And the rest of the family?
Well, they are in the thick and thin of it too.
If they can be nourished
by all this,
if they can learn to function
without the usual foundation,

if they can be surrounded by and
immersed in energy for where they are going…
all the better.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
Copyright 2009