Path I Might Have Taken
Wayne Writers Guild prompt:
The Path I Might Have Taken
By Kate Chamberlin
March 10, 2015
I might have married my high school sweetheart when we lived in Riverwoods, Illinois.
Perhaps, I had eyes for the boy across the street when we lived in Marlboro, Pennsylvania.
It was tempting to stay with my “novio” when I lived in Vallalodid, Spain.
I could have married the President of the Ski Club when I lived in Henrietta, New York.
Trusting the path I might take would be made clear to me, I bided my time.
I married my dream spouse and now, live in my dream house in Walworth, New York.
Vernal Equinox
Vernal Equinox
The Saga’s Fugue
The Saga’s Fugue
By Kate Chamberlin
June 20, 2002
The shrill, urgent trill of the tree toad cuts through the soothing pat-pat-pitty-pat of the gentle, soaking spring rain as the thunder’s low rumbling in the distance, underscores nature’s fugue.
The shrill, urgent trill of the telephone cuts through the familiar pattern of day-to-day chores, as the threat of unemployment or disability underscores life’s saga.
The harsh announcement that I have cancer, sends shock waves through my complacency, as panic and horror underscore my fragile existence.
“Basil Cell Carcinoma,” the dermatologist assures me, “is the least serious of the known cancers and it is the most treatable.”
Still, the mention of cancer reminds me of how my mother was consumed by a cancer of undetermined origin, in 1996. I suspect, these days, they’d be able to specifically determine the original site of the cancer (breast, uterine, kidney, liver…), but it doesn’t alter the fact that she died at the age of 59 of cancer and it scares me.
“The damage was done,” the dermatologist continued, “many years ago before you were 16-years old, so there is no telling where the next patch will occur. Each location on your body, where sunburn occurred, might turn up a tumor. The shape and feel of it will be different on the different locations. There is no one feel or look to basil cell carcinoma.”
I think of my sons playing tennis on wonderful sunny days coming home red from the sun and exertion and how much they enjoyed sand volley ball at Ontario Beach. My daughter enjoyed sun-bathing along-side our new pool, glowing with the newly acquired tan. When I was young, I did it too.
My parents would golf as my brother and I played tennis and swam at the club before meeting them for dinner. I was on the swimming and diving teams in high school and was the apartment complex’s life guard during graduate school. It felt free and wonderful to bask in the sun with a youthful body. How foolish it all seems now.
How do you tell today’s youth not to make the same mistakes you made?
We can’t control most of what happens to us during our life-time. Perhaps the best we can do is to control our attitude about what is happening. How we go from crisis to crisis will determine the quality of our journey through time.
The nearly painless surgical procedure is behind me, allowing a new complacency to ebb back into my existence, as a deeper comprehension of life underscores my soul.
The shrill, urgent shrieks of my little ones cut through the familiar pattern of day-to-day chores, as the thread of joy underscores life’s saga.
The robin’s cheerful cheerio-cheerio adds grace notes to the soothing pat-pat-pitty-pat of the gentle, soaking spring rain as the strengthening sun’s rays illuminate a brilliant rainbow to underscore nature’s fugue.
NOTE: This first appeared in my weekly newspaper column Cornucopia, Wayne County STAR, June 20, 2002
The Saga’s Fugue
By Kate Chamberlin
June 20, 2002
The shrill, urgent trill of the tree toad cuts through the soothing pat-pat-pitty-pat of the gentle, soaking spring rain as the thunder’s low rumbling in the distance, underscores nature’s fugue.
The shrill, urgent trill of the telephone cuts through the familiar pattern of day-to-day chores, as the threat of unemployment or disability underscores life’s saga.
The harsh announcement that I have cancer, sends shock waves through my complacency, as panic and horror underscore my fragile existence.
“Basil Cell Carcinoma,” the dermatologist assures me, “is the least serious of the known cancers and it is the most treatable.”
Still, the mention of cancer reminds me of how my mother was consumed by a cancer of undetermined origin, in 1996. I suspect, these days, they’d be able to specifically determine the original site of the cancer (breast, uterine, kidney, liver…), but it doesn’t alter the fact that she died at the age of 59 of cancer and it scares me.
“The damage was done,” the dermatologist continued, “many years ago before you were 16-years old, so there is no telling where the next patch will occur. Each location on your body, where sunburn occurred, might turn up a tumor. The shape and feel of it will be different on the different locations. There is no one feel or look to basil cell carcinoma.”
I think of my sons playing tennis on wonderful sunny days coming home red from the sun and exertion and how much they enjoyed sand volley ball at Ontario Beach. My daughter enjoyed sun-bathing along-side our new pool, glowing with the newly acquired tan. When I was young, I did it too.
My parents would golf as my brother and I played tennis and swam at the club before meeting them for dinner. I was on the swimming and diving teams in high school and was the apartment complex’s life guard during graduate school. It felt free and wonderful to bask in the sun with a youthful body. How foolish it all seems now.
How do you tell today’s youth not to make the same mistakes you made?
We can’t control most of what happens to us during our life-time. Perhaps the best we can do is to control our attitude about what is happening. How we go from crisis to crisis will determine the quality of our journey through time.
The nearly painless surgical procedure is behind me, allowing a new complacency to ebb back into my existence, as a deeper comprehension of life underscores my soul.
The shrill, urgent shrieks of my little ones cut through the familiar pattern of day-to-day chores, as the thread of joy underscores life’s saga.
The robin’s cheerful cheerio-cheerio adds grace notes to the soothing pat-pat-pitty-pat of the gentle, soaking spring rain as the strengthening sun’s rays illuminate a brilliant rainbow to underscore nature’s fugue.
NOTE: This first appeared in my weekly newspaper column Cornucopia, Wayne County STAR, June 20, 2002
Serenity
Wayne Writers Guild
Prompt : Opposite of Terror
Serenity
By Kate Chamberlin
September 09, 2014
Small, round, fuzzy head
Resting upon my bosom.
Sleep, Baby Love, Sleep.