Marlboro Vigil for Sandy Hook

Marlboro Vigil for Sandy Hook

by Kelly (of rituals) ♥ 1 Comment
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Community members in front of the Marlboro Post Office

We woke to zero and bundled up better than ever to stand in a circle outside the post office where the green banner hung with the sweet faces of those 20 children and the tender adults who cared for them.

There would be no classroom photos of loved ones this year. Noah would not turn a year older. He would not lose his tooth. The candles of the Menorah would be lit without him.

We came for different reasons and for the same reasons, and we came because…

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Marlboro Meetinghouse

they couldn’t;

because children deserve our protection;

because it’s criminal to let this continue;

because without the collective consciousness, we are without a compass…

Despite the bitter cold, we chose not to step inside the Meetinghouse, but we rang its bells, “28 times,” (as decided) including Adam and his mother, among the names we spoke:

of each child,

each teacher,

the Principal,

the aide,

the substitute,

the therapist,

the psychologist.

We were an aging group–the youngest almost 50, and the rest older still. The young people were at home with the children, doing the work of families; while we stood as their representatives, in witness.

There were 10 of us in all, some strangers, some dear friends, sharing hopes and tears, and ending with a long, group hug.

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Susan & Casey sounding the bell… 28 times.

Saturday, December 13, 2013
Marlboro, Vermont

Susan Kundhardt
Joe Mazur
Jennifer Mazur
Beth McDermet
Marge Wright
Jonathan Morse
Ellen McCulloch-Lovell
Chris Lovell
Casey Deane
Kelly Salasin

Apology (to the house)

Apology (to the house)

by Kelly (of rituals) ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

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Now that summer has abandoned me for good,
and I’ve packed up the picnic baskets and the flip flops,

I surrender to hearth & home,
to cooking and cleaning and creating again,

To tackling all the clutter that crept up in the crevices of neglect while i languished
perfectly productive afternoons beside the pond.

Once resenting, now grateful
to the Cold, who

Tidies the land–the brush, the unmowed grass, the garden
and aligns Everything,

Even
the bare branches and the naked forest to the single aim of staying
Warm.

And finally grateful too,
like a matured child,
to this familiar House,

Whose weight I railed against each summer day,
longing to be free of the mundane

But now, as the days grow short,
and the nights grow long,
and the skies begins to flurry,

I toss aside my petulance,
embracing this steady companion
called home.