Where I'm From

I am from Chicago

The concrete bastion of the Midwest.

I am from Catholics

One whose faith withered one whose faith smothered.

I am from Sunday night political discussions

Hippies versus squares

I am from music

Ragtime, classical, rock’n’roll, opera

I am from limbs long tired and weary

Strong and persistent

I am from beer and marijuana 

Believing there are no obstacles. 

I am from doubt and hesitation 

Believing I can do nothing

I am from vegetarian creations 

And lamb cooking with mesquite. 

I am from softball, basketball

Golf, swimming & volleyball

Running bases, around the world

Bounce or fly and red light, green light.

I am from the clarity of the Northwood’s night sky

And the roots of the mighty pines

I am from reveling in the spring-fed waters

Of nature’s liquid healing

I am from red wine and potato chips

Cheese crisps, smoothies

I am from trampolines and dance floors

Back-flips and pirouettes

I am from the rhythm of the universe 

Tempting my lithe body into profound symbols

I am from love everlasting

& Eternal gratification.

Tricia Schwaba Poetry 

The Wisdom She Holds

Oh my God! My thighs they touch

How can one handle so much? 

The norm beloved, is space in between

One’s upper legs, you know what I mean.

This quest we’re on, this path never ends

The one that is dictated by rich white men.

They make the rules, create the solutions

The quick fix ones, offering no resolution.

But we buy and believe and believe and buy

Until we realize it’s all been a lie 

On that day seeds of freedom are planted

That’s the time that release is granted

Free from the grip of society’s norm

We travel with truth into the eye of the storm

To experience the peace that is blessedly bestowed

On the aging woman and the wisdom she holds.

Tricia Schwaba Poetry

I wrote this piece when I heard, not so long ago, that women (young or old apparently) are now being encouraged to be thin enough so that their thighs don’t touch. This bothered me as much as any of the other societal “beauty” standards that circulate throughout our society. We are all different, with different bodies, ideas and intentions. Let’s keep it real shall we?
Tricia

Maria Popova on John Gardner

A person is not a potted plant of predetermined personality but a garden abloom with the consequences of chance and choice that have made them who they are, resting upon an immense seed vault of dormant potentialities. At any given moment, any seed can sprout — whether by conscious cultivation or the tectonic tilling of some great upheaval or the composting of old habits and patterns of behavior that fertilize a new way of being. Nothing saves us from the tragedy of ossifying more surely than a devotion to regularly turning over the soil of personhood so that new expressions of the soul can come abloom.

Maria Popova on John Gardner’s work
The Key to Self-Renewal

John Gardner:

Gardener goes on:

And:

Virginia Woolf

“A self that goes on changing is a self that goes on living,”

Maria Popova adds:
Changing — your mind, your life — is also painfully difficult because it is a form of renunciation, a special case of those necessary losses that sculpt our lives; it requires giving something up — a way of seeing, a way of being — in order for something new to come abloom along the vector of the “endless unfolding” that is a life fully lived, something that leaves your new emerging self more fully met.