I was cleaning out a desk drawer and came across a notepad with a poem that seems to have been written while Jim was in the hospital. He was also trying to figure out some math problems, probably something to do with his deductible.
To the girl who sent the cookies while I was laid a-waste,
Cookies thick and creamy, rich in chocolate taste:
If the words that I am thinking were a picture on the wall
Monet, Van Gogh and Moses would be nothing but a scrawl.
If the picture was removed and placed in a museum grand
It would be the greatest picture ever viewed by God or man.
If my thoughts were an ancient kingdom you would be a princess grand
Ruling over all the region, ruling over all the land.
Yours would be a happy kingdom full of music and of mirth
From your land would come the saying, Good will to man and peace on earth.
If the words that I am thinking could be transferred to my tongue
To be spoken in the morning, spoken with the rising sun
You would have to hold your eardrums for the volume of the sound
Like a mighty clap of thunder would resonate the world around.
-- James Parker, May 13, 1992
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Christmas 2000
The light was just a flicker
in a manger in a barn,
like a firefly on a June night:
now you see it, now it's gone.
At first it grew so slowly,
an immeasurable amount.
It seemed, despite its goodness,
that the light would soon go out.
Angels sang a ghostly chorus,
wise men came that holy night,
lowly shepherds peered in wonder,
then stayed to fan the light.
Holy God in all His mercy
saw the world in sin and lost,
raised His hand, the light protected,
said, "My Son will pay the cost."
The the light burned stronger, brighter,
like a sunrise on the sea.
Its brilliance did not falter
when He died on Calvery's tree.
Now, the temple veil is broken.
Now, the road to Heaven paved.
Simple Man's no longer helpless.
Simple Man might now be saved.
Out in a foreign bushland
or in a swampy quay
sinners grope through total darkness
without knowing another way.
Will you stir yourself to help Him?
Will you take the torch to them?
It's the light of man's salvation
that began in Bethlehem.
~ Jim Parker, written January 2000
Norma sent this poem out with the following note: "Dear family and friends, Just before Jim's death, he wrote this Christmas poem for our holiday greeting for the year 2000. We hope you will have a blessed Christmas."
in a manger in a barn,
like a firefly on a June night:
now you see it, now it's gone.
At first it grew so slowly,
an immeasurable amount.
It seemed, despite its goodness,
that the light would soon go out.
Angels sang a ghostly chorus,
wise men came that holy night,
lowly shepherds peered in wonder,
then stayed to fan the light.
Holy God in all His mercy
saw the world in sin and lost,
raised His hand, the light protected,
said, "My Son will pay the cost."
The the light burned stronger, brighter,
like a sunrise on the sea.
Its brilliance did not falter
when He died on Calvery's tree.
Now, the temple veil is broken.
Now, the road to Heaven paved.
Simple Man's no longer helpless.
Simple Man might now be saved.
Out in a foreign bushland
or in a swampy quay
sinners grope through total darkness
without knowing another way.
Will you stir yourself to help Him?
Will you take the torch to them?
It's the light of man's salvation
that began in Bethlehem.
~ Jim Parker, written January 2000
Norma sent this poem out with the following note: "Dear family and friends, Just before Jim's death, he wrote this Christmas poem for our holiday greeting for the year 2000. We hope you will have a blessed Christmas."
Tennessee
If God had not made Tennessee
I would have thought it up;
A place to fish for carp and perch
Around the cypress stumps.
Where cotton blooms in summer
And the wild flowers hug the roads,
Where worldly problems all cast off
And pressure packs unload.
If God had not made Tennessee
I think I'd go and rob
Some other country's round top hill
And call it Pilot's Knob.
I'd set it by a river
Where from the top I'd see
Land and water far beyond;
The place that nurtured me.
If God had not made Tennessee
I would, for Heaven's sake!
Like when they dammed the river
and made Kentucky Lake.
Then I'd send a note to Peter
And maybe one to Paul
With a glowing report on the fishing sport
Saying, "Come on down, y'all!"
If God had not made Tennessee
I'd have done it by myself,
Made deer, raccoon and 'possum
And other game of stealth.
Made a mocking bird to fool us
When he sings some other's tune
And a whip-or-will to sooth us
In evening's purple gloom.
If God had not made Tennessee
Where would I have been a lad?
Strolling down a summer's lane
With Mama and with Dad?
With straw hat down 'gainst the evening sun
And bare toes dragging sand
A happy boy, the world my toy,
In a Hallelujah land.
If God had not made Tennessee
With guitar, bass and horn,
Where a sound called country music
Was conceived and then was born.
Where fiddle, bow and banjo
Keep tune with patting feet
And loud applause enhance the cause
And never a stranger meet.
If God had not made Tennessee
Just think what we'd have missed.
No Smoky Mountains high and tall,
No skies with tree tops kissed.
No dreamy, bubbly mountain streams
Flowing down to bottom sand,
No place to say, when friends drop by,
"This is the Promised Land."
~ James Parker, June 1998.
I would have thought it up;
A place to fish for carp and perch
Around the cypress stumps.
Where cotton blooms in summer
And the wild flowers hug the roads,
Where worldly problems all cast off
And pressure packs unload.
If God had not made Tennessee
I think I'd go and rob
Some other country's round top hill
And call it Pilot's Knob.
I'd set it by a river
Where from the top I'd see
Land and water far beyond;
The place that nurtured me.
If God had not made Tennessee
I would, for Heaven's sake!
Like when they dammed the river
and made Kentucky Lake.
Then I'd send a note to Peter
And maybe one to Paul
With a glowing report on the fishing sport
Saying, "Come on down, y'all!"
If God had not made Tennessee
I'd have done it by myself,
Made deer, raccoon and 'possum
And other game of stealth.
Made a mocking bird to fool us
When he sings some other's tune
And a whip-or-will to sooth us
In evening's purple gloom.
If God had not made Tennessee
Where would I have been a lad?
Strolling down a summer's lane
With Mama and with Dad?
With straw hat down 'gainst the evening sun
And bare toes dragging sand
A happy boy, the world my toy,
In a Hallelujah land.
If God had not made Tennessee
With guitar, bass and horn,
Where a sound called country music
Was conceived and then was born.
Where fiddle, bow and banjo
Keep tune with patting feet
And loud applause enhance the cause
And never a stranger meet.
If God had not made Tennessee
Just think what we'd have missed.
No Smoky Mountains high and tall,
No skies with tree tops kissed.
No dreamy, bubbly mountain streams
Flowing down to bottom sand,
No place to say, when friends drop by,
"This is the Promised Land."
~ James Parker, June 1998.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Merry Christmas, Pogo Style
I'm on a children's lit listserv and someone recently posted "Deck us all with Boston Charlie/Walla Walla Wash. and Kalamazoo..." as a nondenominational holiday greeting to the group. I did a Huh? doubletake because I grew up with Jim singing the lyrics throughout the month of December, but I didn't realize he was quoting Pogo.
It shouldn't have been a surprise. This past year I've made many mental notes of things I enjoy that are virtual presents from my parents. Even though I won't find a package under the tree from them this Christmas, these gentle reminders of Norma and Jim are gifts. As I giggle over a Calvin and Hobbes comic I receive daily in my email, I remember Norma's laughter as she poured over the Sunday funnies each week and Jim's Monday night ritual of settling into his Lazy Boy recliner to watch "The Flintstones."
These past few weeks I've taken a route to work most mornings that goes through a neighborhood decked with lights and holiday statues on nearly each front lawn. It's a comforting reminder of the years my parents and I toured the same streets each Christmas night, winding down the holiday with a leisurely drive to admire the decorations. I am sitting on the edge of the back seat of the car, my small hand holding onto the back of my father's seat. He has an impish smile as he adds extra "rumpa pum pa's!" to his favorite carol, "The Little Drummer Boy" and my heart understands the meaning of joy.
It shouldn't have been a surprise. This past year I've made many mental notes of things I enjoy that are virtual presents from my parents. Even though I won't find a package under the tree from them this Christmas, these gentle reminders of Norma and Jim are gifts. As I giggle over a Calvin and Hobbes comic I receive daily in my email, I remember Norma's laughter as she poured over the Sunday funnies each week and Jim's Monday night ritual of settling into his Lazy Boy recliner to watch "The Flintstones."
These past few weeks I've taken a route to work most mornings that goes through a neighborhood decked with lights and holiday statues on nearly each front lawn. It's a comforting reminder of the years my parents and I toured the same streets each Christmas night, winding down the holiday with a leisurely drive to admire the decorations. I am sitting on the edge of the back seat of the car, my small hand holding onto the back of my father's seat. He has an impish smile as he adds extra "rumpa pum pa's!" to his favorite carol, "The Little Drummer Boy" and my heart understands the meaning of joy.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Poem for Jeffie
Growing up with my parents was sometimes like that Drew Carey improv show, "Who's Line Is It Anyway?" with songs and random poems being created on the fly.
When I started dating Jeff, I sent him this poem. Who says the way to man's heart is through his stomach? God knows, my Crock Pot Lasagne didn't work.
Love Poem for Jeffrey L Harrison
Jeffie Pooh, Jeffie Pooh
All I do is think of you.
When I'm trying to eat lunch
I think of you a whole bunch.
When I'm trying to do work
My mind's a fuzzy, messy murk.
Oh, what is a poor brain to do
When it is full of Jeffie Pooh?
-- Connie Parker Harrison
When I started dating Jeff, I sent him this poem. Who says the way to man's heart is through his stomach? God knows, my Crock Pot Lasagne didn't work.
Love Poem for Jeffrey L Harrison
Jeffie Pooh, Jeffie Pooh
All I do is think of you.
When I'm trying to eat lunch
I think of you a whole bunch.
When I'm trying to do work
My mind's a fuzzy, messy murk.
Oh, what is a poor brain to do
When it is full of Jeffie Pooh?
-- Connie Parker Harrison
Monday, November 7, 2011
Another Christmas Poem
Not long ago a woman who worked with my mother cleaned out some desks at work and found a Christmas card my mother sent after she and my father moved to Tennessee. What great surprise.
Santa Claus may miss our house
Because we've moved, you see,
Down to the South where
"Hush my mouf" and "y'all" comes easily
Down here they say if you watch and pray
And believe if miracles awesome,
On Christmas Day, though Santa might stray,
You'll be visited by Pogo Possum.
Santa Claus may miss our house
Because we've moved, you see,
Down to the South where
"Hush my mouf" and "y'all" comes easily
Down here they say if you watch and pray
And believe if miracles awesome,
On Christmas Day, though Santa might stray,
You'll be visited by Pogo Possum.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
The Power Of Keys
When I was a little girl, my parents would hand me their set of keys to keep me occupied. It worked. I developed quite a love of keys and would sit absorbed by them for minutes (ages in kid-time). However, my parents didn't foresee that I would use keys to get my way. At the age of four, I discovered that if an adult didn't have their keys, they could not leave. My aunt Marilyn was forced to dig around my parents' house on many occasions when I decided that she really should stay a little longer. Another discovery I made was that an adult's keys were best hidden in the purse of another adult. If the adult saw the keys in the purse, unless they looked closely, they would assume the keys belonged to the purse's owner. This kept the game in motion.
One day, my father stayed home from work to take me to a doctor's appointment. I didn't want to go and no amount of begging worked. When my mother set off for her job, I slipped his car keys in her purse and waved as she walked out the door. Later that day, my mother received a call from my exasperated father. "Look in your purse."
"What?" replied my mother.
"Just look in your purse."
"What are your car keys doing here?"
The nurse rescheduled my appointment. A successful delay, but not an overall achievement of objective. A new strategy would need to be employed.
When my parents moved from their home in Dearborn, my father left this note for the new owner:
Dear Purchaser:
The keys contained herein are almost completely lost-proof. But not quite. Certain precautions should be taken by the User to insure years of non-loss service.
The first measure taken to prevent loss is to put the keys in a drawer high above the reach of children, then forget where you put them. In this way, no fear of loss will ever be experienced.
Another guaranteed way to prevent loss is to put them in your "other" coat. When you need the keys to the car or house, you can say to your husband, "Let me use your keys, mine are in my Other Coat." They are not lost; you know exactly where they are. When your husband is not around and you go to the Other Coat to get your keys and you find that they are not there, you can say, "I know where I left them, in my "other" purse." The keys are still not lost because, of course, you know right where your Other Purse was left. After a thorough search of all four Other Purses and still there are no keys, they can usually be found at a glance on the outside of the door. Or, by looking at the lock on the car's truck.
If you have taken all of these precautions and still fear a loss, you may tie a tag to the keys which says, "If Found Return To" then put your home address, your work address, your mother's address, the LBJ Ranch in Texas, and the Taj Mahal. This way, dead or alive, your keys will be returned to you almost any place in the world.
Sincerely,
The Seller
One day, my father stayed home from work to take me to a doctor's appointment. I didn't want to go and no amount of begging worked. When my mother set off for her job, I slipped his car keys in her purse and waved as she walked out the door. Later that day, my mother received a call from my exasperated father. "Look in your purse."
"What?" replied my mother.
"Just look in your purse."
"What are your car keys doing here?"
The nurse rescheduled my appointment. A successful delay, but not an overall achievement of objective. A new strategy would need to be employed.
When my parents moved from their home in Dearborn, my father left this note for the new owner:
Dear Purchaser:
The keys contained herein are almost completely lost-proof. But not quite. Certain precautions should be taken by the User to insure years of non-loss service.
The first measure taken to prevent loss is to put the keys in a drawer high above the reach of children, then forget where you put them. In this way, no fear of loss will ever be experienced.
Another guaranteed way to prevent loss is to put them in your "other" coat. When you need the keys to the car or house, you can say to your husband, "Let me use your keys, mine are in my Other Coat." They are not lost; you know exactly where they are. When your husband is not around and you go to the Other Coat to get your keys and you find that they are not there, you can say, "I know where I left them, in my "other" purse." The keys are still not lost because, of course, you know right where your Other Purse was left. After a thorough search of all four Other Purses and still there are no keys, they can usually be found at a glance on the outside of the door. Or, by looking at the lock on the car's truck.
If you have taken all of these precautions and still fear a loss, you may tie a tag to the keys which says, "If Found Return To" then put your home address, your work address, your mother's address, the LBJ Ranch in Texas, and the Taj Mahal. This way, dead or alive, your keys will be returned to you almost any place in the world.
Sincerely,
The Seller
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