and

Having lived in the United States of America for fifteen years it still strikes me as odd when July 1st roles around.  You see north of the 49th parallel Canadians celebrate Canada Day while I simply go about my day as though nothing is different or special.  Well, I wanted to set the record straight. 

Every July first, regardless of what my day might hold, or what tasks I may be involved with my heart celebrates with my fellow Canadians.  I am thrilled that a country like Canada - as imperfect as it is - exists.  Cheers Canada.

Peace, dwight

My boy is four!  Wow!

I’m so proud of you big guy.

peace, dwight

Happy birthday to my bestman (in every sense of that word) - my dad. 

Ben CS Friesen

When I Grow Up

by dwight friesen

When I grow up and get to be a writer

I’m going to write a poem about my dad

And I’ll tell of strong arms and a short carriage

And an insatiable appetite for chocolate cake and ice cream

And the way he kissed my mom with a loud smacking sound

And the safety of his hugs

And the way we prayed with me nightly

And the time I saw him cry

When I get to be a writer

I’m going to write about my dad

And the nail clipper that never left his side

And his tact

And his deep respect for his father

And an enduring entrepreneurial spirit

And his big farm-boy hands

And a genuine love for God

And a rock steady character

And his spitting out the car door at traffic lights

And his joy in giving to others

When I get to be a poet

I’m going to write about my dad.

Love you dad,

dwight

NOTE: The inspiration for this poetic structure came from the great Langston Hughes’ and his glorious poem, Daybreak in Alabama.

Nightclub

by Billy Collins

You are so beautiful and I am a fool
to be in love with you
is a theme that keeps coming up
in songs and poems.
There seems to be no room for variation.
I have never heard anyone sing
I am so beautiful
and you are a fool to be in love with me,
even though this notion has surely
crossed the minds of women and men alike.
You are so beautiful, too bad you are a fool
is another one you don’t hear.
Or, you are a fool to consider me beautiful.
That one you will never hear, guaranteed.

For no particular reason this afternoon
I am listening to Johnny Hartman
whose dark voice can curl around
the concepts on love, beauty, and foolishness
like no one else’s can.
It feels like smoke curling up from a cigarette
someone left burning on a baby grand piano
around three o’clock in the morning;
smoke that billows up into the bright lights
while out there in the darkness
some of the beautiful fools have gathered
around little tables to listen,
some with their eyes closed,
others leaning forward into the music
as if it were holding them up,
or twirling the loose ice in a glass,
slipping by degrees into a rhythmic dream.

Yes, there is all this foolish beauty,
borne beyond midnight,
that has no desire to go home,
especially now when everyone in the room
is watching the large man with the tenor sax
that hangs from his neck like a golden fish.
He moves forward to the edge of the stage
and hands the instrument down to me
and nods that I should play.
So I put the mouthpiece to my lips
and blow into it with all my living breath.
We are all so foolish,
my long bebop solo begins by saying,
so damn foolish
we have become beautiful without even knowing it.

happy birthday honey

I did

I do

I will

h a p p y   a n n i v e r s a r y

though our love may look different then it did fifteen years ago

though our lives have taken some unexpected turns

though our hopes are not what they once were

though we grieve much loss

we are

and I am so thankful

and I am so hopeful

that we are.

and I am so thankful

and I am so hopeful

that we might be.

love, lynette’s husband

Tomorrow will mark the 15th anniversity of the Lynette and Dwight Wedding.   

picturing lynette

Sometimes when I think of my wife my heart pictures her

In her parent’s basement laughing with her girl friends

Or driving her orange Datsun station wagon filled with youth group kids

Or checking her college mail box six times a day with high hopes

Or standing with her high school chorus singing “I am a Woman in Love”

Or picking me up work from informing of her day and students until she’s out of breath

Sometimes when I think of
Lynette, my heart pictures her:

Laying beside me in her socks and t-shirt

Or reading her Bible at Starbucks at six each morning

Or taking classes just because she wants to learn and grow

Or refusing to settle for average Christianity

Or trading books with a friend, losing herself in a great story and crying when it ends

Or laying in the hospital with tubes in her nose and arms feels both sad and thankful

Or getting “wide-eyed” excited with a trip to anticipate

Or wondering when her daffodils will open up

Or reaching over to touch me when I just don’t know what to do

When my heart pictures Lynette I am reminded

I am contented

I am thankful.

peace, dwight

Mothers, young and old, we honor you. 

For all you have given, loved, and sacrificed,

for all your self-doubt and wondering if you were good enough or “doing it right”,

for all the pain you endured,

for all the hopes you carried,

for all your failings,

for defining yourself in part, in relation with your children,

for . . . the list goes on.

Thank you.

To my Grandma, who gave me my mother,

To my mother who gave life to me

To my mother-in-law who gave me Lynette

To Lynette who mothers our son,

I celebrate your beauty, your strength, your womanhood. 

My heart is yours and you continue to shape it.

And to all those who long to be mothers but can’t,

I hold you in my prayers today.

Thanks to you all;

a grateful man, dwight