Career

Aging, All Poems, Career, Change, Gym/exercise, Humor, Pandemic, Retirement

Our Trainer Locked the Door

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Our trainer locked the door to the track.

Where we walk when weather, inclement.

He came to tell us it would be off limits two hours.

For the conference the university hosted downstairs.

From the course above, we viewed the gathering.

Tables, exhibits, box lunches.

Attendees, speakers dressed for the occasion.

Much like we did while in practice.

Who can count all the conferences attended?

Over a span of more than thirty-five years?

Every topic imaginable in our field.

Psychiatry, psychology, addictions, hypnosis.

Family therapy, leadership, supervision, ethics.

Sitting, sometimes for days, absorbing information.

Networking with colleagues.

In venues, close and far away.

Till the pandemic hit.

When seminars turned to boxes on Zoom.

It refreshes to see in-person meetings again.

Younger people learning like we did.

Though I remember my body complaining.

After long hours in a seat.

Wishing to move, to walk, to run.

At last I have the chance

to wiggle, twist, and step.

Hoping old age maneuvers

awaken youthful pep.

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 22, 2024

Aging, All Poems, Career, Change, Friendship, Retirement

It’s Hard to Believe

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It’s hard to believe we face each other.

Across a table at a local eatery.

Two grandmothers.

Once young mothers.

Two devotees of parenting education.

Where we met many years ago.

Anguishing over children’s behaviors.

Listening to other mothers’ worries.

Teaching workshops.

Attending them.

Filling heads to overflowing with knowledge.

Both returning to school for more.

Because we couldn’t get enough.

Couldn’t help others enough.

Two family therapists.

One now retired, the other about to.

Here we sit.

Two aging ladies.

Recounting memories

of years gone by.

Making promises today

to simplify.

 

Lynn Benjamin

March 10, 2024

 

 

 

All Poems, Career, Change, Farewell, Memories, Retirement

My Career in a Suitcase

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It’s must weigh fifty pounds, said Bob.

Dragging the suitcase out the door.

After stuffing it with certificates.

Pulled out of three drawers.

Earned during my career.

Never stopping at the minimum number of workshops.

Always more.

More learning.

More skills.

More knowledge.

Family therapy.

Addictions.

Hypnosis.

EMDR.

Psychiatry.

That suitcase was, indeed, heavy.

A career’s worth of study.

How to work with clients.

Teach supervisees.

Effect change.

It was heavy with memories.

Did you know memories weigh a lot?

Take up volume in the brain?

Haunt us in dreams, day and night?

Pop up at unexpected times?

Now the papers, gone.

Evidence tossed out.

Time to reacquaint with an earlier self.

Before credentials, titles, roles.

I am uncluttered, unadorned.

Simply me.

Though I hope within my essence,

I remain caring, kind, and wise.

Open to possibilities

Parading before my eyes.

Offering authentic self

without excuse, disguise.

Seeking truth and beauty

in glow of fireflies.

Finding humility and peace

in hundreds of goodbyes.

Accepting now whatever comes.

Surrendering to whys.

 

Lynn Benjamin

October 31, 2023

All Poems, Career, Natural Beauty, People Traits, Worry

Strange Day

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The day, strange.

Not calm.

Watching a never-ending seminar on Zoom.

Though retired.

To maintain a license.

Head swelling with already learned information.

Child abuse, suicide, ethics.

Required topics.

As people texted.

Phoned.

Emailed.

All urgent, needing replies.

As gardeners banged outside.

Bob piled groceries into a refrigerator.

Horrific Middle-East headlines flashed by.

Republicans failed to elect a speaker.

Wasting weeks.

A favorite gym trainer quit his post.

Not even a goodbye.

Dinner guests tomorrow.

Lists hijacking my mind.

Prepare sofrito.

Sauté fish.

Pick out pan, plates, table ware.

Thoughts coming, going.

Like trains rumbling in a station.

Loud, almost deafening.

Body vibrating.

Till nearly five.

Running out the door.

To catch setting sun, breath.

Leaves, gold, orange, red.

Mums taking charge of gardens.

A deer, plaintive.

Starlings, chattering in an oak.

Sky darkening.

Exhausting days are fewer now.

Most serene, tranquil.

Why then when things, routine,

do I life overfill?

 

Lynn Benjamin

October 23, 2023

All Poems, Career, Change, Plants

Cannabis

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You never know what you’ll see on a train.

What sign plastered on the wall.

Like the other day when I raised my head.

Saw an advertisement for a new program.

At Delaware Valley University.

Certificate in Cannabis Studies.

Everything you need to know.

History.

Medical uses.

How to grow marijuana and hemp.

How to market.

A stand-alone certificate.

Or, part of a four-year degree in horticulture or agribusiness.

Quite a change from programs I knew.

The ones teaching marijuana as part of addiction counseling.

But, over years, statutes are changing.

Many states authorizing marijuana to treat medical problems.

Others legalizing it for recreation.

Only the federal government, slow.

To reschedule or de-schedule.

Moving slug-like through the process.

Perhaps soon legitimizing dispensaries, shops.

Proliferating horticulture or business programs.

Lifting prohibitions

will make us wonder why

so many were convicted

for a marijuana high.

When now it’s become a medicine

or likened to alcohol.

Its image is transforming.

With state, soon federal law.

 

Lynn Benjamin

October 22, 2023

 

All Poems, Career, Gym/exercise, Health/Illness

It Struck Me

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It struck me in the middle of gym class.

While squatting, thrusting

Lifting kettlebells, barbells.

Stepping up on a stool, then down.

That TJ was teaching us to stretch rusty muscles.

Like Bob and I taught people to stretch hazy minds.

First, building relationship.

Exploring behaviors.

Understanding the past.

Slowly changing thoughts, actions, feelings.

Following the client’s pace, readiness.

Practicing with new tools.

Exerting the brain.

Reaching emotional comfort.

Except now, we are the clients.

Forging relationship.

Changing movement patterns.

Achieving balance, stability.

Exerting the body.

No pain, no gain, said the trainer.

Having us do pushups against a wall.

Arm lifts on a chair.

Lowering hands as far as they’d go.

Challenging us to awaken

muscles asleep for years.

Can you see gym training and therapy

as similar careers?

If gym trainers could do therapy,

psychologists teach exercise,

then consumers of these services

would be sturdy, fit, and wise.

 

Lynn Benjamin

October 15, 2023

Adult Children, All Poems, Career, Family, Holidays, Jewish Holidays

On the Way to Becoming a Cantor

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Someone thinks I’m a cantor, texted Roseanne.

Sending a snapshot of an envelope.

Bearing the name Cantor Roseanne on it.

After she arrived at the Temple in Connecticut.

To sing Kol Nidre.

Then, the service for Yom Kippur.

The following day and evening.

Imagine the shock of being called Cantor.

When only three years of study completed.

In a five-year program.

When you view yourself as congregant.

Not spiritual leader.

But this note meant something.

The path must lead somewhere.

It’s not a forever cycle in classrooms.

The appointment, a mutual honor.

A community folding her under their wing.

She beseeching God on their behalf.

Meeting the challenge.

Being offered a title.

Before ordination.

Like going for a fitting.

To be measured.

Getting the go-ahead to complete the outfit.

A chance to test the role.

For a synagogue in need.

Take on duties of a cantor.

Then, with confidence, proceed.

 

Lynn Benjamin

September 29, 2023

 

Kol  Nidre is the prayer in the service on the eve of Yom Kippur in which congregants are released from vows, they cannot keep, which they made to God.

Yom Kippur is the Jewish Day of Atonement. It is a day of fasting and prayer.

 

 

 

 

 

Adult Children, All Poems, Career, Family, Holidays, Jewish Holidays, Mother Love

Rosh Hashanah on Zoom

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Day one of Rosh Hashanah, nearly over.

Roseanne’s first morning as cantor, behind her.

Angelic voice, the rabbi complimented her from the bimah.

A congregant hugged her.

Best service I’ve heard in years.

Her family, watching on Zoom, opined as well.

Amazing, operatic voice. Clear as a bell.

It was, indeed, amazing.

Listening to her chant Hineni.

As she marched down the aisle from the rear of the Temple.

Pleading for congregants’ prayers to be heard.

While acknowledging her unworthiness to do so before God.

Holiday liturgy on my daughter’s tongue.

In her throat.

Deep inside her lungs, her soul.

Blessed is the mother.

Alive to watch her child bloom.

When it was only yesterday

she nestled snugly in the womb.

Lynn Benjamin

September 20, 2023

 

The bimah is the raised platform in a synagogue from which services are led and the Torah (five books of the Hebrew Bible) is read.

Hineni is the personal prayer of the cantor on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur in which the cantor asks for forgiveness for members of the congregation, leading the congregation through atonement prayers, but acknowledging his/her unworthiness for the task.

 

Adult Children, All Poems, Career, Family, Holidays, Jewish Holidays, Seasons

The 15th of September Packed a Wallop

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The 15th of September packed a wallop.

Breezes, cold, brisk.

Slapping faces.

Sending morning walkers back inside for scarves, jackets.

Sun, moving lower in the sky.

Announcing fall.

To anyone who’d listen.

Hear the rattled cawing of crows.

To anyone who’d look.

Note the orange tinge on trees.

Dry leaves swirling on the ground.

Summer flowers contracting, wan.

Echinaceas going to seed.

To anyone who’d sniff.

Smell the New Year approaching.

Apples, honey before a holiday meal.

With siblings, nieces, cousin.

Roseanne chanting Ma’ariv in the background.

On-line in Connecticut.

Ushering in Rosh Hashanah on Shabbat.

A first foray as cantor.

Of a congregation.

Change of season.

New phase of life.

As the day disappears.

Becomes 5754.

Though places at table, empty

for grandparents who are gone,

from beyond, they kvell and beam,

to hear Roseanne in song.

 

Lynn Benjamin

September 18, 2023

 

On Rosh Hashanah Eve, the Jewish calendar changes years. So, on September 15, 2023, at sundown, the year changed from 5783 to 5784.

Adult Children, All Poems, Babies, Career, Family, Memories, Mother Love, Spirituality

Twelfth of September

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It’s the twelfth of September.

Due date of my first baby.

Is it womb or mind remembering back that far?

Forty-nine years ago?

The day I thought I’d become a mother.

Though she was born two weeks later.

Yom Kippur, September 26th.

Long, hot interminable days.

Passing time.

Celebrating Rosh Hashanah.

Moving to a bigger apartment.

Organizing a room for baby.

Crib, changing table, bathtub.

Adding washer, dryer to the kitchen.

Like today, we lived in Elkins Park.

A memory catching me unaware.

Smells, sounds, sensations must have been the same.

Days shortening.

Begonias, impaciens becoming mums.

A few leaves turning yellow or red.

But, for me, then, days never ended.

Each one, the same.

Something about pregnancy draws you inward.

Away from changes outside.

Until that final push.

The one that, again, forces you outward.

To new life.

Hiccups, startles, wails.

Rhythms anchoring your day.

Attunement, synchrony.

Nurturing, giving, learning.

I was vigilant those high holy days.

Waiting, taking stock of myself.

Yom Kippur, laboring.

Not thinking what it might mean to give birth on a holy day.

How it might catapult this baby into the pastorate.

Many years later.

After bearing her own children.

Finding comfort in ancient hymns.

Community.

Regularity.

Laws, ethics.

Who would have guessed that being born

on a day of fast, confession,

would lead the child, years from now,

to a sacred, old profession?

I relaxed while laboring

with cleansing breaths and pants.

Now my daughter uplifts spirits

with the prayers she chants.

 

Lynn Benjamin

September 13, 2023