Donna Sullivan

Thanksgiving

November 22, 2018 by Melodye Shore

More than these greens tossed with toasted pecans,
I want to serve you the hymn I sang into the wooden bowl
as I blended the oil and white vinegar.

More than honey ice cream
beside the warm pie, I want to serve you the bliss in the apples’ flesh,
how it gathered the sun and carried its luminousness to this table.
More than the popovers, the risen ecstasy of wheat, milk and eggs,
I want to serve you the warmth that urged the tranformation to bread.

Blessings, I want to serve you full choruses of hallelujah, oh so wholly
here in this moment. Oh so holy here in this world.

This beautiful poem, Thanksgiving, was penned by Rosemerry Wahtola Trimmer. All photographs courtesy of my dear friend, Donna Sullivan.

I’m forever grateful for this opportunity to sing at Sunday Brunch with the Harlem Gospel Choir. I’m not a culinary expert by any means, nor am I a professional singer. But I do rattle around in the kitchen some, and I’m all about making a joyful noise!

I suspect that’s why this poem really resonates with me. It speaks to the savory-sweet truths about Thanksgiving. A tasty meal doesn’t require perfect recipes and the just-right serving dishes. It’s all about serving others–meeting your beloveds’ needs with compassion and grace. Abundance is sometimes equated with heaping plates and that uncomfortable, overstuffed feeling that follows. But in fact, a bountiful life is more accurately measured by our generosity of spirit. And here’s the essence of the poem, as I read it: When we prepare food with a song in our hearts, it nourishes everyone who gathers around our tables. And when we are “wholly here in the moment,” we give and receive a gracious plenty.

Super Blue Blood Moon

February 1, 2018 by Melodye Shore

The life blood of photography is a kind of holy curiosity, where life is viewed with reverence and awe and some measure of understanding as to the transience of it all.” —Donna Hopkins

Did you hear? The “supermoon,” “blue moon,” and “blood moon” put on quite a show this morning. Lucky me, I had an unobstructed view of this celestial event. It was an awe-inspiring performance—a magic trick, unparalleled. The supermoon hung low in the sky, a luminous pearl against a backdrop of black velvet. As it passed through the earth’s shadow, it turned blood red and then vanished.

When I first spotted the oversized moon, it was peeking through my picture window—a bright orange orb, nestled into a cradle of shimmery white. I ran outside, cell phone tilted upward, and did a celestial show-and-tell with my friend Donna.

We talked a while longer, but the moon had already cast its spell. As soon as we said goodbye, I tossed a jacket over my pajamas and grabbed my car keys.

By 5:35 a.m., I was enjoying an ocean-front view of the eclipse. There were other people there, of course: pros, lugging fancy equipment into position; and casual observers, snapping selfies with their smart phones.

Most, however, peered up at the moon through their windshields, windows cranked so they could listen to the ocean’s lullaby.

I stood alone on a sand berm, wrapped in a cloak of silent reverence. Salty mist stuck to my lashes; bracing winds tousled my hair. No need to be shy about having tossed a hoodie over pink ostrich pajamas—everyone was sleepy-eyed, anyway.

The moon shone down on all of us…

…eventually fading into a rusty glow.

It winked at the rising sun, and then slipped into the ocean.

You’ll find better pictures elsewhere, of course. I don’t own a high-powered, fancy-pants camera, and I’ve got lots to learn about manual settings. But you know what? I sincerely doubt that any camera (pen or sketch pad) in the world could’ve captured the deep-seated joy—and the wide-eyed sense of wonderment –that came of saying yes! to the magnetic pull of the moon this morning.

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