The Journey
Welcome to The Journey, a space where Mary McKSchmidt shares her transition from business executive to advocate, photographer, poet, and storyteller. Here, she invites you to walk alongside her as she explores life in the Great Lakes region, its beauty and fragility, and the bonds that connect us all.
her death
1. enticing blue skies last lingering leaf conflictedthose final hours 2. heart sliced by painonslaught of torrential rainswimming to the sky our familiar bench bare limbs of locust drenchedground littered with leaves orphan in shadowshalting hoot of the...
A Prayer
In the darkness created by those intentionally unravelling the threads of our Constitution, let me see the light that keeps me hopefulgoodness will prevail,that gives me courage to speak and live my own truth,that allows me to see the beauty beyond the...
Of Few Words
Like how he hadn’t wanted to make the four-hour drive to the once-familiar lake nestled in the mountains of northern Arizona— how repeated blows to his spine stillreverberated down his back decades after that last championship football game; like how he struggled...
I am Mary
born to a published writer who loved life, a communications pioneerwho enhanced relations between public school leaders and voters so that every school millage passed; and to a man, born in poverty, whoearned an MBA in accounting and a PhD in economics to fightfor...
Why He Cooks
He says, “I don’t like to cook,but I do like to eat” and I suspect he remembersthat first Thanksgiving when I plunged the chef knife,a wedding gift, into the side of the unbaked turkey searching for the hole in which to stuff the...
A Gift
I cannot think of a better gift this season than to provide you a link to the 2025 Poetry of Landscapes Holiday Reading facilitated by Jack Ridl and made possible through the technical genius of Julie Ridl.These gifted poets with whom I meet every month make me...
forgiveness
he decided to build a moataround his life, ignoringmy pleas for forgiveness for whatever I did to offend, refusing even a drawbridgefor conversation, choosingto be estrangedforeverand for years I lay awake,my pillow a whipping postfor my imperfect self,knowing I...
Seven Months, Fifteen Days
Mother told me goodbye the morning of December 5th, 2024. She died seven months and 15 days later. I suspect her deep faith, love of family and delight in the everyday experiences of life kept her with us longer than either of us would have predicted that chilly...
Fog of Grief
Not me I told myself defiantly and then mailed the check for property taxes only to have it returned for lack of a signature and then typed laminated and taped the wrong WIFI password on the frig the night of her party confusing everyone and then sailed past our...
Missing You
I still detect a whiff of you in the gold and brown recliner, the tweed chair to be hauled to a thrift shop tomorrow where a stranger’s scent will replace yours. It took twenty-four years of allergy shots to restore my sense of smell and today,...
Setting the Record Straight
What you may not know about Billy Martinis that in January of 1972, the same year he took the Detroit Tigers to their first American League East Championship,he met a young woman sports editoron a Tiger preseason press tour. It was the first time a...
Because
At a time when grief lurks in the background like a cat waiting to pounce in moments of vulnerability; when the headlines tempt me to roll into a cocoon of isolation, a poet creates a cinepoem that slices through the darkness and reaches a pinhole of light...