Thinking in terms Of my life story At this moment Feels a bit Daunting Contemplating What I know And wish I knew About my own Grandmothers Naturally shifts My perspective So much more They could have Would have said Given more time Asked more questions- Motivation to Open the book Begin writing One word One sentence One memory One song At a time
The question We always ask Our children What do you Want to be When you Grow up? It’s funny I seem to be Answering That question For myself These days- When I grow up I want to hold Your tiny hand Watch your breath Rise and fall In the smallest Of motions Hear your cries Comfort your fears Feel the complete joy Only found In the heaviness Of rocking Back and forth In our favorite chair Reading our favorite stories Singing our favorite songs My heart younger As yours grows stronger
Morning whispers From a cool Breeze as it Wakens the trees Mid-day melodies Sweetly strung Across the sky Celebrating blue Evening laughter From familiar voices Around the table Listening…no need to speak Middle-of-the-night Soft breaths From the rise And fall of A newborn’s chest Resting against mine As we gently rock- I can still hear them As I crawl back into bed Place my hand on your chest And wait for sleep to come
Sweet little girl About to cry Every morning Quietly, not a fit Simply hesitant I walk her To the door You are going To have The best day I love you Slight head nod She goes inside Afternoon, time for music Quietly enters the room And then I hear Her voice Not recognizing At first… Mrs. Morris, I love you Sweet little girl
On our way To a coffee shop Little girl Laughing Running Down the sidewalk Her little dog Running alongside Dad and brother Close behind Their destination An interactive Statue standing On the corner An airplane With a propellor Inviting them to spin Pick us up, Daddy! Each had their turn That was so much fun! They kept walking I noticed dad’s shirt It was torn and tattered They were smiling I wonder what will be Their next destination
Driving past A group of people Who have no home- Only make-shift Shelters made From cardboard And blankets All their belongings Carefully placed In large trash bags Or worn out Duffle bags A few smiled Most looked tired A kind of tired I do not know One crawled Helplessly Along the sidewalk- What are their stories? I can only guess And guessing Is not sufficient- Who will share their narratives?
I wrote these two poems during our summer trip to Colorado. Our overnight stop was in a typical city, like many other cities in this country. Good restaurants and coffee shops, local charm. Also, like in other cities, many individuals are homeless.
I do not pretend to understand or have answers, but I could not look away. Nor keep from sharing.
Moving is a multi-faceted project that takes on a life of its own. Packing all your belongings in boxes, bags, and tubs. Strategically placing said containers, along with furniture, in the moving truck. Like playing a championship game of Tetris, according to my husband.
And then, after driving to your new abode, you work backward. Unloading all your belongings from the moving truck. Not wasting any time making the new place feel like home.
For most, if not all, of our many moves, our parents were there to help. College dorms, apartments, houses. Each new stage of life took us blocks or states away and back. Moving was a family affair.
Today was another moving day. But this time, I was the proud parent, listening and helping. Though my helping was more moral support than heavy lifting. Cold drink runs and a dryer plug from Home Depot.
Our son and daughter-in-law were moving to a new apartment. A different town, more space, a new home. As they loaded the truck, I overheard several neighbors.
You guys were great neighbors! We will miss you guys around here. I was planning to ask your husband if he could mount my tv on the wall.
After the truck was unloaded, we had a nice lunch out. And once the washer and dryer were hooked up, my husband announced it was time to go. I sighed. Not before documenting. A snapshot of the three sweaty guys-dad and his two boys. And a picture of the happy couple standing by the fireplace.
Another moving day in the books. A hot, sweaty, full of laughter, family moving day. Not the last in our family, I’m sure. Just need a little rest before the next one. 😉
Walking through an airport can be a tad overwhelming. Where is my next gate? The restroom? Starbucks? Ok, so maybe not Starbucks. But the level of activity and the sheer number of other people…can feel a bit frantic.
Today while walking through Chicago O’Hare airport, I heard the sweetest phrase.
Hold hands and follow me.
When I glanced across the walkway, I saw a mom standing with a baby on her hip and two other littles standing close by. The words I heard were her message to the kids. They listened, grabbed each other’s hands, and followed her.
What a precious picture. Yes, mom looked travel-worn. Her responsibilities were many. I don’t know where they were headed, but they were going together.
This scene caused me to question. Is that how God talks to me? Does he say, Look! Here are your family and friends. Just grab a hand and follow me.
Or perhaps, if unable to reach out, pick me up. Carries me like the baby on the mom’s hip. Leaving the hand-holding and following part to family and friends. Either way, I am never alone.
Side note: I really was traveling today. 😊 Spending a few days in beautiful Vermont. More to come…
The deluge Was instantaneous No drops of rain Marking dry pavement In individual circles With their warning- Here we come! No, a flood Soaking me From head to toe Leaving me Floating On my back Waiting for the sun To dry my skin As it teaches my heart- Emotions may arrive in a flood But the memories They are drawn from Remain in the warmth Of the sunshine On my face
Why is it always during morning drives? It happened just yesterday. Suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. One single thought-Boy, I’m missing the kids.
The missing quickly changed to remembering. Remembering followed by looking forward to upcoming visits.
I know I’ve said it before. But that’s how it goes when you’re the parent of adult children. Today, I’m thankful for texts and phone calls. ❤️
So simple So completely Disarming We celebrate Its appearance On babies faces Then proceed Doing everything Possible to Encourage Its return- A sweet smile Lighting up Faces Lighting up Rooms Lighting up Hearts When noticed By a friend Mine somehow Grows wider Reaches deeper Prompting Inward Reflection Inspiring Outward Awareness- Are the faces Drifting by Genuinely Beaming? Or are they Searching For a reason To smile?