Little hands carry
the decorative box
that once held carefully
wrapped treasures
Now, only tissue paper,
red and green,
remains inside
Little hands carry the pretty
box, freely offering to
each in their turn
“Here, I got this present for you.”
The same box,
once holding, now held-
The priceless treasure of
learning to give
If I were to write a thankful list,
It would be a list of names.
Names of those who,
through the years,
planted seeds in my heart.
My only fear is forgetting.
Though forgetting your name
would certainly not negate
any seed you planted. You are
so much more than a name.
You are shared smiles and tears.
Strong hands, reaching, so arms
can fiercely wrap around hurts
in a comforting embrace.
You are kind words,
encouraging high-fives,
and celebrating victories.
You are faces, memories
of hope, present on
the darkest of days.
You are one soul seeing
the beauty and purpose in another.
And I am thankful to have
sometimes been that other.
I am thankful for all the yous
written on the list carried in my heart.
I don’t want to leave.
But leaving is
part of living.
A visit to my
childhood home,
means leaving my
current home.
Not a permanent
leaving, only a
temporary absence.
But that visit,
sweet as it may be,
adds to my collection
of memories.
An album already full
to overflowing.
That’s the beauty
and the heartache.
A lingering hug
that says Stay awhile–
No way of knowing when
we will have another.
Graceful arms propel her forward
Legs gently float behind
Feet periodically kick-
Not forceful, only enough
to maintain momentum
Where is she heading?
Storm clouds line the horizon
She’s passed through them before
Impossible to avoid-
And time, impossible to control
The bright sun warms her face
Grace holds her heart
Mercy lifts her soul
Momentum is maintained
Perhaps the question is not
where she is headed
but instead, how she
sustains a spirit of peace
Yesterday, we visited Johnstone’s Kiddie Park in Bartlesville, OK. We took our oldest son there when he was little, and now it was his daughter’s turn.
Some things had changed, mostly cosmetically. However, the idea of a fun and inexpensive family outing (tickets are 75 cents) remains.
Watching our granddaughter brought back sweet memories of her dad at that age. And now we have more to add to that precious file of good days.
Not a cloud in the sky.
Yet, a heavy haze
held the morning.
Unhelpful. Especially when
my brain also feels foggy.
If only I were still sleeping.
However, sleep is not
a likely solution.
There is rarely a
single solution anyway.
Some days are just like this.
My heart is grateful for
family and friends.
My head is unsure how
to process the melancholy.
Seems counterintuitive
to wish for a cloud.
But if a fluffy cloud means
A lifted haze
A bluer sky
A spark of imagination
Then I will keep searching.
Looking out every time
I pass a window.
Welcome! Have you visited the park before?
Oh, yes. I grew up around here.
Well, welcome back!
Kind words, friendly smiles.
Surrounded by nature.
Glass walls for viewing.
Birds flitting from tree to tree.
Squirrels scurrying across rocks.
Giant pines swaying, drawing eyes
toward slabs of slate lining the mountain.
I remember the views from above.
The world below seemed smaller
and bigger at the same time.
Perhaps I need to experience
that view again. An observer,
with added wisdom?
But for today, I’ll simply
enjoy the memory of
growing up around here.
Pinnacle Mountain State Park 💚
I decided to revisit a poem I wrote several years ago. Made a few changes, but the story remains the same. It just felt like the right one to share this year.
Grandpa worked hard
his entire life.
He married young.
He and Grandma
raised nine kids
in the country.
Strong and stubborn,
but loved to laugh.
Mellowed over time.
Without a doubt,
dealt with struggles
I never knew.
I can see him
wearing overalls
after a long day.
Promising to dance
at my wedding, if
I’d fetch what he needed.
Liked to argue.
Loved his family.
He was always ready to
welcome them home.
Looking forward to a
Family gathering that very day.
But in the morning,
while everyone slept,
He woke early.
Put the coffee on.
Then sat down in
his favorite chair.
At the young age of sixty-seven,
Grandpa died.
It was the Fourth of July.
We’ve spent the last several days caring for our two-year-old granddaughter. I was reminded of the times our parents did the same for us, and they were taking care of three!
The following describes most evenings as it got close to bedtime.
Wallow: to roll oneself about in a lazy, relaxed, or ungainly manner. Would you please use it in a sentence? The tired toddler wallowed back and forth, all over the couch, between her Gigi and Papa.
Seriously though, she is funny, imaginative, sassy, and sweet. And we are grateful. Oh, and tired. We are a little tired. 😉🩷
If only I could remember
What it was like
Being two-
Then perhaps I would know
What you’re thinking
When you look at me
With those curious blue eyes-
Oh, sometimes it’s obvious-
Sit here, Gigi!
Come on, Gigi!
No, Gigi!
It’s those other times
In your own little world
Playing, pretending
Quietly talking-
I wish I knew-
I’m sure the day will come
When you tell me exactly
What you’re thinking-
And I will listen because
I still have a lot to learn
Piano Girl 