z is for zebra

i have this zebra picture—my son colin made it, he was around 8 i think when he drew it----it is a zebra standing in dirt---the caption that my son gave it reads “this is how the zebra got it's stripes “---it was shown along with a little animal my other son, dustin made in the school art fair----i still have both of them---

the crazy thing is, do you know, i have been saying for over twenty years--”you know we ought to frame this and hang it on the wall”---

now we have several of his photography pictures framed—oh yeah, he gave them to me that way—but we have them displayed---as a matter of fact since there are more than one—my daughter jokingly calls it “the wall of colin”--

i am very conscious of not showing any favoritism—and i do not have any----but i don't know why i have not framed that adorable zebra picture----

now i know we can't show all of our kids masterpieces---but i do have a few from each one----

i have even talked my two daughter-in-laws into painting pictures, that we proudly hang ----

life is too short, so i am going to hang that zebra picture and maybe i will have to look for a couple more of dustin's things, just to even it up---

yay zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz----- the end-- it's been real!

i thought i would end this a-z challenge by sharing a few pictures of my world—i hope to stay in touch with you all—and a heartfelt thank you to all of you for your wonderful posts i have come to look forward to and the wonderfully encouraging comments you have so graciously given—until next time—love and blessings and happy writing <3

                 

                                                                      we did<3
                           

y is for yesterday

yesterday is tomorrow's past and each one delicately strewn, with faded hues of misty dreams--

with softly spoken confidences---

but where do they go and what do they know---of our secrets and our pain-

what would you give for a chance to go back to the yesterday when you understood

but you will again ,if you loosen your grip, let it wash you anew like the dawn

yesterday can be as close as you chose, we are all waiting for it at some point-

yesterday will be there as sure as the hope of today,

yesterday holds you and teaches you things that no present or future can do-

x is for x-calibur

i am taking some liberties today with my hard letter x

when my two oldest boys were born, i tried to raise them like they could be anything—but some things i guess weren't included in that anything—i did not want them to have any sort of play guns, army men or other weapons, no knives, or swords, nothing that could be used to hurt each other or teach them to fight---

every stick they found became a gun and every used paper towel tube was a sword---

one Christmas, i insisted that santa bring them babies and strollers---they did love these and played with them lots---racing them and playing dodge the baby carriage—but it was a start

they had a cardboard sink and stove set, where they loved to pretend they were serving gangsters big mugs of beer and whiskey—still I kept trying--

when they were about 5 and 6 we moved to the house I am still in now---it was a boys paradise---almost all of the backyard is woods---they played for hours in the forest, built forts and caught many creatures in the creek at the back of our property-----perfect place for my no weapons allowed boys, to find all of the makings for an arsenal of wooden swords, knives and just the plain old banging your brother over the head with,sticks---one of these awesome inventions was a wooden, sword made from someone's yard marker---this famous sword was given the name of x-cailbur---it was my son dustin's constant companion, up until he was in his teens—i think he really thought it had magic powers and maybe it did--

most of their toys are long gone, certainly the baby dolls and carriages---but once in a while i will come across one of their treasures——sometimes i will pass them on to them and sometimes i just hold onto them a little while longer--

the washing machine incident

this is just a little slice of life, from my childhood—no heavy posts, today—just getting through the alphabet and thought you might enjoy this little story

one time while my mother had to go to the store, she left my older sister and myself at home—i was to be picked up by a friend's mother and taken to volunteer at a local hospital, where my friend and i were “candy stripers”---i think we were around 12 or so---

well my sister, who was very wise, was washing a load of clothes for my mother---so she didn't have as much to do when she got home with all of the groceries---my sister was like, that—always pitching in, always cleaning something—i was not-----

well, i am on the front steps, in my darling candy striper uniform, waiting for my friend and her mom, when i hear my dear sister screaming for me---i knew this wasn't going to be good---

“lynn, get yourself in here, right now, the washing machine is having a problem”----i sauntered up the stairs and into the house-----it wasn't a problem, it was a flood----water was coming out of the utility room, into the kitchen and almost, almost, oh no---not my mother's precious wood floors, she had just waxed------my sister was thrashing and beating the water with towels--

i being fully clothed for my volunteering, was not about to get involved in this fiasco-----

i start to whine and proclaim, that i didn't know what to do----that was the wrong thing to say, evidently----she threatened me unmercifully---but that did not persuade me to help---

did she really think i was going to ruin my cute out-fit----she knew better---but i underestimated her rage-

she threw down her mop and towels, picked me up by my white shirt collar and dragged me through the waters, now up to our ankles and tossed me out onto the back steps---

when my friend's mom came to pick me up a few seconds later—i had to wring my hair out and right-en myself enough to go to her car window and let her know, i would certainly not be going to volunteer today----funny i don't think she asked what was wrong—but she probably saw my foot tapping mean old sister up on the porch, waiting for me------don't worry, i get her back--

v is for visiting

like i stated in my cornbread blog—people don't visit like they used to--

i have to admit—this has not bothered me too much in my life—i think i inherited my mother's kind of anti-social gene------

but sometimes the idea of people visiting sounds very appealing to me--

it brings back my dad's stories about his family, my grandparents and his younger brother—visiting his mom's sister, every night---i mean literally every night---they would go over to aunt minnie's house straight after supper and just visit--

he recalls how his aunt would always have a cake made fresh---he and my uncle elwin, would look forward all day to that large piece of cake aunt minnie would give them and the big glass of icy milk---he said her chocolate cake was his favorite----

at that time they didn't have tv or a phone---so this was the only way they got any news or gossip of the day---who might have stopped by earlier----who they might have run into at the corner store—or what pastor martin might have been working on at the church as they walked by that day---

even when i was a child, when we went to my grandparents for sunday dinners---there would most always be a couple of visitors, while we were there--

yes it's a nice thought—and who knows maybe one day i will be just like my grandmother—when someone unexpected comes to my door, i won't panic---i will throw open the door—offer them something to eat and a cup of coffee and to please stay and visit a spell--

u is for understood

one of the most desired things one human needs from another, is to be understood---i know this is something i have always needed and missed so much of my life-

as i look back over my life, i think there may have been people that did really know, me—people i didn't recognize at the time----

i have had many occasions, where, i could simply not let something go, if i didn't feel that i had been heard or misunderstood----thankfully as i have matured or gotten old, i have learned to hide my concern about being understood—at least i am better at it--

why must we be understood—of course there is language, that should take care of it, when we are out of our infancy---but it does not---

language just may be more of a hindrance to true understanding—as we choose or do not choose our words carefully----then replaying what was communicated---but forgetting to notice the eyes, the arms folded, the shifting---the body language--

if someone understands us, we will be loved, but this is not the case at all----to know us does not always equate with loving us-----so we hide ourselves—pretending to be what the nearest companion may think they want---and then we wonder why we aren't understood--

the third floor

for most of my adult life, i have had this reoccurring dream about a third floor---

it starts, with a massive old house -most of the time i live there but someone else really owns, it—or the paper work never was filed—something in the dream, always leaves me with the impression, that i could lose the house, if the true owner decided he wanted it back---

not every time i dream this dream, do i go to the third floor---but i always know it is there---when i think of the third floor, i am terrified inside, but am not afraid to live in the house-

i remember once in the dream i entered the third floor—it had huge halls, with dark patterned carpet, mostly shades of maroon---i walk along the floor, which seems to be a little off center—there i notice two large connecting doors, kinda like in an old theater---this one time the doors flung open and i could see what was in there---

i don't know what i saw, but i know it frightened me and thrilled me at the same time----it was like at that moment, i had discovered the mysteries of life---

shortly after my mother died, a few months ago, i was relating this dream to several of my family members---as i started to tell this dream about the third floor, my aunt stops me and says “oh no not the dreaded third floor dream”--seems she has had this dream all of her life also---my daughter looked it up and some people say that the third floor dream, means you may have premonitions or some sort of physic abilities--

the last time i had the dream---i was driving past the house with a friend and she points the house out to me---i tell her, i would rather not go in today---

s is for summer dresses

(this is a re-post-- i had written something for s today but decided i wanted to put this up instead)


hadn't planned to blog and or write today--but as i have told you, it hits me and haunts me sometimes until all i can do is get it over with--not knowing mostly where the thoughts or ideas will lead exactly but today it is a feeling---one i am not confident i will be able to convey, but i shall try--


a quick trip to the mall today with robyn, had us exiting through one of the women's clothes departments---and there is where i stopped to touch it to let it take me back to my mother's summer dresses---

it seems some of the styles she wore when i was a child are returning or maybe it was just the delicate mix of the floral colors, that brought her image rushing back to me in a flood of emotions--


i could see her on a Sunday afternoon, sitting on the front porch of my grandmother's house, my dad's mom--"queenie"---


as a child we would go there for dinners---straight from church--so mama would never change her clothes----in the summer or even early spring, it would be hotter to her than a sauna---she would have her stockings on and girdle----she was quite miserable and the fans in the piano bench were always taken out and used profusely by her and my dear aunt alice---



lily my great aunt, would always be in a sweater, as she had a stroke years before, she was often cold even in the hottest of days-


my mom always thought she was enormous and we all tried to tell her, that she could take her hose off and she didn't need to cover up her arms---but she never did and always did-


today i could smell her chantilly and hear her funny laugh---but most of all i could remember her dresses and the searches for them-


the many shopping trips with her, the trips downtown, the way the car felt when we returned to it on a hot summer day----the way we fought over my clothes, the way she told me then, what i tell my daughter---and now how i see how much joy she must have felt, when we found that perfect dress--the one that she and i both loved and the rarity of that occasion-


but most of all i see her-i see her as she was, so full of life---her legs making that scratching noise as she crossed them and made that look at me--the look that she thought no one else saw--the look that meant, i am dying out here on this porch, i can't wait to come home and take these clothes off and get in my "house-coat"----which she wore to extreme---

yes the summer dresses only worn on Sundays, are what brought me back today and made me sad and regretful and nostalgic---

when i see her next how i hope it will be in the summer on a Sunday

reality-- r

the strains of his reality beckoned to her—she wanted to know it, but she would never--

he held her emotions at bay, saying she could not be trusted with his reasoning or his visions--

she knew this part was truth---his reality was fleeting, vanishing---unruly---messy-

the whispers of solitude, haunted her mind and she cringed as she supposed his hell

but she dare not venture too far in step---or hold his gaze one second longer--

when had this happened, what irony this had become---her reality, now out of the shadows--

his untouched by the sanity of filters--

she kissed his cold forehead as she abandoned him to save her reality-

q is for queenie's bequest

(today's post is the first time i have used something i've written before-- i couldn't pass up the opportunity to share the beginning of my story "queenie's bequest"-- sorry it's longer than the a-z blog should be-- i know this needs re-writes-- okay no more excuses-- this is only the beginning pages-- if you enjoy this please look on the side of my blog for the rest of "queenie's bequest"-- it starts in jan. 2011 and goes through february 2011)

                         Queenie's Bequest

1



Charlotte dabbed at her eyes and nose, clutching the tissue with a vice grip. "I remember most of all her blackberry cobbler, she loved to cook, she was a sweet lady and she loved having everyone down to eat
William sternly, his emotions showing despite his steely stare, shared a crazy story of Grandmal and Aunt Lily scared to death one night by scratching at the back screen door, only to discover that it had been one of Uncle Alvin's pigs. We all laughed.
So much had changed and so much had remained. So much had been left unsaid, by myself, and held in by Ellen, who shook her head when asked if anyone else had anything to say.
This family certainly had it's quirks, there was no denying that, but don't they all, that's what people say.
None of us had given much to Grandmal in the last few years of her life, but on that day no one allowed that truth in. We had done our best. I knew we hadn't.
Charlotte left first, insisting she was exhausted, and kissing one and all on the cheek she was gone, praying for each one as she left. When had she changed so much?

Charlotte was the oldest of four children. In her youth she had won many beauty contests. She was the belle of the ball type. She grew up in the fifties and sixties, marrying young as they all did then. Charlotte had become extremely religious, filled with the Spirit, as she saw it. In the last couple of decades our family had seen so many changes in her. About fifteen years back she had left home to travel all alone. Leaving four children with their dad Rudy. Rudy never gave up on her, didn't really ask where she had been. I always felt it was a marriage that started with a little girl not ready and a loving man adoring her, but slowly enduring each other.


William made sure mama and daddy were ready to leave. Even though he was the youngest, he being the only son had been given the duty of leader.



2


When everyone had gone, my family, my husband John, my children Brian, Kelsey, Amy and Doug left the church graveyard and headed to my grandmother's home.
My grandmother hadn't lived in her house for more than fifteen years. She had been living with her son my uncle, not two lots away from her house.
There were so many feeling and memories about that house. When I was a child, probably until my first two kids were little we had gone there on Sundays, at least once every three weeks. When I was much younger we went every two weeks, but eventually my mother put a stop to that. I guess as I look at it from her point of view it was a bit much, especially for the daughter-in-law. But as a kid I loved going . It was like a different world.

My father had moved to the big city, Richmond when my oldest sister Charlotte was three. My mother and father had lived with my grandparents for a time. Mother remembers it very bitterly- I can imagine.


Grandmal cooked like crazy. There was always so much food. She always had fried chicken, usually roast beef, always potato salad, green beans with whole white potatoes cooked in, turnip greens, sweet potatoes, sliced and baked sweet and dry. I have never been able to make those sweet potatoes the same way. There would almost always be homemade vegetable soup, flat cornbread (not the sweet kind) macaroni and cheese sometimes. She usually had a relish tray with her homemade pickles and candied pears. For dessert there was always at least four or five things to choose from. Some of my favorites were her four layer banana cake, her chocolate cake, and all of us kids loved her chocolate and butterscotch pudding pies, much to my mother's disgust, as she would always point out to us at home , that my grandmother's pie was made with jello pie filling. It was great! Oh and yeah coffee! At my grandmother's we could have coffee with lots of milk. It was the only time we were allowed to have coffee except when my mother would make salt herring and corn meal cakes for breakfast occasionally.


As we stepped on the porch to my grandmother's house my oldest son quickly went to the porch swing. I cautioned him about the condition of it, but he and his brother swung anyway. So many times my sisters and my brother had fought over that swing and my kids too.
I couldn't believe how bad the porch floor looked, but I guess it was really amazing the house was still standing. That old house had been built in the late 1800's .
We opened the front door. My sister Ellen and I had admired that door for as long as I can remember. The door didn't go with the house. It looked as though it belonged on a more elegant old house. The door painted white, had the top half frosted glass with a beautiful scene of deer in the woods. I would have loved to have it and was already thinking of asking for it.

John opened the door, taking us into her foyer. It was filled with old dark wicker with massive heavy dark green patterned cushions. Ellen and I had always admired them too. To the right was the living room. A homey room with an oil space heater. In the winter the younger people couldn't hardly stand to be in there, the heat would knock you out, so my mother and aunt usually sat in the foyer. On one wall was an ugly sofa with a large sofa picture above it. I never cared for the picture and today it hangs over my son's sofa (I had always thought he and his wife had good taste). My son must have felt sentimental about it. It's kind of a woodsy picture with an old shack in it. The coffee table sat in front of the sofa and was always loaded with sit around knick-knack stuff. There was this tea cup and saucer, really ornate. As a child I hated it, but a few years ago as I had started collecting tea cups, my mother took it an gave it to me. I have it on my piano. My grandmother had an old player piano in that room too. We all loved playing that thing. Boy your legs would get a work out! There were so many player rolls. There was this one song I especially liked to play called "Changes". It's funny I had never heard that song anywhere until a couple of years ago we rented a movie, can't remember the name, but it was a recent one set in modern day time. “Changes” was the opening song!

To the left of the foyer was the dining room. I have the china cabinet in my kitchen now. There was so much activity around that table. Always the news from my grandmother and aunt Lily ( she was my grandmother's sister who lived with her) about someone passing away or in the hospital.

As we walked in the kitchen, it was just like I had remembered. You see I hadn't been in the house since my grandmother had gone down to live with my uncle and aunt years before, but it was as I remembered, tiny leaning, the old stove the wood burning kind, the kind you can get now in reproduction. They start around $3000. I have that stove too.

We walked around a little more and as it was starting to get dark, we headed home. No one talked much. My grandmother had been one hundred and four years old. Her death was very expected. But it was more we were leaving. Something you can't recapture, a time a feeling an emotion a part of your life, a place to go, a family. My aunt Carrie whom my grandmother had lived with was still there but my grandmother's youngest son Carrie's husband had died three years before. In a lot of ways the passing of my uncle had changed that part of our family. It had started the death of going to the country.

p is for pleasantries

how are you---i'm fine---how are you---oh i'm fantastic too---

how are you feeling---great, never better-

nice weather we are having---oh yes, it's going to be in the 80's today--

everyday pleasantries, we all take part in—it's expected of us---it's civilized---why it would be down right rude to be honest, wouldn't it-

then what is all the fuss about honesty, really------do we want honesty----only in certain situations and only in very small doses----don't annoy me with your honesty---or heaven forbid, you bore me or hold me up too long with your stupid honesty---

yes it would be a bit much if we told someone who inquired of our health this day—that we had been in the bathroom several times or that our nose had been running like a spigot---those delicious details are certainly best saved for our immediate loved ones---aren't they blessed--

nice weather we are having, should not be followed by---wow you are a true intellect, how long did it take you to think of that greeting----no we would never-------no matter what the weather was---

so we all engage in the little pleasantries of life—kinda like a smile—you do it, but most times you don't even notice if the person smiles back, cause you've moved on-----and pleasantries sometimes do beat out, the loneliness of honesty, don't they---have a nice day

o is for opey

everyone remembers or has seen in reruns, the loveable little boy opey—the one that director ron howard so sweetly portrayed---his idyllic home of mayberry usa was so intriguing to me--

opey didn't get into too much trouble—but if he did—everyone was likely to hear about it—one of the unfortunate things of living in the “small town”-

i loved how he called his dad paw and how much he seemed to respect his father and his charming aunt bea

his life was about fishing and learning life's lessons, without too much heartache—he was so lucky, wasn't he

now it was sad that he didn't have his mom—i really don't recall what had happened to his mom, or if they ever said-

he was such a polite young lad—the kind of kid you just knew would not grow up and leave mayberry-

he couldn't—it just wouldn't have been right--

as a matter of fact, i believe opey is still there-----maybe even the sheriff, just like his dad---

otis probably died a while back and andy---barney came back and retired, finally ready to ask thelma to marry him—but she was already hitched to goober---

yes that opey was quite a happy little fellow---i can still hear him whistling as he walks down that road with paw--

n is for numbers

a while back i was discussing numbers and how people see their numbers in colors something called...well this is what wikipedia says--

Synesthesia (also spelled synæsthesia or synaesthesia, plural synesthesiae or synaesthesiae), from the ancient Greek σύν (syn), "together," and αἴσθησις (aisthēsis), "sensation," is a neurological condition in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway.[1][2][3][4] People who report such experiences are known as synesthetes. Recently, difficulties have been recognized in finding an adequate definition of synesthesia[5][6], as many different phenomena have been covered by this term and in many cases the term synesthesia ("union of senses") seems to be a misnomer. A more accurate term for the phenomenon may be ideasthesia. \

back to me---i told this person how i see my numbers, and they like everyone that i have divulged this to—were amused and a little disturbed---

for all of my life, i have seen my numbers in certain directions---not realizing for years, how this is not the case, with anyone so far, i have shared this with-----i will attempt to show you what is in my head, regarding numbers, and how they should line up---

                                    29

                                    28

                                    27

                                    26

                                    25

                                    24

                                    23

                                    22

                                    21 31

12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 30

11

10

9

8

7

6

5

4

3

2

1

0

this is kinda annoying to type, so i will not go on---but you get the idea, 40-90 continue in this pattern---until i get to 100 and then it goes horizontal –my numbers really don't have an impression in my brain much past 112---my numbers do not come in colors---what about your numbers?

m is for mundane

there are so many things in our day to day life that are routine, have to be done each day—kinda leaves you feeling that ground-hog thing—kinda mundane things---what are some of the things you could do to lessen the mundane effect---i have found a few ways through the years, so i thought i would share mine--

this may sound a little odd but i hate to shower—now i do it every day—as a matter of fact i could not leave the house without doing it----but it is something I actually dread---so

i used to take that time in the shower to pray extra, but recently i have used the time to sing, mostly in my head, sometimes out loud---praise songs and hymns---this gives God the glory and keeps me from worry praying--

laundry---while taking them out of the dryer, i take the chance to smell most items as they have the most wonderful fragrance, fresh from the heat----while folding them---i take note of whose, shirt it is, sorta keeping a running idea, of who has the most laundry pieces--

okay and this is really out there so stay with me---when washing the dishes---i know, does anyone still do that—there is a mechanical reason, i do this chore—but actually i do not mind doing the dishes---when i was a kid, my two older sisters got to wash and i always had to dry, which i despised---sorry, back to my point---when i wash my utensils, i wash them one by one, waiting until i have four in my hand and then rinse- i imagine that the spoons are women, the forks, boys and the knives men—so none of these families have girls, in them---which gives me an idea—the serving spoons can be the moms and...well you get the premise--

if you are still reading, i will offer one more example---and i truly don't think this one makes me look like a nut----while dusting, i reminisce about where i purchased each item or who gave me such and such----

i hope this has helped someone, who struggles with the mundane things we all must tackle each day---or at least made you feel saner than someone else--

l is for little

i was thinking about my grand-kids today and remembering how i felt when i was their ages and of some of the special things i recall of those days---

it 's funny the things that stick out in a child's mind---like the day my aunt came to stay with us for a couple of days----i was her favorite, for some reason----she would always tell me when we were leaving my grandmother's house, her sister---”try to be good love”--

this one visit we went to the movies, i don't even know what we saw, but i remember vividly, stopping in the standard drug store after and dancing around in my black patent leather shoes, making them tap---i can still see the green smocked dress i wore---it was one of the best days ---

another memory is of my mother's mother, we went picking peaches---it was a hot day and i didn't really like peaches all that much, but again it was a grand day---

there are other days that i think about as very memorable but not particularly pleasant---

i have a vague recollection of being at the state fair—i was holding my daddy's hand ,when a man came up to me—my dad had his head turned looking at something---there was lots of noise---the man tried to take my other hand and pull me toward him---i drew back and huddled against my daddy---i don't think i ever said a word about this until just a few years ago---

another memory is forever a mystery, as both of my parents have no idea what i am talking about---i have tried many times during the past couple of decades, to jog their minds back to this night----

we were in an older hospital in our city---my grandfather was sick or either having some sort of surgery—that i am not certain of at all-----i remember the grand waiting area---which of course was where i had to stay----my mom and dad took turns with us while one visited with my grandfather--

there was this other mother and father and i guess a younger sister in the waiting area also---they had an older daughter who was a patient in the hospital—she was allowed, i assume now, because the younger sister couldn't visit on the floor----to visit in the waiting area---

i can see this girl now, at the time i would have said or maybe my mother told me, that she was around 17 to 19 years of age----she had a long pink robe on and lots of curly dark hair—she was very tall--

but what i have always wanted to know—is this-----my mother was so very grave about what was wrong with the girl, and it was like a hush hush situation----i inquired over and over at the time—as to what was wrong with the girl----i wondered was she pregnant ---had she tried to commit suicide---i am not sure what i think it was---but it has left an indelible impression to this day

so we never know what days may hold a memory for our children or grandchildren—not the birthdays or Christmases but the every day bit of time we don't even see except when we are little-

k is for kit

poor kit, she was the heroine in my last attempt at a book---it is on my blog several posts back in a story called “autumn of the heart”

as i sometimes do, i started writing it as an exercise—where i just sit and start writing, not being particularly inspired about anything—which is how i usually write---but just going where the keys take me---i think i wrote about four chapters, when i lost all interest in completing the story--

i wrote a kinda kiss off blog about not continuing the story and that kit meant nothing to me and that it was not my “autumn of the heart”---

i have felt bad about how callously i treated poor kit---sure, she wasn't like me and maybe a little dull---but she was real to me at one time----she couldn't help how she was, after all, I had created her and so if she was boring, then who but myself was to blame--

now I believe she was not a very vibrant person---i guess that sounds sorta strange, to want to make your mc---a wall-flower, but it's just how I saw her, and still do---can I help it how they appear to me in my head and heart---although again she wasn't in my heart all that much, that is until I got rid of her in such a heartless way

so who knows, i may go back and revive her, maybe even spice her up a little---or maybe just make the others around her quirkier ---after all it worked for mary tyler moore----i'm sorry kit-----

j is just because

just because you come to me, in a moment in an instant when i call upon you

just because you understand my fears and my wrong emotions, and you forgive

just because you dare to believe in me when all of my actions are so vain

just because you care for me when i don't even care about myself

just because you hold me up when i fall over and over

just because you want for me, things i don't even dream about

just because you saw me and knew me even before my time

for all these reasons and more i love you and you love me just because

i is for island

as in “no man is an island” the thought provoking quote of john donne---

but is this true---

there may be some truth to it or in reality none--

you probably know people that have no thought, how their actions affect another--

and if they are not aware then who is to argue the existence of the affect----if a tree falls in the forest........

are we our brother's keeper—certainly not many people think so or act so----

i realize there are always exceptions to any thought or belief, but for the most part, as cynical as it may sound, i believe people do very little that does not relate back to themselves---

we may want to be about something greater than our little world, but how often do we simply plan to do it one day some day----when things get better----when things settle down—when ---when ----never

“no man is an island”------some are and have no vote in the matter---no voice -no hope---at least not yet

not until that one man takes action, an action revealing our capacity to feel-our desire to give, not because we can—not because it's the right thing to do---not even because it makes us feel good----but purely because it's instinct----

h-Heaven

yesterday at church my Sunday school class was discussing Heaven----

first let me tell you a little bit about our rather unique class------we are called "the jars of clay"-----some people like to refer to us as "the jaws of clay"--truly-----the majority of the class consists of people that were in the original class of some 30 years ago, called "the fellowship class"-----i still have the little sign from that class--

our teacher is well let's say "one of a kind"---one of my best friends----he usually strolls in the class, tie undone and perching himself on a table begins--his way is very unorthodox but always informative and he especially loves the Lord---he probably has more faith than anyone i know---he wasn't there yesterday-----so the class started with somewhat of a funny quandary---my husband frank and another long time member, who just happens to be my very first boyfriend--had both been asked by the teacher to teach----frank decided to let----(don't want to name people that don't know i am writing about them)----"jim" teach--

jim had a wonderful lesson for Easter Sunday--"Jesus last words"------during the teaching, someone brought up Heaven----i will share some of the questions we had and thoughts--

we all agreed that since there are people we don't care for too much here on earth and truly don't even think we could stand being in the car for any length of time with --that Heaven must be extremely large, giving one the impression, you could go all of eternity and not run into some people--

one person said, they thought the Bible said something about, we being able to know the mysteries of the universe--that sounded pretty awesome to me--although i think once we are there, everything will become clear like in an instant---maybe he meant we could float around in space--

someone said although we would know one another in Heaven, he didn't think it would be like we knew them as our husband or child per say----that part was sad for me, if true

i didn't share this with them yesterday, but i have this thing i believe---i think that all of the good experiences we have had here on earth, can be relived if we choose-----otherwise, i wonder where they went--especially if my theory of past present and future is correct---you will know about that said theory, if you read my "f" post--

i am sure there were more ideas thrown around yesterday, but can't think of them now-----just sharing on this "h" day a little glimpse, not really of Heaven, but our completely authentic charming, always challenging class--

g is for gift

my husband frank and i have been married almost 36 years--most of those years, his gift giving has left me a little cold, to say the least--now he knows this and will not mind me sharing this---

the first Christmas we had together, we were just dating---unmarried women take note----he lavished me with dozens of thoughtful things, i had no idea that this was just a ploy----i was young and stupid---

well the years went by and i came to kinda accept this missing link in my husband, although i never completely gave up the distant hope that i could make him understand, how easy it was to get me a "meaningful" gift---

so one night as we were taking our friday night pizza quest ride----if i haven't explained that one, it may be saved for letter you know what------okay, anyway----we, more like i started the dreaded discussion of why don't we start over with the gift thing---promising to search high and low---you will appreciate the low part in a minute------for the "perfect meaningful gift"--

that Christmas i had told my husband everything i could think of to ensure that i would get my heart's desire--it could be anything that was special, to me--something that made me know he gets me, that after all our years together he knows me---knows what i like, what i dream of ---and remembers me, stopping on the sidewalk in that little town we visited and pointing out that bracelet that reminded me of my great aunt lily----how hard could this assignment be--

i even made it simpler--i told him that my parents had this spinning wheel under their house-it used to sit in our living room when i was very young---i had to have it--mama had said she didn't care---she wasn't sure of the condition i would find it in----i talked about this must have special thing, at least 15 times a week---

on Christmas eve---which is when frank and i open our gifts to each other----i was waiting for it----he left to go to his car---i held my breath----i was so excited----

he came in first, empty handed---explaining---"now before i give you your present, i want you to know, i was crawling around, in the dark, under your parents tiny crawl space, in the dirt for you"----my glee was increasing with each word of his reprimanding apology----

and then he stepped back to the porch, lifting it in----there it was--what was left of my mother's old spinning wheel---just a piece of wood, the rest of it had rotted----

i threw my arms around my husband and cried like a baby---something i rarely let people see me do----never has any object gift meant more to me---he knew me, he listened to me, he crawled on the ground for me--

later one of my best friends told me that she almost called frank and told him to make sure he got that thing--because she thought i might kill him if he didn't---but she hadn't called him---he had done it himself-

that Christmas eve we slow danced all around the living room to michael feinstein's "isn't it romantic"---i shall never ever forget it---it was so "meaningful"

f- forever young

there are things and or experiences in our lives, that seem frozen in time, that we see the same way when we remember them-but if we were to truly go back and experience them, after the passage of time would they be the same---

each year, each day changes us--we aren't the same person, not really---and that is certainly not a bad thing, most times---they say we can always be young at heart, but our hearts are aging with each beat and each bowl  of ice-cream, we so look forward to just before bed--

so what does forever young mean anyway----does it mean it is a state of mind-----that too is growing old and sometimes stagnating ----but even the sharpest of intellects is headed toward the decline--

does this depress, you--that is not my intent--

my mother's birthday is today---when i think of her, i hardly ever think of her as she was the last few years of her life---or even the last twenty or so--

i see her as she was when i was a teenager----she seemed very old to me then----but the image of her then now, is as a youthful mom ---forever young in my memory?----but that probably would not be her image of forever young--

as i thought of today's subject, this concept kept returning to me-----past present and future are all the same--each past has been just that and then a present and finally a future-----and so on for each------maybe i was just tired or something---but it all seemed to be kinda new to me-----like each new question, just might have the beginnings of a vague answer-

so i leave you with one last thought for today---would you want to be forever young---and whose young would you be----



(this post is dedicated to my dear mother on her birthday--young or old --we miss you<3)

e--elusive butterfly

i remember it and i don't----parts are clear and parts are missing---but i will never forget ray----

ray was the younger brother of my oldest sister's husband-- he was only 19---

we, my mom and dad, little brother and other sister, were in our family room watching tv, when my sister and her husband came to the back door---from my seat on the sofa, you could see to the door, who was there--i was excited---they didn't usually come over on a week night especially after dinner time---this was going to be great-

i secretly or so i thought, had a huge crush on my brother in law--so i ran to meet them, throwing my arms around his legs--

as i became aware of others and not just my joy at this special visit, i noticed, my sister was crying---


"ray has been killed in a double murder suicide---i wasn't suppose to hear it all--but mama not knowing what was to be said, couldn't get me out of the room in time--

ray, was so handsome- i had a crush on him too and thought i had a real chance with him- i was pretty certain---he had only been helping a woman, a couple of years older than himself---they worked together- he drove her home

when he walked her to her door her ex husband was there waiting in the hallway of the apartment and shot them both- then killed himself----they said if people could have gotten to them in time they could have been saved---they bled to death---

for the next year, i thought about ray all the time----but the worst part was at night, when i would dream i was awake---there would be this song playing, and it would be coming out of my closet--i would open my closet door and there would be ray standing there, telling me not to be afraid---i was terrified at the start of the dreams---but as they continued, they gave me a peace--ray gave me a peace---

"don't be concerned, it will not harm you, it's only me pursuing somethin' i'm not sure of, across my dreams with nets of wonder, i chase the bright elusive butterfly of love"-----

d is for dance

well i will have to share with you that today's letter has given me a little bit of a problem--

the subject or word has not come easily although as you read, you may wonder why it didn't-


my first three beautiful girls did not dance, i could always see them dancing and i know in my heart i will see them dancing in heaven one day--but how my heart aches at the thought of them here, spinning around in their tutus and tights--

my last child a girl, dances--not only does she dance, but she is amazing--

i am sure with the right amount of training and lots of money, she could have made it in ballet---it's funny she has a natural grace and beauty for ballet, but no love for it, at least not anymore --

i don't know if any of you watch "dance moms"---in my experience it has not been too much like the show--but the undertones are certainly there--

sadly or maybe not, we were not able to keep up with the cost of dance--

my daughter robyn has been taking ballroom for the last couple of years, where she works for her lessons--



robyn occasionally dances at our "baptist" church--

when she is all done with dancing one day, i know i will be a little sad--that i will always remember her twirls and her leaps--and her saying, "hey mom watch this, how does that look"---

she tells me she dances for her sisters too- that she sees ashley, eden and mary, when see dances----i see them too and it explains why, at times while watching her dance, i feel some little souls around me whispering, "see mama, we can dance"--

c is for cornbread and company

alas corn kept coming to me yesterday and it hasn't left me---

i once read a book--i wish i could remember the name--it was one of those books, i take a chance on, when i find them in my local dollar store----although i can't remember much about the book--one thing has stuck with me--

the writer tells of how his mother, that lived in an impovereshed mountain area, would always have a pot of beans and cornbread, ready for any visitor that might find theirself hungry--

what a cozy scene that set in my mind--not unlike my dear grandmother, "queenie"-

if you have read much of my blog, you know she is the one in my story, "queenie's bequest"

every time we went to her small country house, she would have tons of food prepared---and you could count on there being cornbread, warming in the top of her old stove--she made it in a cast iron skillet---it never was my favorite kind of cornbread---but how much i would love to taste it again--

i find myself making cornbread quite often---mostly i use a mix and prefer the sweet cake like cornbread--

this past winter, i tried a few times having the beans and cornbread ready for the taking---but these days, hungry travelers don't visit like they used to-

b is for bohemian rhapsody

well i am afraid my blog today is a little dark also----at least to me--


queen's biggest hit, bohemian rhapsody is one of the saddest songs i have ever heard--


it is the awful moment, when you do something that will change your life forever, and there is no power on earth that can alter it or take it back--

as my oldest boys were growing up, i feared this so many times--as they went through their time of rebellion--thank God, none of the dumb crazy things they did, that i know about and the ones i only hear about a couple at a time each new year--didn't ruin their lives--

i too could have had a life so different if not for God's grace and mercy as i grew up, acting out in reckless abandon --


i can just see this kid as he calls his poor mother from jail----"mama i just killed a man"------how heart-breaking for the both of them----

okay and i am gonna get kinda heavy here---but keep in mind that my heart is forever a mother's heart--but i pray for all of those people who have done something in a moments rash decision, that they never give up hope, that they know God's true and never changing mercy and that their mother's never give up on them---

a is for adam

unfortunately today being the a day--my mind would not let go of the word, or the name adam----adam walsh

i was very hesitant to write about adam, in fear of writing something about someones tragedy on a writing blog exercise, just didn't seem right--

but as i have shared, if and when an idea, image or feeling won't leave me, i must obey


i will never forget adam---taken from a sears store out of the toy department----

found days later--i can't even share how his body was found---but i remember it vividly--

killed by a monster--someones son also--

oh the desperation of the human condition sometimes-----adam walsh--his name is recognized all over the world----i still see your smiling face in your little league uniform----i think you would have been in your late thirties today-