Hpy B-day MSG

Dear Matthew Stephen,
Happy 34th Birthday #1 son!
We sure have been through a lot together you and I! A 34 year relationship that began for me, with much apprehension, total uncertainty, complete inexperience, and fear because of it all. How ever would I do this? And yet I went charging ahead with a youthful ignorance and bliss into the unknown, and with a stubborn rebellion toward all who dared stand in my way. It was not in my plan at the time to have a child, in fact I was so unprepared that I didn't even have time to see the need for a plan, of any sort. Plans are overrated! In my mind when I thought about it, I figured I'd have the 2.5 kids 1 boy and 1 girl, (I don't know what the .5 would have been) the cat, the dog, and the white picket fence that statistics of the day indicated for the average family. Well, who wants to be an average statistic anyway?!
We started with 2 strikes against us, in the bottom of the 9th and 2 outs, but we were in the game, and there's no point to being in the game if you're not in it to win. We were in it to win! It wasn't always pretty, it wasn't always skillfully executed. There's no way to know how to proceed except by proceeding, one step at a time, on the path that seems like the one most beneficial for all concerned. That's what we did, and here is where that path has led us after 34 years of steps!
I've always had a little trouble making decisions, which causes me to be at a stand still sometimes. When you were given to me it was a decision that was made for me, the only thing I had to do was say yes, ready or not I'll do it, and I did. It was a process learning how to allow you to be more important to me, than me. Until you came there had never been any reason that was necessary. It really wasn't a difficult process though, because you were "simply irresistible". Studying you watch and observe, reach and succeed, discovering new things daily. Hearing your "little guy" voice use for the first time, every single attempted word as your vocabulary grew into understandable intelligent communication. The smiles and hugs and kisses of my blue eyed blond curled beautiful #1 son had the power to transform an ordinary, unfocused, haphazard young girl, into a young woman who learned to develop strengths and characteristics that shaped her into a Mother. A position that has been, quite happily, my most satisfying achievement.
Children don't get to pick the birth order with which they enter a family, neither in fact do their parents, and so it should be. Better left to the more capable hands of the Master planner. There are benefits as well as pitfalls to being the #1 son. Parenting techniques are tested on the first kid, sometimes they're right, sometimes they're wrong, really wrong! On the other hand, the honor of being #1 is exclusively yours always, you can never be bumped out of position. You were the first to melt your parents heart, the first to break your parents heart. The first to be photographed, walk, talk, ride a bike, tie your shoes, go to school, earn recognition for outstanding character, go to camp, start youth group, drive, graduate, move out on your own. You get to be the big brother. All the younger ones wished they got to do what you did, and dreamed of the day when they would. The #1 child sets the standard for each one after him, for better or worse!
I don't think it's possible for a parent to love one child more than another, at least it is an impossibility for me. You and each of your siblings are equally loved to my maximum capability, there is not one molecule of my being that is left empty waiting to be filled by the one I love most. There is no fluctuation dependent on your performance, successes, status, or achievements in life. My love for you each just is. There is one slight difference for you though, my #1 son. No one else in this line up is the oldest child, the #1 son, 34 years old. So while I do not love you more than the rest, I have indeed loved you longer, and will have always loved you longest. You alone are and will always be, my #1 son.
Happiest of birthdays to you #1, and may you know the joy with your own family that I have known with you.
<3 Mom

December 21

Happy Birthday Andy! 27 years of "Andrew-ness" has been fantastic!
Nothing does a mother's heart good like sons who honor her with admirable character, a strong sense of responsibility, and the desirable qualities of a "real man", especially in a culture where all the lines have become blurred and political correctness intimidates, keeping the weak from saying it like it is, succumbing to the bullying of the "offended". Spine up! Frankly, I want to have men in my life who aren't concerned they'll appear "whipped" when they care what their wife thinks more than what their friends think. I want to say "thank you" to a man who holds the door allowing me to go ahead, or even any one else willing to conduct themselves with manners considered to be "old fashioned". I wish to be in a world where men don't need to be coddled when they've been self sacrificing for the good of their families, instead considering it what should reasonably be expected of them because their families happiness and well being is what they consider their most important contribution of themselves to the most important recipients, and it is their most rewarding investment. Bravely defend my and my children's honor. Courageously stand against anyone who intends harm. Boldly speak what is correct based on irrefutable truth. Admit remorsefully when wrong. Reject injustice inflicted on the helpless and assist however possible. See life through eyes of compassion, and be willingly productive and useful, even if it means doing it alone in order to make a positive difference for others. Don't be be a "taker" sucking the life out of everyone else, be a life giver, a life enhancer, someone who draws others into their refreshing, oxygen filled "aura". Don't speak of intentions, demonstrate goodness. Smile. Laugh. Listen.
It's Andy's birthday, he is one of those men, and while I relish the uniqueness of his effervescent personality, I would be remiss to neglect that I am the joy full mom of 5 more sons. I've done my part, offering to the world that those sons will influence, my most valuable treasure, one that has only been lent to me for a short time by the God who knew them and formed them in my womb, men, the kind that earn the right to be called "real men".
The family gathered to celebrate Andy, we gave him some cards and presents, sang the birthday song and blew out candles, but the truth is, Andy is the real gift!

Chistmas time

Christmas time is here. 2009 continues it's determined departure. Emotions run so high for me during this season, against my will, as though I were in a car going downhill with no brakes, I want to shout NO! STOP! I'm not ready, not enough time, not enough money, didn't get to do all I'd hoped to. I'm reminded of such need among so many and I can't make it better, how I wish there was a way to... if only...
I have a sore throat, no it's not a cold or sinus trouble, it's more like a lump, it's difficult to swallow. My nose is drippy, my eyes seem to have that same condition, and my vision is blurred. The problem is not just in my throat and head, it's in the pit of my stomach, way down deep where the serious issues churn. My thoughts have leaked out of my mind into my stomach, throat and eyes, my heart breaks as I try to grasp and hold what isn't even mine to hold on to. Time, like air impossible to grab ahold of, like water seeping through fingers, just slips away, taking with it opportunities missed.
There are so many "ifs", if only, what if? Just 2 small letters combined to become a word upon which all of life hinges. Everything could change, be something else entirely if... it would all be different had even one if been acted on alternatively. I would not even be me, or you, you, or anyone who they've become if... The intricacies and minutest elements count, everything is significant, everything matters.
Christmas presses me to consider what I've contributed, and what I've taken, and what I will do to improve at this thing called life. Christmas quietly tugs at my heart like a child on his mama's skirt, persistently, longingly, asking me to look into the cradle and see the baby of the first Christmas. The baby who for my sake became poor so that I could become rich. He, Jesus, did not have to leave the splendor of heaven, but He saw me, and you, and His throat hurt, and He ached deep down in the pit of His stomach for wanting to give us everything good, the best life, to know Him and His abundant love, tender mercy, and far reaching compassion, to give us fullness of life. I am compelled to give something of great value in return, and this is the dilemma. I have only this one short life, with all of it's flaws, faults and shortfalls. It seems so inadequate, but it is all He asks me to give. I can, and will make every effort to add value to someone, somewhere, somehow, each day, because He added such great value to me and mine, and offers this to you and yours.
Have you unwrapped this most special gift, and claimed the Christ of Christmas for yourself?

The Jar

This time of year always stirs up feelings of nostalgia and sentiment. Try as I may to re-create the moments that were, that are now only fond memories, it is an effort that generally proves to be impossible. I can choose the same decorations in the same places, the same tasty treats served on the same special dishes, light the candles, pipe the music, and wear the clothes, go to the special events, mail the cards, exchange greetings with strangers, and when all is said and done, it still just isn't the same. The same people are no longer the same. They look different, they are grown up, they are older, there are new additions, and some are missing.
I have a jar filled with unpopped pop corn kernels, beads, pearls, buttons, marbles, and even tiny rocks, each representing one thing that we have been thankful for. Each Thanksgiving for about 20 years, every person at the Thanksgiving table received 3 items dropped one by one into the jar as they said what they were thankful for that year. We were privileged to have friends join us, there seemed to always be someone who would be alone if not a part of our family"s gathering, or maybe it was just an especially close "buddy" of one of the boys joining us, and then later for round 2 at his house, and of course the girlfriends! Some years we all met in North Carolina at Grandpa and Grandmas house. From the south and from the north, we all converged in a flurry of excitement upon arrival, cousins, aunts, uncles, parents and grandparents with all their antics and activities, culminating into good times, wonderful memories, and too soon, tearful departures. The moments of togetherness were rare and precious. The jar was there with us, prodding us to stop long enough to think about and mention what was important. One year we enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner outside on the giant picnic table, joined by friends. That's the year we used the pea rocks under foot to represent our 3 things to give thanks for. Last year our number was small as now holidays have to be divided between two or even more families, so we had our together time for those who remained, at my sons house. He did all the shopping, and cooking, which was a special treat for me!
We have been thankful for Jesus, jobs, possessions, healthy able bodies, home, food, and always everyone has been thankful for each other, family and friends.
The jar and the activity it required us to participate in, made us say what we wouldn't normally put into words. It prompted the baring of innermost thoughts and feelings of gratefulness. We are better now for having done that then. Now being thoughtful and caring is not so difficult to do, we practiced.
That jar seemed so "empty" for the first few years, it's not a big jar, and even with 3 items each there was far more space unfilled than filled, but it grew, and now it is full to the top! I could transfer it all to a bigger jar, I could start a new jar, or I can start a new tradition. I like the idea of a new tradition, after all, nothing stays the same, it can only be re-created to mimic yesterday. Yesterday's Thanksgiving's were good, and the memories are savored often, but today is new, and we are a bigger family with new members who bring with them their own experiences that add flavor to our traditions.
That little jar of "seeds" first planted years ago, grew and developed into a family tradition providing memories to harvest for all the Thanksgivings that are ahead. It's once vibrant red cap is faded dull now, but it never was about the jar, the container, it was and has always been about what's inside, specifically, what was represented by what's inside that mattered. When I look back in my minds eye there are a lot of little boys, and a little girl, who were thankful for bikes, skateboards, go-peds, or other things that may have seemed frivolous or silly at the time, and who timidly admitted their thankfulness for each other and the lives we had then. I see how that simple activity was a stubborn, persistent seed that has become an admirable characteristic in who they have become as adults.
As another season approaches we will begin it with a new Thanksgiving tradition. My family doesn't know it yet, but my request will be for everyone to think of one word or phrase for each family member that we think describes them, or of some act of kindness or sacrifice we are thankful they did. It's good to know we are loved, and appreciated, and what others find lovable about us. It's affirming in a world that daily beats up and tears down! Now we are ready for just such a tradition because now we are grown from strong healthy seeds. For these things, and many many more, I am so very thankful! No jar of any size could hold all the things I'm thankful for, but the one I have is a sweet reminder of a few of them, and it reminds me always, to count my blessings!
Happy Thanksgiving!

So often life is not what was expected! There are preconceived notions of how things will be, based on how things have been. A perfect example of this is Halloween, it sure has changed! I remember large brown paper grocery bags that seemed nearly full of candy corn, malted milk balls, peanut butter taffy, smarties, dum dums, slo pokes, milk duds and root beer barrels, pixie stix, baby ruths, clarks krackles and mr goodbars. I was particularly fond of the paper strips with candy "dots" stuck on them, we pretended they were pills when we played doctor. There were red wax lips, and wax "pop bottles" filled with colored liquid sugar! And, my personal favorite, candy cigarettes. They didn't taste good, but we could pretend to be like the grownups. Occasionally there were bubble gum cigarettes, gum balls, and another favorite, bazooka with a comic! Some "rich" people gave whole Hershey bars, or paper bags full of treats, or better still, a box of cracker jack! The prizes then were so much better, whistles, rings, plastic charms, tiny trolls, baby dolls, or games. There was always someone who made popcorn balls to pass out, and sometimes a caramel apple. Those were the days when the majority of people expected others to do the right thing, and they did. When parents could let their children walk their own neighborhood, even in the dark without fear of abduction, and when eating the candy along the way, before parents "checked" it was part of the fun, homemade treats or apples were just that, not a way to deceive and harm. We said "trick or treat", and "thank you". When we got home, all of us dumped out our bags in piles on the floor, categorizing our loot. Trades were discussed and agreed to. Our school lunch boxes contained Halloween candies until at least Thanksgiving! We made our costumes, we were cowboys, indians, hobos, hillbillies, robots or pretty ladies. Life for us as children was simple, predictable, Our world was built on a foundation of truth, morals, hard work, and respect. Those qualities allowed us to experience freedom and security, we laughed, and appreciated small things. When my kids were little I or an older sibling always accompanied the younger "trick or treaters" of the family, the tradition had changed, but lived on. For the last couple years in our neighborhood there hasn't been any costumed callers on Halloween night. In the neighborhood where my son lives however, the tradition is still strong. He is a new dad, and looks forward to all the firsts he and his wife will experience with their son, which is at least partly responsible for the fabulous idea he had for this Halloween,. When the masked ones came knocking, he offered them a beautiful assortment of vegetables to choose from! The responses he got from the surprised kids, and their parents nearby, was priceless! Of course, after he offered the veggies there was the treat they'd come for, so all ended well, but even better than well. He gave away laughter and smiles and stories to talk about, fun was passed all around, memories were made. With that act of humorous creativity, he brought back the simple freedom to be silly. He put the trick in trick or treat. Time has changed things, and things continually re-invent. Laughing and enjoying the moment remains the responsibility of each of us. It's like your momma always told you, "eat your vegetables, they're good for you". She was really saying, Life isn't always what you wish, or think, or hope, but that doesn't mean it isn't good, or can't be good. Life is what you make it! What a treat to watch my son spread joy with a simple trick! Happy Halloween!

Friends

Today I spent a little time with some beautiful friends. It was a long work week, and I might have just stayed hunkered down in the quiet seclusion of my easy chair, but invitations were extended, and I try to attend whatever I'm invited to. Somebody thought enough to include me on their list of guests, to invest time in our friendship, that is a privilege. I thought about the many life events I have shared with these friends, that we continue to share, and how much their friendship has meant to me over the years. Friends my age, and our daughters gathered for a time to celebrate a new business venture launched by the young women. As they spoke of hopes for their future, and the life experiences they were sharing, it was apparent that the friendship between them is a beautiful, precious, valuable gift. I remembered myself at their age, the life experiences I shared with my friends, some who were gathered right there in that room, some who were miles away in proximity, but always close at heart. I was genuinely happy for them! They would reach a point in life, like I and their mothers have, where they too would look back to see all that has been shared. Husbands, pregnancies, babies, bills, more babies and bills, dishes, laundry, lunch, dinner, recipes, hair, sales, jobs, what did we not talk about?! We walked at the parks, we played cards at the kitchen table, we took our kids to Kiddieland. We had birthday parties, over the hill parties when we turned 30!, and baby showers. We vacationed at Disney, Mt Dora, camped, and went on "retreats". We worried, and cried, and prayed, over the phone, and on each others shoulders. We celebrated accomplishments, new homes, and goals reached. When one had a new baby, was sick, injured or bereaved, there were cards, and meals, and childcare. We laughed, we shared, we grew to become so closely knit together that we are as one. We have been given by each other, pieces of each other. The known things, and the secret things. Trust and confidence has been proven, and cherished. And now we watch as our daughters begin to piece together, just as we did not so long ago, this beautiful intricate patchwork of events and milestones that will one day tell their story. We didn't know then, and they don't know now, how perfect the imperfections of this imperfect life truly are. They've made us who we are, and brought us to where we are. Together.

Girlfriend

There's a special thing that happens
between women who are friends,
it's a kind of "sisterhood" that
can't be shared with men.
Someone you can talk to
when no one else will hear,
intimate conversing,
hearts open without fear.
When the words don't seem to come,
a simple look will do,
women's intuition, like a knight,
comes shining through.
Undaunted by dilemma,
obstacle or foe,
she knows things about you
no one else will ever know,
and knowing, she loves even more,
this "sister" that she's found,
souls unite, lives are touched,
hearts forever bound.

PJ

Ducks

A few years ago my washing machine "went out". It was pretty old, so my son decided he'd buy mom a new one. Not too long after I got it, just long enough to be out of warranty, it started making some crazy noise on the spin cycle, which we learned to live with rather than pay for an expensive repair. Then it started leaking, first a little, and soon so much that I had to stand by the machine through the entire cycle mopping up wash water, for 45 minutes! I researched what the probable cause was, and determined that a repair was not the best solution. The machine needed to be replaced.
About a week ago, while out making his rounds as a pool maintenance man, another of my sons found a machine out by the road for trash pickup, and decided he'd bring it home, make repairs if possible and needed, and bring it to me if he could make it work. It made a noise too when he tested it, but when he hooked it up at my house it appeared to be working great! A day or two later I did some laundry, and the noise returned, thus the reason it was at the road, but it doesn't leak! So we exchanged one noise and a leak for different noise without a leak. My seasonal income prevents me from buying a new one right now, when I'm able I will. Mean while, I guess you could say laundry day at my house brings a new meaning to the term "squeaky clean"!
It reminds me of a time years ago when all the kids were little, how big a chore laundry was for our family of 9! I was hanging clothes on a clothes line to dry, it was a dryer I didn't have then. That was really not a problem, except for the quantity, since in Florida there are lots of warm sunny days that make line drying fast. Well, we were in a rainy spell, and I really needed to to do laundry, it had been delayed because of the weather as long as I could wait to get it done. Frustrated, I stepped out onto the covered front porch, hoping to get a broader look at the sky, and spot a clearing in the clouds. It was gray, it was drizzly, the only thing clear was that no clothes would be hung on the line that day, but to my surprise, right out in my front yard, were ducks. lazily swimming in what was once a grassy area, heads bobbing up and down in search of tasty treats offered up by the days of rain! My plans were thwarted, I could not complete the tasks I'd hoped to, but in the world of those ducks, it was a great day! All was good, very very good!

Laundry Day

I needed to do laundry
but my dryer is broke,
with baskets running over
I thought "this is a joke!"

I turned the washer knob
and put in a cup of soap,
then saw raindrops on the window,
and lost all hope,

of hanging out the clothes to dry
beneath the suns warm rays,
as I muttered quietly,
"I'm so tired of rainy days."

I went into the living room
to peer out through the glass
at the puddle in my front yard
where I normally see grass!

A pair of ducks were frolicking
right there on my front lawn'
gliding all around,
heads bobbing up and down,

apparently delighting in
some very special treat
that a long night of rain
had provided them to eat.

The skies were dull and gray
but the trees were shiny green,
the sidewalk had a scrubbing,
and everything looked clean.

I stepped outdoors onto the porch
and breathed a long deep breath,
there was no scent of anything
that wasn't clean and fresh.

A few raindrops still fell,
dancing lightly on my skin,
as my thoughts turned back to
baskets of laundry once again.

I knew it had to wait,
to be cleaned some other time,
today it was the earths turn
to wash away it's grime.

So maybe it'll mean
I'll have an extra load or two,
but scenes of ducks on my front lawn
are seldom, and too few.

Sometimes it takes a little rain
in life to make me see,
beyond the never ending
mounds of dirty laundry!

pj

Shoes

Ok, after a long day on my feet, on a hard floor, my feet are really tired, and hurt. The trip from my job to my driveway, allows just the right amount of time to "stiffen" the "old dogs" sufficiently, and make getting from the car to the front door look like I'm a circus act walking barefoot on a bed of broken glass! I always hope there's no one watching from the window, witnessing the evidence of my years! I mean, sure, there's the gray hair, crows feet, age spots, sagging, cellulite, arm wings..., but must we add hobbling to the list?! And how frequent will the additions to this ever growing list be? Because frankly, it's not as easy as it looks anymore to make all this look easy! It can now be said of me, as my Dad used to say in reference to our big old car, affectionately nick named the "Blue Moose", "the old Blue Moose, she ain't what she used to be!"

Shoes

Square toed, round toed, open toed shoes,
high heels, no heels, which should I choose?
I really like the pink flats,
I like the blue suede too,
and the strappy black sequined pair'
oh, what should I do?
How "bout the sassy red ones'
or the shiny gold with buckles'
or the black and white checked "tennies"'
that make my "tootsies" chuckle!
Black patent leather, off white pumps,
gathered in a shoe rack in big shoe clumps!
Oh, maybe I'll just stay at home
curled in my favorite seat,
put on my cozy "jammies",
and sport bare feet!

P.J.

19

It has taken 19 years to reach this day, this one short 24 hour day. 19 years of preparation for a 24 hour anniversary commemorating the day my daughter made her debut onto the stage of life. It was a long awaited production, in fact most thought it couldn't be done. No girl had been able to break onto the scene up until that day 19 years ago. Oh there were boys, and plenty of them! 1/2 dozen to be exact, but girls, now that had always been a different story.
We did ultimately add one to the cast, and the one we got, she's the elite model, specially designed for the tasks set before her, she's one tough cookie! She's had to acclimate to what some would perceive as a hostile environment, what with all the shenanigans from the brothers!
For boys everything is a challenge to be met and conquered. Then there's the motors and the grease, and sweat and the smells, and the sounds they make, sounds one can hardly believe capable from a human!
It's tough to be a girl in a testosterone dominated world. The world she entered without choice 19 years ago, is now the world she would choose over any other. The world filled with six big brothers, to teach her the ropes. It's they who've been hard enough on her to keep her from being wimpy. It's they who've urged her to give it a shot, and planted in her the "I can" attitude, I can be an athlete, I can be strong, I can be successful, if my brothers can, I can! It's they who were in the stands cheering her on. It's they who've put her on the back of a motorcycle, and in the drivers seat. It's they who've been patient when she wasn't as tough as them, like when a lizard gets in the house, or like when a chick flick does that thing with a girls eyes, they still left room for her femininity. It's they who give her a piece of their mind when they think she's out of line, and she listens to them, because they are her world. They would, and have done, anything and everything for her that they are able, to make her happy. She is happy to return the favor.
The way I see it, the writer for this story knew full well who each of the characters would be, and in what order they would enter the scene. When I as the producer flirted with the idea of bringing a girl onto the set, I envisioned a little pink, and lace, and kittens, and butterflies, to mingle amongst the denim, and chrome, and critters, and muscles. It's been at the top of the charts for a solid 19 years, and the story continues to intrigue.
We celebrated the day with our usual sloppy joe lunch, all the brothers, and their girls, and the two additions who make up the the start of new family stories. There was cake, and gifts and cards. One of the brothers made her a birthday card with a silhouette of her with a question mark on the silhouette, and it reads,"whats missing?", inside it says, "we are just not us without you". I think that pretty much sums it up!
Happy Birthday beautiful girl!

Occupation Mom

What is more precious in all the world
than the sparkling eyes of my little girl?
When she looks at me, in dawns first light,
to her, even then, I'm a wonderful sight.

My dark puffy eyes and snarled hair
are not her concern, she's just glad I'm there.
And there isn't a place that I'd rather be,
than right here at home with her next to me.

What's more precious, or can bring more joys
than to be here raising a 1/2 dozen boys?
Each one unique in God given ways,
and He gave them to me, to brighten my days.

They love me in spite of mistakes that I make,
giving far more than they ever take,
when they come in from school, they'll find me home
there's no good reason to leave them alone.

Not for a paycheck to buy us more stuff,
we have what we need, and it is enough.
Some say it's sacrifice "just" being mom,
no social life, so little fun.

Things get postponed, sometimes, for a while,
but I want to remember each moment, each smile.
In just a few years when they are all grown,
I will look back at the seeds that I've sown,

Are they strong? Are they tall? Will they stand the test?
Did I give them my all? Have I done my best?
Where will the sacrifice truly have been?
I don't want to wish I could do it again!

Take time to be there each morning and noon,
knowing that they will be grown so soon.
Each day that passes another one gone,
childhood is over, time presses on.
P.J.

3

In June my granddaughter turned 3. A couple weeks later it was as if a vocabulary flood gate opened! She went to bed one night, walked subconsciously through a dream door, and awoke with a dictionary flowing from her lips! That I might add, did not come with an "on/off" switch! She, like most her age, entered the communication world and found it a rewarding place to be. She tells me everything she knows. How Mommy is doing, and Daddy, and about the car, and the phone that fell off of the car. About her shoes that she couldn't put on because they were dirty, so we had to clean them with a little spray and paper towel. She is so simple and innocent. Her thoughts and conversation so pure. Each of our talks end with "I love you Gamma", I say "I love you", she says "I love you soooo much", I say "I love you soooo much", she says "I love you more", I say "I love you more", and a look of satisfaction shows on her face. With an angelic smile, and soft golden curls, just like her dad's used to be, she is surely straight from heaven! A smile covers my face too, and my heart flutters, she is so precious. A beautiful gift to her parents, her "Gamma", and the whole family, even the whole world! Thank you Lord!

A Girl

A little pink,
a little lace,
maybe a daisy or two,
lollipop lips,
and sticky kisses especially for you.
The wonderful things
a child brings
to set your heart awhirl,
all the fun,
all the love,
wrapped up in a little girl!
P.J.

The Calendar

I'm at a stand still. A fork in the road, only instead of two paths to choose from, there are many, like rays extending out from the sun. At the center is me, and everywhere I turn is another path stretched out before me. I've never had so many choices, not even when I stepped across the line into adulthood, because I went straight from "kid" to adult, just like that. High school ended one day, and the next I was a mom. No time to think about who I'd be, or where I hoped to go, just doing what had to be done, until it added up to done raising my 7 kids for a sum of 34 years! Which is really all I wanted to do anyway. I had no career aspirations, I wanted to get married and have kids, like my mom, and her mom. It was the most fulfilling thing I could have ever done with these years. There are positively no regrets, no thoughts of missed opportunities, only gratitude for the ones I've had! Now, I can choose where to go next, but where should that be? What has the potential to be as meaningful, and important as the job I've just completed? It's exciting and scary all at the same time, this new found freedom. I do not know what will come next, I'm a clean slate waiting for a new set of instructions. Eyes, ears, heart, mind, and arms wide open.

The Calendar

The squares are marked, schedules made
words hastily pencilled in,
excitement for what lies ahead,
the page is turned again.
Rushing through the planned events,
another dollar spent
on what seems unimportant use
of time that I've been lent.
I'd like to make a difference,
but don't know where to start,
idle days procrastinating
as the squares depart.
Even when in my neglect
the page is left unturned,
be it April, be it May
days pass like bridges burned.
I can't cross this path again,
whatever the calendar reads,
certainly all tomorrows are spent
reaping this days seeds.
What will count of what I've done?
What matters of my ways?
of what I've tried to build,
of how I've spent my days?
Oh that the door would open
to the room that holds my dreams,
it's locked with me outside,
sometimes that's how it seems.
Give me a clue, jiggle the keys
empower me anew
I'm at another impasse
and don't know what to do.
Before the days and months
on my calendar disappear,
before it's tucked away,
with the passing of the year
prune me while it's springtime
that summer may produce
my escape in autumn
from the winter's noose.
P.J.

Goodwill Roses

Years ago when I was a young Mom, my Mother in law got me hooked on thrift store shopping. On Mondays at the local Am-vets everything in the store was 1/2 price. Guess who was there every Monday! I clothed my family and furnished our home with an eclectic mix of thrift store finds, homemade delights, and trash to treasure works of art. Well, at least that's how I saw it, I was born to be a homemaking Mom! Over the years as pennies needed to be pinched, I gave up even the thrift stores. Shopping became self inflicted torture as I denied myself the little beauties I wished I could take home with me. Occasionally however, the need wells up inside of me to "hunt", I must search out until I find , a treasure! So when I spotted the sofa size picture of pale roses in a lustrous silver tureen, complete with a gilded vintage frame, I reasonably decided against the purchase. It was frivolous and unnecessary, and where would I put it anyway. I lost a good nights sleep over that decision, but, I gained a poem, and when the store opened their door the next morning I was there to buy that picture!

Goodwill Roses

My beautiful crystal clock ticks
undetectably by day,
as I almost absent mindedly
rush on about my way.
Passing time without much
thought to what may lie ahead,
fulfilling daily tasks, the day
is spent, I go to bed.
In the dark my mind is on
a silver dish of roses,
that I will have to purchase
in the morning I supposes!
The once silent little timepiece,
now clearly states it's mission,
keeping me at 3:00 am
for lovely roses wishin'.
Frivolous the thought that
occupies this early hour,
when I should be asleep
I am enchanted with a flower!
P.J.

Sadie

Just yesterday I was paid a compliment by a young woman half my age. She said she "loved my hair". I too am fond of my hair as far as hair goes. We women find it very easy to pick ourselves apart, making lists of all the things we'd change if we could. I consider myself fortunate where my hair is concerned, I have hair! It hasn't fallen out due to a disorder or illness, that alone makes it good. I have kept it long, it has always been completely straight, against my wishes sometimes, and I have let it "go gray gracefully", or silver as I prefer to call it. It used to be brown, I'm really not a brown kind of girl, I like black and white, so true to my nature, gray hair! I keep it long so I can put it up off of, and away from, my face and neck on the hot summer days of Florida. I've been complimented many times actually, sometimes by total strangers who just wish to pay the compliment. I've been told I'm too old for long hair, I should cut it, and still others have said "if you'd dye your hair you'd look 10 years younger"! My response is always the same, "I'll always have long hair, as long as it's my choice to do so, and I don't care to look 10 years younger, I'm not"!

It's funny what impresses us, especially when we're young. Those who know us are often surprised to hear us relay memories, that they had no idea had been impressed in our hearts and minds. Sadie made quite an impression. So did her husband Ben, and their daughter Inez.

We attended the same church, a beautiful white clapboard church, with a bell steeple, tall arched windows, two narrow staircases, one on each side of the vestibule, that lead to the balcony, and a "crows nest" right in front. The pews were wood with carved ends, the floors were wood, they creaked under the weight of footsteps, especially in the balcony. The building was donated to the congregation with the stipulation that it be moved to another location, and so it was. When I was a child the church was more than 100 years old. It still stands, though it was moved again right next door, when the congregation donated it to the historical preservation society, in order to clear their land for a more modern sanctuary. I never loved the new one like the old one. There are a couple of "must sees" when I go back to that town. The little white church is one of them.

Some Sunday's they would be in church, Sadie and Ben, and Inez in her wheel chair, stricken with polio. I felt a kind of kindred spirit to their family, because I knew what it was like to be part of a family with a "broken" member. My brother was my family's Inez, irreversibly, permanently damaged at age 2 from a reaction to being stung by a swarm of bees. We understood a more difficult life. What must it take for a mother, a father, to daily find joy and peace, with a situation no one would choose? They know strength and patience, and delight in small things, that no one not in that "private club" could ever know.

I always loved the Sunday morning services that ended in the whole congregation circling the sanctuary, holding hands, singing "Blessed Be The Tie", even as a child it moved me. Simple experiences that can't be duplicated. Sometimes Ben would be asked to close in prayer. His prayer always began with "our dear heavenly Father"..., I can still hear the way it sounded in his low, drawn way. I believed he had a more direct line to God's ears.

I'm not entirely sure what it was about them, maybe age, they were quite old, Maybe demeanor, maybe I could even as a child, sense their love for God, their commitment to each other, and to their bed ridden daughter. If they were able to attend church, and they did regularly, Inez was slumped in her wheelchair, I don't think there was any advantage in church, or any other outing for her. What an effort for Ben and Sadie to be there, surely a wonderful reprieve from Monday through Saturday for them. When they were unable to attend, some from the church would make a house call, let them know they were missed, take them a meal, or relay messages from well wishers to help them stay connected. One Sunday it was my Dad and I who visited. I'm not sure why I was along, I was very young, 8 or 10 at the most, but there for whatever reason, I was. We were invited in, I saw Inez in her bed, how sad I felt for them all. I'd only ever seen her in the wheelchair, somehow in the bed she was even more sick, more helpless. Ben was in regular week day clothes, I'd only seen him looking very distinguished in formal Sunday suits. Sadie always wore her hair in braids wrapped neatly in circles on her head. Her clothes were always simple, modest, muted colors. I don't recall jewelry, maybe a pearl necklace, and watch, but certainly never anything "frivolous". She wore heavy hose and oxford type shoes, her look was always functional, business like, school marm-ish. But that day, that day she was, in my child's eye view, absolutely beautiful! She was soft, she wore a white robe, not day clothes, it was "I won't be going out today" clothes, and her hair was not circling her head in braids. It was down, down, down, to her knees it looked to be! Softly waved, gray, happy to be set free from it's usual tightly braided bondage. I was mesmerized. From that day forward, I knew I would always have long hair, and when the time came, it would be gray.

That brief encounter with a woman I hardly knew anything about, determined for me all those years ago, the look of my hair today. More than 40 years have passed, I'm not even sure if my memory is accurate. Maybe I have embellished it in my mind. There is no one with whom I can compare the memory, only my Dad was there. He can't recall a memory he didn't even know impressed me! But I faithfully relay the story, such as I recall, to everyone who says "your hair is pretty, don't cut it, leave it gray". I tell them of beautiful Sadie.

She's in heaven now, has been many years. I'll tell her myself one day how she has been so much a part of my life. I'm sure she never had any idea the mark she'd leave on that little girl, or why the girl would be so enamoured. It was just her. I can't help but also think of Ben, my lifelong impression of him is precious too. And Inez, she can speak now, and dance, and walk hand in hand with Sadie, and Ben. How lovely to imagine them together now. How exciting to think that one day they'll be rewarded for their example to a little girl they didn't even know was paying attention. A little girl, whose whole life did not forget. I wonder, how many more like me are there? I marvel at how much bigger than we know, our lives are. Who have I impressed? Anyone? In a positive way? I wish to impress like Sadie, with more than my hair. If, like Sadie, my hair helps the memory remain, so be it, but may the memory be coupled with an antique church, and hand holding songs, and direct line to God prayers. May the memory be of compassion toward those who need bracing from life's troubles. May the memory be quiet, even secret, but solid and sure enough to become. She never knew. One day, I'd like to tell her how I've loved her a long time, and Sadie...Thank you.
P.J.