Tag Archives: family

A Night Before Christmas

23 Dec

Twas a night before Christmas
And I just had to believe,
That Santa was listening,
And would soon bring reprieve.

From the hungry, the lonely,
And the grieving ones too.
To the liars, and cheaters,
That they would find truth.

As we hustle and bustle,
It would help us to know,
That our life is to cherish,
And our pace would soon slow.

With bright lights and candles,
We’ve embellished our homes,
The stairwells, the mantles,
And the roofs high and low.

For the season of magic,
And all things we adorn,
Is celebrating the night
Of when Jesus was born.


No “Thriller”

31 Oct

As the other moms danced, steps in unison, costumes masking their identities, I watched. An explosion of appreciation engulfed the gym.  The excitement permeated on the faces of those in applause.  I was one of those applauding but my place should have been among the entertainers.  I should have been a breathless participate.

In a pep rally tribute to our football senior sons, a dance routine was choreographed and rehearsed to “Thriller”.  Because of a forced move to another city, I was unable to attend practices.  Joining in other ways, attempts were made to persuade me to learn on my own, but my confidence was lacking.  Horribly afraid of making a mistake or looking silly, I passed.

I avoided the possible failure of my dancing talents, which I am normally apt.  I avoided missteps and broken rhythm.  I also avoided the thrill of reward.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN…with no regrets!

Happy Grandparent’s Day!

8 Sep

I always got one for them…a Grandparent’s Day card. And I remember Granny telling me just how much it meant.

I wonder what it would mean if they knew how often I think of them now…how time changes perspective. I appreciate how much they did for us. I appreciate the time they gave. And I appreciate the memories left behind.

What a perfect fall day to write it out loud and really remember what it means. From down here to heaven up above…HAPPY GRANDPARENT’S DAY!

Smell the Roses, Stir the Soul

27 Mar

Food everywhere!  Green apple bread, chocolate chip cake, potato salad, lasagna, ribs, chicken casserole, and on and on and on.  Temporarily assisting my parents for a couple of weeks, I was surrounded by the neighborly efforts of small town America.

While very grateful for the gifts of love, my ever-expanding stomach felt the desperate need to walk.  It took a few days to get that message to my feet, but at last we were moving.

Walking the very route in and out of the neighborhood normally by car, I was astonished at what I now saw.  I noticed the varied landscaping gracing the front lawns…placements of flower pots, bird feeders, and other lawn embellishment formerly overlooked.   I spotted a skillfully arched bridge…a unique wooden pathway to retrieve mail.  I distinguished the bend of a tree…an ever graceful reach towards the sky.

We see things differently when we stroll…a slower pace presents a beauty unknown to those that buzz fervently through life.  Slowing down is crucial.  Our soul demands splendor so take care to oblige.  If stopping to smell the roses doesn’t fit into your day, perhaps a brisk walk instead.

Dog Days

6 Mar

Sitting across the living room, playing lovingly with his dog, I asked my son “how long will he live?”  Of course his answer was a mere smallness compared to the life we expect of ourselves.  Seeing the adoration and love they offer one another, I questioned how he would deal with the eventual hurt.  His answer “I would rather have a few great years with him, then none without.  All the love is worth all the loss”.

Realizing now I was looking for the heartache, anticipating the inevitable.  Is that how I approach emotional involvement?  Rather than see the beauty in the gift, I see the trauma in the loss?  What a dismal view!

I have come a long way…in wisdom, in perspective, in outlook; but perhaps the void of love in my life is a perfect way to avoid pain.  Have I done this to myself?  Have I shirked the possibility anticipating a negative outcome?

It seems I have some reflecting to do, after all…pain is a price, but love is priceless.

The Blogger’s Clique

13 Jan

Guided by the red star beckoning to tell me who “liked” my post, I clicked with anticipation.  It was a loyal follower who finds yet another reason to lift my spirits.  They become my circle…the ones I know I can count on. They don’t hit the button just because they’re “in” my crowd.  You can tell.  They are actually interested.

And then the others…the others I want to hang out with too.  It’s like being in high school all over again.   Come on, don’t you like me?  Don’t you notice I like you?  And if it’s not high school, it’s even worse.  I feel like the little one tugging on the popular teacher’s skirt.  If you’ll just look down you might notice me.  And most often they don’t.

From the office, to Facebook, to blogging, and so on.  Will it ever not be like high school?

Okay…so I regressed for a minute, now I am back to my much wiser, older self.  And you know…it’s okay.  It is really okay.  I like my circle.  I find comfort there.  And I hope they find comfort there too.

Our Christmas Miracle

26 Dec

I spent the day with her…our Christmas Miracle.

Christmas Day in the hospital…certainly not idyllic circumstances, but compared to just one week earlier…a very Merry Christmas indeed.

One week earlier…my mom rushed to the hospital and began the fight of her life.  Kidneys shut down, no pulse, pneumonia, heart functioning abnormally, unconscious and unresponsive. Unknown to us at the time, an infection was ravaging her body.  Dependent on breath from a machine, her outlook was bleak and dismal.

There were brief moments of hope, but many more moments of despair.  If she survived, most certainly there would be brain damage.

We talked to her.  We held her hand.  We cried…and we prayed.  Who could know that just one week later…we would celebrate Christmas with her in a private room?  No brain issues, no heart issues, functioning kidneys and her lungs breathing life into her.

We get to talk with her now, rather than to her.  When asked how she made it…she speaks with a firm and simple reply.  “God”.


19 Dec

TearTears of sadness for the children, their protectors, and their families.

Tears of joy for the outpouring of love around the world.

Tears of sadness for the conclusion of a long career.

Tears of joy for my path to new beginnings.

Tears of sadness for pain my mother has endured.

Tears of joy for the courageous fight she has in her.

Tears…lots and lots of tears.

Wedding Cookies

28 Nov

Danish Wedding Cookies

Some things never change. Danish Wedding Cookies rock!  Of course when I had them as a child, I didn’t say they rocked.  Maybe I just said they were yummy.  Having them now takes me back in time, to a time when things were much simpler.  When I find myself longing for those days, I remind myself that I am blessed to have wonderful memories as a child and that as an adult, more memories continue to be made.

While helping me put away the groceries from a recent shopping trip, my young adult son grinned as one bag revealed a box of those wonderful cookies.  He said they reminded him of when he was a kid.

Some things never change.

New Love

17 Oct

My answer was no…an emphatic no!

Dogs are messy.  Dogs are a responsibility.  Dogs are trouble.  Then he sent a picture.  My son was already smitten and wanted me to feel the same.  I caved…just until other arrangements for a summer residence were made.  So a temporary fence went up for a temporary situation.

Five months later, I am smitten too.  And yes, the dog is messy.  And yes, he’s a responsibility.  And yes, sometimes he’s trouble.  But the moment he positions himself close as if to say “I love you too”…well let’s just say that emphatic no has changed to a heartfelt yes!

Days of Our Lives

10 Oct

With the TV on, my head down, thoughts to my writing, I heard something familiar.  It was my past.  It was my childhood.  It was lunch at Grandma’s, the smell of fried chicken, and that old gas stove…that hourglass, Macdonald Carey’s voice, timeless and classic.

In a moment, memories rushed through my head.  It was a time of bouffant hair, polyester, and Thursdays at Grandma’s.  This the day my mom and her sisters chose to have lunch there weekly.  We’d gather at the table…Macdonald Carey’s voice supporting the arrival of noon.  I thought of that table and the floor where we’d play.  I saw Guideposts, an old afghan and the rock on the stove.  I heard the women laugh and share their stories of the day.  In a flicker of a moment, I was there…it all came alive.

Memories alive and memories to cherish…as sands through the hourglass, those were some of the days of my life.

Fits of Laughter

7 Oct

I seldom have them, but when I do, I am quite convinced I look absurdly crazy.  A complete and total loss of composure…an explosion of uncontrollable laughter.

Like the time my sister and I were attempting a tire change.  We were new young adults out on our own and we had never done this before.  Owner’s manual in hand, we followed the instructions.  Something got us tickled and we were off.  Any shot of progression was impeded with uncontrollable bouts of ‘tears running down our cheeks’ laughter.  Our independence was proven in fits of hysterical comedy.

We somehow managed to change that tire and we still sometimes manage to have the uncontrollable bouts of ‘tears running down our cheeks’ laughter.

My Daddy

28 Sep

As I completed the task, I viewed with satisfaction…a job well done.  A privacy wall for my patio and I built it alone.  This wasn’t my first project and it won’t be my last.  Often wondrous that I am capable, I remember why.  I got this from my dad.

He is a man with many talents and building is one of them.  As a child, I often became his unofficial apprentice.  Fetching a tool or “hold this” was the vital purpose, although popping the chalk line was my preferred task.  With peripheral instruction my little mind absorbed bits of his skill.

A blue-collar worker and athletically apt; he was blessed with an unexpected gift for art.  I have watched him craft astonishing pottery, take amazing pictures, and sculpt simply to engage himself.

With his understanding, encouragement and advice to never give up, I am writing.

Writing is an art, and I got this from my dad.

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