Friday morning, New Years Eve 2010. The last year has sped by on fast forward. I do not know why I am so surprised as the days of the week seem to have wings. "I" and I stood on the porch about five and looked out at the yard. I wondered was this old year busy packing her bag with tears of regret in her eyes. Its always hard to say good-bye.
I thought last night of some of the surprises and changes this last year has brought us. The most important event was Mikayla. This time last year she was in Kansas City at the hospital. Her body fighting the medicine and Bone Marrow transplant. Just take a look at the picture at the top of the page. She has went into remission, her hair is growing, her smile lights up the room. Thank-you 2010 and God for this miracle.
I laugh at the New Years resolutions that lay broken within the first few weeks. 2010 has not seen me lose weight. "Little Debbie," has not stopped being my best friend. She always has a kind word for me and a sweet taste that comforts. Shall I put her on my resolution list this year? I probably will "Debbie," smiles at this thought knowing full well I will never carry through.
Things I have lost this year. Fearless confidence after I broke my wrist. I had never had a broken bone. I was immune to such things. Though I did not see well I walked around two miles most days. I keep saying I will start again. But as I peer at the world in the white haze that has come to be my sight. I keep putting the starting date off.
My sight has deteriorated some. I lean in a tad closer to the computer and almost sit on the desk but still it gets less clear as the days go by. I stumble, bounce, as I go about the house. The grocery store is getting harder to get around in. I ask more people that are standing in the aisles questions. "I" and I went with The Emperor to Mount Vernon the other day. I went into McDonald's to get us a burger. It was busy. I stepped carefully around people, straining to see lest I step on someone. You have to get your own soft drink. With trembling hands I managed the cup, feeling for the opening that would let the liquid spew forth. After many tries and spilled drink I managed. I felt for the straws. Patting down the entire drink machine. I looked up and in my haze I saw a table full of people watching me in amazement. I licked my lips and asked with humility, "Can you see the straws?" They all nodded yes. A man found them for me. I said thank-you and made for the door. A young man opened both doors for me and called after me. "Be careful where you step." He either knew I was almost blind or thought I was so old I could not make it safely back to the car. Neither one holds much promise.
So as I stand here on the brink of the New Year. I am grateful I am still here. That my family is safe and Mikayla is doing so well. I wonder what this New Year that looms ahead will hold. Promises of hope or terror. I hope its good promises that awaits us. Smiling as she bestows luck and prosperity our way. But either way there is no stopping time or the New Year.
I throw my words into the Cyber sky. I head back home. Its starting to rain. I hope that's not an omen of things to come. I wonder will I still be around at the end of 2011? Making my almost daily trip to Blogland. I sure hope so. But for today, I'm outta here.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
ME" ME" ME"
Miss Wednesday has arrived. She has on a rain jacket although its only misting. I like the word Wednesday and really wouldn't mind having that for a name. Of course when you are named Willamina anything sounds better. "I" has been out and is safely back in bed with "The Emperor". I went to bed at ten, asleep by eleven and awake by three. Oh sleep can you not at least try to be my friend?
I am not really able to understand people who do not in any way care about what another persons interests are. Is the whole world just me, me, me? I have come to believe that to be true.I trudge to the mirror and stare at the strange older lady who occupies the space. I lean closer. Staring her down I asked,"Am I guilty of the very same thing?" She smirked at me. "What do you think?"
Probably I am.I have a friend who paints. She is really very good. She is proud of her work. If I could even draw a half way decent stick person I would be proud too. She goes on endlessly about her paintings. I look at pictures of them, I ooh and awww. All in the right places. I feel I do anyway. She came yesterday evening. I tried, tried is the magic word here to tell her about my Blog about my Mother. Now I realize that it will not be up for a writing award. But I had been happy writing about what it would have been like if Mom had lived to be a hundred.
She didn't want to listen. She said she had a headache. She talked about the weather. Now I realize I should have took my cue from her actions and just shut up. But no, I would have none of that malarkey. I persevered ahead. Determined she would hear me out. She finally let me finish. A bored look stamped on her face.
I wondered later if that look crosses my dear sister's face every morning when I with childish exuberance want to read my Blog to her. Could it possibly be that I am boring people to death? Hmmm, I suppose it could be true. I think back to the many stories I have written and then button-holed somebody, almost bodily forcing them to listen to it. I may have the "Me" syndrome too. I hate it when I am able to come to the realization that I am guilty of the very same things I get aggravated at others about..
I am not quite sure where this Blog is suppose to be going this morning. Am I trying to say she hurt my feelings. Or that I probably am at fault for not paying attention when others need to brag a little. As Judge Judy says, "Put your listening ears on." I know I am guilty of using my mouth far more than I do my ears.
Standing here in Blogland I reach into my pocket. I closely examine the words I pull out. They looked scribbled and not making much sense I am afraid. I hold them up and wonder if I should even let them go. Maybe I should just stuff them back in my pocket and go home. For at least a full minute I stand here. Slowly I let them go. Cyberspace will just gobble them up anyway. Lost forever in oblivion. I head towards home, I'm outta here.
I am not really able to understand people who do not in any way care about what another persons interests are. Is the whole world just me, me, me? I have come to believe that to be true.I trudge to the mirror and stare at the strange older lady who occupies the space. I lean closer. Staring her down I asked,"Am I guilty of the very same thing?" She smirked at me. "What do you think?"
Probably I am.I have a friend who paints. She is really very good. She is proud of her work. If I could even draw a half way decent stick person I would be proud too. She goes on endlessly about her paintings. I look at pictures of them, I ooh and awww. All in the right places. I feel I do anyway. She came yesterday evening. I tried, tried is the magic word here to tell her about my Blog about my Mother. Now I realize that it will not be up for a writing award. But I had been happy writing about what it would have been like if Mom had lived to be a hundred.
She didn't want to listen. She said she had a headache. She talked about the weather. Now I realize I should have took my cue from her actions and just shut up. But no, I would have none of that malarkey. I persevered ahead. Determined she would hear me out. She finally let me finish. A bored look stamped on her face.
I wondered later if that look crosses my dear sister's face every morning when I with childish exuberance want to read my Blog to her. Could it possibly be that I am boring people to death? Hmmm, I suppose it could be true. I think back to the many stories I have written and then button-holed somebody, almost bodily forcing them to listen to it. I may have the "Me" syndrome too. I hate it when I am able to come to the realization that I am guilty of the very same things I get aggravated at others about..
I am not quite sure where this Blog is suppose to be going this morning. Am I trying to say she hurt my feelings. Or that I probably am at fault for not paying attention when others need to brag a little. As Judge Judy says, "Put your listening ears on." I know I am guilty of using my mouth far more than I do my ears.
Standing here in Blogland I reach into my pocket. I closely examine the words I pull out. They looked scribbled and not making much sense I am afraid. I hold them up and wonder if I should even let them go. Maybe I should just stuff them back in my pocket and go home. For at least a full minute I stand here. Slowly I let them go. Cyberspace will just gobble them up anyway. Lost forever in oblivion. I head towards home, I'm outta here.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
THE GREAT CENTENARIAN
Tuesday morning is here. I awakened, stumbled to the bathroom, turned on the light and looked in the mirror. What a fright. Puffy eyes, red nose. If I stick my head out the door and Miss Tuesday sees me. We may lose a whole day and be in Wednesday instantly. When you can scare a whole day off, it means I'm looking pretty rough.
Everyone is excited as we pull up at 34th and Jackson. Mother's house. A little white house nestled in the trees. Billie has the cake. Bud his guitar. He hasn't sang much these last years but he will for Mom's birthday. Its not everyday someone turns "One Hundred." We are all laughing as we rush in the door. Its suppose to be a surprise. But I'm sure she suspects something is going to happen. The little kids are so excited, in fact we all are. She's at her computer. Probably Googling something. Her cell phone lays on the desk beside her. Happy Birthday Mom, Grandma and "GG" everyone shouts as Billie lights the candles. The candle's are the number one and two zero's. We clap, Bud starts to sing. "Happy Birthday Dear Mom, Happy Birthday to you."
I jerk upright. I was sitting there in the recliner last night and I must have dozed off. It was only a dream, a figment of my imagination. Mom has been gone since 1984. There will be no cake,no celebration, but there should have been. If only. I sigh, if anyone would have been a great Centenarian it would have been my Mother. She was smart, quick, talented, the list goes on.
One thing I know of Pearl Louise Ann Munch is that she would not have been a wispy little One Hundred year old woman, complaining of her aches and pains. She would have had a computer, been on Facebook. I know in my heart she would have had a Blog and put her songs on it. She would have carried a cell phone in her pocket and would have caught on quick to sending pictures. She would have loved this new technology. If only.
If I could have one wish of anything I wanted. It would not be for a Million Dollars, it would be for that party. To have the cake and Bud to sing once more. The laughter filling the house. I'm a little mopy this morning. Longing fills my heart. She would have been One Hundred. If only.
I stop at the corner of Blogland. The corner with the one red flashing stop light. I sometimes wonder why they have it. I never see any cars. I've tied my words with a Pink Ribbon today. I want them to be special, its Mother's Birthday. Untying the ribbon I throw the words upward once again. I'm singing as I start towards home. "Happy Birthday Dear Mom, Happy Birthday to you.
Everyone is excited as we pull up at 34th and Jackson. Mother's house. A little white house nestled in the trees. Billie has the cake. Bud his guitar. He hasn't sang much these last years but he will for Mom's birthday. Its not everyday someone turns "One Hundred." We are all laughing as we rush in the door. Its suppose to be a surprise. But I'm sure she suspects something is going to happen. The little kids are so excited, in fact we all are. She's at her computer. Probably Googling something. Her cell phone lays on the desk beside her. Happy Birthday Mom, Grandma and "GG" everyone shouts as Billie lights the candles. The candle's are the number one and two zero's. We clap, Bud starts to sing. "Happy Birthday Dear Mom, Happy Birthday to you."
I jerk upright. I was sitting there in the recliner last night and I must have dozed off. It was only a dream, a figment of my imagination. Mom has been gone since 1984. There will be no cake,no celebration, but there should have been. If only. I sigh, if anyone would have been a great Centenarian it would have been my Mother. She was smart, quick, talented, the list goes on.
One thing I know of Pearl Louise Ann Munch is that she would not have been a wispy little One Hundred year old woman, complaining of her aches and pains. She would have had a computer, been on Facebook. I know in my heart she would have had a Blog and put her songs on it. She would have carried a cell phone in her pocket and would have caught on quick to sending pictures. She would have loved this new technology. If only.
If I could have one wish of anything I wanted. It would not be for a Million Dollars, it would be for that party. To have the cake and Bud to sing once more. The laughter filling the house. I'm a little mopy this morning. Longing fills my heart. She would have been One Hundred. If only.
I stop at the corner of Blogland. The corner with the one red flashing stop light. I sometimes wonder why they have it. I never see any cars. I've tied my words with a Pink Ribbon today. I want them to be special, its Mother's Birthday. Untying the ribbon I throw the words upward once again. I'm singing as I start towards home. "Happy Birthday Dear Mom, Happy Birthday to you.
Monday, December 27, 2010
AN ALL SEASON TREE.
Monday is back again. As I ran around the yard hissing at "I". Miss Monday gives me no inclination of how friendly she will be. As I creaked out of bed this morning I gave thanks for another day. We are on the count down to a brand New Year. I truly hope I am blessed with the whole thing. Three hundred and sixty-five days to mess with.
I am doing some serious thinking. Don't look skeptical. I think serious sometimes. Usually about three in the morning. As I talked to my sister yesterday I spoke of how I would hate to take the tree down. It has been such a pleasure to me. "Then don't take it down, " she said. "Don't take it down," I repearted dumbly. "Yes," she answered. Just take off the Christmas decorations and decorate for whatever season it is. Valentines Day, Easter, Fourth of July." My mind raced with the idea. "Summer could be flowers and birds," I shouted gleefully. Then there's fall and Thanksgiving. "Wow," I loved the idea.
But my problem is breaking the news to The Emperor," that I want to have a an "All Season Tree". I have wildly been making my reasons it would work over in my mind. I have a con list. I have a pro list. Let me toss the ideas out and see what you think. I'll start with the con list first.
Number one is, its too big to leave up all year long. Standing at least seven feet tall, round and full. Its a large tree. But in that argument let me say I have gotten quite good at walking through the dining room door sideways. Number two con. People will think I'm nuts. "Huh, Duh," people already think I'm nuts. The tree isn't going to make a difference one way or another.
Now for the Pro list. Number one. The tree will already be up next Christmas, Billie will be happy about that. Number two, think of all the different decorations I can use. I'll just hop to the One Dollar shop and buy for that season. I'm excited just thinking about it. Yah for me. I can see the tree on the fourth. Little Flags all over the tree. And a large flag at the top. Summer can be flowers and birds, Not live birds of course. I'm not that crazy yet.
I can be known as the tree lady. Doesn't that have a nice ring to it? It will be the focus point of the house. I'm quite excited about the idea. Of course I can hear the grandkids now. "Good grief Grandma has left the tree up with all kinds of things on it." "Shady Tree Rest Home" will defnitely be getting a call if I go ahead with this plan. I smile to myself. I could have little turkeys at Thanksgiving. My big problem is trying to make The Emperor see the beauty in it all. "Your Mother is nuts," he'll yell at Billie. She then will shake her head sadly and say, "I know."
With visions of the multi tree dancing in my head I make my turn around in Blogland. I notice the lights are already out of the store window. Their Christmas spirit didn't last long. As I walk towards home I smile. On Easter I could hang little rabbits and colored eggs. This could really be fun. Thanks Geri for the idea. But for now, I'm outta here.
I am doing some serious thinking. Don't look skeptical. I think serious sometimes. Usually about three in the morning. As I talked to my sister yesterday I spoke of how I would hate to take the tree down. It has been such a pleasure to me. "Then don't take it down, " she said. "Don't take it down," I repearted dumbly. "Yes," she answered. Just take off the Christmas decorations and decorate for whatever season it is. Valentines Day, Easter, Fourth of July." My mind raced with the idea. "Summer could be flowers and birds," I shouted gleefully. Then there's fall and Thanksgiving. "Wow," I loved the idea.
But my problem is breaking the news to The Emperor," that I want to have a an "All Season Tree". I have wildly been making my reasons it would work over in my mind. I have a con list. I have a pro list. Let me toss the ideas out and see what you think. I'll start with the con list first.
Number one is, its too big to leave up all year long. Standing at least seven feet tall, round and full. Its a large tree. But in that argument let me say I have gotten quite good at walking through the dining room door sideways. Number two con. People will think I'm nuts. "Huh, Duh," people already think I'm nuts. The tree isn't going to make a difference one way or another.
Now for the Pro list. Number one. The tree will already be up next Christmas, Billie will be happy about that. Number two, think of all the different decorations I can use. I'll just hop to the One Dollar shop and buy for that season. I'm excited just thinking about it. Yah for me. I can see the tree on the fourth. Little Flags all over the tree. And a large flag at the top. Summer can be flowers and birds, Not live birds of course. I'm not that crazy yet.
I can be known as the tree lady. Doesn't that have a nice ring to it? It will be the focus point of the house. I'm quite excited about the idea. Of course I can hear the grandkids now. "Good grief Grandma has left the tree up with all kinds of things on it." "Shady Tree Rest Home" will defnitely be getting a call if I go ahead with this plan. I smile to myself. I could have little turkeys at Thanksgiving. My big problem is trying to make The Emperor see the beauty in it all. "Your Mother is nuts," he'll yell at Billie. She then will shake her head sadly and say, "I know."
With visions of the multi tree dancing in my head I make my turn around in Blogland. I notice the lights are already out of the store window. Their Christmas spirit didn't last long. As I walk towards home I smile. On Easter I could hang little rabbits and colored eggs. This could really be fun. Thanks Geri for the idea. But for now, I'm outta here.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
MISS SUNDAY IS COLD.
Sunday morning is back. I peered at her from the door. "You're too cold for me Miss Sunday. I'm not coming out." She smiled at me from the darkness of the yard, but I noticed she was wearing her coat. "I" went out but she had already left her damage on the kitchen floor. Which I stepped in with my new house shoes. She's really very good on going out to do her personal business. But sometime in the night I guess she decided she couldn't wait till four. Or maybe she thought it was just too cold outside to do that sort of thing. So in the early morning hours I was down on my knees cleaning. Ugg!
As I sit here at the computer wrestling with words. I sip my coffee with my "International Coffee Creamer." If you drink cream in your coffee and haven't tried it, you should. It is wonderful. Compliments of my dear heart daughter. But as I sip my liquid ambrosia I look around the house. Christmas is over. Remnants remain, some presents I received sit under the tree. Waiting to be put away. The torn paper in the trash. All dishes washed and order restored once more in the kitchen. The tree remains. Tall and majestic in the living room.
I swear if my house was bigger I would leave that tree up all year long. It has been such a source of pleasure. I know for sure the family would be placing a call to "Shady Tree Rest Home," if I did. My children would make the call. "Our Mother has complete dementia" they would say. Its July and the Christmas Tree is still up. I really see nothing wrong in having it up all year. If only I had a little more room. If only.
Yesterday, Christmas Day will linger in my memory for a long time to come. Each group coming in, voices, laughter, smiles. Its what a family is made of.. Love. It was havoc, it was fun. Banter, everyone hollered at Jeremy for eating three deviled eggs. I had none. Little Brandi feeling bad for not making more. Jeremy saying grace. Will's girl showing me their painted fingernails. Even my niece Rhonda came. I'm sure they never even suspected the joy that each one brought. Placing a smile inside my heart.
My little glass teapot that Brandi bought me,sits on the coffee table. My new purse in the bedroom. Remnants of Christmas. My memories lay vivid in my thoughts. If I had the money I would cook a big meal everyday just so the ones that had the time could drop by for a smile and a bite. I would love to have them all, every last one every day. Andrew with the shy smile Orion with his. Bradley always happy. Brett his quiet way. My beloved Ryan. Angel and Kiefer. Victoria, Amber. The list goes. "Remember me," I want to call to them as they troop out the door. Someday when I am gone, Please remember Granny."
My words have been scattered yet another morning. Transposing thoughts into words has not been easy today. But here they lay, strewn across the paper. Just like the wrapping paper was Christmas eve. Christmas 2010 is over. But it sits in my mind, smiling at me broadly. "Don't leave Christmas," I want to cry. But time marches on they say and its left its mark on my heart. Forever smiling brightly.
I have tossed my words into the cold wind. I pull my scarf up tighter on my neck. I am cold. Heading for home I shiver a little from the chill. Wondering what awaits us in the New Year that sits just up the road. I surely hope its good stuff. I think I see the lights of home. Blogland I'm outta here.
As I sit here at the computer wrestling with words. I sip my coffee with my "International Coffee Creamer." If you drink cream in your coffee and haven't tried it, you should. It is wonderful. Compliments of my dear heart daughter. But as I sip my liquid ambrosia I look around the house. Christmas is over. Remnants remain, some presents I received sit under the tree. Waiting to be put away. The torn paper in the trash. All dishes washed and order restored once more in the kitchen. The tree remains. Tall and majestic in the living room.
I swear if my house was bigger I would leave that tree up all year long. It has been such a source of pleasure. I know for sure the family would be placing a call to "Shady Tree Rest Home," if I did. My children would make the call. "Our Mother has complete dementia" they would say. Its July and the Christmas Tree is still up. I really see nothing wrong in having it up all year. If only I had a little more room. If only.
Yesterday, Christmas Day will linger in my memory for a long time to come. Each group coming in, voices, laughter, smiles. Its what a family is made of.. Love. It was havoc, it was fun. Banter, everyone hollered at Jeremy for eating three deviled eggs. I had none. Little Brandi feeling bad for not making more. Jeremy saying grace. Will's girl showing me their painted fingernails. Even my niece Rhonda came. I'm sure they never even suspected the joy that each one brought. Placing a smile inside my heart.
My little glass teapot that Brandi bought me,sits on the coffee table. My new purse in the bedroom. Remnants of Christmas. My memories lay vivid in my thoughts. If I had the money I would cook a big meal everyday just so the ones that had the time could drop by for a smile and a bite. I would love to have them all, every last one every day. Andrew with the shy smile Orion with his. Bradley always happy. Brett his quiet way. My beloved Ryan. Angel and Kiefer. Victoria, Amber. The list goes. "Remember me," I want to call to them as they troop out the door. Someday when I am gone, Please remember Granny."
My words have been scattered yet another morning. Transposing thoughts into words has not been easy today. But here they lay, strewn across the paper. Just like the wrapping paper was Christmas eve. Christmas 2010 is over. But it sits in my mind, smiling at me broadly. "Don't leave Christmas," I want to cry. But time marches on they say and its left its mark on my heart. Forever smiling brightly.
I have tossed my words into the cold wind. I pull my scarf up tighter on my neck. I am cold. Heading for home I shiver a little from the chill. Wondering what awaits us in the New Year that sits just up the road. I surely hope its good stuff. I think I see the lights of home. Blogland I'm outta here.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
I'M LOOKING FOR CHRISTMAS.
It is Saturday morning. At least I think it is. The days whirling past me at such a fast pace I lose track. If it is really Saturday, then its only ome week until Christmas. So best put on your Christmas spirit. If you don't have one fake it. "Tis the season," remember. I'm looking for the spirit of Christmas. The spirit of love. But I can only find it in myself.
I wrote the other day about Christamas as a kid on ninth street. Remember the magic you felt as a kid? The promise of what was coming. The excitement. It so sad that as we grow older we lose that excietment, the magic. But it doesn't have to be that way, not at all.
The one common thread I hear. I don't have money to spend, this is so expensive. I feel stressed. Kids don't have to have expensive toys. You can pick up the phone and call a shut-in and ask them how they are doing. Let someone who is all alone tell you their aches and pains. I for one need to be better at this . A dozen things bought from the one dollar store and passed around to people you care about. Just so they know you are thinking about them.
So today I will not worry about what I can't afford. I will smile at someone I pass. I will not get hateful when someone gets cranky with me at the "One Dollar Shop." For the next seven days I will look for Christmas in my heart. Isn't that's where its suppose to be? My prayer for this week will be, "Fill me with the joy of this season. Help me not to forget we are celebrating the Baby Jesus's birthday." I sure wouldn't want a whole mass of angry, stressed people helping me celebrate my birthday. "Tis the season of love."
As I start for home. Leaving Blogland this morning I look around me. I hope Christmas love is going to make it here. Its so dark here early in the mornings when I come. I guess thats because its cyberspace, right? But someone took the time to hang lights in the little store. So someone here is celebrating Christmas. Maybe I will bring some candy canes tomorrow and leave them in front of the store. Then whoever hung the lights will know someone else is celebrating Christamas too. But for today,I'm outta here.
I wrote the other day about Christamas as a kid on ninth street. Remember the magic you felt as a kid? The promise of what was coming. The excitement. It so sad that as we grow older we lose that excietment, the magic. But it doesn't have to be that way, not at all.
The one common thread I hear. I don't have money to spend, this is so expensive. I feel stressed. Kids don't have to have expensive toys. You can pick up the phone and call a shut-in and ask them how they are doing. Let someone who is all alone tell you their aches and pains. I for one need to be better at this . A dozen things bought from the one dollar store and passed around to people you care about. Just so they know you are thinking about them.
So today I will not worry about what I can't afford. I will smile at someone I pass. I will not get hateful when someone gets cranky with me at the "One Dollar Shop." For the next seven days I will look for Christmas in my heart. Isn't that's where its suppose to be? My prayer for this week will be, "Fill me with the joy of this season. Help me not to forget we are celebrating the Baby Jesus's birthday." I sure wouldn't want a whole mass of angry, stressed people helping me celebrate my birthday. "Tis the season of love."
As I start for home. Leaving Blogland this morning I look around me. I hope Christmas love is going to make it here. Its so dark here early in the mornings when I come. I guess thats because its cyberspace, right? But someone took the time to hang lights in the little store. So someone here is celebrating Christmas. Maybe I will bring some candy canes tomorrow and leave them in front of the store. Then whoever hung the lights will know someone else is celebrating Christamas too. But for today,I'm outta here.
Friday, December 17, 2010
THE LATEST TALE IN THE SAGA OF JERRY COLBURN.
It is Friday morning. Not even yet four. I have been up over an hour. I was asleep by ten, awake by two. I did not get up till three.This has been my pattern the last few days. Even Miss Friday is not awake good yet. I have had no coffee, tea or coca to stimulate me in any way. So I would say that words may be as elusive as sleep this morning.
Some time back I wrote of Jerry Colburn. He was a young man who grew up in our neighborhood. I was younger, he did not know I existed. I wrote about how at The Polyester Place I sat at a table with a woman who knew the old Ninth Street gang. We mentioned names, The Colburn name came up. She pointed across the room to an older man and said, "That's Jerry Colburn right there." I told my sister. She asked if I had went up to him and told him I was a Munch? I said no. A week or so later I asked a man I thought might be this Colburn fella if that was him? The man said no. I do not know if it was him and he was afraid to say yes. It was a fiasco. The people at his table stared at me all through lunch. I told my sister never again would I ask anyone if he was Jerry Colburn. I lied.
Yesterday my friend and I went to lunch once again. It was crowded. Birthday dinner once more. They had cake and that always means a large crowd. Well as we were getting ready to go. I spotted him. At the front table. It was that dang Jerry Colburn again. This time I was sure. As we started to leave I walked up to the man. Hmmm, I thought he seems a little smaller than he did the other time. I took a deep breath, settled my nerves and bent down. In a fairly low voice as not to embarrass myself I asked, "Are you Jerry Colburn?" He looked at me funny. "What," he said in a loud voice. Good grief I think Mr. Colburn might be deaf. I spoke a little louder, looking around, hoping nobody noticed. "Are you Jerry Colburn?" I said very loudly. He banged the side of his head, opening his ears up I think. I must not have made myself clear. "Are you Jerry Colburn?" This I almost screamed. Everyone left in the place stared at me. He jumped a foot. I had frightened the little man. But this time he looked at me with understanding. He finally had heard.
He shook his head. "No him and his wife left about five minutes ago." Fate has not meant for me to talk to Jerry Colburn and tell him my sister said hi. I'm just hoping the next time I go over to the Polyester Place they don't try to get me for stalking. Wherever you are Jerry right this minute, I hope you had a happy life. I hope you continue to do so. I promise I will never ever ask for you again. Please do not be afraid. I have not come to harm you. I only wanted to say hi for my sister.
So my task is done another day. Words scattered, words that make little sense even to me. Its getting closer to Christmas. I see the Christmas lights are still burning in the little store. They look very pretty. I don't know if anyone here in Blogland has ever heard of Jerry Colburn. I sure don't intend to ask. For now, I'm outta here.
Some time back I wrote of Jerry Colburn. He was a young man who grew up in our neighborhood. I was younger, he did not know I existed. I wrote about how at The Polyester Place I sat at a table with a woman who knew the old Ninth Street gang. We mentioned names, The Colburn name came up. She pointed across the room to an older man and said, "That's Jerry Colburn right there." I told my sister. She asked if I had went up to him and told him I was a Munch? I said no. A week or so later I asked a man I thought might be this Colburn fella if that was him? The man said no. I do not know if it was him and he was afraid to say yes. It was a fiasco. The people at his table stared at me all through lunch. I told my sister never again would I ask anyone if he was Jerry Colburn. I lied.
Yesterday my friend and I went to lunch once again. It was crowded. Birthday dinner once more. They had cake and that always means a large crowd. Well as we were getting ready to go. I spotted him. At the front table. It was that dang Jerry Colburn again. This time I was sure. As we started to leave I walked up to the man. Hmmm, I thought he seems a little smaller than he did the other time. I took a deep breath, settled my nerves and bent down. In a fairly low voice as not to embarrass myself I asked, "Are you Jerry Colburn?" He looked at me funny. "What," he said in a loud voice. Good grief I think Mr. Colburn might be deaf. I spoke a little louder, looking around, hoping nobody noticed. "Are you Jerry Colburn?" I said very loudly. He banged the side of his head, opening his ears up I think. I must not have made myself clear. "Are you Jerry Colburn?" This I almost screamed. Everyone left in the place stared at me. He jumped a foot. I had frightened the little man. But this time he looked at me with understanding. He finally had heard.
He shook his head. "No him and his wife left about five minutes ago." Fate has not meant for me to talk to Jerry Colburn and tell him my sister said hi. I'm just hoping the next time I go over to the Polyester Place they don't try to get me for stalking. Wherever you are Jerry right this minute, I hope you had a happy life. I hope you continue to do so. I promise I will never ever ask for you again. Please do not be afraid. I have not come to harm you. I only wanted to say hi for my sister.
So my task is done another day. Words scattered, words that make little sense even to me. Its getting closer to Christmas. I see the Christmas lights are still burning in the little store. They look very pretty. I don't know if anyone here in Blogland has ever heard of Jerry Colburn. I sure don't intend to ask. For now, I'm outta here.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
HER NAME WAS GEARLDINE
Thursday, Thor day. You remember, right? "I" and me have been up since before four. Sleep my friend who is not faithful did not visit me very consistent last night. To bed at ten, asleep by eleven. She left me by two but I stubbornly stayed in bed till almost four. I am up and sit here at the computer. Hot chocolate at my ready. I'm not to sure words will be so faithfully at my ready too.
Our house still holds remnants from yesterday. A woman I knew not well but knew passed away last week. Her daughter called at eight-thirty yesterday morning. She asked if I would like some of her Mother's clothes" I said yes. That was when I heard the closet groan, loudly. Along with the Emperor. An hour later he went after them. He came back, bags and bags of clothing, shoes filled the car. The daughter told him, her name is Karen. to bring me back. I went. We brought home another car load, of ducks, chickens, Dolls. So many items. Then I sat down amidst the bags and thought, "Holy shit, what do I do now?"
I worked all day sorting. I promised my son bags for "The Water Gardens." A homeless refuge that gives away belongings for no charge, no red tape. I called a friend, she came, she wore the exact same size as Gerry. She lives on 600 hundred dollars a month. No money for new clothes for her. She took away a load. Another came and took some for the needy. I have promised a lady who needs tennis shoes for her granddaughter who wears size seven two pairs. I say all this to say this. I think Gerry would be happy. I think she smiled at knowing her clothes will warm the homeless and brighten he day of an ex-drug addict that has very few shoes or clothes.
Her name was Geraldine. They called her Gerry. I've known her a few years. Not real well. But her smile and ready friendliness spoke to me. There was a kind genuine nature about her. Her daughter is the wife of a friend of The Emperor. I talked to her whenever I saw her. I know little of her past life. She had children grandchildren, nephews. A family. I know from the way she touched me only knowing her causally that her passing will leave a vast void in their life's.
It was hard for me to talk to Karen, her daughter. Even after all these years the pain on someones face on losing their Mother sweeps back over me, as if it was only yesterday when Momma left us. I brought tears to her eyes, tears to mine. I did not mean to. I only wanted to say, I felt Gerry was a special person. Her leaving will leave an empty space in many life's. I will not see her smile again.
I still have items on the table. I must find places to put them. I have beautiful Christmas dolls in my living room. Clothes to yet hang in my closet. As I sorted yesterday the cold hard fact hit me in the face. This someday will be my fate. My clothes passed around, given out. I smiled, someone who wears a size eight shoe will hit the Mother load with my passing. My son will come today and take the bags. Many who have very little will benefit from this. I want my clothes and things to do the same. But while I'm still here, I'm keeping a tight hold on them.
So as I stand in downtown Blogland. The traffic light flashing its usual red lights against the skies. I reach once again into my pocket. Taking out the words that rest upon the page. I whisper good-bye to Gerry and watch the wind pick up the words and toss them skyward. Then the strangest thing happened. For the first time in all my trips to Blogland this last year I see a star. Shining brightly. I felt good. May you walk with the Angels Gerry, you will be greatly missed.
Our house still holds remnants from yesterday. A woman I knew not well but knew passed away last week. Her daughter called at eight-thirty yesterday morning. She asked if I would like some of her Mother's clothes" I said yes. That was when I heard the closet groan, loudly. Along with the Emperor. An hour later he went after them. He came back, bags and bags of clothing, shoes filled the car. The daughter told him, her name is Karen. to bring me back. I went. We brought home another car load, of ducks, chickens, Dolls. So many items. Then I sat down amidst the bags and thought, "Holy shit, what do I do now?"
I worked all day sorting. I promised my son bags for "The Water Gardens." A homeless refuge that gives away belongings for no charge, no red tape. I called a friend, she came, she wore the exact same size as Gerry. She lives on 600 hundred dollars a month. No money for new clothes for her. She took away a load. Another came and took some for the needy. I have promised a lady who needs tennis shoes for her granddaughter who wears size seven two pairs. I say all this to say this. I think Gerry would be happy. I think she smiled at knowing her clothes will warm the homeless and brighten he day of an ex-drug addict that has very few shoes or clothes.
Her name was Geraldine. They called her Gerry. I've known her a few years. Not real well. But her smile and ready friendliness spoke to me. There was a kind genuine nature about her. Her daughter is the wife of a friend of The Emperor. I talked to her whenever I saw her. I know little of her past life. She had children grandchildren, nephews. A family. I know from the way she touched me only knowing her causally that her passing will leave a vast void in their life's.
It was hard for me to talk to Karen, her daughter. Even after all these years the pain on someones face on losing their Mother sweeps back over me, as if it was only yesterday when Momma left us. I brought tears to her eyes, tears to mine. I did not mean to. I only wanted to say, I felt Gerry was a special person. Her leaving will leave an empty space in many life's. I will not see her smile again.
I still have items on the table. I must find places to put them. I have beautiful Christmas dolls in my living room. Clothes to yet hang in my closet. As I sorted yesterday the cold hard fact hit me in the face. This someday will be my fate. My clothes passed around, given out. I smiled, someone who wears a size eight shoe will hit the Mother load with my passing. My son will come today and take the bags. Many who have very little will benefit from this. I want my clothes and things to do the same. But while I'm still here, I'm keeping a tight hold on them.
So as I stand in downtown Blogland. The traffic light flashing its usual red lights against the skies. I reach once again into my pocket. Taking out the words that rest upon the page. I whisper good-bye to Gerry and watch the wind pick up the words and toss them skyward. Then the strangest thing happened. For the first time in all my trips to Blogland this last year I see a star. Shining brightly. I felt good. May you walk with the Angels Gerry, you will be greatly missed.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
THANK GOD I WAS DREAMING.
Tuesday morning is here, she is wearing a coat. If you are going out, I suggest you do the same.I went out but didn't even chase the shadows barking at the grey invisible enemy she usually thinks is there. She did her business. I am so grateful I am not a dog. Then she came back in, all very quickly. Her large ears very cold. Her ears are like my nose, the biggest part of us. So they cool down quickly.
I wake up with a start. Something or someone has hit the top of the dumpster I'm lying behind. Fear makes my heart race. I peer out of the box I have crawled into. I see nothing. I try to crawl out of my cardboard home but my legs have drawn up from the cold. I am stiff and every bone in my body aches with pain. The bitter wind slaps my face and I gasp as my breath is sucked from me. My eyes sting with tears from the cold. Dawn is starting to break. Its only about five degrees but I have survived another night of being homeless.
I awake again, Thank God it was only a dream. The truth is when I awoke at four this morning and hit the floor. My legs did ache but it was only my older bones that caused the stiffness. The house was cooled down so I made my way to the dining room and turned up the heat. Creaking on I went to the kitchen and turned on the coffee pot. By the time I finish in the bathroom the coffee will be done. I am starting my day. I am not homeless.
When we go to the Dollar Store," I see them, the men with the drawn faces and desperate look that sits permanently in their eyes. I ache for them. I wish I could open the car window and say get in, come home with us. The house is warm, we have food. I can't do that, I don't do that. I only think it. Myself like all the others talk how terrible to be homeless in this weather. Sometimes when I burrow into the warm bed at night I have to force myself not to let the image of those tragic figures come into my mind. But I see them,standing in a doorway, behind a dumpster. Praying for the dawn or maybe sometimes just for the end. Something to happen to lift the misery. Bring some comfort of any kind.
There are many reasons for the homeless. There are many more now because of our poor economics. people who live from paycheck to paycheck and lose their jobs. Thy live in their cars, the car breaks down. No money to fix it. They come and tow it away. Their only protection from the bitter cold or the danger that lurks out there is gone.
Their are addicts on the streets. So caught up with their addiction they drift from fix to fix pill to pill. With no hope in sight. Then there is the mentally ill. People who have slipped through our system and are left in their confusion and fear to try and fend for themselves on the street. It actually matters not why they are there. What brought them to this frightening place. What matters is they are there. Homeless.
I feel that somehow I have failed as a human when I have not at least in some small way tried to change this situation. I have not. I moan about my problems as I sit in my chair. Somewhere as I sit there someone is dying from the cold. There is no pillow to hold their head. No warm blanket to shield them from the freezing wind. I feel bad," I say with pity. But I sit there in apathy, doing nothing. I wonder sometimes is apathy one of the biggest sins? "Do unto others," Jesus said. But still I sit. Doing nothing.
The words that I toss into the dark, cold December skies are not tight and tidy this morning. They do not as it sometimes goes make very much sense. But I toss them still. I pull my coat tighter around me, its cold here too. I look around. Is there homeless in Blogland? They seem to be everywhere these days. I head for home. The guilt that I have a home to go too tugs at my heart. Will it tug enough that I will try to make a difference? I turn up my collar. I'm walking faster, I'm outta here.
I wake up with a start. Something or someone has hit the top of the dumpster I'm lying behind. Fear makes my heart race. I peer out of the box I have crawled into. I see nothing. I try to crawl out of my cardboard home but my legs have drawn up from the cold. I am stiff and every bone in my body aches with pain. The bitter wind slaps my face and I gasp as my breath is sucked from me. My eyes sting with tears from the cold. Dawn is starting to break. Its only about five degrees but I have survived another night of being homeless.
I awake again, Thank God it was only a dream. The truth is when I awoke at four this morning and hit the floor. My legs did ache but it was only my older bones that caused the stiffness. The house was cooled down so I made my way to the dining room and turned up the heat. Creaking on I went to the kitchen and turned on the coffee pot. By the time I finish in the bathroom the coffee will be done. I am starting my day. I am not homeless.
When we go to the Dollar Store," I see them, the men with the drawn faces and desperate look that sits permanently in their eyes. I ache for them. I wish I could open the car window and say get in, come home with us. The house is warm, we have food. I can't do that, I don't do that. I only think it. Myself like all the others talk how terrible to be homeless in this weather. Sometimes when I burrow into the warm bed at night I have to force myself not to let the image of those tragic figures come into my mind. But I see them,standing in a doorway, behind a dumpster. Praying for the dawn or maybe sometimes just for the end. Something to happen to lift the misery. Bring some comfort of any kind.
There are many reasons for the homeless. There are many more now because of our poor economics. people who live from paycheck to paycheck and lose their jobs. Thy live in their cars, the car breaks down. No money to fix it. They come and tow it away. Their only protection from the bitter cold or the danger that lurks out there is gone.
Their are addicts on the streets. So caught up with their addiction they drift from fix to fix pill to pill. With no hope in sight. Then there is the mentally ill. People who have slipped through our system and are left in their confusion and fear to try and fend for themselves on the street. It actually matters not why they are there. What brought them to this frightening place. What matters is they are there. Homeless.
I feel that somehow I have failed as a human when I have not at least in some small way tried to change this situation. I have not. I moan about my problems as I sit in my chair. Somewhere as I sit there someone is dying from the cold. There is no pillow to hold their head. No warm blanket to shield them from the freezing wind. I feel bad," I say with pity. But I sit there in apathy, doing nothing. I wonder sometimes is apathy one of the biggest sins? "Do unto others," Jesus said. But still I sit. Doing nothing.
The words that I toss into the dark, cold December skies are not tight and tidy this morning. They do not as it sometimes goes make very much sense. But I toss them still. I pull my coat tighter around me, its cold here too. I look around. Is there homeless in Blogland? They seem to be everywhere these days. I head for home. The guilt that I have a home to go too tugs at my heart. Will it tug enough that I will try to make a difference? I turn up my collar. I'm walking faster, I'm outta here.
Monday, December 13, 2010
It is Tuesday morning. When "I" went outside. She didn't chase and bark at the dark invisible shadows as she usually does. She did her business and came back inside. Her large ears cold. She is like me with my nose. Being one of the biggest things about us. They get cold very quickly.
I wake up with a start. Something or someone has hit the top of the dumpster I'm lying behind. fear makes my heart race. I peer out of the box I have crawled into. I see nobody one or nothing. I try to crawl out of my cardboard home but my legs have drawn up from the cold. I am stiff and every bone in my body aches with pain. The bitter wind slaps my face and I gasp as my breath is sucked from me. My eyes sting with tears from the cold. Dawn is starting to break. Its only about five degrees but I have survived another night of being homeless.
I wake again. Thank God it was only a dream. The truth is when I awoke at four this morning and hit the floor. My legs did ache but it was only my older bones that caused the stiffness. The house was cooled down so I made my way to the dining room and turned up the heat. Creaking on I went to the kitchen and turned on the coffee pot. By the time I finish in the bathroom the coffee will be done. I am starting my day. I am not homeless.
When we go to the Dollar Store," I see them, the men with the drawn faces and desperate look that sits permnantly in their eyes. I ache for them. I wish I could open the car window and say get in, come home with us. The house is warm, we have food. I can't do that, I don't do that., I only think it. Myself like all the others talk how terrible to be homeless in this weather. Sometimes when I burrow into the warm bed at night I have to force myself not to let the image of those tragic figures standing in a doorway. Praying for the dawn or maybe sometimes just for the end. Something to happpen to lift the misery.
There are many reasons for the homeless. There are many more now because of our poor economics. people who live from paycheck top paycheck and lose their jobs. They live in their cars, the car breaks down. No money to fix it. Someone comes and tows it away. Their only protection from the bitter cold is gone.
There are addicts on the streets. So caught up with their addiction they drift from fix to fix. With no hope in sight. Then there is the mentaly ill. People who have slipped through our system and are left in their confusion and fear to try and fend for themsleves on the street. It actually matters not why there are there. What brought them to this frightening place. What matters is they are there. Homeless.
I feel that somehow I have failed as a human when I have not at least in some small way have tried to change this situation. I have not. I moan about my problems as I sit in my chair. Somewhere as I sit there, someone is dying from the cold. There is no pillow to hold their head. No warm blanket to shield them from the freezing wind. "I feel so bad," I say with pity. But I sit there in apathy, doing nothing. "Do unto others," Jesus said. But still I sit. Doing nothing. Is apathy one of the biggest sins?
The words that I toss into the dark, cold December skies are not tight nor tidy this morning. They do not as it sometimes goes make very much sense. But I toss them still. I pull my coat tighter around me, its cold here too. I look around. Is there homeless in Blogland? They seem to be everywhere these days. I head for home. The guilt that I have a home to go too tugs at my heart. Will it tug enough I will try to make a difference? I turn up my collar. Walking faster, I'm outta here.
I wake up with a start. Something or someone has hit the top of the dumpster I'm lying behind. fear makes my heart race. I peer out of the box I have crawled into. I see nobody one or nothing. I try to crawl out of my cardboard home but my legs have drawn up from the cold. I am stiff and every bone in my body aches with pain. The bitter wind slaps my face and I gasp as my breath is sucked from me. My eyes sting with tears from the cold. Dawn is starting to break. Its only about five degrees but I have survived another night of being homeless.
I wake again. Thank God it was only a dream. The truth is when I awoke at four this morning and hit the floor. My legs did ache but it was only my older bones that caused the stiffness. The house was cooled down so I made my way to the dining room and turned up the heat. Creaking on I went to the kitchen and turned on the coffee pot. By the time I finish in the bathroom the coffee will be done. I am starting my day. I am not homeless.
When we go to the Dollar Store," I see them, the men with the drawn faces and desperate look that sits permnantly in their eyes. I ache for them. I wish I could open the car window and say get in, come home with us. The house is warm, we have food. I can't do that, I don't do that., I only think it. Myself like all the others talk how terrible to be homeless in this weather. Sometimes when I burrow into the warm bed at night I have to force myself not to let the image of those tragic figures standing in a doorway. Praying for the dawn or maybe sometimes just for the end. Something to happpen to lift the misery.
There are many reasons for the homeless. There are many more now because of our poor economics. people who live from paycheck top paycheck and lose their jobs. They live in their cars, the car breaks down. No money to fix it. Someone comes and tows it away. Their only protection from the bitter cold is gone.
There are addicts on the streets. So caught up with their addiction they drift from fix to fix. With no hope in sight. Then there is the mentaly ill. People who have slipped through our system and are left in their confusion and fear to try and fend for themsleves on the street. It actually matters not why there are there. What brought them to this frightening place. What matters is they are there. Homeless.
I feel that somehow I have failed as a human when I have not at least in some small way have tried to change this situation. I have not. I moan about my problems as I sit in my chair. Somewhere as I sit there, someone is dying from the cold. There is no pillow to hold their head. No warm blanket to shield them from the freezing wind. "I feel so bad," I say with pity. But I sit there in apathy, doing nothing. "Do unto others," Jesus said. But still I sit. Doing nothing. Is apathy one of the biggest sins?
The words that I toss into the dark, cold December skies are not tight nor tidy this morning. They do not as it sometimes goes make very much sense. But I toss them still. I pull my coat tighter around me, its cold here too. I look around. Is there homeless in Blogland? They seem to be everywhere these days. I head for home. The guilt that I have a home to go too tugs at my heart. Will it tug enough I will try to make a difference? I turn up my collar. Walking faster, I'm outta here.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
A LETTER TO SANTA
It is Sunday. She sits silent and cold as she surrounds the house. Taunting me to come outside. "I" and I peered out the door. "No way," we both say, closing the door we stayed inside. "I" is nuggled in a throw back to sleep. I armed with coffee prepare to fight with my daily words again. A thank-you prayer is whispered. Thank-you God I am not homeless with only a box and a old coat for warmth. Thank-you.
Dear Santa,
I'm sure you are headed into your busiest time of year. What with gift requests coming in right and left. And of course trying to keep track of those pesty little Elf's. That's probably a job in its self. Not that I don't like The Elf's. I think there are very cute. I'm not too crazy about the suits they wear but love their ears. I have already received what I wanted several months ago. My Adirondack chair. I love it. But I thought maybe it wouldn't hurt to send out one more plea. So here goes.
I am not sure if being Santa gives you any special power. Although I do believe that anyone who can go around the world in one night in a miniature sleigh and a bag that never run out of toys. Has to have some kind of magic going on. So if you do have some magical powers could you sprinkle a few on my family. I would really like evrything running really smooth this year.
Also is there anyway you could help let my hair grow faster No new wrinkles and take away the urge for "Little Debbie's."
One last thing. I would like ten prethreaded needles. Five in white, five in Black. I cannot even see to use a needle threader these days. Prethreaded needles would be the greatest. So that about does it for my list. by the way please don't tell The Elf's I think their suits are funny. Oh wait one more thing. When you fly over my house could you give me a loud shout out. I think it would be great for a fat man in a red suit to holler my name from way up there in the skies. Oh please don't expect cookies. I'll be glad to leave out milk but we both know I will have already ate the cookies myself. Thanks Billye
I am at the turn around in Blogland. The dark sky has a funny tinge to it. I'm wondering if maybe it will snow here. Surely they have snow sometimes. I listen trying to hear some sound of Christmas in the air. But nothing bounces back to me, only silence I might bring my little Fiber optic tree over and put it right out in front of the one store. I stop tp peer in the plate glass window. I'm not even sure they have electric in this store. Oh well, it was just a thought. I'm walking towards home. I scan the skies. Wondering if Santa might be here in Cyberspace making a trial run. You never know. But for now, I'm outta here.
Dear Santa,
I'm sure you are headed into your busiest time of year. What with gift requests coming in right and left. And of course trying to keep track of those pesty little Elf's. That's probably a job in its self. Not that I don't like The Elf's. I think there are very cute. I'm not too crazy about the suits they wear but love their ears. I have already received what I wanted several months ago. My Adirondack chair. I love it. But I thought maybe it wouldn't hurt to send out one more plea. So here goes.
I am not sure if being Santa gives you any special power. Although I do believe that anyone who can go around the world in one night in a miniature sleigh and a bag that never run out of toys. Has to have some kind of magic going on. So if you do have some magical powers could you sprinkle a few on my family. I would really like evrything running really smooth this year.
Also is there anyway you could help let my hair grow faster No new wrinkles and take away the urge for "Little Debbie's."
One last thing. I would like ten prethreaded needles. Five in white, five in Black. I cannot even see to use a needle threader these days. Prethreaded needles would be the greatest. So that about does it for my list. by the way please don't tell The Elf's I think their suits are funny. Oh wait one more thing. When you fly over my house could you give me a loud shout out. I think it would be great for a fat man in a red suit to holler my name from way up there in the skies. Oh please don't expect cookies. I'll be glad to leave out milk but we both know I will have already ate the cookies myself. Thanks Billye
I am at the turn around in Blogland. The dark sky has a funny tinge to it. I'm wondering if maybe it will snow here. Surely they have snow sometimes. I listen trying to hear some sound of Christmas in the air. But nothing bounces back to me, only silence I might bring my little Fiber optic tree over and put it right out in front of the one store. I stop tp peer in the plate glass window. I'm not even sure they have electric in this store. Oh well, it was just a thought. I'm walking towards home. I scan the skies. Wondering if Santa might be here in Cyberspace making a trial run. You never know. But for now, I'm outta here.
Friday, December 10, 2010
I'M ON A COUNT DOWN.
Friday morning and its not quite four. The weekend waiting right behind Friday. I have already went out on the front porch to look at the lights. The night surrounds me but here in our yard the festive colored lights make us look like Christmas. Its almost worth waking up at three just to stand in the silence watching the lights.
I am on a count down now. This is the tenth of December. It is officially fifty-two days until the numbers on my life chart change. Ugg. This sort of reminds me of watching the "Jerry Lewis Telethon." You know they would give a drum roll and the numbers would change. Showing a much higher amount than the previous one. That's sort of what my life has become. Each year a drum roll and the audience gasps as the number goes higher.
Now I don't want to make too much of a fuss. Gripe too much or the powers that be might decide to take me off the show. I really don't want that to happen. Its just this next number coming up I'm having a little trouble dealing with . So I'm asking, maybe pleading is a better word. That nobody, not one soul says the dreaded word out loud to me. Last years Birthday it took three months to get over the depression. I cannot handle an even bigger number.
So if I start wearing black mid-January don't think nothing of it. I'll just be in mourning. Mourning the lost years. All of us "Older folks" keep saying. "Where did the years go?" Well they certainly have went South for me. That old saying, "That youth is wasted on the young." Certainly hits the nail on the head.
I have also heard many times, "Grow old gracefully." I have never did anything graceful. I'm pretty sure I won't start now. For the trick in stopping the clock is to die. I certainly don't want to that. So I will suck it up. Do at least ten more leg rasies a day and pray for the best. Pray to win the lottery and have a full body lift. A face lift alone anymore just won't be enough.
So as I sit here sipping my tea, waiting for morning that is still a couple of hours away. I'm thinking maybe I should start Yoga up again. I'm just not sure these old bones will take it. My friend Evelyn across the street tells me she goes to the Health Club several times a week and goes swimming. She's going to be ninety-eight soon. I have got to get with the program.
I have left my words this morning under a rock that was laying on the ground here in Blogland. My arms feel to tired to toss them. I am hoping the wind comes along and blows them away. I am wondering if you age in Blogland? Does cyberspace have the aging process?" Hmmmm. If my words tossed to the wind stay forever the same. What about myself? Its food for thought anyway. I'm headed home. I'm outta here.
I am on a count down now. This is the tenth of December. It is officially fifty-two days until the numbers on my life chart change. Ugg. This sort of reminds me of watching the "Jerry Lewis Telethon." You know they would give a drum roll and the numbers would change. Showing a much higher amount than the previous one. That's sort of what my life has become. Each year a drum roll and the audience gasps as the number goes higher.
Now I don't want to make too much of a fuss. Gripe too much or the powers that be might decide to take me off the show. I really don't want that to happen. Its just this next number coming up I'm having a little trouble dealing with . So I'm asking, maybe pleading is a better word. That nobody, not one soul says the dreaded word out loud to me. Last years Birthday it took three months to get over the depression. I cannot handle an even bigger number.
So if I start wearing black mid-January don't think nothing of it. I'll just be in mourning. Mourning the lost years. All of us "Older folks" keep saying. "Where did the years go?" Well they certainly have went South for me. That old saying, "That youth is wasted on the young." Certainly hits the nail on the head.
I have also heard many times, "Grow old gracefully." I have never did anything graceful. I'm pretty sure I won't start now. For the trick in stopping the clock is to die. I certainly don't want to that. So I will suck it up. Do at least ten more leg rasies a day and pray for the best. Pray to win the lottery and have a full body lift. A face lift alone anymore just won't be enough.
So as I sit here sipping my tea, waiting for morning that is still a couple of hours away. I'm thinking maybe I should start Yoga up again. I'm just not sure these old bones will take it. My friend Evelyn across the street tells me she goes to the Health Club several times a week and goes swimming. She's going to be ninety-eight soon. I have got to get with the program.
I have left my words this morning under a rock that was laying on the ground here in Blogland. My arms feel to tired to toss them. I am hoping the wind comes along and blows them away. I am wondering if you age in Blogland? Does cyberspace have the aging process?" Hmmmm. If my words tossed to the wind stay forever the same. What about myself? Its food for thought anyway. I'm headed home. I'm outta here.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
A LETTER TO BRENDA.
I stood on the porch this morning, not yet five. As "I" chased around the yard. I stood watching the Christmas lights as they burned brightly against the bleak winter sky. Good Morning Thor day," I said. "Thor did not answer back. I am expecting a good day today. This is my baby Sister's Birthday. She was born December 9th in 1949. She left this world as we know it in November 1993. This morning I am writing her a letter and then I will scatter it to the winds in Blogland. In hopes it lifts to Heaven and lands at her feet.
Dear Brenda,
Happy Birthday. You would have been sixty-one today. Wow! I try to imagine you as sixty-one but cannot bring that picture of you to mind. You are totally fixed in my memory as forever young. I think of you so often, sometimes more than others. But how I would love to talk to you. Just pick up the phone and call you. Call you everyday like I do Geri.
If I could call I would ask a million questions. Was it wonderful seeing Mom, hugging Dixie as she stepped across the great divide? Did you tell Dad all that had been happening on you two's favorite soaps? You and Bob was great friends. I know he smiled so bright when you said Hi.
But when I think of you I don't think of you as living away like you did. But here in Joplin. Running with Little Billie, coming by to pick me up. You would have gloried in all the little kids we have these days. And most definitely Will's. You would be amazed at Brandi and fall in love with Ryan.
Everyone I think knows I believe maybe a little different than I suppose most folks believe. But I have said before when you pass away I believe you are only one heartbeat away from life as we know it. I feel you are here, your presence so strong at times.I know sometimes if I could only see you would be standing there. Your smile lightening up your face. I believe you stand by Will. Touch his hair when he struggles. Envelop his children with your love.
When I am wolfing down Little Debbie's or candy bars I feel you smile. The memory coming back of the day as we rode down Main Street when you looked at me and said, "I pray someday you wake up and weigh four hundred pounds. " It shocked me when you said that, but I really did understand. You are happy I know to see that I have gained some weight since those days. Not four hundred pounds yet but you never know.
I had a dream a few months after you died. In that dream you were a little angel about the size of a Butterfly. I chased after you, you were laughing. But you never let me catch you. I tried so hard but you kept slipping away.
I know you've been with Mother these last years and Dixie, Dad and Bobby. But I believe you are still here at times. Your spirit hovering close to those you loved the most.
I will never understand why you had to go. Why your life was taken so early, away from your son and your family. But I believe your spirit is still strong, your light still burning bright. They say we are not suppose to understand everything that happens but if I ever get a chance to meet God. I surely have some questions to ask.
You said to me once, "That you believed that our life was God's gift to us. And what we did with it was our gift back to him." I think you did good with your gift Brenda. And the memories and love you left behind will always be here.
So Happy birthday little sister. May rainbows follow you today and you can sit and hear the angels sing. Please tell Momma I love her. I'll see you all again someday. "I love you."
I stand in downtown Blogland. If you can call it that. As I have said, one store building, one flashing red light. I look up into the Heavens. Reaching down into my ever trusty pocket I throw my Birthday letter Heaven bound. I smile. I think Brenda would have liked Blogland. I start home. Its only right I sing, "Happy Birthday." Though Brenda never did think I sang on tune. But for now I'm outta here.
Dear Brenda,
Happy Birthday. You would have been sixty-one today. Wow! I try to imagine you as sixty-one but cannot bring that picture of you to mind. You are totally fixed in my memory as forever young. I think of you so often, sometimes more than others. But how I would love to talk to you. Just pick up the phone and call you. Call you everyday like I do Geri.
If I could call I would ask a million questions. Was it wonderful seeing Mom, hugging Dixie as she stepped across the great divide? Did you tell Dad all that had been happening on you two's favorite soaps? You and Bob was great friends. I know he smiled so bright when you said Hi.
But when I think of you I don't think of you as living away like you did. But here in Joplin. Running with Little Billie, coming by to pick me up. You would have gloried in all the little kids we have these days. And most definitely Will's. You would be amazed at Brandi and fall in love with Ryan.
Everyone I think knows I believe maybe a little different than I suppose most folks believe. But I have said before when you pass away I believe you are only one heartbeat away from life as we know it. I feel you are here, your presence so strong at times.I know sometimes if I could only see you would be standing there. Your smile lightening up your face. I believe you stand by Will. Touch his hair when he struggles. Envelop his children with your love.
When I am wolfing down Little Debbie's or candy bars I feel you smile. The memory coming back of the day as we rode down Main Street when you looked at me and said, "I pray someday you wake up and weigh four hundred pounds. " It shocked me when you said that, but I really did understand. You are happy I know to see that I have gained some weight since those days. Not four hundred pounds yet but you never know.
I had a dream a few months after you died. In that dream you were a little angel about the size of a Butterfly. I chased after you, you were laughing. But you never let me catch you. I tried so hard but you kept slipping away.
I know you've been with Mother these last years and Dixie, Dad and Bobby. But I believe you are still here at times. Your spirit hovering close to those you loved the most.
I will never understand why you had to go. Why your life was taken so early, away from your son and your family. But I believe your spirit is still strong, your light still burning bright. They say we are not suppose to understand everything that happens but if I ever get a chance to meet God. I surely have some questions to ask.
You said to me once, "That you believed that our life was God's gift to us. And what we did with it was our gift back to him." I think you did good with your gift Brenda. And the memories and love you left behind will always be here.
So Happy birthday little sister. May rainbows follow you today and you can sit and hear the angels sing. Please tell Momma I love her. I'll see you all again someday. "I love you."
I stand in downtown Blogland. If you can call it that. As I have said, one store building, one flashing red light. I look up into the Heavens. Reaching down into my ever trusty pocket I throw my Birthday letter Heaven bound. I smile. I think Brenda would have liked Blogland. I start home. Its only right I sing, "Happy Birthday." Though Brenda never did think I sang on tune. But for now I'm outta here.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
The casket of Lee Harvey Oswald
Wednesday is here. "Mid work week," she hollers in her best Wednesday voice. "Yeah sure," I munble as I make my way around the house. I am a little late this morning. I was up by five but just keep getting side tracked. I truthfully was going to skip today and write tomorrow. But I get the Lutheran Newsletter although I am not a Lutheran. I decieded I would post this for today. Please excuse the laziness. Actually I thought this was quite good, food for thought so to speak.
Ken Klaus, Speaker of The Lutheran Hour®
"Mementos"
December 8, 2010
Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen cloths lying there, and the face cloth, which had been on Jesus' head, not lying with the linen cloths but folded up in a place by itself. John 20:6-7
If you ask me, it all sounds kind of gruesome.
On December 16th a Los Angeles auction house will be selling the coffin in which Lee Harvey Oswald, the suspected murderer of President John Kennedy, was buried.
He was buried in that coffin for 20 years.
Now I'm not ready to hop in on the bidding, which started at $1,000. I don't have that kind of money and, if I did, it wouldn't be used to buy morbid memorabilia.
Still, the auction house is convinced the coffin is going to bring a bundle. Among the bidders will be museums, Kennedy fans, and folks interested in presidential artifacts.
And if you're wondering why the water-damaged casket is above ground, I can explain: Lee Harvey's wife wanted to make sure a look-alike Russian agent hadn't been buried there instead of her husband. The body was exhumed; Oswald was identified, and when his body was put back in the grave it was in a new casket, which really takes me to the point of this devotion.
What kind of interest do you think there would be if someone discovered Jesus' body? How would the world's great religions act if they could point to the Savior's bones still bearing the fragrance of the spices the ladies used on Resurrection Sunday? How much would the unbelieving world pay for Jesus' filled casket?
The number would be astronomical.
But it's not going to happen. It's not going to happen because it can't happen.
There is no dead body to identify and no bones to be found in some ancient cemetery. The resurrection of Jesus from the dead, along with the evidence supplied by His empty tomb is the ultimate proof that He is the Son of God who has conquered sin, death and the devil.
The lack of a body is proof that we can believe Him when He says, "... Because I live, you shall live also" (John 14:19b).
THE PRAYER: Dear Lord, in a world where the caskets of murderers sell for large amounts of cash, I give thanks that Jesus' tomb is empty. By His resurrection I am given the ultimate assurance He has forgiven my sins and granted me eternal life. May I always live in that blood-bought confidence. In Jesus' Name. Amen.
Ken Klaus, Speaker of The Lutheran Hour®
"Mementos"
December 8, 2010
Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen cloths lying there, and the face cloth, which had been on Jesus' head, not lying with the linen cloths but folded up in a place by itself. John 20:6-7
If you ask me, it all sounds kind of gruesome.
On December 16th a Los Angeles auction house will be selling the coffin in which Lee Harvey Oswald, the suspected murderer of President John Kennedy, was buried.
He was buried in that coffin for 20 years.
Now I'm not ready to hop in on the bidding, which started at $1,000. I don't have that kind of money and, if I did, it wouldn't be used to buy morbid memorabilia.
Still, the auction house is convinced the coffin is going to bring a bundle. Among the bidders will be museums, Kennedy fans, and folks interested in presidential artifacts.
And if you're wondering why the water-damaged casket is above ground, I can explain: Lee Harvey's wife wanted to make sure a look-alike Russian agent hadn't been buried there instead of her husband. The body was exhumed; Oswald was identified, and when his body was put back in the grave it was in a new casket, which really takes me to the point of this devotion.
What kind of interest do you think there would be if someone discovered Jesus' body? How would the world's great religions act if they could point to the Savior's bones still bearing the fragrance of the spices the ladies used on Resurrection Sunday? How much would the unbelieving world pay for Jesus' filled casket?
The number would be astronomical.
But it's not going to happen. It's not going to happen because it can't happen.
There is no dead body to identify and no bones to be found in some ancient cemetery. The resurrection of Jesus from the dead, along with the evidence supplied by His empty tomb is the ultimate proof that He is the Son of God who has conquered sin, death and the devil.
The lack of a body is proof that we can believe Him when He says, "... Because I live, you shall live also" (John 14:19b).
THE PRAYER: Dear Lord, in a world where the caskets of murderers sell for large amounts of cash, I give thanks that Jesus' tomb is empty. By His resurrection I am given the ultimate assurance He has forgiven my sins and granted me eternal life. May I always live in that blood-bought confidence. In Jesus' Name. Amen.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
MISS PIGGY IS NOT MY FRIEND.
Tuesday is shivering this morning. Winter may not be officially here yet but she doesn't know.As I chased "I" around Miss Winter whispered "Brrrr,". "Brrrr," yourself I shot back. I wasn't ready for this yet. Back in the house, almost sitting on the stove I grumbled. "She's back." All kidding aside I really don't mind winter that much. I just feel compelled to complain.
I'm moving slower today. I feel like I've gained five pounds since this time yesterday. I am totally ashamed to admit what I have done. Guilt dogs each of my heavy steps. Yesterday was bill paying day. It left me very depressed. I finished up the morning by going in the Dollar Store for cleaning supplies.
Once inside the door my eyes fell on The Little Debbie rack. I made the sign of the cross and moved on. I have been fighting the battle of those pesty little cakes, trying to lose five pounds before Christmas. I felt proud as I swept, bleach, soap and numerous items into the cart. I meant to make a left turn but made a right. I found myself staring at the candy section. I swallowed hard. I willed my basket to roll but alas it would not move. My eyes fell on the packages of ten small candy bars for one dollar. "Wow,". Talk about a bargain. Inwardly I fought the pig in me. But Miss Piggy says, "Buy just one pack and eat one a day. They will last for a week." Sure Miss Piggy I should have known your game. Throwing caution to the wind I tossed the candy into the cart. The bills was paid. I was almost broke. I needed some small treat. After all I would only eat one per day. Miss Piggy said so.
Once home I put away everything and quietly smuggled the candy into the livingroom. The Emperor makes grunting nosies when I eat candy. For later I told myself. One small bar. Only one. Later I got a glass of water, my book player and settled out of sight of The Emperor. Turning on the player I opened the package of candy. Taking one bar I opened it, savoring the sweet taste. Then I cannot explain what happened. It was if I was pocessed. I started ripping them bars open at lightening speed. One, two, three, on the number went. After the tenth I looked down at the pile of empty wrappers and almost cried. "What had I done?" Ate the whole thing was the answer to that question. I gathered the papers and slipped into the kitchen, Shame burning my face.
Then I started feeling sick, nauseaus. I stumbled to the bedroom door where The Emperor sat watching television. "I am sick," I croaked. he looked up. "Whats wrong, he asked? My cheeks felt flush. "I don't know, maybe a virus." I stumbled back into the living room and flopped down on the couch. Flopped is a good word for a glutton. "You are weak," I screamed at Miss Piggy. All she had to say was, "Oink,oink. She is not my friend. I am fat, us fatties don't have many friends.
I have tossed my words upward. A tear slides down my cheek. Why am I so weak' I muttered. But the dark barren skies do not answer me back. I see something moving up in Bloglands sky. "Good grief," I cry. "Its the Goodyear Blimp. Its an omen." I walk the walk of shame as I head towards home. I must not eat today. Well maybe I should a little. I'm wondering as I hurry if we have anything sweet in the house. Look out home, I'm outta here.
I'm moving slower today. I feel like I've gained five pounds since this time yesterday. I am totally ashamed to admit what I have done. Guilt dogs each of my heavy steps. Yesterday was bill paying day. It left me very depressed. I finished up the morning by going in the Dollar Store for cleaning supplies.
Once inside the door my eyes fell on The Little Debbie rack. I made the sign of the cross and moved on. I have been fighting the battle of those pesty little cakes, trying to lose five pounds before Christmas. I felt proud as I swept, bleach, soap and numerous items into the cart. I meant to make a left turn but made a right. I found myself staring at the candy section. I swallowed hard. I willed my basket to roll but alas it would not move. My eyes fell on the packages of ten small candy bars for one dollar. "Wow,". Talk about a bargain. Inwardly I fought the pig in me. But Miss Piggy says, "Buy just one pack and eat one a day. They will last for a week." Sure Miss Piggy I should have known your game. Throwing caution to the wind I tossed the candy into the cart. The bills was paid. I was almost broke. I needed some small treat. After all I would only eat one per day. Miss Piggy said so.
Once home I put away everything and quietly smuggled the candy into the livingroom. The Emperor makes grunting nosies when I eat candy. For later I told myself. One small bar. Only one. Later I got a glass of water, my book player and settled out of sight of The Emperor. Turning on the player I opened the package of candy. Taking one bar I opened it, savoring the sweet taste. Then I cannot explain what happened. It was if I was pocessed. I started ripping them bars open at lightening speed. One, two, three, on the number went. After the tenth I looked down at the pile of empty wrappers and almost cried. "What had I done?" Ate the whole thing was the answer to that question. I gathered the papers and slipped into the kitchen, Shame burning my face.
Then I started feeling sick, nauseaus. I stumbled to the bedroom door where The Emperor sat watching television. "I am sick," I croaked. he looked up. "Whats wrong, he asked? My cheeks felt flush. "I don't know, maybe a virus." I stumbled back into the living room and flopped down on the couch. Flopped is a good word for a glutton. "You are weak," I screamed at Miss Piggy. All she had to say was, "Oink,oink. She is not my friend. I am fat, us fatties don't have many friends.
I have tossed my words upward. A tear slides down my cheek. Why am I so weak' I muttered. But the dark barren skies do not answer me back. I see something moving up in Bloglands sky. "Good grief," I cry. "Its the Goodyear Blimp. Its an omen." I walk the walk of shame as I head towards home. I must not eat today. Well maybe I should a little. I'm wondering as I hurry if we have anything sweet in the house. Look out home, I'm outta here.
Monday, December 6, 2010
THAT DANG SOCCER CAT IS BACK..
Monday once more is right outside my door. "Monday," I whispered cracking the door just a smidgen. "You come to often, you're making me older quicker. She did not answer me back. Doesn't she even care that I am on a dreaded count down to that huge number. Monday you are a fickle friend.
I don't know if you remember a few weeks back when I wrote about the Soccer Cat. Well you won't believe this but he's back. I kid you not. Yesterday "I" and myself started around the house, towards the back when I spotted it. Now this is the scary part. Right in our backyard. The spooky little thing is getting closer.
I wrote I had watched this little cat sleep all day, not moving in the yard next door. The empty house. I was afraid it had died as it went hours without moving. "I" had barked at it all day. After my screaming hysterics The Emperor pronounced it was only a Soccer ball. Two days later the so called Soccer ball went from the back yard to the AC unit. "Look, "I" I said. "The soccer cat has moved. She barked at it, her tail not wagging. A couple of days later it had moved right next to our fence. I stopped right in my tracks, How the heck does that ball keep moving around? Nobody has been over in that yard.
When I went to take the trash yesterday I did a complete dead stop. There in our yard, sneering up at me was that Dang Soccer Cat. "listen you, I snarled. "I'm on to your little game, trying to scare "I" and me. But its not going to work. I didn't reach down and pick it up and toss it over the fence.. I was afraid it might bite.
Now you are going to probably call "The shady Tree Rest Home on me. But I firmly believe it is a cat that sometimes masquerades as a soccer ball. Oh I know, it seems far fetched. But I swear its true. Remember those toys that would look like a car but turned into a Transformer. This is a Cat that turns into a Soccer Ball. Or maybe vice versus. Its spooky, he has us in his sights all the time, very disturbing.
If I walk out the door this morning and the dang Soccer Cat has moved to the front porch, I'm having a heart attack. So I know you won't believe this crazy story but I swear its true. I only hope the Soccer Cat doesn't come to your house. Then again I'd be very glad to get rid of it.
I'm in downtown Blogland now. Getting ready to head home. I have brought a Christmas stocking and have hung it on the door of the one store that sits here on the corner. I smile, it seems to brighten things up a little. I start walking but I am looking over my shoulder as I walk. I pray that Soccer Cat hasn't followed me. I'm running now. I'm outta here.
I don't know if you remember a few weeks back when I wrote about the Soccer Cat. Well you won't believe this but he's back. I kid you not. Yesterday "I" and myself started around the house, towards the back when I spotted it. Now this is the scary part. Right in our backyard. The spooky little thing is getting closer.
I wrote I had watched this little cat sleep all day, not moving in the yard next door. The empty house. I was afraid it had died as it went hours without moving. "I" had barked at it all day. After my screaming hysterics The Emperor pronounced it was only a Soccer ball. Two days later the so called Soccer ball went from the back yard to the AC unit. "Look, "I" I said. "The soccer cat has moved. She barked at it, her tail not wagging. A couple of days later it had moved right next to our fence. I stopped right in my tracks, How the heck does that ball keep moving around? Nobody has been over in that yard.
When I went to take the trash yesterday I did a complete dead stop. There in our yard, sneering up at me was that Dang Soccer Cat. "listen you, I snarled. "I'm on to your little game, trying to scare "I" and me. But its not going to work. I didn't reach down and pick it up and toss it over the fence.. I was afraid it might bite.
Now you are going to probably call "The shady Tree Rest Home on me. But I firmly believe it is a cat that sometimes masquerades as a soccer ball. Oh I know, it seems far fetched. But I swear its true. Remember those toys that would look like a car but turned into a Transformer. This is a Cat that turns into a Soccer Ball. Or maybe vice versus. Its spooky, he has us in his sights all the time, very disturbing.
If I walk out the door this morning and the dang Soccer Cat has moved to the front porch, I'm having a heart attack. So I know you won't believe this crazy story but I swear its true. I only hope the Soccer Cat doesn't come to your house. Then again I'd be very glad to get rid of it.
I'm in downtown Blogland now. Getting ready to head home. I have brought a Christmas stocking and have hung it on the door of the one store that sits here on the corner. I smile, it seems to brighten things up a little. I start walking but I am looking over my shoulder as I walk. I pray that Soccer Cat hasn't followed me. I'm running now. I'm outta here.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
THE LITTLE SOCK BAG
Sunday morning is here, cold and dark. But the Christmas tree lights brighten up the yard, making it magical against the darkness.
Many years ago, many. When I was about one my Mother made a small sock bag. She embroidered on it three little socks, which bore the names, Gerry, Bud and Billie. I was suppose to be the keeper of the bag, I failed at my job. Following is a fantasy story of how I would like the saga of the little bag to end.
THE LITTLE SOCK BAG
The year was 1942. The mother sat at her treadle machine working furiously on the burlap material. After she finished sewing it together she turned it right side out and smiled. On one side of the bag was three little socks. All carefully embroidered in different colored thread. Above each sock was a name, Gerry, Bud and Billie. The Mother smiled to herself, lovingly running her hand over the little socks. She had made a sock bag for her three little children. So all the little socks could be put in there when they were dirty.
Without the lady even knowing the little sock bag was looking around. “This might be a good place to be,” she thought. A home with children. She had not even let the thought cross her mind she would be holding dirty socks. To tell the truth I don’t think she would have cared.
So that’s how the Munch sock bag came to be. The years rolled past, the children grew, the sock bag became obsolete. The children no longer used her. They tossed their socks willy nilly into the laundry basket. Finally the Mother took her down and lovingly put her away. There the poor little bag lay for years and years. Forgotten, discarded, no longer needed. From time to time you could her her sigh. She knew time was passing but did not know how long. Once in awhile the Mother would take her out and sigh herself. Remembering when the children were home and needed her. They both felt like they had been outgrown.
Then one day the drawer opened, the paper holding her was unwrapped. The Mother gently took her out. The little bag heard the Mother speak. “Here Billie ,” she said. “You can have the old sock bag now. Please keep it safe.” The little bag looked in utter amazement at the grown lady that reached out her hand and took the bag. This is Billie,” she thought. The baby all grown up. Billie smiled and happily took the little bag. “Thanks Mother,” she said delighted. I will treasure it always. The little bag was singing. She would be needed again. She was going home with Billie. Of course neither her nor Billie knew the trouble that lay in store for them both. If they had I'm sure they both would have cried. So for the next few years the little bag was happy just to be with one of the children. Her Billie. She was happy again. But the happiness ended one day. Trouble came. Billie took her things, her son and the little bag and started out on a journey. Now the little bag couldn't’t understand why Billie felt the need to take them all and go. But she went although some of the places they traveled she did not care for at all. Then one day they all came home. But not back to the happy house, but to a dreary little house where they all was nervous at night. But then one day while Billie and the little boy was gone a very bad man came to the house and took the trunk the little bag and all other things the Mother had made. Stole them all. The little bag screamed, “No, no. I want to go back. But the mean man would not listen. He took her away and she cried. Billie came home and found all of these most treasured processions gone. She cried too.
The years passed and Billie would think of the little bag from time to time. But she never knew for all those years the little bag was doing all in her power to get back home. Then one day when Billie was much older she went with a friend to a auction. Boxes unopened sat awaiting to be auctioned off. Billie could not hear the little voice that kept calling out, “Pick my box Billie, pick me.” The auction started. Billie and her friend stood watching as the unopened boxes were sold. “Are you bidding,” the friend asked? Billie shook her head no. “I have far too much junk as it is.” But when the auctioneer set the one box up on a table Billie had a overpowering urge to bid. And she did, all the while not hearing the little voice, “Pick me, pick me.”
Needless to say Billie bought the box. Laughing to her friend she said, "Just what I needed more junk." After she arrived home she put away her purse, took off her shoes, sat down in her chair and opened the box. Her heart started racing, she could hardly breath. For right on the top was The little Sock Bag. All three little socks right there on the front of the bag. "Gerry, Bud and Billie."Billie started crying and I swear to you the little bag cried too. For at last she was finally home.
I'm leaving Blogland. I see one lonely star up in the sky. I make a wish. "Please little star," I whisper,. "Make my story come true. The part about the Little Bag coming home." But for now, I'm outta here.
Many years ago, many. When I was about one my Mother made a small sock bag. She embroidered on it three little socks, which bore the names, Gerry, Bud and Billie. I was suppose to be the keeper of the bag, I failed at my job. Following is a fantasy story of how I would like the saga of the little bag to end.
THE LITTLE SOCK BAG
The year was 1942. The mother sat at her treadle machine working furiously on the burlap material. After she finished sewing it together she turned it right side out and smiled. On one side of the bag was three little socks. All carefully embroidered in different colored thread. Above each sock was a name, Gerry, Bud and Billie. The Mother smiled to herself, lovingly running her hand over the little socks. She had made a sock bag for her three little children. So all the little socks could be put in there when they were dirty.
Without the lady even knowing the little sock bag was looking around. “This might be a good place to be,” she thought. A home with children. She had not even let the thought cross her mind she would be holding dirty socks. To tell the truth I don’t think she would have cared.
So that’s how the Munch sock bag came to be. The years rolled past, the children grew, the sock bag became obsolete. The children no longer used her. They tossed their socks willy nilly into the laundry basket. Finally the Mother took her down and lovingly put her away. There the poor little bag lay for years and years. Forgotten, discarded, no longer needed. From time to time you could her her sigh. She knew time was passing but did not know how long. Once in awhile the Mother would take her out and sigh herself. Remembering when the children were home and needed her. They both felt like they had been outgrown.
Then one day the drawer opened, the paper holding her was unwrapped. The Mother gently took her out. The little bag heard the Mother speak. “Here Billie ,” she said. “You can have the old sock bag now. Please keep it safe.” The little bag looked in utter amazement at the grown lady that reached out her hand and took the bag. This is Billie,” she thought. The baby all grown up. Billie smiled and happily took the little bag. “Thanks Mother,” she said delighted. I will treasure it always. The little bag was singing. She would be needed again. She was going home with Billie. Of course neither her nor Billie knew the trouble that lay in store for them both. If they had I'm sure they both would have cried. So for the next few years the little bag was happy just to be with one of the children. Her Billie. She was happy again. But the happiness ended one day. Trouble came. Billie took her things, her son and the little bag and started out on a journey. Now the little bag couldn't’t understand why Billie felt the need to take them all and go. But she went although some of the places they traveled she did not care for at all. Then one day they all came home. But not back to the happy house, but to a dreary little house where they all was nervous at night. But then one day while Billie and the little boy was gone a very bad man came to the house and took the trunk the little bag and all other things the Mother had made. Stole them all. The little bag screamed, “No, no. I want to go back. But the mean man would not listen. He took her away and she cried. Billie came home and found all of these most treasured processions gone. She cried too.
The years passed and Billie would think of the little bag from time to time. But she never knew for all those years the little bag was doing all in her power to get back home. Then one day when Billie was much older she went with a friend to a auction. Boxes unopened sat awaiting to be auctioned off. Billie could not hear the little voice that kept calling out, “Pick my box Billie, pick me.” The auction started. Billie and her friend stood watching as the unopened boxes were sold. “Are you bidding,” the friend asked? Billie shook her head no. “I have far too much junk as it is.” But when the auctioneer set the one box up on a table Billie had a overpowering urge to bid. And she did, all the while not hearing the little voice, “Pick me, pick me.”
Needless to say Billie bought the box. Laughing to her friend she said, "Just what I needed more junk." After she arrived home she put away her purse, took off her shoes, sat down in her chair and opened the box. Her heart started racing, she could hardly breath. For right on the top was The little Sock Bag. All three little socks right there on the front of the bag. "Gerry, Bud and Billie."Billie started crying and I swear to you the little bag cried too. For at last she was finally home.
I'm leaving Blogland. I see one lonely star up in the sky. I make a wish. "Please little star," I whisper,. "Make my story come true. The part about the Little Bag coming home." But for now, I'm outta here.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
THE CHRISTMAS ELFS
"I" and I did our early morning run around the yard. Miss Saturday was very cool to us. She seemed to spew a light mist in our direction. I am in hopes she is not planning to act up today. But I have a feeling she might. Saturday is many peoples favorite day. You think she would try to be nice.
In my living room stands a Masterpiece. Yesterday morning two Christmas Elf's came to our house. They had a small Elf with them. In lightening speed they assembled a Christmas Tree. They even brought along decorations. Whoop, Whoop. It is stunning.
For the last several years we have had a small fiber optic tree. I like it, so pretty the way the colors would change. But when Billie offered me this beautiful, tall tree I jumped at the chance. But I have no decorations," I cried. Never fear if you are one of Santa's helpers you just bring them along. The end result is so wonderful.
I sat most of the day after they left, just sitting in the recliner looking at it. To me it looked like one that had came straight from a magazine. And it is in our living room. Again I must say, "Whoop, Whoop." All of their hard work prompted The Emperor to out and put up the outside lights. They are beautiful too. It looks like Christmas has made it to our house.
I feel like a little kid, so excited over the lights. Maybe we do revert back to our childhood as we grow older. But I never want to lose the wonder, the excitement that having Christmas decorations bring. I remember as a kid how exciting it was when we put the tree up. Or Mom did. It was always a live tree and usually pretty scraggly. But I didn't know that back then, to me it was a beautiful work of art. We strung cranberries on string and popcorn for decorations. We also cut paper decorations from construction paper. Mom always made a outdoor scene on a mirror. Snow in a can and bluing for the sky. She also wrote Merry Christmas on the front door window in spray snow. She always found a way to decorate. Not much money to spend but we looked uptown for Ninth street.
I stood out in the street last night after it began to get dark The Emperor and I both admiring the lights together. Looking up into the sky I imagined our old house on Ninth street with the hand made wreath on the door. The bubble lights on the tree. I remember thinking when Mom bought the Bubble lights that it was the most amazing thing I had ever seen. Once they warmed up the liquid in the lights would start bubbling. i would sit and watch them for hours. They enchanted me. Just as my beautiful tree has enchanted me this year.
The two Elf's had names. Billie and Richard. The small Elf was called Ryan. They brought Christmas cheer to our house. They gave me pleasure. The Elf named Billie along with her brother Jeremy decorated their Dad's tree too. I wonder if many adult children realize as their parents grow older how much deeds like this are appreciateed. Sometimes just a little time to that older person is all they really want from you. So thanks Billie and Richard for a job well done.
I look around Blogland as I make my turn around. No Christmas lights here. That's a shame, maybe I can get the two elf's to come and hang a few. it wouldn't hurt to ask. I have a couple of Christmas bells I am ringing as I walk. I'm singing "Jingle Bells." I'm hurrying as I walk though. I'm anxious to see my tree. So I'm outta here.
In my living room stands a Masterpiece. Yesterday morning two Christmas Elf's came to our house. They had a small Elf with them. In lightening speed they assembled a Christmas Tree. They even brought along decorations. Whoop, Whoop. It is stunning.
For the last several years we have had a small fiber optic tree. I like it, so pretty the way the colors would change. But when Billie offered me this beautiful, tall tree I jumped at the chance. But I have no decorations," I cried. Never fear if you are one of Santa's helpers you just bring them along. The end result is so wonderful.
I sat most of the day after they left, just sitting in the recliner looking at it. To me it looked like one that had came straight from a magazine. And it is in our living room. Again I must say, "Whoop, Whoop." All of their hard work prompted The Emperor to out and put up the outside lights. They are beautiful too. It looks like Christmas has made it to our house.
I feel like a little kid, so excited over the lights. Maybe we do revert back to our childhood as we grow older. But I never want to lose the wonder, the excitement that having Christmas decorations bring. I remember as a kid how exciting it was when we put the tree up. Or Mom did. It was always a live tree and usually pretty scraggly. But I didn't know that back then, to me it was a beautiful work of art. We strung cranberries on string and popcorn for decorations. We also cut paper decorations from construction paper. Mom always made a outdoor scene on a mirror. Snow in a can and bluing for the sky. She also wrote Merry Christmas on the front door window in spray snow. She always found a way to decorate. Not much money to spend but we looked uptown for Ninth street.
I stood out in the street last night after it began to get dark The Emperor and I both admiring the lights together. Looking up into the sky I imagined our old house on Ninth street with the hand made wreath on the door. The bubble lights on the tree. I remember thinking when Mom bought the Bubble lights that it was the most amazing thing I had ever seen. Once they warmed up the liquid in the lights would start bubbling. i would sit and watch them for hours. They enchanted me. Just as my beautiful tree has enchanted me this year.
The two Elf's had names. Billie and Richard. The small Elf was called Ryan. They brought Christmas cheer to our house. They gave me pleasure. The Elf named Billie along with her brother Jeremy decorated their Dad's tree too. I wonder if many adult children realize as their parents grow older how much deeds like this are appreciateed. Sometimes just a little time to that older person is all they really want from you. So thanks Billie and Richard for a job well done.
I look around Blogland as I make my turn around. No Christmas lights here. That's a shame, maybe I can get the two elf's to come and hang a few. it wouldn't hurt to ask. I have a couple of Christmas bells I am ringing as I walk. I'm singing "Jingle Bells." I'm hurrying as I walk though. I'm anxious to see my tree. So I'm outta here.
Friday, December 3, 2010
MIKE TYSON HAS TENACITY
friday morning is here. Peering out the door at her in the dark, its only 4:30. I can't make out if she is going to be friendly or not. I hope so. Yesterday wasn't a bad day. My Billie called, she had been involved in a wreck. I panic. She tells me as I frantically babble asking if she is okay. "Mother," she says in that matter of fact way she has. "I must be alright, I'm talking to you." She has a point. So yesterday could have been a horrible day. But thank-you God only her van was hurt. To the Angel that had her hand over Billie, "Thank-you too."
Its that time of year. Rangeline crowded, cars bumper to bumper. Everyone in a hurry. I wrote yesterday, this time of year problems seem so much worse. People stressed out, people with money problems. People facing the holidays alone. What should be a joyous time of a year can sometimes be the worst.
I watched "Larry King," live last night. "Mike Tyson," was on. I have never been the biggest fan of "Mike," but watching him talk I sort of floated over to his side. He admitted he had been a jerk and angry when he was younger. I personally always felt he had been exploited when he was young. Matched with a temper, no control. His life spiraled out of control. Life has a way of doing that sometimes.
But he said something I liked. He told "Larry king," when he asked what had kept him going. He said,"Tenacity."
Tenacity means to stick with something even when the going gets tough. Never give up. Never surrender! Tenacity also means the quality or state of being.
I really like that word. If I could have people say something to describe me, that would be a word I wish could be used. It hasn't always been true, but I want it to be. To doggedly hang on when life is throwing sucker punches. I want people to think, she's a tough old gal. She has Tenacity. I think it pays to be like "Mike." When your opponent has you backed in the corner, just keep punching.
I am at the flashing light here in Blogland once again. I like it when I make it to the corner. Its always dark and the light sends red rays bounching off the skies. For some reason this morning it almost mesmerizes me. I could stand here all day, but of course when it gets light it won't look like this. Everything looks different in the dark. I head for home. I'm shadow boxing as I walk Jabbing at the shadows that surround me. I'll be home soon, the dark images swallowed up by the lights that will welcome me back. For today, once again, I'm outta here.
World English Dictionary
tenacious (tɪˈneɪʃəs)
— adj
1. holding or grasping firmly; forceful: a tenacious grip
2. retentive: a tenacious memory
3. stubborn or persistent: a tenacious character
4. holding together firmly; tough or cohesive: tenacious cement
5. tending to stick or adhere: tenacious mud
Its that time of year. Rangeline crowded, cars bumper to bumper. Everyone in a hurry. I wrote yesterday, this time of year problems seem so much worse. People stressed out, people with money problems. People facing the holidays alone. What should be a joyous time of a year can sometimes be the worst.
I watched "Larry King," live last night. "Mike Tyson," was on. I have never been the biggest fan of "Mike," but watching him talk I sort of floated over to his side. He admitted he had been a jerk and angry when he was younger. I personally always felt he had been exploited when he was young. Matched with a temper, no control. His life spiraled out of control. Life has a way of doing that sometimes.
But he said something I liked. He told "Larry king," when he asked what had kept him going. He said,"Tenacity."
Tenacity means to stick with something even when the going gets tough. Never give up. Never surrender! Tenacity also means the quality or state of being.
I really like that word. If I could have people say something to describe me, that would be a word I wish could be used. It hasn't always been true, but I want it to be. To doggedly hang on when life is throwing sucker punches. I want people to think, she's a tough old gal. She has Tenacity. I think it pays to be like "Mike." When your opponent has you backed in the corner, just keep punching.
I am at the flashing light here in Blogland once again. I like it when I make it to the corner. Its always dark and the light sends red rays bounching off the skies. For some reason this morning it almost mesmerizes me. I could stand here all day, but of course when it gets light it won't look like this. Everything looks different in the dark. I head for home. I'm shadow boxing as I walk Jabbing at the shadows that surround me. I'll be home soon, the dark images swallowed up by the lights that will welcome me back. For today, once again, I'm outta here.
World English Dictionary
tenacious (tɪˈneɪʃəs)
— adj
1. holding or grasping firmly; forceful: a tenacious grip
2. retentive: a tenacious memory
3. stubborn or persistent: a tenacious character
4. holding together firmly; tough or cohesive: tenacious cement
5. tending to stick or adhere: tenacious mud
Thursday, December 2, 2010
JUST REMEMBER IT'S NOT SO MUCH THE ACTION, AS YOUR REACTION.
"Tor" day has arrived, Thursday that is. Since I have been outside chasing "I" again this morning I know it doesn't feel as cool as yesterday. Maybe it will be a bit warmer and "The Emperor" will get the outside lights up. We'll see. I have dug out most of my Christmas decorations. They lay piled on the dining room table. As they wait patiently for me to put them up. My daughter comes tomorrow to help with the tree. Yippee. Its very nice having a daughter who shares her eyes and abilities with me. See there is some pluses on getting older.
Yesterday I talked to two different people that are overwhelmed by circumstances in their life's. That can be rough anytime but this time of year it seems more devastating. You can say to them ,"Chin up everything will be alright." But you know when you're saying it that it might not be. Adversity hits us all at sometime or another. And more than once in our lifetimes usually. But I have learned its not so much the action that counts. It'the reaction. And reaction comes from us.
There was a song out several years ago called "Rolling with the flow." Of course when the flow has your head covered up and you can't swim . You feel like your drowning. Sometimes you just have to lay back and float. Unless you're like me and don't know how to float.Its then its very important to keep your face above the water. And the water out op your nose.
People hurt us. We hurt ourselves. By putting ourselves in places we shouldn't be. Making choices we shouldn't make. Then we sit back hollering, "God why did you let this happen to me?" I know God must think sometimes, "Whoa fella you did this yourself." We make the mess then expect God to come along and clean it up. Sometimes I believe he just lets us sit in the middle of it all till we find a way ourselves to straighten it up.
Problems come along that we have no control over. Our hearts race, we feel despair. But I know and believe it to be so, we are never alone. Even when we have made mistake after mistake. God's always there to give us the strength to pick up the pieces. One person said, "I've torn my own house down." But I said, "The lumber is still there. Rebuild,"
I can talk like Pollyanna all I want but there are many days I say poor me. I don't have money, I can't see well. Nobody understands me. The list goes on. We all have one. I sit here by my warm fire, at the computer. I see well enough to get on here. My stomach is full. My bed will be soft tonight. "Count my blessings, name them one by one." Sometimes we are so busy being fretful we forget.
I have carried a little bag with me this morning for my words. I thought they might stay neater that way. Not be crumpled. I have a tendency to do that. I let them go as I wonder just where they will float to. How far they will go? I head back to the edge of Blogland. All the way home I will be counting my blessings. I will name them over in my mind. I'm on my way. I'm outta here.
Yesterday I talked to two different people that are overwhelmed by circumstances in their life's. That can be rough anytime but this time of year it seems more devastating. You can say to them ,"Chin up everything will be alright." But you know when you're saying it that it might not be. Adversity hits us all at sometime or another. And more than once in our lifetimes usually. But I have learned its not so much the action that counts. It'the reaction. And reaction comes from us.
There was a song out several years ago called "Rolling with the flow." Of course when the flow has your head covered up and you can't swim . You feel like your drowning. Sometimes you just have to lay back and float. Unless you're like me and don't know how to float.Its then its very important to keep your face above the water. And the water out op your nose.
People hurt us. We hurt ourselves. By putting ourselves in places we shouldn't be. Making choices we shouldn't make. Then we sit back hollering, "God why did you let this happen to me?" I know God must think sometimes, "Whoa fella you did this yourself." We make the mess then expect God to come along and clean it up. Sometimes I believe he just lets us sit in the middle of it all till we find a way ourselves to straighten it up.
Problems come along that we have no control over. Our hearts race, we feel despair. But I know and believe it to be so, we are never alone. Even when we have made mistake after mistake. God's always there to give us the strength to pick up the pieces. One person said, "I've torn my own house down." But I said, "The lumber is still there. Rebuild,"
I can talk like Pollyanna all I want but there are many days I say poor me. I don't have money, I can't see well. Nobody understands me. The list goes on. We all have one. I sit here by my warm fire, at the computer. I see well enough to get on here. My stomach is full. My bed will be soft tonight. "Count my blessings, name them one by one." Sometimes we are so busy being fretful we forget.
I have carried a little bag with me this morning for my words. I thought they might stay neater that way. Not be crumpled. I have a tendency to do that. I let them go as I wonder just where they will float to. How far they will go? I head back to the edge of Blogland. All the way home I will be counting my blessings. I will name them over in my mind. I'm on my way. I'm outta here.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
SOMETIMES THE MUNCH COMES OUT IN ME.
Wednesday is here and she has brought along quite a chill. It is still early. The dark skies not giving into dawn and will not for some time yet. The one thing I don't like about winter coming is that it seems to be dark so much. "I" went out. She began barking at the paperman or maybe just the moon. I ran around the yard, not seeing anything but hissing in my ever present loud hiss. "Be quiet, come here." I have written before, we have to be a neighborhood favorite. She is back inside, curled up in a chair. Coffee, I need coffee.
I've been walking down memory lane ever since yesterday. I do that every so often. I think maybe as we grow older we all tend to walk through those old memories that lay scattered in our minds.. I received an email from a cousin of mine yesterday. She mentioned the picture I have on the top of the Blog right now. Its of Mom, Bud and I. I love that picture. Every time I look at it the old memories of downtown flood me as if it was yesterday. This picture was taken on the street in front of the Fox theatre. To me Mom looked amazing. Her stride confident, her posture straight and tall. Bud and I the picture of innocence. life was more innocent then. And looking at it causes me to yearn to once more walk hand in hand with Bud and Mom. And wear a bonnet. I never knew that picture existed until about twenty-five years ago. I was thrilled then and still am that I had a bonnet.
Margie spoke in the email how much she loved Mom and she had been her favorite Aunt. I always love it when someone remembers and speaks of Mom highly. Anyone that ever listens to me knows my Mom always ranked highest on my list. Her life, her music will always speak for her. I wonder if any of us stops and thinks when we are busy living our life, how are life's will read out when we are gone. I worry sometimes about what my Blog is saying. Mostly my ramblings are silly, tongue in cheek musings. Poking fun at something or the other. I was talking to my sister Geri yesterday afternoon, to tell her I had heard from Margie.
"Geri," I asked her. "Do you think Margie knows most of what I write is suppose to be funny."I said that recalling that only a few days ago I wrote that Willie Nelson should get Amnesty for smoking Pot. I shudder thinking she may have visions of me holed up at the computer, puffing on weed. "Geri," I wailed." "You don't think she thinks I smoke Pot do you?" Geri laughed, somehow that laughed sounded a little sinister to me. "oh no," she assured me. But I could tell she thought it would be funny. My sister would like to pay me back for all my teasing, which has been plenty.
But just to set the record straight. In case you haven't been around me much. I am a tease. I am wacky. I have colored my hair every color under the sky. I do not smoke any kind of tobacco. I do not drink. Well, I have had a few drinks in my time but very few. I am bossy, head strong and very opinionated. I love my family, all of them. Down to the very smallest. I am super proud of my children. And feel though it appears I have accomplished very little in my life. I look at my two smart, good, kind children and know I have left my mark. I am satisfied.
So I will continue to write my silly Blog. And if you should stumble across my words from time to time, please understand sometimes its just for fun. Poetic licence I think they call it. So to my dear cousin Margie. Who's Mother was my Mothers big sister. I know they loved each other those four sisters like I love mine. Thanks for taking the time to read my words. If I should at times ramble too much or get a tad bit carried away. Please just consider its probably the Munch coming out in me.
I am turning around in Blogland. There is bits of paper whirling through the air. Perhaps someone didn't throw their words far enough up to catch on the wind. Mine lifted away, high up into the sky. I watched as they floated away until they no longer could be seen. I'm thinking about my bonnet I wore that day, when we all walked down main street. Those were the days. I think I see home though. I'm on my way. I'm outta here.
I've been walking down memory lane ever since yesterday. I do that every so often. I think maybe as we grow older we all tend to walk through those old memories that lay scattered in our minds.. I received an email from a cousin of mine yesterday. She mentioned the picture I have on the top of the Blog right now. Its of Mom, Bud and I. I love that picture. Every time I look at it the old memories of downtown flood me as if it was yesterday. This picture was taken on the street in front of the Fox theatre. To me Mom looked amazing. Her stride confident, her posture straight and tall. Bud and I the picture of innocence. life was more innocent then. And looking at it causes me to yearn to once more walk hand in hand with Bud and Mom. And wear a bonnet. I never knew that picture existed until about twenty-five years ago. I was thrilled then and still am that I had a bonnet.
Margie spoke in the email how much she loved Mom and she had been her favorite Aunt. I always love it when someone remembers and speaks of Mom highly. Anyone that ever listens to me knows my Mom always ranked highest on my list. Her life, her music will always speak for her. I wonder if any of us stops and thinks when we are busy living our life, how are life's will read out when we are gone. I worry sometimes about what my Blog is saying. Mostly my ramblings are silly, tongue in cheek musings. Poking fun at something or the other. I was talking to my sister Geri yesterday afternoon, to tell her I had heard from Margie.
"Geri," I asked her. "Do you think Margie knows most of what I write is suppose to be funny."I said that recalling that only a few days ago I wrote that Willie Nelson should get Amnesty for smoking Pot. I shudder thinking she may have visions of me holed up at the computer, puffing on weed. "Geri," I wailed." "You don't think she thinks I smoke Pot do you?" Geri laughed, somehow that laughed sounded a little sinister to me. "oh no," she assured me. But I could tell she thought it would be funny. My sister would like to pay me back for all my teasing, which has been plenty.
But just to set the record straight. In case you haven't been around me much. I am a tease. I am wacky. I have colored my hair every color under the sky. I do not smoke any kind of tobacco. I do not drink. Well, I have had a few drinks in my time but very few. I am bossy, head strong and very opinionated. I love my family, all of them. Down to the very smallest. I am super proud of my children. And feel though it appears I have accomplished very little in my life. I look at my two smart, good, kind children and know I have left my mark. I am satisfied.
So I will continue to write my silly Blog. And if you should stumble across my words from time to time, please understand sometimes its just for fun. Poetic licence I think they call it. So to my dear cousin Margie. Who's Mother was my Mothers big sister. I know they loved each other those four sisters like I love mine. Thanks for taking the time to read my words. If I should at times ramble too much or get a tad bit carried away. Please just consider its probably the Munch coming out in me.
I am turning around in Blogland. There is bits of paper whirling through the air. Perhaps someone didn't throw their words far enough up to catch on the wind. Mine lifted away, high up into the sky. I watched as they floated away until they no longer could be seen. I'm thinking about my bonnet I wore that day, when we all walked down main street. Those were the days. I think I see home though. I'm on my way. I'm outta here.
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