White Picket Fence....

I only lived in one house that had a white picket fence, and it was when I was very small. Doesn't matter, it isn't the fence I miss, it's the symbolism. The times. The way of life. The simplicity of every day.

I want it back.....

I know, I know. Impossible, you say. It was such a small window of time: the war was over and the troops had returned home. Korea was on some other planet, perhaps. Life in small-town America was coming together again.

In the summer, the grass was greener, the trees were bigger (really) and the fruit and vegetables were abundant. I had no idea how much money my daddy made and I didn't care: we had enough to eat. And my mother made sure I had flouncy, frilly dresses to wear. Too many dresses: I preferred my overalls. I never got in trouble for getting my overalls dirty....

Life was home and family, friends, school and church. A HUGE treat, once a month or so, was to go out to dinner. My older brother hated it: we had to share a dinner and I always got to choose and I always chose fried chicken.

We stood in class, in the morning, and said the Pledge of Allegiance. With gusto, mostly. We knew our fathers had gone off to the war and fought hard and kept our freedom safe. We didn't know where, or how, but we knew they were heroes.

We had one car and Daddy drove it to work. If my mother wanted to use the car, she had to take Daddy to work in the morning. If it was raining, she might drop us off at school but mostly, we walked to school, rain or shine.

And when it did rain, we took our roller skates to school. During recess, we were allowed to skate on the walkways outside our classrooms. Teachers were posted at the corners to slow us down, if we were going too fast. And if someone got hurt, there was a nurse in the school office.

I knew every kid in the neighborhood. Played with the ones who were close to my age. We ran all over the neighborhood, barefooted, all summer long. We didn't have to go home until our mothers called us and then we hurried home. For supper.

My mother wore an apron when she cooked. All our meals happened at the dining room table. My brothers on one side, me on the other, and my parents at each end of the table. I didn't have to have a sibling “elbowing” me when I ate. I had something worse: when the telephone rang, I had to answer it, since my chair was right next to the phone table.

On summer nights, we sat outside, on the patio, and talked or read or played games. The windows were open so we could hear the radio and the tunes wafting out the window on the summer breeze. Sometimes, we listened to music, sometimes to news, and sometimes to a program like “The Lone Ranger.”

When we finally got a television, we were only allowed to watch it for an hour a day: “it'll ruin your eyes!” My mother said that constantly. My parents chose the program and, if we were interested, we watched it, too.

I could go on and on, but it's futile. The memories will have to sustain me. Thomas Wolfe was right: we can't go home again....

Stop the World!!!

I want to get off....

Well, maybe not leave completely. I just want things to slow down. At least a little. I just had a lovely vacation and yet, little more than a week later, I'm back in the rut. Sort of.

It's not really that bad. I have lots of good things in my life. I'm fortunate, to be sure. What I miss, at times, is what I remember as the simpler times in my life. The peaceful times when things happened at a slower pace.

I was thinking today about something very mundane: hanging clothes on the line. I remember shaking out the diapers and hanging them, two to a clothespin, along the wire clothesline in my backyard. I would go out with an old rag, while the clothes were washing, and clean off the wires.

When the clothes were washed, I filled the basket and carried them out in the backyard. It was usually a sunny day and, if it was breezy, the clothes would dry quickly. I would be back out in a few hours to gather them off the clothesline and fold them into the basket.

Nothing smells better than sheets hung out to dry. To me, anyway.

Long, leisurely days filled with babies and diapers and clothes hanging on the line. Pulling weeds with a toddler's “help.” Sweeping, mopping, dusting and cleaning with a little one on my hip. Ah, the antithesis of a feminist, I guess.

There were times to rush and there were times of great activity, too. But mostly, there seemed to be plenty of time. For everything.

I do think the pace of our culture has sped up. I know that leisurely times are few and far between, for me, anyway. There is always something that needs to be done right now and something that needed to be done yesterday. And then, there's always tomorrow. Or the next day.

I also know that some of the things that seem important at the time, really aren't. I remember staying up most of the night, the night before Easter, to make cupcakes that looked like Easter baskets. I dyed some coconut green, for the grass, and put miniature jelly beans on top, like Easter eggs. I used pipe cleaners (remember them?) to make “handles” for the Easter basket/cupcakes.

I was so proud of my creations. I just knew that my kids would love them. They looked so festive. How could I have known that my kids wouldn't like coconut? To this day, my kids don't like coconut. I could have gotten some sleep instead.....

Maybe it's just my rose-colored glasses: things seemed so simple and so sweet back then. I realized at the time how good my life was and I did appreciate it immensely. I had the best of everything: family, home, purpose, and sweet little babies.

And now those babies have babies of their own. And life has gotten more and more complex. And the earth is spinning much faster than it seemed to back then. Or not....

I think I'll just sit down and savor the moment....

Giving Thanks.....

The turkey's defrosting. The grocery shopping list is a mile long. Maybe two miles. The house is sparkling clean and ready for company.

This morning, I'm on my way north, to the Big Burg, to pick up my granddaughter. She will spend the rest of the week with me, enjoying the holiday. She has only called me about ten times this morning. I'm so glad her mother gave her a cell phone.....

She is bringing her new laptop, purchased for her by her father. He has been an absent father for eight of her ten years of life. He came to see her a couple of weekends ago, and they had a wonderful time. She wanted to know where she came from, and now she does. And the doors are open; the lines of communication re-established. That's a good thing.

We will be busy for the next few days. Cooking, baking, decorating and just hanging out together. She is wise beyond her years at some moments, and a little, baby child at others. Typical of her age, and very endearing, to me.

She doesn't expect to be entertained. She will be happy just to hang out with me, and do whatever I am doing. She can spend hours in her room and idle away her time in thoughts. Or TV. Or now, her laptop. I have a book to give her: Abe Lincoln Grows Up, by Carl Sandburg. I bought it for her at the Lincoln Museum in Springfield, Illinois.

I think about her wherever I go, whatever I am doing. And the Museum gift shop was all about finding mementos for my grandchildren. Aidan received a book of Lincoln's speeches. Mckay was thrilled with a mint set of Lincoln pennies. Hopefully, Noelle will like her book.

And read it, too.

How we spend the next few days is not as important as the fact that we will be together. We will have time to talk, to listen, to share, and to laugh.

For that, I'm thankful.

Tis the Season...

It's quiet now

The day is done.

The night, left cold

By the setting sun.

Long lost faces

Once held so dear

Under cover of darkness,

Slowly reappear.

Gathering around me

One by one...

Encircling my soul

As the day is done.

No need to fear,

Or scream or cry,

No need to question,

Or wonder why.

Tis the season,

Happens once each year,

The visits begin

From memories, dear.

Those I love,

Who have gone on,

Come abide with me

Til tomorrow's dawn.

Swirling around,

In my head and heart,

Sharing stories,

Til they must part.

Every year, they come,

Every year, they stay,

And, once I remember,

They go away.

They know I'm fine,

And I'll be all right,

Alone, again....

Another quiet night.

Memories....A Poem...

Life seems to be such a quandary....

Living somewhere besides where I want to be.

Spending my time in memories of the past

Why is it only the memories that last?

Life is happening all around

But, in the past, is where I'm found.

Life is so precious Life is so dear

Why can't I live right now, right here?

Why do I feel so all alone?

Togetherness is what my memories have shown.

People I love People so near

Being together brings love and good cheer.

So I'll hold close, my memories, and then

Go forward, to my future and leave where I've been.

My memories, so precious, with all the strength they give,

Here and now is where I am; and here and now, is where I'll live.

Rich, layered memories of seasons past...

Live beside moments that are passing too fast.

With memories of the past and those folks I hold dear,

I'll live in the moment and be of good cheer.

For tomorrow will come before we know...

Today's memories will linger like new-fallen snow.

So pretty, so ethereal, so white and so cold.

Now passes too fast and soon, I'll be old.

Gathering my memories, and these fresh moments, too

I am moving forward....heading, always, toward you.

Memories from the past, precious moments in time

Past, present and future, in our love, entwined.

The Christmas Tree, a Poem...

Covered in tinsel and icicles, too
Baubles in gold and silver and white
Spirals and stars and pear shapes,
Crowned with a star and twinkling lights.

Tall and straight and evergreen,
Reaching for heaven, or at least the sky,
Bows bending, under the weight
And presents beneath, piled high.

No matter the type, or shape of the tree
Even the lowly, Charlie Brown kind,
Covered in baubles and lovely things
Becomes the best that you will find.

Presents, not fancy, but lovingly done,
Under the tree in bright colored paper,
Heighten the excitement, increase the tension,
Each contains a moment to savor.

Gathered around the family tree,
Remembering so many Christmases past,
Thinking that this one is even more special,
Hoping the memories made will last.

The Christmas Tree, so beautiful,
Decorated now for all to see...
May yours bring you holiday cheer,
And may you always, blessed be.

Baking Cookies....

Today, I cleaned up my old kitchen

In preparation for some baking

For here is where it all happens,

Those memories in the making.

Windows fogged up from the heated oven,

Crowned in curtains, made long ago by me.

Ingredients lovingly strewn on the counter,

Soon become cookies, as you will see.

Sights and smells and sounds galore

All bring back memories of Christmases past,

Baking cookies, by foggy windows,

Candles burning and memories that last.

The laughter of her little children

Lives in a mother’s heart forever,

And baking cookies for those children’s children

Seems like such a noble endeavor.

Watching little faces light up as they smile

And spy the cookies that Grandma has made.

And smell the smells, and see the treats,

That’s the stuff of memories that don’t fade.

So, come into this grandma’s kitchen,

Sit down, please, and stay awhile

Have a cookie, and a glass of milk.

And we’ll talk……. and we’ll smile.

Grandma's Table...

Gathered around Grandma's table,

Three generations of our family.

Sharing that special meal saved

For this one annual holiday.

Gentleness borne of loving thoughts

Easy conversation shared

Stories told, laughter follows,

It seems that they are always paired.

The bounty of the harvest

Spread out upon the table,

Hopes of togetherness abound

Calling us to come if we are able.

Sharing the food we always have,

The ritual we always keep,

Sitting there afterward and talking

And wanting to lie down and sleep.

The boys go out and throw the ball,

It's a beautiful autumn day,

While Grandma washes dishes,

And puts the food away.

As the sunlight leaves us

And the evening draws nigh...

Grandma surveys the scene,

And sighs a gentle sigh....

Another holiday meal is over

A feast shared with those held dear

Gracing, again, Grandma's table...

And looking forward to next year.

Peace at last, settles in...

Grandma's table is empty now,

Only the memories of the day remain..

And the love, at this table, shared..

Sweet Child O'Mine..

Precious Little Child, Sweet Child O'Mine..

Your eyes twinkle like the stars that shine..

The inner beauty that shows in your face,

Is borne of the joy that is your grace...

Alive and living and learning so many things..

The sound of your voice gives my heart wings.

I was there for your birth, Sweet Child O'Mine,

I was there for your birth, an event so divine.

How fast you've grown, and gotten so tall,

It's hard to remember when you were just small.

You learn so quickly, and you love so well,

Beauty so bewitching, you cast a spell...

Living so sweetly, and now out of my dreams,

And into real life, so very busy, it seems.

How can I touch you, what words will you hear?

What secret password will gain me entrance to your sphere?

How lovely the light, that glows in your soul,

And when we are together, the days, so full..

Guided by love and light and life and reasons...

We relish each day, and all of the seasons.

How I cherish the memories of your sweet baby days,

Even as I watch you growing, in my loving gaze...

Taller and prettier and kind and loving as can be,

You'll always be my Baby Noelle-y to me!

A House Full of Boys..

Today I’m celebrating

One of life’s special joys:

Saturday afternoon…

And a house full of boys!

College football on TV

Little one throwing the ball

“World of Warcraft” too…

I’m enjoying it all!

Kettle corn on the floor

And ground in the rug

A boy walks by me

And gives Grandma a hug.

Fingerprints on the table,

Red and sticky, mark the spot,

Where the little one sat,

His quesadilla was too hot.

Pillows from the sofa,

Scattered around on the floor,

Long-legged boys watching football

Come in slamming the door.

Two go outside

To throw the ball

Two still inside,

And I’m watching it all.

The house, so empty

On so many days,

Seems suited to boys

In so many ways.

Plenty of space

To spread out and play

Plenty of things

To move out of the way.

Good boys they all are

Even though strong-willed,

Keep them busy and happy

Give ‘em Legos to build.

And when it’s all over

And they must go…

I hope they remember

Grandma loves them so!

Happy Birthday....

Happy Birthday....

September is here again, with the bittersweet memories attached. My mother was born in September, and died in September, two weeks after her 65th birthday....

She was a one-of-a-kind, my mother. I have never met anyone quite like her. She was intelligent, beautiful, and creative, and yet, lost and sad at the same time. She loved photograpy and took most of the pictures of me that are on my profile page.

She came from a tragic family, and that tragedy shaped her choices for the rest of her life. She wanted to be surrounded by beauty,and so she planted roses and other flowers. She shunned the darkness and tried to live in the sunlight. She loved musicals, she loved to read, and she loved to travel.

I think about her often and I talk to her, too. I wear her engagement ring on a chain around my neck. It is amazing how many people have asked me about that ring, and what it means. And maybe this poem, that I wrote this morning in a fit of tears, will explain..

I wish I had the notes you once wrote,

But you’ll be around forever.

I wish I could remember how you smelled,

But you’ll be around forever.

I wish I could touch that soft dress you wore,

But you’ll be around forever.

I wish I’d said “I love you” more…

But you’ll be around forever.

I wish I had listened more closely,

When you talked about your hopes and dreams,

But you’ll be around forever.

I wish I had a recording of your voice,

With the soft, lilting way you said your words,

But you’ll be around forever.

I wish I could brush your hair again,

And place it in a cascading pile

On top of your perfectly-shaped head

But you’ll be around forever.

I wish I had said the things I wanted to say,

And told you what you needed to hear.

I wish I had gotten in your face,

And defied you, just for once

So you would know that I am strong

And that my heart cannot be swayed

And that my courage will prevail…

But I was wrong and didn’t know it then…

You could not be around forever!

Happy Birthday, Momby!

Gone...

Long ago, when I was just a little girl,

Daddy planted trees in our front yard.

This morning I watched, as they were cut down

And seeing it happen was very hard.

Old and tired, with hollowed out branches,

Posing a threat of falling, and causing harm,

I had to make the decision to let them go,

And now, the front yard has lost its charm.

More than trees, and even more than shade,

They were a symbol of a time that’s past…

Just sticks when they were planted in the soil,

It never occurred to me that they wouldn’t last.

And so, I’ve lost still another connection….

To a place that I can never return.

To a time in life when I was just a child,

To a sense of safety for which I yearn.

Safe and secure in the arms of my parents,

In a life that would last as long as the trees.

A part of me left with those trees this morning,

A sense of connection that no one else sees.

Those trees were a constant, growing tall,

Presiding over all of our family’s events.

Having to lose them now, after all this time,

Really and truly does not make any sense.

But gone they are, to join my parents,

And live forever in my memories…

I chide myself: “stop crying, silly woman!”

After all, it was only a couple of trees..

My Life...

A hundred thousand people,

Through my life have marched.

Some assuaged my thirst,

And some left me parched.

All have left their mark,

On my soul, in some strange way,

Some by their actions,

Others by what they say.

The ones I felt drawn to,

Those who meant the most,

Have always been the humble ones,

Not given to ever boast.

Some have told me lies,

And hurt me, or made me mad.

But all in all, the goodness,

Far outweighs the bad.

Those who share my joy

At dancing in the rain,

Are the ones who are always

Welcome to come back again.

Lemonade...

I’ve been here and I‘ve been there

In and out and everywhere

Up sometimes, and then, down too.

Sometimes red and sometimes blue.

I’ve had the urge to scream and shout,

I’ve stuck out my lip and tried to pout.

I’ve folded my arms across my chest,

And told my kids: “Mom knows best.”

I’ve lived through things that were a test,

And always paid my dues—with interest.

Took up the gauntlet, and fought the fight,

Tried to always do whatever was right.

Turned my cheek, gave life another chance,

Went out in the rain and smiled and danced.

Whistled a happy tune when I was scared,

Offered thanks for all the blessings I shared.

Tried to just put one foot in front of the other,

And set a good example, since I was the mother.

Smiled at the good, cried through all the sorrows,

And always hoped for much better tomorrows.

And somehow, in going from here to there,

In and out and everywhere..

I’ve been lucky: on a steady course I’ve stayed,

When life hands me lemons, I make lemonade.

Sweet Summer Memories..

Sometimes it’s fun to look back at places and times and things that made life special when I was young. Was it really as great as I remember it? Or has my mind “edited” out the parts that don’t fit in the memory I want to keep?

During the summer, we ate outside more often than we ate in the house. We played until it was almost dark, and then gathered on Daddy’s Marine Corps blanket, in the middle of the back lawn, to live the classics, as Daddy read them to us.

Slowly, gently the earth has warmed,

No chilling wind on this summer day.

Gone is the snow, gone are the clouds,

Sprinklers sprinkle, and children play.

Butterflies, with their regal wings,

Flitter among the pretty flowers.

In the shade of a tree, is a good place to be,

And the children play there for hours.

Daddy pulls out the rusty old barbeque

And, with a wire brush, cleans the grill.

The charcoal is lit, in the dark old pit,

Pleasant summer memories linger still.

Mama’s gone back in the kitchen,

She’s making homemade ice cream.

Summer’s more sublime, Most of the time,

Or that’s just the way it would seem.

Running around in the backyard at dark,

The grass feels velvety between our toes,

Mismatched shirts, over ragged shorts,

Oh, how I loved those summer clothes.

Sitting down to a pleasant summer meal,

Under a blanket of bright, heavenly stars,

Grilled hamburger patties, toasted buns,

And mustard and mayo, right from the jars.

Corn on the cob, with melted butter,

A fresh green salad and olives, too.

It’s all so delicious, but remember:

Save room for lots of ice cream, too!

After supper, when the dishes are cleared,

Gathered on the blanket, it’s time to read,

Daddy’s voice brings alive “Gulliver’s Travels”

What more perfect evening could I conceive?

Simple Things....

It seems to me, that simple things

Are the ones with the most meaning.

A well-worn book, a peaceful smile,

Innocent, or so they’re seeming.

Simple foods prepared lovingly,

Served on dishes from generations ago

Pictures of relatives, long since gone,

Cherished still, and missing them so.

Sweeping the floor in the kitchen,

Gathering up papers to recycle soon,

Pinching pennies, saving string,

Nourishing hope, this day in June.

What do I need that I do not have?

What is it that I cannot live without?

My world is full of life’s bounty

I am rich; of that, I have no doubt.

Simple chores, simple living,

Taking care to appreciate it all

The things and people who surround me

Giving thanks daily, for great and small.

Looking at the glass as being half-full,

Thinking about the lessons I would preach,

Not remorseful over that which is not mine,

Or envious of the wealth I will not reach.

I cannot complain about being poor

For I am wealthy beyond all measure,

A simple life, lived simply, is mine,

And the Love given to me to treasure.

I Cannot Help But Wonder Why???

I met a little guy, 5 years old, in my travels as a home health nurse. 

He was dirty, and skinny, and had no shoes. When he smiled, his front teeth were all metal. But when he smiled, his eyes sparkled, and I had to return the smile. He lives with his grandpa who is confined to a wheelchair. The little guy is grandpa's caregiver. He was fascinated with my nursing bag and wanted to see everything in it. I wanted to give him something, so I gave him my tape measure. You would think I had given him a winning lottery ticket! He hugged me for an eternity. 

I couldn't stop thinking about him today; and I derived no comfort from knowing that my own grandchildren live comfortably. I wrote this for that little guy.

Is there some plausible reason why

If God made us all the same,

Some people live in abject poverty

And others vacation in Spain?

Why are children born with birth defects

And heart-breaking anomalies?

Why, in the world’s richest nation

Are there so many poor families?

Prenatal care, post partum checks

Well-baby clinics and education

Why can’t this be a reality

In the world’s richest nation?

Preventative medicine, annual check-ups

Should be a routine part of health care.

Keep people well and functional

And keep them off of welfare.

Children in Appalachia

Just want to learn to read.

Their parents never learned

Too many mouths to feed.

Children in Mississippi

Just want a place to live.

Charities look for volunteers

With building skills to give.

Children wandering darkened streets,

Their parents gone, or unknown

Their fondest hope, and greatest wish

Is to find a warm and loving home.

Children who fear going home

To torture and abuse

Children living a silent tragedy

From perpetrators on the loose.

Is this just an isolated problem

Magnified by Media sensation?

Or is this a horrific travesty

In the world’s richest nation?

We have to look at these problems

The depth, and breadth, and scope

For these children are our future

These children are our hope.

No More....

No more loud and boisterous nights

No more listening to all their fights.

No more friends at the front door.

No more need to keep the score.

No more legos, scattered about

No more saying: “please don’t shout!”

No need to be King Solomon wise…

No more “that’s not fair!” cries.

No more milk cartons in the fridge,

Empty, of course, not even a smidge.

No more cooking to feed an army,

No more socks smelling so smarmy.

No more sitting around the table at night

Listening to their conversations with delight.

No more lying awake at night for the sound,

Of one more kid who, Home, has found.

No more stretching the budget to feed

All those kids and any friend in need…

Of a home-cooked meal, served with love,

And a pinch and a push and a kick and a shove.

No more greetings in the early morn..

From the first, and second, and third-born.

No more hugs as they hurry on by….

No more leavings, to make Mom cry.

No more pitter-patter of chubby little feet,

No more peanut butter kisses so sweet.

So many “no mores” what am I to do?

No more kids saying “Mom, I love you!”

Sitting in my solitude, watching HGTV,

My cell phone rings, of course it’s for me.

A young man asks if, a ticket I will buy,

Earning money for camp, he’s giving it a try.

I don’t need a ticket, for heaven’s sakes,

I don’t eat breakfast, much less pancakes!

But he’s so sweet, what can I do?

“Thanks, Grandma, I love you!”

Life does come full circle, doesn’t it?

My Mother..

Her natural beauty, accentuated by her smile,

Her graceful poise, and sense of style.

Soft, flowing dresses with lace for trim,

Long, flowing hair and figure so slim.

Looking so regal, walking on Daddy’s arm,

Always getting her way, she had such charm.

Constantly busy, with good social skills,

Single-minded, with the strongest of wills.

Her laugh when she finally “got” Daddy’s joke,

Or quietly reading, beneath the cigarette smoke.

Her turned-up nose, when something appalled her,

The joy in her voice when Daddy called her.

Her meatloaf was awful, and the green beans would squeek,

Strong housecleaning skills, but cooking skills were weak.

Her garden was beautiful; she loved it out there,

And she wore a white gardenia in her dark brown hair.

She wasn’t perfect, but she always tried to be kind,

And when she wasn’t, well, I didn’t really mind.

For you see, to me, she was like no other,

A woman, so special: she was my mother.

She’s been gone now for so many years,

Yet time can’t erase my mother’s tears.

It was much too soon that we had to part….

Though she’s gone from my sight, she’s alive in my heart.

Happy Mother’s Day

Dear hearts and gentle people

Dear hearts and gentle people,
The ones who make me sing.
I wonder how you’re doing,
And do you need anything?

How has life been treating you?
Is everything okay?
Do you have enough to eat?
And did your pain go away?

Have your bowels been moving?
Are you getting enough sleep?
What did your doctor tell you
That made you sit here and weep?

Have your kids been over
To see what’s going on?
Did they write a letter?
Or call you on the phone?

Nobody’s been by to see you
To sit and share and smile?
Sure, I’ll sit here and talk to you
And visit for awhile.

Did your brother get his gall bladder out?
And did you go to your son’s graduation?
Did your sister find your glasses?
What was her explanation?

Can you give me the recipe
For that delicious cake you made?
I want to make it for my Bunco group
And serve it with lemonade.

I’d like to stay and keep you company
And visit a little while more
But I have another patient to see
And it’s a quarter past four.

Yes, I’ll be back next week
To see how you are doing,
So save up some more stories,
And have some coffee brewing!