Sundays with Grandpa
Happy forest family
Reptiles lurk below.
Lumbering giants
friends who come to save the day
Moments remembered.
Black and white world then
life filled with easier times
captivated awe.
Went kayaking the other day and saw a gator a few feet away churning in the water, and now images of the old Tarzan “movie for a Sunday afternoon” days keep bubbling up in my mind. Nostalgia at its best.
John told me ages ago,
like an old time story a memory,
you’ve got to hear this,
means so much,
and I hear the voices now in my ears,
thinking back to that moment
years ago,
bringing it all back on this night
as the wind blows from a different vantage point
a bad world, a mad world
and the wind keeps blowing
the jasmine scent
so unlike bombs in the air
eons away
from what I am surrounded by
and so many changes I cannot quite comprehend.
As he falls, I can only sense
the repeat performance
from so very long ago,
the story of the loss of a man
just like us but not just like us
and I watched his face as he watched mine
above the table each night as he dined
amongst the family that fell
apart one by one
year by year
becoming a story in of itself
of no revelevance
except for those who lived
beneath his stoic gaze.
Did you know I hated him?
For what he couldn’t hold together
and did you know
some days
I hate him still,
although not such a strong hate,
just a mere disinterest at times,
because he represents
something beyond my circle of thought,
like a passing gaze at an accident
that couldn’t help but to happen
but I know he doesn’t condemn,
so not his style,
cause I can listen to my voices,
my Elouise and my Sheldons
who are mired at times where I reside,
and I know we keep company
with this kind soul who could never judge,
after all,
we do enough of that ourselves.
When I ask,
those questions that swirl when I anger,
when patience just doesn’t find me
in it’s eager way,
and the swearing mind has it’s way,
although never leaving the lips,
just the mind, mind you,
it lends itself to its own stories,
tells its own tales…
quite good at that by the way,
but I can still see in my little girl mind,
a man on an ass,
a donkey if one would expect correctness,
who plodded on,
knowing,
expecting,
enduring,
and I wonder why I can’t be
as strong
as humble
as loving
as gentle
and I know because he tells me,
with time it comes,
the acceptance of what is to come
to one
to all
and I’m okay then,
and I can close my mind off
and shut off the noise
and just cry in my silence
for a man who died
like a hundred thousand others
before I became a heartbeat
and I know I am blessed
for he tells me
as no one else
could ever do.
This is his image I knew
and know to this day,
while ghosts haunt me
I still can’t help but to remember
for it was drilled like an endless test,
what we try to escape
will always circle round
to find us in our weakness
and sometimes playing possum
is better than answering the questions
told with angry eyes,
why can’t you be?
why can’t you just tow the line.
the image that watched me eat, sleep, live….tucked away for years after the fact….I needed no reminders for he dwelled deep within….I still need no reminders, better to leave me to worship in my own way as I chose. One chokes when force fed….I know a few will understand. ❤
I felt the sun bearing down on my body, moving the brush back and forth against blue tile as cold water splashes like diamonds upon my skin, I stared into the depths of the azure water, feeling the coolness upon me, spreading peace through me like a gentle storm.
My mind keeps drifting into places I had not thought about for many years, memories of a childhood, of the scent of the sneaker smudged yet shining gym floors as light flooded in from windows two stories above my head, the image of the silken material draped in a perfect circle, its color a drab army green, the parachute that lay waiting for the games to begin.
Children stood around this circle. Talking amongst themselves and laughing and I remember just gazing at the color, how it seemed so foreign there against the brightly colored painted stripes and circles of the basketball court. I did not know what was to happen, standing as a mere spectator around the cloth I watched, waiting patiently. The whistle blew and I felt a hand upon my shoulder, was told to go lay in the middle, the next sacrificial lamb I remember after the fact, but the smiles of friends and the nudges from those beside me sent me forward to become a part of this challenge. The other girl, I do not recall her name, lay beside me in the middle of this silken circle and the children on the edges grabbed hold of the material and lifted. They began to moving around the cloth in a circle, as the material gathered up tighter and tighter, closing off the light from sight and at one point separating me from the other child within this cocoon. The outer children kept moving until they could move no more, the material all tied tight and we lay within, not knowing up from down, locked in tight.
The whistle blew and the command was shouted to work our way out. I remember the kicking and screaming of the girl somewhere beside me beyond a curtain of silk and how I kept flailing and ripping at the fabric, trying to break free. I think I was crying, I think I panicked and in the end, I believe we failed to emerge as expected. I do not remember anything else after that.
As a child I could never wear slippers or night-clothes that covered my feet. My mother would have to cut them off as I would wake drenched in sweat from fighting to free myself, to breathe. This was that feeling again, except it was all of me, in this maddening rabbit hole, no escape, no light. I do not know why this memory keeps lingering today, as I am feeling so very peaceful, under a vast blue sky, working beside a neon bright blue pool. Perhaps it is just in need of escaping onto the paper, to become words so that it can be set free once and for all, to know that I am not a small helpless child and that I can make choices of what I wish to do. To have the conviction and strength I lacked then, to plunge down the rabbit hole and face the darkness I had feared or to remain on the edge and just opt out. Universal reminders taught to self through time and space, and to take one last plunge into the darkness, to turn on the light and know that it will all be all right. I am learning to let go, to dive in and to breathe.
Into the memory bank to make a withdrawal,
gently we go into our days remembering
as an image comes to mind,
when things are broken we need to gather
the proper tools of love to fix the pieces.
Holding carefully we examine the thought,
swept through this waking dream we conjure
the invisible lines that separate us from now to then,
retracing the steps through magical realms
and revisiting the sacred spaces of our youth.
We affix the pieces together like a puzzle,
knowing just where to place each one
to complete the image just so,
we smile in our perfect innocence
and turn the page to find
the next adventure.
Why this image brought me forth
from a mid morning daydream of bears and special places,
of doing the best to mend,
and as my finger traces I go back to the days
of reading such sheer magic,
a gift from someone,
but pencil images in hard covered volumes,
fill a mind with wonder
at the simple things
that gave a smile.
Our pup Apple was a bit gimpy yesterday and although we made it through our morning walk this morning, she is having her moments of limping and quite clingy, following me everywhere through the house. I remembered this picture and pulled it up on-line, how I wish I had a magical wand to make her leg return back to her normal marching gait, but for now she will sit beside me in slumber, resting against me as she has her doggie dreams where she chases the varmints like a young girl again. Peace and a lovely Tuesday my friends.
The waves washed into our bodies
we laughed and splashed knowing no fear
building our castles on fragile ground
not caring if they were washed away or not
for we would do it all over again,
it was part of our game
our knowledge of life still innocent
that nothing is permanent
but we had each other
and that’s all that really mattered.
We were friends of all makes and sizes,
brought together for a week of escape
from parents and family and the need to please,
and we bunked down together telling stories
of what it was like where we were from,
and we laughed and cried
but we didn’t judge
for we didn’t know what that even was.
But somewhere perhaps we knew
as the time came for goodbyes
and hugs and tears and “I’ll promise to write” were shared,
and we knew as our parents watched,
we could feel the shift, the change as they eyed each soul,
making their decisions on looks alone
that “come now, let’s get in the car and go”
and “yes, you can call when you want”
but our carefully penned lists
with names and birthdays and numbers and such
one day disappeared leaving us dismayed
to hear “well, maybe they’ll be back next year”
but we didn’t go back
’cause there was someplace better,
with kids our kind,
did it start then? The change of mind made for us
though many never latched onto the ideals,
secretly holding that secret tucked away
that “maybe someday I’ll see her again,”
and the happiness will fall right into place,
“will she remember my name? and will she still want to play?”
and I wonder if I saw her now
would she sit down in the sand once more
helping to create a masterpiece like we once knew
before the tide of adulthood and darkness of heart
swept it quietly away.
“Does it feel that your life’s become a catastrophe?
Oh, it has to be for you to grow , boy.
When you look through the years and see what you could have been
oh, what you might have been,
If you’d had more time.”
Take the long way home-Supertramp
I sat in the window watching in the darkness as the party next door went full throttle. The loud music filled the humid summer air, and this album in particular played, which had always been a favorite, as this song came on and the tears fell, I knew I wasn’t a part of it, I was alone as my what “had been” best friend(nad neighbor) hung with her new clique and I sat like a sodden wallflower on the sidelines, unwanted….I made a vow I would never feel that way again. Time was fleeting and it was not worth the expenditure of tears. The lyrics clung to me through life, remembering the good times sitting on the floor as the shiny new vinyl spun round, singing along to the thin paper words that sleeved the plastic disc.
I look back now in hindsight, recalling how as teenagers, it was such a heartless and cruel world, but as an adult, I have found the path to peace and forgiveness…taking the long way home perhaps but not letting the time slip by without a lesson. Stronger yet still adore this song….and still sing it at the top of my lungs in the car…no tears, just the joy of following the road where it leads. Peace and blessings, enjoy my friends. Kim
Okay, I know….I’m at heart such a child and in being one, have a very large fondness for peanut butter and jelly. Remembering the days of youth, pulling the hot sweaty little sandwich out of my wrinkled paper bag, seeing the purple shade coming through where the heavy apple smushed the little sandwich with the crusts cut off. Gummy white bread and PB&J, the smell that filled the cubicle of all the other little kids who had the same, intermingling with the scent of warm bologna and mayo from the other kid who ate the same thing every day. Now I loved PB&J but I couldn’t eat it every day. Now that I’m an all grown up child in adult person form, saw these while perusing the frozen foods aisle of things I don’t eat anymore if possible, processed pasta in white creamy sauces, Sara Lee Pound cake, you get the idea…but I saw this lonely and sad looking little box sitting at the bottom of the shelf of kid’s food stuff in Publix and thought, a-ha….no gummy white bread, just graham crackers, those are healthy right? And it looked to be not a ton of PB&J, but as Goldilocks said…..”Just right”. Into the cart they went as hubby raised his eyebrows in dismay and I with a smile said, at least it isn’t gummy white bread, right? So I made it to check out with my snack in tow, rushed it home and slipped it in the freezer where it belonged. Now I know hubby won’t eat it, not a big PB&J fan that I know of….he was more the bologna kid from school so I get six of these bad boys for myself.
So, a few days later, I feel a bit snacky so I dive into the freezer for one. It says you can eat it frozen or thaw it out and knowing how good a frozen Twinkie tastes (I only know this from childhood….along with frozen hoho’s and we slept in a room in the basement where the “Excess” freezer which was locked lived, and big sister knew where the key was hidden….but no, we never broke in and ate anything in there….really…..wink wink) and so I carefully peeled open the wrapper, kind of like Charlie expecting the golden ticket but folding it back and seeing this thin little snack, felt a little disappointed….until I bit into it. OMG….it’s like crack for adults. If you like PB&J, you’ve got to pick up a box. The outer disclaimer bestowed its fine virtues, see:
Pretty snazzy, huh? Just ignore? the calorie content…270 or so, but if this is my lunch, I suppose I could do worse. But the taste, wow, just the right amount of all the good things. Now if they could make this in S’mores flavor, that would be awesome….except I don’t think a frozen S’more would pack the same appeal cold instead of hot steamy chocolate. If I had to rate it on the five-star system, I would give it four and a half, but this computer doesn’t have emoji’s so I have to settle for simple words. If you like ice cream sandwiches and PB&J, don’t want all the calories/dairy/etc… of an ice-cream sandwich but want to feel like you’re eating one with the amazing flavor and crunch of the graham, well this is your snack. Now get off the couch, put down the Cheezy Poofs and go grab a box before they’re gone….It’s a Grand Slam….unlike my beloved Rays these days…..sigh….besides, what’s more American than PB&J and a winning baseball team? I guess I will have to settle for the PB&J, for now anyway. Happy fourth peeps 🙂
She could hear their voices raised from where she sat in the den. Her mother and aunt fighting once more, typical she thought, as she walked over to the shelf next to the window. Her aunt was known for her immense appetite for reading and she had often grabbed a bright colored volume when the adults left her to herself, leafing through the grown up words, slowly mouthing them out, never knowing if she was on the right track or not. Her aunt would sometimes let her take one home to finish, but not the old ones. The old ones were special according to Aunt Lizzie and they stayed right where they were, where they belonged, and were not, under any circumstances to be touched. Emma thought her aunt had eyes in the back of her head because once a year back, she had tried to reach for one of the “ancients” as she called them, only to hear a voice from the kitchen telling her to not even think about it. Emma always did as she was told, but this time, for some reason, a volume up in the top corner caught her eye and she found herself almost being pulled in the direction of it, as if it were overcoming her senses, whispering sweetly, “come my child, pick me up, I’m special” and she hesitated for only a moment, listening for the voice of her aunt to yell and in hearing only the same voices raised in irritation and adult drama, slowly pulled the old dusty book forward to rest in her hands.
The book smelled of mildew and an almost floral scent, which to her seemed a bit strange as old books usually just smelled like something from your grandparents basement, and she slowly opened it to see if perhaps there was an old pressed flower held somewhere within. The book cover was a bit tattered and the writing was barely present, but it looked on the spine as if it said The Portal. The book felt warm and welcoming in her hands and she glanced up to see if anyone was watching her act of defiance but the hall was empty and she looked back down as she opened the cover slowly. Within covers of the book was an opening. The pages were make-believe and it was like a secret hiding space, with a tunnel. A small glow, like a light down from somewhere within the book corridor began to glow and the book began to get warmer, Emma looked up one last time for her mother or aunt and then she slowly began to fade into a ghostly image, there one minute and gone the next. The book fell with a quiet thump to the floor and footsteps could be heard coming down the hall. The den stood empty and on the antique carpet sat the book that had been in Emma’s hands. Her mother called out for her and the Aunt just stared at the book slack-jawed. Lizzie picked up the book in her hand and opened it up and flipping through pages, watched as a faded rose fell from between the pages. Emma was nowhere to be found and never seen again.
Thoughts filled my head last night while I lay me down to sleep, I’d like to think it was sugarplums dancing there but alas, nothing as beautifully choreographed as that. It was thoughts of things I took for granted then, the simple joys of innocents times, television that catered to enriching a young mind, songs playing on the little plastic box that ran a slide of images that went along with the songs, nursery rhymes perhaps, but I remembered the gingerbread man song in particular. I’ve always had a fondness for sweet things, played the game candy land while pretending that each little land visited was real. A land of make believe to hide away from truths of the actual life lived. I escaped into different worlds, and with writing now, perhaps still do in a way but not as escape, just to ear mark the moments and thoughts that pass through my life, moments that I can’t take for granted…moment that make me, well, me.
Which brings me to cookies. I love cookies. I no longer eat cookies, unless I happen to be in Publix and feel my sugar running low, then one small sixteen cent sugar cookie to boost the brain back into proper order. I eat the biscotti thins, pistachio ones at one hundred calories, not too sweet but just enough. Now keep in mind, as a kid I could devour an entire package of Oreos….back then they weren’t super sized like they are now, and my little sister and I would buy a pound Hershey bar with almonds, hole up in our room at night and play rummy I think it was, with the night breezes blowing in our windows cooling us down as we listened to the radio and laughed, talking long past when we should have been sleeping. Licorice was another favorite, big bags of strawberry twizzlers. Vinegar chips, etc….the list is endless. Memories like that make me smile and today I watched a video of my sister leading her chorus in a vibrant playful song, under the sea from the little mermaid. It made me so proud to see her. Body language spoke volumes, she was a kid again and it took me back to when I was young and in chorus, singing, and happy, just plain old having fun. I imagine us at the end of our days and I know the gifts she’s given to her students, the Impact she’s made on so many young minds. It left me so very proud and I must say, Teary eyed too.
She’s coming to visit next month with her husband and three sons, and I know we won’t be up late eating hard earned Hershey bars or slipping out for a Friendlys Reeses pieces sundaes, not even a big glass of Nestles chocolate milk….but what we will have is laughter, and love and that’s enough for me to be grateful for just thinking about it. Cheers Sis! Looking forward to the happy moments together again.
This is how I look thinking of life…..such a blessing, leaving me in awe. Gotta love the Minions….
The Bible camp lay down a long dirt road that left our car brown by the time we arrived. We had packed for the week and waited in line, luggage in tow for our cabinet assignments. The scent of the horses was down wind from where we stood but we could hear them neighing and it only fed the excitement. One week of being away from home, pretending to be cowgirls for a week and meeting new friends. This was our rite of passage every year for as long as I could remember.
Our pocket-money shoved deep in our jeans, we had to make it last and the “general store” was always an exciting place where we were free to buy candy, trinkets and anything we could afford basically without having to as permission from an adult. The line inched up and a tag was handed to me and with the point of a finger heading up the hill, I kissed the parents goodbye and headed on my way. The girls had to walk on the left side of the street where their bunks were and the boys on the right. There was known an invisible line in the middle we were forbidden to cross, along with no t-shirts that had any alcohol, tobacco, or rock music portrayed upon them. No fears I thought with my hand-made Campbell soup kids T-shirt and the other items my mother had made folded neatly within.
I stowed my things in the cabin on the bed assigned to me, shoved my Hershey bars under my pillow so that no one took them and proceeded to meet my cabin mates. There were three girls and they all seemed to be best friends from home. They had expensive clothes and pretty hair and fingernail polish and they looked at me as if I had just arrived off of the local space ship from Mars. I knew then and there it was going to be a long week.
The first day there was no horseback riding, my only purpose for going there every year but there was a dance to be held down at the Saloon (Cafeteria) so I changed into a clean shirt and closed the door behind me, my roommates having left a few minutes prior, not inviting me to join them, and I sauntered my way down to where the music was playing.
I lasted there for about an hour and grew bored and restless, I didn’t feel like I fit in, couldn’t find anyone to talk to so I went back to the cabin. I walked between my cabin and the next and found a large field behind it bathed in a light that was set to illuminate the back areas of each cabin. I grabbed a stick and went walking in the weeds. I named the stick Tawny and in my mind, we rode the meadows beneath the stars. I talked to this steed as if he were real, and we galloped (I skipped) and the scent of the weeds stirred beneath my feet and the night felt alive. I believed I was riding a real horse and the joy it gave me was something I have never forgotten. When you are lonely and only have an imagination to keep you company, sometimes amazing things can happen.
A voice dragged me out of my reverie and I looked up to see a stern man in a cowboy hat asking me what in the blazes I was doing out there? I think I laughed a little because I knew he wouldn’t believe my tale of riding the mountains and meadows. I set the stick down and walked over to him with my head down ashamed. He asked again what I had been doing and I began to cry as I told him my tale of my moonlit ride aboard Tawny. He took off his hat and put it on me, told me I was truly a cowgirl and that he thinks that is the best way to live, riding into the sunset and believing in your dreams. He walked me back to my cabin and turned me over to the counselor who had been looking for me and asked me to bring his hat tomorrow when it was time to “ride the range”. I went to bed feeling so special.
The next morning we lined up after breakfast for our morning ride and there he stood holding a big Palomino and he motioned for me to come over. The horse was huge and I must have looked afraid but he said not to worry, it was his own horse and he wanted me to feel like a real cowgirl. I handed him back his hat and he told me to keep it for the ride, he’d retrieve it later. He boosted me up on the horse (Custard) was his name-the horse, not the man, and then he smiled and told me that Custard would take fine care of me and to not get any ideas about making a run for the meadows and the mountains and with a wink he was gone. Everyone stared at me with their mouths open as they sat astride their small brown horses and I was led to the front of the line behind the man, he turned around and said it was best that way because the horse knew him and would follow. I blushed and stroked the cream-colored fur and leaned down and wrapped my arms around the big horses neck. “Into the sunset we go my fine steed” I said as I gave him a little heel kick, and we moved forward like a dream alive.
I had a picture once of me on Custard, not sure if I still have it or not but if I do manage to unearth it, I will add this into the story. Sometimes when we feel isolated, sometimes the best friend is a make-believe horse carrying you away. Written especially for my friend John who has gotten me into a story telling phase. I know it’s long but I hope you enjoy.
