Maid of Honor speech

 When Natalie got married in 2023, Brianne, her Maid of Honor, prepared a beautiful speech to give at the rehearsal dinner when she would be asked to propose a toast. Christopher's Best Man, his father refused to bow to that convention; so Brianne had no opportunity to give her speech. I recently found it and want to preserve it; so here it is.

Okay, I'm going to try my best to get through this without ugly crying; but I really think that's highly unlikely, so if I start to lose it, maybe we can all just agree to pretend like nothing is happening and move on.

Throughout my life, my mom has always told stories about how Natalie use to always have to be holding my hand when we were little. Everywhere we went, she was always right beside mel, holding my hand. I can think of so many pictures that we have from when we were little of us walking through the zoo, on the beach, Easter egg hunting, even just sitting on the couch holding hands. 

As a big sister, I'm sure there were times it could have been a little annoying to have your little sister constantly want to be right beside you holding your hand; however, looking back, I realize now that Natalie has done that throughout my whole life; and I couldn't be more thankful for that. Natalie has held my had, bother literally and figuratively for 23 years. In some very obvious ways and in some more quiet ways that she might not even realize.  I know that no matter what we do or where we go as we start living mor separate lives, Natalie will always hold my hand, and I'll always hold hers. 

Chris, for some reason, Natalie like to hold your hand now. Really, though, I see how happy she is when she's with you, and I'm glad my sister is marrying a man who loves her so much and fits in with our family so well. I truly feel like I have gained another brother, and not just because we communicate in sarcasm, but also because you are so welcoming and accepting. As her big sister, it makes me happy to know that you will always be there to take care of her, make her laugh, make life fun, and hold her hand -- and if not, you live 5 minutes down the road, and I know where you hide the spare key!

Natalie and Chris, I am so happy that the two of you have found one another. I hope the following years are full of love, new adventures, growing together, living out dreams, so much happiness, and lots of hand-holding. I love you both. 

Letter to Mother, Ruth Shaw, 2013

 I recently found a letter I wrote to Mother on her birthday in February of 2013 (thirteen years ago as I write this preface - 3 ½ years after her death.) I want to preserve it here. 

Dear Mother,

In the book, The Five People You Meet in Heaven, Mitch Albom wrote, “Parents rarely let go of their children, so children let go of them. They move on. They move away. The moments that used to define them - a mother’s approval, a father’s nod - are covered by moments of their own accomplishments. It is not until much later, as the skin sags and the heart weakens, that children understand; their stories, and all their accomplishments, sit atop the stories of their mothers and fathers, stones upon stones, beneath the waters of their lives.”

As Mr. Albom said, now that my skin is sagging and my heart is likely weakening, I am beginning to much more fully understand that any life accomplishments that I might claim are simply stories resting firmly upon yours and Daddy’s stories. These are the stones upon the stones beneath the waters of my life — all those skills and concepts I didn’t realize I was learning and all those life experiences that I never knew I’d be so grateful for.

Thank you, Mother, for the guidance you and Daddy have provided me throughout my life. Martin Luther once said, “In the midst of affliction, God counsels, strengthens, confirms, nourishes, and favors us. In the same manner parents ought to handle their children.” You have always counseled, strengthened, confirmed, nourished, and favored me as Luther advised - and as God does.

Most of all, Mother, thank you for your unconditional love. That love was the cornerstone of my childhood and continues to ground me in my adulthood. It has been given to me every day for a lifetime - and I have accepted this gift as naturally as I have accepted the colorful rain of leaves in Autumn and the perky Jonquils in the Spring. You have always lovingly listened to me when I needed to talk, and you have always lovingly talked to me when I needed to listen. What an empowering thing it is to be the recipient of such unconditional love! Thank you for knowledge of the power of love that I gained through all those wonderful years when I was growing up, being loved, and cherished, and honored as a unique child of God.

Thank you, Mother, and Happy Birthday. I love you. Joan

The last poem of 2025 in the Deadlines for Writers group is due today. The prompt was "underneath." My thought chain started there and made a long and winding journey before arriving at this poem. 

Lessons from the Aged

Thriving on Earth for eighty-four years

Is no small accomplishment, Friend.

Lessons  learned through blood, sweat, and tears

I’ll share as I reach life’s back end.

 

First lesson, now listen closely to this:

Value those who stick by your side:

Possessions will never bring any bliss.

Relationship’s where real joy abides.

 

Another truth to hold onto, I’ve learned,

Is that happiness comes from within.

Some folks won’t like you, but don’t be concerned;

Validation from others is thin.

 

You can’t control everything, much as you try;

Others will do what they will.

Peace and contentment will come by and by

If you let go, let God, and be still.

 

Kindness lasts. Comparison steals,

Money’s a tool, not the goal.

Gratitude’s what makes living real;

Be grateful down deep in your soul.

 

Grateful for every friendship and smile.

Grateful for even the strife.

Grateful you get to travel each mile.

Be grateful. Be gracious. Live Life!

Inner Life: A Sonnet

Poem # 3 of 2025 is due today. The prompt is "undo." Here is the sonnet I wrote and submitted. It is very loosely inspired by the writing of Veronica Roth and Horace Mann.

The self that’s only self will undo self.

Obsession with reflection blinds the eye.

To truly live our lives, we are compelled

To focus OUT, see much more YOU than I.

 

The image in the mirror teaches naught

‘Cept selfish, unkind actions that annoy.

While reaching out in loving deed and thought

To others is the truest path to joy.

 

I choose to turn away “me” and “my.”

And give to others trust that they deserve.

I know that my successful inner life

Depends on finding ways to see and serve .

 

Projecting ever outward, self restrained,

I disappear and only God remains!

Ode to the Human Spirit: a Sonnet

 Poem #11 of 2024 is due today. The prompt is "taste." I began to write reflecting on a quote by Leonardo DaVinci. 

“An average human looks without seeing, listens without hearing, touches without feeling, eats without tasting, moves without physical awareness, inhales without awareness of odour or fragrance, and talks without thinking.” 

Ode to the Human Spirit – A Sonnet

 

As life moves on from day to day to day

We mortal beings sometimes lose our way.

We look around yet somehow fail to see

The beauty and the grace in you and me.

 

We listen to divergent surface sounds

And do not hear the need in those around.

We touch and know the outer shapes of life

Not feeling others’ needs, and aches, and strife.

 

We sample this or that but do not taste -

The present moment’s flavor gone to waste.

We sniff the air but do not smell the rose

We miss the poem and only breathe the prose.

 

Let’s not forget that many a wrong is wrought

When words are spent before engaging THOUGHT. 

The Cowboy's Cowboy

 In 2014, my granddaughter, Natalie, had an assignment to write a poem related to "the Wild West" since her class was planning a field trip to Booth Western Art Museum in Cartersville, GA. Teachers from around the region would choose a few of the best poems from their students to enter in a contest. The winners from each school would read their poems at the museum on the day of the proposed field trip. 

Natalie had not previously written poetry and mentioned her anxiety over the assignment to me. When my grandchildren were in public school, I had made it a habit to read whatever literature they were assigned to read and keep up with their school progress in other ways, so one day I sat down to think about what could be written related to "the Wild West." I had in mind sending her a few ideas to help her get started.

I wrote a very rough first-draft light-verse poem about "'ol Hank." A couple of days before Natalie's poem was due, she told me she had not come up with anything, so I sent her that rough draft as a starting point to help her get started writing. That was probably not as good an idea as it sounded to us at the time. Instead of igniting a new idea in her, it seemed to confine her to just adapting the poem I had started. Deadline came too quickly, and she just turned in the poem that we had more-or-less cowritten. Of course, it won!

She was now locked into reading it aloud at the district Western Art assembly. It has bothered both of us ever since. She felt like she had cheated by turning in a poem she saw as mostly mine. I felt guilty because she felt like I helped her cheat and because she didn't see the final poem as truly hers. I also felt bad that I had apparently caused her to doubt her own ability and integrity. This incident became an embarrassment to both of us over the years, and the poem was mostly forgotten/unmentioned/hidden. 

I recently found an old copy. At this point neither of us is sure how much either of us had to do with this version or even it this is the final copy that was entered in the contest. Neither of us has felt comfortable claiming authorship. But I think it's a cute poem, so here is the, I guess, cowritten poem about 'ol Hank. 

Ol’ Hank was a cowboy’s cowboy –

That feller knew how to live.

Any case that came along,

Hank had advice to give.

 

Now, he warn’t no shoddy blowhard;

He didn’t talk no bosh.

But when he’d meet a greenhorn,

He’d fill their ears, by gosh!

 

“Hey, Dude!  Hey, City Slicker,”

Ol’ Hank was known to shout.

“You’re all hat and no cattle -

That’s not what cowboyin’s all about!

 

Now, being a real true cowboy

Takes a bigger man than you.

If you don’t wanna get your plow cleaned,

Here’s what you gotta do.

 

Don’t never squat with your spurs on.

Don’t drive black cattle when it’s dark outside.

Don’t dig for water near the outhouse;

Don’t get in the saddle ‘less you’re ready to ride.”

2014 by Natalie Davis (Akins) (with Joan Turrentine)

Good and Faithful Servant

 In June of 2002, a friend and church member of ours at Douglasville United Methodist Church, E.G. (Kel) Kelley, wrote this: 

Good and Faithful Servant

To honor: Jim Turrentine, good and faithful servant. From Kel Kelley on the day after your surgery. We all love and miss you. Get well soon. I am certain that many of those in our congregation and in past congregations would, if given this recent gift that Abba Father has given me, write exactly the same words showing the same sentiments and heartfelt feelings. 

In the book of Ecclesiastes

There is a time for everything

A time to laugh, a time to cry,

A time to dance and sing.

There comes a time to honor,

From us who have been blessed,

You who have been a blessing

Always giving us your best. 

We know you'll say it wasn't you;

But God who lives within.

But we know that God uses willing vessels,

Godly women, righteous men.

For you this day we give Him praise

For the work He's done through you;

For the sharing of the gospel

And the times you've prayed us through.

You have listened to our troubles.

You have helped to calm our fears.

You have led us to our Savior

As you've loved us through the years

In joyous laughter and happy tears

We thank you for the time

You've spent with us as pastor

In Jesus's work divine.

Because you knew our Jesus,

Because you know our Lord,

You shared with us as needed

A gift worth more than gold.

One day we'll meet in glory

And we'll walk hand in hand.

We always knew that you'd be there.

Because you took a stand.

You visited in hospital and home

And prayed on bended knee.

Jesus said, "As you've done it to the least of these

You've also done to me."

Some day we'll rejoice as you're honored in heaven

In the presence of the Son.

Because you loved, because you cared,

"Well done," He'll say, "Well done!"

A Niece's 40th Anniversary Tribute

This document was found in October 2023 contained in a writing notebook belonging to me from 1990)

When Jim was pastor at Avondale Patillo UMC 1990-1994, My Uncle Grady (Daddy’s brother) and his wife, Margaret, were members of our church. When they celebrated their 40^th anniversary in 1992, I wrote a poem for them.

 

The Family Plan

I think when the Lord made his plan for the world -

How his children would grow and their lives would unfurl,

He decided that families would be a good way to go.

He made mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, and so

As  generatios came and generations went,

An eventual byproduct was the uncle and aunt.

 

My siblings and I were better supplied than many

In uncles. We had four. That's plenty!

Our uncles were Daddy’s much-loved kid brothers.

 Their kidding and joking spilled over on others.

As nieces and nephews we kids love playing games

 With our fun filled uncles Jack, Bill, Grady, and James.

 

Our uncle Grady was a great friend to us kids.

Let me just tell you some things that he did.

He gave each of us nickles to go to the store.

Running errands for him was never a chore.

He played with us often and took us for walks.

 If we got too rowdy, he'd give us pep talks.

 

He laughed with us and at us. his laugh was a cure!

He tickled and teased us, helping us feel secure.

He entertained us with stories and blew us smoke ring;s

He was a kid’s ideal uncle -- an Angel without wings.

 

Aunt Margaret joined the family when I was a teen;

She was quite an addition to the Shaw family scene.

She was tall with such grace and a beautiful smile -

Our first aunt on the Shaw side -- we were growing in style!

I thought my new aunt was quite a grand lady;

But she made us call Uncle Junior “Uncle Grady.”

 

Years have gone by since the days I've recalled;

Now when I think back and remember it all,

I thank God for his wisdom and making this plan -

Where a family can be more than just one woman and one man.

 Family can be those who touch our lives with their care,

Who help build our memories and cover us with prayer.

 

 

Thank you, Grady and Margaret, for all you have meant to each of us through the years. Thank you for the childhood years that the poem majored on and the memories that we share with you. Thank you also for the years of our adulthood when you have been an inspiration and support to us. We love you and celebrate with you 40 years of God bless partnership.

 

Joan Turrentine

 July 1992

A Fond Fairwell

 (Found 10/23 in my old writing notebook. I wrote it in 1990)

Fairwell to Varnell UMC

I am not the speaker in the family, but I could not let this occasion go by without telling you all what you have meant in my life and in the life of our family. Knowing that each of us is formed by who and what touches our lives, I want to thank each of you for having had the opportunity to know you for the last 3 1/2 years. Having grown up in a minister’s home and having a basically slow to get acquainted nature, I always hated moving and said that I would never marry anyone whose job required frequent moving. Of course, I ate those words when I married a Methodist preacher.

But over the last 26 years I have learned some important lessons about moving. I have learned that God's people are everywhere. I have learned that, even though I painfully leave wonderful friends in one place, God provides other wonderful friends in the new location. I used to think that I was to be pitied because I had to constantly leave situations just as I was beginning to feel at home in them. Now I know that I am blessed to have had the opportunity to make friends, true Christian friends, all over Georgia.

Had we not had the painful experience of leaving close friends after 7 1/2 years at prospect, we would not have had the blessing of living near my parents when Daddy had his first heart attack and being able to be there for my family during those rough times. Had we not had the painful experience of leaving Newman springs after six years, we would not have had the unequal joy of fellowship and support that we have experienced among this body of believers.

Now we are again going through the moving trauma. While we are fearing leaving you whom we have learned to love and who have helped us grow in the last few years, we don't know what other joy and opportunity for service awaits us. We do know that now we have friends in the Dalton area, we know that God's chuch is alive and well here, we know that each of you has friends in the Atlanta area now.

I want to say ”Thank you!” to Varnell United Methodist Church. Thank you for showing me Christian love in action through the long hours of work and the money needed to provide the community meal, local mission activities, and foreign mission support. Through the ministry of concern shown by the entire congregation when there is an illness or death in someone’s family.

Thank you for showing me Christian unity through the way everyone works together at Prater’s Mill, and through the way everyone pitches in to make a success of whatever is attempted: the nativity scene, the turkey trot, the sweetheart banquet, the children's programs, and many other instances of teamwork.

Thank you for showing me real Christian dedication through the absolutely unequaled music program which is attained only through dedicated time spent in practice, through the hours obviously spent in preparation by five of the best adult Sunday school teachers I've ever been taught by.

Thank you for being the church here for us and for the rest of this community

Please don't think me presumptuous, but I'd like to close my remarks by reading some words which Saint Paul wrote to friends when he left them. You know he spent his ministry making friends and then leaving them; so in that way, I can identify with him. The scriptures I want to read come from his letters to his friends in Philippi, Corinth, Thessalonica, and Ephesus. I'd like to use the plural pronouns to include our entire family and read them now to our friends here at Varnell.

“We thank God every time we remember you. In all our prayers for you we always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the very first day until now, being confident that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. It is right for us to feel this way about all of you since we have you in our hearts; all of you share in God's grace with us. God can testify how we love all of you with the affection of Christ Jesus.”

“And this is our prayer that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless until the day of Christ. And God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus. Pray also for us, that whenever we open our mouths, words may be given to us so that we will fearlessly make known the gospel. Pray that we may declare it fearlessly, as we should. Finally, brothers and sisters, goodbye. Aim for perfection, live in peace, and the Lord of peace himself give you peace at all times and in every day.”

Rachael - First Grandbaby - And the Beat Goes On

Yesterday I found a writing folder from 1992. You might recall that this was before computer use was common and before the internet was fully developed. In this folder, I found a letter I had handwritten (carefully using only every other line so I'd have room to revise) to our newborn granddaughter. Rachael was born 13 months after her older sister, Caitlin, was stillborn. Here is that letter and a poem I wrote a year later. I had to restrain myself from my tendency to continue editing, but I have typed here just what was written there.  

You came into our lives on an icy December day, bringing sunshine, hope, and wonder. I gazed upon your perfect features and marveled to see your daddy's eyes looking back at me from your delicate newborn face. A replica of your mother's dainty lips pursed in thought. 

While I stood peering - acutely aware of your origins in the past, I was overcome with the knowledge that your are also the embodiment of the future - our hopes and dreams - our immortality. In you, we see, not only you, but also our own influence continuing into the generations yet to be. You are potential. All of life is before you. You can avoid the mistakes and faults that have marred our lives. You are free to develop YOUR personality and talents - free to become YOUR best.

I wish you, Darling Rachael, a childhood that provides security and happiness, and a sense of your self-worth. Along with these blessings, I wish for you the knowledge that as you mature, these privileges bring with them the responsibilities of right living. I wish for you (1) an understanding that there is a purpose for your life and (2) a desire to find and fulfill that purpose. For, in realizing that desire, you will find lifelong happiness. 

My notes ended there, unedited. A few page further on, I found this acrostic poem.

Rachael - Age 1

Reaching - in, out, up

Adding to the beauty in life, in others, in the world

Curious

Happy

Aware of no hate malice, envy

Energetic

Loving

The Breakup Breakup

Short Story #8 for 2023 has been submitted to the Deadlines for Writers writing group. "Pick" was the prompt. I used the word 9 times in this piece. It is exactly 750 words, as prescribed. 

The Breakup Breakup

Sally glanced at the clock. Again. After a hard day at work, she was exhausted; nevertheless, she had hurried home and quickly cleaned up for the evening.  Don’s parents had insisted that she attend the monthly family dinner that night with their son.

Frank and Genevieve Edison were firmly entrenched in the Atlanta society scene, and Sally had been dating their son for 6 months; but, up until now, they had not considered Sally important enough to be invited to the family dinner.

Now here she sat, ready and waiting to do their bidding. She knew that the Edisons did not put up with tardiness, although their son had no such concerns. His circle of friends laughingly called him “the late Don Edison.”

As the minute hand snailed around the clock face, Sally became more and more irritated. Don wasn’t even answering her voicemails or texts.

“WHERE ARE YOU?” Sally texted. All caps this time.

Silence.

Should she call Don’s parents and make their excuses?

No! that’s HIS job! They are HIS parents, after all.

Angrily, Sally extracted her journal from the drawer beside the sofa and began to make the list she had been thinking about for weeks.

Reasons to break up with Don

1.    This is the fourth time he has been more than an hour late picking me up for a date.

2.    He keeps picking fights with me about my regular outings with my friends.

3.    When I asked his opinion of the last article I wrote, he had nothing positive to say and just picked holes in both the style and the content of my work.

4.    He always finds fault with my choice when he asks me to pick the restaurant for dinner. And then stalls, hoping I’ll pick up the tab!

5.    When we spend the evening in my apartment, he never picks up after himself. He expects me to be a combination waitress/maid, picking my way through the clutter he’s created  - the coat he’s tossed on the chair and the shoes he’s kicked off and left in the path.

6.    He continues to expect me to make all the concessions and “pick up the slack” in our relationship.  When will he begin doing HIS part to make this relationship work?

7.    He doesn’t even care that his best friend is a pervert who “accidentally” rubs against me at any opportunity and even brazenly picks imaginary lint or crumbs from my clothes.

Sally thoughtfully laid the pen down and picked up her phone just as a text message arrived.

“Be there soon! Have some exciting news!  Dinner with Mom and Dad is off.”

Irritated, Sally huffed. Now she had to change clothes AGAIN! And she knew Don would expect her to magically come up with alternate dinner plans. Well, this change of plans was on him, so he could darn well make the alternate dinner plans himself!  She sank deeper into the sofa cushions, picked her pen back up, and angrily added #8 to her list.

He doesn’t consider my convenience when changing plans.

 Well, she WOULDN’T change clothes! Maybe it would penetrate his consciousness that she had spent time preparing to make a good impression on HIS parents. AND she certainly wasn’t going to put together a meal just because her self-centered boyfriend thought that the spotlight should shine on him fulltime. This “exciting news” undoubtedly involved some minor achievement at his workplace, and he’d expect her to celebrate with him!

Sally had worked herself up into a dither by the time the doorbell rang and the door opened simultaneously.

“Hi, Baby!” Don burst into the room and picked Sally up as she rose from the couch. He exuberantly swung her around then abruptly set her on her feet and kissed her soundly.

She looked up at him, questions firing from her eyes directly into his. The enthusiasm and vibrancy he had brought into the room was contagious, and she smiled in spite of herself.

“Remember that Quick-pick lottery ticket I bought Tuesday after my softball game?”

His eyes searched her face and saw realization dawn.

“Really!?” Sally was releasing her previous tensions at warp-speed now; her pulse quickened, and her eyebrows lifted in quest of details.

“The big one!” Don beamed. “I couldn’t wait to tell you. Baby! I’m a millionaire!”

Don held the ticket out and watched in puzzlement as Sally quickly tucked her journal under the sofa cushion and held out her hand to receive the winning ticket.

The Guest Book

 Short Story #4 for 2023 is due today in the Deadlines for Writers group. Prompt: paper. Exactly 1500 words. This is the story I submitted.  

The Guest Book

“I would have been there for you!”

I looked down at the guest book and what I’d written on the paper. I pondered my written words. What more could I say? Why had it come to this? The words blurred as my eyes filled with tears.

***

Last week I was sitting in my comfortable living room and strolling down memory lane. As I looked through old pictures from high school, I picked up a black and white photo taken at our Senior picnic. “Ah, Nicole Freeman,” I breathed. “We had a lot of fun together our Senior year. I wonder what she’s up to these days. I guess she and Chad are married. Probably have a house full of kids by now! How long has it been? I guess the last time I saw her was that time a few of years ago when I ran into her at the gas station while I was home from college for Spring break. So…..it’s been almost five years since I’ve seen her.”

As we had talked briefly that day, she said she was still dating Chad Lincoln and they were talking about getting married.  We’d both been in a hurry, standing there filling our gas tanks, so we couldn’t talk long. We promised to get together when I was home that summer, but somehow we never made the connection.

***

Back in the day, Nicole and Chad had been an established couple in our class. She and I didn’t usually run with the same crowd, but I was dating Chad’s good friend, Ashton for a while, and we double dated with them a lot. When Ashton and Chad were together, you could count on a lot of laughs and fun. Those two played off each other like a professional comedy team. The four of us laughed our way through a lot of movies and long drives together during those months. Nicole and I grew close as we spent so much time as girlfriends of those two popular jocks.  

One of my best high school memories was the Senior picnic, memorialized in the black and white photo I now held in my hand. That photo – eight years ago now! We four, Nicole and Chad, Ashton and I, had gone to the event together. Nicole and I had gone shopping that week to get new shoes for the occasion.  I picked her up that afternoon when she got off work at the Dairy Barn. It was my day off from my job at the local barbeque restaurant, and she got off early so we could make this shopping trip. We had driven to Gadsden because the mall there was larger. We grabbed a bite to eat in the food court before we began the hunt for the perfect sandals.

“Are these too strappy?” Nicole asked as she pranced toward me in the first shoe store we visited. She knew that I preferred more structure in my sandals and liked unusual colors, but she was modeling the kind of barely-there sandals with flat soles held on the feet with a few thin strips of white leather. They looked good on her narrow feet and flattered her long legs. After we looked in several other stores, I bought a pair of “mother Earth” style chunky tan sandals, and we ended up going back to the first store to buy the white strappy pair she had liked.

Later, when I dropped Nicole off at the Dairy Barn where she’d left her car, she called out, “Love you!” as she closed her car door and we both drove away. We had developed a relationship, independent of the original connecting link – our boyfriends.

On the day of the picnic, we spent the morning trying on each other’s best shorts and tops, making different combinations and critiquing how each one flattered (or didn’t) our best figure features.

“Absolutely not!” she said with great emphasis when I said that the red shorts made my behind look even bigger than I thought it was and drew unwanted attention to my short legs.  

“Easy for you to say,” I laughed. “That hiney of yours looks good in bright colors, but I think I’m going to stick with the navy blue!”

“Are you calling me fat!?” she demanded in mock horror. “If you think your hiney’s fat, then mine must be too. We wear the same size shorts, Anna!”

“But your long legs make your butt look smaller. My stubby little legs just draw attention to the size of my behind,” I explained.

By the day of the picnic, we had our shoes bought and our clothes picked out, so we turned to the big decisions to be made with makeup and hair. Nicole had a way with makeup and could do anything with hair, so she and I spent the rest of the early afternoon making those monumental decisions. We pooled our cosmetic supplies and tried endless combinations of eyeshadow, mascara, and lipstick, laughing hysterically at some awful choices before we finally got serious and applied flattering makeup for a casual afternoon and evening.

Next we tackled the hair. Nicole hoped to one day own her own hair salon, where she’d do all kinds of fancy updos for girls going to proms or being in weddings. She loved to practice, so we curled and straightened; we pinned hair up and then let it down; we put clips in and took clips out. Eventually we just brushed our hair thoroughly and put it up in messy buns on the tops of our heads, our go-to hairstyle. This was, after all, an informal occasion.

Late that afternoon, Chad and Ashton picked up Nicole first, and all three of them came into our house on the way to the picnic. My friends always loved my mom and dad, so they wanted to see them as well as me.

“Mr. Helton!”  boomed Chad, walking right past me when I opened the door. He shook hands vigorously with my dad before walking over to hug my mother. 

“Oh, Chad,” my dad loved to get the jump on Chad’s joke-telling. “What does it mean when life gives you melons?”

When Chad didn’t have an immediate come-back, Dad laughed out, “It means you might be dyslexic!” He laughed so long and hard at his own joke, we all just had to join in. Even Ashton, who had not yet become comfortable around my parents, laughed loudly.

Not to be outdone, Chad (who had a reputation as a jokester to uphold after all) followed that with, “Well, Mr. Helton, I guess you heard I got fired from the calendar factory, didn’t you?”

“Really?” my dad dutifully replied and waited for the punchline.

“Yeah,” said Chad, “It was really unfair! All I did was take a day off.”

They both laughed much harder than the joke deserved, but we all laughed along and began to feel lighter and in the mood for fun.

Ashton hung back, seeming to feel a little in Chad’s shadow, until we left my house to go on to the picnic, but then he loosened up, and the pair of them were in fine form the rest of the night. They kept the entire class entertained with their antics throughout the picnic. Nicole and I, as their girlfriends, basked in the reflected glory of Chad and Ashton’s popularity.

Nicole and I grew very close during those months of shared makeup sessions, shopping trips, and all the laughs with our best-friend boyfriends; so even when my romance with Ashton ended, Nicole and I remained friendly throughout the rest of the year and whenever we’d run into each other in town. We even had a couple of girls’ nights out together the summer before I left for college.  

***

As my reminiscences ended, I glanced one more time at the photo of Nicole, Chad, Ashton, and me at the Senior picnic. I replaced the picture in the album then picked up my laptop and logged on.

“Nicole Lincoln” I typed into the search bar. I thought she and Chad were probably married, so I used his surname. But, of all the results that came up, none seemed to be the right Nicole.

“Nicole Freeman” I tried. I really wanted to see what she’d been up to, where she was, if she still lived in town, if she had gone to beauty school and opened her own salon as she often talked of doing. I didn’t find any happy news about those things or anything else about her career or family.

My heart skipped a few beats when I found instead her obituary! Her death notice! Cold and factual. Words on a screen.

“Nicole Freeman, aged 26, was found dead Wednesday in a hotel room in Gadsden, a victim of an apparent suicide.”

***

Your obituary, Nicole! Your DEATH notice! Suicide! In some godforsaken, lonely hotel!

Why? Dammit! Why?

Why didn’t you call?

I would have been there for you!

Offended

 Poem #4 for the year in the Deadlines for Writers poetry group is due today. The prompt is hostile. 

Oh Friend, so bellicose, hostile, and mad,

Why always spoiling to fight?

Please open your heart and learn to love.

Is your protective armor too tight?

 

You hold your blanket of arrogance close

While your mouth says you’re sorry you offended.

But the stink in the air makes your words a lie -

For the damage you wreaked lies unmended.

The Lady in the Mirror

 The third writing assignment of the year in the Deadlines for Writers short story group is due today. The prompt is "Lady" and the word count is 2500! My first draft was 800 words short of that goal; I thought there was no way to write that much fiction. But here it is - exactly 2500 words. (I've been assured that this is the longest assignment of the year, whew!) 

The Lady in the Mirror

“It’s gonna be a good day,” I told the lady in the bathroom mirror.

She seemed to believe me. Why not, after all? I was up early. I should have plenty of time to get ready for work. I had already made the bed, had a hot shower and washed my hair. Alright, so the hot water in the shower (who am I kidding here? The WARM water in the shower) lasted just BARELY long enough to wash my hair. The rest of me got the cold water treatment. Oh well! Cold showers speed up the metabolism, right? So, maybe the cold water was a karmic gift! One more blessing! 

Still it’s gonna be a good day!

Hurrying to get dressed, my clothes laid out last night, I found that the pants I had planned to wear were too snug on my hips (dadgumit!), so I had to rummage for a looser pair and a blouse to match. The new color outfit dictated that I also change purses. That little complication cost me five precious minutes as I hastily transferred essentials from one purse to the other. The unexpected clothes-selection process added several minutes to my allotted get-ready time.

I glanced at the dressmaker’s mirror standing in the corner to check my outfit. The lady there assured me that I could make up those lost minutes by taking my coffee on the go this smorning. Maybe I could even make up some time on the road -- if I could get out the door before the worst traffic hour started.

I haven’t lost it yet, I told myself.  It’s still gonna be a great day!

Back in the bathroom to finish my toilette, I smiled widely at the lady in the mirror. Psychologists assert that the muscle memory of a wide smile will transfer from the cheeks into the brain and tell the brain to turn on the happy chemicals. Come on, brain synapses, do your job! I need that joy juice!

“It’s gonna to be a good day,” I whispered to the mirror lady although my cheeks were aching from the prolonged smiling.

Make-up all finished, I reached for the hair dryer to begin drying my short hair and styling it to best advantage. Since it had begun thinning last year due to low thyroid levels, it takes more time and effort to get sufficient volume for a youthful and flattering look. Working with the heated air and a round brush, my less than voluminous mane was styled in record time!  And just like I wanted it! Yes!

It’s gonna be a good-hair day for this girl today!

I was out the door only a few minutes behind schedule; the sun was shining, and the birds were chirping. It looked like the perfect Spring day. Sure, I’d burned my tongue on that first sip of coffee, and those minutes I had lost finding a better-fitting outfit will put me on the freeway at the start of the worst traffic hour, and that means a slower commute; but maybe all the crazies who usually share the road with me will take another route to work today. Not likely, but it could happen!

I can still do this! It’s gonna be a good day. Let’s roll!

“No. no. no!” I groaned through gritted teeth as a sudden line of brake lights ahead foretold the future.  I had been breezing along at the speed limit and feeling optimistic, but now traffic had slowed to a crawl. 

Wig-wag lights in all colors flashed as I approached the accident scene. Cop cars flashed blue on one side of the lines of cars; wrecker trucks flashed yellow on the other side; firetrucks and ambulances flashed red both ahead and behind. Damaged vehicles were scattered willy-nilly across the lanes, and dazed passengers stood on the shoulder talking to each other or the officers attempting to manage the scene. One older couple sat on the grassy bank a few feet off the shoulder of the roadway looking forlorn and worried. 

A few of the more aggressive crazies in the cars ahead of me, who unfortunately did NOT choose a different route today, switched lanes repeatedly, slowing the traffic with each whim. Others slowed to a near stop so they could gape at the damaged vehicles and the first responders working the scene. As I inched past the chaos, I sent up a quick prayer for the people involved in the accident, knowing that this day was really off to a bad start for them. I was still hopeful, though, that the traffic would thin now and I could still salvage MY day and get to work just slightly late.

It’s ok, I reassured the anxious lady in the rearview mirror when I caught her eye, it’s ok. The traffic ahead is beginning to pick up speed. It’s still gonna be a good day!

The mirror-lady puffed out her cheeks and blew frustration out as she looked back at me. Something about her tight expression spoke to me, “Are we sure about this stuff we keep spouting?  Are we sure it is not just delusion? If these positive affirmations of ours work so well, then why is so much negative stuff happening this morning? When’s this good day we foretold going to start?”

I looked away from her gaze, left her questions unanswered, and concentrated on the road ahead. Good day! Good day! I kept reminding myself.

I arrived at my office building six minutes late and swung into the closest parking place I could find. Sadly, that space was in the far back corner of the lot, a good 3-minute walk to the employee entrance. Grabbing my workbag and purse, I quickly locked the car and began the trek, affirming myself with each step. You are here safely; all is well; it’s gonna be a good day!

Once inside the building, I tried to slip past Scott Hudgins’s cubicle without notice. Things had been awkward between us since our one ill-fated date. He had not been happy at the end of the long evening when he leaned in for a goodnight kiss at my doorway and I offered my cheek. And now I had run out of ways to turn down a second date with him. He’s a good guy, but I’d just don’t see anything in our future beyond friendship and collegiality.

But avoiding Scott was not in the cards for me this morning. “Oh, hi, Scott.” I made my voice breathless as I rushed past his outstretched hand in the hallway. “I can’t stop to chat this morning. I’m running late again, and I need to get checked in and speak to Nancy.” I didn’t look back to see the effect of my brush-off.

By noon, the migraine, which had begun in traffic and built up as I clocked in and explained my late arrival to the boss, was flaunting her most flamboyant persona – not only cranking out grinding pain but also producing zigzag lights mimicking those at the morning’s accident scene. She displayed lines and dots in all colors. These visual distractions paraded across the world my eyes tried to focus on; and dark spots in my vision made it tricky to even SEE the computer screen much less interpret the data on it. I knew that my pounding head wouldn’t let me work through lunch to make up the minutes I’d lost at the beginning of the work day. These visual disturbances, I knew from experience, would not go away until I rested in quiet darkness for at least 20 minutes.

A lump of anxiety grew in my throat as I left my desk and went into the plush and more softly-lit employee lounge. I sank thankfully into one of the of the upholstered chairs there and closed my eyes. My earlier search for cash to buy some lunch had revealed that when I changed purses this morning I had neglected to transfer my money clip and had no money for lunch; so I carried with me a granola bar of indeterminate age that I had unearthed from the back of my bottom desk drawer.

Still determined to be positive, I reminded myself that the granola bar was a good thing. If I hadn’t thought ahead and built up an emergency snack stash, I wouldn’t have had anything for lunch.

See. It’s all okay. You have lunch, I told myself. It is high protein and fiber with an acceptable number of calories. Remember those tight pants this morning? See, a light lunch is a good thing!

I reminded my determined-to-be-positive self, it’s gonna be a good day.

Eyes closed, I was dimly aware of someone entering the lounge and inserting money into the vending machine.

“Wow! Look at that!” a male voice exclaimed. “I got two apples instead of one!” he continued.

I opened my eyes in response to the enthusiastic and unfamiliar voice. I looked up to see two startling green eyes focused on my face. Those eyes were at home on an angular face sporting a fashionably scruffy chin and strong jawline. My eyes took in the good-looking stranger with the close-cropped light brown hair. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“A-are you okay?” the stranger asked, a little uncertainly. No doubt my pain-distorted visage had alerted him to my unwell state. Instead of hurriedly finessing a quick exit to avoid engaging, he looked at me with concern and inquired again, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I began, “I had a migraine, but it’s easing up now.” I covered my face, blocking out the light, the man, and the embarrassment. First new man I’d met in months, and I was certainly not making a favorable impression! And how nice that he seems concerned for the welfare of a stranger! Who was this man anyway? I just hoped he’d leave without getting a good look at me. If he didn’t recognize me later, I might get another chance to make a good first impression.

Didn’t happen. “Here,” he said, “I’ll bet an apple would help that headache. The machine gave me two!”

I looked up to see a shiny red apple in his extended hand and kindness and concern in those amazing green eyes.

“Here,” the man said again, his voice much lower now, as he leaned down and gazed at me with interest. “I’ve had such a great morning – and now an extra apple!”

The apple lay in the palm of the broad masculine hand he extended toward me. I couldn’t help noticing that there was no ring on his nicely-manicured ring finger as I reached out to accept the apple and his concern. “Thank you!”

“May I sit?” He asked gesturing to the chair beside mine. “Can I get you an aspirin or something for the headache? I’m Mason Hardy, by the way. Today’s my first day in accounting. I’m Mr. Madison’s new executive assistant.”

I finally found my voice. “Nice to meet you, Mason from accounting. No thanks on the aspirin; the headache is already abating. I’m Sarah Eliott from payroll.”

He was handsome. Incredibly so. I couldn’t even bear to think about how I must look to him. I knew my hair was mussed from the temple massages I’d given myself in an effort to reduce the pain. I knew my morning make-up was long gone. Tears threatened behind my eyes again, choking my throat. I thought about turning away. I wanted to explain, to tell him that I wasn’t normally this big a mess, but I clenched my teeth and held my tongue.

I focused on the light blue fabric of his suit coat and reminded myself that he was a kind stranger who had offered to help. I had said thank you for the apple, and that’s enough. I didn’t need to thank him again, or apologize, or explain myself.

All of these thoughts cascaded through my blood in a matter of seconds Then I remembered the promise I’d made myself to stop avoiding social interactions for fear of rejection. Besides, this man seemed to be actually flirting mildly with me. Maybe I didn’t look as frazzled as I thought.

So I smiled at him - that easy warm kind of smile that I’d been practicing in the mirror this morning. I had etched it into my psyche. I made all the lines of my face tilt upwards, as his had when he smiled at me. I watched his green eyes turn more golden as the sunlight coming in the window behind me struck his face. I took a bite of the apple and consciously relaxed the tension in my neck muscles. 

I finally found my voice. “So, Mason, tell me about this great morning you’ve had.”

As Mason talked about the easy working rapport he’s already established with his new boss, I found myself relaxing into the friendly conversation as if we had not just met. He told me a little about his previous job; and we discovered that we had both played golf in college, although neither of us has played much since graduation. He was easy to be with. There seemed to be a kinship there as we jumped from subject to subject, discovering several shared interests. As we sat, eating our apples and maintaining frequent eye contact in conversation, he smiled often, and those green eyes sparkled.

He asked about the company gym, and I told him I usually worked out immediately after work on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I didn’t mention that I’d only started this routine about six weeks ago.

“Will you think I’m a stalker if I join you there tomorrow?” he asked with a smile.

“That’d be great,” I said. “Don’t worry. If it turns into stalking, I know your boss, and I can send him a memo!” I joked.

He stood. “Well, speaking of my boss, I’d better get back to work. I’m glad I met you, Sarah from Payroll. I hope your migraine goes away soon. See you tomorrow!”

I stood too and held out my hand, “Thanks for the apple and the conversation, Mason from Accounting. See you in the gym tomorrow.”

As he disappeared, I suddenly realized that my migraine seemed to be gone. Maybe all I had needed was a little food and some pleasant conversation. I tucked the uneaten granola bar into my pocket as I walked into the washroom and took care of business, preparing to go back to my desk. As I washed my hands and repaired my hair and make up, the lady in the mirror kept smiling at me.

“What are you grinning about?” I asked, with a smile of my own.

And we stood there – the lady and me – both just smiling these big ol’ smiles.

Feeling a little sheepish, I reached out and bumped fists with her.

“We said it first thing this morning, right?!’ she winked.

“Today is a good day,” we chorused.

Sisters - A Short Story

 The deadline for this month's short story is suddenly here. In order to keep my options open, I submitted this very incomplete story just to have an entry. I might very well drop this challenge before the end of the year. This month the prompt is "Blossom" and the word count is exactly 1250. 

Sisters

Amanda’s eyes fluttered open. As she became aware that it was light in the bedroom, she sat up abruptly looking to the crib on the other side of her parents’ guest bedroom where she had put Eli to bed last night. They had both been tired from their stressful trip, and Amanda had slept soundly.  

When she saw the empty crib, she smiled. Her mother, the consummate nurturer, had obviously come into the guestroom and taken her grandson downstairs. The smell of coffee wafted up the stairs, backdropped by her Mother’s strong soprano singing hymns, as she always had done when working in the kitchen. At home, as a military wife of a deployed husband, Amanda was on call 24/7 for her 4-month-old son’s needs, so the extra rest was appreciated; still she hurriedly slipped her feet into her slippers to go feed her surely-hungry child, who had only just begun to have a few bites of cereal to supplement his main diet of breast milk.

“Good Morning, Honey!” called her mother when she heard Amanda descending the stairs. “Your Dad’s already left for work, but he said he’d be home early.”

Eli looked perfectly content with runny cereal dripping off his chin. He was sitting in Amanda and Marcy’s old highchair looking at his grandmother expectantly - apparently waiting for his morning concert to continue. Obligingly, Grammy resumed her concert, “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound….”

Later, as Eli napped, Helen and Amanda discussed what activities they would like to include in these rare days together.

Helen said, “I called Marcy yesterday. I asked her and Paul to come for dinner tonight so that I can spend some time with BOTH my girls and BOTH my grandbabies while you are here. I got a feeling that something wasn’t right with them; she was vague and wishy-washy on the idea.  Why don’t you call her and see what she says?”

***

Later, Amanda rang off her call, “Great, Marcy. I’m looking forward to seeing you and Ava about 6. I’m sorry Paul can’t come with you.””

“How did she seem to you?” Helen spoke as soon as Amanda looked up from her phone.

“Well, I DID feel like she was holding back or hiding something; but she’s probably just pre-occupied with some household issue. It’s not easy having an out-of-work husband underfoot all the time. She said that Paul hasn’t had any new job leads lately.”

***

Amanda carefully placed Eli into his cousin’s arms. Ava’s eyes shone as she played “big girl holding the baby”; and Eli looked adoringly up into her eyes. “He likes me now!” Ava grinned. “He didn’t smile at me last time.”

“He was too little to smile then,” her mother assured Ava. “Eli has always loved you.” As she spoke, she adjusted Ava’s sleeve, but not before Amanda spotted a string of circular marks around the little girl’s arm.

As Marcy turned back to the adults, Amanda noticed that under her sister’s unusually-heavy makeup there appeared to be a bruise on her cheek.

Amanda, trying not to draw conclusions, quickly spoke. “Dinner was so good, Mom! I haven’t had real fried chicken since the last time you cooked it for us. So, Marcy, have you done any painting lately?”

Listening distractedly as her sister complained about lack of time for personal interests when there is a small child in the house, Amanda tried to gauge whether her sister was acting normally. She was beginning to suspect that Marcy’s husband’s frustration with job hunting was finding an unacceptable outlet.

Marcy’s explanation for her lack of creative product slowly wound down, and Amanda casually, at least she HOPED it sounded casual, reached toward her sister, “Hey, is that a bruise on your cheek? What happened?”

Marcy quickly disguised the alarm that flashed briefly in her eyes and chuckled artificially, “Oh, I’d forgotten about that.” She put her fingers on the bruise. “Actually, it’s a little embarrassing. I bent to pick up Ava last week when she was behind the sofa. Somehow I managed to stumble when I turned. I staggered into the doorframe, hitting my face. But I managed to stay on my feet and not drop Ava! I did notice, though, that my grip on her was so tight I left finger marks on her arm.” She lifted Ava’s sleeve to show the marks she’d tried to hide just a few minutes earlier.

“Mommy,” interrupted Ava, “I looooove baby Eli. Can I have a baby brother? That’s what I want for my birthday.”

“Well, not for your birthday, Sweetheart. That’s too soon; but maybe we will get you a baby brother or sister someday. And now, how about giving me a chance to hold Eli?”

As Marcy took her nephew into her arms, Helen stood. “I feel a little sluggish after that big dinner, Girls. How about a we take a little walk around the block? Ava can help push Eli’s stroller.”

“That’s okay, Grammy,” said Ava, importantly. “Mommy can push him. It’s her turn to have Eli. I’ll get Melody June. She’s been just sitting in that chair a long time. I’ll take her on her on our walk too.” She ran into the playroom to get the doll’s stroller.

***

After Amanda got Eli down for the night, her dad, Jack, excused himself to finish an ongoing project in his study; so Amanda and her mother sat sipping tea in the sunroom.

“Mom…” began Amanda.

 At the same time Helen turned and said, “Darling…”

Their eyes met in understanding.

“What can we do?” Helen looked at Amanda, eyes bright with unshed tears.

“Have you talked to her about it at all?” asked Amanda.

“No. And I think it’s time we addressed the elephant in the room,” replied her mother. “The question is how do we start.”

“She might be less embarrassed to talk about it with me than with you or Dad. What do you think?” Amanda ventured.

At her mother’s thoughtful nod, she continued, “It might actually be a relief to know that she doesn’t have to keep the secret anymore.  I could stay a few extra days to find a good time.”

Helen’s eyes lit as an idea hit her. “I have been telling her I’d like to keep Ava more. How about you two girls plan a night out, and I’ll keep the babies. Sharing a hotel room would give you an opportunity for an intimate talk.”

“Great idea. Do you think Paul will agree to her spending a night away from home? And are you sure that you and Dad are up to keeping both babies at the same time? I can pump some milk for Eli before we leave in case he won’t take the formula. We could go to that Monet exhibit downtown.  It’s this coming weekend. I know Marcy’d love to see that. I’ll order tickets now; with tickets already bought, she will have to agree!”

“It’s good to have a plan! Now, help me figure out what to say and what we can do to help her resolve this.”  

2023 Men

One of the things that has filled my mind since Sunday’s big family event (The wedding of AnnaGrace Turrentine and Zachary Harper) is a new appreciation of men.

I’ve been blessed with so many outstanding men in my life - beginning with my own father, grandfather, and uncles and going up through all the men (old and young) I watched Sunday demonstrating what Godly manhood and masculinity means. It is not easy to be a man in 2023. Their inborn nature is being disparaged by much of society. They are being pressured to ignore their natural and admirable tendency to provide for and protect those around them.

Before the wedding I saw the beautiful young bride, our granddaughter, reach around the door to hold hands with her handsome groom without visual connection. They were surrounded by some of the most important men in their lives. These men were there because of their love for the young couple, because of their sense of responsibility to the young couple, by their need to provide a new generation with their life experience of our human need for God's love in our relationships. They were there to pray for the couple's impending marriage.

The Groom's father - a Baptist pastor, married for over 30 years

The Bride's father - A Baptist deacon and Bible teacher, married for over 30 years

The Groom's uncle - a Baptist pastor, married for more than 30 years.

The Bride's maternal grandfather - A Baptist pastor, married for 58 years.

The Bride's paternal grandfather - A Methodist pastor, married for 59 3/4 years.

It was a holy moment.

As the prayers ended, I turned to look at the yard and saw a line of 12 tuxedoed men and one tuxedoed little boy being photographed: The Groom, his 11 attendants, and the child attendant tasked with preceding the Bride down the aisle blowing bubbles. That little boy is my great grandson; five of the groomsmen are my grandsons; the groom will be my grandson at the end of the ceremony. My son, who is also the father of the bride and tuxedoed as well, was standing just off-camera ready to help corral the active bubble-boy, his grandson. I was looking at 14 more amazing specimens of GOOD and admirable masculinity!

Side Note: Most of the women in the lives of the couple had taken care of the details to make the wedding meaningful and beautiful. They had planned, decorated, cooked, advised, dressed, combed, made up... I will probably write later about their importance and their many contributions to the day as well as to our lives.

Grandchildren's Birth Songs

When our first grandchild was born, Our daughter, Lyn, the baby's aunt, sang her a song made up on the spot, as Lyn often composed little songs. She did the same thing with her nephew, who was born 16 months later.  When Lyn had her own child a few years later, I didn't want her children to miss having their own song as their cousins did, so I continued the tradition. The later songs were more thought out and were longer and more detailed; so, through the years, we added on to the first two to make them more comparable in length and complexity. All the children loved to have their songs sung. 

Rachael -1992

Rachael Elizabeth, Rachael Elizabeth, 
Rachael Elizabeth, I love you.
You are an angel girl, 
Sweetest in all the world,
A rare and a precious pearl.
How I love you!

Dow - 1994

Dow Rabern, Dow Rabern,

I love you; we all do.

Dow Rabern, Dow Rabern,

I love you, yes, I do.

Oh, look at that handsome face,

Brightening up the place!

You are such a special boy.

What a joy!

Dow Rabern, Dow Rabern,

I love you, yes, I do. 

Brianne - 1997

Stefani Brianne, Stefani Brianne,
I love your sweet little face.
Stefani Brianne, I love you, Brianne.

You make the world a happier place.

 

Oh, I love you so -

You are the sunshine for my day.

I thank God for you -

You are starlight for my night.

Your sweet smile is music for my dance;

Your blue eyes are color for my sight.

Oh, Stefani Brianne, I love you, Brianne

You make the world a brighter, more beautiful,

Colorful, world a happier place!

AnnaGrace -1998

AnnaGrace Catherine, 

I love you so, Little Girl.

AnnaGrace, Sweet Angel Face, 

You brighten up our world.

Our world is brighter since

You came along.

You make it brighter with

Your happy song. 

Just thinking about you

Puts a smile upon my face -

Because I love you so,

Sweet AnnaGrace. 

Natalie - 1998

Natalie Joan. you are a treasure.

I love you more than I can measure

I love you warm as the sunshine,

Blue as the sky,

Soft as a cloud,

And twice as high.

I thank God every day

For the love He has shown

In giving us you,

Sweet Natalie Joan. 

Ethan - 2001

Jack Ethan, I love you

More than you'll ever know -

Every little part of you

From your head down to your toes,

You make my heart sing

With happiness and love.

Ethan, our precious boy

Sweet little Angel boy.

Ethan, our pride and joy,

You're a gift from up above! 

Aunt Vek

I seldom remember my dreams in any detail at all; and when I do, I have to wonder at the state of my unconscious. They seldom make much sense. 

 Last night (early this morning actually) I dreamed of my dear maternal aunt, Aunt Vek (pronounced Veek, and substituting for Vera.) It has been 22 years since she went home to see the Savior she served in life; but here she was in my dreams this morning! It was unmistakably her although she was working in an old-fashioned department store and helping another customer select an undergarment, when I happened upon her. Why would my subconscious put her in this setting? I'm sure she never worked in a department store, and I don't recall ever shopping with her. But when, I first spotted her in the dream, she was talking animatedly with the customer. That part was very true-to-character. She was a very open and welcoming person who related comfortably to everyone around her. Another weird detail I remember is that a co-worker of hers observed our interaction, and immediately told us to visit and she would help the other customer. What a strange little detail to come up in the dream! 

Our brief reunion (hugs, exclamations, laughs) felt very familiar and acknowledged the length of our separation. I wish I remembered what we said to each other and how we parted again at the end; I don't. I just remember the warm home-coming feel of the dream. There was little substance to the dream, really, but I have found myself all morning remembering Aunt Vek with alternating tears and smiles. What a wit my aunt had! She was so much fun to be around; and I remember lots of laughing with her and her sisters. My much-more-reserved mother seemed to loosen up when she was with her big sister. Aunt Vek seemed to have an unlimited capacity to nurture - if you were hers to claim, you were perfect and beloved! I think her dozens of nieces and nephews feel the same way as I did about her. Rest in peace, Aunt Vek. You are still in our hearts. 

Tapestry of Love

 The Deadlines for Writers poem 2022-09 is due today. The prompt for this month's work is YOU. 

A Tapestry of Love

From early youth I’ve been in love with YOU -  

At least the YOU you seem to me to be. 

You hold my hand and speak of love sweet love, 

Are always kind and bright with courtesy. 

 

Another YOU bows down with low self-worth 

Your father’s frequent scorn instilled in you.  

That hidden hurt and hunger boils inside, 

Skewing your perceptions and worldview. 

 

The YOU your buddies know is someone else. 

A stranger full of swagger, often loud. 

The YOU at work is focused, driven, stern 

The YOUs in you are so diverse a crowd! 

 

And the ME you love is not the only ME.  

I, too, have heavy baggage from the past.  

But we're in this life together, Dearest One. 

We'll do whate’er it takes to make love last.  

 

I vow that I won’t try to change your ways.  

If you’ll accept and live in peace with mine.  

These varied threads of all the MEs and YOUs 

Will make, in time, a tapestry divine.