family · Life

Life-Change

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Some years ago — more years than I care to say — my life changed forever on this date. My first child was born.

Some people embark on careers, starting their first job in a profession they have studied long and hard for. They can look back a lifetime later with satisfaction at their accomplishments and accolades.

Me? I fell into a life.

It involved minimal sleep for some periods, cleaning up bodily fluids and/or solids that gushed forth out of bodies in ways I never imagined.

It involved laundry — mountains and mountains of laundry — think Adirondacks in the form of onesies, and t-shirts, and grass-stained pants, and little Osh-Kosh overalls, and socks, many of which lost their life partner in the depths of the dryer, only to find new partners who looked slightly different.

It involved reading the same books over and over and over, and making up voices for the characters, and then forgetting the voice and being corrected by a small child — “Wait — I thought that was Toad talking, not Frog.”

It involved kissing boo-boos, and seeing that mother’s kisses really do have magical healing power. It also involved band-aids and ice packs and doctor’s visits and bearing witness to stitches and casts, when mother’s kisses couldn’t heal alone. It involved Chicken Pox — because that was thing then — and strep throat and maladies without names and bedside throw-up buckets and vast amounts of kleenex.

It involved baking cookies. Lots and lots of cookies — some for family consumption and some to sell to help with special purchases. Our first computer — a Gateway 2000 — was purchased with cookie money.

I daresay that there are times I miss the respectability of a “real” profession — but I would never exchange it for any of this past lifetime.

When I held my oldest son for the first time and studied his face, I had no idea what I was in for. I marveled that little person had been inside my body just a short time before — but I had no idea what a gift he was to me.

My oldest daughter is now expecting her first child (my 5th grandchild). I keep thinking what life-changing treat she is in for.

Life

Kick the Tires

Sally9 Comments

Walk about Zion, go around her,
number her towers,
Consider well her ramparts,
go through her citadels,
that you may tell the next generation
that this is God,
our God forever and ever.
He will guide us forever.

Psalm 48:12-14 (ESV)

I read three Psalms every morning. Since there are 150 Psalms, I read through them all every 50 days — then I start again. I’ve been doing this for years so the words are more and more like old friends.

This Psalm, however — Psalm 48 — is one of my favorites. I arrive at it, and my mind immediately says, “It’s the ‘kick the tires’ Psalm!” I read it, and I picture the people walking around Zion, looking at critically, like someone would if they were buying a used car.

It’s that go-ahead-and-check-it-out mindset that I love.

Walk around her.
Count her towers.
Consider her ramparts.
Walk through her citadels.
Kick the tires.

Anything that’s true stands up to scrutiny.

And even if scrutiny reveals flaws, it’s all good. I’ve done that walk around a rental car before and after taking it out — noting scratches and dings. Yep, let’s be aware. Let’s take note.

It’s true of God. It’s true of other relationships. It’s true of life itself.

Take note of strengths and appreciate them.

Take note of weaknesses, and make a mental note to keep an eye on that.

Go ahead. Kick the tires. Find out what’s really there.

family · poetry

Ichibon – Our First Cat

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“Can I have a little kitty?” I asked my dad one day.
My mother put me up to it; she knew what he would say.
When I had first asked her, she said, “You need to ask your dad.”
The thought of having NO kitten made me rather sad –
So in my simple six-year-old heart, I began to pray.

When I first saw those kittens, much to my dismay,
The lady said to ask my mom and I knew I must obey
So I asked my mom with every ounce of sweetness that I had —
Can I have a little kitty?

My father loved to tell this tale. I can hear him now portray
How this funny freckled blonde-haired girl stole his heart away
With such a simple question — and he would often add
“How could I say no to that?” Yes, he would be a cad
To deny his own dear daughter the joy that came with one “Okay”
Can I have a little kitty?

The cat’s name was Ichibon. We lived on an army base at the time, and the family with the kittens had recently returned from a stint in Japan. Ichibon means #1 in Japanese, and she was allegedly the first kitten born in the litter.

Ichibon was first in a long long string of cats in my life. Today, I have an obese cat who doesn’t understand that he’s supposed to be a working cat and taking care of the mice in this house — but that’s probably a poem for another day.

This is response to the W3 prompt this week:

Write a rondeau inspired by a childhood memory

  • 15 lines long;
  • Three stanzas:
    • a quintet (five-line stanza);
    • a quatrain (four-line stanza);
    • and a sestet (six-line stanza);
  • Rhyme scheme: aabba aabR aabbaR.
  • Refrain: L9 and L15
    • The refrain (R) is short;
    • The refrain (R) consists of a phrase taken from L1;
  • All the other lines are longer than R and share the same metrical length.
poetry · prayer

Daring

Sally12 Comments

Staring at the starlit sky
Daring to believe in hope
Baring heart, baring soul
Swearing to do more than cope

When life throws unexpected curves
Then also adds surprising joys
Again we dare to dream and pray
Amen, amen — ‘midst all the noise

W3 prompt

This week’s prompt is to write a “lento” on the topic of dreams. Lento?

  • Two quatrains (four-line stanzas) with a fixed rhyme scheme of abcb, defe, as the 2nd and 4th lines of each stanza must rhyme;
  • All the FIRST words of each verse should rhyme; click HERE for an example.
Blather · fiction

Feeling Uncreative ~ or ~ How would you finish this story?

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Sometimes the creative juices flow and sometimes they don’t. Am I right?

The Stream of Consciousness prompt for this week is create and, doggone-it, I am struggling to create.

I wrote myself into a hole with my first stab at the Unicorn Challenge. I’ll put my half-written attempt at the bottom here in case anyone has ideas on how to finish it. For those who aren’t familiar with the Unicorn Challenge, it involves a photo prompt and 250 word (or less) story. That’s it.

But seriously, I wrote myself into a tight spot. What do you think would happen next? You only have 125 words to finish the story.

Create that!

Here’s the unfinished story:

“oh god… Oh God…. OH GOD!!! Please let this damn thing work!”

He frantically flipped the receiver lever up and down on the phone. “HELLO?! HELLO?!… DAMN!”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Think, think,” he muttered. “9-1-1 is US… 9-9-9?!” He punched the buttons.

“What is your emergency?” A woman’s voice came through the receiver.

“MY WIFE IS HAVING A BABY!”

“Okay,” she replied calmly. “What is your location?”

“I DON’T KNOW!! I LOST THE CELL SIGNAL! I TOOK A WRONG TURN! I DON’T KNOW WHERE I AM!!”

“Where is your wife right now?”

“SHE’S IN THE CAR!”

As if on cue, a loud moan crescendoed into scream from the car. He dropped the receiver, leaving it dangling in the phone box.

fiction

The Phone Call

Sally10 Comments

The phone was ringing inside the phone box as Lisa walked past.

Nine months had passed since her mother died. Walking had become her way to cope.

The first months were the worst. Her very soul shivered. With grief, regret, sadness and with the damp cold of winter.

She bundled in layers and walked the country roads for hours.

At first she focused on her feet, watching them move forward as if they belonged to someone else while her mind replayed that last conversation.

Her mom had called that morning, “I’m not feeling well. Could you stop over?”

“Is it urgent?” Lisa had asked. “I’ve got a lot happening today. Could I come tomorrow?”

Her mother had yielded. She never wanted anyone to fuss over her.

She never wanted anyone to fuss over her. Lisa repeated those words in her mind. That’s why I should have listened. That’s why I should have gone.

But she hadn’t.

Instead she had found her mother the next day, dead.

So she started walking. For hours upon hours.

She thought knew these roads, but she had never noticed the phone box.

Now it was ringing. She pushed the door open and lifted the receiver.

“Hello,” she said.

“Lisa? Is that you?” It was her mother’s voice. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you that I loved you.”

“Mom? Mom?!” Lisa shouted into the receiver. “I love you, too.”

With a click the line went dead.

Lisa stood, staring and wondering at the receiver.

My Unicorn Challenge submission for this week.

This is 250 words, the limit for the challenge. It also has to be based on the photo.

I had to edit out SO MUCH to make the word count and I didn’t even finish the story in my head. I hope it makes sense.

poetry

Autumn/Winter

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Some may think it strange —
This is my favorite time
I sit quietly
Watching leaves waft their way down
Or swirling as if unsure
Where to fall. It’s fall —
Leaves falling, falling, falling
Left behind ’til spring
Or raked into piles and hauled
To the compost where they rot
“It’s so cold today!”
People say, pulling on coats
Wild geese preen feathers
Preparing for fall; they fly
In formation; I stay home

Truly my favorite time of year.

W3 prompt for today:

  • Compose a series of three tanka;
    • Following are three “turn lines” or “pivots” (third lines) for each of three tanka, and you must construct the rest:
      1. Turn / Pivot for tanka #1: “I sit quietly”
      2. Turn / Pivot for tanka #2: “Left behind till spring”
      3. Turn / Pivot for tanka #3: “Wild geese preen feathers”
    • These tanka are to be autumn/winter-themed;
    • You may write each of your tanka in a single unbroken line of thirty-one syllables, or you may use the five-line 5/7/5/7/7 approach.
fiction

Crowded

Sally11 Comments

She sat at a table with a tall iced lemonade. Waiting. Waiting.

He said he would meet her here.

“Don’t be late,” he had said. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

She waited and sipped.

Not far away, he waited, watching for her.

Where was she? he wondered.

He felt his anger rising.

He had told her not to be late and that he had a surprise.

Surprises always intrigued her. She was like a fish chasing a shiny lure. Dangle some bauble and she’ll follow it anywhere. He scoffed aloud as he thought of her stupidity.

The outdoor seating was crowded. She leaned against the tree and wondered if she was in the wrong spot. She sipped the last of her lemonade and decided to stroll to the other side and see if he was there.

At about the same moment, he rose and walked to see if he could find her.

“Damn tourists,” he muttered as he picked his way around the busy tables.

There was no sign of her. He clenched and unclenched his fists angrily. He shoved his hands into his pockets and fingered the packet of cyanide salts he had hoped to slip into her drink.

“Damn,” he said aloud and stalked off.

She, too, scanned the crowded tables — no sign of him.

She sighed a deep sigh, thinking about the container of arsenic in her purse. It would have to wait for another time.

This is my response to this week’s Unicorn Challenge. The Unicorn Challenge is simple — 250 words based on the photo prompt.

Clearly I watch way too many crime shows.

Plus, my dramaturg daughter is probably rolling her eyes at my choice of poisons. I don’t know about poisons — and I was afraid to search on my computer for the best poison to slip into a drink. Again — too many crime shows.

family · Life

Life Choices

Sally11 Comments

“There’s an awful lot of sighing going on over there,” said my pew-mate at church yesterday.

She was right.

I carry my cares in my shoulders and my breathing. Multiple times during the worship service I had realized my shoulders were tight and that I was holding my breath. I would force my shoulders down in faux-relaxation and exhale slowly. Apparently it didn’t go unnoticed.

We talked for a few minutes afterwards and her words were so helpful. To have the right person with the right words show up at the right moment is truly a gift.

Then I made a great life choice — carve pumpkins with my granddaughter.

Sometimes a life choice is something big — where to go to college, who to spend my life with, where to settle down and live.

More often it’s something small — what do I do this month, this week, this day, this moment.

Carving pumpkins, eating roasted pumpkins — sometimes that is the very best life choice.

Blather · poetry

The Broon Coo (and other cow blather)

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Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt: “oo.” Find a word with “oo” in it or just use “oo” because why not?

When my granddaughter was littler (she’s now a big 4 years old), I wasn’t working full-time and would go babysit once a week. So. Much. Fun.

Anyhoo — she was just a wee little thing, and I would put on music to play in the background while we played. I had a whole playlist for her.

I pulled it up the other day because I (obviously) hadn’t played it in a long time. It was a lot of Scottish songs. My granddaughter loved Ally Bally Bee and “danced” to it — which involved running around the couch.

I loved The Broon Coo, a song about a mischievous cow that breaks oot and eats all the hay and neaps (turnips) and chases the ducks.

Cows are near and dear to my heart. The cow population is our area has significantly declined over the 50+ years since my parents bought the house I am now living in. When we first moved here, though, there was a working dairy farm next door.

I wrote a poem about it some years ago and thought that I had posted it. Maybe I had and then took it down. Who knows? It happened to be in my overfull WordPress draft folder and I’ll put it at the bottom of this post. It’s not really stream-of-consciousness, you know.

If you’ve ever experienced feeding a cow something from your hand, you’ll know that it’s an unforgettable thing. The smoothness of their nose. The tongue pulling whatever it is off your hand. The slow patient chewing that ensues.

So many people are just in a hurry when they eat. They could learn a lesson from cows.

A horse’s muzzle is dry and it will use its lips to take whatever you’re holding. A cow’s nose is slimy — but in the best of ways, if there can be a best of ways for slime.

I used to walk down the road and play music for the cows. They would walk alongside me on their side of the fence.

Then there was the year the cows stampeded up our road when the guy was trying to load them in a truck. He eventually rounded them all up, save one — and there were feral cow sightings over the winter that year as it wandered the back hills. I don’t know whatever happened to it.

But the Broon Coo song is about a cow that breaks out and gets into trouble — which is what my poem is also about (kind of) except our cow was a black-and-white Holstein.

So I’ll leave you here with a few cow pictures and a poem. 🙂

When my parents bought the farm
(literally)
Pa Jackson was over the hill
(euphemistically and literally)

He milked the cows by hand
While the barn cats tumbled in the hay
(euphemistically and literally)
I watched with wide eyes
(the milking, not the euphemistic tumbling)

The Jacksons had a bull
To do the job of the artificial inseminator
And when our pet heifer,
Sock-it-to-me-Sunshine,
Wandered over
To visit the Jacksons’ cows
The bull also got to know her
(euphemistically)

Then, our heifer
Was in the family way
(euphemistically)
She was loaded on a truck
And sent to a home
For unwed cows

The next summer
The Jackson’s cows
Were also loaded onto trucks
And sent to auction
Because Pa Jackson was
Extremely
Over the hill
(euphemistically)

A few years later
We read in the newspaper
That he had bought the farm.
(euphemistically)