July 6
Doing laundry and planning
Italy
On one trip and planning
another
Clothes dry fast in one
hundred degrees
Doing laundry and planning
Italy
Fine-tuning details as we
please
Daughter’s at work and so
is her brother
Doing laundry and planning
Italy
On one trip and planning
another
July 5
Both
kids went off to work today
Hubby computered, I
cleaned and poemed
First I took time to read
and pray
Both kids went off to work
today
Did computer tasks—oy vey!
Our Uber son texted while
he roamed
Both kids went off to work
today
Hubby computered, I
cleaned and poemed
July 4
A
little cleaning and more games
Time
with family for the fourth
Watching athletes the U.
S. acclaims
A little cleaning and more
games
Olympic trials, calling
out names
Five more days then I’ll
go north
A little cleaning and more
games
Time with family for the
fourth
July 3
All day cleaning the
storage room
It used to be a one car
garage
A place for three cats to
zoom
All day cleaning the
storage room
I kept busy with mop and
broom
I need a tub and a back
massage
All day cleaning the
storage room
It used to be a one-car
garage
July 2
While here, I’ll help
clean their house
But
most important is time with them
They’ll care for their
Dad, my spouse
While here, I’ll help
clean their house
It’s in the hundreds here
in the south
Watched TV, played games
till late PM
While here, I’ll help
clean their house
But most important is time
with them
July 1
We’ve
done it before, we’ll do it again.
An
eight-hour drive to see our two,
Well with construction,
maybe ten.
We’ve done it before,
we’ll do it again.
When we’re finally there,
we say amen!
We persevere until we’re
through.
We’ve done it before,
we’ll do it again.
An eight-hour drive to see
our two.
Half Packed
Half packed to leave for
my trip
Off to Mesa then on to
Germany
Packing is something I’d
like to skip
Half packed to leave for
my trip
I know it will go by in a
blip
First, daughter and son,
we will see
Half packed to leave for
my trip
Off to Mesa then on to
Germany
Among Cousins
Every summer, as a child,
my family would vacation
in Delaware.
But one summer, we went to
Michigan
to visit with aunts, uncles
and cousins.
They would often visit us
when they came
to Grandma’s in Pennsylvania.
This was the first and
only time we went to them.
We played with our cousins
on their turf.
We’d go out on their
pontoon boat,
jump into the lake and swim
for hours.
We walked around their neighborhood
and met their friends, and
realized,
growing up in Michigan was
different,
and we were growing apart.
Elementary Teachers
First Grade Mrs. Adams,
More like a grandma than a
teacher.
I told her I had three and
a half sisters.
She laughed and told
everyone
I might have a sister or
brother.
Brother no way. I was
right.
My little sister came all
in yellow.
Second grade Mrs. Alberta.
She didn’t smile much.
I didn’t know much about
God,
but Mrs. Alberta said
He peeked in the back window
to see if we were behaving.
Third grade Mrs. Galbraith.
Pleasant and elegant, like
June Cleaver.
When I was getting all the
math problems wrong,
she discovered that I
couldn’t read the black board.
That summer, I began
wearing glasses.
Forth grade Mrs. Graff. She
smiled a lot.
She read stories like The
Secret Gaden.
She caught one of the boys
drawing a smiley face
on the black board with a
sponge.
We thought he was in
trouble.
She grabbed the sponge
and drew a smiley face
with curly hair.
Fifth grade Mrs. Donahue.
She had a loud, but nice, voice.
She’d see me in town and say,
“There she is with a book
again!”
I wonder if she expected
I’d be writing them some
day.
Sixth grade Mrs. Robinson.
A very sour lady.
On the rare occasion when
she smiled,
it looked like her face
would crack.
She didn’t like a poem I
wrote.
I didn’t think about
writing another one
until many years later.
Good or bad memories,
these ladies delivered a
basic education
like mama birds dolling
out worms,
in hopes their chicks would
fly off on their own.
I appreciate their influence.
There’s Mowing
and There’s Mowing
Growing
up on a large acreage in PA,
and with
Grandma’s equally large yard,
Dad had
this thing about mowing—
not too
early while it’s still wet,
not too
late when everyone’s tired.
That left
the hottest part in the afternoon.
And no
need for a riding mower
since he
had a wife and five girls to help.
So there
we all were sweating it out
every summer
pushing mowers
twice a
week or more since it rained
a lot in
Pennsylvania.
One
advantage:
Now that
I live in southwest Colorado,
in my
little yard, sparsely watered,
mowing is
a matter of zipping back and forth,
twice
monthly, in the coolness of evening,
and that
doesn’t seem so bad.
A View
from Carrick a Rede Rope Bridge
Don’t ask
me what the view
is from
Carrick a Rede Rope Bridge
in
Northern Ireland.
I just
know it’s about a hundred feet
above the
sea and rocky shore.
I got
myself over both ways
by saying
with each step,
“Take a step and don’t look down.”
“Take a
step and don’t look down.”
“Take a
step and don’t look down.”
A Special Day
Whether
it be to go to Maine
to spend
time with my daughter.
Or to
Seattle to board a cruise ship
to cruise
Alaska with three others.
Or to go
to Hawaii to celebrate
graduating
from college at 59.
Or to
North Carolina to spend time
with fellow
poemers.
Or to
Florida to cruise the Caribbean
with a
bunch of writers.
Or to Scotland
to celebrate retirement.
Or to St.
Augustine to spend
two weeks
at the beach with Sis.
Or to
Kenya to go on safari
to see
elephants, giraffes, zebras.
Or to Peru
to help in VBS
in the sweltering
heat with missions.
Or to
France with Sis to see the sites
in Paris,
London, Wales, and Ireland
and think
of Uncle Bill dying in WWII,
and to make
wishes in Wales
and to
visit my niece in Northern Ireland.
Or to
Germany this July.
Or to
Italy this September.
The day I
board a plane
is always
a special day.
July 24
We’ll drive and drive and
drive
That’s what we’d tell the
kids
Today, in 8 hours we’ll arrive
We’ll drive and drive and
drive
Home at last! Where we
thrive.
Propping open my eyelids
We’ll drive and drive and
drive
That’s what we’d tell the
kids
Show Affection
Every moment,
you have
the chance
to dig a
well of sweet water
in your relationship
by resolving
to show
respect
and
appreciation for each other
in the
little things you do and say.
A flower.
A gift.
A
compliment.
A favor.
A hug.
A smile.
Makes
life more enjoyable
for both.
May each child’s first superhero be their dad.
May he be strong and kind and live to help his own.
May his goofy jokes cheer them when their sad.
May they always be glad when Dad comes home.
May he lead them to the feet of the Lord’s throne.
May Dad’s very presence serve to calm their fears.
And though he hurts, may they seldom see his tears.
May he pray for them that God will open every door.
And may he become more super through the years.
And though he cannot fly, may his spirit soar.
Waste Not, Want Not
My mother-in-law lived
into her eighties,
primarily by walking sixteen
blocks each day.
From the depression era,
she never threw anything
usable away.
Walking by the
neighborhood dumpsters,
she’d spy perfectly good
items, shamefully wasted.
She began the habit of
taking along a plastic bag,
dumpster diving, as her
sons called it.
With her stocking cap, old
clothes and bag,
she looked like a homeless
person.
In reality, she had a nice
home and savings.
She’d stash her treasures
in the basement.
After she passed, her boys
hauled off truckloads
to the dump, truly and
finally, trashing them.
A Birthday Candle
It was our niece’s thirty-fifth birthday. My sister and I were visiting her in Northern Ireland. We went shopping and bought her the backpack she wanted and ate a delicious lunch in what used to be a linen mill. Linen was what their town of Moygashel used to be all about. We went back to their small house with a yellow orange rose in the picket-fenced yard. We had birthday cake, which was a collection of sweets that we had gathered over the past few days and some ice cream. No place for birthday candles. Her husband had that covered with a twelve-inch candle that more resembled fireworks, shooting sparks up about two feet into the air. Meg stood there, holding the candle, surprised and a bit shocked as we sang happy birthday. The song ended as the smoke alarm sounded. We had a good laugh after the last spark and the alarm’s screech died down.
As the sparks flew up
I wondered what she wished for
On her thirty-fifth
Me from A to Z
A rtist
B orn in Johnstown, PA
C aregiver of a man with autism
D evotional writer
E lectric-biker wannabe
F ourth out of five
sisters
G ood friend
H iker
I ntermittent novelist and
creative nonfiction writer
J igsaw puzzler
K ayaker wannabe
L ikes to play Quiddler,
Splendour and Canasta
M om of an RN and an Uber driver
N ature Center teacher for a homeschool group
O ccasional speaker
P oet
Q uiet, for the most part
R eader
S enior citizen. Eeks!
T raveler
U kelele player
V ictorious in the end
W ife of a two-time stroke
survivor
EX cited about Jesus
Y ielded to the Lord, or tries to be
Z ealous for worship and
church
Karmen Ghia
My sis had her own little
car
A Volkswagen Karmen Ghia.
A two-seater with shelf in
back,
Having it was a great idea.
One dark night, we hopped
in the car,
But both seats were left down.
We fell in back and laughed
a lot
We each felt like a clown.
One icy night our six-foot
neighbor
Scrunched on the back
shelf.
Looking back, I’m not sure
why
I didn’t sit there myself.
But while Sis drove, I scraped
the ice
To guide her by the line.
The neighbor guy scrunched
in back,
He began to whine.
“It doesn’t bother me that
I can’t see,
but I know you can’t see either.”
We made it safely to the
class in town
And so we had a breather.
Years later, one fateful
day,
Sis was in an accident.
Too bad she couldn’t keep
the car;
Today it’s worth a mint.
Tasty
Tangy, tasty, rich and salty
Spicy, zesty, robust and
malty
Buttery, nutty, honeyed
and sweet
Longing for a mouth-watering
treat
Flavorful, savory, citrusy,
luscious
So many foods that are
delicious
Trying new foods, taking a
chance
Making your taste buds
sing and dance
Write Like You Would Die if You Didn’t
Writer, you write for a
reason.
You need not wait for a season.
Write as if you would surely die,
If your words you didn’t supply.
You need not take time to ease in.
You can jump with both
your feet in.
May get up early or sleep in.
Though your creative well feels dry,
Writer, you write.
Though you’re not hungry,
you dig in.
When you’re sick, you take medicine.
Though you are tired, you exercise.
And you go to work, if you’re wise.
So to write, use your discipline.
Writer, you write.
Plugged In
Chorus:
I’m plugged in by His mercy,
Empowered by His grace.
Charged up by the Word of
God,
And operate by faith.
Energized by His Spirit,
As I seek His face.
I’m plugged in by His
mercy,
Empowered by His grace.
Have you ever tried to
turn on
A lamp to light the dark?
And no matter what you did
There seemed to be no spark.
And then you spy the lamp’s
plug
Lying loosely on the floor.
Ah ha, it needs to be
plugged in!
No darkness anymore.
This world has its
problems,
Its sorrow and its pain.
And sometimes we feel powerless,
With nothing more to gain.
There’s a Father waiting
To take us as His own.
He will help us in this life
And promises a Home.
Chorus
Hang On!
Hang on to your hat,
your skirt, your newspaper.
Hang on to your cat,
your kid, your umbrella.
Tie down your swing set,
your tool shed,
your trailer.
The wind sock
sails straight out,
and then, it’s gone!
Grab on to the rail,
as you flap like a flag.
Hang on!
You’re in windy Wyoming.
Life’s Jigsaw Puzzle
Pennsylvania trees and
hills
Country neighborhood of
mostly relatives
Four sisters, lots of
cousins
Pretending the old shows
Cinderella,
Gilligan’s Island, Man
from Uncles, Batman
Creating games, crafting
dolls, playing croquet
Shannon Creek Park, The
Sunflower club
Heavy winters with sled-riding,
Sliding around on frozen
ponds,
In dowdy rubber boots,
calling it ice-skating.
Making snow angels,
springs greening up,
The smell of lilacs and
apple blossoms
Popping touch-me-nots, making
forts in the woods,
Splashing in cold creek
water
Beautiful autumns of
oranges, reds, golds
Helping Dad bring in the
potatoes
And Mom hanging up clothes
on the line.
Painting and cleaning
house for Pappap.
Mowing large yards with
push mowers.
Catching, raking and
jumping in leaves.
Eating venison, rabbit, squirrel,
Home-made jelly, canned
goods from the garden
The boy next door from
worst enemy,
To first kiss, to good
friends.
A tall skinny preacher
introducing Jesus,
Beginning a church from a
bunch of teens.
Singing in a traveling
choir.
Four years going steady,
Surviving a guy with a
heavy foot,
Speeding down curvy roads
at 110.
College, dating others.
Wyoming, meeting hubby
Living in Nebraska
Marriage, kids, moving,
traveling,
Settling and building a
house in Colorado
Kayaking, hiking, biking,
Canasta, Scrabble,
Splendor
Writing, poeming, writers’
groups
Learning to draw and paint,
And play the ukulele.
Friends, family, church
Caregiving special people
And stroke-survivor hubby.
A series of odd jobs throughout.
One at the nature center
traipsing through the
forest
with a pack of kids
following.
Like pieces in a jigsaw
puzzle
making the picture of me.
Pearls
To
defend against irritants,
marine
oysters
and
freshwater mussels
secrete
aragonite and conchiolin,
making
layers of nacre,
and,
over time, form pearls.
Pearls
can be silver-white,
orange,
green, black or pink.
Rare,
valuable, and beautiful.
Some
friendships are like that.
Boredom/Excitement
A boring life’s a wasted
life, I say.
We all need more pizzaz, excitement,
fun.
But there are things we
need to do each day;
Some we don’t like, but
keep us on the run.
We can just wait until
those things are done.
Or we can learn to like
what we must do.
Or do those things we like,
make life anew.
So what is it that makes
you feel alive?
Those things that pump
your blood and see you through?
Do those things, and more than
survive, but thrive.
Going for the Gold
Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.” (Matthew 19:26 NIV)
After my husband had two pontine strokes,
is it possible for us to
celebrate our 50th
with this October being
only 45th.
With God all things are
possible,
so we’re going for the
gold.
Steep trail up mountainside,
junipers, yucca, boulders, lizards
Exhilarating climb, pine
scent, feeling alive, feeling like me
I lived here forty years; how
did I not know of this path?
Reality Orientation
O, something has thrown off
my well-fixed groove—
A trip, a project or hospital
stay.
And afterwards, I find it
hard to move,
Disoriented and losing my
way.
So what is on the agenda
today?
In my distraction, with
all set aside,
My goals and daily plans
had up and died.
I have to stir the to-do
pot—reset,
Attending to things that have
been denied,
Recalling dailies, I mustn’t
forget.
