Spring’s Promise

This is why I love Spring  more than Fall,

at least for now, since ’tis the season.

Which flower is most beautiful of all?

Is the plate sized peony the reason? 

Or is it the purple iris growing tall?

Or the sweet coolness of a summer breeze

wafting in as if to tease?

I walk and think and plan and look.

I love Spring’s promise;

an introduction

that reads better than the book.

Related articles

• Peonies = Happy Marriage! (thesecretlanguageofflowers.wordpress.com)

Ugly Thing Comes Home

Daily Prompt:  Memories for Sale

On a weekend road trip, far away from home, you stumble upon a garage sale in a neighborhood you’re passing through.  Astonished, you find an object among the belongings for sale that you recognize.  Tell us about it.

There it was!

I saw it one more time, the Ugly Thing that had been in my parents’ china closet for all my growing up years!

I never knew what happened to it but it had been missing for many years.

My excitement in finding it at the garage sale was beyond description.

And unbelievably, there it was, literally staring at me with woeful eyes!

My mother used to say, “We miss  most the people and things that cause the most trouble,” and how true that is.

This describes the missing piece in my life because it was really ugly.  That meant our family never used it.  Therefore, it was annoying.  Do you think that’s why I missed it so much?

Nowadays it would be called a white elephant –  a family heirloom that was just in the way but had retained its place of honor anyway.

It had once belonged to my grandmother and  I like to think it was considered decorative in its day.  But, I don’t think even Grandma would have used it unless it was for comic relief.

Still, I could not resist buying the Ugly Thing for $12 and bringing it home.  It called to me with its sad eyes from the pile of  odds and ends on the yard sale card table.  And it seemed to say, “Aha!  I found you again!  And now please put me back where I belong – in that honored spot in your china closet!”

I suppose most people have lovely, valuable mementos of home and childhood.

Me?  I have the Ugly Thing.

I am sure it was a creamer.  I think it was made in Germany but there are no distinguishing marks.  It is probably worth less than $12.

Whatever it is, I am glad the Ugly Thing  has found its way home and is back in its honored spot in the china closet.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Escape

Smoky Dreams

Daily Prompt: Feed Your Senses

Write down the first sight, sound, smell and sensation you experienced on waking up today.  Pick the one you’re most drawn to, and write.  (For a bigger challenge, pick the one you’re least drawn to.)

I used to be a smoker a long time ago.  Then I quit.  The song, Smoke Gets in Your Eyes, with its romantic lyrics, no longer entices me.  And smoky rooms make my eyes water among other negative reactions.

This morning I woke up thinking I was a smoker again.  Or maybe I was dreaming of sleeping in a smokehouse, where they cure meats.  This is the smell I am LEAST drawn to now!  Why would I wake up with the smell of smoke permeating every pore, to say nothing of the sheets and drapes.

“Is it in my hair?” I thought.  “Why do I have this smoke induced headache in my own smoke-free home?  Is this some sort of joke?  Is there a diabolical plot my husband has concocted to make me think I am crazy? No.  Maybe this is just the remnants of a nightmare.”

With a slow incredulous crawl from bed, I realized this was no dream.   There it was again – the scent of wood smoke permeating the room.  Memory was slowly returning and I recalled yesterday the lady cattle farmer across the way was burning brush in three separate fires.  At first I thought it was a forest fire and might have called the Fire Department, but my husband informed me these were “controlled fires.”

Oh, I am all for the health and prosperity of the American farmer.  I was delighted to see her purchase the property across the way.  “Now, all we will ever see from our kitchen window are the mountains and the peaceful, bucolic view of cows a-grazing.”  This part is true.  I just did not know I would have to wake up to billowing smoke in my bedroom!

Granted, this post may be a slight exaggeration, but story tellers do that sometimes.

My eyes are still watering however.

And in addition to visions of my lungs blackening, and having to move to the city,  I woke up hungry!  I thought,  ”Yummmm. Barbecue!”

And who needs to wake up starving in a smokehouse anyway?

What is She Dreaming?

I remember a sleeping Baby Jess

carrying Bunny One.

And here is my grown up grandgirl, Jess,

asleep once more in my home,

come for a visit  with leftover dreams

from a college inmates’ party.

How far away she seems,

dreaming of last night’s soiree.

 

I Wish You Were a Blogger

Daily Prompt: Hi Mom!

Today is Mother’s Day in the United States. Wherever in the world you are, write your mother a letter.

Dear Mom,

I wish you had been a blogger.

I know you loved to write.  And though you never penned the words, you sometimes spoke of youthful hopes and dreams.

But, oh, to have the stellar moments of your life in a diary, a journal, a blog!  What a treasure that would be now that you are gone.

I wish you had been a blogger Mom.

The stories of your lifetime reside in my flawed memories and colorful imagination.  You were the center of my world.  And I believed my brother, Steve, and I were the center of yours.  Maybe that is all that really matters now, but

I wish you had been a blogger.

Who were you growing up?  Who was that handsome fellow who courted you for seven years?  Who were your friends?  Where did you go?  What did you do?  Who took you to the Met for the operas you loved so much?

I smile now at the Beach Girl photos we saved, and wish they could come alive.  How beautiful you were.  I don’t remember you like that, with the young girl’s laughter and joy at being young.

How did you feel before I was born?  What was it like working as a publication “reader” and meeting a down- and-out Walt Disney?

I have patched together your life Mom, like I used to carefully fill in my old coloring books, forced to stay inside the lines, weaving a lifetime from half-known truths and guessing at the colors to fill in the blanks.

I remember the comfort of your warmth, the safety in your arms, the immense love you gave.

It was enough.  It is enough.

It is not enough.

I wish you had been a blogger Mom.

Candid Concentration

Shhhh!

Do you not see

I am wrapped in deepest concentration?

This moment for this moment 

is the most important moment

in my life.