Somethings Are Never Forgotten

Sometings are never forgotten. 

Your tiny hand wrapped around my little finger

fitting only half way up. Me thinking someday 

it will be bigger than my whole hand. 

Not knowing how fast someday would be. 

Turning older every year, you and me. 

Somethings are never forgotten. 

Like your first words. How you loved to make the sound of saws.

Your three favorite books which had to be read every night.

I found out one night how well I memorized them when you sat

with you head obscuring the book. I never missed a beat and read on. 

As the words were engrained in my mind. Like the image of you

feeding the lamb. Your lamb. You both loved each other so much.

Somethings are never forgotten.

Hugs so tightly given with sticky hands that left more than memories.

The gentle way you examined everything. Your insatiable questions

which still thrive today. Always learning and growing. 

Somethings are never forgotten

etched in a timeless memory

to be opened at will, triggered at moments,

carrying comfort and joy, along with a need to be present

enough to remember this moment because

Somethings are never forgotten.

When Life Gives You…

When life gives you lemons, girl, you make lemonade. She said matter of factly, as she ground the lemon half in the citrus press. The room filled with the sour tang of lemons bringing her back to childhood. Back to the front porch where the neighbors all gathered to gossip and drink mamas lemonade.

Shaking the image out of her mind she sliced the lemon in wedges. Eating each with delicate nibbles. Scrunched face. Forcing the bitter fruit down. Convincing herself that it was good. Afterall, lemons detoxify the body.

Blinking rapidly to force the present she tossed the rotten lemon in the trash.Drove to the grocery. Bought a whole bag of lemons. At home she sliced each in perfect halves. Squashing them in satisfying bitter juice from the press. Pouring it all in a sparkling pitcher. Adding a bag, or less, of sugar to compliment the bitterness. Served up with cookies and laughter. Traces of memory dancing through her mind.

Always trying to move forward when life gives her. What? Lessons. Opportunity. Choices. Seeing it all. Past, present, future. Unfolded in front of her eyes. Eyes that long to fall on beauty and grace. Smiling faces. Ears that long to hear melodies. Music so sweet gooseflesh appears.
She digressed again. The longing so old it comforts. Like the well worn blanket tossed in the back of the chair. The lemon press in her hand, old and used. Still producing bitter juice sweetened with sugar. Smells  of summer, laughter, and sunshine. Cut grass and bird song. Holding memories in the reservoir. Golden liquid full of blessed memories. Sighs and longings. Laughs and tears.

When life gives you…

Triggering Memories

A pinecone on the floor of the forest. I pause to look at it. Memories flood in.

The year PapPap asked us to collect pinecones so he could build a wreath. Morphing into the scent of the Christmas tree when it first enters the house.

Like a film clip the memories real on. Filling my heart with joy.

Christmas decorating with the kids. How they insist on hanging every ornament on the tree so it looks like someone dumped the whole box of decorations on it. Somehow in that chaos it manages to look beautiful.

Thank you pinecone for the lovely journey of memories from times ago. My walk continues, a little teary eyed for what was, what is, what might become.

Looking for Something

Memories in a box.
Not quite what I was looking for.
Have you seen my missing socks?
I guess I can dig some more.

Past the photo of the beach.
Past the shell, the memories,
Seems my socks are out of reach.

I want to dive in I say,
But not quite like this,
maybe another day?

His smile makes me pause,
For a moment, or two.
He looks so much like my kids,
So much like we all do.

Time flies!
Oh look at those skies!
One thing I never tire of
Is looking at the sky above.

Now we're was I?
Why am I here?
Looking for something.
Finding it near.
There are those socks!
Tucked up, buried, a little behind,
And under the box.