Yesterday someone asked what it was like to be an "empty nester." One of those poor, frazzled people who have a kid in elementary, middle and in high school. I just smiled and said, "The freedom." That is what we like the best, the freedom to do pretty much anything. Go away for a weekend? … Continue reading Little Birds Fly the Coop
My Grandpa Finch is in the backyard. It is New Mexico. It is summer and it is hot. I sit in the shade of the old apricot tree, sprawling branches hang low and the leaves are lush. It is a perfect tree. From that tree my grandmother put up jars and jars and jars of … Continue reading Summer Day, Long Ago
Vintage. Vintage is a good word. Multiple ideas float to the surface and compete with each other... wanting to be written. Second hand stores... that hidden vintage treasure. Going with my Grandmother when I was a little girl and hating the musty smell of it. Going later, with purpose to find that glittery dress or … Continue reading Vintage Ramblings
29th poem in the month of April. Prompt: Tantrum. We put on music And cleaned the house. Placed tulips in the vase Open a good Bottle of red. Set the table With our best Open the door And invite Guests in. Sitting on the deck, Sipping Gin and tonics, Watching the waves And boats The … Continue reading Poem #29
Because April is poetry month... A poem a day. (I do get that this is sappy, but it is what kept floating to the top of my mind, today for poem #3. I couldn't make it go away.) Weston Sloppy wet baby kisses Sticky hand on my cheek Wondering eyes, Wide and curious. Rosy Cheeks, … Continue reading Poem # 3
When one of the girls came home with lice I was horrified! Just horrified. My entire childhood and the first ten years as a parent I had never heard of a single case. I knew there was such a thing, but I had never seen a louse before. Had never known anyone that had one … Continue reading Serendipity of the Itchy Kind
My latest project? Writing a family history. When I was a child my grandfather would tell wonderful stories about my ancestors. There was a wall of photos in the hallway, dozens and dozens of them. We would walk down the hall and he would talk about each one, breathing life into those old photos. Relatives … Continue reading What I Have Learned. What I Have Yet to Learn.
When I was seven or eight years old, my grandfather “saved” me, at least to my seven or eight year old mind it felt that way. It must have been the late sixties because Randy was pretty little. We were on a road-trip, a camping road-trip and we were headed to the Yukon. Our destination … Continue reading Becoming a Hero