Hi dee Friday…

October 23, 2015

Glad you are here. It’s rainy, cool, and Fall with a touch of cozy. The grass naps quietly in the yard, hints of green still peeking through since the blanket of winter has yet to cover the little blades who insist on trying to wriggle out from the past week of warm temperatures. This time of year brings a delight to one’s nose when leaves are burned and bon fires mix with marshmallows and hot dogs. The quietness of outside broken by orange bright wood, conversation, and packages rustling to quell the appetites that nature brings to life in the evening time among family and friends.

It brings rest to mind and body.

As the South says, “Happy Fall, Ya’ll”.

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Basking in the morning sun has me feeling relaxed and alive. Fair skin with (lots) freckles, I’ve alienated myself for years because I was uneasy about acquiring more and darkening the ones already there.

Picasso had his Blue Period. Mine has been black…and not on art canvas.

Clear thinking this A.M. , I asked myself…What do I like?




It is a question I must ask. One that I’ve pushed down for so long it seems a fresh concept.

The minutes I sat in full sun warmed both my body and thoughts. To quote King Of The Hill character, Bobby Hill, “… I like me.” …

Even if others don’t. With my freckles, capped and missing teeth, glasses, stomach pudge from babies, cokes, and junk food.

Bobby Hill was right. He knew who he was and saw the good points of his life…and

accepted himself.

The sun is my friend.

He smiled at me again today and this time I accepted his invitation.

A Thinking Assignment…

September 5, 2015

Is diversity and tolerance really  the goals?

If difference is to be celebrated, then which ones and why?

If differences offend (some) others, why are the offended made to conform, thereby negating diversity and tolerance?

Can conforming be (successfully) defined as acceptance if it is forced?

As human beings, we will never accept all things alike.

So…what is the answer?

One Year Later…

September 3, 2015

Mama was born and took her first breath of life in the summer. Her final breath was released in the same season. She lived ninety-four years upon this earth with all its God made magnificence. Each day, month, and year she accumulated those things appointed for her specific purpose.

She was a farmer’s daughter who watched the cotton grow and chopped it in hat, gloves, long sleeves, and britches. She remarked how when they went to town you could tell the farm girls by their tan skin. Mama shielded hers so she would remain fair. She told of how her mother left her in a large box as a baby while she worked in the fields with her husband (Mama’s daddy). According to her paternal grandmother, she “swoll” from being so blistered. Til’ her death she never liked being in direct sun.

I remember how cool her arms felt even if outside temperatures were scorching. How she was ladylike in her actions while dangling a cigarette in her lips at home, only  at home, never in public. Funny how you remember things like that. She loved us, her children and grandchildren, to the best of her ability. There was a tenderness beneath the protective shell she had fashioned from past warfare in the battle of life.

Last year on this calendar date, the shell was broken and she was finally free. Ecclesiastes 3:11 says, “He hath made everything beautiful in his time: …”

I saw God’s beauty, peace, and rest for the weary soul in my mother’s face  a year ago today.

It was her time. It was His timing.

Job 1:21  (Authorized King James Version)

“And said, Naked came I out of my mother’s womb and naked shall I return thither: the LORD gave and the LORD hath taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD.

Silence…

August 17, 2015

 Is what I long for

Of mind body and soul

Heart and knowing

Dreams and longing

Words and people

Cruel and mocking

This life I’ve lived

through the years

a little happiness

though many tears

Someday the silence

will come as relief

Still God will laugh

as I’ve sown what I reap

He’ll laugh and mock

at my bitter end

my life was naught

but a blowing wind

died out among

the trees so bare

never real living

a day here, a day there

and now with silence

I no longer care

copyright August 2015/R. Webb

Nature’s Dual Bouquet..

August 7, 2015

Nature's Dual Bouquet

While walking yesterday, I stopped and combined a small branch of dead leaves with the living plant to make a Summer/Fall arrangement. I thought it to be an interesting visual and wanted to capture it before leaving the park.

Morning Walk…

August 5, 2015

 Walking helps me when things start to press upon my mind and spirit. We all have things that bear down upon us, even though outwardly we continue to chin up and carry on. Occasionally, when replying to the standard greeting from the cashier of, “How are you?”, I’ll look them in the eye and state, “Lousy.” Watching their startled face and without missing a beat,I’ll break into a smile and assure them I just wanted to see their reaction. As of date, they’ve all been good natured, perhaps a bit pleased to not hear the mundane answer of, “I’m fine…” . It gives both of us a chance to see the other as persons outside the robotic role of cashier-and-customer-assembly-line.

At the park the baseball field is being mowed, tennis courts are occupied, and people on the green are swinging their clubs. Exiting my car with keys, cellphone, and umbrella, trees ,parking lots, and picnic tables are in view. I walk leisurely , taking in sights, smells, and movement. The umbrella shields my fair skin from the sun’s fierce smile in the already 83 degree temperature. 

 Looking across the road, I spot the large yellow Union Pacific boxcar.  I remember the one from my own small hometown park. It was as red as the wasps that built their nests in it every Spring and made you run when you entered their territory. Making my way towards the side of the stadium, I look at the scattered tufts of grass and weeds poking their heads through the cracked asphalt. I wonder at them. Some withstood the toil of pushing and heaving their way to the surface, while others died a straw colored languishing.

Rounding the side, I start back. To my right, the increasing slope holds large gray rocks. Staring intently I see the recognition of a pastel drawing I made back in  high school art class. Did I somehow draw my young future before it happened? 

  My life, the drawing, and facing these rocks fit together. I search above them  and see them decrease the closer they come to the main road. They are replaced with earth and grass, which wave to me from above. No more rocks.

This is a strong symbol for me. I struggled to climb the rocks all those years. I finally see now. There is something beyond the rocks. There is soil, there is grass…even if not the most green, even if the earth is dry…the rain comes and replenishes both…and there is a road…one that I want to take beyond the rocks.

Last Night…

August 4, 2015

Was a dreamless night. I awoke even before my alarm sounded and dared not look at the time. If I look, I cannot go back to sleep. Staring into the cool darkness I turned over, adjusted my pillow, and pulled the covers around my throat. Sometime afterwards the chime brought me into morning.

This is a calm day for me. I let go of  more material things early this A.M. with the scheduled curbside pickup. I can still see the items waiting dutifully for their transportation to their new home, I feel no guilt. Some of the items are brand new, still in their original containers. Others, old as the hills, but with a good cleaning and if desired, some paint, can earn their keep. The main point is to let them do what they were created to do. Be useful.

I remind myself that things are just exactly that. They have no love, no hate, no anything. You can pick something up that brings you a thousand memories and it feels nothing. It sits silently in your hands with no where to go, except where you direct.

  I have no dirt from my childhood, yet I close my eyes and still smell its rich dark aroma. The tree that produced huge sweet pears so full of juice that it dripped down your chin is gone, but my mind conjures it up, complete with the large buzzing bumblebees, yellow jackets, and honey bees that feasted off the bounty for years. The year after we moved the tree died. I always said that it missed us. I still believe that. We grew up playing under it, our dog having his house nearby. After the dog died and we left, I think it realized it had done its work. It provided us with sweet smells, delicious pears, shade, and a sturdiness for years. We, in turn, had given it sounds of laughter and  joy, receiving the fruit with squeals of delight, playing many years around it throughout our young days. The time came to move on…and the tree had loved us in the way it could and we had loved it back.

Thoughts are in my mind…and I can carry them wherever I go, with no fear of them not having a place. For they are in my heart and I think of them often.

It Was Only A Dream…

August 3, 2015

Eleven months ago this day my mother died. Early this morning I dreamed of her. We were in a grocery store and as I glanced down an aisle, there she was. She had on a long dark brown coat similar to one I’d seen as a child. Approaching her  I leaned over with a kiss. Her face was cool and almost felt as if she had whiskers. I don’t understand it, but I know that it was my dream. I felt no emotions. Dreams can be strange like that as we all know. She was smiling and I can’t recall, if any, the conversation. I mostly remember her smiling at me and the touch that I recall above. In that same dream sequence I saw a man who was a used car salesman and was showing me an old car that was supposed to be great. Just before that, I had been given approximately one thousand dollars that were in crisp new $100 dollar bills. They were all fanned out neatly before me. Somehow in the back of my mind I understood that my husband had given them to me, but I never saw him. My instincts told me concerning the car salesman that I didn’t want this car. I was wondering how much of the money it would take to make  repairs to my own car that I currently own. Then, just like that, I woke up. I looked at my phone and had an e-mail from my sibling discussing this day about my mother being gone from this earth eleven months. OUR mother, I should say. How that in one short month it will become years for as long as we live on this earth. I often find myself thinking back to my childhood. Back to a mother who was ever mindful to see that we had food, clothing , and shelter. She never failed at those things. I miss my mother. I miss the younger version of her as much or more than the older version. I take a risk in saying that, as some people will judge and say I should cherish all time I had with her. To that I say, you are ridiculous and of course I do. My mother in my younger years is who I long for. I miss the mother who made my meals, made the house clean and secure. She walked to the grocery store and got me comic books when I didn’t feel good. She took me uptown for fresh roasted, or rather blanched peanuts on Saturdays. She was always there…watching silently and taking care of all the details of our daily lives. She gave me life and a sense of orderliness. She took her role and did it. In spite of the odds. No one has ever written about her in grand ways. No one famous came to her funeral. She lived a quiet life and in the same way died a quiet death. One that I am thankful to God for allowing. I can truly say that it was the best funeral I ever attended. Some people may read this and say, oh how convenient, dreaming of her on the 11 month anniversary. Well, you are entitled to your thoughts. I know it’s true. I saw my mother. I kissed my mother. It was only a dream. I miss my mother.

The dark roots…

July 28, 2015

sink deep into the earth searching, always searching for more. Above, its leaves blow their gilded song of laughter across the field where joy rings true.

——————————————————————————————————————-

The Stemming

Come here, follow me see  how I thrive

The winds blow, the storms rage

Yet upwards I rise

My body is strong my branches are stout

The mysteries my secrets will ne’er be found out

The small seedling fights for life of its own

Then steady, steady it breaks through the dawn

Live on little acorn live on planted deep

For whatever you sow you shall surely reap

Young sapling stands near this great mighty tree

Ever it does wax and wane to be free

The years come and go the strength is passed on

The blackness of root now deeper has gone

Blow winds, blow rains

The storms pass thee by

Its roots are laid safe now

In rich soil of lies

Though bitter or gladness it all comes to sigh

Sooner or later all things they will die

The branches are weak

Roots laid open bare

Storms toss thee and turn thee

At last

Now despair

The power you held is no longer bequeathed

Your mighty strength spent

It lies in a heap

Then glorious, Now silent

Truth breaks the spell

Now ashes to ashes

The fire will not quell

copyright/ 7/28/2015, R. Webb