Fall Back…

November 5, 2016

The time goes back to God’s time as we in the South say. It leaves you feeling cozy and wanting to be at home when the sun goes into an early sleep. 

Netflix’s “The Crown” is the current show I’m watching at my leisure. Having watched three episodes and being pleased, means I have several more to go within the world of beautiful and cultured things. The dress and formal manners (at least in public) are enough to keep me interested if all goes as I hope. People had dignity and manners for the most part in that era. The problems were there, but the everyday hum of civility kept things in a perspective that we could use today. Real tableware, hairstyles that took some thought, and dress that presented the wearer in a favorable light are all appealing in this shabby world. 

“Philadelphia”, starring John Wayne, Randolph Scott, and Marlene Dietrich is another good one. Actually, I’ll need to see this one in its entirety as it was already on when I turned on the station. Again, the dress and hairstyles were encouraging for those of us who are tired of tee shirts and slovenly clothing. There is nothing wrong with dressing for the situation you are in, but there is something to wonder about when it involves non caring. 

The daily calendar I have on the kitchen windowsill had a most interesting passage . To paraphrase: When looking to your future generation(s), remember that good morals are not hereditary.

Teaching is very important…even then all do not adhere; but if you don’t try, there will be none for certain. The things of today are the result of long term neglect and silence in many areas. 

I sit and watch the shows and think..maybe, just maybe the reason they are shown and are gaining popularity is because we are realizing the fallow ground needs to be plowed, needs to be re-seeded and watered to bring forth a new and thriving crop of people. Those who will stand tall and not let the weeds of corruption and slovenly habits continue to choke out the best we can be here on this earth with whatever time God has given us.

 

 

 

 

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Clear Monday…

July 11, 2016

Not blue skies, but rather mind clutter. Sometimes it is good for one to decide enough is enough. Pity parties are good on a minuscule note, as you can see what you want to change concerning your life. It is not a party to which you want to retain a standing invitation.

You are your best friend. You will never ever have another person travel with you on this earth as closely as yourself. There in the sunshine, rain, cool mornings, lazy afternoons, lunch hours, early morning hours when no one is there…you are.

You are enough. Feel your feelings. Think your thoughts. Love yourself. 

KJV Matthew 22:39… Thou shalt love thy neighbor  AS THYSELF.  

Understand, this is the second commandment that Jesus told to the questioner when asked what the great commandments were. The first being, “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. 

On these TWO commandments hang ALL the law and the prophets. 

Notice He said, “thou shalt”, not “thou shouldest” on BOTH of these. 

Go read it for yourself. Think about it. Study it. 

Matthew 22: 36-40

 

 

 

 

 

The World Is Too Fast…

September 28, 2015

Looking at a door that once held a mirror, I noted the plastic encasing where screws bored into the wood. This is intended for long term. Temporary gadgets abound on store shelves today. Even shades are equipped so no nails have to be used.

Jobs, homes, friendships, family…nothing is immune to becoming temporary. Never before have I felt such a loneliness in the world. Always seeking something to satisfy the soul.

Mirages. The lovely refreshing promise (of whatever you are seeking) is in your sights…until you get “right there” …and it disappears. Only sand is left.

Too many mirages.

Too many dreams.

Grains of sand scattered to the wind, leaving nothing more than an irritated life with no pearl.

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

again  on this terra firma will I hear my mother’s voice call my name. When I enter a room she will not be there to fix her small blue eyes upon me, waiting for her standard kiss and hug, with “Whatcha’ doin’ Ma?” or “Hi Ma!” …

Tomorrow would be her ninety-fifth birthday.

I have white flowers for her grave. She would like that.

I love you Ma. Happy 95th Birthday.

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.

Broken little family

in my youngest years

I searched in vain

to remedy to take

away the fears

The thoughts were vague

intents obscure

the words were

sweet the trap allured

First one his one

they beckoned me

I followed blindly

I could not see

Too late too late

my soul was tossed

The years remain

and all is lost

Tho’ one has gone

to depths unknown

now three remain

no four are known

Yet eight is the number

that breathes for now

my heart longs to slumber

please lay me down

Copyright 2015 –R Webb

to myself I ran across while going through some things prior to moving.  Not sure if it would be considered a poem, but I think it’s in that vein…

Distance of

family

friends

society

Closeness of

me

nature

God

Listen

Listen more

Listen more so

Words are weary spoken

go about your work quietly

There is a loneliness

that never leaves even in

the midst of others

Simply Be

Nature listens as doth God

Speak to yourself and they will hear

Copyright by R. Webb, 10/16/2013