Freckled Arms…

August 8, 2018

Held my children as babies, waved to parade passers by, hugged friends, held books, and carried groceries. In fact, my entire body has freckles stemming from my Scots-Irish background.

Many remarks spoken and numerous stares that say unkind things wordlessly have crossed the lips and eyes of people all through my life.

I’ve created with my freckled hands, kissed with my freckled face, bore children from my freckled body.

I’ve lived.

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Working / Life…

November 9, 2017

The title slash is my personal reminder that they are best kept separate. While parts of each spill over in feelings, thoughts, and actions, ultimately it is up to me to make sure the two do not cross the line. 

Each day I watch and listen to those who have allowed the mingling, reflecting as tiredness, anxiety, and a short fuse.

I do not own part of the company. As an hourly employee my job is to  fulfil tasks I was hired to do. Each workday I perform in a steady accurate manner. Breaks and a quick bite to eat are usually under an hour per day for my  forty plus week. Interestingly, those who fritter away time with talking, smoke breaks, and whatever-else strikes-their-fancy, appear to do just as well as me. Some barely meet their forty hours and quickly leave when their  quitting time rolls around. Then there are the martyrs, who work ridiculous hours on a regular basis…regular hourly folks…those who have no ownership. Sometimes they seem to have an attitude of, ” I’m a great person/better than you, because I work such long hours.” …Bubble bust: you aren’t. You just have a bigger paycheck and more stress.

 Yes, I’m sounding cynical because I understand that the company appreciates your working all the hours…right up until the time you do something and you are no longer there. Whether through quitting, firing, retirement, or death, the company goes on. All those hours are just numbers to them. They hold no sentiment within the pages of your Human Resource File. 

Remember this when  logging in hours that stress you, take away family time, and damage your health. 

Work is good and necessary, but remember to put the slash between work and life. It will keep you better balanced all the way around. 

P.S. My upcoming “work project” is to mimic the casualness of my co-workers who seem to fare well in the above. Smoking, however, will not be part of the project!ūüėČ

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

I’ve Been Sick…

May 15, 2013

and I still show the results of it, physically speaking. So, on to better things. Today I’ve been pondering about life. Not in general, but in specifics. Is all life precious? Whether answered yes or no, whose setting the standard? My blog, my question. I’m ‘god’ of this blog, so in that vein, I ask, does God address this in the Bible? Specifically? From abortions to war and everthing in-between and beyond, that is my question to you, is ALL life precious? Something to really think about.

Morning is past the light has gone
Evening tide rolls thick with fog
Soon night shall claim a restless soul
Whose mind and heart with sorrow untold
Once hope did breathe so shallow there
Within the being of one so fair
Small child of yesterday in time
I weep I weep dear child o’ mine
The tears that flow down cheeks of kin
Spill for the life that might have been
God knows the reasons and the why
So He may comfort by and by
If mercy shows His part Divine
Then heart and soul can rest in time

Copyright 2013

Another Saturday…

April 27, 2013

Years pass by. Days are long. Life is short. The older I become the more I understand I know nothing. I see through my lens and adjust accordingly through others, but in the end it is still mine. All the motivational materials in whatever form are still outside of myself. I am inside somewhere. Deeper than this temporary body. Created by something far more magnificent than anything I can even begin to imagine. Life is now.

Too Long…

May 29, 2012

¬†since I’ve written. Life has taken twists and turns. Some good, some not so good. My errors are apparent as I write this at 7 a.m. on Tuesday after Memorial Day. The air is cool for now while I set here silently thinking my way on the keyboard. Even the birds are silent this morning, as if reserving each breath for when the day reaches its peak of warmth. Right now my hummingbird feeder is a daily comfort as I intently watch the tiny birds swoop in to drink the sweet nectar that I’ve carefully measured out for them. The trees with their sun streaked highlights and the grass with its flow in the hot breeze are next in line for peace. My mind is calmed by observing the flow of nature. While watching a lone chameleon one day, I thought how it must look upon the yard as a vast green ocean with its flowing¬†waves of grass as it sat perched upon the deck rail.¬† Sitting there, it seemed to be pondering life and then it was quickly gone to where ever chameleons go . I think they have the secret to life. Look, then move on to the business of getting done whatever it is you have to do for that time. No worries. Just getting on with their living. Sounds good anyway.

Any problem

February 3, 2010

in my life is mine to deal with. That doesn’t mean someone can not be a help to me (brainstorming, or simply listening). It means when all is said and done I make the decision on how to deal with the problem.