We recently bought a set of magnetic words called "Magnetic Poetry". (www.magneticpoetry.com) We put all the words, (nouns, verbs, adjectives, pronouns, etc) up on our refrigerator, and when inspiration strikes, someone writes a message or a poem. It's fun, and really stretches the limits of our creativity because we can only use the words that are there. Here are three recent creations:
CHAIN ME TO A CHOCOLATE MOON,
LET MY DREAMS BE SWEET AND LUSCIOUS.
SMELL IT'S EASY POWER SPRINGING,
WHISPERING LANGUAGE OF A GODDESS.
WINTER'S SAD SYMPHONY FADES SOFTLY
AS SUMMER MUSIC WHISPERS NEAR THE GARDEN,
DELIRIOUS WITH SPRING.
BENEATH THE MOON
HEAVES THE STORMY SEA,
POUNDING OUT A WATERY SYMPHONY.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
WAY BACK WHEN - 'Bama Days #2
OCTOBER 3, 1984
This morning we had what could only be called "The Great Shoe and Car Fiasco!" First of all, Ben missed the school bus because he could not find his shoes. He tore the house apart looking for them, and ended up suffering the great indignity of having to wear his Sunday shoes to school. He then caught a ride with Lenny, and I thought the shoe incident was over.
Shortly thereafter, Aaron sauntered out of his room wearing Ben's shoes. I was somewhat annoyed, but duly thankful that Ben had already left, thus averting a confrontation even more unsettling than the frantic shoe hunt had been.
About the time Aaron was in the middle of his cinnamon toast, Lenny, Ben and Mike Dean arrived back at the house announcing that the car had broken down over by the shoppette. Fearful of the showdown that would occur if the shoes were discovered, I cheerfully volunteered to drive the boys to school, and tried to discreetly usher them out the back door and into my car. But alas, Ben noticed Aaron wearing his shoes. The scene which ensued is difficult to describe. Ben, in his best high pitched shriek demanded the shoes back. Aaron insisted that he had "found" the shoes in his room (having, by the way, been left there by Ben while watching Aaron's TV on the sly) and wasn't about to return them.
Pandemonium reigned for a few terrible moments, but I was able to resolve the matter by promising Aaron that if he would return the shoes, I would buy him a new pair after he got home from work. His shoes were falling apart, and I guess no one had noticed till this outbreak occurred.
I then drove the three school-bound, but very late by this time, boys over to the shoppette and let them out to see if they could start the car while I dropped Quinton off at his school. When I returned, they had managed to start the car which had only been flooded, and were finally on their way.
Wow!! What a morning.
This morning we had what could only be called "The Great Shoe and Car Fiasco!" First of all, Ben missed the school bus because he could not find his shoes. He tore the house apart looking for them, and ended up suffering the great indignity of having to wear his Sunday shoes to school. He then caught a ride with Lenny, and I thought the shoe incident was over.
Shortly thereafter, Aaron sauntered out of his room wearing Ben's shoes. I was somewhat annoyed, but duly thankful that Ben had already left, thus averting a confrontation even more unsettling than the frantic shoe hunt had been.
About the time Aaron was in the middle of his cinnamon toast, Lenny, Ben and Mike Dean arrived back at the house announcing that the car had broken down over by the shoppette. Fearful of the showdown that would occur if the shoes were discovered, I cheerfully volunteered to drive the boys to school, and tried to discreetly usher them out the back door and into my car. But alas, Ben noticed Aaron wearing his shoes. The scene which ensued is difficult to describe. Ben, in his best high pitched shriek demanded the shoes back. Aaron insisted that he had "found" the shoes in his room (having, by the way, been left there by Ben while watching Aaron's TV on the sly) and wasn't about to return them.
Pandemonium reigned for a few terrible moments, but I was able to resolve the matter by promising Aaron that if he would return the shoes, I would buy him a new pair after he got home from work. His shoes were falling apart, and I guess no one had noticed till this outbreak occurred.
I then drove the three school-bound, but very late by this time, boys over to the shoppette and let them out to see if they could start the car while I dropped Quinton off at his school. When I returned, they had managed to start the car which had only been flooded, and were finally on their way.
Wow!! What a morning.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
WAY BACK WHEN - 'Bama Days #1
APRIL 13, 1984
Last night Ben came into my room and asked me for an assortment of very strange materials. I asked him what he wanted them for and he rather sheepishly admitted that he wanted to make a pair of nunchuks; a martial arts weapon of some sort. I firmly said NO, and that he was to pursue the idea no farther. I thought that was the end of it, but I should have known better.
This morning I received a phone call from Ben’s school informing me that Ben had been caught with nunchuks, and now had a police record for carrying a deadly weapon! Ben, being the inventive person that he is, had scavenged together the needed materials on his own, and assembled the nunchucks in his room on the sly after I thought he had gone to bed. He is in big trouble and will be suspended from school for an undetermined length of time. Naturally, Len is away on one of his trips and I was just too flabbergasted over the whole thing to deal with it. It will just have to be put on hold till Len returns!
Busted! Busted! Busted!
Last night Ben came into my room and asked me for an assortment of very strange materials. I asked him what he wanted them for and he rather sheepishly admitted that he wanted to make a pair of nunchuks; a martial arts weapon of some sort. I firmly said NO, and that he was to pursue the idea no farther. I thought that was the end of it, but I should have known better.
This morning I received a phone call from Ben’s school informing me that Ben had been caught with nunchuks, and now had a police record for carrying a deadly weapon! Ben, being the inventive person that he is, had scavenged together the needed materials on his own, and assembled the nunchucks in his room on the sly after I thought he had gone to bed. He is in big trouble and will be suspended from school for an undetermined length of time. Naturally, Len is away on one of his trips and I was just too flabbergasted over the whole thing to deal with it. It will just have to be put on hold till Len returns!
Busted! Busted! Busted!
Monday, April 7, 2008
HELEN, MY SISTER
I sat at the desk in our hotel room completely engrossed in my book when a sharp rap on the door startled me. The door opened slightly and a cheerful face peered around the edge.
“Housekeeping!” announced the owner of the face.
“Come in,” said I, and thus began a brief but unforgettable friendship.
The lady, who introduced herself as Helen, set to work immediately and while performing her housekeeping chores, spoke of many things.
I learned that she was born in 1942 in a poor section of Chicago. She had attended school with children of varied ethnic backgrounds, but at the end of the school day she and the other African American children were escorted back to their neighborhood and were expected to stay within those boundaries. She felt no anger or animosity toward anyone for this injustice, but accepted the fact that in those times “that was just the way things were.”
Helen had a happy home life, with several brothers and sisters, and good parents who taught their children of God’s love for them. They grew up with the certainty that even though the world discriminated against certain people, all were equal in God’s eyes. Their parents gave them the gift of self-esteem and confidence in an environment where self-doubt could easily have deflated them.
Helen is slightly round in shape and suffers from arthritis in many of her joints. Her knees are bad and require surgery. She has a heart condition, which causes frequent fatigue and often compels her to miss work. She did not mention these problems in a complaining way, but rather as a tribute to the hotel’s housekeeping staff for their understanding and kindness. Whenever she calls in to say she feels too ill to work, the management always tells her, “Just take care of yourself, Helen, and get to feeling better. We hope you will be back with us soon.”
Retirement is something she eagerly looks forward to. In November she will be sixty-six, and eligible for social security. She looks forward to spending time with her grandchildren. She is the mother of four, but one daughter recently died of sickle cell anemia, a severe and frequently fatal hereditary disorder common among those of African descent.
I suspect Helen could have completed her duties in our room quite quickly, but she lingered a full forty-five minutes to visit with me, puttering around and keeping busy all the while.
Not only did she freely share many details of her own life, but she was also interested in mine. She asked whether I had children, and when I told her she was sincerely intrigued.
“Wow.” She exclaimed, “Five Men!”
I told her about my eleven grandchildren; five boys and six girls, three of whom were triplets. She was ecstatic over this revelation, marveling and exclaiming about how wonderful it was.
The time passed much too quickly, and we very soon felt like old friends. Finally, when she could justify staying no longer, she came close to me and extended her hand in a gesture of farewell. What I saw in her eyes was genuine love and concern for a person she had known for less than an hour.
Though the circumstances of our lives appear different on the surface, the issues we deal with are much the same. We share a love of God and family. We worry about the world our grandchildren will inherit. We have elderly parents to be concerned about. We face health issues and the myriad of problems associated with aging. But above all, we are able to find joy amid the conflicts and complications of daily life.
I reached out and grasped her extended hand, forming a symbolic bridge between two lives. I had found a friend, a kindred spirit, a sister.
“Housekeeping!” announced the owner of the face.
“Come in,” said I, and thus began a brief but unforgettable friendship.
The lady, who introduced herself as Helen, set to work immediately and while performing her housekeeping chores, spoke of many things.
I learned that she was born in 1942 in a poor section of Chicago. She had attended school with children of varied ethnic backgrounds, but at the end of the school day she and the other African American children were escorted back to their neighborhood and were expected to stay within those boundaries. She felt no anger or animosity toward anyone for this injustice, but accepted the fact that in those times “that was just the way things were.”
Helen had a happy home life, with several brothers and sisters, and good parents who taught their children of God’s love for them. They grew up with the certainty that even though the world discriminated against certain people, all were equal in God’s eyes. Their parents gave them the gift of self-esteem and confidence in an environment where self-doubt could easily have deflated them.
Helen is slightly round in shape and suffers from arthritis in many of her joints. Her knees are bad and require surgery. She has a heart condition, which causes frequent fatigue and often compels her to miss work. She did not mention these problems in a complaining way, but rather as a tribute to the hotel’s housekeeping staff for their understanding and kindness. Whenever she calls in to say she feels too ill to work, the management always tells her, “Just take care of yourself, Helen, and get to feeling better. We hope you will be back with us soon.”
Retirement is something she eagerly looks forward to. In November she will be sixty-six, and eligible for social security. She looks forward to spending time with her grandchildren. She is the mother of four, but one daughter recently died of sickle cell anemia, a severe and frequently fatal hereditary disorder common among those of African descent.
I suspect Helen could have completed her duties in our room quite quickly, but she lingered a full forty-five minutes to visit with me, puttering around and keeping busy all the while.
Not only did she freely share many details of her own life, but she was also interested in mine. She asked whether I had children, and when I told her she was sincerely intrigued.
“Wow.” She exclaimed, “Five Men!”
I told her about my eleven grandchildren; five boys and six girls, three of whom were triplets. She was ecstatic over this revelation, marveling and exclaiming about how wonderful it was.
The time passed much too quickly, and we very soon felt like old friends. Finally, when she could justify staying no longer, she came close to me and extended her hand in a gesture of farewell. What I saw in her eyes was genuine love and concern for a person she had known for less than an hour.
Though the circumstances of our lives appear different on the surface, the issues we deal with are much the same. We share a love of God and family. We worry about the world our grandchildren will inherit. We have elderly parents to be concerned about. We face health issues and the myriad of problems associated with aging. But above all, we are able to find joy amid the conflicts and complications of daily life.
I reached out and grasped her extended hand, forming a symbolic bridge between two lives. I had found a friend, a kindred spirit, a sister.
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