Striding Out

it’s all in the strides

that move down the street ~ 

solid grey carpet rolled out beneath

a path laid down with creases and pebbles

quiet picket fence stands at attention

summer flowers nod and bow their hello

~ scent of dry dusty afternoon with

an abundance of sunshine blesses the day

“Never depend on the road, depend on your strides.”

~ Munia Khan, author

Without a Talking Stick

without a talking stick

opinions in abundance

pass around, 

weave in and out

fishing for solutions

sorting through beliefs

finding the right fit

for a common goal

without a talking stick.

“Give me the liberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely 

according to conscience, above all liberties.”

~ John Milton, Areopagitica

Brilliance

A spinning top clothed 

in curls and hairspray ~

ideas, plans, goals, dreams

hands waving wildly in the air

“Pick me!” “Pick me!”

wordy abundance spilling 

over one another, pushing 

through skills and manners

tempered by genuine caring

hanging back til summoned forth.

“Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.”

~ Alfred Tennyson

Author's note: Edited February 09, 2024

Trickles

Everything for heart and health

trickles through sands of time

filling the vessels of our lives

Abundance slips on by for some ~

vessels misshapen with holes punched from lack trying to gather joy, hiding it in corners and crevices

For others abundance is spread wide ~

vessels shaped with willing hands and hearts to gather and share joy for the journey ahead.

“While the heart beats, hope lingers.”

~ Alison Crogon, author (teen lit.)

The Comforts of Home

The comforts of home shift with memory, pieces of furniture from my growing up life, nestling the past in the present 

~ but only part of the past 

the part that brought me comfort.

Sometimes my real furniture looks dated and old, even my newest furniture ~ purchased because it fit ~

fit with the warmth of the past

all I ask from the past is comfort and safety

which memories are safe?

which need to be laid to rest?

My comforts of home?

the aroma of baking bread, a bubbling stew, fresh brewed coffee or roast chicken; the dirt under my fingernails after a good dig in my small garden pots, the sounds of CBC on Sunday morning, piano music and a whistling tea kettle, the whirr of my sewing machine, hum of the refrigerator and distant growl of lawnmowers

An abundance of sounds, aromas, and feelings - invisible heartstrings to the past.

“Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.”

~ James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room

Author's note: Edited February 09, 2024

Parenting is Tough

Parenting is Tough 

Needs and wants. There is such a fine line between those two. Growing up in the 1950’s it was between whether I needed books for each school year or whether I wanted brand new books for each school year. I was tired of getting the hand-me-down text books from a brother, a sister, a cousin or just someone across town. What I wanted was brand new books with beautiful shiny hard covers. Pristine pages with the black print so fresh it fairly jumped off the page into my absorbent young mind. But no! I got the hand-me-downs. Pages with corners turned over, scribbles on the margins, sometimes doodles curlicuing all around the margins and all in great abundance. Every kid that took ownership added their own personality in the margins. And then I grew up, got married and had to buy my children books - with our own money. All of a sudden hand me down books became valuable to me. I didn’t even mind the ‘additions’. Especially the doodles - shooting stars and stick men. I wondered why a certain line or paragraph were underlined or highlighted, but found that I would have highlighted almost exactly the same phrases. Now to get my children to understand.

“Really girls. The older books are better books!”

“But Da-ad. We want new books! The Johnson kids get new books every year. Why can’t we have new books!”

The twins were jumping up and down, faces scrunched up, hair flipping with each bounce.

“Girls. You are only in grade two! Not this year.”

Their excited faces froze in mid jump. Tears flooded their faces. I caved. I know. I know. I’m a bad parent. But their faces! Now what am I going to tell their mother. She made me promise - she made me pinky swear. But honestly? I’m more worried about how my girls see their dad.

“Perhaps it takes courage to raise children..”

~ John Steinbeck, East of Eden