Where We Came From

Sisters

A cousin

Stories and old photos

Supper out (more stories)

Scrabble (I lost)

Sisters (research)

“In every conceivable manner, 

the family is link to our past, 

bridge to our future.”

~ Alex Haley

This is A Moment

This is a moment when 

memories tug at my heart 

begging me to tell their stories. 

Stories of the first day 

trying to ride a bicycle, 

of all dressed up for 

the first day of school, 

of the brick wall of that 

school where we bounced

rubber balls with white, blue and red

raced each other on 

a sliver filled teeter totter

Skipping ropes - Double Dutch so much fun!

Hop Scotch on the sidewalk at recess

Swinging on seat polished swings

Each of these moments 

of fun tucked away in my 

heart for a moment for story.

“As long as there are memories, yesterday remains.”

~ Billy Joel

All in my Head

Until I’ve got it sorted

a choice is merely 

a game of ping-pong

in my head ~

worries are like that

until confidence shows up.

“We either make ourselves miserable, or we make ourselves strong. 

The amount of work is the same.”

~ Carlos Castaneda, Latin American author

Like a Puzzle

Alone with 

my thoughts 

that swirl, 

dip and dive 

I am comforted 

when 

they shuffle 

and regroup 

like a puzzle

coming into focus. 

Letting them play 

their games in my head, 

I can choose 

which to keep and 

which will serve

me in this life.

“The best thinking has been done in solitude.”

~ Thomas Edison

Lovely Whirlwinds

There were two of them ~ 

whirlwinds now spun away 

leaving in their wake

  toys,

   games, 

     flowers, 

       a birthday card, 

dishes swiped clean from chilli and stew

  dishes crumbed with chocolate cake and 

sweet memories of laughter, love and fun. 

and one cautious black kitty out of hiding.

“Children have one kind of silliness, as you know,

 and grownups have another kind.”

~ C.S. Lewis

Birthday Cakes and Games

What word floats by the window of my mind? 

The view from a window 

is so often the same. 

Houses and trees, maybe a man walking his dog, 

or a woman walking with purpose to work, 

perhaps children playing hopscotch on the sidewalk. 

Only the happy sounds of their play reaching my ears.

Each one of these 

has their own story, 

stories that 

I’ll never know. 

But stories that 

belong to them, 

stuck in 

back pockets as 

the man or 

the woman go on

their way through 

the next 24 hours.

And for the children, 

their stories have just begun 

with birthday cakes

and games of hopscotch.

“We do not stop playing because we grow old, 

we grow old because we stop playing.”

~ Benjamin Franklin