Memories of being 7

My education career came to soon to my vagabond days and I had to settle into a structured day. I remember my first teacher as if I had just spent time with her today. Tall elegant, her brown hair pulled into a bun and a string of pearls about her neck. Her big smile, yes Ms Grace Boswell. But even in school where I advance quickly and devoured books by mind always returned to my little world around our house and I couldn't wait to get home,
The world outside our little one bedroom house, across from the movie drive in. In our front yard we had a huge tree that held our tree house. It was easy to hear and many a night we sat in our tree my brother and I and watched movies on Friday night.
I played in cotten fields and chicken coops and romped with our stray dog Butch. He ran with me, collapsed with me and licked my toes and made me laugh. That old yellow dog I loved so much I saw again many years later in the face of Old Yeller.
Awe life was good at 7.

Memories of my Life age 6

My dad would pull the sofa away from the wall and drape an old bed sheet across the top making a tent. My brother and I crawled in the space with my dad and spent the following hour or two in rapt attention listening to my dad recite poetry. His voice was mesmerizing and carried the perfect measure and unction to perfect poetry. How wonderful literature was when it came from my dads memory.
Whether we went down roads not taken, or sat by Walden's Pond, sometimes even being scared by the Raven, we never moved. The love remarks from a red red rose to Hiawatha we learned of a love of reading and took many trips to far away places.
Sometimes my eyes would droop and he would carry me to bed and hold me as he sang me to sleep with Mother the Queen of my Heart(not your typical bedtime lullaby) Sometimes breaking into a resounding yodel. Awe life was good at 6.

Beginning Series of Memories of my Life Age 5

Hog rendering day was fun. As they butchered the hogs to hang in the smokehouse, I learned at an early age the use of every part was important. From the boiling pot to render the fat and lye into soap and candles to the butchering section, everyone had a job.
We all gathered in the side yard, my great grandmother was blind, but she sat by the pot and
stirred with a huge wooden paddle.
My dad and grandpa did the deadly deed.
I and my brother usually stayed in the side yard listening to the squeals and hating it. These were sows I had probably rode or hung around there necks loving them.
But at a certain time we were called over and we got to cook the tails over the fire and the crunchy treat was indeed the highlight of the day.

59 1/2

Halfway to my big 60 birthday. I can remember when I was 20 and I was sitting in a rusty old blue truck, cuddled up listening to a deep loving voice describe to me how our life would be at 60. The comfort, peace and assurity of that voice telling me of a love that would still be strong, a home where we could sit on porch and watch the grandkids play, happy and at peace knowing our kids were producing the love we saw in the grandkids eyes and knowing they were secure.

Last night I got to keep my greatgrandaughter to spend the night. It was such a special moment.

The next morning we were in the bathtub, getting ready for church. I was washing her hair and she lifted her face and stared at be with these hugh eyes and a dop of water was under her eye and the long lush lashes were wet, And in that face I saw the same eyes I saw those years ago that gave me comfort and love and a promise of a future.

A future that died at 25 way to young. A promise that died and somehow I have never found another promise.

But in each of their eyes I see their future and promise and I weep with love and graditude for them.

Getting OLD

Of all the things to do...I stared too long in the mirror tody. What was I thinking ? Thats the point I went braindead and began to stare at the woman looking at me. Where did I go? Its like that email that goes around about suddenly not knowing who that woman looking at you is.

I started with seeing the crepe skin on my arms as I was applying my lotion. First I thought I am just dehydrated. But I'd have to drink a stock tank of water to replenish that skin.
Then I looked, I mean really looked at my jowls. As I have lost some weight they really fall down without the fat to hold them up. Heck that's a good reason alone to stay fat. :)

My eyelids droop down over my eyelashes so that I feel a hair is in my eye lots of the time. Maybe people think its an involuntary tick to brush my eye so often.

The tan on my legs doesn't seem to be from the sun.

Oh the joys of getting old.
Instead why don't I see the wisdom in my eyes, strength of my heart, stubbornness of my will and overwhelming love in my eyes. Nope that would be to easy hopefully others will see that. Well I can hope can't I?

Time to be selfish???

When is the time in life to be selfish? Is there a time to think of yourself? I thought there was. Yes many a time I gave into my mom's need to dress me in what she made..how I wanted a dress I chose from a store. I wanted to learn to cook..but it aggravated my mom to have me underfoot in her kitchen or she complained of how I did it. So instead I found other things to keep me out of her way.
My friends spoke ill of a sweet brown eyed boy that took time each day to walk me home. He carried my books and we held hand and walked in silence. He came home on leave as a Marine and took me to a football game in Amarillo. We rode in silence holding hands and I received kisses to my forehead occasionally as the miles went by. How I thrived in the quietness with a warm hand holding mine.

When as a young wife and mother I looked forward to time out of the house on my husbands nights off, but he wanted to sit home and rest. How selfish I was to want to go out.

My kids as teenagers always going, doing, wanting, needing. I ate cinnamon toast once a day so they had lunch money. I wore pants with seams sewn in leg and rayon blouses so they could have Jordash and Calvin Klein jeans and rabbit coats. Yes I was selfish to what they wanted over me.
They are grown with kids and grand kids of their own. How many times my weekends were taken with grand kids and errands for them and how very much I miss it now. Stolen time that is now gone and cannot be redeemed. How special the sweet moments when Raina says I Love You or Salem ask are you ok? How selfish I long to be. Precious time squeezed in with daughters, wonderful fast snatched moments that linger in my heart and mind. Selfish moments stolen and frozen in time.
I remember been shooed away from my mom and grandmothers way as they worked and I want to pull my grand kids into my world for times to freeze smiles, tears and gentle words. Yes selfish I long to be.
Times to touch, caress and joyfully embrace. Times to be included and enjoyed not tolerated or simply be in presence of. To be apart to be selfish of every nano second. Remembering love in young fresh faced boys and rowdy men in my life to remember and thrive and be selfish again.

What makes something important?

Am I the lone person or do others seem to have that one person they want to be acknowledged by . I have a somewhat good life, and yet I still have that yearn in my heart like a child wanting her parents approval. While I wasn't very approval worthy as a child it seems, because I rarely got it, I still have that one person that I strive for an acknowledging word.
I am not sure if I will ever get it. Usually anything I say or do is met with a way I could have done it better.
Why do I keep beating my head against a stone wall wanting what it seems I will never achieve. That old saying "Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me" These words are wrong for the words I hear and long to hear do definately hurt.