On their morning walk the other day the wife said something that perked up her husband’s ears

She asked if he realized they’d been taking these walks for almost 30 years.


And it got the husband to thinking of all the wonders they’ve seen in 30 years.

All the moments shared together…all the laughter, joy and tears…


30 years watching the neighborhood change…as people come and go

30 years getting caught in the rain…but never in the snow.


30 years of sunrises…each one a new surprise.

30 years of clouds and colors stretching endlessly across the sky.


30 years walking to the water…listening to the birds…smelling the morning air

30 years of dolphins, pelicans and eagles…waiting for them there.


30 years of watching people change…as they made this walk each day.

30 years of friends who have passed…while others moved away.


30 years watching their children grow…and then their grandchildren too.

30 years watching their lives unfold and relishing the view.


30 years noticing how they too have changed…how they now move a little slow

30 years of aches and pains and wrinkles…nonexistent 30 years ago.


30 years of walking…sharing hopes and dreams and fears…

And the husband wondered how it went so fast…these amazing 30 years.


Then he turned…saw his wife’s smile…and instantly…he knew

She was the reason for his 30 years of wonder…

She made each walk seem brand new.


And when the wife saw the husband’s smile

to herself she whispered his name

for as she thought about the last 30 years

she couldn’t help but feel the same.




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“Have I ever told you the story?” I begin and immediately hear my family’s collective sigh…

“About the time I was accidentally shot by an arrow…

and it almost hit my eye?”


Before I finish this question my children and grandchildren collapse in frustration to the floor.

It seems they’ve heard me tell this story…

a million times before.


And as proof this is a story they have heard…

and heard…

and heard…

they finish the rest of the story with me…

complete with gestures…

word for word.


We have many stories like this one… 

stories where the present meets the past. 

stories that bind us as a family…

stories that will last…

and last…

and last…


Stories repeated over and over again…

so when any of us is gone

those left behind can sit and smile…

as that memory lives on.


For without these memories of friends and family…

life’s recollections large and small…

without these stories oft repeated…


there would be no life at all.

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I love to wake up early when I can feel my house’s mystique.

I love to walk her rooms in solitude and listen to her speak.


I imagine she is always speaking…releasing memories I can hear

but in the quiet of the morning…they come in loud and clear.


So many moments I recall as I silently walk her halls…

because every memory we’ve ever made here

is imbedded in her walls.


She has seen a host of celebrations…everyone she stores away

so in the morning, when I stop to listen…she has quite a lot to say.


All the memories created here…babies crawling on these floors

toddlers walking, children singing…teenagers slamming doors.


Family dinners, birthdays, good times…the accomplishments…the miscues.

This house has seen much happiness…and her share of sadness too.


It’s as if time has been suspended…I know not why…or how

But I can hear and see and smell and taste these memories

as if they’re happening…right now.


Each step I take there is a memory, 

on each piece of furniture

behind each door

And I gladly pick and choose them…like a child in a candy store.


Realizing soon enough the day will begin…

for when sunlight replaces nightfall…

I know these wonderful cherished old memories…

will fade back into the walls.


Perhaps that’s why I love waking up early

not knowing what memories will be there when I arrive

not knowing as my house speaks to me…

what memories will come alive.



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It was a windy morning as we were walking down the street

when a hat came tumbling toward us and landed at our feet.


I was about to throw it in the trash, when, upon a whim

I turned it over and noticed a label…sewn into the brim.


'This hat belongs to Sam’, it read, ‘who often loses track

of where he sets it down…but he’d love to have it back.’


The hat was old and weathered…it’s stitching was a mess

But I tucked it under my arm and we walked to his address.


I couldn’t imagine why this hat was so important…and who would want it anymore

until we rang the doorbell…and Sam opened up the door.


“You found it!” He exclaimed, “I think, this time, I lost it by the sea.”

He thanked us as he held it to his heart…then invited us in…for tea.


He explained how this was his ‘lucky’ hat…he’d worn it all his life.

He was wearing it the day he met Bess, who would later be his wife.


He wore it to his three children’s births, on every family vacation.

He wore it to parties and weddings and soccer games and a host of graduations.


He continued naming off places he’d worn it…through all life’s milestones.

How he wore it to Bess’s funeral…and how he now wears it alone.


He said when he started to forget things, Bess put that hat upon her knee

“and sewed in this here label…so it would find it’s way back to me.”


“And it has!” He said as he rubbed that label. “It was Bess who was behind it.”

“She found a way for me to get my hat 

when she’s not here to help me find it.”


As we said goodbye and walked away…I glanced back and…imagine that!

Sam was waving from the window and he was wearing that old hat.


I guess you never know on any given day…the people you might meet

And what new wonders the capricious winds of fate will lay beneath your feet.


But if you happen to see a hat tumbling toward you…I hope you find he knack

to pick it up…because there’s a man who you don’t even know…


who would love to get it back.

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A Lingering Wish

All and nothing


To regale a tale of young love missed,

Leashed up leanings, lastly, unsews,

To show regret follows those unkissed,


Fated surprise came, with a twist,

Emptied hands, devoid of pose,

Tells the fail of young love missed,


Fallen eyes, to chest, in wist,

On leaden lips, a pursed ripple rows,

Now regret follows those unkissed,


A roving gaze for a cravings tryst,

A lingering wish, glanced, yet knows,

The welling vale that young love missed,


Lost, as lost as in a mist,

Chaste desires resided in repose,

How regret follows those unkissed,


Infernally speared in daydreams blissed,

Sorrow; a hollow net of woes,

So tells a tale of young love missed,

Now regret bellows for those not kissed.


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Uncensored Glance

All and nothing


When our eyes met,

Your face blew up,

With surprise and

In the shock, I

Caught a glimpse of something,

Held deeply,



It was then I knew,

Feelings don’t diminish,

They try in vain to,

Fall from view,

Maybe you saw it

In me,



Only your drifting gaze,

Led secrets out,

Untold, to sift my memory, anew,


What would we have had,

If we’d had the chance?

How I wish I’d known,

I painted your eyes,


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All and nothing

Some days,

when I've nothing better to do,

I pull out all my cardboard-

Cut-outs of you,


Pristine portraits,

Untinged by time,

Stills, provocatively,

Scissor my mind,


Quiet ripples,

Replayed and start,

Strident feelings,

Unfounded and stark,


Scentless posed thoughts,

Bring forth a past smile,

BLINK: And you're back,

  Into storage awhile.

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I was moved to smile the other night when I, once again, became aware

How life looks pretty good to me from the comfort of my favorite chair.


And it made me wonder…When did it happen?

For it was subtle…no fanfare…

When did this chair I choose to sit in

became my ‘favorite’ chair?


Deborah and I take a walk each morning, 

enjoying the beauty, breathing the air,

We eat our breakfasts side by side

seated in our favorite chairs.


When our children were little we had our routines

filled with laughter, love and care…

bedtime stories, meals around the table

seated in our favorite chairs.


We love when our grandchildren visit…

In our house you could find them there…

on birthdays, holidays, dinners together…

sitting in their favorite chairs.


As we grew older our routines changed.

The entire family can’t always be there

but those of us who can attend

find comfort in our favorite chairs…


There’s something safe about a favorite chair

for no matter where we roam

we know it’s patiently waiting for us

to welcome us back home.


Perhaps that’s why we smile

as we curl into them with ease.

for we realize our favorite chairs

our filled with favorite memories.


Perhaps that’s why I smiled to myself

and I, once again, became aware…

How life looks pretty wonderful


From the comfort of my favorite chair.

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He was always talking about life and love. 

He loved Autumn leaves and winter snows.

And he loved to share thoughts of philosophers, 

of wise men…and Eskimos.


I loved listening to his stories…

for when he spoke his eyes would glow…

and my favorite stories throughout the years…

were those of Eskimos.


He often talked of birth and death…

saying…that's just the way life goes…

He’d ask, “Do you know whose view of death I find enchanting?”

I’d answer…”Would that be the Eskimos?"

He said when Eskimos look to the stars at night

they often smile and sigh

for they don’t see the stars as stars…

they see openings in the sky.


Openings from where, on the other side of heaven,

a loved ones light shines through

to let you know they’re safe and happy

and watching over you.


His stories…now a memory.

his eyes long ago lost their glow…

but when I search the stars at night…

I think of him…and Eskimos.


and  when I find a certain star…

I will sit back, smile…and sigh

for I know he’s smiling down on me

through his opening in the sky…


And I’ll remember how he talked of life and love

of his love for Autumn leaves and winter shows…

of how he shared thoughts of philosophers…


of wise men…and Eskimos.

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