#memories

Uncrushed

Folder: 
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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FAVORITE CHAIR

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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OF WISE MEN...AND ESKIMOS

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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WALK AROUND THE HOUSE

I took a walk around our house this morning

And, as through each room I roamed,

I silently wondered to myself

when did this house become our home?

 

I passed the little chair Deborah sat in 

at her house when she was small.

Our children and grandchildren have sat there too…

It now sits unused…against the wall.

 

I passed what looks like an ordinary door…

in the the hallway…painted white

On the other side…a family history

recording years in terms of height.

 

On a desk in the back bedroom 

as I step in past the door

I’m drawn to a picture of Deborah’s Mom and Dad…

remembering when they once waked these floors…

 

In this same room sits an old trunk 

which is not quite what it appears

for that trunk is filled with a host memories

we’ve made in 30 years…. 

 

I remembered how this old house was just a house

the first day that we spied her….

I think, perhaps, she started to become our home

with our first memory made inside her…

 

And how all the succeeding memories

no matter how big or small

have filled this house with wonder

as they painted themselves upon the walls.

 

And I had to stop and smile

in every room I roamed…

recalling all the memories

 

that have made this house…our home.


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MOVIES IN OUR MINDS

MOVIES IN OUR MINDS

 

When we close our eyes to remember…

people, places or times we left behind…

Each memory plays inside our head…

like a movie in our minds.

 

A mind that contains our movie archives…

with memories longstanding…

For as longs we keep making memories…

our archive keeps expanding.

 

I can close my eyes and remember as a young boy…

a snowball fight…

Sometimes I remember in color…

sometimes in black and white.

 

I have so many movies to choose from…

a quick search then I press play…

and I can remember friends from yesteryear, 

or moments from yesterday.

 

I can slow the movie down, rewind it 

or stop on individual frames…

I remember reading bedtime stories, 

I remember Grandma and Grandpa playing games.

 

I can replay tucking our children in for the night 

and then without delay

switch the movie to a vacation together, 

a dinner…

a holiday… 

 

There are movies filled with noise and chaos…

others with laughter…some with the tears…

Movies of a family growing up together 

spliced together through the years.

 

How lucky are we to have this ability…

to close our eyes and remember times we left behind…

to access memories inside our heads…

that play like movies in our minds…

 

I wonder if that’s why we close our eyes…

whenever we look back…

To better focus on the movie…

the theater must be black.

 

 

 

 

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WHEN YOU WANT TO SEE ME

“Your dad died many years ago.” I said. 

“Yet you never visit his grave.”

“Did you have a falling out?”

“Is there something you never forgave?”

 

She smiled.

“Dad took my hand when he was sick.”

“In a few moments...he would fade.”

“He said, there’s no substitute for the time we’ve had...

and the memories we’ve made.”

 

“Our future’s about to be taken...

and I know that doesn’t seem fair...

but whenever you want to see me...

visit your memories…I’ll be there.”

 

“I don’t need to visit his grave”, she said,

“and I know he wouldn’t mind

for I visit him whenever I want

 

in the memories he left behind.”


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A THREE HOUR LOG

The first night was to prove to us there were special times ahead

When we lit a 3 hour log in our fireplace before we went to bed.

 

We all slept soundly comforted by our dreams, not much tossing…not much turning

And we awoke to find that 3 hour log, in the fireplace, still burning.

 

Have you ever wondered what makes a host of little memories join together to form a whole?

What etches them into our heart…what imprints them on our soul?

 

Our family members from all over…filling up their cars…going for a ride

meeting at a state park where we rented two cabins side by side.

 

An owl was there to greet us, Nana’s chocolate chip cookies, a riddle book…

Playing football between the palm trees, lasagna that took all night to cook.

 

Sitting outdoors by a campfire, walking a boardwalk under a star lit sky…

Listening to birds sing in the darkness…shining a flashlight on alligators eyes.

 

Sharing a cabin with two grandchildren…hoping they would not hear me snore…

Playing Pictionary together…on the cabin’s wooden but sandy floor.

 

To guarantee you have a host of happy memories there is only one sure fire plan…

You get together often…and make as many as you can.

 

Waking up early, heading back to the boardwalk in the coolness of an Autumn breeze

Seeing the birds we only heard last night as the sun peeked over the trees.

 

Wherever we looked…all around us…birds of every size and color could be found…

Cranes and kingfishers and herons…eagles in the sky and on the ground.

 

Hiking through the woods…losing track of the time of day

Walking on the tree tops across a bridge that bounced and swayed.

 

Memories that hopefully will remain forever within our brains

A hammock nestled between two trees…grilling in the rain.

 

Card tricks, playing poker and Uno as outside began to flood

Sitting on the porch and watching children playing in the mud.

 

Home-made chili with rice and macaroni served up on a rainy night…

An inside campfire, eating s’mores…with marshmallows cooked just right.

 

Ending the evening playing Reverse Charades as socks by the fireplace dried…

Playing together as a family and laughing until we cried….

 

Yes, coming together and making memories is what life is all about…

 

And if we’re lucky, like that 3 hour log…some memories will never burn out.


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OLD FENCE

I love old fences…they remind me of an era…

an age that was simple and slow.

They are rustic, pastoral…picturesque…

and harken to a time long ago.

 

They span generations…they are a link to our past…

In the present…they can still be our guide…

and when we climb them we gaze into our future…

waiting for us…on the other side.

 

It’s easy to tell by their crudeness…

They were built with a few tools…all by hand.

You can find them all over the countryside

they add beauty and texture to the land.

 

They were valuable to the farmers

They controlled livestock while allowing the wind in to air condition the trees.

They were places to sit and talk with your neighbor

to exchange ideas…or just shoot the breeze.

 

Old fences remind me of dreams that I’ve had.

Dreams built in another time…long gone by…

Perhaps they have weathered a little over the years

But they’re still standing today…as am I.

 

We need old fences in our life…

as mementos of the dreams we’ve amassed…

to remind us as we look to our future

 

It’s still wonderful to remember our past…


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ROCKEWR ON THE PORCH

It’s just a weathered old rocker sitting on our porch…

It looks a lot like all the other ones to me.

But this one is a little bit different…for it has a history.

 

This rocker sat on Deborah’t Great Grandmother’s porch…

and I think it would be fair…

To say of all her furniture…this was her favorite chair.

 

This rocker began in a simpler time…

when people still sat and enjoyed the night…

Before television…cell phones and I-Pads…

when all photographs were black and white.

 

This rocker passed from Deborah’s Great Grandmother

to her parents…and it always made them smile…

to sit and remember the good old days…

and now it’s Deborah’s for a while.

 

How many starry nights has this old rocker seen…

and the older that it gets

how many rainbows will it gaze on…

how many sunrises…how many sunsets?

 

I wonder how many people have sat in this old rocker?

By now, it’s hard to tell…

how many people she has welcomed in…

and asked to sit a spell.

 

It’s old and a little weathered…from the heat the cold…the sun…

but her history is not quite over yet…

 

there’s still a lot more rocking to be done.


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