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Earth Songs

In early morning earth tunes up its harp.
Emerging from the flat dark night, the sharp
shrill bird songs call me from my silent sleep
where I in cottoned quiet cannot keep

my consciousness awake. I spiral down
to places where my dream becomes my town.
I star in my own movie, watch the flow
of action, but then with the morning’s glow

remember nothing. Now the flutes sing tunes
and I come into wakefulness. Day croons
its melodies from sunrise into bright
surprises. Could these gifts have come from night?


Christmas Past

Albums from my shelf stare at me-
Don’t take them down, my heart screams.
My hand reaches up, my soul wanting to see
the sweet face of my baby, the glimmer of the tree.
Presents piled high-touching the limbs.
Pictures of lots of kids, lots of different trees.
The tears I knew would come, fall down my cheek,
In a quiet house, my oldest  ones all grown,
Families of their own, their houses now with those
glimmering trees, those piles of presents.
And my baby, the baby from those days, gone.
I visit his grave, decorate it like a table in the den.
I cry there, with his younger brother with me.
Not even born when those pictures were made.
I made the cookies, wrapped a few gifts, got cards.
I went on the church outing, held my tears, my breath.
Christmas, it was so wonderful, hope, peace, love.
I knew better than to believe it would last for me.
I need to get a new album, this one is falling apart.
Like my life did. Tears fall as I replace it on the shelf.


Have A Holly Jolly Christmas


The male is above


and this is the female





I bought these two plants for my parents and placed them into the ground as tiny plants in 2000 twelve years later they are shoulder height on me and need to be pruned but every time I want to Mom says “Then I won’t have flowers or berries for the birds.”   Gee even I Trim MINE


Holly is one of those plants that make you think of Christmas

Have a Very Merry Christmas

Peace and Love


The Red Kettle Man

Walking towards the grocery store in the December wind, we heard the familiar bell of a Salvation Army Volunteer.
“What’s that sound?” asked my five-year old grandson.
“He’s called a volunteer.” My teenager replied. “He collects money for people who don’t have anything.”
“My grandson looked up at me and asked, “Beebee, can we give them something?” “Sure,” I said, reaching for some change.
He smiled as he listened to the coins jingling into the red kettle.
“God Bless you!” the older man said as we walked by.
“He already has.” replied my grandson.03210020

A Tale of Woe

This is not a poem, but unfortunately it is true. I have a need to share this because every part of it is so ironic. Hope you don’t mind.

So I was online the other day doing some online Christmas ordering, and had taken my wallet out of my purse. At that time I didn’t have my Visa number memorized. Believe me, now I do! Anyhow, I plopped my wallet down on the table next to the recliner as I ordered online. I felt so happy with myself, getting this done…

…except for the fact that the gift I ordered for our son, something that is custom-made, would not be shipped until Fri. or Mon.

What’s wrong with that? you are wondering.

Well, because certain members of our family are traveling this Christmas, including my husband and me, we are celebrating our family Christmas this Sun. Now, I’m the kind of mom who just cannot bear to not have a gift for our son on the day we celebrate. I will tell him, of course, that his gift is on its way. But in the meantime I wanted something else, something small, for him to open.

Now, he’s a police sergeant, and I had gone online to look up “gifts for policemen,” and saw something that I just loved. It was a tee shirt for a child with the words “My daddy can arrest your daddy” emblazoned on the front.

Our son has a daughter who is almost 2 1/2. I thought this would be a great idea, so off I went to the local tee shirt store to order one. Now, “local” isn’t exactly accurate, as this store is about 40 minutes away from where we live. Anyhow, figuring that they would have shirts in small sizes, I was disappointed to find out that the smallest they had would be too big for our little S.

One of the gals who works at the store suggested that I “run to Wal*Mart,” pick up a little shirt (it had to be white so the colors wouldn’t bleed), bring it back, and they could do the printing. I decided just to have it screen-printed rather than embroidered, to save time.

So off I went to Wal*Mart, but I drove and drove and drove, no Wal*Mart in sight. A long time later I found it, farther down the road than I thought. I ran in, found the perfect little white shirt, and, as I wandered around, found all of the last-minute items on my Christmas list. At Wal*Mart, no less. So off I trundled to the checkout with my cart, so pleased with myself.

The lady in front of me had a cart heaped up high, and she all of a sudden turned to me and said, “She (meaning the checkout person) had to tell me now that she’s closing this lane.” She was not a happy camper. I, however, had few enough items that I could do a self check-out. I scanned the items, punched “credit,” thinking how perfectly everything had gone, when…

…I reached into my purse to get my credit card.

“The best-laid plans of mice and men…”

I’d left my wallet at home, on the table next to the recliner!

Now, not only was I driving illegally, but I couldn’t pay for my purchases. Oh wait, my rattled brain thought. I have another idea.

“May I write a check?” I asked the lady.

“Sure,” but I’ll need to see ID.”

But of course. And where was that ID? In my wallet. At home, on the table next to the recliner.

“Is there anything I can do,” I practically wailed to this poor lady, who was trying her best to help me.

People were lined up behind me.

“No, honey, I’m sorry, there’s not.”

I hate it when people call me ‘honey.’

I could feel my temples pounding and my blood boiling.


“I’m sorry. You can leave your purchases right here.”

Purchases. Hmm. I didn’t get to purchase them. Great. So off I went, back to the tee short store, tears waiting to overflow. I called my husband, saying, “If you want to talk to someone who is upset, angry, mad, and furious…well, you’re talking to her.”

Long story interrupted.

“I just got home from work. Give me a half hour and I’ll be right there.”

Yesterday was my husband’s birthday, and there’s no way he should have had to do this, but he drove the 40 minutes (or so), bringing me my wallet, money, ID, credit card, and himself to calm me down. Meanwhile, in the store, I had told the people about this being his birthday, and the owner said, “When he walks in the door, we should all sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to him.”

And we all did. He’s such a good sport, and we had a big laugh.

Then, I’d decided that I’d check out the two Dollar Stores in this town rather than trek all the way back to Wal*Mart, this to save time. Of course, wouldn’t you know, neither of those stores had a size 3 white shirt. So back to Wal*Mart we went. I bought the shirt, feeling very proud of myself at the checkout counter.

This girl has no idea what I’ve been through, I thought to myself.

Back to the tee shirt store — again — and T. grabbed that shirt out of my hands. We decided on the font and navy as the color for the lettering, and they said they’d have the shirt ready on Fri.

Whew! It really happened. I did it. Finally.

Do you think this story is over? Right. Think again.

So in the evening we’re at our daughter’s to see their new kitten. I was relating my tale of woe, ending with, “And they are so nice that they’re going to have it ready on Fri. for me…”

…at which point my daughter looked at me and said, deadpan, “But Mom, you’re not going to be home all day Fri.”

Which is true. We have to drive across the state for an appointment with my neurologist, and we won’t get home until around 7:30.

Is it Murphy’s Law that says, “If it can go wrong it will go wrong”?

So I called the tee shirt store this morning to ask whether they might be able to leave the shirt at a nearby business so we can pick it up on Sat. They will be calling me back with arrangements.

All of this because of a little shirt that cost $3.88. Well, no, truth be told, it’s all because I left home without my wallet. It’s my fault 100%. Even though this is for our little granddaughter (and I want to get her some navy leggings to go with the shirt), I’m going to give it to our son as his present to open on Sun. when we gather because I think he’ll get a kick out of it.

At least it will make for quite a story.

My Father’s Last Birthday

At the juncture

of life and almost-death

I saw him,

89 years, old,

surprised him on his birthday.

Balloons couldn’t cheer the room,

the gift bag too heavy

with its weight for what was to come.

We pretended cancer had not stabbed

him in the gut, but all around

the ghosts of Future leered.


The Nature’s Gifts

Passing by those trees, the trees I have been viewing for almost half a decade now still brings in me the joy- the pleasure, on seeing their flowers sway in full bloom and their leaves filled with that beautiful sap. Oh! How much difficult it is to engrave this much of beauty within my soul… within me?

Well, something like that happens with me whenever I see those special gifts from the nature, all the way surrounding me.

Have you ever felt so? Do share your experiences!


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