Remember I told you about my best friend well here she is with me on a very happy occasion, Graduation Day. I had been out of School since January and the last thing I wanted was to be apart of this ceremony. It was June, it was nice out and I had to go because Dad bought me this beautiful corsage.
Dear children,
I am the star -
No, not the enchanting, twinkling stars
In the dark night sky
Those, are for dreamers.
I am the star -
Glittering, alluring
The lamp to your future.
I am the brightest.
Come to me, dear children.
Into my world – your world – of A-Stars.
There are only stars, and the
Occasional
Shooting star.
There are no rainbows here for you to chase,
No fruitless quests for that pot of gold.
Child,
those, are for dreamers.
Join me in my song,
The chant of many -
Star, star, star.
A perfect, melodious harmony
Trembling with desire. Perfection. Rings in our ears.
Come to me, dear children.
I am the star that you need.
Not the twinkling stars in the night sky -
They are blind and dull.
Those,
Are for dreamers.
It’s 5 in the morning, and Marley the cat
Is screaming he’s hungry, that’s why he’s so fat
I stumble around him, on way to the loo
It’s always the first stop…admit it’s yours too!
~~~
Then head to the kitchen, and put on a pot
Of freshly brewed coffee, all steamy and hot
I tell dear old Marley, you’ll just have to wait
Can’t get our dear Gracie to meet the bus late
~~~
And as I am dressing, I’m racking my brain
In hopes that the mem’ry of dreams will remain
But rarely, if ever do I have such luck
They’re buried quite quickly in this brain of muck
~~~
I’m dressed and I’m ready, we’re out the front door
And happily head to the bus stop once more
We’re smiling and laughing and singing a song
Then here comes the bus ’round the corner ‘fore long
~~~
I wave my goodbyes and head back homeward bound
And there Marley sits, making nary a sound
I give him his breakfast, and maybe a treat
And now he can stay out from under my feet
~~~
I’m at the computer, with coffee in hand
To see what has happened in old Facebook land
Maybe I’ll blog a dear poem for you
If I can come up with a good one or two
~~~
Now off to my studies, and laundry perhaps
With thoughts sometimes swirling, like they’re running laps
But trying to focus, and doing my best
The time to relax will be after the test
~~~
When afternoon comes, Gen’ral Hospital’s on
It’s my guilty pleasure, I’ve watched it so long
And 2:30 comes and I head down the walk
To pick up dear Grace, and we have a nice talk
~~~
I ask her what kind of a day that she had
And what kind of homework, “well that’s not too bad!”
I get her a snack and we visit a bit
And then to the shower, if I haven’t yet
~~~
It’s time to get ready to head to my class
I want to do well, and not merely to pass
The classes are fun, almost all of the time
I’m glad to be learning, and I feel sublime
~~~
And now class is over, I load up my stuff
The day’s almost over, it’s not been too rough
I spend just awhile winding down this old mind
Then out of my scrubs, my dear bed looks so kind
~~~
As I lay my head on the pillow again
I lift up a prayer, and then say “Amen.”
But not that it’s all of the praying I’ve done
Throughout all the day I have talked to the One
~~~
Who blesses me daily, or may dry my tears
Reminds me He’s with me, and calms all my fears
And I close my eyes and before we both know
Another day’s over, to dreamland I go.
What are little girls made of?
Traditionally, sugar, spice and all things nice. Not sure how true this is. I know a few little girls who are like the ‘girl with the curl right in the middle of her forehead – when she was good, she was very, very good and when she was bad she was horrid.’ Not so sugary and not so nice. And a jolly good thing too, if you ask me. The need to stand up and be assertive is important for a woman as well as for a man, which may mean having the ability to be just a little bit horrid occasionally.
But boys are supposed to be made from slugs and snails and puppy dog’s tails, which is just vile. I don’t know where the rhyme came from, but the difference between the sexes can’t be that much surely?
And then I heard from a teacher the other day that she had a mum take her new baby into the classroom to show the children. All the girls and one or two of the boys came to study the infant, who obligingly smiled and occupied the class’s attention. Except for half a dozen boys, who took advantage of the (supposedly) distracted teacher.
‘Go on, I dare you. Go on’, one of the boys urged another. ‘I dare you.’
And the dare?
To lick a battery.
Need I say more?
Yes, once upon a time these sweethearts two
arrived, embroidering my heart with lace.
Each murmur, word, and baby charm with grace
moved me. I drank their smiles. And then they grew.
Now halting toddler steps, like on the moon,
mean more than just a motion. Opening,
the world becomes a stage to which they bring
their little talents morning, night, and noon.
That great big yellow bus, their backpacks new
unlock the wonders with which school will woo
them. Learn to read, do math, discover how
the world works, their ongoing job just now.
I, Grandma, stand alongside every mile
and watch as they grow up. See my wide smile?
From when these little ones walked through my door
my happy rating shot to ninety-four!
