writing

Laundry

Wash Dry Fold and Hang,

Why is household laundry

A never ending thing?

We must be puppets,

So many shorts, jeans and shirts

Quick fold them before wrinkles set!

Sheets, towels, pillowcases too,

Fitted sheets are such a pain,

But looking forward to a fresh linen snooze.

Finally the piles are gone,

Hung clothes are still drying, but,

It’s good to have at least one chore done.

…until tomorrow!

writing

Just Fishin’

He leaned over to her, lightly tapping her on the hand. “Hey, want to go fishing?” His voice was a little raspy with age. His eyes still twinkled with love.

Her hands were wrinkled and covered in veins, but he still loved her hands. She leaned her head over to his shoulder. Softly, in her own shaky voice, she said yes with a bright smile. She loved fishing with him. It was time for the two of them to be together, alone… No kids or grandkids or neighbors dropping by unannounced.

She headed into the kitchen and packed up some ham and cheese sandwiches for them, a couple cokes, and some chips in a little cooler. He pecked her on the cheek as he headed to the back porch to pull together the fishing gear. She smiled and watched him disappear through the door, then opened the cabinet door. She pulled out two oatmeal cream pies and slipped them into the cooler.

He walked back in from the porch. He carried two poles, two collapsible chairs, and a tackle box. Atop his already capped head sat her floppy hat.

She turned and looked at him. “Ain’t you a sight!” She giggled as she pecked him on the lips. She picked her hat up off his head and set it down on the counter. “Ready to go?”

He winked at her as he headed out the door. She followed behind, locking up. They loaded up his little white Chevette, then climbed inside.

They drove off across the mountain to his favorite fishing hole. It was a wide spot in a cool mountain stream off a back country dirt road. Oaks and poplar lined the stream which curved across the landscape and small wildflowers dotted the grass where they parked the car.

He picked it because she thought it was pretty; not because of the fish. They set up their spot and cast their lines. It was a beautiful afternoon with blue skies and white puffy clouds.

She looked up and named the shapes she found in the sky. He loved her imagination, and took her by her free hand, just to hold it for a bit.

She looked over at him. They had lived a full life together, and she couldn’t imagine life any other way. It wasn’t always an easy life, but it was a good life. Nine children, fifteen grandchildren, and lots of family always surrounded them. But afternoons like this are what she really treasured.

It didn’t matter how many trout they caught, but they always came home with a few. It was dinner for Sunday after all! What really mattered was the time they spent together, loving each other for just being.


Inspired by my grandparents; great role models for how to give, forgive, and build love. We should all be so lucky!

writing

CPAP Mistress

It’s cold in our bed. I climb in.

The machine is already on, no closeness tonight.

I plump up my pillow before settling my head.

I shouldn’t be sad, it keeps him alive.

It also allows me to sleep without enduring sounds of sawing logs.

But it’s on already and he’s not even here.

It’s how I know. Not tonight. Not most nights.

Why can’t it wait until we have said our good nights?

He climbs into bed and delivers a quick peck,

then turns off the light and slides on the mask.

Tethered to his side, no more cuddles,

no more romance, only a hand if I’m lucky.

Most nights, it is his back.

I turn to my side, a tear runs down.

No wonder my dreams take me to other worlds.

Perhaps those worlds are the reality, and this is just a dream?

poetry, writing

The Maze of Life

I once thought life was a labyrinth,

A set path full of twists and turns we each take on our own.

The characters we meet along the way are but fleeting and random.

Now I see it is a maze, with intersections and decision points.

We encounter many and decide to join on a path for the journey.

We face dead ends, hearing others on the other side of the hedge, wanting to find them.

We come to places where we must make decisions to go back together or separate as the maze is too narrow for two.

We share this maze with our world and we come and go in each other’s lives.

The strongest connections find ways in the maze to reconnect, sometimes for just a moment, but others for a lifetime.

Perhaps these lucky few are tied together with an invisible string which can bring them together if they pull hard enough.

Am I one of the lucky few?