Tag: childhood

Bittersweet Good-byes

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn poetryLeave a comment

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Some good-byes are unexpected

Seeming to come out of thin air

A sudden, tragic death with no chance for a proper farewell

 

Still others we wait for in agony and tortuous anticipation

A diagnosis with a termination date

Time to prepare, yes

But is there really enough time?

Each minute is precious

Each day a gift

Time for truths to be told

At last- the final moment- permission to leave and be released from pain

 

And there’s the relationship existing long past its expiration date

You take a step towards tossing it out

But the grip of fear holds you back

Starting over, being alone are the vises that lock you in

Then the hammer comes down and you are at once relieved and reveling

A warped dance of grieving a false love

and the  idealized version created for appearances

Mourning the idea and plowing the depths of sadness

Tending to it and then letting it go

 

Then they are the Someday good-byes

Ones you know will happen in life’s ebbs and flows

Children leaving the nest

Ready to tend their own gardens

You’ve given them the seeds and the soil and the rakes and the hoes

Their minds and hearts will continue to be sown

They are seedlings with strong roots

 

Each farewell challenging on its own

Each wrought with the messiness of change

Each allowing for transformation

And the the beginnings of a new day

 

Day 26. Can you sense a theme this week?  Preparing to leave this place is an exercise in quiet intensity and healthy sentimentality. The corners of the house have been poked and prodded. Old items-keepsakes from way back-have been rediscovered. The attic-though sparse- had its own treasure trove. The kitchen table has old photos scattered about. They haven’t moved for days. I’ll revisit them before I reorganize them and put them away.  Others are well-packed in albums and stored in a bin. Thanks for staying tuned in!

Recollections and Reflections

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn poetry4 Comments

Credit: imgkid.com

We’re taking a journey to the past

Deliberately digging

Rediscovering ourselves

Who we were back then

The cache of moments revealing treasures hidden away

Tiny Instances and minor flashpoints of lives in one place 

School times

Christmas times

Easter tides

Carnival rides

and Halloween’s candy treats

Snow days bundled up- oh  those rosy cheeks! 

Summer days, freedom days, no shirts and bare running feet

The world looked greener then, full of promise

The present is a place of demarcation

The time when the bond of bygone times bears fruit for the future

We stand together at the precipice, hearts pulsing

All systems go for the epic Act III

 

Day 24.  I don’t think I’ve ever felt so conscious of time as I have this week. Shortly, this house will be a part of our past. The boys will go together to their own place and I with my beloved. Honestly, it is very exciting, despite the work of packing up and getting rid of things. 

Hometown Blues

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn Home, Life's Journey, memoir, poetry2 Comments

Credit: patrickeades.com

Where once was my children’s childhood 

Interlopers arrived, knocking down forests

Cutting up well-worn dirt paths

  and paper roads

Replacing them with asphalt for new houses

Knocking down solid dwellings

Constructing cookie cutter outsized McMansions

that clog up the curve in the narrow road

Their children have no yards

Only swamps and useless driveways

 for their many cars and perfect perennial plantings 

This old house sticks out

An eyesore to others, maybe

A tired elder who shakes her head at the soaring towers the new neighbors call “home”

She will miss her inhabitants

The rowdy boys sledding down her hill in the big winters when they were little

Those 2 man baseball games in her drive

where second base was the bed of flowers by the bulk head

There’s still a worn patch of green that was the pitcher’s mound

One man catch and the throws that missed the net breaking windows in the garage

Shattered glass happily dancing to pieces on the ground

The swing set and fort

A place to hide

Games of “lion and zebra”

zooming and zigzagging on endless grass

The homemade sand pit on the side of the garage

Tonka trucks and shovels and pails

 A little boy’s excavation site that never did grow grass

The back forty a favorite spot for the first garden

and those pesky woodchucks!

Summers spent swimming in the kiddie pools

After you were too big, you made the  bonfire pit

A grown boy’s excavation dug with man-sized metal shovels and lots of muscle

Cold nights keeping warm by its roaring heat

Old enough now for hops and barley and other spirits that moved you

Summer nights of fireflies’ halos and cricket sounds and skunk smells

 and deer at dusk and coyote howls

They will visit you in your dreams

 

Day 23.  Happy memories amidst the changes all around us.

Times Before

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn poetry4 Comments

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Leafing through old photographs

Images of times before the times before

Young ones captured and captivated

in moments of absolute innocence

Times before the times before

Blond curls and waves crown wide open smile

Big brown eyes and chubby cheeks bursting with laughter

Times before the times before

Pure and unconditional love between father and sons

in the Times before the times before

the times before you lost them both

 

 

Day 22.  My oldest and I set about organizing old family albums for the move.  It’s astounding how many photos of the boys I took. Mostly simple moments in the big back yard.  This one came easily for some reason

Roots and Routes

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn poetry2 Comments

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Roads, paths, byways and highways

Places I have seen

People I have met

Those whom I have loved

They are beginning to exist in my memory

Dwelling in a happy space of a life well-lived

The long flat road of childhood

Pathways of the campus

The bustling avenue of a young woman

The winding lane of a small town

and the rolling hills that I have run upon

Streets pushing the strollers that carried my babies

The muddy country road in the mountains

and the long highway to John’s Island

Road trips, day trips, field trips and side trips

Mystery trips to the notches and beaches

I see them in my dreams

I have not yet reached the mountain top

and gladly so

Now I hold hands with my beloved

We stand at the gateway

Our eyes fixed on a new direction

Our hearts following their own path

 

Day 9. A dream scape poem that needed to be written.

 

Days Like This

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn Family10 Comments

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The house is quiet. The kind of hush that comes from the end of the holiday season and the bitter cold of winter’s kiss. The tree came down today and along with it all the decorations which filled this small space called home. I am at once sad and relieved. My last Christmas under one roof with my sons. No matter that a new life, a new start awaits us all-change is difficult. I don’t need to say good-bye to the warm memories of all the shared holidays; they are in our hearts and minds forever. Even though my boys are in the twenties (oldest turned 24 yesterday!), the little child in them still exists during this time of year. This despite their responsibilities as young adults at work in the wide and wacky world!

Last night as we sipped champagne, my youngest son’s best friend remarked as to how rich we are. We are indeed awash in abundance.  This wealth does not come from living an overly large home that is pristine in its vapid sterility. At best it is cozy with photos of family gracing shelves and tables. Moments of warmth and love captured and held still in time. Places experienced. The refrigerator door is covered and cluttered with quotes of the famous and not so famous ( that would be us!) and more photos-especially of the boys through the years. Our bedrooms reflect who we are and serve as a haven after long days when the outside world causes chaos.

Our wealth comes from a multitude of sources. We’ve grown into our present life through the fits and starts.  The rocky adolescence made worse by their father’s shenanigans and ultimate abandonment was tempered by the saving graces of therapy, our awesome faith community and the determination to always make joy and positive memories amidst the pain.  We mined loving nuggets of gold from these times.  We grew a new and better life.

So here I sit on this chilly January night, holding fast to all that is good. Preparing once again for a new phase. Glad to keep one another close as we walk the path together for a short while longer until the road diverges.

 

 

Buried Truth

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn poetry16 Comments

Credit: weheartit.com

I didn’t understand it then, but I understand it now…

What it means to be born from deceit

The lies they told themselves to protect you

I didn’t understand it then, but I understand it now…

Unconsciously rejected by the one who bore you

Lovingly accepted by the one who was betrayed

I didn’t understand it then, but I understand it now…

The secret kept from you until you were of age

You convinced yourself  that it didn’t matter anyway

I didn’t understand it then, but I understand it now…

Their union at last came undone, the past too much to bear

A slight shift in your world, one you could not even hear

I didn’t understand it then, but I understand it now…

You left them then, never to return again

 An anchorless  journey that continues today

I didn’t understand it then, but I understand it now…

Falsely sure of yourself and never whole

Flitting from place to place and woman to woman

I didn’t understand it then, but I understand it now…

Never quite trusting but always controlling

Hoarding your feelings, a collector of sins

I didn’t understand it then, but I understand it now…

The stain of  your beginnings remains with you still

A jagged edge, a dizzying precipice and a perilous fall

I didn’t understand it then, but I understand it now…

 Kellie gave us this one line today:

I didn’t understand it then, but I understand it now…

And this is what I created!

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#FWF Free Write Friday: Ponder this…

by Kellie Elmore

Hope’s Beginnings

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn Flash fiction14 Comments

This house has a story…what is it?

Image Credit: We Heart It

“Do you ever wonder what really happened in that house?”, Blake asked. They were sitting in the truck just moments after he and Julie had signed the purchase and sale on the former Stanton family property. Julie had grown up in these hills and was once close to Jeannie Stanton,  a childhood friend who disappeared one fall afternoon in their fifteenth year, never to be heard from again. Jeannie was one of seven children from that rag-ma-tag family where chaos and cracking heads ruled through the dirty deeds of their patriarch, Joe.  Jeannie’s mother was far from quiet herself, known to pull heavily on the tap at Smitty’s, the local bar where she worked serving drinks and other ‘amenities’ to the men from the local coal processing plant- long since closed and cleaned up. No one even knew for sure if all seven of the kids actually were Joe’s. The EPA finally did its job and the old brick campus had been successfully retrofitted and resurrected into  a world-class sound studio.  Famous musicians from across all genres recorded some of their best work in this forgotten corner of the state. Julia and Blake had become big hitters in attracting legendary acts to record and even stay in the area.

Blake, of course, had no idea of what to expect when he first entered Julie’s childhood world. They met in London, both working as sound engineers, honing their talent with the best of them. When Julie’s dad- an engineer and business man himself- bought up some of the old factory buildings from the government, he decided that some of them would work perfectly as recording spaces. Others he turned into research and development spaces. Soon he was attracting fervent interest from scientists keen on learning and creating new avenues into the world of sound.

On a return visit home with Blake last year, he and Julie had come across the abandoned property. Knowing its negative history had not stopped them from envisioning a place that would serve as a haven and respite for kid’s who were victims of abuse and neglect. Too many of the Stanton kids had become lost souls. Now that Julie had the means and connections to turn things around, she set her heart and mind on making it happen.

Just then, a rumbling sound came up from behind them. A fleet of contractor trucks loaded down with heavy equipment came roaring up the rough road. Blake planted  a kiss on Julie’s lips.  “Time to get to work,” she said.

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Another great gift from Kellie Elmore this week!

#FWF Free Write Friday: Image Prompt

by Kellie Elmore

Different Than The Rest

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn Flash fiction, Uncategorized13 Comments

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Nicolette hopped on the old big yellow for the first time once again. She didn’t bother taking a survey for possible seats to share with someone or even look for empty ones in the middle. Just sat herself down right behind the bus driver. She placed her side-saddle book bag on the empty space beside her. Of course, in 1973 no one thought to carry a bag for their books. Just wrapped them in paper bag book covers and a bungy cord. That’s if they even bothered with books at all. From her twelve-year old perspective, the only ambition that her peers had were playing spin the bottle in someone’s basement or smoking in the bathroom between periods. In fact, she could already smell someone’s morning high at the back of the bus.

She let out a heavy sigh.  A new school away from the safety and innocence of her elementary years where her teachers encouraged her intellect and her small group of friends felt free to be themselves and not follow the crowd. But when Daddy lost his job, they were forced to sell their small house and move to the local trailer park on the other side of town. Momma said it would be temporary and as soon as Daddy landed on his feet, they would buy another house back in their old neighborhood. Yet Nicolette-a girl Daddy said was born with an old soul-knew the family had a long road ahead of them. Dixsville Junior High would be her school for the next few years. A place where they said the inmates ran the asylum. Where the rough kids went. The Dixsville Dump. Not like Janesville where class sizes were smaller and teachers were respected and rules were followed.

Without warning, her brief reverie was disrupted. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her bag being moved to the floor. In its place, sat a long-haired “greaser” wearing a thin black leather jacket, dungarees and black boots. Nicolette dared herself to look him in the eye. Surprisingly, he had a tender, sweet face and a welcoming smile. “Hey there, you must be the new girl. Name’s Joey. You look like one of those smart chicks. Don’t worry, Dixsville ain’t as bad as you think. We’ve got some great teachers who look out for kids like you and me.”

Nicolette looked at him in disbelief. What was talking about?  Kids like him kept the teachers in line, didn’t they? And ate kids like her for lunch.  As if to clear her confusion, Joey asked her, “So what do have first period?”  All of Nicolette classes were Level 1-the courses for the geeks. “Geography with Mr. Fiske,” she replied. “Hey! Me too!” he answered. “In fact, all my classes are the Level 1’s this year. My dad said if I don’t get my act together and show some ‘potential’ (he said this word in a sneering tone) I would be shipped off to military school instead. No way I  am giving up this (he tugged at his jacket) for those  brass monkey suits.”

“HEY! MR. JOE SMARTY PANTS! COME BACK HERE AND HANG WITH US FOR THE REST OF THE RIDE!  “Oh. Looks like my boys want me.  What’s your name by way?”  With a quick and still shy smile she answered, “Nicolette.”

When the ride ended, she stepped off the bus first. As she walked the long portico to the roughly worn brick building, Nicolette knew it was going to be a memorable year.

Kellie took us back to junior high with this one! I know I am dating myself…

#FWF Free Write Friday: Time & Place

He Saw It In A Frosted Window Pane

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn Flash fiction15 Comments

Photo credit: www.flickr.com

He stood on the street corner in the shadow of the amber street lamp. The night was bitter cold and the promised snow was gently falling on the shoulders of the people who passed him by. They appeared not to notice him as the peals of their holiday laughter echoed down the hushed city avenue.

He never felt so alone. Bereft. He knew that she and her husband were back in the city for the holidays visiting family. Their sons were grown now with little ones of their own and she never missed a chance to be near her precious grandchildren. She bought the brownstone so she would have a place to stay and play on her visits. Despite the distance, it was clear that she had kept a strong sense of community here; the amount of guests entering the doorway provided enough evidence. Never mind the vibe of good cheer and love that seemed to dance through the bricks of the building.

He moved closer. His sons were not interested in seeing him once again this year. He was dying to see what his four grandchildren looked like-he had never met them or seen them in a photograph. He knew that they were at the prime age to experience the magic and wonder of the season and he longed to share it with them.

At once, the four appeared in the large bay window. Two girls and two boys-maybe four to six years of age dressed in their Christmas finery. A picture postcard of innocence and joy.

His heart wrenched and he fell to his knees. On this night-this eve-it came rushing back to him. The weight and force and pain of what he had walked away from all those years ago.  He was crushed and defeated. Weak. He rose slowly, his feet wet and cold, his fingers stiffened by the frost.  He had not walked far-just enough to be out of sight when an overwhelming sense of fatigue came over him. He sought respite in the nearest snow bank.

                                                 *********

“Hey, mister are you all right?”  The group of  revelers came upon him a few hours later, his body nearly hidden in the snow except for the black of his boots. “Aw Jeez man. I think he’s dead. Call 911.” The wagon came quietly. They loaded him on the gurney and checked for identification. None. Just another John Doe lost to the streets they thought. They could hope that someone would notice he was missing and give him a proper burial. But no one ever did.

I took a bit of liberty with the FWF title “I Saw It Through a Frosted Window Pane.” It fit with the story. I am sure Kellie won’t mind!

Take a look at the other great writers over there by just clicking on the link below:

#FWF Free Write Friday: Pick a Title