Indulgent Daydreams Blog

mother mixed the juice -
orange, grape… whatever there was…
then “whizbang” was born!

save the whales he said -
a big surprise to us all…
words from father’s mouth

I want to go home -
back to the safe arms waiting…
my heart aches for that

apricot cobbler -
kitchen window, birds singing…
missing my mother

I have a white rosebush that lives outside my window. It was planted by my grandmother probably 70 years ago at the home where I grew up. When my parents passed away, and the house sold, I dug up the rosebush and moved it to my home in West Texas. Years later, when I moved to Central Texas, I dug it up again and moved it here. It has three times been transplanted, and grows larger and more beautiful each time. The blossoms are miniature roses and grow in clusters.  They are very fragrant, and their scent takes me back to my childhood.  I remember having them in tiny vases, or glasses,  in the kitchen all my growing up years, and even after I was grown and went home to visit. So, I continue the tradition.

One of my favorite places to go as a child for a place of quiet was a flowerbed of violets in our back yard. I loved the tiny purple blossoms. They were intriguing to me. It was a shady, cool, quiet, out-of-the-way place that was perfect for relaxing and reflecting. My grandmother (that planted the rose bush) loved violets and pansies. She is probably the one that started the violets there. Sometimes I think I might be her. She died the year before I was born. My father said I always reminded him of her, even as a tiny child.  Though I never got to meet her, I am sure I know her.

the old white rose bush -
flowerbed of violets…
generations three

stars daytime and night -
smiling down from open sky…
tiniest angels

precious little boy -
such tiny toes and fingers…
prayers for baby Jake

the look of her smile -
the touch of a mother’s hand…
things we miss the most

she gave me a card -
said: memory keeps you near…
not near enough now