I like to make things I’ve never made before and I love to bake. Over two years ago I made the perfect Cheesecake (something I am not fond of), it is truly a labor of love and turned out perfectly. Anyway, its fall and I have been wanting to bake.

I found a highly rated recipe and went from there, Lemon Blueberry Scones from scratch. As I pulled them from the oven I thought about my Grandma and wondered if she would like them. My Grandparents raised 6 children in rural Ohio and they always had home-cooked meals, nothing quick and easy. Everything took time, patience and a whole lot of love.

My Grandparents were born in 1907 and 1908. My Grandma grocery shopped with a fifty cent piece for the family and she could shop sales at different stores on that. My Mom told me that Grandpa supported the family on $5 a week and also farmed his land. Granted they had fresh vegetables from their garden and always put up food. When you put up food, its canning or other means. My Mom told me that my Grandpa would dig a pit and fill it with straw. He would put cabbage and apples in there and she was always amazed that he could reach in and know exactly where things were. There was also a crock on the porch in the winter that they would layer with grease and hamburger patties.

So tonight when I pulled the scones from the oven I thought about my Grandma, wondering if she would like them, if I bake like she did? I am grateful for my memories and my Mom’s as well and having such good Grandparents.

Here’s to new challenges and good memories.

Her voice

A long thin ring

and she answers

there is the voice she has heard

for as long as she can remember

and there is this day

She listens as she shares her day

sometimes

she shares it more than once

but thats how it is now

and she detects what some don’t

and the woman tells her

she feels like she belongs

nowhere

and she tells her she loves her

and understands

and they exchange a little more

and a little less

until she cant breathe

and they go

and she knows

she loves

the comfort of her voice

February 19, 2019 0

This morning as I searched for words to feed my soul, I came across the sweet perfection of Joan Miro and her thoughts on two of my favorite things. Paint and words.

Her words tasted so sweet, filled the void and sparked a creative place I sought to satisfy. Twice in the last few days I have been diving deeply into my writing and lost what I was working on. I think that my words weren’t supposed to make it here…that I am capable of more, of something greater.

I have often entertained the idea of writing a piece based on a painting or painter I know, or even a friend who is a photographer and has captured something that sits with my soul. Something I can’t let go of. A story I need to tell or a poem that is seeking to escape the corridors of my mind.

Paint and poetry….black and white, full of brilliant color and life. I resonate with people I know who paint and who write. Art…it lights and fuels the creative fire. I think people light people up that way. Joan’s words sent me spinning…not able to think, see or do anything for some time after letting them settle in and absorbing the full-scale of what they created within my written mind.

I felt the love story of the Painter and the Poet, their love affair

The two people who create from damaged places and never cross paths

The two who find each other after many lifetimes of waiting and light the world on fire with their art and words

The mother and daughter….the times she cherishes that are no longer here. She holds those moments in her heart.

Friends who bond over rose tea and write about life and love

The way the paint feels on my skin and looks on my clothes when I am done

The words that tell a story. If I close my eyes I can remember the moment I picked up a brush and how it felt.

The words.

The.

Words.

THE WORDS.

The words….

I can tell you about the poem I wrote for him and how it will never mean as much to him as it does to me. The poem I wrote for two mothers, for a best friend, for a life that is no longer here, for a love that I crave….I can tell you the moments that led me to my words. How people lifted me up, destroyed me and taught me the most valuable lessons I have ever learned.

Can you paint me a picture? It will give life to my words.

Paint your life….Write your life…but more importantly love your life. Create your life. Whatever your modality is dive so deeply into it that when you surface you are satisfied in a way that fills you up so completely.

So there it is….my words

Peace for this Sunday in your life…and for every day ❤

Tag: mothers

Lemon Blueberry Scones

Her voice

And I tripped and fell in love….