FOR MAMA

Mama crossed over on December 3,1971. 
I was nineteen, a newlywed, and so naive in the ways of the world.  Even though I believe with all my being that she lives in another dimension, happy and content, there are times when I wish desperately I could pick up the phone and hear her voice. This blog entry is not intended to be morbid but rather to honor and remember a woman that was taken before her time and before I could know her as my best friend.
                        No matter the age of the girl, she always needs her mother.

                                                                The Last Time

The last time I saw you turned out to be the last time.

To lose you at such a young age was an injustice and a crime.

If I only knew our time together was coming to an end,

I would have still loved you as a mother, but gotten to know you as a friend.

I would have asked about your life, ideas, and dreams.

And found the time to listen to your plans and schemes.

You put them on hold to raise brother and me.   

Did you ever regret that decision and wish to be free?

You painted beautiful pictures in watercolor art.

Clever and witty sketches conceived by a creative heart.

But, did you sing?  Did you act?  Did you want to dance?

Or travel to far-away places like London or Rome, or Paris, France?

Was Daddy the first boy you ever kissed?

Did you practice on your arm first, so his lips you wouldn’t miss?

So many questions, forever will remain a mystery.

Just little girly things shared over coffee and only with me.

If I had known it was to be the last time,

I would’ve called your bluff when you said, “Go, I’ll be fine.”

Never would I have stepped one foot on that plane

And flown away leaving you alone and in pain.

Somewhere in heaven I know you gaze down at me,

And smile at your grandchildren bouncing on brother's knee.

So, I promise you this when I take their hand in mine.

To cherish each day and live it as though it could be,

The very last time.

THANKFUL FOR FRIENDSHIP

I gathered around the table with my family this Thanksgiving, and stepped out of myself.  I do this from time-to-time.  It clears the head and gives perspective.  How I love family!  Everyone talking at once, babies crying, cats growling, great food, laughter, and joy. I drive home wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and security, thankful for blood family.  However, I am just as grateful for my “other” families.    

There are times when I wax philosophical and think deep, especially after a couple shots of Captain Morgan.  I ponder the mysteries of the Universe—our purpose,  reincarnation, extraterrestrials, who’s idea was money,  why do we have to work five days a week and only have two days off instead of the other way around—you get the idea.  The more “The Captain” and I talk, the more I think God got it wrong.  Then, it hits me.  God didn’t get it wrong.  People did.  Darn that “free-will” stuff! 

 But all is not lost.  One of the most important things People did get right is friendship.

What a terrible existence this would be without friends!

I am blessed with many friendship families: co-workers, witchy, four-legged, and writer to name a few.  So, this year I’m dedicating Thankgiving to my friends. A Girl Scout song, learned many, many years in the past, sums it up:  “Make new friends, but keep the old.  One is silver and the other gold."

 In my book, all are golden.

Rochelle & Koury: Happy Anniversary

A FAIRY TALE COME TRUE

Once upon a time

In her kingdom far away.

The beautiful Fairy Princess

Went about her demands of the day.

Always smiling and giving of herself

Her empty soul dreamed of her mate,

The Princely Elf.

Nightly wishing upon his star to tell,

The Prince Elf dreamed of this Fairy as well.

Knowing the magic of soul-mate love,

He summoned the help of the enchanted, white dove.

On a mid-summer’s eve in early June,

A chance meeting caused their love to bloom.

A single kiss lit a flame in their heart

That no earthly power dare to part.

Their souls re-united with a joyful sound

For something lost, had been found.

Burning, powerful love brings us here today,

To join the Prince Koury and his fairy, Rochelle

In a union predestined from God’s first day.

And if you doubt fairy tales can come true,

Or that spells can bring parted souls back to you,

Ask the Elf and his Fairy, for they will gladly tell:

Never doubt what your heart goes after . . .

With a kiss

They lived happily ever after.

FOR DADDY

   

I’ll Always Remember You

Is it that time of year already?

How can that be true?

Wasn’t just yesterday we threw out the old

And rang-in the new?

It doesn’t seem possible that it is again Halloween.

That the leaves now are turning,

And that they’ve crowned the Homecoming Queen.

A life I thought would go on and on

Suddenly stopped,

And a dear old man is gone.

Too many years have passed and have erased all trace

Of the man’s life, home, work, and face.

It doesn’t seem quite fair, this I know.

Better seize the moments, take every day nice and slow.

Because looking back, how fast changes really do take place.

Even though at the time they seemed to move at a slower pace.

What once was new has overnight turned old.

Insufficient events have turned to memories of gold.

Has it been over twenty years already?

It just can’t be true.

But don’t worry old man,

I’ll always remember you.

Dixie's got a Gun

 Writers know characters popup anytime and anywhere.  For example, my newest character, Dixie Dandelion, came to me when I was getting a haircut.  Maybe chopping off some of my thick, curly mane allowed smothered brain cells to breathe again. Perhaps the gremlin twins, Creativity and Inspiration, (go to http://www.daydreamingonpaper.blogspot.com/ to meet them) wanted to play.  More likely, a past life experience flashed in my head that day.  Either way Dixie Dandelion is a god-send. 

  Dixie Belle Dandelion is a rootin’, tootin’ cowgirl who lives in the wild railroad town Six Shooter Siding.  Trouble follows Dixie like a loyal hound dog.  In one scene she finds herself facing down the dastardly evil bad guy, Reese Calhoun, in a gunfight at the One-Eyed Jack saloon.  Dixie shoots everything except what she’s aiming at.  In the words of her "soiled dove" friend, Sassy Annie, Dixie “can’t shoot worth spit.”  Determined never to be caught flat-footed again, Dixie turns to the love of her life, Pinkerton detective, Jackson McCullough, for instruction in the fine art of pistol shooting. 

Since I too can’t hit fish in a barrel, research is required in this area.  Experience is always the best teacher.  With my newly purchased, Heritage Rough Rider Single Action Revolver in hand, I turned to Wild Turkey Jim for instruction on how the load the thing without shooting myself in the foot.  

I need a better location to target practice, however.  But where?   Captain Morgan in the trunk?  Six-shooter in the backseat?  Yep. Madison County here I come.

Deep in the woods of Booger County, ex-cop, Alaska Kevin gives me intense instruction.  Backed by his thirty + years experience in handling firearms, Alaska Kevin is both knowledgeable, patient, and a crack shot.  

I point the revolver like a finger and squeeze the trigger.  Yee-Haw, hit the target every time.  

The Dandelion Gang gives support and urges me on.  Gypsy Jan even fires off a few rounds. 

 

Thanks to Grumpy Greg, Wild Turkey Jim, and Alaska Kevin, Dixie has  a gun and knows how to use it.                   

                                      

Watch out boys, Dixie's packin'!

What's next for Dixie?  A horse, of course!

Interview with a Patriot Guard

United as one, they stand shoulder-to-shoulder to give final tribute to a veteran they neither knew nor met.  It matters not.

In blazing heat or freezing rain with America’s flag at their side, these guardians called Grumpy, Rooster, Wingman, and X-Ray stand steadfast.  Silent.  Respectful. Reverent.  For that is what Patriot Guards do.

Dressed in uniforms of leather pants and vests, they mount motorcycles to form the column that will escort the veteran on his last journey home.  Shiny chrome reflects the sunlight and United States flags blow in the wind behind their powerful machines.

Who are these unselfish men and women who give their time willingly to “honor those who risk their lives for America’s freedom and security?” 

Greg Weeks, a proud Patriot Guard Rider explains:              

Q.  What is the Patriot Guard?

A.  The Patriot Guard is a group of motorcycle riders that respect the United States flag and the servicemen and women who fight for it.

Q.  Why did you join the Patriot Guard?

A.  Some of the people I ride with were members and I wanted to belong to an organization that stood in a flag line during funerals and showed respect for veterans of all wars and non-wars.  Veterans that are killed in this current war should be shown the ultimate respect when they are laid to rest as well as their families.

Q.  Do you have to own and ride a motorcycle to belong?

A.  No.  But from all the “missions” I have been on, only motorcycles lead the casket to the cemetery.

Q.  Do you have to be a Veteran to join?

A.  No.  Anyone who has respect for their country, veterans, and the flag can join.

Q.  Where are some of the places you’ve ridden?

A.  Fayetteville & Springdale Arkansas.  Joplin and Lamar Missouri.  Spiro, Oklahoma.

Q.  What was the largest number of bikes that went on a “mission?”

A.  The most bikes I’ve seen at a mission was in Lamar, Missouri.  I’m guessing there were 250-300 bikes there.

Q.  I’ve noticed that the riders all wear vests with beads hanging off the sides.  Are these for decoration or do they have meaning?

A.  The beads represent ribbons they received while in the military.  A lot of them are Vietnam ribbons.  Since I’m a Vietnam era veteran (in the service during the war but not outside the country) the beads I wear are for the National Defense Service medal and the USAF Good Conduct medal.  The other beads represent the United States Flag, blue with the correct number of beads for the red and white stripes.

The United States flag is folded and given to the widow.  The haunting sound of Taps drifts over the orderly rows of white headstones, and the Patriot Guard holds their salute until the last soulful notes dissolve and follow the veteran into eternal peace.  My eyes fill with tears; not from sorrow but from pride. 

My brother was a United States Air Force Veteran.

For more information about the Patriot Guard and to read their mission statement go to: http://www.patriotguard.com/

The Mists of Loch Lonnie

Deep in the woods of Madison County, the magic of Loch Lonnie swirls in the mist.

Giant wooded guardians, protectors of the Loch since the beginning of believing, stand as silent sentinels to the murky water.  Clad in armor stained with autumn’s blood of rusty brown, scarlet red, and burnt orange, they dance in leafy unison to the rhythm of the moon-soaked night.

Whispers of incantations passed but not forgotten linger on the lips of the wind and dissolve the haze into crystallized reality. But ancient words from the Lady of the Lake and Excalibur’s secrets are not spoken this day.  Instead, a new language of time travel and vortexes capture the imagination and pose the question, “could it be?” 

 Guarded by a spirit not long passed, the Loch serves as a gateway from a dimension stifled with unyielding human skepticism to one filled with everlasting life and endless possibilities.

The mist swirls, the water clouds, and once again Loch Lonnie appears to be only a pond.  But the spirit of Lonnie smiles and patiently lies in wait for the ones who dare to dream—who dare to believe.

I believe. 

Do you?