my latest attempt at being a poet
The word post for today is “tea”. I attempted to be a poet on my blog site. Didn’t know I had a rhyme in me. I enjoyed putting rhymes together in high school. One time I came up with a poem about heaven and hell in Mr. Kopels science class. I thought it was pretty good for a tongue in cheek kind of thing. But my grandmother, being God-fearing, discovered it while snooping and wasn’t going to have any part of it. I don’t know for sure but am 90% sure that she burned my poem.
I forgot about it as a kid. As I got older, I wondered what happened to it. I would like to read it and see if it was as good as I thought it was. But as I thought about it, I began to also think about my favorite pair of shorts. They had the ’70’s trendy patches on the butt. She burned them too. Then I commenced to putting two and two together. She always burned things she didn’t like (and that were flammable).
I don’t hold animosity towards her actions. She was doing what she thought best. My grandmother passed away in 1979. She was my hero. As I get older I find that the pedestal I had her on loses a few inches. But that’s ok. We only live the way we feel is best. Can’t fault a person for that.
Besides, there is no way of knowing what she may have saved me from. Some kind of hardship, I’m sure. I fared better in the end. She gave me a rock solid set of tools for my life journey. Living with grandparents makes for a great childhood.
old soul in a young persons body
I have huge respect for the older generations. Being fortunate enough to reach old age, they are to be honored. Growing old is not for pussy’s (as they say). In growing up with the older folks, the communication barrier between young and old was torn down. It’s easy for me to visit with those older than me.
Another good thing, that derived from a bad thing, is that I have a personable sense. Meaning that I can pick out the mood of a situation, the character of a person, their relationships to others. I gained it from being a shy, introverted, little girl. Developing no social skills upon entering grade school because I already possessed them from being raised in church.
Special shoes and a honey of a bun
Starting out I had problems with pigeon toes. The doc suggested special shoes to straighten my feet. They were clunky high tops. Every morning my grandmother would get me up. First I ate a small breakfast, then it was get dressed with my clunky shoes on. After that it was to the bathroom to have my hair combed.
There I sat, every morning, my grandmother raking a comb through my waist length hair. She would stretch it out as long as possible, telling me all the while that it didn’t hurt (to this day I’m not tender headed). Finally she would somehow twist it up into a bun that would carry me all day without falling out. Every hair in place.
Homemade clothes, special shoes and my honey of a bun in tack, off to school I went. None of these things were popular back in 1965 so I spent most of my time watching other kids and adults. That’s how I developed the sixth sense. I was totally unaware of its existence until reading a self-help book one day. Imagine the excitement of discovery having that validation.
I’m glad for the chapters of my life. I would not change a thing. And today I took a step into the next half of my life, retirement. Maybe I’ll find my calling as a poet. I’m ready for anything….