# Walk Don't Run



## Pandora

*​*Making, holding, feeling, learning from, caring, sharing memories is what life is all about...

My low slung flared jeans make a swooshie sound on the ground as I walk. They are torn and frayed at the bottom from being too long. They cover my bare feet. My mother hates these jeans and my bare feet. I smile, it's the little things in life.

The sun moves in and out from under clouds as it warms my bare back, my back left exposed by my home made "hippie halter". 
A top I made the evening before from a colorful thin scarf tied just so and a piece of elastic around the neck.
 My mother also hates this top. I smile again. A wicked teenage smile. The fact that I am bra less, a freedom I will enjoy most of my life, does not help matters. She hates that too.

As I write this for the life of me I can not remember his name. Someone so important I should remember. I told him I would meet him in the park on the wooden trail bridge. The bridge over the stepping stones.

I walk, a song plays in my head...
"I feel the earth move under my feet, I feel the sky tumbling down, tumbling down I feel my heart start to tremblin when ever you're around ".
I walk past the piano store, a few of my new favorite words whisper from my lips, how ironic is that anyways? 
right here in my own neighborhood, oh go to hell! but I wonder will it be me going to hell. 
I walk with my chin held high but the words, the feelings, leave a bitter taste in my mouth, mostly in my heart.

I pass Swan Pharmacy and glance at my church across the street. MY church? well up until eight years previous when my mother took the privilege of going to church away. I was corrupted by candy. I was six. My sisters, with me in tow, skipped out using our church money at the pharmacy. I look longer at the church. Churches are so beautiful. They beckon you. There is a reason for this, I don't think it's pure. I wonder what I have missed. I will always wonder what I missed.

I walk across the street past Lockers. It would be another seven years before I would find my work in a flower shop. Funny how you can go right past something for years and not know what is coming. We never know what is coming.

A horn sounds. I don't turn, I don't know them. It's the hair. The hair that to this day would attract attention. Silly stranger waves, horns, snickers, smiles, comments. I wonder where it came from. It is not my mothers hair. But it is mine, all mine. It is me. Earlier that morning I laid my wild curls on the ironing board and pressed hard ironing out each to form the perfectly straight light blond hair that sways mid back as I walk. The Peggy Lipton hair. Oh how I wanted to look like her, be like her, be her.

I can see the park now. Someone so important I should remember his name.

My mother always said I will forget the names of people I don't like in life. I forget some names of people I do like 
and surely all those I don't. My mother was right way too often. How annoying. I guess it goes with the job.

Long before he is even in sight I see his bushy blond hair, his big blue eyes. His tall frame and that shy but cocky way to confident smile. A confidence that comes from experience, too much experience for me. It's not his fault, how could he know? How could he know I would run, I would leave. That what hadn't even had a chance to start would never. That the promise would be gone. Gone forever.

I walk to meet him on the bridge. He removes his small pocket knife and smiles, carves four initials into the old weathered wood. I can still see two P.S. I can not remember the other two. Something so important I should remember.

It's not his fault, how could he know? That he might as well have slapped my face, that word stung so bad. 
That word he said when I told him my secret. My life. Me. That word that changed everything.
To open and speak the shame that drowns me. To share the wound that I carried on my soul, the very essence of me. 
To stand on that bridge, as time stopped and finally tell someone my secret. My life. Me. And then that word.

And I run. I run. I run for so many years. But now I walk again, I walk through the memories. Each one precious. 
Some a lesson, some a heartache, some a joy. I walk and it's ok. I understand and it's all ok.


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## Pandora

Making, holding, feeling, learning from, caring, sharing memories is what life is all about...

_*Time Will Tell*

*"I don't know" he whispers softly into his pillow
his pillow that has laid next to mine all this time.
He is talking in his sleep again,
even worried there.
I reach out to lay my hand on him 
hoping my movement will be the answer he seeks in his dream.
He rolls over and sighs his hand comes to rest on my leg.
My hand instinctively moves to cover his there in the dark,*
*remembering.

His hand that has been here all this time.

It is a cool pretty May morning in Wisconsin. 
The rising sun sends light across the lake, it dances, it's celebrating with me.
'Thank you for this beautiful day' I sip my coffee and sit indian style on the pier, alone. 
I reach into my pocket and pull out a crumpled hand rolled, carefully straightening it.
The smell of sulfur and smoke combine with the forest air.
I ponder life.
'In a few short hours I will be married, married, huh.
Married. Married. Married.'
My mind traces back the moments to the cold fall evening on Lake Michigan*
*when he knelt there asking me to spend my life with him.
My life. Our lives together. His deep brown eyes holding my future in his gaze.

His deep brown eyes that have been here all this time.

The sun is now on the pier warming my face. I take a deep breath that ends in a shiver.
Am I sure? Am I happy? Am I right?
I look up into the blue sky as though for an answer and all that comes is
'time will tell.'

It is 2pm Friday May 15th 1981. 
The few that have gathered are smiling as we cross the covered bridge.
The crabapple are in bloom and the breeze carries the sweet smell.
The creek rushes with spring rain beside the Little Chapel in the Woods.
The little chapel that is perfect. With it's weathered wood, humble cross window and six pews. 
Yes perfect, although the marriage license reads "Little Hope WI" . 
We laughed uncomfortably the day before when we saw it.
Our eyes met in a glance hoping it was not a bad omen.
'Time will tell' our thoughts in sync.

'With this ring, I thee wed. Wear it as a symbol of our love and commitment.'
The vows spoken. The lifetime made.
I hold his deep brown eyes to mine
I hold his warm hand in mine
All this time.

I wanted to share this song, it seems relevant.
It is Revelation by Sons of Sylvia
http://www.youtube.c...h?v=fx8LKK7tRlY
"Crazy how you can have everything but time"*_


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## escorial

Your looking deep into your world here Pandora....I could have read more....


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## Pandora

thank you escorial, a warm sentiment from you means much to me, always.


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## Pandora

*​*Making, holding, feeling, learning from, caring, sharing memories is what life is all about..._
After the funeral we made a much needed stop at the liquor store,
went home to take a much needed float in the pool,
with a much needed lemonade and vodka, extra lemon, extra vodka.
With the sun waning but still warm on my tanned skin
I was reminded I was still alive
and all I would miss if I weren't.

I look over to see JB floating next to me,
reflective glasses showing the world as he sees it.
Me on my floatie, framed in blue rippling water,
peaceful yet sad, my eyes puffy from crying.
The tall trees swaying in a wonderful steady breeze
that occasionally carries the sweet smell of lily.
Flowers reflected, a celebration each one,
yellow, pink, purple, orange.
Tiki guy with unruly asparagus fern hair growing wildly,
standing guard over our world.
The doggies watching this world go by
from under the shaded tree there on the pool deck.

As I look at JB, a little sad smile moves his lips,
I return the favor and the words echo in my thoughts
'Please Lord do not take this man from me anytime soon' .
Our thoughts are in sync as often they are and he takes in a deep breath
letting the words flow out on exhale,
"I love you, please don't ever leave me".
Floating there quietly our minds retrace the events of the day.

It is always sad to say goodbye, even if it has been a long full life
but 49 and sudden brings a certain solemn.
She was the wife of a local biker group.
We pull up to the funeral home to a line of beautiful bikes, a multitude of color,
helmets hang from the handlebars.
We are biker wannabes,
hanging with them at our local south side bars.
Where the food is good, drinks cheap, live bands dependable.
Never a dull moment.
The bikers are friendly, loyal, generous folk who do not judge others.
These being qualities I so admire in people.
JB really wants a bike of his own but hasn't taken the leap.
He longingly looks over each bike and his sad puppy dog eyes end in mine.
I give him the answer I always do "Go for it!"

Inside the funeral home new life and past life meet in a small room to the right.
Tiny newborn cousins are rocked next to Grandma laid in her coffin for final respects.
Another room holds many smiling pictures of a life past, and TV plays videos of happy times.
Sign the book, take the announcement, try to read it but its too sad,
"Miss me but not for long"
I will save that for another day already fighting back the tears.

The ceremony begins with "Arms of an Angel" by Miss Sarah.
Not many dry eyes after that, even amongst the otherwise tough tattooed men.
A few people speak of love shared, funny moments, cherished times spent.
She had not wanted anything religious but a nephew does approach the subject,
God and the Bible.
Not connecting much with the crowd but attempting to send a thoughtful message
He begins with verse.
I love words, beautiful words placed just right that they pull at the heart.
For me this is not the Bible. This I am sorry for.
From his speech he is telling us to mourn.
That mourning is looked upon by God as a better state of soul than rejoicing.
I guess I am sitting pretty with God then.
I have found nothing to rejoice  in this passing
just profound sadness and loss.
He reminds us we will all come to this place.
A time to be judged by God.
This thought I have trouble with.
My revelation tells me not to judge others.
That spiritual growth can only come once we let that go.
With God being the highest of all spirits
I don't feel in my heart he will be judging me.
Instead I will be finally accepted for exactly who I am.
and held in the embrace of absolute unconditional love.

My thoughts return to the young man's words and he is saying
now would be a great time to reflect on our own lives.
This a good thought for me.
Reflection.
If there is a plan, if everything happens for a reason
then reflection is enough reason for me for this untimely passing.

So here on my floatie in the healing sunshine,
as the warmth of God covers me.
I appreciate all that I have been given.
I acknowledge the blessings and say 'thank you Lord'
I see this awe inspiring world that was created for us.
I  feel the love and will work to create more love.
I accept my flaws and those of others as we are really all the same in the end.
I will live my final days the best I can until I myself are in the arms of an angel._
​


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## Pandora

*Anchor Time*

As I came over the hill the lake looked like glass, transparent green glass.
Lovely in the late morning sun. Like a mirror reflecting the surrounding woods and sprinkling of homes.
There is not a soul on the lake, not a boat to ripple the waters, the lake is alone.

Not having made it out yet this year, tugs at my heart.
Time just slips away, slips away, I shake my head at the thought. If only I could anchor time.
Memories attempt to anchor time, I tell myself, this somehow a reassuring thought.

My mind drifts to dear memories made on our little Lake Spivey.

It is a cold, dreary Saturday in November. I have my bags of assorted old buns 
and bread in hand as we walk the boat ramp. Somewhere behind the clouds the sun
 is setting and night is quickly falling. A hear a distant honking noise, this makes me giggle 
and I say out loud,  'I'm coming!'
JB looks back at me and smiles, he plays along and says
"I guess they got the invitation to the party" I giggle some more. Bundled side by side 
on the bench seat, covered in blankets, pink champagne in hand for extra special warmth, 
we chug slowly up the lake.

The night sky begins to clear of clouds and there above the dam the full orange moon has risen
lighting our way and illuminating the flocks of ducks and geese floating on the water.

JB cuts the motor to let us drift a bit. I move to the front of the boat, the cold breeze 
reddens my cheeks as I take a deep breath, fresh, wet, that fills my lungs and sends chills.
I look up to an entire night sky full of stars above my head. I laugh at the greeting from my friends,
the loud incessantly wonderful honking , as I throw the bread into the water.

This time this moment envelopes my entire being with an absolute joy to be alive!
A thrill that even over the years, time can not alter, it lives in my heart.

Time stood still that evening on the lake as it often does on water. Drifting slowly, 
feeding the ducks and geese, sipping wine, watching the moon rise high into the night sky,
to change from orange to white.

Back on the road, back to the present, my thoughts bring me home.
Holding tightly to the many memories of happy times on the lake.
Memories that rekindle emotion and rejuvenate my soul. Memories that will attempt
 to anchor time, if just for one a fleeting moment.
​
​


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## Pandora

Living Gratitude (Thanksgiving 2009)


To my left, my son, "I'm thankful that Mom's a good cook!" I smile, expecting the words I have heard each year
 for more than I can count. To my right, my dear husband "Hey you used my thankful for, better come back to me"
leaving a playful wink for us as he fills the wine glasses. Across the table my daughter rolls her eyes 
at Daddy's familiar line, she adds, "I'm thankful that this semester is almost over'' and enjoys a well earned sigh.
 Next her beau, unfamiliar with the game but always a good sport, is deep in nervous thought. He glances at my son 
and says shyly "yeah I was gonna say that too", then quickly adds,  "I'm thankful I got a deer!"
 The hypocrisy of the meat eaters meet the hunter on this Thanksgiving. The mindset is not shared but 
the challenge understood, this young man kills with a bow. This brings a respectful nod from us all.

In the few seconds that follow my eyes drift past the young couple
to the twinkling Christmas lights on the front porch and my mind drifts to a previous year . . .

I hear my sobs echo my daughters in the pre dawn light, as I hide from the day to come. I am returned once again to the ER. 
To the screams, to the horrific accident that happened days after Thanksgiving. The forklift accident that, 
just as easily could have snapped her neck, though by Gods grace, has left her body compromised and her spirit strong.
 A young woman who will fight fiercely for what she wants and for what she thinks is right. A compassion in her heart 
that only comes from living the pain and knowing the fear.

Our green eyes meet, a reflection of my own. I close my eyes in silent gratitude, 
'Thank you Lord for not taking my baby' the words a common chant now, most especially this time of year.

All eyes on the Mama as I look around the small Thanksgiving table, 
lovely faces lit by candlelight. I hear Charlie's labored breathing behind Daddy's chair and I glance over to 
the front hall to see Lucy bomb waiting patiently for a plate. A plate filled with the delicious smells
 that have filled our warm home all day. The other doggies are out of sight, but not far I know, their anticipation is great.
It is the doggies favorite holiday. I smile remembering my Jakey and his shoelace drools of the past,
that a Thanksgiving laugh missed this year.

It is my turn now for the familiar words, 'I am thankful we are all together' feeling each word in my heart stronger
 with each passing year. 'Now lets eat and see if you all still have something to be thankful for.'
 The room is filled with the clinking of silver and the sounds of the happy eaters. My precious daughter smiles across the table, 
"Oh Mama it is so delicious, thank you". Her young man, mouth full, nodding in appreciation, while adding another forkful.
 My son smiles proudly "That's my Mom" between bites and a squeeze to my shoulder.
 And my husband lifts his glass to mine and says "To us all, to our love and to another damn fine Thanksgiving!"

And then the words in my head repeat the sentiment, 
'Thank you for this life and this love.'


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## escorial

Pandora your putting so much into this...out of it all the theme running through it all is time moving on and looking back at your experiences....nice work.


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## Pandora

thank you escorial, yes with each memory comes a lesson learned, sharing them my hope is to touch hearts


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## Pandora

*

  Thirty Four Trees of Love  

*

_Sitting in front of the fire this year's tree keeps me company. I close my eyes, hold the tears,
it's always so easy to cry. The tears come happy, grateful too, no sadness here I feel.
They wet my smile and make me laugh then take me through the years.
Thirty four trees are there for me, a pine forest of freshness and green. You my love are by my side,
thirty four trees to feel. We have picked and placed, covered in lights, the bubbles keep time in my mind.
Each ornament hung, a story, a first, new memories made each one. Thirty four trees stand strong and real
a wonderment renewed each year. And in these trees we believe in our thirty four years of love.
_


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## Pandora

"Just A Dream Away"

A special moment, not here, but there . . .



With all the holiday preparations, I lay down, weary for a nap.
I reach to hold my Maddie, snuzzle her warm against my chest.
Lucy she is curled up in the nook of my bended knees.

The wind chimes lull me off to sleep, as a holiday song plays soft.
For a moment as I leave to dream, together they sound as one.

My dream takes me back to the tiny room, the tiny room with you.
Sleet falls outside the window, no, that is not snow, I know. 
I agree with you, Mama, I always do, you know.

You lay upon the bed, sleep your only escape, 
here in my dream I can somehow relate. 
You have long since let go, this world you no longer want.
 Your dreams now are where you will wait.

  Hushed we speak together so as not to disturb Mama's rest,
our sadden eyes upon her. 

I meet your eyes, I hold them, your green eyes of our lifetime, 
the window to our soul and I but a twinkle of yours. 

A rush of love and strength pours through me,
_
'Daddy you are here! You are here to be with us!
You look just as I remember, jolly, bright and good.
If ever there was a perfect Santa, Daddy it was you!
You are here to be with Mama, make her smile and laugh again.
Fill her dreams with hope and love, then do the same for me'._

I hear your reply, as I waken to remember, I speak your words out loud,

"We are here together where time does not exist
we are but a dream away and everything you wish”.

Merry Christmas Mom and Dad, thank you for always being there . . .
just a dream away.


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## ThornhillD

good work, i was captivated the entire time.


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## Pandora

Very kind response, ThornhillD. I much appreciate you taking the time to read and sharing how you felt,
thank you thank you!


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## Pandora

"Ride a little pony ride to town ride a little pony don't fall down"

_I am busy at the kitchen sink, her still small voice trails over to me,
"Mama this place is wonderful" I turn to her . . .  'pardon' ?
"Home Mama, your home is so wonderful, beautiful, really, it's like heaven."
She is raiding the pantry, munching from a can of mixed nuts, surely choosing my favorites, 
I smile. Turning back to the sink I am hit with a memory, the moment rewinds 22 years.

 She is on a small step stool next to me, 'washing' the dishes.
 Her thick golden hair, dampened, hangs ponytail style. 
Tiny hands covered in bubbles, she blows them off, they float gently back into the dishpan. 
 A little apron tied at her waist is soaked, drenched through.
Cookie Monster's face in his familiar forever smile, drips water to the floor.
Her toothless grin meets my smile.
Giggling she says, "Mama can we play pony after this?"
She begins to hum the tune. The last words echo in my thoughts.

Back to today, my daughter all grown stands before me. Then my whispered prayer
'please don't let her fall down, she is heaven to me'._


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## escorial

pandora your life is unravelling on these threads and the emotions...life in general is shining through...your so blessed in many ways.


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## Pandora

Thank you escorial, yes I am blessed, humbly so. Feeling is our greatest blessing.


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## Pandora

*For James and Lily and Bruno too*

_Under the bridge a lifetime passes slowly, the world hurries by,  doesn't see him at all. 
Covered in a dirty blanket, some spares in his shopping cart, winter will be here soon, 
though time passes slowly.  His hair is thick and matted, it hasn't seen a brush in a year. 
His face once clean shaven now sports a salt and pepper beard. He hears his mother speak 
softly to him, words he loved before. His father comes to visit in the pictures in his head.

He's not sure if it's his birthday or how old he'd be if it was. He's doesn't know what city this is 
or how long he's lived here for. A favorite story with an unhappy ending plays daily as time passes.
 It's about a man who lost it all as thoughts took him somewhere else.
 They ate his mind and spit him out left him babbling to himself. He lost his lovely lady, 
his dog and home too. Today he can not tell you why but someday he will know. 
He is waiting for that someday that God wraps the sun around him and brings him to his new home.
_


I heard that someday came. God bless our lost souls.


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## Pandora

Memories . . .

I was making sloppy joes the other night for dinner. I dress mine up with green pepper and celery
something the kids hated so I avoided for many years, now hubby and I enjoy. Seems more homemade . . .
 geez.

So I'm making them thinking 'this whole dinner thing has got to go'. Too many years of deciding upon the menu,
shopping, preparing, cooking, it's gotten very old. Simultaneously I pictured my Mama,
 a fleeting thought directly from heaven or from her perhaps. For a moment she felt there with me . . .

Old pair of undies on her head functioning like a hair net covers her almost waist length dark brown hair,
worn always in a bun. Thin cotton flowered house dress, probably in the peach and coral shades,
with the snap front and huge pockets. Pockets filled with every misplaced item she found throughout the day.
'Hey Mom have you seen my eyeliner, my hairbrush, my report for Biology?' Right there in her pocket,
no need even for Mommy Radar.

Mama, smiling brown eyes, no make up just a touch of coral lipstick, prominent nose, heart shaped face.
Peasant stock. I love that term, used often in our household. I too am peasant stock. 
She is humming and she is not cooking sloppy joes. I don't think she ever resorted to sloppy joes.
 No not my Mama but if she did they would have been homemade  from scratch.

Jeanette made everything from scratch . . .

Noodles, bread, biscuits, pancakes, waffles, gravy, spaghetti sauce, cocktail sauce, tatar sauce, 
and salad, not from a bag! with homemade dressing, fresh whole vegetables, soups, chowders from scratch,
oxtails, whole fish on the grill, eyes and all!  and the best damn sandwiches you ever ate, even in her eulogy 
folks talked about those sandwiches . . .
all homemade.

When did this change? Each generation seems to get less homemade. Frozen, canned, dried, prepared.
Grab it, heat it, eat it.

Mama's food was a gift, it was love in a bowl. It was her time, it was thought, it was creativity at it's finest.
And man it was cherished too, now it is so missed, one more thing to miss about Mama.
 Funniest thing about all this, my kids think I am great cook. They will remember my homemade dishes, ha! fondly
and I too will be missed. 

Ah, Love . . .


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## Pandora

Last eve while grilling JB says," I hear the kids in the neighborhood, they are out playing late tonight."

I reply, 'hmmm playing "statue maker" . . .' he whips his head to face me with a surprised look, "they are!?" 
believing and remembering at the same time. 

His eyes said it all. This I can always trust, he understands. We just get each other like no one else does. We come from the same place, 
the same time. Memories we have made together but also the same memories from before we met. Shared places, people, events. 
Childhood memories, paths that perhaps have crossed before? 

I'd like to think so . . .

The ice shanty on the skating rink at the grade school. It had an old black pot belly stove and an old caretaker with a pot belly belly.
We would warm our feet up against the stove and slip our skates back on when we could feel our toes again. 
I wonder was JB sitting next to me warming his wet mittens? Was I shy and looked down as he passed me on the ice more than once?

Or the way too cold pool at the park, gosh, could it be any colder? We would have to have our feet checked, "spread your toes" before going into the pool area.
Climbing the slide swoosh down into the ice water. Is he there playing water tag with the boys, dunking each other? 
Laughing, his dark brown hair dripping in his eyes.
Then after the swim in the treat shop lines. Every one with the their towel rolls held tight by an extra large rubberband, swimsuits tucked inside, 
hair damp, sun kissed freckled faces. Get an orange creamsicle and head to the swings, swing as high as you can and jump off! 
Was that JB? impressive even then!

Rollerskating at St. Mary's. My big sister Blythe was the best, she could dance. Somewhere in the crowd of skaters, was that JB skating backwards? 
Time for the bunny hop, could that have been him with his hands on my waist? I get a little thrill at the thought of it even now.

Meant to be. Meant to meet a hundred times over? maybe. Meant to share a lifetime of memories. And meant to be soulmates, 
yes, meant to be soul mates.


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## Pandora

The young man sits on a cold cement bench in the early morning sun. His sobs form a steam that rises from his buried face.
 There is no shame in these tears, no need to hide. There is nowhere to hide from this pain.

The double glass doors to the hospital slowly open and close, unnoticed. He is in deep thought, I know, lead by the pictures in his head.
 One by one he will move back through them. One by one they will become apart of him and one by one they will stay with him forever.
 This I know because I have pictures in my head too. Pictures I have kept a lifetime. Pictures that still make me cry, pictures that I love 
and cherish, although painful.

He lifts his head, our eyes meet, the sadness rushes to my heart with that one glance.
If only I could spare him. Looking at his round red face, I can't help but think of my father.

Now in the embrace of his mother, the sobs become stronger. His words almost inaudible,
"He doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve this, he's really a good guy."

'I know honey, I know.' 

Then the only thing that my years and my pain and the pictures in my head can bring is this,

'Everything happens for a reason'

"No, Mom it doesn't", his angry reply.

But the answer lies in the pictures that are now his to keep. The pain, the love, the loss that will live with him now and forever. 
The answer to the why is this . . . 

It is in his pictures to keep.


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## midnightpoet

This is very good, Pandora.  My memories, like my grandmother's house, are just snippets of time and place.  Your memory for detail is so much better than mine, and you do it eloquently.  Great job.


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## dither

Pandora,
once again, i find myself  feeling  humbled, so in awe, and  wondering what the hell i am doing here,but glad that i am.
This place is an absolute treasure chest.


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## Pandora

midnightpoet said:


> This is very good, Pandora.  My memories, like my grandmother's house, are just snippets of time and place.  Your memory for detail is so much better than mine, and you do it eloquently.  Great job.


Thank you midnightpoet for the read and kind words of encouragement. Your snippets are beautifully written, entertaining with interesting concrete subject and thought.
I hope you might continue sharing your memories, I enjoy getting lost in them and finding out more about you, that is living! Thanks again!


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## Pandora

dither said:


> Pandora,
> once again, i find myself  feeling  humbled, so in awe, and  wondering what the hell i am doing here,but glad that i am.
> This place is an absolute treasure chest.


Thank you dither, I agree. WF came into my life at a very low point, at a time when faith and trust was shaken. I will never be able to convey the renewal
of spirit that I feel here. I am also in awe of the authors, I am inspired and challenged. I am blessed. I am happy and look forward everyday to new discoveries
of the written word. You couldn't say it better, a treasure chest indeed! Thanks for the read dither, I know all about humble, isn't is grand!


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## midnightpoet

Pandora said:


> Thank you midnightpoet for the read and kind words of encouragement. Your snippets are beautifully written, entertaining with interesting concrete subject and thought.
> I hope you might continue sharing your memories, I enjoy getting lost in them and finding out more about you, that is living! Thanks again!



I have a lot of memories that are incomplete; for example, I remember riding the train to Kansas City where i  saw my first major league baseball game.  Kansas City was playing the Yankees and Roger Maris hit one of his home runs on the way to Babe Ruth's record.  Darn it, that's all I remember about the trip!  Maybe if I start writing it will being back memories.  Worth a try.


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## allenasm

I like your writing style and the pictures you paint.  Thanks for sharing your life.


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## dither

Pandora said:


> Thank you dither, I agree. WF came into my life at a very low point, at a time when faith and trust was shaken. I will never be able to convey the renewal
> of spirit that I feel here. I am also in awe of the authors, I am inspired and challenged. I am blessed. I am happy and look forward everyday to new discoveries
> of the written word. You couldn't say it better, a treasure chest indeed! Thanks for the read dither, I know all about humble, isn't is grand!



Pandora, the trouble is, that i'm almost too afraid to post anything.

I read a quote somewhere that went something like, " you have to be bad at something, before you can be good".

Don't i know it.


----------



## Pandora

midnightpoet said:


> I have a lot of memories that are incomplete; for example, I remember riding the train to Kansas City where i  saw my first major league baseball game.  Kansas City was playing the Yankees and Roger Maris hit one of his home runs on the way to Babe Ruth's record.  Darn it, that's all I remember about the trip!  Maybe if I start writing it will being back memories.  Worth a try.


 Yes and talking through your memories with your spouse helps, also any photos you may have from around that time. They spark
other memories. My husband took the train out to Utah from WI as a young teen. I can hear that memory many times over. 
I need to ride the train before I leave this world!
They still have the Lounge Car right :wink:


----------



## Pandora

allenasm said:


> I like your writing style and the pictures you paint.  Thanks for sharing your life.


thank you for listening allenasm and enjoying  means much to me and welcome to WF   :welcome:


----------



## Pandora

dither said:


> Pandora, the trouble is, that i'm almost too afraid to post anything.
> 
> I read a quote somewhere that went something like, " you have to be bad at something, before you can be good".
> 
> Don't i know it.


You said "almost" that is hopeful for me. Sharing is what it's all about, nothing more, unless you want more. 

_Do not worry . . . 
of what you wish it has been said
that only fear of what will be
keep dreams away from being seen.__
__
_ Yes?


----------



## dither

Pandora said:


> You said "almost" that is hopeful for me. Sharing is what it's all about, nothing more, unless you want more.
> 
> _Do not worry . . .
> of what you wish it has been said
> that only fear of what will be
> keep dreams away from being seen.__
> __
> _ Yes?



Thank you again Pandora.

I think that maybe, i'm experiencing a bit of a crisis right now,
mmmmmmmmmm,
not a crisis exactly,
peaks and troughs eh?:uncomfortableness:


----------



## Pandora

dither said:


> Thank you again Pandora.
> 
> I think that maybe, i'm experiencing a bit of a crisis right now,
> mmmmmmmmmm,
> not a crisis exactly,
> peaks and troughs eh?:uncomfortableness:


ah yes peaks and troughs I know that feeling well, good way to put it, descriptive. I can not only feel that but see it,
hoping the even path returns for you in the meantime nice image to work with maybe . . . ?


----------



## dither

Not a good idea right now Pandora,
i'm not the cheeriest person at the best of times.
The bottom line of your sig. I await the caving in.


----------



## Gumby

I am working my way through these, savoring each one, Pandora. Very insightful and heartfelt. Thank you for these.


----------



## Pandora

dither said:


> Not a good idea right now Pandora,
> i'm not the cheeriest person at the best of times.
> The bottom line of your sig. I await the caving in.



Miss Edna had it going on 

_"The soul can split the sky in two, And let the face of God shine through."_


God being whatever your soul trusts in. The poem is a journey, in the beginning,
 taking Life and our beautiful gifts here for granted. 
Then being humbled, eventually finding a rebirth to love and understanding. A path most walk in life. 
From the short time I have "known" you, dither, I feel your soul is not flat.


----------



## Pandora

Gumby said:


> I am working my way through these, savoring each one, Pandora. Very insightful and heartfelt. Thank you for these.


This is a great compliment coming from you Gumby,  a person I much admire. One who's heart is giving and true. 
There is a saying, if we were inclined to judge a heart . . .

'it is not how much you love but how much you are loved by others'.

You have a huge heart Gumby. Thank you for all you do and most all thank you for reading and giving encouraging 
words not only to me but all. You have welcomed me and made me feel at home, something I needed.


----------



## qwertyportne

Liked these very much, Pandora. 

Your writing sounds, both on the lines and between the lines, as if it flowed out of your head and your heart without much conscious crafting. Takes lots of reading and writing to develop an evocative, reader-directed style that rolls on to (writer) and off (reader) the page/screen with ease.

So much (perhaps too much) of the writing on the web is people keyboarding raw emotions on to a computer screen then punching the Post button. One of my friends calls it writer-centered, diary-dumping bathos. Even though I tend to agree with her, I also believe we can have our cake and eat it too; that is, we can say what we think and feel but do it in a way that evokes thoughts and feelings in the reader. 

Every now and then I get the dialog, the descriptions and the narration working well together. My characters come to life in what they say, my descriptions give my readers sensory presence and the narration moves the story forward, not sideways on boring detours. Most of the time, however, I have to step back and take a long, hard look at what came out of my heart (free writing), then rewrite it with my head. Even then ~ crafted and polished ~ I think it's wise to ask ourselves if it's something that would appeal to other people.

Your writing certainly appeals to me. For all those reasons. Have you thought about writing a series of memoirs and publishing them, perhaps in an e-reader format?


----------



## dither

Pandora said:


> Miss Edna had it going on
> 
> _"The soul can split the sky in two, And let the face of God shine through."_
> 
> 
> God being whatever your soul trusts in. The poem is a journey, in the beginning,
> taking Life and our beautiful gifts here for granted.
> Then being humbled, eventually finding a rebirth to love and understanding. A path most walk in life.
> From the short time I have "known" you, dither, I feel your soul is not flat.



I hadn't seen this until now Pandora,and might easily have missed it.
I'm not sure that i fully understand the term "flat" in this context.
So i shall take it as a compliment, from what very little i know of you, and thank you.:subdued:


----------



## Pandora

dither said:


> I hadn't seen this until now Pandora,and might easily have missed it.
> I'm not sure that i fully understand the term "flat" in this context.
> So i shall take it as a compliment, from what very little i know of you, and thank you.:subdued:


My interpretation of what Miss Edna means is flat as compared to full. Her soul was full by the end of the poem, simple joys,
simply God. Yes, we may think we know little of each other but we may be very much alike. I'm glad you are here dither, thank you.



_

A drenched and dripping apple-tree,_
_A last long line of silver rain,_
_A sky grown clear and blue again._
_And as I looked a quickening gust_
_Of wind blew up to me and thrust_
_Into my face a miracle_
_Of orchard-breath, and with the smell,—_
_I know not how such things can be!—_
_I breathed my soul back into me._
_Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I_
_And hailed the earth with such a cry_
_As is not heard save from a man_
_Who has been dead, and lives again._
_About the trees my arms I wound;_
_Like one gone mad I hugged the ground;_
_I raised my quivering arms on high;_
_I laughed and laughed into the sky,_ 


----------



## Pandora

qwertyportne said:


> Liked these very much, Pandora.
> 
> Your writing sounds, both on the lines and between the lines, as if it flowed out of your head and your heart without much conscious crafting. Takes lots of reading and writing to develop an evocative, reader-directed style that rolls on to (writer) and off (reader) the page/screen with ease.
> 
> So much (perhaps too much) of the writing on the web is people keyboarding raw emotions on to a computer screen then punching the Post button. One of my friends calls it writer-centered, diary-dumping bathos. Even though I tend to agree with her, I also believe we can have our cake and eat it too; that is, we can say what we think and feel but do it in a way that evokes thoughts and feelings in the reader.
> 
> Every now and then I get the dialog, the descriptions and the narration working well together. My characters come to life in what they say, my descriptions give my readers sensory presence and the narration moves the story forward, not sideways on boring detours. Most of the time, however, I have to step back and take a long, hard look at what came out of my heart (free writing), then rewrite it with my head. Even then ~ crafted and polished ~ I think it's wise to ask ourselves if it's something that would appeal to other people.
> 
> Your writing certainly appeals to me. For all those reasons. Have you thought about writing a series of memoirs and publishing them, perhaps in an e-reader format?


Thanks gwertyportne for reading and replying, I appreciate that. Yes not a lot of crafting going on and my soul purpose 
is the bonding you speak of. I only hope I accomplish that to some degree. 
"The love we receive is the love that is saved" I plan on leaving, , hopefully, with as much as my soul can carry.

Haven't thought much about publishing. My husband has everything I ever wrote. I think when I have left this world 
he will do something with all that, if only for those who gave me love to take. Glad my writing appeals to you, that's very nice to say.


----------



## The Tourist

Pandi, one of the things I like about your poetry is that I always find universal themes.  For example, I was struck by your line, _"My mother hates these jeans and my bare feet. I smile, it's the little things in life."_

At face value, there would appear to be no commonality in your life in comparison to mine.  Yet, in point of fact we all play these little games in asserting our freedom(s).

Now, I do not know if you are creating a fictional character in this poem, or reporting on a condition that actually happened during your upbringing.  I do know I got a "warm fuzzy" when I read your line, and sheepishly admit I did the same.

My mother never missed a chance to slam motorcycles.  I think she did it because she could not dominate her father, a former Harley employee.  Taking shots at me was her way to somehow get even.

Much like the individual in your poem, I had a "final smile" moment.  I got some inheritance money from her estate.  I made sure that some of this revenue went for a down payment on a new motorcycle.

And as your poem depicts, my reaction was the same.

Pandi, if you do one thing that amazes me at every turn it's your ability to capture the essence of the human experience with a simple, yet penetrating, turn of phrase.  My guess is that all of the members here read this poem, had a memory stimulated, and nodded in agreement.  Poignant.


----------



## Pandora

Thank you Tourist, I hope people can relate. Yes this is me, my life. Looking back on my Mama now, her age now when I was experiencing all this.
The understanding of the whys is powerful and humbling. I hope I am forgiven. Just as you your insight now as to the whys may somehow heal.
Do you think your Mother knew exactly what her money would go to? her son's happiness. Something many parents want even if they can't express it
nor provide it. So much to be forgiven for.

Thanks for your thoughtful reply, I take you to heart Tourist, even when I'm made the villianess :wink: lol


----------



## The Tourist

Pandora said:


> Thanks for your thoughtful reply, I take you to heart Tourist, even when I'm made the villianess :wink: lol



LOL, my pleasure.  Even if the wisdom does come from our Predatory Poet.

(I think my mother spun in her grave when I bought the bike.  How did you fare with your mother?)


----------



## dither

Pandora, it would be pointless trying to add to what has already been said here by others.
One can but admire you, that's all.


----------



## Pandora

dither said:


> Pandora, it would be pointless trying to add to what has already been said here by others.
> One can but admire you, that's all.


that's a lot, thank you dither


----------



## Pandora

The Tourist said:


> LOL, my pleasure.  Even if the wisdom does come from our Predatory Poet.
> 
> (I think my mother spun in her grave when I bought the bike.  How did you fare with your mother?)


I've forgiven her and I understand, now I'm waiting to find out if she forgave me, little snip I could be.


----------



## Pandora

The Tourist said:


> LOL, my pleasure.  Even if the wisdom does come from our Predatory Poet.
> 
> (I think my mother spun in her grave when I bought the bike.  How did you fare with your mother?)


oops


----------



## amelhope

i read some of your threat and i really liked it


----------



## Pandora

:hi:  thank you amelhope and welcome to WF!


----------



## amelhope

thank you


----------



## Pandora

On this Valentines Day I remember . . .
 I loved the idea of a man, one I was not destined to have but for a cherished memory . . . 



_Kisses in the Rain_

_The excitement, anticipation, was always so great.
Just to see his face, a flash, his eyes to mine across a crowded bar.

My stomach would do a somersault, my heart skip a beat, my breath come short.
It was as though I stood alone exposed for that moment.
Everything in the room disappeared when I saw him.

I would imagine long before the day, wonder if we would talk this time.
Would he smile? Would he even see me?

His beautiful deep baritone, the bass blending, his shy stage presence, 
dressed in dark with golden hair.
His smile, his laugh, his green eyes.

For years I lived this thrill.

Weekend after weekend, bar after bar, I followed.
My friends would smile and shake their heads, thought it foolhardy, harmless.
It was neither and I wonder now, 30 odd years later, does he remember the rain?

The kisses in the rain.

There in the parking lot as I left the bar early, between set breaks, he follows.

He follows me.

He is close to my car, standing in the beautiful rain.
Beautiful, standing in the dim streetlight.
In the beautiful rain.

For me.

It is wetting his hair, rolling down his cheeks to his smiling lips
as he leans in my car window and kisses me in the rain.

In the rain.

My face wet from his, I can taste the rain, soft smooth cool on his lips.
The drops are covering us as we linger in each others gaze, eyes wet and smiling.

As a dream lasts forever,
the memory of kisses in the rain will last a lifetime._


----------



## escorial

warm, passionate an that's just the words pandora


----------



## Pandora

escorial said:


> warm, passionate an that's just the words pandora


you are a man of few words yes and just the right ones, thank you escorial, Happy Valentines Day to you  :love_heart:


----------



## Pandora

To see a deer in the wild, magical . . .

Through my mind run pictures, unexpected moments, deer sightings, on a hike or a twilight drive.
 Like the time walking in a thick, dark, moss covered woods. Coming upon a family of deer laying under a circle of trees.
Appearing almost placed, picture perfect and remaining so until we quietly passed. We a guest in their home.

Amazed I was.

Or the time we took a moment of rest on a rock at the top of a very large hill high above a wildflower meadow.
 Hearing growing hoofbeats, rumbling from behind, a young deer sprints by, running faster than I have ever seen,
his white tail a bobbing blur through lavender. A picture I have kept in my head for over 30 years.

Countless memories of the majestic silhouettes, peacefully feeding, in the clearings of the campground chosen 
for that weekend. Countless memories of inquisitive looks from soft brown eyes, twitching ears at the sound of my voice saying,
'hi! how are you!' Memories that stir happy moments, a bond between myself and nature. As important to me as anything 
here in this world, God's world.

Now the City Deer. . .

A four corner busy intersection, two baby fawns feeding on tall grass, no Mama in sight, middle of the day.
 An 8 point buck, on a four lane highway, stopping traffic under the scorching summer sun.
 At the office, middle of an industrial park, lunchtime, a lovely doe walks casually back to a small woods that has been spared,
allowed to remain untouched by human hand. A tiny bit of God's world that is home to my new friend, just outside my window.

From my heart pours a sadness, new memories that will ache, pictures that will run with tears for the City Deer.
 They are trapped here with me as God's world disappears.


----------



## Pandora

St. Patty's 2010 for Savannah Skylar

My daughter was curled up in my chair last evening. 
Strings of shiny green beads around her neck. 
A tall top hat, 2 ft high covered in shamrocks, limps to one side. 
She's giggling.
I can just see her smiling eyes from behind the green shamrock sunglasses.
That little heart shaped face now 24. A young woman.

Then . . .

I see that little face in my rearview mirror way in the back of the mini van. 
She's giggling.
Singing . . . 
" five little ducks that I once knew 
fat ones, skinny ones, tall ones too
but the one little duck with a feather in his back 
he ruled the others with a 
quack quack quack, quack quack quack"
(emphasis on the)
quack quack quack
"he ruled the others with a quack quack quack!"
Out comes a rather boisterous burp, must have been the quacks!
and in her tiny little voice she whispers.,"Mama good cook!"

My little girl you made me laugh then, you make me smile now, 
thank you for the memories.
I love you dearly forever and ever . . .


----------



## Gyarachu

Gahhh! Such beauty, Pandora! You never cease to be a blessing to this place.


----------



## Pandora

Gyarachu said:


> Gahhh! Such beauty, Pandora! You never cease to be a blessing to this place.


Oh so kind thank you Gyarachu you made my day truly!


----------



## Pandora

Yesterday I sat on a rock, it has been awhile. I knew it was there for me, it's been there for centuries, was there for generations before me, will be there for those to come. A simple rock that is easy to miss, not moss covered in velvet green nor sparkled colors of the Earth's most precious. Not unique in shape nor size nor location, just an ordinary rock placed long ago. As I sat most comfortably looking from this rock's view there came the most extraordinary thought, a freeing knowledge rolled in peace, jarring wisdom of here and there, of was and is and what will be. From this rock and our time, I found brave new thought, my mind strong, to finish the task.


----------



## qwertyportne

I envy my cats who (it's only my human-oriented assumption) have little thought about the past or the future so they have no regrets or fears ~ life is just what's happening now. But your words remind me that it's OK to have memoires, good or bad, that it's necessary to carry them with you, not like a heavy load but because without them we are only our present and that is not true. Thank you Pandora.


----------



## Pandora

qwertyportne said:


> I envy my cats who (it's only my human-oriented assumption) have little thought about the past or the future so they have no regrets or fears ~ life is just what's happening now. But your words remind me that it's OK to have memoires, good or bad, that it's necessary to carry them with you, not like a heavy load but because without them we are only our present and that is not true. Thank you Pandora.


Said so beautifully qwertyportne, I thank you for so much! 

Oh, and welcome, always.


----------



## Pandora

Drowning


When I see this I think of a life wasted, long before the rains began. There could be a million tears shed for this dog. The ignorance that allows his potential love to be overlooked is infuriating.The heartbreaking life leading up to this photo, unconscionable. Life on a leash for a loving, vibrant dog who has the need to be Mans best friend, cruel, thoughtless, selfish. To take a dog and train it to be as vile as its owner, to be feared by human and animal alike, is a heinous crime.

"Death came around, forced to hear it's song
And know tomorrow can't be depended on"

I am a hopeful person and see him now in a loving family, the rains having saved him from a miserable life. He runs with a small boy and looks after his little girl. Waits on Dad in the evenings for a pat on the head and a bone. Curls in his mistress' arms at bedtime to hear his story time and again and listen to his song, a song of being saved, she sings softly . . . 

"Hold me, and make it the truth, That when all is lost there will be you.
Cause to the universe I don't mean a thing and there's just one word that I still believe 
and it's Love, love love love love."

He has found the love he so deserves for the rest of his days.

They are all good dogs, good dogs looking for good people.


----------



## Gyarachu

I am totally _not_ crying at this one.

_Not _crying.

I swear.

:---)


----------



## Pandora

Gyarachu said:


> I am totally _not_ crying at this one.
> 
> _Not _crying.
> 
> I swear.
> 
> :---)



made me laugh with the email alert, thank you Gyarachu happy it went to the heart . . . 

I still cry at the injustice, someday dogs will be well cared for, all of them.


----------



## Pandora

I wonder, do you love the sound of a train whistle, a far off train whistle? 

I do, JB does, my Mama always did. My daughter lives across the street from the tracks, 
she still loves them. It is a lonely sound for sure, a melancholy sound yet peaceful and hopeful at the same time.
I guess like running away might be. Sad to leave behind what you love, fearing it would be just you but also intrigued 
by the newness escaping would bring. Excited by the thought of fresh discoveries.
I think those who love a train whistle are drawn to the thought of running away from it all, if that be only those moments
they are immersed in the sound, aroused by the feeling of freedom. I have felt and seen that in the eyes of my loved ones.
Our telling eyes have met afraid to share the desire to run, to be someone new, almost ashamed of the thought.
There is that look followed by a sigh and small whisper, 'I love the sound of a far off train whistle, don't you?',
we lost in our own thoughts of what could be.

The train whistle brings back memories too, times spent walking the tracks, learning to smoke cigarettes with my buddies. Still to this day someone lights up and the smell brings me back to those tracks. Railroad tracks, like cemeteries, a very cool place to hang out. The best rush was when we were lucky enough to have one pass, they are mighty machines, almost blow you over, cover your ears and hold your breath! Each time I would be close to one moving by I would think of Hobo's, there's a blast from the past, not a word heard much these days. A symbol from my day, freedom, yes I guess, someone who ran away. 

If you want to walk and not run, take a moment to listen, enjoy today and yesterday and maybe even a daydream in a far off train whistle.



[video=youtube_share;GiFor0Xd-GA]http://youtu.be/GiFor0Xd-GA[/video]


----------



## Pandora

This written a few years back, after I regained the use of my legs, able to return to the garden to sit. A meaningful memory for so many reasons.Today I wait patiently for my garden to return, the first signs are delightful, I celebrate life!

_Slow Turning World

Slowly with care, I return to watch, comfortable for the moment, I sigh. I'm here to admire the years of my handiwork, years that have brought me to this day. __I remember the earth in my hands, the smell, cool, rich and brown, this now the smell of bygone days. By memory,  the giant yellow wheelbarrow filled to the brim, all the colors of the rainbow and the sweet promise of new life. Life that returns to me each year, life that brings me such joy,  life I can depend on,  life that makes my life. 

Life in the Garden....
"An hour in the garden puts life's problems in perspective" the motto I have lived by, carved in a stone at my feet.

Today I rejoice in the colors, the colors of all my hard work. The tiger lillies bright orange, the roses hot pink and more, rose red to coral light. Big balls of blue, the hydrangea and then the yucca, tall and white. A single Easter lily planted seasons ago, the fragrance I smell where I sit. The day lillies and rubrums are also in full bud, awaiting their glory days to come. I recall their scents from memory, each one unique as their color combo of petals.

Next to me, strategically planted, my gardenia. It's buds ready to burst with the promise of their heavy wax smell, a truly, truly, heavenly smell. Next weekend, I think, we will enjoy it with cocktail by evening pool light, acknowledging the most wonderful tropical delight! Beyond are the ponds with the lilly pads and iris, ponds that I dug out myself.  Now they are home to my pool sharing, evening swim frogs, that bring smiles, laughter and delight. Speaking of whom . . .
at this moment a frog croaks and brings me back to today.

Smiling, my eyes drift to my friends that live here, hmmm, do they seem to have adjusted their pace just a little? In pace with the mistress they know. Are my birds flying somewhat slower, the chipmunks, cheeks stuffed full, could they be staying a little longer, the dragonflies perhaps darting less? My dearest anoles, do they come nearer and listen more closely to the words I instictively share?

The world indeed is turning a little slower, perhaps having lost some life giving force. Together we will sit and enjoy the time spent for time is all that we have. We thank God for the time that we have._


----------



## qwertyportne

Pandora said:


> The train whistle brings back memories...



I grew up in the country far from any trains but had the same feeling about the small airplanes that occasionally flew over our ranch. Something in the low drone of the engine that sounded mournfully alone ~ like a train. Yeah, like a train going by. Still get that nostalgic, "re-member-ing" feeling when a plane flies over my home now. Thanks for the memories Pandora!


----------



## qwertyportne

Enjoyed this walk with you through your garden. So different from T. S. Eliot's "The Wasteland" Never did read the whole thing. Just couldn't get past the first few lines. So, well, negative...

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding   
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing   
Memory and desire, stirring   
Dull roots with spring rain.   
Winter kept us warm, covering          5 
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding   
A little life with dried tubers.


----------



## Pandora

qwertyportne said:


> I grew up in the country far from any trains but had the same feeling about the small airplanes that occasionally flew over our ranch. Something in the low drone of the engine that sounded mournfully alone ~ like a train. Yeah, like a train going by. Still get that nostalgic, "re-member-ing" feeling when a plane flies over my home now. Thanks for the memories Pandora!


Welcome qwertyportne and thank you for dropping in and listening. I can see how the memory of the small
engine planes flying over when you were young would feel the same as my train whistle. I have a memory of small planes too from my youth. I remember laying in a field near Timmerman field at night watching the 'semis in the sky' as I called them. Now, thank you for the memory too.


----------



## Pandora

qwertyportne said:


> Enjoyed this walk with you through your garden. So different from T. S. Eliot's "The Wasteland" Never did read the whole thing. Just couldn't get past the first few lines. So, well, negative...
> 
> APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
> Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
> Memory and desire, stirring
> Dull roots with spring rain.
> Winter kept us warm, covering          5
> Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
> A little life with dried tubers.


I'm glad you enjoyed my garden. Yes that is not how most people would write about springtime.
I do like 

_"Memory and desire, stirring 
Dull roots with spring rain."_

just seeing the word lilacs in the previous line there aches. If I had known there would be 
almost none in Georgia I thinkI would not have come. Magnificent fragrance, color and texture.
 I need to go back to Wisconsin in May for some lilac hugs.

Thanks for sharing TS with me, negative but still nice to trigger memories.


----------



## ChrisK

Lovely piece Pandora. It stirred some deep emotions in me as I imagined how I would feel if it were my own daughter in a hospital bed, and how I should be thankful for her every day. I know she is strong and loving, just like her mother was. Thank you for that connection.


----------



## Pandora

ChrisK said:


> Lovely piece Pandora. It stirred some deep emotions in me as I imagined how I would feel if it were my own daughter in a hospital bed, and how I should be thankful for her every day. I know she is strong and loving, just like her mother was. Thank you for that connection.


There is no better input than this for me. A connection, deep emotions, and a feeling of appreciation and gratefulness. This is what you give to me as well. Thank you ChrisK, I'm honored. I'm also saddened at the loss of your wife and the mother of your strong and loving daughter, glad you have each other and your memories. I have a feeling you walk through them all.


----------



## Pandora

Memories of my child . . .


Sitting in my office, I hear her giggle at something out front, giggle, she just makes that word for me.
Her laugh sounds small once again  . . .

my little one sitting inches from the TV screen, dressed in flannel footy pajamas. 
She rolls over backwards, sprawling, laughing harder now till I laugh too.

The memory brings a smile and a tear.

Back to today, I hear her voice, asking Dad a question, her voice sounds small once again . . .

my baby in her car seat, in the way back of the minivan. She's telling her pooh bear a story,
it has a moral she adds, making sure Pooh gets the intended message. 
Even then a determined woman in the making.

The memory brings a smile and a tear.

I stand and slowly walk around the corner, her face smiling at the sight of me,
"Hey Mom,  you're so quiet in there, I didn't even know you were there!" her smile broadens. 

Her smile, she is small once again . . .

my precious, patiently drawing a picture, careful to outline each stroke with a new color,
purposely and proudly creating a masterpiece she magnets to the frig.
Then turns to me at the sink, smiles and says "see what I drew!" 

The memory brings a smile and a tear.

Savannah stands and comes my way, "Mom you ok?  Are you crying?"
her concern on her lovely heart shaped face. Her face now grown, I see myself in her.
I see my eyes in hers, I hear my laugh in hers.

'No hun you bring a smile and a tear is all',

"Oh Mom" and she hugs me hard . . . 

we feel the love that will forever bring a smile and a tear.


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## Pandora

​




Today . . . 

Mesmerized with a new friend, a yellow Monarch butterfly, lighting on each lantana ball, orange, red, gold, pink, yellow. I was underground, eye level, in the pool just a foot or so away, sneaky me. Birds eye view,  is what I had, watching that butterfly work each tiny blossom that makes a whole. My thoughts went to . . .  this is his work, feeding and pollinating. A simple plan of nature, a beautiful plan of nature. I smiled with the simplicity yet complexity of God's world. 

There near the bottom of the lantana was my favorite "buddy-bye". He is black, with beautiful blue and peach edging, but not today. The size of my palm but not today. I have watched him many a day flutter effortlessly in my garden, not today.

Today, he is horribly tattered, beyond repair, having lost half of one wing, a third of the other. This hit my heart hard, his beauty tattered, his life now near to over. Was this also a part of the simple plan? That this world should strike back  and bring ugliness, chaos, pain and sadness. Or is this world now a disconnect  from the simple plan? And will we all be tattered, or are we already tattered? just a bit of what we were meant to be, what we could be?

Tomorrow . . .

Resilient my butterfly is, resting often amongst the large blue balls of the hydrangea. Skillfully blending in, protected in his fragile state. His courage makes him all the more beautiful. There is no defeat only the joy of life, however long that is. 

We are all imperfect, it is life that is perfection.


​


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## apple

Pandora, I just noticed this thread.  I haven't read all of the parts yet, but I will.  What I have read so far, is absolutely lovely, heartfelt and loving.  So good.  Real life.


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## Pandora

Thank you apple, I take this to heart, means much to me the time, the read and your kind words. I love reading your posts! Thank you for the smiles .


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## Pandora

*No Fears*

I was floating in my pool chair late Sunday afternoon, now shaded from the sun, it just peeking through the trees. I had my libation in a tall colorful cup of pink flamingos and multicolored hibiscus flowers. A medium sized blue dragonfly began buzzing close by. He was a little frightened but very curious. I would have to say the same for me. I moved my colorful cup of Tequila and lemonade to rest just about at my belly button thinking perhaps this little guy would light. If he could overcome his fear, I was willing to do the same. He did, we did. His back to me, I examined his long thin wedgwood blue "tail" and copper iridescent wings in the shaded light. Slowly I turned my glass as he rested on the lip. His little face met mine. We stared at each other, for a long time. Floating peacefully there together, two different worlds meeting on a pool chair. His little mouth curved into a small grin with huge blue green eyes that twitched occasionally. I wondered then what I looked like to him. That which we both may have thought was ugly because of our fears was now beautiful without fear. I am glad my little dragonfly joined me, a lesson he brought with him, beauty is not only in the eye of the beholder, it is in eyes without fear.
​


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## escorial

a feel good short piece..just my cup of tea..liked pandora


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## Pandora

Thank you kind sir


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## qwertyportne

Lovely Pandora, just lovely. Felt like I was floating with you and your dragon fly. We get them zooming around when we water our flowers along the walk way between the garage and the house. So many vivid images. You really do know how to show and tell!


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## Pandora

Thanks much qwerty!


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## Pandora

June 2012

A stranger never after . . .

The reflection of the Caddy fills the glass windows of our new leased space. I sit behind the wheel, watching a dragonfly cover the pink and yellow cannas, dart over the freshly mowed grass then move on across the parking lots in the early summer's sun. It's going to be a hot one, I thought, hot asphalt, just what suits a dragonfly, it's like his own huge black pond. I do like a dragonfly. I ponder planting some knockout roses outside the windows of my new office, that will attract more and the occasional butterfly too. Yes, I think, this is a good new place to be. It feels just right.

My thoughts trace back over the last 20 years of business to all the parking lots, the now four locations we've occupied, filled with people from my past, those who have walked through and left some of themselves for me to keep. People who have confided, sought advice, shared losses and loves, strangers before but never after. 

Leaving the car I enter the building starkly empty, soon to be filled with noise, machinery, friends, family. It is perfectly quiet and empty. I take a moment to enjoy the feel of that, waiting for the security system lady to arrive. The new beginnings of our decades old business is rejuvenating, I feel excited, happy, at home. We are sole partners now, something a long time coming, side by side my husband and I, everyday. I smile, life is good.

The salesperson pulls into the lot, she too is smiling. We inspect our new space chatting glass breakage, motion detector, all that good stuff to protect against bad stuff. We end up in the large warehouse area that will house the equipment. As we speak there is an echo, quite an echo. One doesn't hear an echo often, I thought. The phenomenon is almost heavenly. I mention this space was previously used as a ministry. She smiles, her deep brown eyes, white teeth, gleam against her lovely dark skin. We agree what a great place for gospel. I like her, I am comfortable, we share a moment of imagined voices in harmony, echoing praises to God above.

When our business is done we move to the less stifling air outside for our goodbyes, standing in front of our cars parked side by side. I tell her I am returning to work  after being absent for over three years due to a back injury. That my position now, along with my regular duties, is that of encouraging morale, enforcing positive goals.  She reads through my words, sees my apprehension, that I must be, may be playing the role of bad guy. She tells me she sees I am a sweet person, this understanding not unexpected though very much welcomed. She adds a but after the word sweet, letting me know who I must be. The most remarkable thing is this woman managed as many as 135 employees at a time, having to be the bad guy along with the good. Her words of advice, spoken in strong personal quotes, she says, ones I may borrow if the need arises, gives me the feeling that this encounter we are sharing is one of those walk through moments in life where we leave a bit of ourselves with another. She does this for me. She tells me to call upon her if I teeter, she will help. She already has, another stranger never after.

As we walk across the parking lot, she waves to me, the breeze moves our hair simultaneously . . . 

I get that feeling, the not alone one. I whisper thanks for that, it's just what I needed, just what I needed to keep. God, I love this place and all it's strangers never after.


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## Pandora

_Thinking of you today, as always Blythe, on what would have been your 67th birthday.
We would be sharing some laughs over the phone. A little razing from baby sister on just how old you are . . .

'Damn woman 67!  can you believe this?!' and you would disbelievingly ask me again how old I was. I would picture you shake your head across the miles, as you recalled teaching me to ride my bike, that it feels just like yesterday. And it does, like yesterday, that we grew together.There would be a few tears, happy tears from memories of past days. Birthdays shared, cakes and candles and wishes made. Sad tears too from the pain in our lives. There would be some talk about this stupid crazy world, the beautiful spiritual twist you would put on it. Always making me feel everything and nothing matters, that all is ok. You would listen to my woes, lending advice if needed or just loving words at my rant. And you would send your love, your love, to the kids and JB before we said . . .

"Talk to you later". 

But there is no later and I miss you. All I have is the memories of your voice, faint over the phone line. And all the would haves. I carry you close in heart, this I have. This I will always have until we hold each other again.

Hugs to you Sister . . .

Happy Happy 67th Birthday!_


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## Plasticweld

Just thought I would send this to the top of the page,  many new readers here have not seen Pandora's work but have read of her.  She worked at keeping this thread going and thought for old times sake I would bump it up for her... Bob


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## TKent

Uggh PW, that last message to her sis just broke the dam... whew that is emotional stuff.



Plasticweld said:


> Just thought I would send this to the top of the page,  many new readers here have not seen Pandora's work but have read of her.  She worked at keeping this thread going and thought for old times sake I would bump it up for her... Bob


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## Deleted member 56686

Bob, I'd rep you again if I could. That was an very nice thing to do.








 And Pandora thanks you too


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## dither

Oh Pandora. :-(

I frown at the loss,  i'm sure that she wouldn't want that, but how can one not?


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## Plasticweld

Words from Pandora that were comforting to her in a time of grief, and now may be comforting to others here now.



Pandora said:


> *​*_
> 
> My thoughts return to the young man's words and he is saying
> now would be a great time to reflect on our own lives.
> This a good thought for me.
> Reflection.
> If there is a plan, if everything happens for a reason
> then reflection is enough reason for me for this untimely passing.
> 
> So here on my floatie in the healing sunshine,
> as the warmth of God covers me.
> I appreciate all that I have been given.
> I acknowledge the blessings and say 'thank you Lord'
> I see this awe inspiring world that was created for us.
> I  feel the love and will work to create more love.
> I accept my flaws and those of others as we are really all the same in the end.
> I will live my final days the best I can until I myself are in the arms of an angel._


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