GRANDPA AND GREAT-GRANDSON

"You aren't gonna eat me, are you??"

I just had to tag that picture with that line.  It is a little joke our family has shared for years.  My dad had once told a little neighbor girl that he eats little kids for breakfast.  After that she would always ask if he'd had breakfast before she would come over. I wonder if she remembers that??

This is my daddy (who will be 80 this year) holding his first great-grandson, Logan. My brother, Jim, is Logan's grandpa.  Logan was born October 30th, 2009, so he is now 4 months old.  He has a lot of hair, and it is definitely red!  In my dad's hands Logan looks like a little doll.

ANOTHER POET IN THE FAMILY!!

I was informed that my niece, Megan, won a contest for the best poem at her school in Southern California for this poem she wrote about the Holocaust.  Her poem will now go on to the next competition among all the schools in the area.  I am a proud auntie!!

A memory of a song
I sang throughout my life
A song of joys and sorrows
Of the importance of human life

A memory of a childhood
So short in being sweet
Of a time when I was taken
My family and me

A memory of a place
Where some people were so cruel
To those who were a little different
To those like me and you

A memory of a question
Placed inside a guards head
One that would mean the difference
If I lived or if I was dead

A memory of a fear
That many I knew shared
The fear of not surviving
Even if we weren't scared

A memory of a taking
Of my friends and fellow Jews
Of what was to become of them
If I only knew

A memory of a song
Sung by all my friends
To keep hope and faith inside their hearts
For the people they would meet again

POETIC BIRTH

Remember the death poem I wrote from a writing prompt and shared in a previous post?  Well, it gave birth to something new. 

At Chrysalis Women Writers meeting this past Wednesday, someone mentioned Scheherazade and it stuck with me.  I thought about how her stories were anticipated by the prince and that thought blended with the idea of my poetry and how I do have a hope that it will be like a legacy, a part of me to live on. I think all of us who write - be it poetry, novel, scifi, fantasy, fiction, memoirs, etc. - hope that it will be the one thing left behind to be a representation of us, a gift shared and appreciated for years beyond ours.

I think the thought of dying is a bit unnerving.  Will anyone remember us?  Will we leave a heritage to immortalize us? 
We authors write because we want to be heard, to share, and to be cherished. We want to leave something of significance.  No writer really does it for themselves. Writing is a step into immortality. The idea of others enjoying what we create is euphoric.  And if it stirs or inspires them, even better.
Sometimes I imagine that years after my death, a young girl will find my poems and be moved by one.  Then she will share it with someone else who may feel an inspiration to write something.  Then that person passes the poetry on, and the trend endures for years.  A nice dream.
Anyway, here is my poem:

WRITERS FANTASY

We authors desire
to witness our writing
arousing emotion within a heart,
embroidering imagination upon a mind,
influencing the attitude of a life.

Like Scheherazade's tales
we wish our words to become
everlasting and cherished, greeted
with anxious anticipation.

Therefore I compose,
my words dancing on the air,
flying free, eager
to jewel the lives of others.
I spread them like seeds,
sowing inspiration and passion.

Some may take root within the heart
of another, and live
long after I have been immersed
into earthly beauty.

Maybe my words will endure
through those they arouse and motivate,
and thus I will exist immortal.

EMMA ROSE IN DENIM

My niece, Jessica, sent me a couple of adorable photos of her daughter, Emma Rose Piatz.  Isn't she adorable in denim!  Quite the fashion plate!

I see a lot of her mother in her face but Jessica says she does not see it. 

They live in North Dakota right now so Emma does not get to go outside much due to lots of snow and very, VERY cold below zero temperatures.  She must do all of her modeling in the warmth and comfort of her home. 

Emma is not yet ready to do much speaking on the telephone but she will eventually, then she can say "Hello Auntie Rose."

I always enjoy receiving photos of Emma and her mommy and daddy.

My days are brightened whenever I receive an email containing more photographs.

She has adorable blue eyes. I am sure she will grow up and have all the boys falling in love with her.  Look out daddy!

Notice the cute little hearts on the knees of her denim jeans. 

I would like a pair with hearts on the knees!!

MAKES YOU THINK...

Ever since writing the Death poem, I have been doing a lot of thinking. 

We never know when we will die (unless we plan to take our own lives), but suppose you were to know.  Suppose a doctor told you that you had one month left.  Would you change the way you live, the way you treat people and interact with them?

I thought about how I have lived up till now.  I have always tried to be kind and considerate of everyone.  I have tried to greet others with a smile.  If someone is upset or sad, I try to be a good listener and give them a shoulder to cry on should they need it.  And I am always open to giving hugs. 

I do not think I would change the way I am with others. 

But I would want to give something to each friend and family member as a memento to remember me by.  It may be just one of my poems, or a trinket, or a photograph of mine....nothing really valuable, just a token, something that, when they view it, would bring thoughts of me into their hearts.  We all hope to be remembered after we are gone.  I want to be remembered with joy.  I do not want tears to continually flow long after I am gone.

I think I might even write a "letter" to each beloved family member to let them each know how special they are to me.  I would definitely go to spend time with them.  This would be a gift to myself as well as to them.  I am nto sure if we get to carry memories with us after we pass on, but if we do (and I hope we do) I want to have those memories of being with my family.

I do hope the Lord will allow us to carry with us the joy of our loves of our life, the memories of happy times, and the love we shared.

That would make my Heaven.

DEATH POEM

Writer's Club occasionally does writing exercises, which different members prepare.  Last night one of the members gave us the assignment to write a death poem.  He explained that the samurai do this prior to disemboweling themselves.  But his twist on the assignment was that we could be dying from natural causes or by our own hand, and it could be for ourselves or be one of our characters from our book.  Would we brag on how much we had done, or see our lives as unfullfilled?  Would we have regrets or go feeling accomplished and complete? Wow!  This was tough enough, but then we only had 10 minutes to write it for presentation!
I chose myself since I have not been doing well on my book.
My first thought was of tears; tears shed by loved ones, by me, by those in my  life.  Tears which touched and affected me by the emotions within them.
Then I thought of my poetry and how much I hope it will exist after me, touching others, creating feeling and thought.
So, as rough as it is, here I present my Death poem.

Occasionally tears flowed beneath my mask
shielding others from added pain,
tears shed for my own circumstance,
but also in empathy for those in my life.

So I wrote,
my words dancing on the air
jewelling lives of others,
flowing freely.

I spread them like seeds,
sowing thought and feeling.
Some may take root
within a heart or emotion
of another, and live
long after I have been immersed
into earthly beauty.

My words will endure
through those they touch
and thus I will exist immortal.
.fini.


My challenge--What would you write?