Friday, June 10, 2022



Hi mom and dad,


I’ve been thinking about you both.

I miss our 3-way phone conversations,

which always left my mind spinning,

and the individual one-on-one tete-a-tetes.

You both are frequently in my thoughts,

countless moments remembered.


Mom, whenever I watch Flea Market Flip

I think of the times we watched together

and would remark on the innovative projects.

You would always tell me that I could

create items just as imaginative as they did.


Dad, I remember when you’d be watching

a show on History channel which you thought

I’d enjoy, so you’d call me and tell me

to click to that channel. I liked that you

wanted to share that with me.


You were always so strong in my eyes, dad,

but the first time I saw you weak

was during one visit where you

had passed out in your bedroom.

I was shocked by how pale you looked.

I felt terrified. My strong dad, weak.


When you had your stroke, mom,

I knew things would never be the same.

Life was so changed after all that.

Your memories were altered, words confused.

I wish we could still talk of the special

moments and memories in our lives.


Where have the years gone? Why so fast?

When did you both grow old and frail?

Now you’re both gone. Nothing more

can be shared. I miss you.

Love, your daughter, Rose.


Rose Hodgerson Lefebvre©

Sunday, June 5, 2022


The above photo shows the front garden of my home soon to be sold.
See the back garden shots below!
Such a lovely, colorful spring garden!
Soon it will belong to someone else when my place sells. 
Hope they love it as much as I have.

Saturday, May 28, 2022


 A few of my first spring photographs in between moving. Lots happening in my world.
Here is a gold-crowned sparrow.
Black-headed grosbeak
Grape hyacinth
Oregon grape
Ornamental cherry tree
Redwing blackbird
My yard at the house I am selling.
Enjoy the photographs. Enjoy the rest of spring.

Wednesday, May 18, 2022



ALL THAT GLITTERS   by Rose Lefebvre©


Watching the sand as I stroll, I spot the golden glint within, suddenly

recall a childhood visit to a warm California beach and my discovery

of gold, so abundant, shimmering within the miniscule grains.

Sand bucket in hand, I set to mining the treasure, fantasizing

buying my two brothers each a Tonka truck, my sister a new doll,

mom a pretty new dress and purse, and dad a real airplane.

I visualized how delighted my family would be.

Two hours of toiling for the riches that everyone walked past,

totally unaware, I kept imagining how impressed my dad

would be of me, envisioning him acknowledging my hard work.


Back and knees aching, my bucket sparkled with my treasure,

my imagination picturing my family relocating to a castle

or a mansion with a large pool. I could hardly contain myself.

Bucket heavily filled, I ran to present it my mom and dad

on a beach blanket, so eager to see their excitement, so proud to

show the results of my arduous work. It’s gold! I excitedly declared.

Dad gazed into my bucket. Pyrite. Fools’ gold, he bluntly stated.

Mom muttered, Oh Harold, reaching her arms out to enfold me.

It’s not real. It’s worthless, dad replied as he turned to go to

my brothers and sister erecting an enormous sand castle.


I silently moved to the water until it lapped at my knees,

gradually dumped my bucket of golden disappointment,

leaving it all for some other fool.


Friday, May 13, 2022


 One night I had an emotional dream and so this poem evolved.

CLIMB by Rose Lefebvre

The dream unnerved me,

left fear in my heart,

my body trembling.

It was a towering tree,

a tree empty of life.

Neither top or bottom

could be seen, only more dubious

branches above, broken ones below.

Murky grey fog surrounded me,

no light, yet I felt it was somewhere above

if only I could climb high enough.

Each step I took higher

I would feel that branch

give way ‘neath my feet.

Each stride exhausted me,

yet urgency drew me up.

I believed if I stopped

I would perish.

Reach up!

Reach higher!

Continue to climb!

Stay alive!


Is this what it’s like

when in your last hours?

A weakening struggle to live

yet slowly surrendering,

gradually tiring?

What did it mean?

This dream nightmare,

left me shaken,


It was not real.

Sunday, May 8, 2022


 I have so many memories of my mother, and here is a poem about a special one.  This Mothers Day is the first without Mama. 

LAUNDRY DAY                                                                                                 

We dangle like human laundry

from the large gray metal T’s that form

each end of the clotheslines, slowly swaying,

waiting for Mama to finish hanging

fresh-laundered sheets. She lifts and folds

each one over the taut lines, fastening

with wood clothespins to form a rectangular

room for my sister, Treasa, and I. 

Inside go two weather-beaten lawn chairs,

our “Art box,” and a small round wood table,

once a spool for telephone line, now painted

turquoise with leftover house paint.

White fabric walls thwack between cottony whispers.

Damp air inside is a sultry bouquet, cool and clean,

mixed with the scent of mother’s cherished roses

and the pungent mown lawn.

Shadows from trees swagger

upon the brilliant walls spawning illusions

of misshapen gnomes, hideous witches. We sip

apple juice and nibble sweet graham crackers

adhered together with homemade icing.

Footsteps signal someone’s approach and we shush

each other as a shadow looms nearer, grows larger.

Mama peeks in with a “BOO!” savoring our laughter.

Then she squats upon the grass, picks up a red crayon,

begins to color her fingernails. Mimicking mama,

Treasa colors hers black and I choose amber.

We come together in this private moment,

mama a girl, just like us.

Concealed within our cotton cocoon

we eavesdrop on boisterous birds,

blow tepid breath on ladybugs

and view butterflies flickering silhouettes

as they sip moisture off the dripping fabric.

I gaze at sister and smile as we sketch

with Crayola Crayons; Plum mountains,

Turquoise Blue lakes, and Burnt Sienna trees

with Sea Green leaves. I add Periwinkle butterflies.

Treasa draws Violet Red hearts

and a lop-sided Yellow Orange sun. 

Mama draws a big pink heart

with two little girl faces inside.

Treasa uses clothespins to anchor our drawings

onto the near-dry cotton sheet walls.

We make wishes (I for a kitten) holding

yellow dandelions beneath our chins.

Mama says she wishes for more laundry

and we think she is silly. When the bedding is dry,

mama folds up our temporary tent like a nomad

and shepherds us inside.

Monday, March 28, 2022


I've been watching the birds at our 3 birdfeeders in the yard.
Quite an array.
This one is a white-crowned sparrow.
The stellar jay is a regular visitor.
They love the suet and foraging under the seed feeders.
We also have daily visits in the yard and feeders from scrub jays. 
The red-wing blackbird comes off and on.
He forages under the yard seed feeder and eats suet.
I am told this bird is a purple finch. We have quite a few visits from them.
We have many more visitors but sometimes 
I am not quick enough with the camera
 and they are quicker.
I hope you enjoy these photos.

Sunday, February 27, 2022


 My mother left this world February 24th 2022, 88 years old.
She was my rock, always there for me, always loving and caring.
I hold so many memories of her within my heart.
Here are 2 poems I wrote to honor her.

I gave my love a cherry that had no stone,

I gave my love a chicken that has no bone,

I gave my love a story that has no end,

I gave my love a baby with no cryin’.


I can remember you at the side of my bed

singing the Riddle Song as I drifted to sleep.

I would close my eyes and listen to your voice

feeling protected and comforted and loved.


Growing up, I felt like I didn’t quite fit in,

but you made me feel unique and clever.

You would lift my spirits when they sank,

make me feel different in a good way.


When I was teased and demeaned, you

would sooth me, say they were jealous.

I didn’t quite understand what they’d

be jealous about, but I felt soothed by it.


Mama, you always created a feeling of love,

always made me feel protected and safe.

I saw your sacrifices so we, your children,

had what we needed to grow and thrive.


I felt so proud when you would ooh and ahh

over each item I produced for you with love;

hand-drawn cards, poetry, bead necklaces.

You would act as though I’d given you gold.


Mama, I want to thank you for boundless love,

for always encouraging my uniqueness,

for being my champion in difficult times,

for seeing the worth of me. I love you.


Mothers voice lapped like gentle waves

against my ears as I closed my eyes

and listened to her calmly read

bedtime stories that helped me escape.


I floated through lovely landscapes

as mama guided me as she read,

my imagination leading me

down a peaceful path,

alongside a whispering stream

where butterflies pirouetted

on a rainbow of wildflowers.


The world of reality was forgotten

and mama helped me drift into dreams,

float on her words, ease into slumber.

I could sleep, unafraid of demons

and things that go bump

in the night.


Rose Marie (Long) Guenther Hodgerson

Born Dec. 18, 1933 in Missouri
Mom and dad with Kids, left to right:
Rex, Rose, Treasa, Jim
Mom, Rex, Jim and Treasa
Mom, Rose and Treasa

Mom and Vanessa, granddaughter
mom and dad and children l to r: Rose, Jim. Treasa, Rex
Mom and grandson Brian
Mom and Heather
Mom, Rose and Clay
mom and Rex
Mom and Treasa
Crystal, mom and Heather
Family 2018
Eva (Evangeline) mom and Nate
mom and family 2018
Jim, mom, and Rex 2018
Kellie, Kassidy, Mom Rex, Olivia 2018
Good bye mom!