GOLDEN HAIR DELIGHT

I was scrolling through photographs on my computer that I had scanned in and saved. My enjoyable task was fixing photos, making them look better. My favorites were of my son when he was young. Children always say and do things that stick in your memories forever. In this picture he had been spending the day being a sidewalk (and driveway) artist. I always had colored chalk on hand for this much-loved activity. Chalk is so great because a little water washes the "canvas" new and you can start over again.

This particular day he had announced that he was drawing a picture of me and I had to sit and pose for him. When he drew my hair as golden yellow (no brown chalk) I mentioned that I was not a blond. His response: "When the sun shines on your hair, mom, it shines kinda like gold." Already learning how to schmooze a female!

This photo is of my son when he was 13 days old in the arms of his grandfather Lefebvre, my husbands father. Get a load of that hair he has!
He had his first haircut a few days later because it was so long it would get into his eyes! In this picture I can almost hear Jimmy (my son) thinking "what are you looking at?"

It looks like they are checking each other out. One of my favorite shots!

This photograph is of my son in the arms of my husband, Clay. My two men in their suits. Jimmy was a year old. It was a sad occasion as it was a funeral for my husbands grandmother, his fathers mother. But I hold onto the memory of Clay walking Jimmy around the graveyard and Jimmy noticing the little things we may not have seen it it had not been for his eyes...a "pretty" rock, flowers, trees, a bug walking across a gravestone. ..

The photograph to the right was taken at Big Bear, California

and was the first experience Jimmy had in snow! He was 4 years old (big boy!). We had filled empty plastic dish soap bottles with water tinted with food coloring so we could "paint" in the snow. We brought along our own homemade snowman kit (briquettes, carrot, red berries). We found branches on the ground to use for arms. Since it was cold outside, Jimmy felt that we needed to paint clothes onto his snowman, which he had aptly named Frosty (gee, wonder where he got that name?). Then he took off his knit cap and was placing it on Frosty because "he still looks cold" when I snapped this shot. It was such a sweet moment. When we had to leave and go home, Jimmy cried when he realized we would not be taking Frosty home with us.

Yes, children may sometimes be a handful and keep us on our toes, but they also give us the gift of treasured memories.

SO CLOSE AND YET SO FAR AWAY

It is difficult to watch someone you love slowly drift away from you. Sometimes it is Alzheimer's, sometimes it is dementia; whatever the name, it is sad. As time goes by the person you once knew show themselves less often, until they become a stranger, only recognizable visually. The moments you share of memories and calm become less frequent.
Sometimes you find yourself angry, not because of the loved one but because of the illness that causes loss. It is much more difficult than losing someone by sudden death, because you lose them gradually and the loss is daily. You go through it over and over again.
There may be a day you sift through photographs in an attempt to cling to the good memories while facing the present difficult days. You want to have those memories to hold on to and not the ones of the anger, the confusion, the "zoned out" days. Because when it does finally end, you want to mourn the loss of that special person you laughed with, the one you created memories with, the person you loved.

MISSING MAMA
By Rose Lefebvre

She sits silent as I brush her silvery curls,
twining one ‘round my finger.
“Remember when you used to brush
my ringlets each morning, mama?”
There is no response, no acknowledgement.
Her trembling fingers twitch upon the quilt
draped across her bony lap. Those fingers once
moved deftly, in and out, over and over, until
each perfect patch of fabric was united in that quilt;
pieces from G-Nana’s dappled gray Sunday suit,
Gramma Mattie’s distinctive red flowered apron,
Grampa Jim’s green flannel shirt, Mama’s
first dress of pale lavender, the blankets that swaddled
me and my little brother after birth, his
a robin’s egg blue and mine a warm peach.

“Remember when Daddy said an egg would not
break if you squeezed it a certain way?
Its slimy guts shot out hitting Jimmy square in the face!
We all laughed so hard our stomachs ached.”I giggle too long and too loudly.
She softly hums a childhood lullaby, a grin dancing
on her lips like a resting butterfly. Drawing them
from my purse like a magician, I present photographs
carefully chosen for today’s visit. I begin the ritual.
“Look here, mama. This is Jimmy, your grandson,
in his football uniform. He’s getting so big! And this one
is Cindy, taken on her vacation last month
to Branson, Missouri. You would love it there!”
Nothing. No acknowledgements, no response.

Frustrated, I fling the photographs upon her lap,
furiously stomp out of the room. I collapse
upon a chair in the hallway, anger subsiding to shame.
I want my mama back, the woman whose gliding laughter
tangoed in our ears, who would converse with total strangers
at the grocery store and leave as friends,
whose hazel eyes would induce confessions from us.
I can almost hear her off-key voice crooning
lullabies or attempting to harmonize
with a Hank Williams record.
Drying my tears, I return to her. She stares at me,
an inquiring gaze bending her brow.
“Who are you? Do I know you?”

WE CAN NEVER BE SURE OF TOMORROW

My husband has been ill and he has problems with his mind, his memory. It is difficult for all of us who love and care for him. I have written this poem dedicated to him.

ADRIFT

I watch you, wedged in sleep,
witness dream shadows shuffle
across your countenance,
and wonder what thoughts parade
behind your closed eyes.
The you I knew hovers ghostly,
peeking out sporadically,
like a veil of stars emerging
from behind nomadic clouds.

This unwelcome transformation
disheartens, lies between us
like the shock of blood
upon whiteness of virgin snow.
I grieve for what once was;
for dreams shared, memories
now a jumbled puzzle in your head,
grieve for you, gone astray
in your minds wilderness, slowly
drifting further from me.

Every now and then the clouds part,
your eyes flash with recollection,
and we drift languidly together
across moonlit moments,
the storm departed
for now.

THE ADVENTURES OF NANA ROSE

Tonight after work I zoomed over to Christina's home to babysit little Brogan. He is my best friends grandson. I am "Nana" Rose for him.

It is always fun to get to spend time with and laugh at his antics. He has recently begun walking and I go to witness this for the first time (more than 3 steps) tonight. He walked all over the place! He has a slight drunken swagger (reminded me a bit of John Wayne!) but does get around well.

Brogan has an abundance of toys, and many which make sounds or music. He has this little toy hammer than sounds like something out of a cartoon. I love it! Brogan seems especially drawn to musical toys and will "sing" along and dance. At one point he was playing music and was dancing and when he attempted to do a slow turn he fell on his boom boom (butt to those older than 5). He cried for about 2 minutes until Nana Rose started making funny faces and teasing about his boom boom. That got him to laughing.

We played games like tickle my toes, where's your belly, peek-a-boo, where is Brogan, and the usual rolling of balls and hiding toys under cup shapes. I was having as much fun as he was!!

As Brogan slowly started winding down and getting sleepy, he climbed up onto my lap and wanted to cuddle. When he dozed off, I made 3 attempts to try to carry him up the stairs to his room but he would awaken and start to cry, so I sat down and finally just let him sleep on me. Since he is cutting teeth, he has that Darth Vader breathing sound. It was nice to have a baby cuddling with me after all these years (my son is almost 23).

Nana Rose had fun!

CHOICES

As mothers we often find ourselves busy with daily chores; laundry, making beds, washing dishes, mopping, vacuuming, dusting. Often we will feel like there are not enough hours in the day to do it all. Not only do we have to take care of a home, but we are responsible for caring for children and spouses or partners. Often it seems that we are doing more giving than taking, and sometimes it seems it is a thankless task.
But often there are moments we could take that could be more rewarding than a 'thank you.' We can choose to let the dishes wait, the dust bunnies explore a little longer, or beds to be disheveled. We can choose to spend precious and memorable time with our children or loved ones. These moments do not have to be extravaganzas or all planned out.
Simple times -- enjoying a colorful sunset, observing a caterpillar crawl across a leaf, dancing in a pile of fall leaves--moments that create snapshots in our memories to cherish. Unplanned actions--taking the hand of a loved one to dance in the rain, holding hands on a summers evening walk, gazing at the stars while laying on the lawn--spur of the moment activities to hold in your heart.
Sometimes we get so caught up in the daily drudgery that we let too many opportunities pass us by. Then before you know it, children are grown and gone, loved ones die, and you wish you had the time to spend with them all over again where you made different choices.
We all do it. And often end up thinking 'if only...'
So close the door on the laundry, forget those dirty dishes, ignore the dust bunnies--grab the hand of a loved one and take a moment to enjoy them. The chores will always be there. But a loved one may not.

MOMENTS
by Rose Lefebvre

My feet ache as I stand at the sink
scrubbing away dinners final trace
from well-used pots and pans.
A small hand clasps my leg
and I gaze upon the innocent
expression of my son.
“Come on, mommy,
Let’s watch the sun go away.”
Dishes can wait.
Hand in hand, we wander outside.
Settled on fragrant grass,
he cuddles in my lap, our arms
entwined and hands clasped.
We watch mesmerized
as burnished gold and dramatic orange,
luminous blue and pallid pink,
paint the heavens.
Hushed, we watch as colors fluctuate
in tone and hue.
Illuminated clouds stained
by tinges of color,
drift across a brilliant backdrop.
As the radiance gradually pales,
trees become silhouettes,
lacy edges against fading blue.
A closing bird song echoes,
perfect and pure,
a ultimate crescendo.
I am lead back to reality
by my son’s gentle voice;
“Good bye sun,
See you tomorrow.”

WORDS

I am sharing another poem I wrote about our words and their effect.

It has been published in one of my chapbooks.

YOU DID NOT SEE

Is this the story that began with once upon a time
and was supposed to end happily ever after?

I gaze at you through a veil of tears
and wonder when the dream
became a nightmare. You, so consumed
by rage that you do not see
me shrink from your unnerving madness,
my eyes wide with fear.
I feel sadness so large that it threatens
to envelop me. My pleading words crash
against the impenetrable wall of you,
shattering, ignored, unheard. The persistent rape
of my spirit, has left me butchered
like a deer after the kill.
Did it make you feel potent to shriek at me?
Were my tears nourishment for your ego?
Was there any regret after
I fled up the stairs, wounded?

You did not see as I closed the door
against you,
opened the window,
and listened
to a bird’s song.