Happy Father's Day Memories

Memories return
of Father and Grandfather:
Happy Father's Day.

I remember my father as a tall, handsome man. I remember he liked his coffee with milk, but I don't know if he put sugar in it. I remember his hands, strong as they held my small hand. I remember Daddy putting apple jelly on his hotcakes. I remember Daddy reading me the Sunday Comics.

Memories return
my father was a tall man
who like coffee and hotcakes.

I remember my Grandfather's friends called him Pete. I remember watching Grandpa roll his own cigarettes. I sit at the kitchen table watching Grandpa roll cigarettes and sip black coffee.

Memories return
my Grandfather's bald head
was framed in gray hair.

Sunday Review: My Memories of Mother's Day

I look back across the years
of memories
that bring joy and tears:
Mama is now in paradise
sitting beside the Tree of Life,
where she is celebrating Mother's Day
with those who proceeded her.

I look back across the years
of memories
that bring joy and tears:
I smile
remembering the things we used to do
on Mother's Day
and then I cry.

I look back across the years
of memories
that bring joy and tears:
I miss Mama so much,
and yet,
I cannot  cry
when I remember her gentle touch
as she wiped the tears
from my eyes
or her melodic voice
singing me to sleep with lullabies.

Morning is Laundry Time

Morning is time to do laundry for the day. I can remember my grandmother doing laundry once a week; her laundry day was on Thursday, Friday or Saturday. The day of the week she did laundry depended on what the weekend plans. If the following weekend was a three-day weekend, like Labor Day, then she did laundry on Thursday. That way she had the dirty cloths washed, dried and put away before we left for "The Lake" on Friday evening.

If grandpa planned an ordinary weekend trip to "The Lake", she did laundry or as she called it "The Washing" on Friday. If there were no weekend plans then Saturday was laundry day. The interesting thing is that grandma did laundry once a week for six or seven people. There are only two people in my household and we do laundry every day.

I have written several laundry rants, so I am not going to do that this morning. This morning I am attempting to brainstorm concerning memories of my grandmother doing laundry. I am going to write about laundry day memories. I have several poems about my grandparents and I thought it would be nice to put them all in a chapbook and give copies to my brothers and sister. A chapbook of family poems and memories would make a good gift birthday or anniversary gift.

Anyway, I have several poems about grandma and grandpa, but not enough to make up a chapbook. I need to write a few more, so I thought something about laundry day. I could also ask my sibling and my mother what memories they have concerning my grandparents and include them. The good thing about being a writer is that you do not have to spend a lot of money on gifts for family when you have pleasant memories that you can put down on paper.

Sweltering in Las Vegas, Nevada

Eight days into August, with cloudy skies almost every day and only two small showers, however, we have had flood watches and warnings. We have also had wind, but not as bad in February when the wind took out the elm tree.

I am sweltering in Nevada. The high humidity reminds me of my Oklahoma childhood. The clouds in the sky above Las Vegas remind me of Oklahoma. The heat rash I have reminds me of growing up in Oklahoma. The only time I ever get a heat rash is when the humidity is up.

I did not move to Las Vegas to get away from the humidity. I did not move to the desert or Nevada to get away from anything. I found out a long time ago, I cannot run away from my past and from my memories. I carry my past; I carry my memories both good and bad with me wherever I go.

I am not sure why I moved from Blackwell, Oklahoma to Las Vegas, Nevada. The obvious answer is that my mother and siblings moved here. The problem, as any writer can tell you, is that obvious reasons are not always, why a person or a character in a story or novel does something. I am still trying to figure out the reason I moved from Oklahoma to Nevada. The only explanation I can come up with, that makes any sense is "God's will". For some reason, not yet clear to me, the Creator wanted me to live in Las Vegas, Nevada, rather then Blackwell, Oklahoma.

August clouds play tag
across the blue desert sky
the drought continues.

The Advantage of Aging for a Writer

For a writer, one of the advantages of getting older is memories. A writer has many memories, both good and bad, of his or her childhood. The writer can use these memories as starting points for essays, poems, flash fiction, short stories, or novels. It does not matter what genre a person works in, because you can use the memories for the characters in the story.

These memories come back to use at the oddest times. This is why a writer needs to carry a pen and paper journal at all times, when an incident or food brings back a memory note the incident or the food with the memory. For instance, I went to the Feast of Words (Kalimat) yesterday. The lady who provide the refreshments served cake and whipped cream, both made from scratch. Watching my friend make the whipped cream brought back memories of my Grandma, who made whipped cream from scratch when I was a child.

I am not sure just yet how I am going to use the memory. I will probably write a poem about it, but I could as easily use it in a piece of flash fiction or a short story. True I write mostly science fiction and fantasy, but I can use a memory like that in either genre. That is the beautiful thing about memories; you can apply them any way you want.

I enjoy writing about my grandparents. In fact, I have several poems about them, which I am going to compile into a chapbook. I just do not know what to call that particular collection of poems. I am going to have to pray about a title for that collection. I have found that when I cannot think of a name for a story or poem, prayer helps and I soon receive inspiration.

Time to Write a Christmas Poem

1 Masa'il 164 B.E. - Wednesday, December 12, 2007 about 2:43 PM PST

It's that time of year again, time to write a Christmas poem. I don't celebrate Christmas, so I don't know why I write Christmas poems. There are aspects of the season that I like and that bring back pleasant memories of my childhood. There are also things about the season that bring back unpleasant childhood memories.

I think this year I'm going to write a poem on Christmas yard art. I enjoy seeing the beautifully decorated yards at Christmas. When I was young, my grandfather always drove us around Blackwell to see the yard decorations. The decorations today are much more sophisticated then those I saw as a child, but they are no less beautiful.

I think this year I'll focus on a neighbors yard and write a poem about it. Every year he decorates the yard for his grandchildren and the decorations get more beautiful each year. I think I'll bundle up and walk down the street after dark to look at the lights. They are so beautiful and in so many different shapes.

My Grandpa Newland would love to drive around Las Vegas and look at the yards decorated for Christmas. Every time I see a yard with a Christmas theme I think of Grandpa. He enjoyed Christmas and I enjoyed Christmas when I was with Grandpa and Grandma Newland.