Moments in Time

This is my answer to the Daily Post photo challenge: Collage. I read this wonderful bulletin board within a quaint Mercantile Store while waiting for a warmly personable elderly woman to make me her personal recommendation for me, a Macadamia nut and white chocolate (with whipped cream) latte during a (very) recent  sort of local camping trip. Notice the box of crayons inside the Comments & Suggestions box? My personal favorites: “Don’t stop imagining. The day you do is the day you die.” And (although I’m a Seahawks fan) that banana slug “slime-men” the green grass with the “Go Bills” … Continue reading Moments in Time

Loosen up!

I will never understand why it is that a man who is a man will subject himself willingly to strangulation. Policemen, military men, hit men, forest rangers and citified men in business suits . . . they all do it, but why in the hell wear a tie? What is it about you guys? Don’t think I haven’t asked. I have. I’ve asked police chiefs, sheriffs, and military officers, cowboys and white collar workers. “Why do you do it?” “Because.” Just because? Really? So as not to be as ignorant as the men-friends, I Googled the history of neck ties. Did … Continue reading Loosen up!

Grandma Monkey

Today’s photo challenge is “friend.” Monkey Kitty This photo was taken around 1983. My three-year-old son and I chose her from the pound in Tacoma. We didn’t have a crate to bring her home in so she’d gotten loose from the small box the Humane Society handed her to us i after I was already travelling north in I-5. We’d just past the relatively new Tacoma Dome when she exited the box and found her way beneath my feet. I was in the fast lane and it was rush hour and there was a utility truck that, I noticed too … Continue reading Grandma Monkey

A New Generation Descends Upon

It was Mother’s Day and time for the youngest grandchild to descend the path and touch his reflection within the gently trickling waters of the special place I take every grandchild to on their very first “hike” with me. Years before, another: And so it goes. It might not be the Blarney Stone, but it is a right of passage. Silly, nutty Grandma! It’s’ what I do. This post was triggered by The Daily Post: Descend   Continue reading A New Generation Descends Upon

The Doolittle Day with Uncle Tom

POV: Grandma (me) telling a story to the grandkids. This is in response to two things: the Daily Post photo challenge: Solitude: This week, show us what being alone means to you, and the Daily Prompt: Overwhelming. And so we set out upon the trail, climbing, always climbing. It did not take long before Uncle Tom began to chide how many times I had to stop to catch my breath and stretch my legs. This was, after all, my first truly physical hike of the season. After a half an hour, I lost sight of Uncle Tom. It seemed as if … Continue reading The Doolittle Day with Uncle Tom

Night Shift

We’re camped at a place called Graves Creek. It’s midnight. The lantern glow and diminishing campfire flames, the nearby rush of river with rising shadows of mountains I can barely discern above silhouetted tree tops, and the oxygen-rich air of this rain-forest valley conspire to keep me awake by offering me an experience too wonderful to miss should I sleep. A Lunar moth with a body the size of cigar, its wings spanning at least six inches, flutters, heavily, to the lantern light.  It bounces against the lantern base, bumps the cedar tree, and then, with wobbling flight, continues its … Continue reading Night Shift

When Storms Come

Fall and winter equate to Turbulent times, but not just this year. No. Throughout history. I spent a few hours this evening going through a box containing memories: photos, letters, cards, school work I saved not only done by my children, but the children we fostered and my siblings, too. Memories of those whom I love and have loved. I see happy times within the pictures and read warming thoughts within the letters and cards. But times change. People change. Many of those young fresh faces so full of promise drifted away when storms came. Their storms. My storms. Yet I see … Continue reading When Storms Come