Reaching an age, which I now call my Lavender Years (since the Golden Years have passed so quickly), I have…
I’m sorry, folks, but I just have to get this off my feminine chest …
Since Mother’s Day is just around the corner, I would like to share a lovely piece of poetry my youngest daughter Donna wrote for me at 2 a.m. the morning of Jan. 3.
It seems every year the holiday season rolls around earlier than the last. Yet, as children, we thought it was never going to get here, while marking the days off on the calendar.
Thanksgiving was big in my family and was so looked forward to in my growing up. We had turkey two times a year, Thanksgiving and Christmas, in those days, unless you were lucky enough to live on a farm raising a few. The Great Depression put a damper on holidays for many. I remember one year during the 1930s, when a local church with little funds left a basket in front of our apartment door with a small turkey and all the trimmings. Mom cried when she found it.
With the end of July and our family reunion here over, I went on vacation with daughter Donna, her husband Jon and five-year-old great-grandson Jack, heading for the redwoods in Northern California. Son Gary from Oklahoma and seven of his family followed in their RV.
It seems I have become quite a character, with so many sides to my nature. I pop out so quickly with retorts to something said that I even amaze myself.
Every year during tornado season, we wait for news letting us know if all is well.
While prowling through a bottom drawer seldom opened, I found forgotten memorabilia from my teens. It’s really odd how things not thought of in years suddenly pop up. It happened to me a week ago and I’m still in awe over this life-time revelation.
Speaking of time, mine grows shorter ahead and the memories longer behind. Not such a bad deal at that.
I have certainly had more than my share of wanting to disappear or crawl under the carpet.
I’m in the process of saying goodbye to a touch of a head cold and sinus. Every time I cough, it brings back memories of my grandmother Josie Mae’s mysterious homemade cures.
Mention of Fishline brings back memories of the original food banks.
Another year? Somebody’s got to be kidding. I haven’t completed much of anything I had fussed at myself to do in 2013.
It was a time of not much to celebrate. The 1930s were so disheartening that the very thought of holidays were sad for many families.
Nov. 11 is Veterans Day and means something in my family
Every fable should have a moral and this story is no different.
Another summer is on the shelf and school is starting soon. What a beautiful performance old man Sun put on for us.
Isn’t it remarkable how some dates and important events stay within the deep recesses of our minds, just to pop up from out of nowhere, regardless of how old we have grown to be?
I seem to find something laughable in almost any situation and, just having gone through my own red tape, this farmer’s will really tickled me. Having family in Oklahoma makes it doubly funny (by the way, all my family survived the tornadoes).
The annual Salmon Run, sponsored by the Suquamish Warrior veterans and Vietnam Legacy motorcycle club, will start on June 28 at noon and continue June 29.
The expression “How time flies” has been around forever, it seems. And, too, the connection of seasons also has been used as an expression of the different stages of our lives in poetry and song.
By now, most of our readers know my husband Don passed away in February.
How does one go about thanking so many people and groups of medical teams for their help in keeping a husband ticking?
