About Blogging

I've come to realize how much I enjoy blogging. I mean, really enjoy it. It is almost an obsession with me. I am surprised at how attached I've actually become to "writing".

When Christie first asked me to try it, I thought, "Yea, right". I had no clue what she was talking about and the whole blog thing sounded like something too tech savvy for the likes of me. Then I visited her blog. I must say it took me some time to muster up the nerve to do it, but once my "toes hit the water", it had me - hook, line and sinker. I haven't looked back since, nor have I regretted starting a blog - well, two blogs now.

It will be two years this March since I began my journey down Bloggy Lane. I have learned a few things about myself. Blogging is my written therapy. Blogging makes me think. Blogging keeps me real.

I've learned to share things that are on my heart openly and in third person so as not to hurt someone else or make them feel uncomfortable. After all, my blog is - me. But it allows me an extra way to vent, lest my Aaron and Hur get bored of me!

I have realized, that, although folks may like to read my blog(s) they may not like to write. At first this was a little hard for me to understand. But as I blogged along I came to accept that because that is just the way it is. I just remember that I have tried things that others have a passion for just because they have that passion, but it quickly fell to the wayside for me. So, all you non-bloggies out there - I get it. Sorta. :)

I became brave enough to put some of my poetry to "pen" for you to read. I have loved poetry forever. Reading it, writing it, singing it. It feels as if it is embedded in my soul. Sometimes my poems come in the middle of the night, sometimes when I am showering, doing dishes, or driving along. I never know when a poem is going to manifest itself! It's like waiting for a surprise. I give credit to blog land for that. Otherwise, they would be tucked into a tablet somewhere - not that that is a bad thing.

Well, enough about one of my favorite past times.

Thanks for dropping by -
Catch you on the flip side!

I Can, But I Can't

I can stand beside you,
But I can't remove you from your spot.

I can wipe away your tears,
But I can't get rid of the cause of them.

I can listen to your complaints,
But I can't make them go away.

I can hold your broken heart,
But I can't remove the pain.

I can give you motherly advice,
But I can't make you take it.

I can show you a clearer path,
But I can't make you walk it.

I can always be ready for your need,
But I can't make you come to me.

I can only be what I know to be,
But I can't make you understand it.

I can only love without expectation,
But I can't make you reciprocate it.

He loves her.

I hate when I don't go to church. But today I feel like I've been bowled over. My head hurts, my throat is a bit sore, when I look down, my nose runs like a faucet, and when I look up, my head aches more, and I'm coughing and sneezing like it's my job!

On my Sunday mornings home I notice the folk going to the church across the street. Having a church located in this vicinity is a constant reminder to me where I should be. Today is no exception - even though I don't feel well. I will really feel the nudging when the church bell rings. I love that they ring their bell on Sundays! Just love it. It transports me back to simpler times. (like Little House on the Prairie times!)

This morning as I was dawdling at the window I noticed Mr. Singleton and his wife walking across the bank parking lot (it becomes overflow parking for church on Sundays and any other time something is going on over there). Mr. Singleton looks like a cross between Santa Clause and Charlie Daniels. Mrs Singleton was moving slowly and deliberately. It looks as if she may have had an injury or something. She is holding Mr. S's hand. And . . . he too is walking slowly. . . with her. Slowly they move across the lot, across the street, all the time he is holding her hand, and he patiently pauses for each step as she makes her way up the steps to the church door.

His body language indicates nothing but patience. No shifting from foot to foot. No slouching of shoulders, no deliberate stop and go, stop and go. Just steady, even, hand holding steps.

You can just tell. He loves her.

My Poetry

To all the young loves out there that have "loved and lost". It is not over. Your love is there - waiting. Maybe not today. Maybe not next month. And maybe not even this year. But it will be there.

Young Hearts

Young hearts are sweet and young and tender
Unscathed by the world's affairs.
Young hearts are sometimes given freely
To someone without much care.

Young hearts don't have time that's taught the old
To seek those things which are true
Young hearts may leap at Love's first light
And see skies of only blue.

Young hearts see only the good in that
Which it's chosen to call it's own.
Young hearts don't look down the winding road
And ponder what's not known.

Young hearts fall hard when they fall
The warnings they could not heed
Young hearts aren't familiar with the pain
That makes their young hearts bleed.

Young hearts may think that life is nil
When it comes to feeling such pain.
The young heart can't see their skies of blue
When all they hear is rain.

But young hearts grow with every change
Though they may not see it clearly
Young hearts will heal from pain endured
To learn to love more dearly.

Young hearts will learn life's lessons well

As their young hearts mend and grow

And when Young heart chooses the one to love,

That heart they'll get to know.

Crickett

Happy Birthday to my boy!

It feels like 23 minutes instead of 23 years!

Time knows no boundaries.

I love you little man!

MOM