Write It and Show It

I am a baby boomer—and a late bloomer—I was a secret poet until I turned fifty! It seems like only yesterday I was in grade school listening to my teacher tell me to always do my best and never give up trying. She was, of course, talking about perseverance, and I have always respected that word. When I began writing poetry, this is what I wrote: Read More >>

Sweet Nostalgia: A Sparkling Winter Day

Sweet nostalgia! I recall wonderful hours of skating across the slick, glistening pond where I grew up. I also remember occasionally hitting tiny twigs and pine cones, covertly imbedded in the ice, and then landing ker-splat. Although I am more aware of fitness now than ever, the exercise of caution rules, and I have not dared to don skates and head for the nearby lake to frolic—chiefly because of those sneaky twigs. Read More >>

Finding Summer

I am really looking forward to summer! My young grandson lives a thousand miles away, and our visits are few and far between. This summer he is coming to stay with me for a short time, and I can hardly wait for our conversations.

The last time we talked, he told me about his friend who has “A really cool watch that doesn’t even need a battery.” Hmmm, “How does it operate?” I innocently inquired.

 Read More >>

The Woodpecker

For more than a week I had listened to the very loud rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker making a mad assault somewhere nearby. The next thing I saw was my elderly neighbor balancing precariously on a ladder in a desperate attempt to mount a birdhouse at second-floor level.

“I’m trying to divert a woodpecker,” she cheerfully called, after seeing the look on my face. I can only imagine how loud the sound of drill, hammer, and thrum must have been from inside her house. Read More >>

The Owl and the Pussycat

When it comes to hard candy I have the willpower of a sand flea. I grew up when candy cost a nickel, and LifeSavers were king—fruity delights that fit perfectly in your mouth and kept your tongue busy investigating the hole.

My second favorite was a sour ball. They cost a penny each and were found in bins at the small stores that were on the corner of every block. The husband or wife who ran the store would give you time to look and point—then hand you your once-a-week purchase, knowing full well you had just blown your allowance. Read More >>