He sits amongst his crime of time. / Shame! / Don’t they know he’s our future? / He wanted to capture the magic bird like Grandpa does when…
You used to read me stories when I was young. I would sit on your lap and snuggle against you, all warm and cuddly, you smelled like peac…
I wrote this about 5 years ago for Uni. I’m not sure what inspired me to write it. Neither of my grandmothers have gone through this, though my great grandmother did. And I think losing my memory is one of my own greatest fears. The woman described in this story is a combination of both my grandmothers and my own mother.
Gramma’s night of teenage revelry shared with me and part of a book which was written about this wonderful lady
Grandmothers were teens at one point in their life too, given the chance it is amazing some of the stories they will share with you. The saying goes take time to smell the roses well with that in mind take time to listen to the elderly they have some wonderful stories to share with us all.
Strictly a meat and three veg man, my Pop – and those vegies didn’t include “poof vegetables” like eggplant – or any lettuce but iceberg.
THEY CANNOT HIDE / THEIR OVERWHELMING PRIDE / LIVING ON A FARM / GRANDPA HOLDS HIS GRANDCHILD IN HIS ARMS / HOLDING THIS LITTLE GIRL SO TIGHT…
Donna, Love your Artwork PROUD / Please check out my friend Donna’s (hickerson) othe awesome artwork and / writings on the RB /
I loved and enjoyed both my grandparents. / Grandpa was quite an eccentric, small wiry man, with a fierce intellect and curiosity.
This is Chapter 2 of ‘I am That Blind Man’, or at least the first half of the chapter, for it has a natural break in the middle. You will notice that this chapter is not about me; instead I turned my attention to two very special people in my life. _ / _They are worth far more than a chapter. One day I will write more on them. Thank you so much for reading this next instalment.
Long short walks down Muffit lane / Hiding pennies in the wall / Will they be there still when we next come back? Those paper aeroplanes…
A memory locket of a truly good guy.
A tea bag in the mail / sat at the dining table / looking out the window / of the Bongate house / Smiling and waving / to the people going p…
For Nana B
Gramps’ faded and worn-thin bib overalls / Handkerchief in his pocket / Farmers tan across his forehead / Baby white skin above / Worked sun …
My dad’s death five years ago began a different kind of journey. Instead of dealing with the pain in the present of our relationship, I had to learn to deal with the pain that would never have resolution. I realized I had to accept the good and the painful in our relationship, forgive what he was not able to give, and be grateful for what he did give. He gave what he could and I know he loved me. This is a tribute to my grandparents, my dad, to fathers, and to children everywhere, young and old. There is another side to painful memories and a place of acceptance and gratitude. I never was able to imagine it was possible to heal, but it is. I hope the same for all of you. Life is accepting the good and the bad in everything and everyone. I am growing and grateful for it. Thanks for reading and allowing me to share my journey through prose and poetry.
“No matter what, if you are able, please please remember that I love you. I am here for you, grandpa. What’s my name?” With a clearing…
A trip back through time…
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