old and rusted
i wonder about the day
when the child
left the bike here one last time
never to enter that tiny house again. .
—
“what do we leave behind when cross each frontier?
each moment seems split in two:
melancholy for what was left behind
and the excitement of entering a new land.”
-che guevara
my middle sister and i hatched a plan to get on the radio
when we heard about a fund raising radio-thon.
anyone who called in with a year-long pledge
would hear their names on the radio as a thank you.
as soon as our mom went upstairs
we dialed up the station on our kitchen phone
excitedly pledging to send 2 dollars a month for a whole year.
within the hour, we heard our names announced
we were so proud and cheering for ourselves
until all the noise caused our mom to come downstairs
asking what we were celebrating
as she quickly reminded us once again
that we were young kids with no income
(other than what we made from our other schemes)
and there was no way we could actually pay them a cent.
how quickly our fame turned to shame
how fearful we were
thinking the radio station
would send someone right over to our door to collect.
though they might not have found us
as we were soon busy doing hard time in our room.
—
‘fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate.’
-emily dickinson
—
image credit: eBay
my daughter was given a small box
filled with items
from her great grandfather/great grandmother
on her father’s side.
it contained such an interesting mix
with no one to explain
the meaning
the importance
the story
of the items inside.
some of them were:
a pocket knife,
a key to a city in louisiana,
one heart-shaped earring,
and a piece of paper with
‘hamlet, act 1, scene 3’
handwritten on it.
i wish we knew the story of
why each was significant in their lives.
why was each item worth saving in a special box?
—
‘we all belong to an ancient identity.
stories are the rivers that take us there.’
-frank delaney
i remember my dad standing right here
when i was 2 years old
we lived in chicago
he was so young
just starting out in his career
i remember the bar in our basement
climbing up into the stools
the candle wrapped in netting
the straw hats on the wall
and i remember
he loved to be the life of the party.
—
“it doesn’t matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was.”
-anne sexton
—
happy father’s day to all
what adventures do you keep coming back to, time and time again?
—
image credit: book riot
today our kinders
learned a beautiful lesson
about a lovely tradition
honoring those who we have loved and lost
and now continue to remember
on this very special holiday each year
and onward.
—
“the core belief of the Day of the Dead is so poetic and simple: as long as we remember those who have passed away, as long as we tell their stories, sing their songs, tell their jokes, cook their favorite meals, then they are with us, around us, and in our hearts.
-jorge r. guiterrez
The Art of the Book of Life, Introduction
(Dia de los Muertos – Day of the Dead)
—
this post is dedicated to little hazen
forever 5
who left us on this day
much loved
lost much too soon
and always remembered.
