Tag Archives: memories

left.

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 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

where hobbies, hijinks, and capers go bad = my childhood #7

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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

stories are the rivers.

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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

who he was.

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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 

sugar skulls.

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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.