Tag Archives: parenting

Health, Poetry, Writing

I Provide

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(Poem 55 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

“Who can find a virtuous woman? For her worth is far above rubies.” Proverbs 31:10

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com  https://gencraft.ai/p/ozljx8

I provide an excellent income.
This priceless life has maintenance fees.
My husband dreams of being
a kept man, a trophy husband.

He knows I have his best interests
at heart and will provide if I can.
I find good deals on stylish threads
and am willing to roll up my sleeves.

I do the grocery shopping
with my own money, and cook
for four generations sometimes-
dark to dark are often my hours.

I buy land, cars, investments,
houses, furniture, animals,
goods (essential or frivolous),
and keep the lights on.

I am generous with my earnings,
always willing to share, ready for
winter and summer alike;
my home is a welcome oasis.

Our needs are met, as well as
many of our wants; my children
look to me for strength and
guidance as they make their paths.

My beauty is love, peace, work,
and teaching kindness through
craft – creation of story –
words strung together like pearls.

@Home Studio – 55th poem of the year

Poetry, Writing

I Lotioned Your Feet

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(Poem 48 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

My Mema passed away this morning. I had the privilege of spending 50 years in her presence. I will miss her something fierce. She has a husband she was married to for over 70 years, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great grandchildren, not to mention every other possible connection to people far and wide.

Mema and Grandad

I lotioned your feet, then hands
with white jasmine-scented
Bath & Body Works Miriam gave me
and tucked you in the way you like,
brushed your hair and read you your texts,
then some Bible verses of comfort—
Isaiah 40, the first one that surfaced.

The steady sounds of the ICU create
a strangely soothing white noise as a
backdrop to your labored breaths.
Lydia is here again to hold your hand
just one more time; one of many
one more times over the last few days
because each time could be the last.

The you I know is no longer here,
but the shell remains and deserves
gentle petting and reassurance.
Goodness knows how many times
you had to ‘there, there’ me in the last
50 years, buoying my spirits and righting
my sails with your steady faith and calm.

Boaz sat vigil until I arrived, and your
children and husband will take over after
I leave — we are all branches of a grand
candelabra you have lit with exuberance,
spreading across states and time, thankful to
have been influenced by the life you lived
and the love which from your cup overflowed.

@ICU Room 1 St. David’s Round Rock Hospital & Home Studio – 48th poem of the year

Health, Poetry, Writing

I am at peace with myself and those I love

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(Poem 43 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/JLmvLo

I am at peace with myself and those I love.
No animosity hangs stale in the air,
nor anger brews and steeps in silence.
I have forgiven and released, at least for now,
resentments or regrets I may have nursed.
Prayers of blessing, for protection, of thanks
abound this morning as I start my day.
If I steer clear of them, this love I feel, so pure,
so genuine, might last until lunch time.

@Home Studio – 43rd poem of the year

Runner ups for the at peace with those I love photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

May the Lord Listen to Your Prayers

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(To the mediocre musician. On the guitar. A Psalm of Rebekah.)

(Poem 38 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/ZKesVQ

May the Lord listen to your prayers;
may you feel blessed to be alive.

May you never have to wait too long
for packages you ordered to arrive.

May your coffee stay hot ‘til the last drop,
and your Wi-fi connection be strong.  

May your wait-times be short when you’re on hold
and your days off feel pleasantly long.

May the dogs come when you call
and never escape through the fence.

May your children behave out in public
and your dishes be easy to rinse.

May your bills get paid on time in full
and your credit score be high.

May you look at the person you’re in love with
and never wonder why.

May your shows renew and stream with ease;
may no spoilers give away the end.

May you have the best time filming yourself,
taking part in the latest trend.

May the book you’re reading have a sequel,
and you win the game you play.

May your friends all want to come to your gig,
and you have a lovely day.

For simple are the joys that comfort our hearts
when chaos is all around.

And plenty of thanks is our if we notice
the blessings that abound.

(Inspired by reading the Psalms of the Bible) – 38th poem of the year

Health, Writing

Waking up from discouragement…

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My last post was in October.  I reported that I had not written since authority figures in my life slammed me with judgment, censorship, and criticism…not only of my writing, but my discernment as a human being and professional.

Now my job is in jeopardy–not connected to my writing, politics above my station.  I am working from home due to the coronavirus and quarantine and all that bizarreness that is occurring in this world right now.

I have also taken in grandchildren temporarily while adult children fix their worlds.  I’ve had a winter of sickness and slow recovery.  I’ve battled a time of sadness.  And I’ve applied to begin working on my master’s degree.  Big things are happening.

And all I want to do is write…and read…and write some more.  Enough pouting, sulking, brooding, etc.  It is time to get back to finding my joy.  I cannot be derailed by others whose opinions I don’t even value anyway.  It has certainly not been a conscious decision to take a sabbatical from writing, but that is what has occurred.  And it has not been good for me.

Here and now, I resolve to get back to writing.  I declare this time of non-writing ended.   Rebekah the writer is back.

Essays, Writing

1st Day of Pre-K

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My granddaughter Charlotte started school today.  I got up extra early to do her hair and help in any way I could to get the family out the door on time.  I believe all went according to plan so Charlotte and her entourage began their trek on time.  Three adults and her baby brother accompanied her on this momentous morning.  I’m so glad everyone made a big deal about the beginning of this educational journey that she has begun.

As a teacher and a lifelong learner, the first day of school for any kid is cause for celebration.  What is more exciting than diving into a world of unlimited intellectual expansion?  Becoming a part of a cohort of learners with whom you will share the experience?  Entrusting your development to a human being who will forever be remembered as larger than life?

Monday will be my 42nd first day of school.  I look forward to this next batch of youngsters that I will have the opportunity to learn from.  Every year feels full of potential, full of hope, and most certainly full of anticipation.  I know some of my students may not have the same joyous energy of expectation for the first day of school as me.  That’s ok.  Exuberance is contagious.  I’ll share mine.

I’m so glad my daughter and other family members circled around my granddaughter and walked as a village to her school.  She has a long, fabulous, winding educational road ahead of her.  As one of her great-grandfather’s said, “Today Pre-K, before you know it, college!”

 

Poetry, Writing

Whose Orchid?

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An orchid appeared

on my counter last week.

It’s stick-straight stems

point proudly skyward

upholding regal blooms

of white with

painted purple lips.

Waxy long leaves

splay around the base

as though palms upturned

in adoration.

Imagine my pleasure

upon discovering that

the beautiful blossoms

in question were left

for me by my daughter.

Symbolic of elegance

and fertility,

love and respect.

Printed directions

attached to a stick

explain care and feeding,

so my granddaughter

places three ice cubes

reverently just above the roots

and waits to see

what happens next.

Poetry, Writing

Creative Project

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My best friend convinced me to participate in a project combining my poems with her photographs.  I sent her this poem and she found the perfect photograph to go with it.

Lifted gently from my bed,

I dangle in your arms

safe and peaceful

riding dreams of breezy nonchalance

inside acorns of emotion.

Tiny kernels of light

speck frozen in vision’s grasp

just on the edge of horizon

the edge of reality

the edge of self.

A merging of wellness

and pain, fate and chance…

simplified seconds that

encapsulate infinity

between beats of my heart.

Each outward breath fills the universe

with life, spaces out the stars,

until the drawing in again

collapses solar systems,

visits death on the unsuspecting.

And as I lay me down you keep

my soul, my LORD,

my love in sleep.

-Rebekah J. Marshall

bitties

Photograph by Erica Smith. http://thebitties.squarespace.com/new-blog/

 

Poetry, Writing

Creative Project

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rose dying

Photograph by Erica Smith.  http://thebitties.squarespace.com/

My best friend convinced me to participate in a project combining my poems with her photographs.  She sent me this rose and I had to write a paragraph about it.

Aging gracefully is overrated –

probably perported

by the stoic who know no other way.

Can’t a compromise be reached

between classy and ridiculous?

Let me wear sandals in winter

and white in the fall if I

have the notion.

I’ll refrain from telling you your business

if you forgive my lapses of social etiquette.

Let me grow round and happy,

be silly in love like a school girl,

and I’ll still sip tea on Sunday afternoons

as expected.

I happen to enjoy tea

anytime

anywhere

for any reason.

But you can think it is because

I am being proper

if that makes you happy.

And we can both be content

in the end because we

lived lives full of what

we deemed valuable.

All of our loveliness will shrivel,

but the fragrance of our souls

will linger in the smiles of our

children and grandchildren

and the stories they tell of us.

I want my story memories

to be adventures

full of laughter,

not faded photographs

posed with ankles crossed,

pearls placed just so.

-Rebekah J. Marshall

 

Essays, Writing

Mother of the Year

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IMG_2268

So…disregard my last post.  Apparently, my daughter appreciates and loves me with all her heart.  She even claims to be following in my footsteps in her attempts to be a good parent to her own daughter.

She gave me a beautiful little collection of gifts for Mother’s Day and wrote sweet lines in a Wonder Woman card.  She even went to the effort to have my granddaughter “write”/scribble in a card.  I was moved to tears.

In her forgetfulness, she dropped it off at my house, but accidentally left it in a spare room instead of putting it somewhere I would find easily.  She finally asked if I liked my presents via text and I was quite confused.  Was she joking?  Did her text count as a present?  I’m not even really a present person – or at least I didn’t think I was.  I like words, sweet words in a card, letters, songs and stories, or good conversation over tea.  That is what makes me feel loved and cared for.  That, and acts of service (if we’re talking the love languages.)

Once the confusion was cleared up, I had the best belated Mother’s Day ever.  She quoted the poem “Walk a little slower, Mom, for my feet are small.  I’m following in your footsteps and I don’t want to fall…”  The card featured Wonder Woman and said “Superheroes don’t always have a secret identity…sometimes they just go by Mom.”

She gave me some cute little jewelry items and a plaque that says, “The Best Moms get Promoted to Grandma.”  My favorite is a journal.  Inside she taped ticket stubs of movies we went to over the years as she was growing up.  It was very thoughtful and took some planning.  It was movies like Race to Witch Mountain, various Twilight movies, Harry Potter movies, The Help, Salt, Pitch Perfect, etc.  Then, sprinkled throughout the journal are fortunes from fortune cookies she saved over the years and quotes from wrappers of Dove candies and various other types of saying.  On one page she drew a lovely little turtle mama holding her turtle baby on her back.  I’ve always called her my baby turtle.

I’m still glad I broke down that dilapidated old rocking chair.  It was an eye sore and a hazard.  It is time for rose colored lenses, as one of her quotes says in the journal.  I am ready to start making my life beautiful, and some of that beauty might just come from re-framing my perspectives.