Doors Open for Many Reasons,

 

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse #179

Come join us!

But it was home. And though home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit answered to, in strongest conjuration. ~Charles Dickens

 

It is the welcome place and the goodbye place

the hand reaching out

with a grip as sure as an Oklahoma twister

I stepped upon that porch

unaware of the storms I would be sheltered from

and those that take place inside

years passed like migrating birds

I watched them from my window

where rooms became smaller

and girls’ hearts grow bigger

holding secrets louder than the creaking steps

 just down the hall

you see hope is a heavy suitcase

it stays packed right by the door

the one where welcome has long since lost its charm

and farewell is but an open door away.

Some Barbed Wire Fences

 

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 127

Hosted this week by the truly amazing poet Chrissa.

I was raised in the country

Where the only steel in twenty miles was

 the tractor

 the plow

 and some hearts

but the truest of cutting

 was never in the field

so my love became a cattle guard

 surrounded by a barbed wire fence

and praying for rain

 turned into wings

strong country fences never stopped a crow

only the cattle and the sheep

yet even when the crow makes it to the city

it’s heart still remembers the country in which it came

and climbing barbed wire fences is always dangerous

whether you are trying to leave or trying to get home.

True Real Estate

Image Source

"My friends are my estate."  Emily Dickinson

One stormy night I sat on the cement floor of a shelter
wearing the only clothes I had with me
not sure what I would go back home to
whether anything would be salvageable
or if I would have a home
a place
 with all my stuff
it seems
I spent years collecting things
lots of things
stuffed in boxes
hung in closets
stored in bags
piled on piles
because
I had
no equity
or investment
in property
no land
to call my own
but I had things
everything you
could think of
I had it.......
.......but it took losing it
to remind me that
my true friends and family
are the things in my life
that matter most.



I do know this much is true.....losing everything you own never compares to losing those we love.  For no matter how bad of a day those days in a shelter would have been, they could never be as bad as days I had known losing those I love in this world.


I dedicate this piece to those who have true real estate in heaven and in our hearts:

Lauren NicoleThackeray
Seth Michael Stewart
Terry Tod Thackeray
Carol Thackeray
William Clyde Odeneal
Hazel Covington Odeneal
Vaude Van Horn
Virginia Katherine Van Horn
Parkes Van Horn
Dorothy Van Horn
Bill Odeneal Sr.
Carrie Lee Meredith
Harry Van Horn
Lou Odeneal
Leah Odeneal
Margaret Boatman
Barbara Van Horn
Katherine Odeneal Marco
James Marco Jr.
Benji Baldridge
Tony Thackeray I
Heather Thackeray
George Thackeray I
Edith Thackeray
George Thackeray II
George Thackeray III
Teddy Thackeray
Tom Thackeray
Little Tom Thackeray
Gail Thackeray
Parks Wayne Van Horn
Lisa Grace Van Horn

Image source

The Journey

Life itself is an exile. The way home is not the way back.

-Colin Wilson

Home Made

photo credit

Linking with Poetry Jam go there if you are hungry for more. :-)

"For the spirit of Christmas fulfils the greatest hunger of mankind."

 ~Loring A. Schuler

That is where all things big and small are made.  This place we call home.  It is a little different for us all, like an assortment of cookies for a Holiday party at Christmas Eve.  For some it is a wonderful mix in a bowl and others it is a burned and crumbly mess, but it is what it is.  All our integrity, hopes, cares, sense of what matters are born and bred here, like the mixing of the oatmeal, the sugar, and the butterscotch chips.  We become a batch stirred and baked for all to see when we leave those kitchen walls. 

In the kitchen I grew up in, my father was the nurturer and cook.  He was the one that tucked us in bed, wiped on the vicks vapor rub when we were sick, checked to make sure we were covered up at night, and baked us cookies and fruit cake to give our teachers at Christmas time.  It was a wonderful ritual that we had every year to make a batch of butterscotch cookies to enjoy and share with others during the Holiday season.  My father being an aeronautics engineer was a true perfectionist.  Things were always in their place and measured perfectly, so you can imagine that baking cookies was quite the endeavor.  It was an experience that I consider to be a beautiful gift of time with my Dad.  We made more than butterscotch cookies all those Christmas's ago, we made wonderful memories that are a little morsel of the person I am today.

My Dad and I Christmas 1982.

Fences

At Christmas, all roads lead home.  ~Marjorie Holmes

One Shot Wednesday

Growing up my brother and I were raised on one hundred acres of perfect Sanger graze land, just north of Denton, Texas.  At our house there was a majestic view from every window, but the house was completely surrounded by a a fence.  It served its purpose in keeping the cattle away from the porch, yet it seemed to be the place I remained most of my childhood, staying within the fence.

Looking back it seems so strange that we had all that land, but we had to remain most of the time within the confines of those closed gates.  For myself ,I could only call it a loss and go on, but for my brother Vaude it was different.  He had more freedom at a younger age than I, but when he did get it, he went as fast as he could, like a canary that broke out of its cage.  He always was a restless spirit, and peace was just not within this grasp then, and unlike the distance that seperates counties and states, I could not reach him for a very long time.

It wasn't until the last few years that his heart had settled down.  We had not seen each other in over ten years, but he had called me several times, and our talks had become increasingly longer.   I had invited him to stay many times at no avail, yet I never ventured out his way either.  I kept imagining that when we were older, and retired that we would have lots of time to visit one another then, and maybe even live near each other.  I knew that then we could make up for all the time we lost.  Unfortunately, on Christmas day 2002, my brother died of a massive heart attack at the Elks Lodge in Denton.  It is a day that has forever changed me.  I had spent so much time being too busy to get away, that like a fence, I kept myself from going where I should have gone.  I can't have that time back.  I can only learn from it.  I do not ever want to take anything or anyone for granted.

Christmas is a time of hope, celebration, and an opportunity to reach out to others, as God has to us.  I want to take this time to reflect, and look forward, with the thankfulness I should have for all the wonderful people in my life.  My plans with my brother may have been altered, but they were not completely changed, only the destination.  For I know that we will meet again beyond the confines of this world.

God bless you all today, and always.

House of Cards

Magpie # 29

You could weave a bamboo hut and place it on sand before the sea.

Or nail a wood frame in a thicket amongst the trees.

You could plant a home, like corn, in a prairie's breeze.

Or lay a brick by brick fortress on a mount for all to see.

But, if there is no love that there in resides,

the rooms may be full, but loneliness will abide.

For a house of cards is like an old fool and his gin,

a sad game of solitaire where no one wins.