Lilacs and Love

Lilacs and Love

"Nothing says spring like a lilac breeze."

Mom closed her eyes, smiled, and sighed.

The scent would come drifting in,

With curtains billowing and windows wide.

My mother gathered them by the armful,

Bunches of lilac blooms with a fragrance that was heaven sent.

She took them to my grandma every Mother's Day,

Sharing her love, showing her gratitude,

Knowing how much it meant.

She loved lilacs too, my mother did,

And was glad we had plenty to spare.

It doubled her joy for them, I think,

Knowing she was able to share.

Grandma would bury her nose in the lilacs,

And breathe in the heady scent too.

She arranged them carefully in a milk glass vase,

And there was one thing I always knew.

Grandma loved me, and my mom did too,

So fierce and wide and deep.

And every year, those lilacs they shared,

Is a memory I'll always keep.

Forever the sight of a lilac bush,

Or the hint of its fragrance in the air,

Will remind me of those two ladies before me,

Who had lilacs and love to spare.

Happy Mother's Day, everyone!

Inquiring Minds Want to Know

     Some of you read my last post and requested pictures of my new haircut.  I like to keep my readers happy, so here you go.  Although my hair still hits my collar, she cut off quite a bit.  She layered it all over my head, not just at the ends the way it had been done before.  

     I have very thick hair that is also either wavy, curly, or frizzy depending on the heat and humidity levels.  If you watched the show Friends when it used to be on TV, my hair is a lot like Monica's hair was when the gang all went on vacation in Barbados.  This clip, if you have time to watch it, shows how her hair got bigger and frizzier and messier-looking the more hot and humid it got.  That's pretty much the way my hair is.

     So, anyway, after the hairstylist layered my hair, she also thinned it, working with the waves in my hair.   Even though I still have a lot of hair left, when I comb it now, it feels like there is nothing there. That might give you a little bit of an idea of how much hair she cut off.  

     I'm getting used to it more now, and I don't style it quite as poufy as she had it, so I don't mind it quite so much and am even starting to like it a little. It definitely is lighter and cooler and easier to take care of than before I got it cut.

     This is the picture of the back.  Maybe you can see how she layered it trying to work with the waves.

Just Call Me Curly

Just Call Me Curly

I'm trying to make up my mind,
Just a trim or an all-new style?
Make it short?  Let it grow? 
I waver and then give in to whim,
Saying, "Oh what the heck, let's give it a go."

Tiffany, the stylist, asks,
"So what are we thinking today?"
(I'm thinking that Tiffany is much too thin,
And that a cheeseburger might do her some good.
And look how young she is!
How old is she, anyway?)

But, of course,
One can't say such things,
Even though one might think them.
So I say, "I don't know.
Maybe add some layers, 
And give the ends a trim."

She begins clipping and snipping,
Combing, measuring, spritzing.
Then I feel her make that first short chop.
And I know things have gone too far,
but it's too late, too late to yell, " NO!  STOP!"

So I hold my breath for a moment,
And cringe a little inside.
Already thinking about damage control--
Gel, mousse, curling iron?
Perhaps a big hat in which to hide?

I wonder if she'll ever finish.
She cuts and cuts some more.
I glance down and feel a little sick inside,
When I see how much hair is on the floor!

At last she is finished.
She spins me around in my chair.
She smiles, hands me a mirror,
and says, "There now.
Do you like your new hair?"

I take a peek and see curls gone wild.
They are soft and tumbling, 
But much too high.
I don't recognize the face I see.
To my old self, I say, "Goodbye."

I tell my family, "Perhaps it will be all right.
Once I calm it down with my comb."
"You look pretty."
"I like it. Hey, it looks nice,"
Say those kind fellows back at home.

Of course, those guys
Have to live with me,
So they know the right thing to say.
And though, I'm not quite used to it yet,
I'm adjusting,
And I take comfort in knowing,
That it's just hair anyway,
And it really will grow back.
It will.  IT WILL...
Someday.

Backyard Camping

Backyard Camping

Ropes, poles, and canvas,
When wrangled by two young boys,
Wriggle in an awkward dance,
To the music of their raucous noise.

It takes enormous effort,
But a tent finally appears in the yard.
They share high fives and kudos,
Saying,"See, that wasn't so hard."

Roasting hot dogs and making s'mores,
Gets the night off to a good start.
They've gathered popcorn, sleeping bags, flashlights.
They're telling stories--feeling smart.

But darkness settles in,
And the night feels lonely and long.
The ground is hard, lumpy, and cold,
And everything seems so wrong.

Mosquitoes buzz by one boy's ear.
A spider tickles the other one's arm.
The neighbor's dog snuffles outside.
"Oh no! Is that a bear?"
"SOUND THE ALARM!"
(Camping out in the back yard
Was quickly losing its charm.)

"Do you want to go back inside?"
They say in unison to one another.
They scurry out of the tent,
Grateful for the back porch light,
Left shining by their mother.

Never were two boys so happy,
To be tucked in safely into their beds,
With warm blankets pulled up to their chins,
And soft pillows under their heads.

It was the first time for them to learn,
(With many more instances yet to be).
That the dream is sometimes better than reality,
And everything's perfect in a fantasy.

Cinema Dreams

Because April is National Poetry Month, Robert Brewer the poetry blogger at WritersDigest.com is providing a different poetry prompt for each day of the month.  I thought I'd use some of them as jumping off points for my poems here.   My last post on this blog was based on his prompt for April 1st which was "a new arrival."  

The poem below was based on his prompt for April 2nd which was to "write a bright poem" or to "write a dark poem."  My poem combines both darkness and brightness.  

Although most people tend to think of darkness as producing evil, I tried to think of a situation when that isn't necessarily true.  I thought about how much I enjoy going to a dark theater and losing myself in a really good movie.

Cinema Dreams

Coming late into the theater,

you hesitate in the darkness,

look for an empty seat,

and do an awkward sidestep 

past some stranger's feet.

Your eyes adjust.

You settle in with your popcorn,

and if the movie's good, 

you are suddenly doing things

you never thought you could.

You're climbing a cliff,

escaping the monster,

or surviving the storm.

You're cradling the baby,

fighting off wolves,

or kissing the hero--
"Whew!  Is it getting warm?"

When the movie ends,

you reluctantly leave your seat

and the magic and mystery behind,

and find yourself disoriented outside

in the bright sunlight, blinking and blind.

For a moment you yearn 
to return to the darkness.
You want to go back in and hide.
You want to forget your problems.
Escape to the fantasy.
Lose yourself in another ride.

But your ticket's spent.
The tale has ended,
and you have your own story to write.
Be your own hero and save the day.
Dreams only appear
in the darkness of night.

New Arrival

New Arrival

Once he was our new arrival,
scrawny, tiny, and pink 
next to his big brother.
Another face, another link.

He was the last piece of the puzzle.
He made our family complete.
He had his Momma's smile,
(but he had his Daddy's feet.)

He's no baby anymore, of course.
Although he once sat upon my knee,
now he reaches things on the top shelf
and hands them down to me.

A letter came from the university
welcoming their new arrivals to the school.
He will soon be joining them.
Passing time can be so cruel.

Older brother has moved away.
Our household now numbers three,
but before long, there will be just two
in our shrinking family tree.

We are all of us coming and going
with the arrival of each new day.
Trying to find where we are supposed to be.
Trying to find our way.

I guess it's his turn to buy a ticket.
He has the big, wide world to greet. 
I take comfort in knowing he'll do it 
while wearing his Momma's smile
and walking with his Daddy's feet.

Lost: One Librarian

I thought I'd post one of my children's poems today, for a change of pace.


Lost: One Librarian

Where did the librarian go?
I've looked everywhere.
Doesn't anybody know?

I looked in the book stacks.
She wasn't there.
I looked by the computers,
Under the stairs, 
By the magazines,
At the tables, 
In the chairs.
She wasn't anywhere!
I even looked on the library lawn!
She wasn't there.
She's gone, gone, gone.

I saw her using the copy machine.
Making duplicates of a flyer.
But she's disappeared again.
I need her!  Where's she gone?
This situation is getting quite dire.

Oh my goodness!
I saw her by the laminator,
But now she's vanished.
Do you think it ate her?

I'm out of ideas.
I don't know where to look.

Oh never mind... 
I've found her.

She was here all along,
Sitting at her desk, 
Lost in a book.