Favorite Things...

A few of my favorite things...

• Flowers, especially hyacinths, tulips, lilacs
• Mystery books and programs
• Music of all kinds
• Magazines like Victoria, Better Homes and Gardens, Country Living
• Pretty, vintage linens, lace, and doilies
• Old family photographs
• Playing games like Scrabble, Dominoes, and Trivial Pursuit
• Vintage dolls and toys

These things, and many more, make me happy. It feels good to think of simple pleasures and set aside thoughts of the craziness going on in the world around me. I am choosing to seek for what brings me happiness and joy. I know there will be dark days and some things I may have to think about and deal with, but when possible, I will be looking for the bright moments. The simple joys in life.

Daydreams...

There was a time, a long while back, when I dreamed of living on an acreage with plenty of space. Far from people, filled with animals of all kinds. Maybe a log home or an old two story farmhouse with a big red barn. I would have a huge room with a grand piano and floor to ceiling bookshelves...

These days I dream of a Paris or New York apartment with all the amenities or a little cottage near the Oregon Coast. The dream mainly requires I must be close to restaurants and shops, especially cozy book stores.  I will have at least one cat and maybe a little dog.

I'll wear hats. I've never worn hats much, because I was told I didn't have the head for them. Maybe I don't, but why should that stop me? I'll wear expensive perfume and silky scarves, but I won't wear make-up ever, unless the mood should strike. I'll say exactly what I think, without feeling like I must apologize for my opinion. I will stop wondering why this old friend, or that other one, never calls anymore. My address and phone books will reflect those who maintain connections. All a person really needs is the love and friendship of a few true friends, and the love of their life partner and children, of course.

I'll write my truth. In writing it, I'll try to be kind, but even if the truth is unkind it may have to be written. I saw a quote somewhere... if you didn't want it written about you, you should have behaved better... something to that effect. Oh my, the things which could be written about me. Things which may well be cruel, seen in print. I have to remember every truth is tempered by circumstance, what we knew then, what was the trigger, and how we addressed it or changed from it.

So, the dreams... new location; simpler life; be myself; hold those who love me close, and let the rest go; be honest, tempered with kindness; accept my truths and my failings, but don't linger there; read; write; and pets... yes, I must have pets!

© 21Jan2016 ajj

Poetry and Simple Joys

 

The poem I chose today, Where the Sidewalk Ends, takes me back to childhood; the simplicity of it.  I can vividly remember the sidewalk I followed, on my way to first grade.  There were places where the smooth continuity of the pavement was disrupted by the crumbling of age; or the intrusion of some massive tree root that had pushed it's way under the squares of cement.  This caused a sudden rise, and tall grass grew in the resulting cracks.  I was fascinated by the power nature had in undoing what man had laid down.

Many of my favorite places to play were where sidewalks ended.  I loved walking the dirt road that stretched behind our house.  There were fields on each side.  In the spring, I could see the faint green shoots coming up through the dirt.  Tall grass and weeds grew along the ditch-bank.  Occasionally, a pheasant would shoot from it's cover, colors vibrant against the blue sky.  There were sounds of civilization in the distance; the drone of a mower or a tractor, the hum of a car or two speeding by; a neighboring farmer's dog barking; and occasionally, my Grandma's voice lifted in a song or a yodel.

Sitting in the long grasses at the end of the road, I let my imagination run.  I traveled far away lands and had amazing adventures.  There were lions and elephants, gypsies and pirates.  As I look out the window just behind this desk, I see a well established neighborhood.  There are rules and regulations that must be followed to live here.  The sidewalks are strictly maintained.  No long grasses or weeds are allowed.  Everything must be precisely manicured.  I do understand the need for this, but once in a while I long for those wild places.  The places where imagination ran free, where lions and gypsies walked among us. 

   

Where the Sidewalk Ends 

by Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,

And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.


 

I hope you enjoyed traveling back in time with me.  Poetry month has caused me to search my mind for poems that meant something to me.  I love this poem. I love thinking about the simple joys of childhood.  

Now before I forget, please feel free to take the image and use it.  It came to me from Dover Publications as a royalty free image.  Click on the it to enlarge, then right click, and save to your computer.

Wishing you a gorgeous springtime afternoon!