Monthly Archives: September 2016

The World at My Feet

Inspired by the image

the world at my feet

Pixabay/user:Comfreak

Here I sit

with the world at my feet

and my dreams in the sky

But where am I?

What if I

kick off my shoes

how long will they take to land?

What if I

reach out my hands

will I touch the clouds?

Or the moon?

The stars?

The sun?

Or will I get

too close?

Too close to the sun

Instead of kicking off my shoes

will they be burned off my feet?

I see

but I cannot touch

I dream

but I cannot achieve

Here I sit

with the world at my feet

and my dreams in the sky

But where am I?

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Progress

We have told our story

in many different forms

throughout the ages

beginning in one and being transformed into another

grunts and groans of cavemen

pictures on cave walls

hand signals for hunting

places on maps

oral traditions from ages ago

playing musical bone flutes

hieroglyphics on the pyramids

Inca knots on ropes

carvings on trees

stone and chisel

writing with a stick in the dirt

writing on reeds

letters relaying currency and commerce across the sea

oil paintings

stain glass

feather pen and paper

ship logs

book translations

the Gutenberg printing press

Newspapers

Shakespearean plays

colonist journals

the piano

Enlightenment essays

the Declaration of Independence

Romantic era novels

steam boats and steam trains

Social reform and the Second Great Awakening

telegraph wires

the Pony Express

Photographs

typewriters

the Waltz

Muckrakers

telephones

the radio

Jazz

record player

motion picture

modern art

computers the size of a room

home television

the Beatniks

space travel and moon landings

telephone hot lines

personal computers

Disco

boomboxes

bag phones

Pac-Man

VCR tapes

Walkman cassette tapes

CD players

the internet

MP3 Players

cell phones

Facebook

texting

YouTube

Google Drive

iPads

Angry Birds

Snapchat

All of this progress and communication

where has it brought us

where have we brought it?

It is a part of ourselves now

It is a part of our culture now

We are what we create

and look at what we have created.

I am not saying it is right

I am saying that it is

sound-speaker-radio-microphone-large

The Words Themselves

I am currently re-reading my second favorite book.

I got a copy of it for my birthday

and I am writing all over it,

Underling phrases

Blocking off paragraphs and pages

Scrawling in the margins little notes to myself

It seems like when I do this

then I become a part of the book

and not just the book a part of me.

The book becomes personalized,

an outward sign of the impression the words have left on my heart.

So when someone else reads the words I’ve written

and the phrases I have underlined

Then they see to my heart and my mind.

The second reader trespasses on my personal

private

heart and soul.

And that’s something deeper,

sometimes,

than the words themselves.

book

The Little Red Book

When my grandma died

we found a little red book

filled to the brim

with family history

birthdays

marriages

deaths.

The little red book

was stuffed between

fluffy, white towels

in the up stairs bathroom closet.

Oh the strange places we find treasure

yet to some

the little red book would not be treasure

just “useless history about dead people”

Yes, it is history

and yes, it is about dead people

but it’s my history

it is my dead people

it is my people.

With that in mind

we lost the little red book

for three years

and a week

to be exact.

We found a treasure and lost it

and found it again.

I found the little red book

in a Bible of a woman

that I never met

but know so much about.

That Bible was next to another Bible

belonging to another woman

that I never met

and know nothing about.

One from 1979 and the other from 1869

I have never met them

but they are my people

My people.

The first entry in the little red book

is a birth of a man 1847

a man that I don’t even share a name with

and the last entry in the little red book

is my parent’s marriage.

After excitement of the find

and awed page turning

The little red book

descends to the basement cabinet

with all the other family history items

pictures

letters

newspaper clippings

spoons

souvenirs

old Bibles

military dog tags

items belonging to people

I have met

and some I haven’t

They are my people

My people

Dear God ~ Little Reminders

Dear God,

It seems like school sucks all the time out from my day and my thoughts only consist of “What is due in 4th hour?” “I need to study those terms.” “I need to ask the study group about question #12.” It seems like I don’t have any time to think, let alone write.

But thank You, Almighty Father, for reminding me to slow down and having me talk to You. Thank You for getting me back into the habit of praying while I walk to my classes instead of counting off of what I have to do for homework. Thank You for Your Christian songs to replenish me when I am studying. Thank You for other Christians at my school and that they are open about sharing their faith with me. Thank You for reminding me to read all the Bible verses I have written out that are around my house, not just pass them by but to read each one.

Thank You, God, for Your little, and big, reminders to not look in, but to look up to You.

With love from your daughter and best friend,

praying dear God

Pixabay/waldryano

a;dflskj

When I go onto WordPress

and click on the

Create a New Post

icon

the first thing I always type is

a;ldks

A random fingering of home row keys

first learned in fifth grade typing class by Ms. Naughton

well, that is formally,

to be honest

I’ve grown up with keyboards

and letters on them

I knew the keyboard

before I knew my letters

but at that point

the keys and the letters

might as well have been scribbles.

as;lkd

is what I always type first in the Title box

because

a piece of writing should always have a title

but not before it is finished

If you decree your title while you are still writing

then it might as well be just scribbles

scribbles on a keyboard typed by a four-year-old

for a piece of writing

evolves

and transforms

and adapts

and twists

and turns

a million times before it is finished

So for now

I’ll leave my title

as scribbles on a keyboard typed by a four-year-old

for pieces of writing and life

it is never finished.

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