Tag Archives: memory

Memories’s Magic Act

When the world seems too much

When the weather in my mind is rainy

When that familiar ache in my heart whistles its melancholy tune

When I miss you

Then I will think of this moment

I will think of it briefly and sparingly

Just enough to see the sun and change the melody in my heart

Because the more I relive a moment

The less its potency

It fades until the smile it gives

Is only a marred reflection

Of smiles past

How sorrowful it is indeed

That our favorite memories


But that just means that we have to make new ones



In That Moment

It was one of those moments

where it seemed to stretch on forever

because it does.

I will carry

that peace

that excitement

that serenity

that safety

that bliss

that openness

that fun

that freedom

that love


because I have chosen

for that

for this


to never end.

Life may take me

hundreds of miles aways

and scores of years past

but that moment

this moment

will live on

as long as I do.

In that moment,

I felt an overwhelming

gratefulness for my life

and for the people who

make it worthwhile,

oh so much more than worthwhile

It is truly a blessing

to feel the love of life,

and I did

and I still do



God Didn’t Have To

God didn’t have to create beauty

but He did

God didn’t have to create color

He could have made the world only in shades of orange

but He created too many colors for us to count

God didn’t have to create smiles

He could have dulled us to emotion

but He created that feeling you get inside

when you know you are loved and that you love

God didn’t have to create rhythm

He could have made sounds dissociated from each other

but He created melodies that resound in your head

and march with your heartbeat

God didn’t have to create memory

He could have unhooked us from time

and only exist in the present

so much heartache and regret would be wiped away

and with it would be childhood friends and the smell of fresh cut grass

but He created moments that last forever in hearts

God didn’t have to create communication

He could have made us live in our own secluded existence

and prevent fighting and harsh words

and prevent jokes and “I love you”

but He created over six thousand languages

and countless ways to say “happy”

God didn’t have to create anything

but He did

I think God is an optimist

and we should admire the extravagance of a sunset

and not the ending of a day

God created beauty because He wanted to


Niagara Falls on a recent vacation


Oak Tree Memories

As I sit here

in this chair

in my bedroom

(a place I rarely visit except for slumber)

I stare not only at my lap top screen

yet also at my dresser.

Full inside of it are T-shirts

and shorts

and carpi pants

But on top of it,

there lies memories.

When I was younger

I had a collection of Precious Moments figures

little angels and praying boys and dancing girls

I use to call my dresser and the collection my “breakable shelf”

for touch a ceramic figure and it might break.

Is the same true for memories?

Delicate little things

as fragile as a flower

yet as durable as an ancient oak tree

it all depends on the memory

Where are the keys?

When was his birthday?

Did I turn off the curling iron?

Fragile memories

These memories upon my dresser are not fragile memories

they are parts of what make me, me

and so they are oak trees, not fragile flowers.


The first oak tree memory

belongs to a sparkling flower necklace charm,

one that was found in playground wood chips

A treasure found where another had lost it

Another oak tree memory

a pair of music box clowns

given to my father

by a great-grandmother that I never met

yet because of her gift, I feel as though I have met her

for her memory lives on in these oak tree memories

More memories:

a shell found on a Lake Superior beach

a miniature elephant made from obsidian from Mexico

a rock from my yard

a key chain from my future college

some unworn superhero wrist bands

a framed picture of my first paycheck

some cutouts of superheroes from cereal boxes

a coffee cup of my grandma’s, who is currently living in Heaven

two angels given to me and my sister at my grandmother’s funeral

some Bible verses written in colorful pens

a Spider-man musical birthday card from last year

These eccentric oak tree memories

make up an eccentric me

and I hope to be

an oak tree

and not a fragile flower.

However, I must remember

that every an oak tree

starts from a teeny tiny, little acorn.

Maybe these oak tree memories

aren’t oak trees at all

maybe they are acorns

and I’m the oak tree.




Oh how time distorts memories

how we distort memories

an old friend is always kinder

Grandma’s pie is always sweeter

the sand always softer

the past away relative always nicer

the sun always brighter

Oh how memories are exaggerated

memories turn reality into extremes

the winter always colder

the childhood vegetable tastes always worse

the pain of a fall always greater

the heat of a sunburn always hotter

the tears always saltier

the basement always scarier

Yet if we were to go back

and try it

or see it

or feel it


it would not be as good

or as bad.

the chocolate birthday cake does not taste as rich

the Christmas tree does not shine as bright

the hill was not as steep

the valley not as wide

Our memories brush over what we do not want to remember

we only remember the perfections and not the imperfections

or we only remember the imperfections and not the perfections

we choose what we remember.

But which is better

the memories or the memories we make?

Secret Spies and Algebra 2/Trig

I miss you

or maybe I just miss the memories we made

You’re still there

and I’m still here

Right next door

like we have been for almost thirteen years

I still see you every week

We still talk every week

. . . But seeing you and talking with you

isn’t the same as

being with you

I know you’re always there for me

And I hope you know I’m always there for you

But . . .

I miss you

or maybe I just miss the memories we made


Playing with the hose in the summer time

over at Grandma’s

pretending like we were firefighters

or whales

or secret spies with water/laser guns

We could travel the world

and be anyone or anything we wanted to be

with an old garden hose


Collecting moss growing on trees

and wood chips

and leaves from shrubs

and mud

we pretended like we were witches

making some magical potion

or we were super secret scientists on the edge of a breakthrough

and all we needed was a moon rock

and we would create a serum for superpowers

or we were secret spies (we really loved secrets, didn’t we?)

trying to stop the villain from collecting all the materials for a nuclear bomb


Sledding at your house

then my house

then your house

then my house

on winter snow days

where we would have sledding competitions

against the other super secret spy team

or we would create the biggest, tallest, thickest

snow fort the world had ever seen

of three feet tall

that would melt by the end of the month

or we would make snow angels until they covered the yard


On the bus you would show me the dresses you drew

and we would oh and aw at them

and you wanted to be a fashion designer

or we would crawl under the bus seats

from the front to the back

and ruin our clothes

but that was okay

because we were doing it together

or when you told me paper was the healthiest, best tasting thing in the whole wide world

so we ate paper for two weeks straight


Playing cards down in Grandma’s basement

where you taught me solitaire

and 52 pick up

or playing Rummy with Grandma in the dinning room

while eating rhubarb pie

and listening to country music

or playing Go Fish at sleep overs

and passing the cards back and forth

between our toes


I miss you

or maybe I just miss the memories we made

Now the memories seem to be

doing retakes together in Algebra 2/Trig

or brief chats consisting of “I like your shirt today!”

before class starts

or texts asking for a ride home

I know you are just a short walk away

or a text

or a phone call

but . . .

you might also be a childhood away

maybe the you I’m thinking about

went away

with the dolls and foam balls and other childhood toys

I miss you

or maybe I just miss the memories we made


To: Mysterious, 22

From: Nerd, 19

18 – 14, 18, 19, 19, – 2, 12, 21

Still remember the secret code?



Chuck girls pigs4

Beyond This Moment: Now

Future moments and memories to be made

Future ideas and events to happen

More things to be cherished

A seemingly endless amount of potential and possibility

The time not of now

The time not of yesterday

The time of the unwritten, overly sung



It’s looking forward and inward

to who I will be

and changed from what I am

It’s preparing for uncertainty and certainty alike

and hoping for a surprise and steadiness all the same

It’s a contrast and unbalance

that only time can reconcile

for sometime new to become the future

Instead of 2018 being the future

the future will morph into 2024,

which soon will transform into the future being 2036

The future is possibility turned into change of the present


So, beyond this moment

is the future

is the rest of the world

is the rest of my life

is the rest of me


Beyond this moment

of innocent childhood

of naive risk

of thoughtful potential

is what?


There will be a moment after this one

and another after that,

but will it be as good as this one?

Questions, questions, questions

that is what the future is made of.


The mind of me, in the present, pondering on the future

Of things to come that reflect the past

Of things to come that are a brand new thing

Of things to come that will shock and amaze and un-change me

Of things to come

The mind of me, in the present, pondering on the future


Beyond this moment?

Beyond this moment


This was the last poem in my series called ‘Beyond This Moment’. The series is on some of my most cherished moments and how they changed over the years. Hope you enjoy! 🙂


Beyond This Moment: 14

For the first time it is quiet

Not that quiet that is from the absence of people and motion with only little noises

like the creaking of the house or the wind

Not that awkward silence when everyone in a room stops talking

Not that pause for thought in a conversation

Not that ringing silence after a loud noise

Not that muffled unearthly quiet in an airplane

For the first time it is quiet


The falling snow does not even make noise

The wind does not make a sound in the bare trees

I cannot hear my breath or my heartbeat

except I know this is one of the moments where I know I am alive


To take a break from life,

to live.

To take a break from the world,

to enjoy the earth.

To take a break from people,

to lie next to them in the snow.


Three snow angels spread around a clump of pine trees

with three girls looking up at the sky

with tracks of play just past their feet

with sleds just out of reach

with puffy coats and layers of gloves

with visible breath

with silent hearts beating with life


The occasion with school called off

the occasion is nature’s way of saying

enjoy this,

while you can.

Before the thoughts of duty

and driving

and work

and daycare

and bills

and groceries

and aging parents

crowd in and turn snowy roads

from a reason to celebrate to a reason to dread.


I let my mind wander

but I let it not to think

I let it enjoy

but I let it not to narrate

I let it to soak this time up

but I let it not to categorize


The mind of a fourteen-year-old girl in the silence of a snow day

trying to control her mind

trying to live in the moment

trying to be everything

knowing this is what lies ahead

knowing this is the present

knowing this is what she wants

Believing in the God of creation

Believing in the future

Believing in being alive

The mind of a fourteen-year-old girl in the silence of a snow day


Beyond this moment  . . .


Beyond this moment


This was the third poem in my series called ‘Beyond This Moment’. The series is on some of my most cherished moments and how they changed over the years. Hope you enjoy! 🙂


Beyond This Moment: 9

The Fourth of July

Independence Day

This means Mike and Mindy’s party

This means tubing on the back of the speed boat

This means fun


After swimming by the dock it is time for,

“Mike, are you going boating? Can we ride the tube?”

People climb in

Life Jackets snapped

Towels placed

One last call

Boat started

Tube lowered

Riders at the ready

Riders get on


A smile beams at me, matching my own

A look of anticipated excitement crosses the mist in the air

A lurch from the boat with squeals of joy following

A thumbs up to go faster


The wind blasts against our faces

We let our toes dip in the speed water

The trees and houses whiz by at amazing speeds

Speed almost incomprehensible to two nine-year-old girls

We signal to go faster and faster still


The tube goes over the wake of the boat and out onto the almost un-rippled water

We let the motion of the tube take us

no thought, only joy

no physics rush through our heads, only non-calculating exuberance rushes through our hearts

Back over the wake and the tube follows right behind the boat

One hand off the handles

Two hands off the handles

Into a crouching position

I’m standing on my knees with both hands in the air with not a care

with not a single thought of falling

my trust so strong in the boat driver


All I see next to me is a smile

A smile of a girl having just as much fun as me

just not willing to risk it


The mind of a nine-year-old girl with the thrill of the ride

Tubing and family was Fourth of July to me

with little thought of the Declaration of Independence

with little thought of the men that died on both sides of history

with little thought to presidents and kings

with little thought of freedom and democracy

The mind of a nine-year-old girl with the thrill of the ride


Beyond this moment,

Beyond this moment



This was the second poem in my series called ‘Beyond This Moment’. The series is on some of my most cherished moments and how they changed over the years. Hope you enjoy! 🙂


Beyond This Moment: 6

We stomp through our backyard and through the field,

well as much as six-year-old girls can stomp,

a mix of playful pouncing and prancing


A little past the fence row of tall and mysterious trees

A little past the boundary of home

A little into the world

A little into the world that does not belong to us

A little into the farmer’s field


Out through the tall grass

Out through the alfalfa ready for harvest

A path behind us is formed

A small, slightly disappearing wave

In the ocean of grass

We venture into the sea behind our house

and leave footprints in the grass we imagine to be sand


We push down the grass

we make tunnels in it

We pretend that it is winter and the grass is snow

We pretend that we are zoo animals and the trees are people, watching us

We pretend that we are ants and the grass is our tunnels beneath the earth

We pretend that we are food in the digestive tract with all of its twists and turns

We pretend


All is quiet for the moment

I am laying on the pushed down grass

with its brothers standing tall around me

I look up

I see the clouds

the sun

the sky

the birds

the trees

And they are only things

nothing more

nothing less.

The mind of a six-year-old girl out to play in the field

no high philosophical thoughts on nature

no complex scientific hypothesis on the environment

The world is and that is all

Something to play in

The mind of a six-year-old girl out to play in the field


Beyond this moment


Beyond this moment


I am doing a series on my some of my most cherished moments and how they changed over the years. Hope you enjoy! 🙂