Tag Archives: memory

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! 🙂

Yet Not Forgotten: A Rondeau Poem

Something that ends in memory

Is something that I do not wish to be

Asking, begging, forget me. Please?

Remembered for person, not for glories

Not for great world acts, personally, me


Over lifetime being, salute to me

Minutes of fame do not define ably

Softly in heart, not bravely in stories

Of me, yet not forgotten


Remember weakness, doubts, getting by

Not public image, life looking glossy

I’m fragile flower, not glowing rubies

Recall me in whispers, not glees

Common girl, not celebrity

Of me, yet not forgotten



Flооd via Foter.com / CC BY-NC-ND


Is a smile saying that you’re ready to face the world or that you’re ready to face the world with a smile?

A old man who has dementia. His face is like a waterfall of wrinkles. He has no teeth and there is a gaping hole leading to his mouth. He can’t even remember his doting wife’s name. But he smiles. The wrinkles now become warm, comforting, and welcoming.

The little girl in Mali with her adult teeth first starting to poke through. Her life dire with war going all around her. Her parents are dead. She had no idea what those just beginning adult teeth will have to endure, but she smiles.

Eccdentesiast – one who fakes a smile. We all fake smiles. When we say that we are happy to see someone when we are really not. When we are trying to get something. We smile at a child’s joke to make them feel better. We smile to say that everything is all right, when it isn’t.

What is the difference between a fake, pasted on smile and a real truly joyful one? Is it the eyes? Their crinkle in the nose? The upturn of mouth a little more?  How do you make pure joy appear on one’s face?

The interesting thing about memories is that you don’t remember the actually memory, but the last time you recalled that memory. A study by Northwestern Medicine concluded the following, “This study shows how memories normally change over time, sometimes becoming distorted. When you think back to an event that happened to you long ago — say your first day at school — you actually may be recalling information you retrieved about that event at some later time, not the original event.” (More information at http://www.northwestern.edu/newscenter/stories/2012/09/your-memory-is-like-the-telephone-game.html)

Knowing this, doesn’t it make you almost not want to remember your favorite memory – in case you distort it?

We can’t remember parts of our childhood, but it seems like we can through pictures. We look back through pictures and only remember what we saw in the picture not the experience. In the pictures everyone is smiling, but we don’t remember the event enough to tell if that was a fake or real smile. Everything begins to blur together because our distorted memory.

Look at a picture of someone you know well who is their only reason for smiling is for a camera. Is it their true smile? It almost looks like the smile they give you when they truly mean it, but it’s not. What’s missing?

Now think of their real smile.

But I couldn’t. The person I’m closest to, and I couldn’t remember her real smile. Is it because I can remember her so well crying with tears streaking and heaving breathes? I can remember her angry face. I can remember the absolute terror to overwhelming love. But I can’t picture one face of her’s that shows complete and utter happiness.

So that’s why I said ‘someone you know well’ because I can picture my friends and family with their truest and real smiles, but not the person I’m closest to. I think this is because we know them too well. You know their intricacies.

Does the fake picture smile and real smile start to blur together because you are remembering it too much? Does life do this to us also? Does life turn and flip and distort what is real and what isn’t? Does the fake petty life start to take over the real? Do you lose the twinkle in your eye?

Is it worst to be told that you never had a twinkle in your eye, or that you had a twinkle but lost it?

Have we never had the real life or have we lost it?

Fake verses Real.