Posted for Debbie’s Six Word Saturday.
Posted for Debbie’s Six Word Saturday.
Posted for SueW’s Weekly Prompts: Word/Photo Challenge: The Street.
For the turning of the tide.
Life is filled with longings, hopes, dreams, and waiting. Always waiting it seems. When my husband and I were young and newly married, it seemed we waited a lot. Waited for the next pay check, waited to start a family, waited to be more financially more secure. Waited for things to be easier. We didn’t stop living, but we were so conditioned and focused toward working toward a future goal, a better life, that I think often we didn’t savor what we did have in the moment. We were happy and deeply in love but were always looking forward, forward, to when times might get easier.
But I wonder now, a year after my husband of 44 years has died, if we also lost a little in the process. This holiday season, I have been missing him terribly and thinking back to those early years together when so many things seemed like a struggle that we sometimes forgot to live in the present. I think back now and wish that I could have appreciated a little more then, what was then.
On this Christmas afternoon just past, as it stretched into the fourth night of Hanukah for my young grandchildren, my heart was aching for those early years of marriage and children and hope. Yet the sorrow was vying with the fact that I knew that I was in the process of making new memories with them. I hope they will remember the Hanukah/Christmas that I began to teach the 7 year old how to use a sewing machine and helped the 4½ year old make a unicorn purse and string a heart necklace.
I hope that they will remember. Because now it seems that time is moving in reverse. I used to dwell in the future. But now if I dwell too much in the past, I will still not be able to fully live in the present. Surely there is a balance to be had, of looking forward and hoping, while holding onto the memories and love of the past. And not losing either.
The tide comes in and nourishes the seaweed on the rock, then temporarily withdraws, allowing the seaweed access to light and air. It seems so simple when looked at like that. But it is anything but simple. It is, in fact, a complex ebbing and flowing that has taken eons for nature to perfect. How do I learn to manage that, keeping the delicate balance between holding and letting go?
My granddaughter discovering COLD snow and ice a year ago.
Posted for Tina’s Lens-Artist Challenge #73 – COLD.
Here in the States, November 11 is Veterans Day. Originally it was established as Armistice Day, the day Germany formally surrendered at the end of WW I: November 11, 1918. In 1954, the name was changed to Veterans Day, to honor U.S. veterans and victims of all wars.
In 2015 my husband and I took a long awaited trip to France. One of the places we visited was the American Cemetery in Normandy. The cemetery covers 172.5 acres and contains the remains of 9,388 American soldiers. There are graves of Army Air Corps crews shot down over France as early as 1942, and graves of 4 American women. But most of the graves are of those soldiers who died during the Invasion of Normandy.
It is a sobering place, as you look out over row upon row upon row of crosses and stars of David. My husband said, “There is such sadness here.” My thought was of all those men, overwhelmingly young, who would never have a chance to have a career, or fall in love, or get married, or live to see their children grow up. They would never see their lives open up before them.
Here is a closeup of an infinitely small section.
Posted for the Ragtag Daily Prompt: Bravery.
This is an example of the bright yellow metal plates that our city puts in the cut out portion of the curb meant for wheelchair users. The bumps slow the wheelchair down a bit, and the yellow shows everyone that the curb is cut out to be a slope from the sidewalk down to the road. In addition, these proved helpful to my husband in the last few years of his life when he was legally blind. He still had a small circle of vision in one eye, but could only look one place at a time (straight forward, down to his shoes, etc.). He thus could either look where he was going, or down at the sidewalk. He obviously chose to look where he was going, As he approached a cut out curb, the texture of the bumps that he could feel both with his feet, and with his white cane, warned him that he was coming to a road and had to stop. They were of great help.
A few weeks ago I was in a very large parking lot with a lot of sidewalks in front of shops, and I noticed that there seemed to be these yellow plates all over. It seemed to be a photo opportunity for Becky’s challenge of October lines&squares. And bumps.
Far and away my true love lies
Just beyond the hill
And many a day I long for arms
That would hold me tightly still.
But far and away the grey gull flies
Quite far beyond the hill
And brings sweet memories back to me
Of a love that lingers still.
~Hannah Keene 2019.