Sunday Moments-Falling for Pumpkins

Single Moments~With A Few Words

September 3, 2011 our Baby Girl took on a new role as wife. Happy tears flowed freely that day.

Written Words

How often do you write? I mean really, truly write. Do you write for the art of it? Does anyone send cards, letters, write a blog, journal or even write out your monthly bills?


It seems to me the written word and I do mean the old fashioned written word has gone the way of modern technology. It has been a pet peeve of mine for quite some time now. I have written about it, ranted over it and just plain felt frustrated by it all. Yet there are times even I succumb to the quick way to communicate and send a text or such.

I am a letter writer, the old fashioned kind where you open your mail box and there awaits a good long letter. I have fond memories of sending and receiving those types of letters and have shoe boxes full of them. However, in the past several years, I can honestly say, the letters have dwindled to almost nothing. Hardly ever do I find a gem waiting inside for me to discover.

Our family moved a lot and I do mean a lot, and not because we were a military family either. I have credited this to my mother who just plain “got bored.” When I say I moved a lot, at last count, (After awhile you just stop counting.) I attended twenty-two different schools.

I was a shy, quiet young girl, afraid to make friends due to the fact in a few weeks we might be on to another location, another home, and another school. I had little time to make friends and when I did, we often lost touch. It was the letters from my grandmother, her name was Goldie and she surely had a heart of Gold. She would pen me letters, short, sweet and with longing to see her granddaughter. I loved the tidbits of news and once I devoured the letter, I would scurry off to my room in search of lined notebook paper in which to answer her.

It was during this time I wanted something that did not look like school paper, but real stationary. Believe it or not, there used to be something called Stationary Stores. I would walk in and be totally overwhelmed with the choices, the colors the textures. I would try to find sets with matching envelopes and occasionally splurged and some really delicate paper with complicated designs. That type of paper was treasured, stored and saved for the most important letter receivers of mine. I loved the intricate designs and often hated to part with any.


I am not sure anyone enjoyed my letters as much as I did in writing them. I do know on the odd chance someone might write me back, it would forge me on no matter what was going on in my life. There were letters written in childish penmanship I would find after my grandmother’s death. She had saved these letters throughout our writing journey together and it touched me. It meant my words meant something to her and I carted them home after her death to re-read and re-live those parts of my past.

Having moved around as much as I did and being shy, afraid to lose more friends, I wrote a lot, kept a diary (which my brothers stole and broke into) and tried my hand at poetry. I disappeared into the world of writing and words, often penning my thoughts and feelings to no one other than myself.

Later on, life got in the way, I became a young bride, then a young mother, more children came, many more moves and lots of tragedy. All of which made me lose my way into my little world of writing. I stopped the letters due to the simple fact I had little time and seldom received answers back. After Grandmother died, I just gave up.


I will admit, reluctantly, for a few years, I stopped writing and joined the troops of  e-mailer’s, bloggers, and texters. After the first embers of excitement waned, I lost interest even in the technology. I found it did not satisfy the writer in me.

So, my journey back into the land of writing letters returned with a new fever. I no longer cared if I found a letter in my mailbox I found instead a new joy in the act of penning a letter. I would write in long-hand or simply type my life in words out to the recipient.

I sent cards to my own grandchildren, hoping beyond hope that I would instill in them the act of a good letter or simple thank you card. I often enclose stickers, coins or dollar bills along with words of love and interest in their small lives. Once in awhile, I get one back. I don’t worry about it.

What does concern me is how easy we have given up these things in life. What worries me is they no long teach our children ‘cursive’ handwriting, therefore they can not read my handwriting. I know I should move on with the times, yet I struggle with giving up those simple pleasures in life that are going the wayside of technology. I fight this urge to throw in the towel simply because every one else is.

My grandmother taught me many things. One of the most treasured lessons was the fact that things that are truly important in your life should never be given up. She raised many children in difficult times, nursed her husband during his many illnesses and still clung to the Word of God and the family she so loved. She never stopped loving or doing the very things she enjoyed.

Grandma, thank you. Lesson taken to heart, this is my love letter to you.

Teresa Gale

2011

Dad's Hands

A recent visit to my dad's after he had been released from the hospital became a most emotional one. I love my dad, daddy as I once upon a time called him. He is and always will be my hero. As I sat on the back deck the morning we were to leave, I became teary-eyed at leaving him and mom behind. I wanted to curl into his lap as I did when I was his "little princess" and snuggle into his love.

I watched his hands and became facinated with them. He has strong hands, hands that lifted me as a child gently onto his lap, wiped tears from my eyes and tickled me into fits of laughter. Hands that also lifted heavy boxes in and out of his truck for the company he worked for during his forty some years of loyal employment. These hands twirled thumbs around and around as he spoke, reminding me of his mother, my precious grandmother who had done the same.

His loving hands not only worked to support his family, but they nurtured gardens, picked up small children and waved in the air as he spoke to make a point. They are strong, honest hands, hands you can trust for looking at them you know he is a hard working man of God.

As I stared, I found the tears hard to swallow and I told him in a shaky voice I didn't want to leave this day, but wished I could stay with him for awhile. I cried crock tears as I spoke my words of love and leaned in for a hug. His big hands enveloped his not so little girl and patted my back as he whispered his own endearments in my ear, words that will forever be engraved in the bed of my mind.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I leaned back into my chair and became entranced with his hands once again placed on his lap while fingers twirled, and twirled in place. Family resemblance I thought to myself, from grandma to dad and possibly one day I shall find my own hands repeating the pattern of twirling thumbs.

I shall always be my daddies little girl and he will remain my hero.

I love you Daddy!

Teresa Gale

Just a Single Moment

A Single Moment captured by my lens.

Photographs and Memories

Memories how sweet they can be. Memories have a way of touching places in your heart and tugging at you. It can be a good memory or sad, still the emotions will often trickle out and surprise us.

My brother Mike, recently played with his new hand wand scanner and sent me a email box full of old photographs. Some made me smile, some caused me to miss someone while others had me giggling. I loved each one as I viewed them and saved them to my computer.

I am sharing one today. I cannot remember exactly how old we were, the three of us. I am the oldest, so we won't need to discuss this anymore. My brother Dan at the far left corner two years younger than I, my little brother Mike four years under me is sandwiched between us.

Although I am not sure who took this photo, I do remember we were at a sitter's, perhaps she did. I can recall how sad I felt. I did not like being in her home and forced outside into the hot weather. I can still recall the steam rising off the sidewalk and how still the air around us was. The memory of how close we three were is still within my heart. Seeing this photo made me miss them both. We would often huddle together when scared, or bored.

I am flooded with memories today of my two younger brothers. Dan is no longer with us and it leaves such a hole in my heart. I wonder at what kind of man he would have become. Mike although my younger brother, is also my best friend. I confide in him and depend on him. He teases me in a way only a younger brother can, but treats me with respect. We each have learned a lot since that hot summer day, we have grown in ways I would never imagined.

As I sit looking at that shy girl in this photo, I hardly recall her. She is different than the me of now. That's a good thing. My little brother has become like my big brother. I will hold on to this memory of that particular day and how close we were.

The snap shot of our past is a peek into the window of our future.

Blessings,

Teresa Gale

Absence Makes the Heart What?

Where have I been? What has kept me so silent? Not much, just a very busy life. I stepped in the door here and had not realized that April was my last post. May was water swept away with all the rain and now June is upon us.

I can bet you I am not the only one with a very busy life to lead, but it seems the older I get, the more my calendar is filling up.

School is out, as of today for some of us, which leaves the mess of finding ways to occupy the children. Two grandchildren live with us and I know mom is busy making up a Chore Calendar for the rugrats. I can only pray and hope and wish upon a star that the kids follow it somewhat. One can dream right?

We are busy planning our vacation and looking forward to getting away for a week in a cabin. Water calls, fish bite and lazy afternoons on a boat are really needed for our family.

Well, duty calls once again and I must run. Be back sooner....I promise, pinky swear.

Blessings,

Teresa