Tag Archives: memories

A Curious Child

 

 

A child once sat at her mother’s knee

And asked that tales be told

Of God and Jesus and Angels true

A world she could behold

 

A tender age, a tender mind

She loved the tales of God

A gentle Father to us all

A Son who once was flawed

 

The tales she heard so long ago

They stayed within her heart

And formed the woman she became

I think she’s pretty smart

 

The mother passed on to her rest

The child grew up to be

For you know, so long ago

That curious child was me

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Remembering?

 

ink sketch

I cannot remember

The things I have said,

The act of remembering

It feels me with dread!

 

I remember the past

As if I was there.

But what I’ve just eaten?

It’s really unfair!

People I’ve known,

For short or for long,

The names that they have

I’m afraid that they’re gone!

 

I want to remember,

I’m afraid to forget,

I feel I am losing,

Now that is a threat!

 

Time passes on

For thee and for me,

I’ll live in the moment

Until I am free!

Listen

 

Can you hear a moon beam

As it whispers on the wind?

Can you see the hand of God

Resting on your skin?

 

Do you feel the spirit

Warm around your heart?

Do you know for certain

You’ve made the perfect start?

 

Will you be the best

That you could ever be?

Will you pay attention

To things you cannot see?

 

Are you now forever

The person that is best?

Are you living fully

Gently with the rest?

 

What are you afraid of

That stops you being true?

What are you remembering

Of the One that made you, you?

 

Can you hear the words

Spoken from within?

Safe with Him forever

Will you now begin?

Was My Miniature Poodle Gay?

 

I was five years old when Beau Brummel joined our merry family. My parents had been promising my brother, sister and I that we could get a dog one day. One Sunday afternoon we were out for a drive. (I guess it was a way to stimulate curiosity in us young’uns!) We stopped for lunch a few towns over from where we lived. After eating, my siblings left the table only to return a few moments later with an announcement: There was a kennel in town. (They had checked the phonebook.) (For those of you too young to remember pay phones, they were in most restaurants and on the street for people to make phone calls without going home. There were no cells phones or Internet in those days. It was the ‘60s Sigh.)

Busted! My father had promised. We came home with an 8 month old, pure bred, champion stock, black, miniature poodle. His front legs had been broken when he was a few days old and had healed incorrectly so his walk was always slightly off. We never noticed.

Beau ruled. Well, at least us kids. He played when he wanted to, he cuddled when he wanted to. And he always looked like he knew better. Because Beau was of champion stock, breeders wanted to use him as a stud. My parents agreed. Evidently it didn’t go well. He didn’t seem to know what to do. The first indication?

Several years later, in another town, we added another dog to the mix. A beautiful Chesapeake Bay Retriever, we called her Blue. She idolized Beau. On the last day of school before summer break, both dogs went missing. Eventually they showed up again and the summer continued as planned until . . .our beautiful Blue was pregnant!

Our first thought was: Beau! You ole dog! But no. We think he pimped her out to another retriever in the neighbourhood: Blacky, a black lab. The pups were stunning! I watched them being born. Quite an experience for a child. Beau hovered like a worried godfather. Second indication?

A few days later my brother, Blue and her five puppies left for university. Beau moped for twenty minutes and then started putting everything back to normal. But he did find a friend.

My best friend lived across the street. Her father was a hunter and had hunting dogs. Strictly off limits to curious children. They also had a male cat. Rusty was an outdoor cat whose job was to keep the mouse population in decline. He was very good at his job. We lived just outside a small city surrounded by forests and fields. It was a great place to live. Rusty was beautiful and affectionate. In those days your animals ran free so chances were good they would meet up. They did. Beau and Rusty became friends. The two boys met up most days and Beau often invited Rusty into the house for snacks or even a nap. Third indicator?

A few years later we moved to another province. Beau never again had a special friend like Rusty. I wonder if they found each other across the Rainbow Bridge?

 

My Memory Bank

 

 

I was talking with a friend the other night and she told me how she was going to take her two young daughters away for a Girls Weekend. I started to remember the wonderful trips I had taken with my parents when I was a child. Some trips were only for a day, a week, sometimes for a weekend and once for month. I cherish those memories! I remember being in a camper trailer and not having access to fresh milk. I was so excited to go a whole week without having to drink milk. I hated the stuff before the trip, loved it afterwards!

More and more of my childhood memories started to pop to the surface. They had been filed away just in case I wanted to look at them again. For a moment I wanted to get lost in the past. I could remember the feeling of my father’s arms as he carried me to bed. I could fall asleep anywhere. I could remember the smell of my mother’s hands when she was baking in the kitchen. I could remember the springy hair of Beau Brummel, our miniature poodle when he had been rolling in something noxious and he knew it. Damn, he was a smart dog!

Sadly, I knew I had to put them back in the vault or I would truly run the risk of getting lost. But I knew they were there. Locked safely away. Or so I thought. My mother started to lose her memories but she had told me the stories so many times I remembered them for her. We used to laugh about it. What happens when I’m gone!

The stories that she told me happened to people who are no longer alive. Who will remember them! My stories, my memories, what will happen to them? What will happen to my Memory Bank? I guess the question is a matter of beliefs. What do you believe? Do you believe that we live on in another form or are we recycled into the ether?

I don’t know. I know what I want to believe. But I don’t know. If Heaven exists it must be pretty crowded. Of course the same thing could be said for Hell. I do not believe the human mind is capable of understanding the next step. I certainly don’t. I don’t think logic comes into it and that is where you rely on faith.

I have my wonderful memories and one day they will all fade into the Cosmo as will I. Until that time I am going to continue to make deposits into my Memory Bank. How about you!

An Embarrassing Memory

 (from http://www.canadogs.ca)

We all have those memories that we wish we could forget. Those instances when we performed in a less than stellar manner. Ah, yes, those embarrassing moments.

More than 40 years ago I behaved abysmally. In my defence I was young and stupid. I use that word intentionally. It’s more than 40 years later and I’m quite sure the parties involved are no longer alive but I am embarrassed at my behaviour.

Why am I sharing this now? Well I had an epiphany. It only took four decades to figure it out! Have I mentioned that I tend to be a little slow? Let me tell you what happened.

I was in my late teens and while I had an aspect to my character that was quite shy around people, I was a beast when it came to defending my family. At the time we shared our lives with a Chesapeake Bay Retriever. She was beautiful, friendly and not particularly bright. We loved her dearly. And she clearly loved everybody  without exception. I used to take her for her last walk of the evening when it was dark. It was the wintertime so it was cold but not a lot of snow. The air was crisp and we were having a wonderful walk. She was off leash which was legal in those days but she was well trained enough to return when I called her.

We were walking in a residential area near a Catholic church. In the distance I could see what appeared to be a man in a dark coat and a small dog. Blue, my Chesapeake Bay, saw them too and raced to say hello. Her tail was wagging furiously. The individual in question picked up the little dog and tried to kick Blue. She was quick, the kick missed, I called her back and I got angry. At no time was Blue aggressive.

I proceeded to chastise the individual loudly and vehemently. Two more steps and I saw the white collar on his neck. He was a priest! Now one would assume that when presented with someone of the clergy, one would proceed with more decorum. Not a chance, I was angry!

But I did recognize the significance and changed my tactics.

“How dare you call yourself a man of God! I won’t share the same space with you if you feel you have the right to abuse one of God’s creatures . . .”   Like I said, I was angry, a redhead and a family member was involved. You might call that a perfect storm.

Many years later I’m able to look back and understand his point of view. A strange animal, no matter how friendly it appears, can be frightening. I should have stopped and assured him of how gentle Blue was. I didn’t. I held my anger like a shield and refused to let him in. Sometime later when we returned from our walk along the same path, I saw him again. He was waiting for us. But I was still in the throws of that anger and I refused to speak to him. I’m sorry for that.   I am sorry that I missed out on an opportunity to connect with another human being.

Sometimes those memories that we hold onto are there for a reason. Maybe we need to be humbled occasionally by our remembered mistakes so that we do not repeat them. I can never make up to that man for my inadequacies but I can hold onto his memory as a lesson. He was an important individual who has helped me to become the person I am even without knowing his name. And I hope I never forget the lesson he taught me.