Where Do Babies Come From?

Poetry with lines too lovely not to Reblog.



Where did you come from, baby dear?
Out of the everywhere into here.

Where did you get your eyes so blue?
Out of the sky as I came through.

What makes the light in them sparkle and spin?
Some of the starry spikes left in.

Where did you get that little tear?
I found it waiting when I got here.

What makes your forehead so smooth and high?
A soft hand stroked it as I went by.

What makes your cheek like a warm white rose?
I saw something better than anyone knows.

Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss?
Three angels gave me at once a kiss.

Where did you get this pearly ear?
God spoke, and it came out to hear.

Where did you get those arms and hands?
Love made itself into hooks and bands.

Feet, whence did you come, you darling things?
From the same box as…

View original post 40 more words

The Wonder of Gardens

It was a Thursday like today.  A few weeks ago, I think.  Sunny with a bit of a chill in the air.  I was working in my office that afternoon when my husband came home from being on the road all week.  Popping his head between French doors of white he peeked in to say, “It’s a beautiful day!  Let’s get away!”

Hopping into our car, we headed north on highway 44 towards downtown St. Louis.  Soon a bright green exit sign led us toward the St. Louis Botanical Gardens where something new will always surprise you with beauty and wonder.  Nature never ceases to amaze me there.  Life is always springing forth no matter the season with new blooms in colors never seen before.

Truth be told the gardens are filled with history dating back to 1859 when Henry Shaw moved his residence, Tower Grove House http://www.missouribotanicalgarden.org/gardens-gardening/our-garden/gardens-conservatories/victorian-district-tower-grove-house/tower-grove-house.aspx  to his gifted acres that are now the Botanical Gardens.  He was a botanist, a man of science, a visionary with a pure love for all given to us by God and the world above.  He studied plants and their surroundings, loving them more than life itself.  Before he passed away, he commissioned his mausoleum to be built on the grounds amid his beloved trees and vines of ever-changing flowers.  Even in death, he never wanted to leave his cherished gardens.  Anyone making a trip to St. Louis, owes themselves a visit to this most enchanting world.

Surprisingly, the day that we drove into the parking lot workers of all sorts were setting up for an annual Chinese Festival that runs all summer long.  It is a beautiful exhibit, helping pay homage to China and the magnificent Chinese gardens within the Botanical Gardens.  Huge, bright and colorful displays were being set up, all lit from within, welcoming us as we walked inside.  Greeting us at the entrance depicted two, giant elephants rising up on their back hooves.  Most people don’t realize this magnificent presentation is made entirely of individual porcelain plates, painstakingly laid one by one in perfect position.  One mistake and the entire display falls to pieces….

Anticipation prickled my arms.  I couldn’t wait to walk among the beautiful flowers or delight at the bright Chinese splendors of 2015.  Once out in the open air, my eyes darted this way and that.  So much to look at.  Blooms in all colors of the rainbow and others that I’d never imagined.  Fields of Irises with bees buzzing and bushes of peonies drooping with huge powder puffs of color nearly dusting the ground.

Besides the precious gifts of nature, by far I was mesmerized by man’s creation of art.  The fabulous Chinese presentations!  They were bright, ornamental, colorful and fun! Children and adults alike giggled at airy animals playing in the grass or gazed at beautiful displays while wondering what secrets tall gentlemen whispered through the cool breeze of willow trees?

So, if you get a chance please visit the St. Louis Botanical Gardens this summer.  In the light of day your eyes will gaze upon nature never dreamed of before.  And, when dusk begins to settle upon China, lanterns will light, soaring your senses to heights of magical travel.   Wishes of wonder will float through airy trees, whispered by little ones holding your hand.



Let’s Stop to Remember…

Memorial Day.

It’s not simply a holiday of family reunions, leisurely picnics or sunshine and happiness.  Let’s stop to remember………

Please pause to think of the multitude of men and women who have served our country together with those who do so today….willingly.  They protect us on our own soil in addition to all around the world.  Soldiers who risk their lives for our freedom.  Many travel to far off places, other cities and countries, vine-covered jungles or wind whipped deserts to fight wars in the name of, FREEDOM.

Our country’s Armed Forces fight enemies we never thought of before.  Sometimes, the enemy wears a mask making him look much like our neighbor next door.  We ask, why?  Why is there hate?  Why do we fight?  Can’t we get along?  Let’s live in peace, be happy, respect each other, love one another and remember God’s word…please?

Young soldiers, men and woman, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, protect us day and night…summer or winter, spring and fall.  No holidays for them.  We are not their families.  No, they cry tears of loneliness with worry behind closed doors.  A cement sidewalk long ago poured in front.  Across the dewy ground lies an unridden bicycle.  Toys scattered and tossed atop an overgrown lawn.  There is a piece of puzzle missing…yes, it’s Mom or Dad.  If not, it may be a prized son, precious daughter or much-loved brother or sister.  Love is missing.

Dusk settles.  Lullabies in rocking chairs soothe crying babies to sleep.  Toddlers toss in cribs clutching flopping bunnies while ‘olders’ retreat in solitude to rooms where emotions can be stuffed waaay down deep.  They’re too B.I.G. to cry.  No matter the age, children wonder the same… “When is Mommy or Daddy coming home?”

Far too often, the unspeakable happens during war.  There is a knock on the front door.  Neighbors in the distance hear the agony of wailing.  I’ve heard it before.  Like an animal cry.  Low, deep down and guttural at first, then louder to a crescendo like no other.  To the top……as if in slow motion.  W..H..Y?  Life is not fair.

I ask all of you to pray for our soldiers today.  Those who have fallen before together with each of them who protect us during all of our tomorrows.  No matter your belief, ‘right or wrong,’ our soldiers are here for you.  Yes, you.  Doing what they believe is right.  Remember them, please.  If you know any soldiers, call one today.  Say, “Thank You for your service.”  A few minutes on the phone will mean the world to any of them on this day.

Trust me…..

*A post I thought important enough to repeat from last year.  Close to my heart for all soldiers.  Happy Memorial Day.

Desert Dreams

Ginger steps, tender toes, sink…follow 

Look behind cannot find

Disappearing into sugar bowl of nothingness.

Not too sweet take a bite spit it out

Poison dreams, dying….drying

Sucking marrow of abandoned desert bones. 

Persevere, don’t give up lift those feet

One-by-one eyes at me don’t look back 

Nailing winds of gritty breeze

A mirage perhaps? No, believe in me.

Striving, digging, sinking, deeper

Crystals in the sand cannot stop tomorrowland.

Out of breath no more rest 

Step-by-step do your best

Rewards await in oasis state.

Sighing, sipping, liquid, dripping

Soaking desert dreams….sprouting  life anew

One for me and one for you.



A Very Special Day

A Very Special Day.  Not for the widow lady who lives lonely down the lane.  Not for the single guy mowing grass for neighbors up the street, nor the divorced mother wrangling children for after school treats.  I am thankful for today and understand how lucky I am.  Fifty percent or more of married couples never have this very special day.

Thirty one years ago on May 19, in a mid-sized town of Michigan near a wavy bay this date was picture perfect.  Skies above were blue, the color of a baby’s blanket in flannel with temperatures wrapped just as warm.  Flowering trees were in bloom, dropping petals atop freshly cut grass in slow motion.  Bradford pear, apple and cherry blossoms in pink, falling…falling…falling.

My little sister helped me choose a gown.  Off the rack it was, white with dots of swiss and tiny bows holding a rose.  It fit like a glove and was the first and only dress I tried on.  Meant to be, like the man I married.

On that very special day I walked down the aisle of my childhood church to say, “I Do.”  Love filled my heart with the knowledge that my soon to be husband was everything he should be.  Loving, Respectful, Kind and Loyal.  He carried strong values and very much wanted a family, like me.

Our road together wasn’t always easy.  Chronic Conditions dealt us a blow while dealing us a hand we didn’t understand.  Working together, we never gave up.  Sometimes we sought help from others.  No shame in that.  Without it, our marriage might have ended on the other side of the fifty percent.  What a waste that would have been.  So many blessings in the end.  A lesson for others perhaps.

Today, I have lived more of my life with the man I married than without.  Yes, he’s what I expected walking arm in arm on a runner of white.  Yet, he’s so much more than that.  My husband has been the very best father to our sons, setting positive examples for them to follow in his own quiet, humble way.

Since becoming a grandfather, I marvel at the kick in his step and the magic in his moods.  A storybook character, he is!  One who plays dress-up in turquoise tulle, dances in flirty butterfly heels and disguises his voice while reading paper pages popping from a spine.  Tea parties are shared around a table of square and nature lessons are given in the back of our yard.

Recently our only grandson turned one.  He too now reaches for Grandpa, while lifting arms to beg with saucer blue eyes.  “Pick me up,” they say.  Soon afterward, my husband’s nose is squished flat, turning red from the bottom of a pudgy fist.  His hair of black is magically pulled short to long.   Wet lips twist and curl to laugh aloud while fingers of four or five are stuffed between his teeth in a new game of play.

As for me, I feel so lucky to have had this wonderful man by my side for the past thirty-one years.  Never do I take a day for granted and I thank God for all of our blessings.

Given the chance, I would put on that dress all over again.  White with dots of swiss and little bows holding a rose.

A Very Special Day…

This slideshow requires JavaScript.




A Solitary Sunday.  With my spouse under the weather, the house is as quiet as a mouse.  Yes, it’s true.  I hear nothing.  Not even the scampering of soft fuzzy gray.  No grown children visiting today.  No toddlers to chase or grand-babies to rock.  The sound of silence is all around me.  Life is full of contrasts in this way.

The past week has been an unusual one.  Nearly every day the sun shined bright in the sky only to contrast at some point with the threat of foreboding storms.  Often when I looked up, charcoal gray skies floated above while blustery winds blew by.  Eventually, sheets of rain screamed sideways, this way and that.  Afterwards, silence befell before various sounds were heard.  Cracks of lightening followed by SNAPS.  Brushes of tree limbs fell to wet blades of emerald grass.  Swishes of leaves swept the air before landing in a loud crash.  Finally, rushing water flowed toward a cement street drain.  Gurgles of liquid dropped down..down…down.

The last several days have been full of contrast.  Clear blue skies altered with islands of darkness.  Eventually, clouds parted, allowing sparkling sun to peek from behind sounds of brief silence.  Minutes afterward, favorite feathered friends of mine began to sing sweet, familiar songs while flying to patio feeders.  Red cardinals, canary yellow finches, florescent blue buntings, cinnamon sparrows and red-breasted robins.

Life is full of contrast.  Eventually the glory of light brightens darkness while sweet sounds begin to snuff silence.



May Memory

There they were.  As a child, I first discovered them while skipping along my maternal grandmother’s winding, weathered sidewalk path.  It led to beautiful backyard gardens of assorted tulip beds and pastel peonies planted along an aging wrought iron fence.  They were nearly growing wild in patches abutting cool cement basement blocks under Grandma’s kitchen window.  I kneeled too low for her to see or catch me there…I’d snip off a stem or two, until before I knew, I had almost more than I could hide or carry!

Sneaking off behind the back of my Grandpa’s shingled garage, I’d sit in the sun.  Crossing gangly legs on moist grass of green, newborn spring rosied my face.  Then, between youthful growing forefingers, I’d gingerly roll textured leaves, gently touching the tiniest white bells I’d ever seen.  Did they ring?  Lifting them closely to my ear, I swore ‘twinkling’ sounds could nearly be heard.  Ahh, my imagination.  An aroma wafted just below my nose, smelling sweeter than any colored rose!  The scent reminded me of Grandma’s perfume upon kissing the folds of her neck or the plump of her soft powered cheek.

As I grew up and older into a teen, “Lilly of the Valley” was always my favorite flower together with my favorite scent.  Memories from childhood carried on, I think.  When the time came for me to marry, I so wanted this blossom to be part of my wedding bouquet. Over thirty years ago this month, when the florist told me and my then, “finance” that a single stem would cost $15.00, I opted to carry silk instead.  I still had the beauty while the fragrance floated throughout my vast imagination…..

Guess what?  I truly did hear the twinkling of my favorite ‘Lilly’ bells ringing during that glorious sun filled afternoon!

May Memories to last a Lifetime.

*one of my favorite posts of May


The Circle of Life

The Circle of Life 

Often subtle changes take place within the circle of life.  They go unnoticed, we may not think of them or miss them altogether.  This past week my father together with other family members shared my home where the circle of life became very apparent.  There was laughter, reminiscing, various family gatherings and the notice of….Change.

My father tires a bit more easily than he used to do.  His movement was a bit slower and he slept longer hours.  Occasionally he took short rests on the sofa.  Still, his wit was as sharp as ever and he had the stamina to tap dance with his three-year old great-grand-daughter.  Silly Great-Grandpa!

My oldest brother’s beard had turned gray with salt and pepper colors throughout.   His dark hair, once thick and shiny had become thin, revealing a bald spot near the back of his head.   An Army veteran, he seemed more sentimental.  Before going home, he looked me straight into the eyes.  “I don’t tell you enough,” he said, hugging me tight, “but I really love you a lot.”

My middle sister seemed much more content in life.  Calmer, if you will.  Together, we enjoyed playing with toddlers in the grass while trading babies in our laps.  Feeding and rocking them, we burped bundles over shoulders before trading them back again.

One day, we shopped in a quaint historic town on the banks of the Missouri River. It’s where Lewis and Clark began their famous expedition that went all the way to the pacific coast.  Laughing like school girls, we ran down a cobblestone sidewalk to the same boutique two or three times over again while my husband and brother-in-law re-connected at a patio restaurant nearby.

This reunion of sorts was mainly for my father to meet his new great grand-children and to reconnect with much of his family.  Due to everyone’s schedule, it’s extremely rare for all of us to be together at the same time.  About a week ago everyone met for fabulous brunch before coming back to the house.

“Dad, do you want to hold one of the twins?”

“Uh, well, it’s been a long time,” he said, hesitating.

“Oh, you can do it,” I said, placing Baby Olivia in his arms.

Almost instantly she wailed as it was near feeding time.  Grabbing her bottle, I handed it to my father who instinctively popped it into a hopeful mouth.  Her cries stopped immediately to the relief of my father.

After snapping the candid picture below, I thought to myself of the deeper, amazing moment that had just taken place.  Someday, long after my father is gone, long after I am gone and perhaps even my children are gone, Olivia, an old woman by then may see this photograph.

With her own great-grandchildren by her side, she will point to the picture.

“Yes, that is my great-grandfather holding me for the very first time!”

The Circle of Life

 dad &olvia


Her love is like and island

In life’s ocean, cast and wide,

A peaceful, quiet shelter

From the wind, and rain, and tide.

‘Tis bound on the north by Hope,

By Patience on the west,

By tender Counsel on the south,

And on the east by Rest.

Above it like a beacon light

Shine faith, and truth, and prayer:

And through the changing scenes of life,

I find a haven there.”

Author Unknown


Happy Mother’s Day to All My Readers

In Honor of Mother’s Day Week: Intuition

Women know 

The way to rear up children, (to be just).

They know a simple, merry, tender knack

Of trying sashes, fitting baby shoes,

And stringing pretty words that make no sense,

And kissing full sense into empty words.”

Elizabeth Barrett Browning