Loving One Another

Posts tagged ‘Memories’

Life’s a Teeter-Totter


Twenty-seven years ago I wrote the poem that’s framed in the picture above (when I still considered myself a kid). I presented it as a birthday gift to my mom. When she left this earth a few years ago, I inherited the poem and the ceramic, musical mice in the teeter-totter that accompanied it.

Yesterday a blogging friend wrote a piece about “Balance.” She asked if it gets easier to find balance in life as we get older. I recalled this poem and told her I would post it today.

Rereading it now with 27 extra birthdays under my belt, I believe the “IFs” in here still are relevant today. And without that foundation of love, I would imagine finding balance is a bigger life-long struggle than it is for those whose home, mother, family and friends provided the love and stability we all crave.

What do you think?

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Life is Like a Teeter-Totter

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Life is like a teeter-totter,

Full of ups and downs.

Kids learn to roll and toss with it,

To shake away the frowns,

If they have had a loving home

To lean back and reminisce on when they roam.

.

Life is like a teeter-totter,

Full of bounces and of bumps.

Kids learn to rock with a jolly jump

And shake away the lumps

If they have had a loving mother

To hug them tight and with kisses smother.

.

Life is like a teeter-totter,

It works better in pairs.

They keep each other balanced

And handle life in shares –

If they have had their mother’s arms

To guard against abuse and harms.

.

Life is like a teeter-totter,

Full of laughs and silly giggle.

Full of noise and wonderment –

Girls to squeeze and boys that wiggle –

If they have been secure in love,

Both from home’s hearth and God above.

.

Thank you, Mom, for filling my life

With love. More ups than downs, for sure.

You seemed to know my every need.

For every hurt, you had a cure.

Happy Birthday, Mother dear –

I thank God every day that you are near!

.

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If you had a happy, loving home, with a mom who provided that sense of security and the ready help when you needed it, I bet you are able to keep life’s teeter-totter in better balance than those folks who missed that connection. How would you characterize your childhood? Did you have a mom who helped you have a greater chance for a balanced life?

Heartache


The Hearings

The heartache

Of yesterday’s

Dying day

Will live on

In our memories

As cinders

In the heap

Of society’s sorrows.

Fleeting Sunrises


Fleeting Sunrises

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There’s a gorgeous orange
In the sunrise this morning.
Quick! Grab the camera.

Before I could click
The vivid color was gone,
But the sun will last.

 

Like the Haiku above, I find sadness, frustration, and anger are those fleeting sunrises. Let the moment pass. Grab your spiritual camera filled with gorgeous, colorful memories.  The sunlit days will last. The vivid colors of their happiness will crowd out the gloom. As you reflect on the joy, let the Son’s Light shine through you.

Quick! Grab the camera.

How vivid are the colors in your happiest memories? Tell me about one of them.

Parade


Parade

Parades are fun

They help us show

The things we do

To folks we know

They help us bring

New folks to town

They feature horses

Cowboy and clown

And let the people

Show their pride

And patriotism

Set differences aside

July the 4th

Is an excellent day

To honor your country

In this perfect way

Happy Independence Day!

Congratulations to

Vickey Gordon

Grand Marshall of

Ennis, Montana’s

July 4, 2018

Parade

Feeling: The Language of the Heart


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In his book, Be!, James Dillet Freeman wrote, “Feeling is the unforgotten language of the heart; you could speak it before you learned words, the language of the mind.”

 

What are you feeling now? Feelings were there in your heart before your mind conjured the words to describe them. Sometimes feelings are never put into words. They just lie there in the heart – unforgotten.

 

Often the work of psychiatrists is to draw out those unforgettable feelings and help them take word form. Is it necessary? Is it helpful? Must we define all our feelings? What happens to the wordless ones? Do they impact us?

 

As a small child, I grew up in an Ozzie & Harriet family. My dad went off to work. My mom stayed home and nurtured my sister and me. Then, during World War II, my mom went to work at a bomb plant. My sister went to kindergarten, and I went to stay with my mom’s friend in town. Dad got a military deferment because of his family obligations. He entered into a business venture with his brother-in-law and spent long hours away from home. How did I feel about all that change? I don’t know. I never verbalized those feelings. Do they need words to be real?

 

It’s reassuring to realize that God hears the language of the heart. Before we learn to speak, He hears us. He understands our needs even better than a nurturing, attentive mother comprehends her infant’s cries. Before we know how to say what we’re feeling, God knows. In the depths of our souls, unspoken feelings are stored. Yes, they impact us. They are unforgotten by God as well. Knowing He helps our circumstances “work together for good, for those who believe in Him” gives me great comfort.

 

Remembering now those early days of change, I can see how Mom’s friend (I called her Aunt Artie) impacted my life for good. She took me regularly to the library. She encouraged my ability to read. Hers was a happy, safe haven. The unforgotten language of my heart feels her support and acceptance.

 

What unforgotten language lingers in your heart? My prayer is that you, too, have the reassurance of God’s understanding. May you feel comfort in the dormancy of wordless memories. Let the feeling lie in your heart – unforgotten – but working for good. Believe!

 

 

Jan Beekman

3-1-18

 

Childhood Memories


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I saw him approaching me
At the Historical Society’s event.
They were honoring our family,
So folks came to join us – or greetings sent.

He approached with arms extended
And I immediately recognized his face,
Even though I hadn’t seen him since
I’d moved from our homeland’s place.

I returned the hug and marveled
At the way I was transported
Back to when at four years old,
A little tuxedo he sported.

In my taffeta dress of sparkling white
And matching patent leather shoes,
I stood with flowers of yellow hue
In contrast to the bridesmaids’ blues.

Across from me carrying ring on pillow
Was my friend, Frankie, looking sharp.
We thought we were getting married, too,
As we stood and listened to the harp.

I backed up from our friendly hug
And stood looking at my friend.
My eyes glistened with tears of joy
As I was transported back again.

Back to the days when I would sit
Down on the living room floor
And try to duplicate his accordion’s sounds
On a small squeezebox, wishing for more.

More songs to play than that little box could,
More buttons to push on the left,
More keys to play on the piano side;
Wishing I could read the treble clef.

Frankie’s mother, whom I called Aunt Olga,
Although she wasn’t a blood relative at all,
Sent me home with the accordion saying,
“Play for your mom, then bring it back. Don’t fall!”

Across the rocky driveway I went
With that eight button squeezebox in hand.
My mom heard me play “Twinkle Twinkle”
And “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”

“How did you learn to play that thing?”
I could tell she was impressed.
I played again so we could sing along
As I fingered the keys and buttons depressed.

Transported back to Mrs. Jensen,
Who gave me a lesson or two
Before she said, “This accordion isn’t capable
Of doing more than you already do.”

Transported back to Girl Scout Camp
In the Sierra Nevada Mountains so green,
To the day when my parents surprised me
With the most beautiful accordion I’d ever seen.

It had one hundred twenty bass keys,
And the keyboard reached down to my knees.
Pearly white with sparkling gold keys,
I took lessons until I could play the Dance of the Bees!

Frankie reminded me I paid for the small one
With the allowance I saved every week.
Twenty-five bucks was a lot in those days.
I smiled as we parted with a kiss on the cheek.

There is nothing more precious, nothing more sweet,
Than childhood memories, friends from days past,
Chances to reconnect with those you love,
Recreate memories – and make new ones that last.

Jan Beekman
9/14/17

Life is Like a Teeter-Totter


Image

Back in 1991 I wrote a poem for my mom to wish her a Happy Birthday. With the framed poem, I gave her a ceramic teeter-totter. The piece is a wind-up music box that plays “Playmates” as the little mice go up and down. She always had the poem and music box with her the next fourteen years as she was in and out of hospitals, rehab facilities, and nursing homes. When she died, I inherited them – and I treasure the memories they bring to mind.

My mom had a cousin close to her age, Madge, who lived with mom’s family when she was a child. Eventually Madge married and moved into a home of her own. She and her husband had two sons, Ronnie & Donnie. Mom married and moved to California where my sister and I were born. I loved meeting and spending time with my cousins when we would go to spend Christmas vacation back in Washington with Mom’s family. Through the years I have stayed in touch with Ronnie. He is near my age. However, I had lost touch with Ronnie’s little brother, Donnie, until last Saturday.

Donnie, whom I had not seen in 60 years, and his wife, Patti, came to spend this Labor Day weekend with Bob and me. What a treat! We reminisced and told stories and went through family photos and various family “artifacts.” One of my inherited treasures is a letter written on the occasion of our mutual great-grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary. They were married September 1, 1875. The letter is “A Saga of the Valley” – the valley in and around North Bend and Fall City, Washington where my mother and Donnie’s mom were born and raised. The letter was typed on onion skin, is brittle and faded, and hard to read – but is is legible. I will retype it and send it to my newly reacquainted cousin, Donnie. He will share it with his daughter who is into the study of genealogies.

As I was headed into the office to my computer, I spotted this ceramic teeter-totter music box. I realized I had forgotten to share that with Donnie. His mom, like mine, was a devoted mother who was wonderfully supportive of her two sons. I think he will appreciate this poem – and he certainly will concur – Life is Like a Teeter-Totter!

Life is like a teeter-totter –
Full of ups and downs.
Kids learn to roll and toss with it,
To shake away the frowns,
If they have a loving home
To lean back and reminisce on when they roam.

Life is like a teeter-totter –
Full of bounces and of bumps.
Kids learn to rock with a jolly jump
And shake away the lumps
If they have a loving mother
To hug them tight and with kisses smother.

Life is like a teeter-totter –
It works better in pairs,
They keep each ther balanced
And handle love in shares
If they have had their mother’s arms
To guard against abuse and harms.

Life is like a teeter-totter –
Full of laugh and silly giggle.
Full of noise and wonderment –
Girls to squeeze and boys that wiggle –
If they have been secure in love
Both from home’s hearth and God above.

Thank you, Mom, for filling my life
With love… more ups than downs, for sure.
You seemed to know my every need;
For every hurt you had a cure.
Happy Birthday, Mother dear –
I thank God each day that you are near!

God Bless our Moms!!
JanBeek ;o)

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