Sentimental Saturday:) Sunsets, Sonnets and Such

“I find myself becoming increasingly nostalgic for the past, but after all I suppose that is the only thing one can be nostalgic about.”

― James Rozoff

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I am nothing, if not a product of my sentimentality. I love my art, my writing, my poetry, my family, and friends. I surround myself with constant reminders and memories of the people and things that I love. I display gifts and keepsakes from friends and family all over my house.

That last few days, when I open my Facebook page, the first thing I see is that page of memories, so nicely provided. There to greet me is the beautiful face of my angel mother, now smiling from heaven. What a great way to start my day.

Another memory came up of a sunset and a short poem I wrote about the photo. When I saw that sky, all I could think of was that it looked like a red velvet ribbon, and therefore required a poem for such a lofty poetic thought. Not quite a sonnet, but close.

Here are a few more recent sunsets. Perhaps they are in need of some lofty thoughts and poetry. Feel free to give it a try.

This one cries out… “wispy tangerine sky.”

Happy Sentimental Saturday, my friends. ❤️

Sentimental Saturday

The value of a sentiment is the amount of sacrifice you are prepared to make for it.
John Galsworthy Quotes
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Saturday started off with three loops around the neighborhood, around a 4 1/2 mile,walk, then off to meet my writing friends, back to the house to start chipping away at the packing challenge. When there is so much to do, it’s almost too difficult know where to start. I’m very good at spinning my wheels and not getting much done, I find myself starting in one room and shuffling into another. I started in the garage with a huge pile of left over garage sale items that had to be reassigned,save or donate.

Then, back to the kitchen, taking glassware and dishes from cabinets, piling them all over the counters.The kitchen looks like a bomb exploded and spewed out paper, boxes, spices, dishes and utensils.

It was getting late, so I went for my evening walk with my neighbor Vicki. Two times around before dark. I found another lucky penny on the street.

Back to the boxes. While I was going through the cabinets in the dining room, I took out the endless boxes of family photos, albums and old slides. It was extremely painful to glance at the old photos albums from family trips, ticket stubs and post cards from all over the world, London, Tokyo, and Paris. The old album from our honeymoon from 1975 in the Bahamas went right into the trash. I couldn’t throw many photos away, maybe later, maybe not. For now, just pack them away to deal with another time.

“And miles to go before I sleep.”

Sentimental Sunday

Our dreams must be stronger than our memories. We must be pulled by our dreams, rather than pushed by our memories.
Jesse Jackson
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Memories can be beautiful or devastating, it depends on the moment. While going through closets, bins, and boxes, getting ready to sell our house, I ran across hundreds of items that plunged me into fond memories of years gone by. There were toys, favorite books, and baby clothes. Tears slipped down my face as I unfolded the yellowed christening gown that my sons wore at their baptism three decades ago. It was the same gown that their father wore at his baptism nearly sixty years before. Now, just a bitter-sweet reminder of what was and what could have been. I will save the gown and cherish it, and hopefully one day, it will be worn by another sweet crying baby. I’ll cry again, but that’s OK. “We must be pulled by our dreams, rather than pushed by our memories.”

Sometimes sentimentality is sad.

Sentimental Sunday

Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak, and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid, one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory.
Douglas MacArthur

I was looking for something in one of my dresser drawers this morning, sifting through old playbills and letters from Mom, when I stumbled upon an old stained box. You know, one of those white cardboard gift boxes with the cotton on the bottom. When I opened it up, a delightful flood of butterflies and sentimentality danced in my heart. Inside we’re several handmade necklaces and trinkets from my boys when they were little. (Now in their thirties.)

Having been an art teacher in my B.C. days, (Before Children) I always volunteered at the boys’ school. One year, maybe around when Matt was in third grade, I volunteered to teach his class how to make a Mother’s Day necklace to surprise their moms. I brought all the beads, little wooden mom cut-outs, and fishing line. The kids had fun decorating the mom made of wood with markers and stringing the colorful beads. Matt always loved when I volunteered to read or do a craft in his class, and his friends loved it too. I think it was because I always brought a snack or candy.

The front of my necklace reads, “Back off Dude, I’m a Mom!” But the part that made me giggle out loud was the message on the back. It said, “No fair, you’re not surprised!”

PRICELESS!!!!!!!!!

Sentimental Saturday

To expect too much is to have a sentimental view of life, and this is a softness that ends in bitterness. Flannery O’Connor

Yes, I’ll admit it, I’m extremely sentimental. There are certain treasures that mean the world to me. These treasures aren’t made of gold or encrusted with diamonds. Quite the contrary. My lower left-hand dresser drawer is jammed with small boxes filled with homemade jewelry and gifts made by tiny pre-school hands. Mixed in with the ancient playbills and old letters, I have a pair of tiny white baby shoes worn by my husband at his christening and by both my sons at theirs. On top of my dresser, I have photos of my family and friends, little knickknacks, and a silver jewelry box. Inside the box, I keep all the lucky pennies that I find. Tucked behind the jewelry box, I display a small stuffed animal that my son brought back for me from his trip to South Africa a few years ago. “These are a few of my favorite thing.” (Oops! Show tunes.)

I like to see my treasures every day, that’s why they are strategically placed on my dresser. So, you can imagine my horror when I saw Buck traipsing through the family room with my beloved lion cub. A piercing scream stopped him in his tracks, and I rescued the toy before it was damaged. I tucked it safely behind my back so I could continue reading my email. When the phone rang and I jumped up to answer it, I totally forgot my treasure. In my state of distraction, I never noticed that Buck snuck the toy outside with him when he scratched at the door for the fiftieth time. Some ten minutes later, I peeked out the window to check on the dogs, only to see Buck gnawing on the furry toy. This time, a blood-curdling scream heard round the world ensued. Still in my night gown, I chased him around the yard with a broom, yelling bloody murder. By the time I saved my precious lion, it was slimy and covered with mud. I raced to the sink, cursing, sobbing, and scrubbing the beige fur.

To make a long story longer, I cried like a baby. I’m not sure why I was so upset. All I know is, every time I saw that stuffed animal, I thought of my son and how he carried that special gift in his backpack all the way from South Africa just for his mom. So, I cried, and I cried, and I cried. Buck is just a puppy and probably doesn’t know better, but for now, he’s really in the dog house. I can’t stand to look at him. My cherished lion cub is disheveled and will never be the same, and neither will I.