Today, June 14th,
is my girl’s birthday.
Since the first moment I held her
and gazed into her eyes
when I was just eighteen,
she’s been as constant in my life as the stars.
I wonder if she realizes
how much she has enriched my life,
how proud I am of her and
how happy I am to be her mom, because
she is more than a daughter to me.
She is my friend.
** Denise **
“A daughter is one of the most beautiful gifts this world has to give.” ~ Laurel Atherton
*This is one of my evergreen posts, first published here in 2013.
In the midst of the pandemic as well as my deep despair over everything that is going on in the world right now, comes a welcome respite of joy and gratitude.
My only sister and her husband became grandparents last night, to a perfect little girl who was longed for and whose mom went nine days overdue before finally going into labour late yesterday morning. I am brimming with happiness for them all.
Due to Covid-19 restrictions, my nephew was only permitted to stay in the hospital during labour and delivery, so like my sister and her husband and her other grandparents, he now has to wait until mother and baby are discharged to be with them.
A side note: when this same nephew was a baby and my firstborn was a young girl, she absolutely adored him. How do I know? Back then, she had a locket. She kept a pic of him in that locket along with a pic of herself. I smile whenever I think of it.
I can’t help but recall how thrilled I was when I became a grandmother fourteen years ago, to a dear little bundle who felt like a gift from heaven for all of us. And now my memories take me back to the day my own daughter was born.
I became a mom when I was barely a woman myself. So young I was, a child having a child. It didn’t take long, though, for me to make my baby a priority and to fall in love in a way I never had before.
Eight years ago, I wrote a short poem about it.
Remembering that day in June
when you were small and pink and new
your needs so urgent, your helplessness
eclipsing all I’d planned to do
Your eyes, the bluest I’ve ever seen
gazed into mine, I drank you in
strawberry mark on your behind
that perfect dimple in your chin
The tiny o your lips would make
when, nursing done, you fell asleep
that newborn smell, the lightest heft—
who knew that love could feel so deep?
What are you grateful for today?
On Thursday of last week, we had to say goodbye to our little Maisie. She’d been ill for several months, had stopped responding to her meds, and we knew there was nothing else we could do. We couldn’t let our baby suffer anymore.
Needless to say, we are heartbroken. Vivian misses her too. She roams from room to room — and outdoors — looking for her sister and lifelong companion.
We console ourselves by remembering Maisie had a full and beautiful life. No cat, ever, was more loved. She always had Viv to watch over her and keep her company whenever we were away. She reveled in the freedom to explore the outdoors here on Perry’s Point, but preferred to stay close to us when we sat out on our deck.
Maisie, you were much more than a pet to us. You graced us with heaps of generous love and affection and your sweet, unique brand of friendship for almost thirteen years. And your quiet dignity, even in sickness, will never be forgotten. You are pain-free at last.
♥ Sleep well, dear angel. ♥
I know you may think
that I look kind of lazy
But not every day
I’m as fresh as a daisy
Precious few are so perfect
to wear halos above us
So we look past the faults
of who we love and who love us
Like where did this dog toy
come from, we inquire
When there are gorgeous kitty cats
here to admire?
But I won’t dwell on that,
just an oversight, maybe
I’ll forgive and forget
and not act like a baby
And we won’t envy Jennifer
with her life that’s just ducky
‘Cause we know of a time
when she wasn’t so lucky
So don’t be concerned
if you haven’t seen Cupid
Don’t be down on romance
because that would be stupid
Just realize your True Love
may not be that far
you are wonderful
just as you are!
If you still find you’re sad
and alone on this day
Take a look at our cuteness
to chase troubles away
And please, pretty please,
know we love you like crazy
Happy Valentine kisses
from me and from Maisie. ❤
The Daily Post Prompt:
Cupid’s Arrow – Write an ode to someone or something you love. Bonus points for poetry!
This was my first time using the new “Copy a Post” feature on WordPress for evergreen content. Originally shared in 2015 here.
My Mommy loves me so much…
…and that makes me purr.
Mommy loves my soft white bib. She says it feels softer than the rest of my fur. My sister Vivian’s white fur is softer too.
Mom read online that pigment makes fur feel rougher and is a characteristic of many cats, though not all of them.
Thanks for looking at my snaps! 💕
Photo Challenge: Soft
peace and quiet so serene
clear and cold and blue
– but I’m never blue with you
in our home beside the sea.
The Japanese tanka is a 31-syllable poem.
Tanka translates as ‘short song’ and is known for its 5-line, 5/7/5/7/7 syllable count form.
To all the cats we’ve loved before
you beautify our wall decor
both with us and long gone
our love goes on and on
to all the cats we’ve loved before.
Our cat wall includes several images of Maisie and Vivian, our grandkitties Moochie, Ginger and Joey, as well as Padmé, Smoki, Sandy, Mitzi, and Timmy.
Missing from collection: Puff, Jinx and Tiger. Sorry, my kitties, I couldn’t find any photos of you!
Happy Sunday, everyone,
and Happy Thanksgiving
to my Canadian friends and followers!
I wish I could say I wrote this lovely piece, but I found it shared on Karen Lang’s blog, Healing Your Life.
Stepping into the unknown, takes courage and strength to move out of our comfort zone. But sometimes we can be left believing it was not worth it; Be patient. In time, you will discover, you receive exactly what you need.
John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn’t, the girl with the rose. His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind.
In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner’s name, Miss Holly Maynell. With time and effort he located her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond.
The two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn’t matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting – 7.00 p.m. at the Grand Central Station in New York.
“You’ll recognize me,” she wrote, “by the red rose I’ll be wearing on my lapel.” So at 7.00 p.m. he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he’d never seen.
Mr Blanchard describes the scene: “A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim in a green suit. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small provocative smile curved her lips. “Going my way, sailor?” she murmured.
Almost uncontrollably, I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Holly Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly inspired me.
And there she stood. Her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her.
This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever by grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment. “I’m Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?” The woman’s face broadened into a tolerant smile. “I don’t know what this is about, son,” she answered, “but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!”
“That’s my father.” … Seemingly an innocent and offhand remark made by the youngest of his three children, those three little words meant much more to our dad. I know it made him feel proud and happy to be that father, that figure of authority and loving protector of his family.
It was a responsibility he took seriously, a role that only he could execute with his unique brand of friendship, understanding and humour…”
~ excerpt from That’s My Father, 03/21/13
I’m thinking of relatives and friends who lost their fathers very recently.
My heart goes out to them today.
Wishing all the wonderful dads
a Happy Father’s Day
❤ ❤ ❤