memories
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Am I Just Painting This Old Wagon Blue?
I don’t remember if I taught him the song or if he taught it to me. But one summer, Grandpap Swayne and I sang, Little red wagon painted blue…, as we played dominoes, painted by numbers, and watched cartoons on TV. When I was a child, Mother and I traveled from our home in Richmond, Virginia, to Continue reading
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Dream or Visitation? One Dreamer’s Musings
In my dream, my father sits in his rocking chair on the screened-in porch at the house where we lived long ago when I was a child. My mind casts the scene in sepia–a time and place from my childhood recreated in yellowed tones, shades of brown deepening to gray. A scene composed of memories Continue reading
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Nourishing Love Later in Life
For me, late November always brings with it a host of memories, bad and good. Recollections from my childhood of my mother’s volatility during the holiday season. Her seeming disdain for Thanksgiving and Christmas–perhaps because of their added demand on her as the manager and keeper of our house. Memories of the holidays when my Continue reading
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