Tag Archives: memory
Memories of Tigger intruded our walk through the trails today. She used to sit, just so, staring off intently at something out there.
Over and over Then more – over Be strong, take courage Be patient & persistent Don’t get discouraged It is what it is, but not what it seems Don’t delay, don’t give up The last stitch could mean Something … Continue reading
Life is as fleeting as an icicle appearing solid, permanent, strong. . . then gone. Only memory remains of light reflecting clarity, firmly attached beautiful unique now gone. Only sad drops remain. ©Sharron R. McMillan
Might as well go for Gold . . .
Light seeps into the sky behind ever-moving branches, trees, leaves – powerful shadows over back-drop of serene blue. Light bursts out, the day begins. . . I’ve seen this over and over again but never tire of this opening bit. … Continue reading
Fragments of thought splash the shattered cortex of my cerebellum, do not alight can not enter, only bounce about until settling somewhere inside my brain, lost forever in folds of intelligence, unable to decipher something so simple as a puddle. … Continue reading
Love you still. Sharron
Rosmarinus officinalis Do not cut more than 20% of plant at one time. For drying, cut before it flowers. Dry in bags. Strip leaves from stem when dry. Uses: Prevents breakdown of acetylcholine in brain cells thus prevents Alzheimer’s disease, … Continue reading
Looking for more clues of timing, and what was going on when I wrote those plays and stories in school, obsessed with figuring out who I was back then. A puzzle with pieces here and there. Some fit. Some don’t. … Continue reading
Time to pick blackberries. Pop a few berries in your mouth – warmed by the sun, fresh off the vine while dreaming of blackberry juice, homemade platz, pie with ice cream – then pick, pick, pick.
It’s a poor sort of memory that only works backwards. ~Lewis Carroll
So, where was I in my life story? I left. That was not the end but the beginning. I could write scenes, of a naïve young woman taken for a joy ride through half her life or how she survived … Continue reading
My Recitation at church, Easter Sunday 1949: ‘I have two little feet to walk with Jesus, two little hands to do His will. One little tongue to sing His praises, One little heart to love Him still.’
I know it’s spring when red stems of Rhubarb brighten a patch in the garden. Soon I’ll be cooking up stewed rhubarb to eat over yogurt. My girls used to call it stupidbarb. mm good