they sit there on a dish, all warm in the sun and i leave them there to soak up a bit more. because they are ripe and it's the first day of august and fall is around the corner, already planning to take away the heat that is heavy.
on my stove sits three pots, all bubbly and hot and the jars sit open and ready.
on my stove sits three pots, all bubbly and hot and the jars sit open and ready.
and it's in that moment...that one random moment when i hear their voices mingling in my memories.
the way he would hold out his arms and say in that voice i can never forget,
"ah, kimberley! you're here!"
his arms would envelope and he would be warm and i would feel cherished...his arms always meant home.
and gramma would be in the kitchen, always in the kitchen, and that face would light up and her perfume would be distinct and those arms softer than pillows would wrap around my neck and hold me so very close.
and they danced in that kitchen, around each other, around the stove...as fruit would be bubbling and he would call her jeanie and i would sit fascinated at that old kitchen table as jars upon jar would fill with jeweled liquid.
the steam would build on those hot summer afternoons and their faces would flush red but they would keep stirring and she would call out for things that she needed with that scottish lilt that was her very own.
and i miss them this summer that i decide to take up the art they perfected and as the steam swirled around me the memories did too.
i look at my own kitchen table, the one that will be 10 years old this fall.
and i longed for a minute, maybe two, for time to catch up and find them here in my chairs, calling out advice, cracking jokes...watching him watch her.
the way he would hold out his arms and say in that voice i can never forget,
"ah, kimberley! you're here!"
his arms would envelope and he would be warm and i would feel cherished...his arms always meant home.
and gramma would be in the kitchen, always in the kitchen, and that face would light up and her perfume would be distinct and those arms softer than pillows would wrap around my neck and hold me so very close.
and they danced in that kitchen, around each other, around the stove...as fruit would be bubbling and he would call her jeanie and i would sit fascinated at that old kitchen table as jars upon jar would fill with jeweled liquid.
the steam would build on those hot summer afternoons and their faces would flush red but they would keep stirring and she would call out for things that she needed with that scottish lilt that was her very own.
and i miss them this summer that i decide to take up the art they perfected and as the steam swirled around me the memories did too.
i look at my own kitchen table, the one that will be 10 years old this fall.
and i longed for a minute, maybe two, for time to catch up and find them here in my chairs, calling out advice, cracking jokes...watching him watch her.
instead, i learned a bit on my own...three successes, one failure.
but isn't that they way of most things?
and my dishwasher sits in silent protest; it gave up the spinny-thingy that no longer spins, so i leave her alone and the sink fills happy and useful.
and it sits there behind the sink, beside the prayer book she gave ~ the one i borrow needed words from.
but isn't that they way of most things?
and my dishwasher sits in silent protest; it gave up the spinny-thingy that no longer spins, so i leave her alone and the sink fills happy and useful.
and it sits there behind the sink, beside the prayer book she gave ~ the one i borrow needed words from.
i placed it there to remind me, on those days that drag and i feel depleted and so very empty, that He alone fills me up with enough for the 4 who share this roof with me.
but my eyes found an anchor in that delicate tea cup...the one from the set still packed away. the set bought and purchased in her homeland for their 25th and carried across the miles to his.
i cup it in my hands and hold the memory of them close,
as the lids sing out pop! pop! pop!,
sealing us all in...
1001* fights over trucks
1002* the thunder and lightening rolling in
1002* the thunder and lightening rolling in
1003* the rain that washes the heat away
*1004 late afternoon snuggles
*1005 the freckles across her nose
*1006 tracing their skin with my fingertips
*1007 toys strewn all over the floor
1008* clean kitchen mornings
1009* holding a tantrum-crazed one close
1010* the way it calms him
1011* the wonder of heaven in their eyes
*1012 for this migraine
*1013 the tears that threaten to fall
*1014 lessons learned in pain
1015* gramma's teacups
1016* little girl sundresses
1017* birds that are blue
1018* big bags of baking soda
1019* words that leave a choice
*1020 fresh strawberries from the yard
*1021 roses and hydrangeas
*1022 this. one. loaf.
*1023 a boy and his shoes
*1024 fresh, hot blueberry muffins
*1025 making jam for the first time
*1026 the friends who showed me how
*1027 tony watching all 3 so i could go
*1028 their excitement when i got home
*1029 the broken dishwasher
*1030 washing each dish by hand
*1031 kisses blown by a sleepy sweet boy
*1032 end of the day-light
*1033 the broken lines and places inside
*1034 You never leave me alone
1035* that orchard on top of that canyon
1036* the way everything that happens, happened "last year"
1037* the way he touches me
*1038 august ~ fall almost here
*1039 my children ~such joy!
*1040 practicing the arts of generations ago
*1041 seeing him at the door
*1042 peach skins slipping
*1043 yellow sun globes
*1044 scattered popcorn
*1045 abe and jean and the memories they left
*1046 missing them so much, it aches
*1047 singing hymns to him in the kitchen
*1048 they way he nuzzles in
*1049 paper-thin lettuce
*1050 him reading them stories
