About Me~

Attached~

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UHF. I ‘ve missed a couple of days writing here. I hate when that happens. I’ve written . I mean , I never go a day without writing something down. My brain hands won’t allow that.

Today I had doctor appointments all day , and so my schedule has been all messed up. I usually rise at 4 am , and do my lupus support page. I have almost 1600 followers there now. It’s a place where people with lupus or their family members can come and be inspired, have a laugh, ask a question, or just want to seek understanding for what they are going through. Then I try to come here and write , either a poem, or just something that has inspired me somehow. So , I ‘m trying to get back on track.
As for today I’d have to say , I guess I’d like to say I ‘ll have to write about something I found totally surprising. Something I would never thought would have happened. My oldest son, is 15 now. We’ve always had a special relationship, I was very young when I had him, only 18. He had special problems, and I perhaps was a bit overprotective. Joseph went with me everywhere. I didn’t let him out of my sight. He was my little hip attachment. He sat in his car carrier , outside the shower curtain when I showered so I could talk to him , “What ya doing out there buddy? Mom will be done in a minute. , Okay?” . Instead of riding in the cart of the store , I carried him in my arms.”What should we get Daddy for dinner today, maybe hamburgers?” . He slept between my husband and me. He didn’t stay with a baby sitter, and he didn’t go to preschool. He was my conversation buddy, all day, every day, “How bout we go to the park? “or “Boy ,it’s raining , let’s color Grandma a picture.” I didn’t work. People everywhere asked me, “Don’t you get SICK of having him ALL the time?” , or “GOOD grief, DON’T you EVER go anywhere without him?” but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. His smell, the feel of him. The weight of him in my arms. The sensation of him beside me in bed. The knowing that I was responsible for his care, and the look in his eyes when he gazed at me. He grew older and when he was was 7 and 8 years old he was still my friend, and still spent his time with me. We read books together, and did school together . 10, 11, 12, and now he is 15, the story is still the same . Oh sure, now he sleeps in his own room in his own big futon. He has a big teen boy room. And other friends of his own, but today we were at the doctor’s office and he wheeled me back for my consult at the cardiologist. We sat, and were just carrying on conversation, like two friends who had know each other their whole lives. And then it dawned on me, that’s exactly what we were.

About Me~

Hearing the Song ( of days gone by)

In Highland , Arkansas~

I love old houses! There is just something about them. The character of them is so different from the cookie cutter houses you see these days. I think people “think” they are being original, when really most of the new houses I see anymore, pretty much all look the same. I grew up in an old house on the Highland Road. People here in our community still remember when it was the peach capital of the world. We grew the most fabulous jumbo sized Elberta Peaches on the planet. We had a school, a hotel, a railroad, a general store, a post office, and a migrant workers housing area. It was BIG business. It’s all gone now of course. The hotel, the school, everything. Except the house where I grew up. It still sits across from the location of the peach packing plant, where the railroad ran right through to pick up the peach crates. Sometimes if you dig there on the old home place you can find bricks with old dates on them. Doorknobs, the beautiful ceramic and cast iron kind, and all sorts of interesting things. I used to sit on my front porch in the swing and imagine I could hear the train whistle blowing . In my mind the people were still across the way packing peaches. I could hear the workers singing , “Sweet, sweet peaches. Packing those sweet , sweet peaches. Peaches juicy, peaches sweet, peaches for me and you to eat.” I could hear the school children skipping down the lane to the store to get a 5 cent Coca Cola, and maybe get their mother’s mail before racing down the dirt lane behind the hotel, heading home. I could see it all so clearly. It felt like another world, not gone, but ours was simply super imposed over it in time. I just knew if I stood still, and turned my head just right , that one day, I would be able to get there.
Such are the memories of a child. Growing up in a hundred year old house. With all the ghosts that have passed it by. My sister still lives in that house, and I wonder sometimes, does she hear the train at night? Do the workers sing her to sleep with the peaches song? I wonder……….

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