Caleigh O'Shea's Blog, page 7

Lawn Jockey??

Each prejudice we harbor occupies space where God would anchor more of His love. ~William Arthur Ward, American motivational writer

Symbol of times past

Evokes hurt feelings today

Unacceptable

Note: What do you think about these statues? Are they blatantly offensive, or are they merely a lawn decoration like gnomes? For further information, here’s an NBC News report.

Monkey Helps Plant

Flowers give their lives to us… Near them, gold and silver seem of no value. ~Auguste Rodin, French sculptor

I Monkey here.

Bet you’ve been missing me, huh?

I told Mama it’s been FAR too long since I’ve taken over her blog, but she just shrugged her shoulders.

What’s up with that? I ask.

Anyway, here I am, and I’ve got plenty to talk about, so let’s get started.

First, Mama has been such a boring old crab lately.

She says she’s got too much to do and not enough time to do it in. She says she’d have more free time if I didn’t bother her all day.

Bother?? C’mon, Mama, that’s my job. Shelties are supposed to shadow their favorite person.

You should be honored I’ve bestowed that designation on you.

Besides, just think of the fun things I’d miss out on if I didn’t follow you around — yowling to that screechy flute-thing, hoping to snatch a lone crumb during the cooking/eating thing, hearing you shriek when I drop “the brick” on your leg while you’re exercising, chasing you up and down the stairs, doing zoomies around you while you’re in the back yard….

Speaking of the back yard, recently, Mama did her annual Major Planting Extravaganza.

Now you need to know that every spring, Mama swears she’s done. Not gonna do that again. It’s too much work, and it makes her back hurt.

Huh. I Monkey think she secretly loves it. She just likes to complain.

Crabby, you know.

Anyway, she announced she was going to the store (contrary to popular perception, posies don’t drop from the sky!) and I awoke to find her dragging in oodles of baby flowers, along with potting soil and planters.

And she invited me to help.

Invited? Yes, indeed, she was pretty insistent, actually.

Said something about tiring me out so I’d sleep well that night.

Huh.

She spent most of an afternoon sticking flowers in pots, then watering them and talking sweetly to them.

When I cocked my head at her, she explained that plants grow big and strong when you talk to them.

Seriously, Mama? You don’t talk to the weeds like that, yet they’re growing big and strong.

Maybe gnomes show up at night — when I’m deep in a snoozle — and carry on a conversation with the nasty old weeds.

Or maybe weeds are just hardier than flowers.

Anyway, now we wait. Some of what she planted were seeds, so it might be weeks before we see progress. Others are already dancing in the breezes and snickering at me when I go outdoors.

Gosh, how’d you like having to use the bathroom with this audience??

Every one of these posies is vying for Mama’s attention. Good thing I Monkey got here first!

‘Bout Time They Arrived!

There once was a bug with red eyes.

Below ground it grows and lies.

It sheds its shell

On a tree it does dwell.

After mating, the cycle will reprise.

Note: Poetry form is Limerick.

As Mother’s Day Nears

When you look at your mother, you are looking at the purest love you will ever know.

Recently, I read a book that perfectly addressed my current status as an “orphan.”

You’ll recall I lost my mom in February.

You can’t lose your mother.

For One More Day by Mitch Albom tells the story of a son, caught between divorcing parents and choosing his dad; eventually, he loses his mom to death … but has a chance — for one day — to reunite with her and understand/make up for his failings.

Let’s just say right here, right now, I cried through the entire book, okay? It was that moving.

While some kids have a troubled, difficult relationship with their moms, I was one of the fortunate ones.

Mom and I got along.

Sure, we had our disagreements. And yes, we stomped on each other’s heart periodically. Angry words flew. Doors got slammed. And hours would pass when only silence prevailed between us.

But we always made things right.

And I’m glad we did because there’s no way I’d want to live with the guilt that surely must come from failing to forgive a parent for their honest mistakes and shortcomings.

It’s such a shame to waste time. We always think we have so much of it.

Mom wasn’t perfect. She’d have been the first to acknowledge that. But as a child grows into adulthood, it seems prudent to put aside childish things (like the old Smothers Brothers skit of “Mom loved you best”). To accept that every child is loved, individually yet differently, to the best of a parent’s ability.

Children forget that sometimes. They think of themselves as a burden instead of a wish granted.

I think of acquaintances who lost their moms early on and how hard it must have been for them.

Not having mom around to pick you up when you stumble. To remind you how long to cook something. To remove a splinter from your finger when it’s on your “good” hand. To suggest that not wearing blue eye shadow might be a better look.

Mom. When death takes your mother, it steals that word forever.

Today I’ll think of previous years when I bought Mom flowers, a card, a gift. I’ll think of taking her out to eat. And I’ll kick myself,  just a little, for not doing more.

Because I miss her and always will.

Just to hear Mom laugh again. To smell her perfume. To feel her arms wrapped around me. That would be a blessing.

When someone is in your heart, they’re never truly gone. They can come back to you, even at unlikely times.

Note: All quotes taken from For One More Day by Mitch Albom.

Note2: To all those celebrating, Happy Mother’s Day (and please give your moms an extra hug from those of us who can no longer hug our own moms!)

Spring 2024 Robin

This is the sensory season. Trees are in leaf… It is a green world… Walk through an orchard and you can smell as well as feel the strength of grass underfoot, new grass reaching tall toward the sun. Boughs naked only a little while ago, then bright and heady with bloom, now rustle with leaf and tingle with the strength of fruition. Listen, and you can almost hear the pulse of sap and the mysterious workings of chlorophyll. The air vibrates with bird song… All the senses tingle, alive with the season as the world itself is alive. Nothing is impossible at such a time. ~Hal Borland, American writer, journalist, and naturalist

Hanging Onto Memories

The man with a clear conscience probably has a poor memory. ~Author unknown

I read an article recently that advised everyone to get rid of things their kids would never want.

Things like fine china, used linens, collectibles (Beanie Babies, anybody?), furniture, medical equipment, old cards and letters.

This was before my Mom passed, before I started sorting through her things.

So I scurried to my closet and pulled out a plastic box I’ve been keeping, figuring that was as good a place to begin as any.

As I sifted through cards and letters from years gone by, however, I found myself strolling down Memory Lane.

Birthday cards. Holiday cards — Mother’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, Valentine’s Day, Easter, May Day, Christmas. Apology notes. Thank You notes. Congratulatory notes. I Love You notes. Just Because notes. You get the idea.

Gee, you’d think my family had stock in Hallmark!

But after placing a few of these “finds” into a Maybe pile, I realized there was no way I could toss them all out.

No way I want to erase my history, warts and all.

No way I want to deny myself now (and Domer later) the warm, fuzzy feeling of knowing how much love surrounded me.

My box held cards signed by co-workers when I changed jobs, wishing me success.

Copies of letters I’d written apologizing for some long-forgotten slight to a family member.

Hand-made cards with drawings from Little Domer using crayons to scrawl his messages.

Cards and letters from my Mom and Dad in their oh-so-familiar handwriting, offering support and encouragement when I needed it.

Letters from my best friend from forever, who probably knows where all the skeletons reside.

And so much more.

I only found a few things to toss out, and that will have to do. Maybe Domer will appreciate that at least I didn’t leave him buckets of collectibles, stacks of sheets and towels, and rooms full of furniture he doesn’t like. Or need.

But for sure, I can’t part with my Memory Box!

Missing Mom

A mom’s hug lasts long after she lets go. ~Author unknown

Moms

Are the

Official

Storytellers

Of our lives, and once

They pass on, we become

Aware there’s nobody else

Who knows us and loves us the way

Our moms did. Perhaps that’s why losing

Your mom feels like having your heart cut out.

Those who tell the stories rule the world. ~Author unknown

Storytellers bolster our confidence,

Remind us of our identity,

Preserve our family history.

Other females might step up

To fill the vacancy,

But nobody can

Replace our mom

When she’s gone

From our

World.

 

Note: Poetry form is a Double Etheree.

Spring 2024

The world will always be beautiful to those who look for beauty. ~Margaret Renkl, American writer

This week has been gray, rainy, and dreary, but before it hunkered in, Monk and I took several long, lovely walks to enjoy the Spring.

Join us, won’t you, and appreciate the beauty we found:

Don’t you love a tree with white flowers?

Forsythia, one of our early blooming plants

No clue what this is, but I like it!

Tulips!!!!

My neighbor’s phlox — she does the work, and Monk and I enjoy the beauty!

Looks like my flowering plum tree made it through the winter

Happy patch of Daffodils (did you catch Monk on the far right, giving the rock a sniff??)

These are pretty in pink

Red tulips

How pretty is this?!

Pink magnolia

Looking for Spring

A rose can say I love you,
Orchids can enthrall.
But a weed bouquet in a chubby fist—
Oh my, that says it all!
~Author unknown

If dandelions

show up, isn’t it likely

Spring will show up, too?

 

Note: Poetry form is Haiku. Happy Easter to one and all!

Busy as a …

Oh, look, here’s a big bee just tumbled out of an apple blossom. Just think what a lovely place to live — in an apple blossom! Fancy going to sleep in it when the wind was rocking it. If I wasn’t a human girl I think I’d like to be a bee and live among the flowers. ~L. M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables, 1908