The first Shasta Daisy bloomed today. It's a sure sign of summer.
Around here I need signs because the weather is no certain indicator. One day it is summer and the next it is not. June 25 today and what did I make for dinner? Soup. Soup, I tell you! That warm, ambient meal often reserved for autumn and winter. I made broccoli / cheese soup with warm sourdough bread to ward off the chill I felt from the dank clouds hanging in the heavens. At least the broccoli was freshly picked from my garden...another sure sign of summer.
The last two days were warmish. At 76 on Wednesday it felt downright blistering. If the mercury ever hits 80 we all go into a tailspin looking for popsicles and running for the beach.
The hydrangeas are starting to bloom so it must be nearing the 4th of July....
Friday, June 25, 2010
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Flutter-Bye
Glitter, flitter, princess crowns
Ruby slippers, fancy gowns.
Kisses, giggles, curly hair
Froggy, doggy, teddy bear.
Cuddles, puddles, sleepy time
Swings and slides and trees to climb.
All too soon you're grown and gone
Off to school with blue jeans on.
By: Sarah L. Garriott
Ruby slippers, fancy gowns.
Kisses, giggles, curly hair
Froggy, doggy, teddy bear.
Cuddles, puddles, sleepy time
Swings and slides and trees to climb.
All too soon you're grown and gone
Off to school with blue jeans on.
By: Sarah L. Garriott
All in the Family
I have two biological brothers. I have two adopted sisters. We became a family the day my parents chose to love us and give us a home.
I have an adopted daughter and a biological son. People have asked me if there is a difference in my love for them? Yes. Yes there is a difference. It is the same kind of difference as if you had asked which do you love more your eyes or your hands? Your ears or your feet? The moon or the stars?
Mother, Father, I am your biological offspring, but what did I inherit from you? I don't have your eyes, your nose, or your mouth. Dad's skin, maybe? Yes. I have dad's ultra-white, freckled skin.
But, I have inherited much from you both.
From my mother I inherited the idea that white bread is poison and I should never eat it. It will turn to paste in my intestinal tract and rob me of nutrients. I should always take vitamin supplements--especially if I slip up and eat white bread or, GASP, sugar.
I also inherited my mother's disdain for day-time television and television in general.
I feel serious guilt if I do not get up and get dressed--"ready for the day"-- by 6 AM. And, truly, that's practically lunch time already for my mom. I'm working on passing on my genetic code to my children. I can't help myself; it's part of my being.
My father loves to fill out forms and so do I. We like to fill in all those fabulous blanks and check all the pertinent boxes that apply. It fills us with ethereal satisfaction. We both shrink from making phone calls to people we barely know. We have tele-phobia.
I believe I and all of my siblings inherited the knowledge that even if no one else loves us--our parents do. My children are lucky; they inherited that, too.
Both of my children are in love with my hair. I never loved my parent's hair. I wonder who they got that from? They stroke my hair, smell my hair, entwine their fingers in my hair and run to it when they are frightened or sleepy. No teddy bears or blankets or binkies for them...only Mama's hair. They must have gotten it from their dad; he loves my hair, too. He calls it, "sparkly."
My mother and I pray and expect an answer--even if that answer comes "someday." I'm waiting to see if that gene will blossom in my children or not.
Gardening, planting, nurturing, harvesting and preserving--all of these activities are hard-wired into my genetic code as they were in generation upon generation before me. I must garden or I am not. To see my children digging and harvesting with me reassures me that the legacy of reveling in spring blossoms, summer buds and autumn's harvest will be passed on.
My daughter has my genetic love for words. She is six. My son has inherited my ultra-white, freckled skin. He is three.
Neither of them has my eyes, but even if they did...we'd all see things differently.
Sarah L. Garriott
I have an adopted daughter and a biological son. People have asked me if there is a difference in my love for them? Yes. Yes there is a difference. It is the same kind of difference as if you had asked which do you love more your eyes or your hands? Your ears or your feet? The moon or the stars?
Mother, Father, I am your biological offspring, but what did I inherit from you? I don't have your eyes, your nose, or your mouth. Dad's skin, maybe? Yes. I have dad's ultra-white, freckled skin.
But, I have inherited much from you both.
From my mother I inherited the idea that white bread is poison and I should never eat it. It will turn to paste in my intestinal tract and rob me of nutrients. I should always take vitamin supplements--especially if I slip up and eat white bread or, GASP, sugar.
I also inherited my mother's disdain for day-time television and television in general.
I feel serious guilt if I do not get up and get dressed--"ready for the day"-- by 6 AM. And, truly, that's practically lunch time already for my mom. I'm working on passing on my genetic code to my children. I can't help myself; it's part of my being.
My father loves to fill out forms and so do I. We like to fill in all those fabulous blanks and check all the pertinent boxes that apply. It fills us with ethereal satisfaction. We both shrink from making phone calls to people we barely know. We have tele-phobia.
I believe I and all of my siblings inherited the knowledge that even if no one else loves us--our parents do. My children are lucky; they inherited that, too.
Both of my children are in love with my hair. I never loved my parent's hair. I wonder who they got that from? They stroke my hair, smell my hair, entwine their fingers in my hair and run to it when they are frightened or sleepy. No teddy bears or blankets or binkies for them...only Mama's hair. They must have gotten it from their dad; he loves my hair, too. He calls it, "sparkly."
My mother and I pray and expect an answer--even if that answer comes "someday." I'm waiting to see if that gene will blossom in my children or not.
Gardening, planting, nurturing, harvesting and preserving--all of these activities are hard-wired into my genetic code as they were in generation upon generation before me. I must garden or I am not. To see my children digging and harvesting with me reassures me that the legacy of reveling in spring blossoms, summer buds and autumn's harvest will be passed on.
My daughter has my genetic love for words. She is six. My son has inherited my ultra-white, freckled skin. He is three.
Neither of them has my eyes, but even if they did...we'd all see things differently.
Sarah L. Garriott
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Peace
It feels satisfaction in being a raindrop.
It lets others talk.
It releases regret like heat in a hot air balloon.
It uses anger only as a way to reproduce itself and survive.
It remembers.
It forgets.
It can hear the clock ticking while it slowly sips tea.
It is a boat on a storm-tossed sea...again.
It awakens.
It is the salmon who knows its way home.
It is the mother who has a change of clothes, a snack and a kiss for her child.
It is the father's protective embrace and the smell of him always there.
It finds itself in its description.
By: Sarah L. Garriott
It lets others talk.
It releases regret like heat in a hot air balloon.
It uses anger only as a way to reproduce itself and survive.
It remembers.
It forgets.
It can hear the clock ticking while it slowly sips tea.
It is a boat on a storm-tossed sea...again.
It awakens.
It is the salmon who knows its way home.
It is the mother who has a change of clothes, a snack and a kiss for her child.
It is the father's protective embrace and the smell of him always there.
It finds itself in its description.
By: Sarah L. Garriott
Monday, April 5, 2010
Facade
Oh, a hair! A white, white hair!
Color it! Cover it! Hear me shout!
Pull it! Yank it! Tear it OUT!
Aging? Never! No not I.
I'm 32 until I die.
Liposuction
Nip and tuck
Eyebrow lifts for just a buck.
Lasar zap that fat away!
Facial contours
Don't delay!
Round that bum
And lift that chest!
Aren't my new lips
Just the best?!
Ah, my skin! It just got clearer...
But, hey, who's that there in my bathroom mirror?
By: Sarah L. Garriott
Color it! Cover it! Hear me shout!
Pull it! Yank it! Tear it OUT!
Aging? Never! No not I.
I'm 32 until I die.
Liposuction
Nip and tuck
Eyebrow lifts for just a buck.
Lasar zap that fat away!
Facial contours
Don't delay!
Round that bum
And lift that chest!
Aren't my new lips
Just the best?!
Ah, my skin! It just got clearer...
But, hey, who's that there in my bathroom mirror?
By: Sarah L. Garriott
Lost
Again I looked for you today--there where I thought you would be--and then I remembered that you weren't.
I heard you laughing today, but it was another.
I thought sure you were coming perhaps in time for the holiday or at least by Spring, but something always seems to foul up the plan and, once again, you are delayed in your arrival. Perhaps next year?
The family has been asking about you. I smile and change the subject. I hate to raise false hopes.
I couldn't find my cellular phone the other day; I said a little prayer and magically walked right to it. I can't tell you how many times I've prayed about you and still you are lost to me.
I have called you in every way I know how, but you simply refuse to come in to dinner!
Have you caught the kisses I've been blowing for you? I send them every day.
By: Sarah L. Garriott
I heard you laughing today, but it was another.
I thought sure you were coming perhaps in time for the holiday or at least by Spring, but something always seems to foul up the plan and, once again, you are delayed in your arrival. Perhaps next year?
The family has been asking about you. I smile and change the subject. I hate to raise false hopes.
I couldn't find my cellular phone the other day; I said a little prayer and magically walked right to it. I can't tell you how many times I've prayed about you and still you are lost to me.
I have called you in every way I know how, but you simply refuse to come in to dinner!
Have you caught the kisses I've been blowing for you? I send them every day.
By: Sarah L. Garriott
Grandmother
For nearly ten long years you have been gone
Yet still in my world you live.
When I pen these words
It is your hands I see writing.
When I speak
It is your voice I so often hear.
When I cry
It is your arms I feel around me.
When I laugh
I know you laugh with me.
I'm glad you are with me, Grandmother, for in my day growing old is something to disdain and to fear. Aging is a disease to be fought with all manner of physical alterations and fervent denial. Women cling to their youth as a child clings to its mother.
But you, Grandmother, have given me a reason to grow old and to glory in it. Educated and eloquent, giving and full of grace, brimming with wisdom and experience I can't envision a more beautiful woman than you are.
Your life's history is recorded in the wrinkles of your skin, in the strands of your soft white curls and in the depths of your eyes.
With rolls of baked goods stored around your middle and age spots on your hands--you have known not only pain and loss, but also joy and abundance.
When I rock my children
I sing with your voice.
When I put them to bed
I pray with your faith.
When I tell them I love them
I feel generations of love.
As I grow old
I am glad of your company.
By: Sarah L. Garriott
Yet still in my world you live.
When I pen these words
It is your hands I see writing.
When I speak
It is your voice I so often hear.
When I cry
It is your arms I feel around me.
When I laugh
I know you laugh with me.
I'm glad you are with me, Grandmother, for in my day growing old is something to disdain and to fear. Aging is a disease to be fought with all manner of physical alterations and fervent denial. Women cling to their youth as a child clings to its mother.
But you, Grandmother, have given me a reason to grow old and to glory in it. Educated and eloquent, giving and full of grace, brimming with wisdom and experience I can't envision a more beautiful woman than you are.
Your life's history is recorded in the wrinkles of your skin, in the strands of your soft white curls and in the depths of your eyes.
With rolls of baked goods stored around your middle and age spots on your hands--you have known not only pain and loss, but also joy and abundance.
When I rock my children
I sing with your voice.
When I put them to bed
I pray with your faith.
When I tell them I love them
I feel generations of love.
As I grow old
I am glad of your company.
By: Sarah L. Garriott
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