Memories of Grandma

via Daily Prompt: Yarn

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Whenever I think of yarn, I think of my grandmother.  She was always crocheting something beautiful.  She would sit there on her little love seat, no matter the season, and craft away at a new blanket with her yarn purse at her side.  Her crochet basket was always full of so many colors, needles, and patterns…granny squares covered the cloth bottom.

She had a small closet under the stairway that went upstairs, and it had shelves stacked from top to bottom.  Guess what was in there?  Oodles and oodles of yarn organized by colors filled the shelves, of course, all protected by mothballs.  It looked like a closet of rainbows.  As a child, the scent of the mothballs mixed ith the yarn was a pleasant one.  I loved walking into that closet and seeing all the different reams of string that she had picked up.

I remember we would go to K-Mart specifically to get yarn.  I was always excited to do this because I got to pick out some spools of it too.  She liked Red Heart, and I liked anything that felt soft and fluffy.  I would usually get the calico colors…the ones that changed as you pulled them out of the spool.

We’d check out and head back home.  Then she would put her new yarn in her basket, make me something to eat, and get to work on her new project.

Man, I miss her so much.  I see her face now smiling with that needle in hand…a cigarette burning in the ashtray on the side table.  It’s such a good memory…one I haven’t had for a while.

xoxo E.M.

Life Of A Poet

When life feels confusing
And I don’t know where I am
I linger about a new musing
Of lyrics, gold, and glam

Feelings made to words
Words subdue the confusion
Whether rhymes of singing birds
Or phrases of my own delusion

Like the lyrics of a song
Or the moves of a brand new dance
They never do me wrong
Nothing is left to chance

Even as I write to you now
Life is as crazy as it gets
Some things to make a raise in brow
Some things I’d like to forget

Sometimes life is full of strife
It even brings you low and down
Life your chin up to your life
Let the letters become your crown

A Note From E.M.

Every single day is a struggle, but that is why we are all here.  We have the ability to lift each other up and allow the words to flow out of us.  Thank you to all of those that have supported me by reading what I write.

xoxo

You Inspire Me, Dad

Last January I lost my father, and it has been one of the hardest things that I have ever encountered in my life.  The feeling that I will never be able to call him, hear his voice, complain about this or that…it’s overwhelming still after a year of him being gone.  I think the word I am looking for to describe it is surreal.  It still seems like he is there, and then I realize that he is gone.  Losing a parent feels like a completely different loss to me than losing a friend or other family member.

Through every loss in your life though, you get something in return…at least that is how I think about it.  I got back my ability to write again.  Dad was a poet, and he had wisdom well beyond what I had ever imagined growing up.  I admired him as my father, but I don’t think I saw him completely until I was sifting through my box of photos and his stuff that I brought back after the funeral.  His poems were also in this box.  I sat here for hours reading all of them.  I learned so much about him that I never knew, and it brought tears to my eyes.  As soon as I was done reading, I created this blog, and I have been writing for hours upon hours now…the only rest between was sleep.  He inspired me to start writing again because it is what we have always shared with one another.

Growing up I would share my short stories and poems with him, and he would critique them in a caring but efficient way.  Sometimes it made me so mad when he would give me direction on one of my stories, but as I look back, I appreciate that criticism.  It was hard to take in.  I was just a little girl…about 10 years old I would think looking back.  I had no idea then that we would share the same passion for creativity and expressiveness.

His pen name was S.A. Kingston, and he was a brilliant poet and artist of words.  He was my Dad, and I miss him dearly.  I am thankful I have his poems to look back on and reflect on who he was because it is helping me find myself again.

So, here I am, Dad.  I am writing again, and it feels really good.  Thank you for giving me the inspiration to feel through my words again and share my creativity with the world.  You are my light in the window of my soul.  I will keep the candle burning for you.

Full of Love

When I think of you
My lips turn up with a smile
My heart races like a stallion
My body could run a mile

When you look at me
My eyes sparkle back at you
My soul ignites with passion
My melting limbs turn to goo

When I look at you
My future become clear
My life has a completion
My armistice needs you near

When life has no meaning
You bring me back to light
You guide my way back home
You keep me in your sight

When tears fill my eyes
You wipe them away
You teach me to smile again
You show me the way

When I am happy…
Our love filled me up.