#SOL16 Day 12
There’s nothing half so pleasant as coming home again. ~Margaret Elizabeth Sangster
A candle flickers; it lights the way
to the place we rest at the end of day.
Here we can lay our burdens down
and feel the love that is all around.
It is where we can laugh, and cry, and shout,
where family understands what we’re all about
No matter where or how far we roam,
there is no better feeling than coming home.
#SOL16 Day 11
All journeys have a secret destination of which the traveler is unaware. ~ Martin Buber
Surrounded by many, I travel alone
Tentatively, one step at a time
Like a tightrope walker
Clinging
Anticipating a road sign, a mile marker, a clue
Yet finding none
Where am I going?
Journeying onward – still alone
Longing to return to the familiar
Like a refugee
Searching
Eyes seeking a flicker, a beacon, a light
Blinded by the darkness
Where am I going?
Trying to read the stars, I travel alone
Their light fading with my gaze
Like a nomad
Lost
Longing, yet pushing on – adrift, afraid, alone
Without a compass or map
Where am I going?
Where am I going?
Perhaps the destination is not for me to know,
But to discover.
When I get there, I will recognize and understand,
I will arrive on the wings of those who walked with me
when I feared solitude.
#SOL16 Day 9
We didn’t realize we were making memories; we just knew we were having fun. ~Unknown
I am from the rusty cellar door,
from lily of the valley and roller skate keys.
I am from the front bay window
that looks out towards the oak tree.
I am from the lilac bush,
the peach trees
those long limbs I remember
as if thery were my own.
I’m from tinsel on Christmas trees and bad knees,
From Lucy and Al.
I’m from listening to Phillies home games on the radio,
and changing TV channels by hand,
and from catching lightning bugs in the backyard.
I’m from “Sit up straight” and
“Your turn to weed the garden.”
I’m from canning jars.
I’m from Philadelphia and “What parish are you from?”
keilbasa and saurkraut, and ravioli
from my grandfather who chased squirrels from his garden with tin pie pans
and who trimmed my father’s fig tree without permission.
In my mother’s storage unit there are bins
stuffed with photos
of familiar and unfamiliar faces.
I made these memories,
and these memories made me.
#SOL16 Day 8
The way we spend our time defines who we are. ~Jonathan Estrin
Am I up? Am I down? How’d I get so turned around?
Writing plans, grading papers – watching out for middle school capers.
How much time is in a day? Not enough most teachers would say.
Recess duty, faculty meeting, Lots of directions that need repeating.
Marking period near the end, get the grades in, then hit send
Today is Wednesday or maybe not. It’s only Tuesday…I just forgot.
It is a hectic, crazy existence, but I am sure I can go the distance
After all, I’m no fool, where else would I be if I weren’t in school?
You never know how many you reach, that is why I choose to TEACH.
Sisters-in-law by chance. Friends by choice. ~ Anonymous
Through the love of two brothers
Our lives intertwined.
We were kindred spirits.
Making our way through uncharted lands –
as young wives,
as young mothers,
as new friends.
We shared a love –
of music,
of family gatherings,
of laughter,
a birthday month,
a last name,
and secrets.
Seasons changed, and so did we.
We became –
mothers-in-law,
grandmothers,
middle-aged women –
a little rounder,
a little softer,
and certainly a little wiser.
We always thought
we would grow old together.
Not to be!
Cancer changed our plan.
Now you’re gone, leaving me behind.
To make my way again through –
new,
uncharted,
and unfamiliar lands.
The tears come at unexpected times –
first like torrential downpours,
now as soft gentle rains,
washing over me.
Yet, I know you are still with me
In everything that was you.
You are in the –
songs of Broadway,
pipe organ music,
handbell choirs,
shopping trips to Kohl’s,
chocolate Jennies,
and “Oy.”
You are –
in warm sandy beaches,
watermelon baskets,
the backyard gilder.
in slot machines,
Autumn afternoons,
and laughing till we ink.
You are still here now –
in the lives sprung forth from you,
in all the lives you touched,
in their songs,
in their words,
in their eyes,
and in our hearts.
So when I think of you
it will be with a smile.
Remembering how thankful I am
that you were a part of my life
and that I had the privilege
of sharing yours.
Rita DiCarne 