Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Painting my wagon
Before heading westward some in our country painted their wagons. Today I am headed west. My wagon has no fresh coat of paint. It is an Amtrak train. I have longed for this journey; dreamt of it, and now I am one hour away from my destination, Grand Junction, Colorado.

As the train trudges forward miles and miles of ever changing land and skylines entertain me. Not as a movie or some humorous story would. It reminds me why I came here, and why I stay. I am in love with Colorado. I've known some sizzilg romances, but when I see another mountain range, all those brief old encounters pale.

I am older now. Never imagined living my last years surrounded by this splendor. I like the sound, the ring of it,The Grand Valley. What I'm staring out the window at today differs from the snow capped peaks I gazed at from Denver.

I lean back in my seat and feel a peaceful calm. The only stress of this journey is the getting to and from the train's rest rooms, as it unexpectedly lurches forward, or jerks almost to a stop while navagating a curve.

Usually I am patient, but not today. Many times I've looked at my watch. Soon I will see my daughter and her family again. Today I will meet a great grandson, but I am a stranger to him. Will he cry? I don't want to frighten him.

To bear my eagerness I think of what I've seen today; Changing mountains and their unpredictable streams. Kayakers challenging rapids that easily seem stronger than they. Beaver dams pounding waters cannot take apart. I notice a few campers are flying flags, and remember that this is Memorial Day weekend. I had forgotten.

A sping calf lopes across an otherwise empty meadow. Is it lost and looking for its mother? Something about the little calf out there alone brings me back to the present. I close my eyes and wonder how many years my daughter and I will get to share. How long will I see my great grandson grow? Who will my new friends be? Which nursing home will I work in?

I check my watch again. It is a while before we arrive. I close my eyes and whisper a prayer. I've said several today. I thank God for bringing me to this place. I thank Him for the job He already knows I will find. I thank my Lord for daughters and sons who love me so much. A few tears fall and trickle down my face. If other passengers notice, it doesn't matter.

I am not ready to be old and helpless, like the patients I take care of. Approaching wrinkles and aging spots, and slightly gnarled fingers, not even a slowed step defines me. As long as I live my heart will be young enough to sing.

A voice sounds from the train's speaker system: "Ladies and Gentlemen, we are ahead of schedule. In five minutes we will reach Grand junction. Those getting off the train, please get ready to depart."

I take off my watch and slip it in a pocket. As the train comes to a full stop I gather my jacket and bags, and stand. Under my breath I am singing, "Got a dream boy, got a song".......... Finally, I am here.

  posted at 8:30 AM  

Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Beach Walk
Hello to any of you who read this. I have several ideas to put to paper, uh, er, I'm sorry, to blog, but am rushed with things to do like relocating to Grand Junction, Colorado. So I thought the least I can do is share another poem with you. Barb, (A Chelsea Morning) and Bev, (Blessed Beyond Measure) and Mandy, (In A Minute) all told me to stop apologizing for not yet knowing the mechanics of computers and blogging, so I won't. Anyway, when I get to Grand Junction Barb will teach me. This is BEACH WALK. Certain and without a hesitation, reaching past infinity you seem constant, ever constant and enduring, older than old Egypt's ptolemies, who also mused upon a stretch of sand and are no more, still you proceed, scarcely noticing my clay caked feet, or prints they've made upon some unknown beach, but you with sweeping hand erased, and left me barer than when I was born. No legacy from long dead wealthy kin. No heirloom silver spoon with name engraved, no serendipitous brass ring to seize. Here on this dark and erie beach my feet feel cold. I seek a crevice or a knoll to keep me warm. But all around me ancient outcropped clifts, stately granite silent sentinels, stocially stand guard, ignoring me, And so I drift toward and touch the sea's Rhythmic water playing, pulling me, until I wonder, is it easier to go, but something somewhere in me will not leave. I struggle from the endless endless waves, and find a place where I can stand again, and watch as sand divides around my feet like hourglasses quickly measuring. I hold a spiraled shell against my ear and hear a faint and far off whispering, beyond the clamor of my discontent and my insiduous self-questioning, the windswept whorl of my deserted dreams.

  posted at 9:06 PM  

Friday, May 05, 2006
Seventy-Six Trombones
Four years after America's Great Depression reduced much of our country to extreme poverty, I was born into that poverty in a little Texas town. My birthday is the 4th of July. No brass bands marched by the tin roof house where Mama labored, but as I was born, lightning from a summer storm struck a tree outside her room and sliced it down the middle. I arrived without the comfort or safety of a sterile delivery room.

Penicillin wasn't yet discovered and, except for smallpox, no vaccines for childhood communicable diseases existed. Grandpa's gardens and orchards and melon patches, and his chickens and eggs, and cows and hogs kept us alive in that little town that, many years after the Civil War, would become famous for something more insidious than hunger; racial discrimination.

  posted at 10:16 PM  

Thursday, May 04, 2006
Another Fork In The Road.
Many years ago in the land of failed romance and marriage my daughter, Bev wrote a letter to encourage me. I loved it so much I framed and kept it. One sentence stood out more than the others: "You so love becoming". I gladly wear that mantle, and if I can learn to blog and you care to read it, will take you down many forks in the road. To make a starting place, how far back would you like to go? My name is Judith. Some call me unsinkable jude. I began in 1933.

  posted at 1:15 PM  

About Me
Name: Judith

Location: Colorado

My profile

My Family
A Chelsea Morning-Barb
Relishing My Little Pickle-Leslie
Owl Creek Cottage-Sarah
Sweet Tea and Sass-Bev
In A Moment...-Mandy
Missing Marbles-Krissy
The Gibson Family - Dan & Janae

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A Broad In Athens
Big Mama
Call Me Grandma Dawn
Decipher the Fog
Diane's Page
He Thinks I'm Funny
I'm Thankful for the Thorns
Jungle Hut
Mary's Writing Nook
Overwhelmed With Joy
Over the Backyard Fence
Random Thoughts
Rocking Chair Reflections
Thailand Adventures

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