Where I Am From

WHERE I’M FROM

I am from the Mirror On My Wall, from Cracker Barrel and Pepsi.

I am from the lovely old, brick, white-painted rooms apartment complex, cinnamon and spice home where the cat roams.


I am from the red roses and green grass, the huge maples of reds, yellows and golds.


I am from the annual Christmas parties and Thanksgiving dinners, from Grandmother D and Uncle Jim and the family whose Dad was adopted and only child.

I am from the minor family uproars but who loves each other to death and the ones who have seen an entire country or two.

I am from the Tooth Fairy leaves me money for lost teeth and although Santa brings presents on Christmas Day, it is the Christ Child that is most important.

I am from the United Methodist Church to Catholic Church, who was raised to believe that God should always come first in your life.


I’m from the home of the Grand Ole Opry, where Elvis still lives, where mac 'n cheese and bologna sandwiches run supreme.


From the southern backwoods of Missouri, where you really do walk five miles to school, first to arrive and start the wood burning stove, from the father who could see details behind the camera like no one else could and a mother who believed in health and spirituality, from an uncle who's peacefulness and love of nature I must have inherited, although he was never known to me. 


I am from moldy scrapbooks, whose edges are frail and the boxes of Kodak slides gently placed on a shelf among other white boxes full of the images of my youth. I am from the pages of yellowed albums passing the moments tucked in to rickety book shelves that holds the camera waiting to make more memories for the generations to reveal. Blessings of a large and loving family.

Written by MR...aka Naila Moon 
September 22, 2011

Cremated

Cremated (In Memory of Dad)


I hold him on my lap
Just ashes
A reality that he was gone from here.
He has now returned to where he came
The Earth.

This reality is one I knew would come soon one day
But,
I wish that it had not come so soon.

I am
Crying,
Hurting,
Agonizing inside.
I cannot
Breathe!

The pain of his loss is heavy
And,
I seem to find only solace in anxiety.

Written By MR aka Naila Moon of the Grey Wolf

July5,2011

All rights reserved

My Mother's Sadness...a poem

Photo from Bing Images (not my own)

My Mother’s Sadness

I saw sadness in her eyes that I had never seen before.

A longing for something that was not there.

A lost dream of a time when life was pure,

Hopeful,

And joyful.

Now, it was gone.

Gone only to memory,

To a place that only she could visit.

A place that was no more

Nor in this life time.

I wanted to cry with her,

Comfort her pain,

Take it away from her,

But all I could do,

Was just be there

And wallow in the tears that were hidden from me.

Written By MR

aka Naila Moon of the Grey Wolf

May 2, 2011

All rights reserved

The Easter Bunny...a story

The Easter Bunny

Her hair was strawberry red and somewhat curly. Her jaw line was sturdy but her smile was infectious.  She loved her birds and her plants. Her house was a jungle full of plants! She also had a condition. Simple words it seemed called congestive heart failure. 

Every Easter she would go to the store and gather what every good bunny did. She bought up a few dozen large eggs, the dyeing kits with the little colored tablets and of course she also bought plenty of paper towels too.

Later that same afternoon, she pulled out her huge pot and began the methodical process of boiling those few dozen eggs. It seemed like time passed slowly as she waited patiently for them to be done just so.  As each dozen was completed, she laid them out on the paper towels that had been carefully arranged on the counter.  She counted them carefully as if it was important to know.

Next she called the young ones, her bunny family, to her. This was a procedure that they loved to share with her. As their eyes watched her every move, she carefully selected four or five coffee cups and set them on the counter. She then proceeded to add hot water, vinegar and one of those dye tablets to each one. To complete the preparation she put a wired “spoon” by each.

She carefully instructed her family in the correct course of action for dyeing each and every egg.  This was to be done with precision, timeliness and not too much mess. Although, the truth was, it never turned out that way.

After all was done, she once again took each lovingly colored egg and tenderly put them back in the cartons from which they came. She then stored them in her refrigerator as she told her family that Easter was the next day.

The children then were shoved off to bed to get some good rest. She was going to go to bed too because church was to be in the morning.

The next morning, Easter Sunday, the sun began to rise with glorious light and a voice could be heard outside the bedroom doors. “Wake up, wake up,” she said. “It is early morning and the eggs are gone!”

As the young ones arose from their slumber and eyes not quite awake. She shoved brightly colored wicker baskets, decorated with plastic green grass, in to each of their hands. She pushed them toward the door even though they were still in their pajamas.  Out all of them must go to find her precious eggs.

So, out they all went, some of them barefooted, all out in the lawn as the neighbors began to go by.  She beamed as each began to find her highly valued eggs. She once again counted them to ensure all were found.

 She took photos to mark the occasion for it was special indeed as it was not just her children out there that Easter morning but also their cousins. Oh yes, it was truly a family affair and those eggs must be found!

Once she was satisfied that all were rescued, everyone was hurried inside to dress for church.  Each child had to be in better than their Sunday best because today was indeed a very exceptional day.

One might ask if that bunny had a name. 

She did indeed!

Her name was Erna and she was my aunt.

Written by MR…aka Naila Moon on April 19, 2011

In Memory of my Aunt Erna Dunn, who loved Easter and made me get out on the lawn one special morning when I was sixteen years old.

Plight...a poem

(Bing Image-not my own)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Plight
By MR aka Naila Moon

It is not a culture I am removed from
I see it all too well
These people are living
In virtual hells.

Eyes so sad
With untold stories
Refusing to speak
Of the atrocities they've seen.

Bodies stuck in the muck
Of a gravitational pool
That eats away at their very existence.

Rain
Snow
Heat
Shows no mercy.

This is
The plight of homelessness.

Written November 2010
First publish February 20, 2011
Copyright MR aka Naila Moon of the Grey Wolf 
All rights reserved

Life's Image... a story

Life’s Image

Bing images (not my own photo)

Jan 12, 1968

Rubbing her tummy the woman says, “Honey, I really think we need to get to the hospital. You see our baby right here. She wants to come into the world right now! “

Jan 12, 1973

Look at me Mommy. Do I look pretty for my 5^th birthday? I brushed my curly brown hair. Did I do a good job? Am I getting lots of presents? I want to be a teacher when I grow up. Daddy picked my dress out, do you like it Mommy?

Jan 12, 1978

Mom says Uncle Jim is coming over today to have my 10^th birthday party with me.   I think I am going to give him one of these funny hats Mom bought for me. I know he will wear it, he always does.  He always jokes with me and tells me that he is still mad at me for not being born on his birthday. He said I was just being stubborn and came out a day later.  I guess we can blow out candles together again.

Jan 12, 1988

Wow, look at us, my beautiful new daughter and me a new wife.  I cannot believe I am only 20 today and I have this beautiful child. Yes, I think I agree, her eyes do look like mine. They are dark and mysterious.  Mom gave me some money for my birthday. I suppose I will have to use it and go buy her some diapers.

Jan 12, 1998

Oh my, is this really me? Am I really 30?  Where has the time gone?

Oh my gosh! My hair has streaks of gray in it. Oh, I wish I was 20 pounds lighter. I hate how I look. I wonder, will anyone ever love me again with the way I look? I am never looking in a mirror again!  

Jan 12, 2008

Wow, I am 40 today.  I hope my makeup looks right. My daughter has this surprise party for me that I am not supposed to know about and I want to look just right.  Life has been kind of tough up until now. I have had heart ache and joy in this many years.  So many people I know that are my same age are lamenting over becoming 40.  I can’t! In fact I am rejoicing in this.  My children are grown and I have done the best I could by them. Now, it is my time. It is my time to live my life and enjoy it.  I get to start a new chapter in life and I certainly still have a whole lot of life to live. Happy birthday to me!

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Post Script: Jan. 12, 2011

Here it is my 43rd birthday and oh how far I have come. Most all of the events I wrote about above are true. Since 2008 when I originally wrote this, I have since been married to the love of my life, Tamirisc and we recently celebrated out 2nd anniversary. I also am now a grandmother to the sweetest and adorable grand-daughter ever. I am a truly blessed woman and could not be happier.

Originally Written by MR ...aka Naila Moon of the Grey Wolf on January 12, 2008

Rewritten on January 12, 2011

all rights reserved

A young child's question...

It was a particularly cold and blustery Christmas season. There was a good 5-6 inches of snow on the ground but it was totally beautiful.


My parents lived on a corner street, as they still do. It was not uncommon for them to decorate for the Christmas season. In fact, it was not uncommon for them to ask me to help decorate outside. I am here to tell you, sometimes that was a very cold thing to do.


This particular season, I decided to buy my parents an early gift. I bought them a complete manger scene for the front of their house.  The figures were about two to three foot in height but everyone was there. Mary, Joseph, the baby Jesus, camels, and the whole gang of Wise Men. Yep, everyone was present.


My Mother thought it to be the greatest present ever. In fact, they were the only house on the entire street that even had a manger scene. It really did look lovely among the bushes that were growing outside their home. The baby Jesus was of course placed in the middle of the bushes as of course he was the star of the show.


The figures all lit up and shown brightly from the road. I was truly proud that I was able to get this for my parents.


One evening, later in the week, my two children, my parents and I went out for the evening. As was custom, all the lights outside stayed on.
As we left, I took a gaze at the new manger. Something seemed wrong but I could not figure it out. I thought maybe the wind had shifted things around or something like it. We continued on our journey for the evening but a nagging feeling kept at me for the night and I mentioned it to my parents.


Upon returning, I went out front where the manger was placed and looked very carefully at it.  Yes, there was Mary and Joseph. There was a sheep and wait...where was the baby Jesus? Oh and where was one of the Wise men?


I stared in disbelief. What, no Jesus?  I called to my parents and told them he was missing. My children were there too and my son asked the most simplest of questions. 

"Mom, who stole baby Jesus?"


I saw faint tears welling up in his eyes as he was only about 4 years old and could not understand why someone would do such a thing.
I certainly had no answer for him. I simply could not understand either.


We called the local police to report the theft, the kidnapping...what was it really?  The police officer that arrived took our report and then stated that he thought what had occurred was an atrocity and if the person who did it was ever caught that he hoped they would rot in jail.


For the next few days after, I felt a sense of loss and could only think of my son's question.  Did he really believe because this representation had been stolen from us that Jesus would not be present at Christmas?


I mulled those thoughts over for quite a long time. I then sat down with him and spoke with him as best as I could for a 4 year old to understand.


I told he and his sister this:
I do not know why someone would steal from us and steal something that represented someone precious to us.  I hoped that by that person having baby Jesus, they would find happiness in their heart.


I went on to say, that even though the "plastic Jesus" was taken,  that did not mean that Jesus would not be born for all of us. That the real baby Jesus was born and came in to the world to be here among us and that we hold the real person always in our hearts. We do not need the plastic version to know that and no one can steal that from us.


I am sure that he did not understand what I really meant but he was satisfied with my answer. Me? I never forgot my answer either and held the real person in my heart forever more.
------------------------------------------------------------
Post script:
It is now 17 years later after this incident occurred.  I remember it as if it was yesterday. A new manger was bought a year later. See the photo I took of it above.


The question remains have we let people steal the baby Jesus from our hearts or have we remember that he did indeed come here in the form of a child.


Peace and blessings to you all...
Naila Moon
Written December 15, 2010