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.