Sun swept beaches, glorious sunsets, fog horns sounding on cloudy mornings, and the calls of seagulls along the shores created the perfect hometown, and my childhood days passed on a perfect little island, nestled in the San Francisco Bay. Alameda had that hometown charm and the feel of a small town although Oakland and San Francisco were just miles away.
The distant ringing of the phone brought her out of her slumber. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and slowly sat up in her bed. Yawning, she looked at the bedside clock. It was almost time to get up anyway. She reached over, picked up the alarm clock and switched it to off. It was probably someone calling for the donut shop again. The two phone numbers were so annoyingly similar, and she received calls from the shop more times than she could count. She made her way to the kitchen to start her coffee. Just as the coffee began to perk, the phone rang again. She grabbed her notepad and pen. She said hello, and the guy on the other end asked, “Is this the donut shop?” Continue reading “Number, Please”→
Meandering along a favorite walkway, the Bay frolics in the wind. With gentle ocean waves reaching and sea gulls softly calling, an enchanted saunter refreshes and when the waters return, all cares fade in the romping of the tide. Continue reading “The Passage”→
Home was an island nestled in the San Francisco Bay. Early mornings were misty with dew filled lawns and foghorns calling out to early risers. Seagulls squawked while flying low along sandy shores. With soft lights and hazy revelations, the Victorian Ladies danced in understated shadows until delicate clouds parted revealing regal intention from another time. Continue reading “Home was an Island”→
My grandmother, Elva Bryant Allen, was my hero and my strength; I have often felt she was the only one who truly loved me unconditionally. Her home and her love were always my safe haven. Many years after she left this world, I decided to take her name. After my divorce in 2002, I asked the judge if I could take her maiden name. And today, I still proudly share this bond with my dear grandma. Years ago I wrote this poem, and I decided to share it in this blog, for this week’s challenge was about love. Continue reading “Grandma’s Cottage”→
Words. I love words. I love reading words. I love writing words. Words make my heart beat faster.
By the time I turned four, my momma gave me a magical gift that literally changed my world; she taught me how to read. It all began with sight words and treasure hunts, and I can still remember running around our large Victorian home while frantically searching for the day’s treasure. Sweet notes read, “Go the lamp,” with a picture momma drew of a lamp. Next note, “Go to the….well..my treasure hunt adventure would continue until I found the note that sent me straight to my cherished gem. Some days I would discover a new set of fancy barrettes. Some days, I would find a sweet treat. Fun ways to learn words and their meanings. Continue reading “What’s the Word?”→
“There are two lasting bequests we can give our children: One is roots, the other is wings.” Teaching children values and giving them the opportunity to excel is essential to good parenting. However, I feel I must also provide my children (and myself) insight into the ones who came before us: our ancestors whose lives and stories have shaped us into who we are. This is my journey; these are their stories…
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