AND THAT HAS MADE ALL THE DIFFERENCE…

Ahead  were only dreary, boring days and years of waiting to get “old.”  There was nothing new to do nor places to see or ROADS to travel.

“When you come to a fork in the ROAD,

take it.”

(Yogi Berra had the right idea.)

I love to  reminisce and write about bygone times, remembering the people I’ve known, especially those who have made a difference in the ” me” I’ve become at the age of 83. I once thought 83 was really, really old. It isn’t.

Actually, I once believed that 50 was old. As I recall, 50 was old when my grandmothers were alive.

I was devastated the day I turned thirty. Life was over, I was no longer “twenty-something”. Looking forward, there was nothing left to life.

Ahead  were only dreary, boring days and years of waiting to get “old.”  There was nothing new to do nor places to see or “roads” to travel.

There were no college years for me.

When I am required to check off my level of education on an application, the box to check must be “graduated high-school”.

My Dad always commented, ” Some folks attend college and still don’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain.”

I feel good about his comment because my high school education helps me to remember to carry my umbrella on a cloudy day.

That reminds me, a week or so ago I purchased a new umbrella. It was very easy to raise, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out how to lower it when I got inside a building.

You’ll be happy to know, with a great deal of concentration, I finally figured out how to  return it to its original closed position by pushing the little “down” arrow located right underneath the “up” arrow.

Who says a high school education isn’t worth much?

I grew up in a small northern town in the lower peninsula of Michigan. My family moved to another town, thirty miles away, when I was seventeen. When we are living them, the years seem long.

One could hardly think of me as a world traveler, but I’ve learned much about life from the shores of Michigan’s largest inland lake; Houghton Lake.

Married sixty-two years, my husband and I raised three sons. It’s difficult to imagine someone as young as I, having sons who are now in their fifties and sixties. Facts are not always as they seem.

Life is like a dream.

I heard someone make a statement just the other day about “alternative” facts.(Perhaps I should research some of those when describing my attributes.)

copyright©2018

Photography By Mary Anne Tuck

* *

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one to where it bent in the undergrowth.

And took the other as just as fair

And having perhaps the better claim

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that, the passing there

Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day,

Yet knowing how way leads unto way,

I doubted that I would ever be back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood,

And I, I took the road less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

robert frost mailbox

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

We traveled to New Hampshire many years ago and found this old mail box. It resides on the narrow  gravel road in front of one of the summer homes of Robert Frost. It’s a lovely place. This writing of his has always been my favorite. I carry a copy of it with me at all times. I read it over and over.

It speaks to me.

memoriesaremadefromthis.com

DOORWAY TO MY MEMORIES

The view was recalling a MEMORY.
 It was taking me back
to a time in my life
of great happiness and joy.

“Memories exploded as I stood in the doorway”
* * * 
Our congregation was considering the possibility 
of constructing
a new church building.
The one we were in at The Heights in Houghton Lake was old and too small for the growing congregation.
The basement often flooded in the spring of the year.
Sunday School class attendance was increasing.
Although the choir was small, it was increasing in numbers.
The neighboring town of West Branch had recently built a beautiful new church.
A committee in our church, seeking ideas, was formed.
Let’s go to West Branch and check out their new building.
Of course I wanted to be on that committee. 
The new church was in my former home town. Any excuse to re-visit the memories of my youth, was a great idea.
I was thirty-three at the time.
The new United Methodist Church in West Branch
was built on the County Farm property
across the street
 from the house where I’d lived
 until I was seventeen. If you’ve read in my blog post
“Some Folks Called It The Poor Farm..”
you have some idea of my emotional attachment
 to the County Farm.
I have many memories of the wonderful lady 
who was my friend.
As the committee entered the new church building, we were shown the kitchen area and the classrooms.
We visited the sanctuary and the dining area.
As others wandered the hallways
I decided to take a little side trip
 down a different hallway.
At the end of the hall,
 there was an exit door.
Standing quietly, staring out the door,
I realized long forgotten memories were suddenly returning.
I’d stood in that very place
 many times 
over the years of my youth.
It appeared to me, this doorway was exactly where the doorway to Mrs. Kelly’s kitchen had been.  This was a view I’d seen many times before.  (“Was that the aroma of homemade bread?)
 
Still today,
 when I’m in town,
I  drive into the parking area
 and sit for a few minutes.
The location of this West Branch United Methodist Church
 gives memories of pleasant days of 
youth.
 
 
There was and is, 
an oil well pump on the East side of the parking lot. 
The old barn bridge is often visible,
depending on the time of year,
and how many leaves are remaining on the trees.
The barn is gone.
In my memory,
 the chicken coop is there.
The pasture where the sheep were kept,
exists in my memory also.
 
I remember Mr. Kelly
 driving his team past our house
on his way to the hay fields.
Next door,
 at the North end of the parking area,
is the West Branch Township Hall. 
It hasn’t aged.
I have.

****

On the day of our committee’s visit, 
long ago, 
I could feel emotions rising in my throat,
I was glad I was standing at the door alone.
I couldn’t have spoken to anyone right then.
The view was recalling a memory.
 It was taking me back
to a time in my life
of great happiness and joy.
As we were returning to our home town,
I casually mentioned to my fellow travelers
my experience
 at the doorway in the church.
No one seemed overwhelmed by my revelations.
Should they have been?
A few days later,
 traveling to a meeting with my Dad for which I served
as secretary and he as a board member,
I shared my experience of recalling the treasured memory
of the County Farm
Once again, it was difficult for me to speak.
Regaining my composure,
I shared with my Dad my emotional visit
to the United Methodist church
 in West Branch.
He listened attentively.
Then he began to share his thoughts with me. 
“Most people encounter experiences such as you had,
as they grow older and their lives have changed,” he said.
“They remember the joys of youth.
They remember people who were important to them
who have passed away 
or are no longer living nearby.
Buildings have often been removed by deterioration
or replaced by new construction.
You are young
 to be having such memories  overtake you.”
****
Today, when I’m visiting the town of my youth,
I’m still making memories.
 The doorway to my future is open.
Life for me is still experienced
 one day at a time.
Have you stood in a doorway lately?

copyright©2019
 
Photography By Mary Anne Tuck

 

memoriesaremadefromthis.com

 

 
 
 
 
 

SHOW ME AN EAGLE..

ODD YOU SHOULD MENTION IT. I JUST SAW ONE…

Sun is shining; Sky is blue,

Everyone’s busy, free moments few.
Economy’s rising,  dollar holds true.
 

I Saw An EAGLE Today

 
Church pews half empty, more folks at the store.
Few cars on the highway,
Been here before.
 

I Saw An EAGLE Today

 
Some feel lonely this time of  year.
Laughter and family, for them, disappear.
Doesn’t seem right without happiness here.
 

I Saw An EAGLE Today

 
Why does it seem like today passed me by?
Yesterday’s memories cannot tell me why.
 
Tomorrow will bring me another blue sky.
 
 

I Saw An EAGLE Today!

Today, as I left the church service
My eyes were drawn to the sky. 
At that moment an American Bald Eagle flew over me.
Those who know me have often heard me say, 
“Any day I see an eagle, is a perfect day for me.”

The day wore on, blue moments overtook me.
Time and again the picture in my mind
Was that of the soaring American Eagle.

Early evening approached.
It was then that I realized
 I’d had the perfect day
Thanks to that beautiful moment this morning.

“I saw an eagle today.”

 
copyright©2018
Photography By Mary Anne Tuck
 
memoriesaremadefromthis.com
 

WHERE THERE IS SADNESS, JOY

She began to talk to me of times of JOY. She spoke of happy things and times and places. 
Upon leaving, I said,
”See you when you come home”.
“Ok honey”, she said

 

Always Generous, Gracious and Giving

 
 

She was my JOY.   Now she was gone…
 
I asked her, only hours after Grandma died;
“How does it make you feel?”
“Like an orphan”, was her answer. 
“But Mother”, I responded, “You have us.”
“I know honey”, she said. “But this is different.”
 
Carrying our second child,
I was filled with the JOY of life and annoyed at having to deal with death. 
I wanted Mother to tell me it wasn’t so bad.
Grandma was old. Eighty years was a long full life.
In a coma, Grandma hadn’t suffered. 
 
I wanted Mother to move on to lighter talk and future plans.
  I wanted her to ask how I was feeling today,
resuming our daily ritual.
 
She was always the giver. I was always the taker.
 
Years passed and now Mother was in her eighties. 
She shared with me the ominous news
that she had found a lump in her breast. 
“Mother” I said, “I am absolutely sure that it will not be malignant.”
 
When the report came back Mother said,
“Well, you were wrong. It is malignant and the involvement is extensive”.
 
Now, I who never wanted to deal with anything uncomfortable
was required to face the unimaginable.  
Mother was  going to die. 
Try as I would, I couldn’t get my mind around that fact.
 
A friend said to me,
“It’s part of life, although it’s not the best part.”
I was angry with my friend
for her crude and thoughtless remark. 
How could she be so matter of fact in the face of my devastation?
 
She offered.  I refused.
 
 

In the days and months to come,
Mother calmly accepted the diagnosis. 
She was always generous, always caring, always gracious and giving.
 
She was ever accepting. I was ever refusing.
 
The following January,
a friend and I vacationed for two weeks in Florida.
Upon our return I learned that Mother had suffered a heart attack
a few days earlier.
She didn’t want me to be told
because she wanted me to enjoy my vacation.
I could learn of it when I returned home.
 
She was protecting. I was accepting.
 
 
I visited Mother in the hospital the day after returning home from vacation. As she lay in her bed she was cheerful
and interested in me.  
“Maybe it wasn’t so serious after all”, I said.
  She answered “No, something very serious is going on.” 
She began to talk to me of times of JOY. She spoke of happy things and times and places. 
Upon leaving, I said,
”See you when you come home”.
“Ok honey”, she said
for she was due to come home on Monday.
She would be in the hospital one more day.
 
The next day, she died.
 
She always gave me her love. I always accepted it.
 
 
 
 
Mother was gone.
I felt smothered by a blanket of grief.
She was as much a part of my life as my heart and soul.
Now she was gone.
Her belongings were still here; her clothes hung in the closet.
Pictures she had painted hung on the wall.
They were only “things”.
 
Weeks passed and my seemingly endless river of tears
began to subside.
 
On a stark February night, I visited my friend
who is a shepherd.
It was lambing time.
She was required to make frequent visits to the barn
to check on the well being of the ewes.
I found her there
and we began to talk.
Surrounded by the rumblings of her flock
and the sweet smell of freshly scattered straw,
the rawness of my grief began to pour out.
 
 
With gentle encouragement
my friend shared her own journey
through the painful loss of both parents
during the preceeding years. 
With deep compassion she shared her healed grief. 
I knew that with her consoling love,
I too would be healed through this journey of grieving.
 
My friend offered. I accepted.

Next morning as I prepared my morning coffee,
my glance fell upon a plaque hanging on my kitchen wall.
Reading it as if for the first time,
I understood the message of St. Francis of Assisi.
 
Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace;
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
And where there is sadness,JOY
Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled
as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love;
for it is in the giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
 
Dear Lord
Thank you for the loving, giving people you have placed in my life.
Help me to be the consoling,  understanding, loving and giving instrument of your peace
which has so graciously been given to me.
 
Amen
 
 
copyright©2019
 
Printed May 2017 at Sunlight Press
 
          Photographs By Mary Anne Tuck
          memoriesaremadefromthis.com

I BELIEVE

But the best of all things that my two eyes can see,
Is the sight of “Old Glory” as she waves in the breeze.

I BELIEVE

By Thelma Whitchurch Tuck

8th Grade – 1944

(Celebrating her 88th August 13, 2018)
“Happy Birthday to my sister”

I BELIEVE in the things I can see with my eyes..

The geese and the ducks high up in the skies


The doe with her fawn going deep in the wood

The old mother hen as she cares for her brood

The fisherman quietly holding the line

The icicles hanging from oak tree and pine

My home, as it stands on the top of a hill

Meaning warmth and contentment, giving my heart a thrill.

But the best of all things that my two eyes can see,

Is the sight of “Old Glory” as she waves in the breeze.

I BELIEVE in the things I can hear with my ears…

The toll of a bell, the crowd with its cheers

The song of a bird, the hum of a bee

The low moaning wind as it blows through the trees

The cry of a baby, the notes of a song

The toot of a horn as the cars go along

The croak of a frog, the rain on the roof

Lowing cows in the pasture, a horse on the hoof

These are the sounds that my ears bring to me

In this wonderful country, the land of the free



I BELIEVE in the things I can smell with my nose.

A field filled with violets, a wild summer rose

The aroma of coffee, a pie or a cake

The smell of fish frying, just fresh from the lake

The burning of leaves, ground wet from rain

Freshly turned earth, or the smoke from a train

The smell of the woods with its cedar and pine trees

Newly mown hay, or a soft gentle lake breeze

Fruit blossoms in springtime, a field full of clover

Smoke from a campfire, when the day’s fun is over

To give up the pleasures we get from these things,

Is something we hope our life never will bring.

I BELIEVE in the things I can feel with my hands.

The great rolling ocean, the small grains of sand

The warmth of the fire, the cold of the snow

The snow or the rain as the wintry winds blow

The satin smooth skin of a child at its play

The fur of a puppy, the sun’s warming rays

The feel of the earth as the garden is planted

The vegetables harvested just as we planned it.

These are the things in this life we are living

That teach us receiving is equal to giving.

copyright©2018

Photographs By Mary Anne Tuck

memoriesaremadefromthis.com

THE MILES BETWEEN

How we live out our purpose,
and with whom we travel,
is our choice.

 Our Son

Tim

 

October 31, 1959 – October 11, 2013

 

 

He was employed as an “over the ROAD” truck driver.

In three week stints,

his purpose was to cover thousands of miles delivering freight

to various destinations throughout the country.

He chose to have his wife and their little dog travel with him.

 

The goal was to arrive safely at his destination.

The journey enabled him to experience the miles between.

 

Our journey is the same.

We have our point of origin (birth)

And our destination (death).

How we travel the miles between

defines our purpose in life.

 

How we live out our purpose,

and with whom we travel,

is our choice.

When we choose to travel with Jesus,

the Holy Spirit is our constant companion

Every experience, every encounter, every trial

is bearable,

because He is with us.   

 

We grow in our faith

as the mile markers accumulate.

 

God says to us….

“I am with you always,

even unto the end of time.”

 

My Prayer:  Thank you Lord,

for being one of Tim’s traveling companions

as he lived through his life

on his way back to You.

copyright©2019


Photographs By Mary Anne Tuck

memoriesaremadefromthis.com

THE JOURNEY BEGINS

Remember the promise to beloved schoolmates?
“Our class will be different. 
We’ll keep in touch and we won’t forget.”

 

Summer begins.
School years end. 
Sheltered and familiar halls of learning
will be left behind.

 It’s time to venture into the unknown future.

For some, the promised journey is exciting.
Others are hesitant 
to take this next step 
into an unfamiliar and very large world.

Emotions are deep. All paths lead to life.

Many  have traveled
along this road.

Hopefully long, 
sometimes narrow,
It is always a winding avenue. 
Complete with side trips,

choices may lead to
 higher education, 
marriage 
or family.

One decision will lead

 to service of country. All will hopefully lead to success.

 Each traveler uses his personal key 
to open the door to the future.

Ahead lie many unexpected opportunities.
Some may lead to a detour or temporary failure.

The insight needed

 to understand complicated directions
can help to find an individual’s happiness. 
 Life’s journey 

 guides us  by trial and error.

Remember the promise to beloved schoolmates?
“Our class will be different. 
We’ll keep in touch and we won’t forget.”

 Friendships of high-school and college days

 are never forgotten. 
Names may slip from mind,
  faces may fade,
 but memories of the times spent with friends and comrades 
will remain for  years. It matters not
which path is chosen.
 There will always be
 fond recollections 
 of the time of graduation.

 
 
 

The journey begins

One step 
and then another.

 

Musings of a Homemaker 

Houghton Lake Resorter newspaper – 1964
copyright©2018

Photographs By Mary Anne Tuck
 
 
https://thatremindsmenet.wpcomstaging.com

THINGS I SHOULD NEVER FORGET TO REMEMBER..

I wouldn’t even be telling you this
 if it wasn’t that I had recently seen posts on Facebook 
from women 
who had observed the same event
 that I experienced…….

 
“You need to change your ways!”

 
I’ve heard that statement many times. 
Like the words to an old song, 
they keep going ‘round in my mind.
One of my life changing events was in early spring of 1989, as I recall.
 A few years before,
my husband and I 
had decided to raise sheep.
 
One day, I suggested we should get a lamb.. 
After all, we have this little farm.
Our grandkids lived next door, 
it would be fun.
 

 It wasn’t long 
before my husband came home
 announcing
he’d found a lamb.
 In fact, he’d found two, a male and a female. 
They were orphans.
They needed people to love and care for them.
That would be our family.
I don’t remember the exact time frame
as the events began to unfold.
It wasn’t long after the arrival of the lambs,
I casually suggested to my husband, we should start 
a flock.
“We have “Bo” and “Betsy” and the grandkids love them.”
We also had this old barn 
with nothing in it but nothing.

It was then we began our search for mature ewes.
 We would use them to build our flock.
 We had Bo.
who wasn’t what you’d call a breeder at this young age.
He would be in a year or so
when he was no longer a “lamb.”
 The plan to become shepherds 
was quickly put into action.
We were proud and excited about our new, proposed lifestyle.
 My husband was in the retail hardware business.
  I owned and operated a Hallmark shop. 
This would be fun.
A little something extra to give us something to do in our spare time.
One day a gentleman came to call
 who was interested in looking at our lambing operation.
I was more than happy
 to show him
  our nearly 100 year old barn,
 and our new flock of sheep.
Now, this is the point where I veer away from the sheep
 and explain some of my habits to you.
 I wouldn’t even be telling you this
 if it wasn’t that I had recently seen posts on Facebook 
from women 
who had observed the same event
 that I experienced
on my journey to the barn that day.
 
Without getting too personal,
 I’m going to reveal my lifetime habit
of getting ready for bed at night. 
Included in my habit,
was the removing of my jeans and underwear
together in one swift motion. 
Unfortunately this has, on occasion, 
caused a slight “public” embarrassment.
That’s odd, I said I would be
getting ready for bed “at night”.)
How could that possibly affect my actions in the daytime? Hmm…
Back to the fine gentleman 
who had come to look at our flock.
We were walking to the barn
 when he turned around, 
looked quickly back toward the driveway, 
and said,
 “Oh! You’ve dropped your hanky.” 
Intuitively, as I turned, I knew what I was about to see.
 The clump of white lying in the driveway 
was instantly recognizable to me. 
It was definitely not my hanky. 
It was my underwear, 
which had been clinging,
 (with the help of static electricity from the dryer, )
to the inside of my jeans. 
The undergarment had chosen that moment 
to release itself from the fabric of my jeans,
 and to embrace the ground 
in the driveway. 
“I’ll get it”, he said,
 turning around and taking a step
 toward the object. 
“No”, I said, 
“I’ll get it”.  
We were immediately in competition
 to get to “the hanky”first .
 I outran him by seconds,
 scooped up ‘the hanky’ 
and shoved ‘it’ 
into my jacket pocket.
 Bless his heart.
 He seemed totally unaware ,
of the rapid beating of my heart,
 which was not caused
 from the exertion of running
 to the area of the driveway
 in question.
 
You might think 
the experience would have been a lesson
 forever etched in my mind. It was definitely time to renew my habits.
 However, that was not to be.
Continuing…
One quiet morning in summer 
I had opened my Hallmark Shop at nine a.m.
 allowing my employees to come in later.
 
 A pleasant fellow was the first to stop by.
 He stood just inside the front door,
where we visited for twenty minutes or so.
 As he turned to leave, he said, 
“You may want to check the leg of your slacks
 near your right shoe”.  
With that, he went upon his way.
 
Looking down at my shoe,
  in full view
 was a visible display of one of my nylons, 
which was making its way
 past the static electricity in my slacks
 to heaven knows where.
Can you imagine
  what the nice fellow must have been thinking 
as we stood there and talked?
 He apparently had decided 
he would tell me 
just as he went out the door,
 without looking back.
 He must have envisioned the expression he would surely see on my face when I found the scene he’d described. 
I don’t know if men are prone to giggling. 
But I’ll bet this fellow was giggling as he made his way to the car.
At this moment,
 it’s important for me to tell you
  I’ve never had either of these experiences again.
 I really have changed my habits,
 about certain things.
My friends and family would tell you it is rare for me to change my mind about anything, and I still have some mind changing to do.
At Christmas that year, 
 my family gave
 me a bottle of fabric softener 
and a pair of nylons
with lace edged suspenders sewn on them.

One of the changes I have yet to make
 is not to share with anyone 
the embarrassing things 
that happen to me.

I really do need to change my ways.

Photography by Mary Anne Whitchurch Tuck

[email protected]

memoriesaremadefromthis.com

 

GUESS WHO RAN THE RED LIGHT

Trying to navigate the unfamiliar left hand turn at a cross section,
I didn’t see the traffic light.
It was blinking red, apparently.

(Here’s a clue, it wasn’t me.)

I suppose it had to happen sooner or later.

I’ve always bragged about my driving record.
As with many, I started driving at the age of 16.

I’ll grant you; I’ve never traveled much cross-country
or in a foreign land, (such as Canada).
Still, no person of the law enforcement
has ever flagged me down on the highway.

I’ve always been quite proud of that.

Oh yes, there was that time in New Hampshire.
Returning to the campground where our fifth-wheel awaited,
my husband was tired so I was driving.

It was almost midnight.
You may wonder why the time would be of importance.
There were no cars to be seen on the ROAD through town.
Trying to navigate the unfamiliar left hand turn at a cross section,
I didn’t see the traffic light.
It was blinking red, apparently.

I could see the red flashing light of the police car
in the rear-view mirror.
The traffic officer appeared at my window.
Why he was cruising this deserted ROAD at mid-night,
I’ll never know.
“I didn’t see the light, officer”, I said.
“I was searching for the turn and guess I was preoccupied”.

He was very nice and quietly said,
“You’ll need to be more careful in the future”.
There was no ticket…whew!

Now let me think.
The only time I received a traffic ticket
was in 2013
when
I was traveling a local highway,
apparently at the speed of 74 mph
in a
55 mph zone.
A township officer, who was hiding in a nearby forest,
must have believed she had a live one.
She followed me persistently
until I pulled to the side of the road.
She had clocked me at 74 mph in a 55 mph zone,
she said “Don’t you have a cruise control?”
“Yes officer” I said, “but it doesn’t work”.

“I’ll have to write you a ticket”, she said.
Standing by the car she began to fill out the citation.
“I have not had a ticket since I started to drive at the age of 16,”
I said, smiling quietly.

” I suppose I will have to quit telling my friends
I’m a “virgin driver”.
(I was quite sure she’d noticed my birth year of 1935
on the driver’s license.)

An understanding smile crossed her face.
“I’ll just write the ticket for 60 mph.”
“But be careful you don’t get another within the next three years
or your insurance will increase.”

 Thanking her profusely,I drove on my merry way,
silently cherishing my sense of humor
which was inherited from my Mother.

* * *

Continuing:

Last Monday I drove a few miles down the road to our local McDonald’s
where I intended to buy myself a Big Mac and an order of fries.
Just as I left home,
my son said “Pick me up a large strawberry shake”.

I did.

As is my usual routine
I drove through the Wal-Mart parking lot
which would allow me to enter the road at the light.
It’s much safer.

As I approached the light,
it was green.
Slowly proceeding across the highway
I prepared to turn left.

At this point I can only tell you what I assume happened.
There was a loud bump on the driver’s side of my car near my left shoulder.
The side airbag inflated.
Truthfully, I wasn’t aware of it at the time.

The car was now tilted a little bit to the right and was  located several feet to the right of the light.
A quick look told me there were remnants of a strawberry shake
all over my car,
up, down, and sideways.

As I recall,
the Big Mac and fries
were never seen again.

Wondering where my glasses were,
I noticed them sitting in the corner of the dashboard
on the passenger side of the car.

Now that’s odd, or maybe it wasn’t.

A nice gentleman came over to the car
and asked me if I was all right.
“Yes, I’m fine”, I said.
(Later was when I found the scrapes and bruises and aches,
but I digress.)

My son came to give me a ride home
and the wrecker took my car away.

A few days later the insurance adjuster called to inform me
the car was totaled.

I now have a new car,
a new appreciation for driver side airbags,
a new understanding of the need for seat belts
and some other things I haven’t thought of yet.

The lady in the car that crashed into me
had run through a red light
and apparently wasn’t aware of the color.
(Until she collided with me, of course.)

The lady’s car was also totaled.

Oh yes, there is one thing which has recently occurred to me.
This must become part of my driving habits.
When I’m approaching a green light in the future,
make sure that no one is coming from the right or the left, appearing to be maintaining speed,
 seemingly making no preparation to stop at the red light.

 I can remember that.

copyright©2018

Photographs By Mary Anne Tuck

memoriesaremadefromthis.com

PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN

The county fire trucks were blowing their sirens
as they slowly drove along the parade route.
The driver in each truck waved happily to the crowds
as they passed by.

 MEMORIAL DAY

2015

MEMORIAL DAY in our town is a special occasion.

Standing beside the highway

we awaited the moment when the parade would come into view.

 It’s an exciting time for folks, young and old,

to celebrate the lives and service which many have given

for our country.

We could hear the high school band playing

several blocks away

as they announced their arrival.

We heard the foot tapping music of the parade,

God Bless America

and I’m Proud To Be An American.

 The county fire trucks were blowing their sirens

as they slowly drove along the parade route.

The driver in each truck waved happily to the crowds

as they passed by.

People dressed in clown suits walked on either side of the highway,

giving candy to the children

who were enjoying the fun.

Each and every road leading to the main highway

was blocked off by law enforcement

until the parade had passed.

This year, the highway near the library

was our place to watch the parade.

Next to us, a young Mother and her two little girls

waited excitedly for the moment when the American flag and the high school band 

would pass directly in front of them.

little girls watching clydes coming

I could hear the young woman softly advising her daughters

to stand on the curb until the parade was in view.

She told them,

“When the American flag passes by,

stand quietly with your right hand over your heart,

face the flag until it has passed.”

(And she showed them, which hand was the right hand,

and where one’s heart is located.)

She didn’t know I was listening, but I’m pleased that I was.

Through the years,

and especially the last few years,

I’ve found that certain moments can bring me to tears.

This was one of those moments.

I’m sad that we may have forgotten the need

to teach our young children

respect for other people,

our country’s flag, traditions and beliefs.

We’ve somehow overlooked the responsibility of passing these legacies

to the children of future generations.

The quiet young Mother and her little girls left a lasting impression on me.

MEMORIAL DAY

God Bless The USA

copyright©2017

Photography By Mary Anne Tuck

memoriesaremadefromthis.com