“Born with a silver spoon in her mouth”. We’ve all heard it as a referral to someone born into wealth. Not for me. However, I did stumble upon mine. With the sun in my face and my feet in a determined path, “that spoon” became my possession. And with the work of my two hands I sit and polish…sit and polish. Shine is an attribute, isn’t it? Were you, perhaps, the owner of the spoon at one time? After the shine was gone, did you just lay it down?
Picking it up, was the easy part. Restoration was the more difficult part. The most satisfying part…keeping it shining. For its the quality which provides for such. Had it been just any old spoon, my efforts would be senseless. However, this spoon was maybe in the hands of the lady my mother claimed I was the daughter of, Mrs. Aster. This spoon, is a spoon with value, worth.
So, if you have the other three out of the set from which it came, you now know where the lost treasure lies…in the hands of a woman with every intention of keeping up the “shine”.
The baby out of my five amazing children the Lord has blessed me with. And in that accord, I STAND. EVEN IF I STAND ALONE. I STAND. Has not the progressiveness and the modernism created a world that is staring the inevitable in the face? A child, and in that same regard, as a mother I fear a world that has become so corrupt that I cannot let her play in my RURAL backyard without me not taking my eyes off her? HOPE, well without hope, it is said that a person would die. That’s something to “ponder”.
“Get caught in the race of this crazy life. Trying to be everything can make you lose your mind. I just want to go back in time, to American Honey”…..
As a nation, we pledge to stand in unification. One nation…indivisable, with liberty and justice for all. The man in the middle, he stands alone. Where will you stand? Let’s stand together.
Sugar coating always taste good when as it parts the lips. But, eventually swallowing it creates a taste in your mouth leaving it not only less desirable, but hard to swallow.
Memories of my oldest son playing catcher….a small town, a big dream, and a little boy that played with a whole lotta heart. The beginnings of many lessons learned, that field gave him. “DON’T YOU LET HIM STEAL ON YOU”, I would scream from behind the plate, with my fingers latched on fence. At nine years old, stealing a base when he was behind the plate, was his favorite game, and a game he never lost. As the threat lingered around second and third base….a short walk down the chalk and small fingers that eagerly motioned, “Come on, I DARE YOU”, became quite humorous to many parents and other spectators as well. All Star Little League baseball generally rides on into the sweltering holiday, The 4th of July. Getting his gear off in the dugout (mothers not allowed), climbed my child, my son.