3/21/2017 I need to skip a page ... by Angel Lois LBD

I need to skip a page. 

Right now I'd like to skip a few months -

I'm not really dumb,
just always thinking that everyone
will be pleased when something nice comes about
but maybe it is dumb -

Meanness is hard to hear -
It leaves scars and so
I retreat a bit further
into that protective shell.

It will work out over the long haul -
This is  a new challenge -

So  a new conflict -
If I had stopped or stepped aside when others thought
"it couldn't be done"
or "shouldn't be done"
not much would have happened in programming.

I know my strengths.

Ha! I know what you want -
You hope I'll make a fool of myself -

Wouldn't it be lovely to see?

Your meanness of soul
Your envy
Your hatred of success of others

Are you less
because of some one else?

* Note: Mama went through "H" to move forward with many of her plans and dreams. Her constancy of will and dedication to carrying out her life-long pledge of "doing good" required stubborn grit and greatness. This was and still is Mama, Lois Brown Dale (now Angel Lois).

Mama's Moon Flower

 

3/16/2017 Mama's Mama by Angel Lois LBD

Mama's Mama

What does one know about one's parents?

I really didn't know them at all as whole people.
Maybe we never know anyone as a whole person.
Just bits and pieces
part of an unfinished mosaic
My mother was tall
and very slender.
I saw a picture of her nursing my brother,
one large breast half exposed with his head against her.
She had very fair and delicate skin.
She used a soap called Cuticura a lot -
Lilac or lily of the Valley scent.
She wore lavender teddies trimmed in ecru lace,
black dresses and strapped shoes.
Men liked her, she laughed a lot.
She baked wonderful bread and pies
flipped pancakes in the air,
once one stuck to the ceiling!
She played the piano
anything from jazz to Mozart.
She would throw her head back when a passage really pleased her,
or when she had improvised something.
I remember her hands rolling out dough with a little flour on them,
running scales or drifting over the piano keys.
Her handwriting was beautiful.
I only have my name written in my Bible,
that's all.
One Christmas during the Depression (1932)
she gave me a lovely handkerchief, my Bible and a blue crystal necklace.
I still love nice handkerchiefs and blue crystal necklaces.
She never wore jewelry
except for her diamond and her wedding ring,
once in awhile her pearls, real ones
because grown-up ladies never wore cheap jewelry.
My Aunt wore rhinestones and rouge and mascara
so did my cousin.
My mother was married in a white wool suit,
a white fur hat and white shoes buttoned with little blue buttons.
She had a white fur muff.
She had seven children in nineteen years.
She only lived to be 40 and 4 months and 14 days.
Her birthday was December 24th.

3/14/2017 White Haired Ladies and more by LBD

White-Haired Ladies

They all look alike -
Skin so translucent
Pale thin bloodless lips -
Teeth so false and
Eyes faintly grey -
Why do they all
Look alike?
Bulging tummies and
Boobs so big and
Sagging
Moving carefully
Afraid of a stumble or fall
Remember Mabel?
She broke a hip
Just stepping on a pebble
Why do they all
Look alike?
Wild patterns and
Harsh colors -
Hoping to feel young
and alive -
Why do they all
Look alike?
The giggles and laughter
High pitched or throaty
The gestures of floating
Hands
Why do they all
Look alike?
The reminiscing, the stories
So often told
Who care to hear them?
The hopeful smile
At the disinterested sales clerk
My husband once asked
Whey do they all
Look alike?


It's Hard to be "Up" All the Time

Yet somehow, I'm never
really down -
Pollyanna - tomorrow
"It" will all work out.
James is always near
I feel his careful loving, I believe
Yes, I believe that I am watched over.
There is a God in Heaven
I believe, Yes, I believe
there is a purpose to my life -
Most of the time I couldn't tell you why
but I believe -
Not unlike Job, I've lost so much dear to me,
But I cannot sit in ashes
Bewailing my lot.

3/14/2017 More writings by LBD

*Note: Found a stapled stack of pages from a notebook of Mama's. She wrote poetry, too.

Not Me

Not one of those wistfully smiling -
Trying to look bright eyed and alive
Little old people
Living must have meaning
Meaning is being of service or help to
a fellow being -
No browned and drying leaf clinging to the tree of life
as if I were green and growing
Not me!

You Think You Know Me

You think you know me!!!
That's life's poorest joke,
You only know me as you know yourself -
You subscribe your motives, your weaknesses and meanness to me,
unable to realize that those are your motives, your weakness, your meanness
I am not you
You are not me
You don't know me
You judge me from all your own petty inadequacies
Knock it off
Grow up!!

I Look in the Mirror

I look in the mirror
Who is that?
No one I ever knew
I smile -
No, I still don't recognize
What happened in seventy years?
Legs are still straight
Feet still slender and strong -
Bottom too fat, but it always was!
Sagging protruding abdomen, mostly laziness
Sagging boobs. I never liked having any -
(Which is worse, those dangling from a chest or between one's legs)
Head bent forward
No chin - and then
thin white hair
What a mess

Introspection
Is it really good for anybody?