Poems, Personal Stories, and Observations

Posts tagged ‘nostalgia’

Nostalgia

So I seem to be getting more and more nostalgic.

Recently we were on a day trip in our car and inquired from someone about how to get an ice cream cone. I had said to my husband that I thought at least once in a summer, on a hot day, a person should buy an ice cream at an ice cream shop. I wanted to enjoy that happy memory.

Well, we ended up at a soft serve place, kind of like Dairy Queen or Foster’s Freeze. I ordered a SMALL chocolate cone, dipped in chocolate, like my dad used to get us as an occasional treat.

When the item was presented, it was more like a GIANT ice cream, about five or six inches taller than the top of the cone, and at quite a low price! As a child, I might have gotten one that was three or four inches taller than the cone, at most.

Being a hot day, we decided to eat the cones inside to prevent melting. Ha! Soon enough, we had ice cream dripping off our faces and onto the table, with piles of napkins to mop things up. A clerk took pity on us and offered cups to put the mess in. Finally finishing up, we thanked the clerk and left.

Next day, our blood sugar was way up (we are both Type 2 diabetic).

Well, it was fun, but maybe in the future I’ll try to make new memories, since the old ones don’t always work.

Category:

Personal story

Tagged with:

In Younger Days

In younger days,
So many ways to play.
Time stretched forever
in endless summer.
I rode a bike,
Or climbed a tree,
Or rolled on skates
Or skateboard.

Those berry fights,
And flying kites!
The six-gun caps,
The endless laps
Round playgrounds.
The hide and seek,
The flowing creek
With newts to play with.

The rainy days
In oilskin coats;
We fashioned moats
And marched;
We were “The Rain Squad.”
Umbrellas? – No,
We liked the flow
Of water on our oilskin.

Collected pillbugs,
Or were they sowbugs?
Made mudpies,
And my mom allowed us.
Stayed out ‘til dinner;
That was a winner.

Those days are gone;
I don’t know how,
Or why they were
The way they were.
I only know
They’re part of me.

Category:

Poems

Tagged with:

Demolition

A creeping vine
Comes through a window.
Torn screens are seen
Through another.

The walls are marked,
Ready for the wrecking crew.
Beautiful French doors
Opening to a room, long unused.

It will all be gone soon.
The oak floors,
So meticulously crafted,
And an attic — did children play there?
What dusty memories dwell in the cobwebs?

Who lived inside these walls?
Were children born here?
Did someone die here?
Was there laughter; were there tears?

The stairs of redwood,
The old laundry and kitchen,
With built-in ironing board.
The back steps, all overgrown —
And the old bathroom.

It will soon be gone,
Too costly to repair;
The land’s so expensive —
Let’s build four new houses there!

Things always change;
Nothing stays the same.

Category:

Poems

Tagged with:

Childhood

Childhood:
It was all so simple then
Our differences didn’t matter
Or if they did, we’d fight —
And then get back together

Childhood:
The others could be cruel
They’d make you feel a fool
But at least we were alive
And had a home to go to

Childhood:
A simple view of life
An innocence — and light
Would rule the day, until the night

Childhood:
It was all so simple then —
Could I live in that world again?

Category:

Poems

Tagged with: