Category Archive:Family

When Granny died, and after we had all cried, we trooped to the attic seeking the treasure chest. It was a simple and plain pine box, but special because Pappy had made it for her.

“My hope chest” she’d called it. She used to open it, if we’d been ‘specially good, and let us peek inside.

We’d try on her gauzy dresses. “From the olden days,” she’d croon. “Your Pappy and Granny could surely cut a rug back then.”

She’d let us hold Pappy’s gold pocket watch. “Gave him that the day we jumped the broom, I did.”

She allus called us her “packa younguns”.

“Remember to love each other, take care of each other. You need to band together. You are stronger together than you are by yourselves. That’s how Pappy and I were. I swan, when I lost him I lost some of my stren’th.”

Then, she’d close up the treasures again with a sigh and we’d go down to the kitchen for cookies and milk.

And now Granny’s gone on to dance again with Pappy. She left us with a smile on her face, and her hair? I’d a-sworn she was wearin’ a halo the way her hair glowed.

The old house had been left to the pack. We left the hope chest there in the attic. It was nice to know we could still find Granny and Pappy whenever we wanted.

photo from Adirondack Furniture
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Written for trifecta’s challenge – BAND. These are my words . . . where are yours?

Three things about being a Gramma are a blessing.
The first is grandkids who love me. The second is grandkids who love me.
And the third is grandkids who love me.

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The challenge from trifecta: This weekend we are asking you to play around with the following quote:

Three things in human life are important. The first is to be kind. The second is to be kind. And the third is to be kind.
–Henry James

Mama moose nurse babies in the middle of the road. Nearby farms have baby llamas and foals. My grands and I go to the beach.

Summertime Alaska is short, sweet, too soon gone.
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The trifecta weekend challenge is on summer. We cram so much into Alaska’s short summers that it is hard to describe in just 33 words. So, I picked a few of my favorite things that I’ve gotten pics of so far. As always, click for larger versions

Twenty-one years old!
He was such a cute baby
Blonde haired,
Blue eyed chub
Called me Mom
Called his Mom – well, Mom
Couldn’t tell us apart
Voices alike
She had the sustenance
I shared the nurture
Her baby boy
My grandboy
Twenty-one years ago

Now a man
By age and by law
Still my cute baby boy
Blonde haired
Blue eyed chub
Wisp of whiskers
Crooked grin
Towering over me
Calls me hobbit
Looks up to me

still

Unafraid to hug
and kiss me
Love me
in front of God
and everybody
firstborn grandboy
my one and only
Sean Patrick


Sean at 14 – on our trip to DC with his 8th grade history class. This was taken at “Awakening” near the Patomac River.
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So hard to believe my grandkiddos are getting so old and I am not . . . oh, all right, I’m getting older too. This week, VV challenged us to write 100 words on AGE. These are mine. Your turn.

caseyaltman / Foter.com / CC BY-NC-SA

Peering over glasses perched at the end of his nose – the judge looked at the defendants seated before him. It was just another day in his judicial service. Just another string of defendants jumpsuited in faded yellow, manacled to each other.

Just another day in paradise.

He let his gaze slip over each “in custody” in a slow, deliberate way, taking in the appearance and demeanor of each.

Seated at the table was a gaggle of young and eager public defense attorneys. They did their job – defending the guilty – well, with eagerness, fervor and mostly smiling faces.

“Call the first case, madam clerk,” he bellowed into the overhead mic.

“Case number 62-43690, Judge,” she replied.

A timid hand raised from the midst of the in custodies and the judge tried to act less surprised than he felt. What was SHE doing here? In chains? Hair unwashed and tousled? Yellow jumpsuit and blue tenny-runners with pink socks?

“Charge, Mr. District Attorney?”

“Minor consuming, Judge.”

“I see. Thank you. Now, Miss Michaels, this is what I am going to do. I need to recuse myself and let Judge Olsen continue with your arraignment. Do you understand?”

He tried not to smile as she nodded and he noticed her trembling lips and a tear working its way down her cheek.

Leaving the courtroom he took off his robes and went to the Bailiff’s office. “I’ll be posting bail for 62-43690, Josh. But I have a favor to ask. Don’t let her know the bail has been posted until the morning.”

“Sir?”

“You see, I always promised my kids that if they were arrested they would spend a night in jail before I bailed them out.”

“Aha! Yes, sir. I’ve got it.”

Fully robed again the magistrate reentered the courtroom.

“All rise! The court is back in session, the Honorable William Michaels presiding.”
He adjusted his glasses once again, looked over the remaining prisoners and boomed into the mic again. “Next case, please.”
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Those deliberate trifecta judges . . . erm . . . EDITORS have challenged us with the third definition for DELIBERATE. Here are 329 (or 330 – depends on the program) of mine . . . bring on your own. There is still time.