“I wish they could stay little forever, They grow up so fast,” my friend said as she cradled her baby. I thought of another friend who was caring for a developmentally delayed child day in and day out, year in and year out. She would be grateful to see her child grow up fast. I […]
“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can read.” Mark Twain Crissy was a non-verbal three-year-old in a classroom for developmentally delayed children. I was the substitute teacher that day. Crissy always cried when her mother left. And she continued crying throughout the morning. I sat beside her as one
I’m always looking for props for storytelling. When I go to a thrift store, I always browse the toy aisle. One day I found a cat puppet. Its strings were all tangled up. I started to put it back, but then I thought, I can fix this. And if I can’t, 75
The light in my kitchen is dim, creating a slightly depressed feeling. A thin sheet of plastic on the outside of the window blocks my sunshine. I hadn’t realized how much I depended on those rays of sunlight to brighten my day. I know that this is temporary. When the house painters are finished, the
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Juneteenth is a new federal holliday. Here is my new poem. Reaching Out I reach out my hand.We are different, you and I.Color of skin, education level, family cohesiveness.We are different, you and I.I understand that I do not understand.I have not lived in the worldWhere you exist.I have
I belong to which a writing group hosted by Stuart Nager who lives in New York. The basic link is pw.org/groups. After you join the group, you will need to create a profile and join A Prompting of Writers: Your Challenge to Imagine. This group meets every Saturday morning online at 10:00 AM EST, but
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We were on our way to Idaho for a vacation when our doorbell rang. How did we know that? We have a ring doorbell. I looked at my phone and saw my young friend leave a white gift bag on my doorstep. I watched her go back down the sidewalk, and I wondered what was
The tulips, lilacs and flowers in Idaho and Utah remind me of a song my brother used to sing: “When it’s springtime in the Rockies, I’ll be coming back to you, little sweetheart of the mountains with your bonnie eyes so blue.” My sister and I would climb the pole fence around the corral and
