Thankful for Many Things


Today has been an interesting day one of many thoughts and happenings.

Today I was thankful that I had been raised both frugally and lavishly.It taught me many life lessons.I can turn a dime and I can pinch one.

The saying used to be a penny but you know inflation and all.

During my childhood we lived in a four room home with no running water and no indoor plumbing.It effected me.I was 12.

I wrote this poem and called it “Tin Roof”.I often wondered what could have possibly been hidden from myself,in the dark recesses of my mind that perhaps I didn’t want to recall.

“If these walls could talk what would they say
Would we hear the laughter, see the tears
Would we hear secrets
Spoken in whispers of days past
Would we see our daydreams and imaginations
Take flight into the night
Would our dreams come true like they did in the rooms
The rain is falling,
Teardrops on the tin roof
The tiger is trying to get through the window
When I wake there is blood on my arm
Was it the torn and broken window screen,
What was I fighting ?”

and also this poem.It came to me when I was thinking about my parents,religion and my rebellion.

CHOSEN WAYS
“From a dream these thoughts arose and upon arising finding pens and paper I began this prose.
Life in almost every instance is chosen.
Not at the moment of birth but from each moment henceforth.
You have control of your world and surroundings.
Your Chosen Ways
In the first years, you in a sense control your parents.
They feed, dry, and clothe you when you cry.
Then in your teens they try to almost no avail to control you because after all it’s your life.
Your Chosen Ways
As you find your way into the world, you and your Chosen Ways find joy, happiness, pain, depression, and helplessness.
You swim at times, others have sought your Chosen Ways.
You sink at times under the influence of there Chosen Ways.
In the name of love, you destroy your lovingness with drugs and alcohol.
In the name of faith you lose your parents love for twelve years of your Chosen life.
Your Chosen Ways
You wander aimlessly, seemingly without purpose, chasing an elusive butterfly for years.
Live in shelters, on the street
Not missing a beat.
You submerge yourself in self destructive Chosen ways with the same Chosen people
You are a product of your parents, and there parents and on and on and there Chosen Ways
You want, you don’t want.
You laugh, then cry as if the milk spilled or your cup is well filled
Your Chosen Ways
One day after living this Chosen life for so many DAYS OF YOUR LIFE, you get hit as if from a thunderbolt.
You begin to smell the roses, the wetness on the rose petals from recent rain.
THE CLARITY
There is No Right way, nor is there a Wrong way.
You awaken with light in your eyes and joy in your heart.
It is after all,
Your Chosen Ways.”
written by Cyndi
October 2nd,1999
Copyright

I can remember my mama making us rice and beans days in a row.Turn that around and add a stroke of abundance.
My father was a hustler.
That entailed a hard day’s work or perhaps a win at the local pool hall…My dad would say bring on the steaks.

I don’t remember ever going to bed hungry.I always was warm in the winter with two stoves to warm us.One was an electric gas stove,the other a kitchen wood burning stove.

I took nothing for granted because I knew of nothing better.

The outdoors no matter what the weather was my refuge.

Trees made to climb with nature designed limbs to get you to the top.

Creeks to wade in during the hot summers and skate on in the frozen winters.

Perfect sled runs down hills and hills of freshly fallen snow packed by my Uncle’s snow plow and a drizzle of frozen rain.

Igloo’s of snow built into the side banks next to Grandma’s house.

Croquet in the yard in the summer time with plenty of sweet Maryland iced tea to satisfy a thirst.

The smells of apple butter and apple cider being made at Butchering time.I can still see the huge vats of pig fat being made into cooking lard.The smoke wafting into the hot putrid air from the remnants of the slaughter.Preparing the humongous slabs of sugar-cured bacon and other parts too be cured in the smoke house.

Perhaps my dreams will take me back tonight.

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