RSS Feed

Tag Archives: memories

a note to his wife

My father was always having a cup of coffee (and – sadly – an unfiltered Camel cigarette) by 4:30 a.m. every morning before going to work.  Naturally, the rest of the household was slumbering and dreaming (hopefully Sweet Dreams).

He walked to work; our house – formerly a parsonage –  was next door to the Farmington Daily Times building.  He would come home for lunch.

Daddy was always leaving little notes on the kitchen table for Mother.

This man would be at work by 5:00 a.m. (at the latest) and home for a quick lunch (generally about 11:30) and would work until the newspaper was ‘put to bed’ and hours after that.  Every day.  Every single day.

the needle in the haystack

My mother let me use her Brownie Box camera early on; I was probably in the first grade when I initially began snapping pictures with her camera.

I’m searching through my photo albums for a particular family photo and believe me: it has been like looking for a needle in the haystack.  Although most of my albums are dated and labeled, I cannot find this particular picture!  I must find a better organizational system!

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

little surprises

Sometimes – little surprises – are  – surprising.

I opened a book I’ve not read in several years – probably (one of the surprises) since 2002.

There were a couple of pieces of paper serving as bookmarks in different places in Spiritual Notes to Myself Essential Wisdom for the 21st Century by Hugh Prather.

One ‘bookmark’ was torn from a September 24, 1999 e-mail message about my “Sammon Family in Gwinnett County, Georgia” and I could read only the first part of the message:

“The Elizabeth Sammon I am searching marrie”

and

“I need HELP to sort this all out, are you my a”

This was between pages 74 and 75 and the following paragraph on page 74 caught my attention:

Turning to our peaceful mind is an unremarkable process.  The shift is not accompanied by strong emotion.  It’s nice when I experience God’s peace and presence consciously.  But if on many occasions I receive it only unconsciously, I don’t want to waste an instant’s thought on that fact.  Let me simply continue my spiritual journey and be assured that the light of heaven still shines in me and all about me.

The second marker (between pages 40 and 41) brought back memories of breakfasts at Johnny Mac’s on Court Street (which – alas, is no longer there).

Quotations from those pages:

The reason it isn’t helpful to go around talking about our healings, visions, and other spiritual fireworks is that such conversations tend to be separating and unloving.  The little mind gets involved, we start feeling special, and the other person thinks he wasn’t invited to God’s party.

The saints of God dare to be ordinary.

Such a nice surprise between the pages of an inspirational book on this day: Friday, October 22, 2010.

Page 39:

Don’t give “feedback.”  Give truth.  The fact is that most people really are asking if they are wonderful, and my truth-filled answer is YES!  Each of God’s children is cherished and beloved.  Even though I know in my heart and prayers that truth doesn’t play favorites, I am dealing with one person at a time.

page 38:

When I’ve lost all interest in controlling outcomes, I finally will be free to love everyone my mind rests upon.

note by note

snap of the day – from yesterday

Posted on

remembering good times

Posted on

good times - good friends - lovely memories

family photo memories

Posted on

You don’t choose your family.  They are God’s gift to you, as you are to them.  ~Desmond Tutu

high school

Posted on

It was in school that we made our first friends, competed to excel, hoped for places in the sports teams and scholastic leagues, and learned our first lessons about life.

What is it about high school?

I remain friends with those I knew before I entered first grade (I didn’t go to kindergarten).

I have friends who lived in one city/town all their lives and attended the same schools with others all throughout their school years.

My school years were divided among three towns:  Springer, New Mexico; Tucumcari, New Mexico and sophomore through senior year in Farmington, New Mexico.  Before moving to Farmington, we walked or bicycled everywhere – everywhere.

But, I repeat:  what is it about high school that holds my memories the strongest and is so precious?

Perhaps, because those years were the Real Growing Up Years.  World War II was in the past and we were beneficiaries of the post-war prosperity.

My uncles  served in Korea, but we  were too young for Korea and Vietnam was in the future (although several of my classmates did serve in Vietnam).  Life was uncomplicated.  My father went to work and my mother stayed home.  I wasn’t expected to do much more than go to school, play, and stay out of trouble.  There were kids everywhere and we walked everywhere.  A few of my friends had cars and we would sometimes all pile in and ‘cruise’ town or congregate at the drugstore – priming the jukebox with coins.  In those days, no one worried much about strangers lurking in the shadows.  Everyone knew everyone and although we were allowed much freedom, our folks knew (generally) where we were and that we would be home by dinnertime.

There were, of course, mothers who worked outside the home during these years.  However, for the most part, we had extended families and/or close friends nearby and we certainly felt safe.  And we were.

All things considered, I think I was very fortunate to grow up in the 1950s.

Farmington friends:  the Scorpio Tales newsletter is ALMOST in the mail.  This issue has some old (fifties) photos and information and some current material.  In some ways, those days seem so distant and in another, the memories are quite clear.

[Send YOUR reminisces for the next issue!]


Everybody loves my Baby

I love Facebook!

Who would have ever thought that Facebook would/could help me make so many connections: family, friends, acquaintances, new friends – and by golly – memories??

Reading the inspirational blog of Colleen Smith (which I’ve followed since I began blogging – and so thankful I discovered her), brought back all the good Denver, Colorado memories.  Colleen’s blog has uplifting as well as common-sense thoughts and I love visiting.

Probably the first time we heard Lannie Garrett sing was about 1979 . . . or thereabouts . . . and we loved her voice and her theatrics and visiting with her (she was friendly and fun and she  volunteers her voice and time for several good causes in Denver).  Viewing some of the recent videos and listening to the audios of Lannie, I don’t think she has aged at all.  Her voice is still strong and lovely – and brought back the  good memories of our times (three times!) in Colorado. . .

Ah – Colorado memories . . .

shadows and reflections

“Every doorway, every intersection, has a story.”

– Katherine Dunn

upside down reflections

New Orleans Memories

Some of the snapshots from the 1970s and 1980s just aren’t that clear and ‘good.’  Camera technology has come a long way (and maybe the lady behind the camera has learned a thing or two).

The New Orleans memories are good memories.

Jazz at Pat O’Briens (remember one evening when Al Hirt played – ohyes!).

The Sonesta Hotel.

A Streetcar Named Desire.

Beignets at Cafe du Monde

Strolling Jackson Square

Touring some of the old homes in the Garden District

Visiting the beautiful home of Lindy Boggs in the French Quarter

Breakfast at Brennan’s (is that restaurant still in New Orleans?)

The delicious delicious meals at Antoine’s . . . and The Commander’s Palace . . . and anywhere at all in New Orleans

AND MUCH MUCH MORE . . . and NOW – the Saints won the Super Bowl (I’m sure everyone already knows that!).

Would love to be in New Orleans in March for the 24th Annual Tennessee Williams/New Orleans Literary Festival!

[Family trivia; Thomas Lanier “Tennessee” Williams and I descend from the same Welsh John Williams – not that anyone cares for such trivia – but it interests me . . .]

Ah – New Orleans Memories – brought to the fore as I sort and organize the tons of scattered photographs I’ve carelessly stored . . .