BLINK AND YOU'LL MISS IT!

 

We live our life in present moments…moments that quickly pass us by…

I wonder if that’s why so much of life seems to pass in the blink of an eye.

In the blink of an eye I was born…in the blink of an eye I was walking…in the blink of an eye I was running…in the blink of an eye I was talking.

In the blink of an eye I was in high school…driving a car…feeling immortal and free…in the blink of an eye I was in college…trying to earn a degree.

In the blink of an eye…yes…the blink of an eye…Oh My God! And Heaven Forbid! I was married…in the blink of an eye…got a job…and in the blink of an eye…two kids!

And soon after our children were born…in the blink of an eye they were walking…in the blink of an eye they were running…in the blink of an eye they were talking.

In the blink of an eye there was a divorce…a remarriage…and another child makes three…in the blink of an eye two unfamiliar groups…became one blended family.

And once again we didn’t have time to think about how the time had flown…for in the blink of an eye our children grew up and now had lives of their own.

In the blink of an eye there were four grandchildren…in the blink of an eye they’re all grown…and some nights as Deborah and I sit in our now empty house…just the two of us…all alone…

We love to look back on those times in our life…times that made us laugh, or smile or cry…and marvel at how such a wonderful life…can pass in the blink of an eye.

ALL THE THINGS I HAVE FORGOTTEN

 

Sometimes I have to wonder if my Creator wasn’t a little misbegotten…when I see, as I’ve grown older, all the things I have forgotten.

My doctor says not to be concerned…not to worry, not to fret…that as I grow a little older it is normal to forget.

And so I want to ask my doctor if in any textbook that he’s read…is it normal for me to forget where my glasses are…when they’re perched upon my head?

I want to ask him if when he was in school if any question on any exam… pertained to me forgetting names…what day it is…or even how old I am?

Is it normal for me to forget how I got these bruises…or why my arm is so sore?  Is it normal to forget I read this book…or I’ve seen this movie once before?

Is it normal…or do I have a reason for a little gloom and doom…for me to suddenly forget why I’ve walked into a room?

I would really like to talk with my doctor about this…to take his medical books to task…but by the time I’m sitting in his waiting room…I’ve forgotten what questions I wanted to ask.

There is an upside to my forgetting, however, a different point of view…because the more that I forget…the more forgotten things seem brand new.

Every time I read a book, watch a movie or walk into a room…my heart rate begins to rise…because of all the things I have forgotten…everything is a surprise.

There is a downside for you the reader, however…since there's a possibility I won’t remember writing these words…won’t remember the how…or why…or when

There’s a good chance in the future…

you'll be seeing this poem again.

CHILDHOOD BELIEFS

 

It’s funny, when we’re young, the tales our minds will weave…the different things we’re sure are true…the stories we believe.

How many thoughts, though unproven, are dancing in our heads…

For instance I believed my blanket kept me protected from the monsters that lived beneath my bed.

I believed if I swallowed a watermelon seed…it would grow inside me  and I’d blow up like a balloon.

I believed a toad could give me warts and that a man lived inside the moon.

I believed my wishes rode on the dandelion seeds I blew into the air.

I believed, if many of my cartoons were correct, there was quicksand everywhere.

But as we grow the things we thought we knew as children have a tendency to change

or through knowledge and experience…at least to rearrange…

That is why I still make wishes on dandelion seeds and blow them into the air…but I now know when I take a walk I won’t find quicksand everywhere.

That is why I have no problem picking up toads…why I know there’s no man living inside the moon…but why I still shy away from watermelon seeds…(still not quite sure about that balloon!).

And that is why when I go to sleep I still pull the blanket up over my head…only now I know the monsters I need protected from…do not live beneath my bed.

IN PIECES ON THE GROUND

 

“Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky, We fell them down and turn them into paper, That we may record our emptiness.” Kahlil Gabran 

IN PIECES

Let me introduce myself…I have no name…at least not formally…

I have stood on my property for over 50 years…you see…I am a tree.

I’ve been home to many insects and birds…and neath my boughs I’ve seen many people come and go…from this very spot I’ve shaded a house and multiple families…I’ve watched scores of children grow.

But when the last family moved out of the house I shaded…suddenly…one day big machines and their workers moved in, tore it down…and hauled it all away.

A ‘For Sale’ sign went up in my yard and my excitement was unfading…when my property sold knowing I’d soon discover…the next house I’d be shading. 

One day more machines and their workers came into my yard…knowing my fortune was about to be remade…I stood up as tall and as proud as I could….happy to offer my comfort and my shade.

But the more I watched them in my yard…the more I came to see…They did not come for my comfort or my shade…they came, instead…for me.

When I saw that crane go up and heard their chain saws start…my leaves began to shake…Stop…Stop! I  cried… Please stop! This must be a mistake”.

“You don’t understand!” I shouted “I’ve been standing here for over 50 years,” 

Either they didn’t care or, because the chain saws were so loud…perhaps they didn’t hear.

They started by cutting off my highest limbs…immediately I began to cry…when I realized…never again…was I going to touch the sky.

Again I screamed for them to stop…again they ignored my plea….

Now I was crying for all the creatures who will no longer make their home in me.

After an entire day of ripping me apart…all that could be found…were pieces of the tree I once was…strewn upon the ground.

And with my life in pieces I was left to wonder…why….why would they destroy a poem the Earth wrote upon the sky?

And if anyone out there has the answer…there is something else I’d like to know…How could they destroy, in one day, what took me 50 years to grow?

A PELICAN'S WINGS

 

A pod of pelicans flew by me the other morning and as I bid them au revoir…I wondered to myself if they know how graceful they all are.

Of course this is a mystery I’m likely never too unlock…but it led to a host of other questions as I continued on my walk.

Does a tree know how majestic he is…a nightingale how lovely is her song…does an octopus realize his intelligence…does an elephant know he’s strong?

How does night know when to become day…how does the moon know when to rise…do clouds feel when they’ve been painted by the sun…do rabbits communicate with their eyes?

Does a hippopotamus know how much he weighs…do otters really know how to play…do prairie dogs actually kiss…is an owl as wise as they say?

Can the oceans comprehend their vastness…or how the sunlight turns them blue…do the waves on the tides know where they’ve been…or where they’re going to?

Do butterflies and flowers know how beautiful they are…do flamingos know they are beguiling…do crickets have a conductor…why are dolphins always smiling?

I imagine these questions and others like them shall remain as elusive as the gracefulness of a pelican’s wings…but how lucky are we as humans that we can wonder about such things.

A MORNING WALK NOCTURNAL

 

Today’s poem is a gathering of notes I recently lifted from my journal…about the sights and sounds I had the other day on my morning walk…nocturnal.

From the moment I stepped out of my door…in voices loud and strong…a symphony of crickets greeted me with song.

And I must applaud their stamina…for no matter how much their lungs were stinging…through the entire length of my walk…those crickets kept on singing.

How wonderful for me…on this morning promenade…to be accompanied every step of the way…by a cricket serenade.

As I walked under a street lamp I encountered in my sight…the fluttering of moths who, like me, were attracted to the light.

I did my best to warn them, "Fly away!" I said…."Go back!"…because the bats were right behind them…looking for a snack.

Looking past the bats and moths…with the crickets all in tune…a blanket of clouds floated overhead back-lit by the moon.

A misty rain began falling from the clouds in raindrops soft and light…just enough to quench the thirst of the flowers blooming in the night.

I could hear the ocean in the distance and as I felt a morning breeze I noticed a family of rabbits playing in the shadows of the trees.

As I was finishing up my early morning circular commuting…in the tree in front of our house a horned owl started hooting.

The owl asked me if I had a nice walk…”Why, yes I did! I said.

Then the owl wished me good night as he headed off to bed.

Which makes me wonder what sights and sounds will end up in my journal…

Tomorrow 

and the next day…

as I take my morning walks…nocturnal.

STARS AND THE COTTONWOODS

 He loved the stories his Grandpa would tell when he’d visit him on the reservation…his favorite story…the one he’d always ask for…was about the stars…and their creation.

“The stars form secretly in the Earth”, Grandpa would begin, as he set him on his knee… “they drift under the surface until they find the roots of the cottonwood tree.”

“If there is a reason they choose the cottonwood…only the stars and the trees know why….the stars enter the roots…then work their way up…and wait till they are needed by the sky.

When the night sky asks the wind for more stars so the starlight can be increased,…the wind shakes the cottonwood branches, and when some break…new stars are released.

These new stars, just set free…who are only beginning to understand their light….ride upon the wind to take their places in the night.

The night sky ask these new stars to twinkle as their new life begins…it’s her way of showing the stars are safe…and saying thank you to the wind.

But Grandpa’s story doesn’t end there…if fact for his grandson, this is where it starts…as what happens next….is…and always will be…his grandson’s favorite part.

Together they gather fallen cottonwood twigs…and wait till the time is right…when the weather is calm, the sky is clear…and stars fill up the night.

They know this part by heart for they always follow the same plan…they close their eyes hold their twigs up high…then snap them as fast as they can

When they open their eyes they check the twig to see if a star pattern they can find…because the pattern is the shadow the new star has left behind…

Then they look up to the sky again…they they look high and they look far…If they see a twinkle in the sky…it’s a thank you from their star.

He love visiting his Grandpa…and if you ask him the reason why…

He’ll gladly tell you it’s because of all the stars they have sent up to the sky.

MAGIC HANDS

 

Here’s a little something I hope, someday, the whole world understands…that we all have been created with magic in our hands.

Mothers and their babies feel it from the moment the mother’s eyes upon the newborns linger…when she touches her hand to theirs…and they hold on to her finger.

And for a moment it seems time has paused…the world has stopped its spinning…but the magic passing between them…is only the beginning.

For anytime a mother holds her child’s hand…to comfort…to reassure…

the magic makes them feel safe…makes them feel protected…and secure.

As the children grow a little older…they begin to understand the magic, too…as their mother’s hands help their hands understand what hands can do.

All the fun their hands can have…all the pain they can help alleviate.

all the things their hands can build…all the love they can create.

When the children are no longer children…perhaps when life is grueling

they will visit their mothers and hold their hands whenever their magic needs refueling.

The magic is still there even as the mother’s life is ending…

when on her eyes their eyes will linger…

when they touch their hand to hers…

when she hold on to their finger.

Even when she’s gone…they will remember how she held their hands…how she loved them…how she smiled…for they know all the magic in her hands has been passed down to the child.

And they will pass the magic…to their children…and when they see it in their eyes…

they will smile knowing, as it passes down form generation to generation, 

the magic never dies.

For they have learned throughout the years…they have come to understand

the magic they have shared…that was passed down through her hands…

THE DAY THE FIRES HAS BURNED OUT

 

The news we received wasn’t tragic…wasn’t the worst news we’ve ever had…still…hearing our fireplace couldn’t be used anymore left us feeling sad.

For over 30 years whenever the weather turned cold we had a fire burning there…the sad news wasn’t just that she was broken…but she’ll cost too much too repair.

For over 30 years, when we needed her, she was ready with her glow…she watched our family come together…she watched our children and grandchildren grow.

When we think of all the holidays in front of her fires…all those ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY’S’ we would shout…it makes us sad, after all these years, to know her fire has burned out.

Again, we know this is not a tragedy…it’s just the closing of one door…and when we look back on the life we’ve lived…we have so much to be thankful for.

So we decided, once the news sunk in, not to think of our fireplace as gone…but, like us…she’s just retired…and to remember how lucky we have been to have all the memories of her fires.

Now, all we need do is sit back, close our eyes, and we remember…those times we turned the AC down in July…or those cold days in December.

For isn’t that the wonder of memories…perhaps that’s what memories are all about…as they will last forever…long after the fire has burned out.

THE DAY HER DAUGHTER FLIES

 

She knew this day would one day arrive

just as she knows each morning the sun will rise…

Still she feels its bittersweetness…

as this day delights and terrifies…

Sometimes she can’t stop herself from smiling…

other times…she cries

For today is the day when she can no longer see…

the child in her daughter’s eyes…

But she knows she given her daughter roots and wings

and she knows her daughter is wise

So she proudly stands aside and watches

the day her daughter flies.…

THE MAGIC OF THE BEACH

 

One reason we are drawn to slow walks along the beach…besides the beauty we are shown…is that every walk along the shore has a magic of its own.

Even though we may walk the same beach…may amble the same shore

each walk is filled with subtle differences than the walk before. 

The sand beneath our feet has shifted since the last time that we came…and in all the times we’ve walked this beach…no two sunsets are the same.

It’s possible we could see some errant seagulls, hungry ospreys or graceful pelicans soar…and if we’re lucky a family of dolphins might be swimming just off shore.

There is a good chance we’ll catch a breeze as it rides the waves onto the land…or see the footprints of some animals left imprinted in the sand.

Today we witnessed a beautiful sight as a grandpa and his grandson waded into the sea…and I remembered when that little boy was my grandson…and that grandpa next to him…was me.

As I watched them in the present making a memory that in their life I hope will last…

I smiled as my own memories allowed me to step into my past.

On this walk we saw pelicans…and seagulls…and sea shells hanging in a tree…

We saw a kaleidoscope of colors in the sky as the sun set in the sea…

But seeing that grandpa and his grandson…allowed me back in time to reach…

Reminding there is always as much beauty on the shore…

as there is magic on the beach.

ENORA

 

Enora used to take him walking in the woods…they would listen to the trees….They would stop to touch the flowers…watch the butterfly and bees.

Enora loved to walk among the birds…she knew them all by name……She did not have a favorite one…for she loved them all the same.

She would close her eyes and listen to their songs…their melodies without words….“Oh I would give anything.” She’d say…”to be singing with these birds.”

On the day Enora passed away…the Enora he adored…he ran into the forest…to the place where they explored.

He remembered how they walked these woods..and all the wonders they had found…but he was not expecting…what he discovered on the ground.

He was thinking of Enora…when suddenly he heard…plaintive cries…what sounded like the moaning of a bird?

He looked around and then he saw it… a few steps up ahead…a baby bird had fallen from the nest…the baby bird was dead.

He scooped her in his hands as gently as he could…then in a voice both sad and calm…he looked up in the tree and said, “I’m sorry!” to the mom.

Tears cascaded down his cheek…as he looked into the mother bird’s eyes…as he listened to her somber tweet…as he watched the mother bird cry?

He nestled the bird within his hands…she was a beautiful shade of blue…then carried her back to his front porch…unsure what to do.

As his thoughts returned to Enora…it became easy to decide….He filled an old shoe box with cotton…then laid the bird inside.

He carried that box back back to the woods…got on his hands and knees…and with mom (and Enora) watching….buried her beneath that tree.

“I know that you’re unhappy, momma bird.” He said.  “Wishing things were different than they were.”…but your baby’s with Enora now…and she’ll take care of her…”

Then he looked up to the heavens…searching in his heart for the right words…“I think you got her wish Enora.” He said…”have fun singing with the birds.”

Then the momma bird landed on a lower branch…and sang the sweetest lullaby

as both boy and bird found their own way…

to say their last good-bye.

THE ESSAY

 

The teacher stood in front of the class,

“Today, she said, “I’m giving you the same assignment I give every year!”

“Please write what you want to be when you grow up...

and remember: 

There’s no wrong answer here.”

She found most answers to be the same as every other year she taught:

doctor, fireman, super hero, movie star…

one student wants to own a yacht.

The teacher read with interest…as their grammar she corrected

until she came across one paper…with an answer unexpected.

It was written by the shyest girl in class…who did not want a super power.

WHEN I GROW UP, she wrote in capital letters,…I WANT TO BE A WILDFLOWER.

Because bringing beauty to the world…is a flower’s livelihood

and I want to grow in places …no one ever thought I ever could.

The teacher held the essay in her hands…unwilling to let it go…and suddenly, out of nowhere, her tears began to flow.

She gently set the essay down…and as it glowed in her lamp’s light…She thought for a moment, picked up her pencil…then she began to write.

‘You already bring beauty to my world’, she wrote

‘And I know you’ll find a way...

to add beauty wherever you go.”

and she graded it an A.

DREAM HOUSE

 

When we were younger and we’d dream…Debrah and I would agree on what size and shape and color…our perfect house would be.

It would be a bungalow with room for our family…and more…the kitchen would be big and modern…there’d be bedrooms on the second floor.

There’d be a huge yard for our children…with a garden that would bloom in Spring…

A porch would stretch the entire length…with rocking chairs…and a swing.

Our first house was not a bungalow…but we felt it’s bones were strong…and we thought it’d be a great place to start…until our dream house came along.

It was a cozy little house with oak trees on the land…but it turns out saving up for our dream house was not as easy as we planned.

We realized quite early…as I’m sure many of you can relate…with children to feed and bills to pay…our dream house would have to wait.

Something was always breaking or there was something else we needed to buy…and so a year…and then another…and then another year went by.

Our children started growing…we were following an old familiar theme……and it seemed the dream house we first dreamed of…would forever remain a dream.

But we grew to love our house and neighborhood…it’s been our home…our haven…our retreat…our children grew up playing in this yard…riding their bikes along this street.

This house has seen us through all our dramas…every comedy…every tragedy…it’s where our children learned to laugh and love…it’s where we built our family.

Life is often unpredictable…for the more we live…the more it seems…happiness is just a matter…of rearranging dreams.

Because now we wouldn’t dream of living in any other house…

but this house…

the house we’ve grown into…

It turns out our dream house wasn’t the house we dreamed about…

It’s the house where our dreams came true.

WHEN YOUR GRANDDAUGHTER ASKS YOU TO DANCE

 

 I have a wonderful memory that popped up yesterday by happenstance…of a time when my granddaughter said, “Hey PopPop…how’d you like to dance?”

At the time I hesitated but she persisted…“It’s easy…you will see…we pick a song and you follow the moves from the video or if you want…just keep your eyes on me.”

I’ve never been known for my rhythm…but I kind of remembered the song…so I put my inhibitions aside and tried to dance along.

My arms began to flail…I had the rhythm of a stone…

I tried to dance to the music but my feet had a mind of their own.

Eventually I didn’t care if I was nimble or, like her, as light as a feather…what was more important than the dance…was that we were dancing together.

And for a moment, just a moment…in my mind we were the perfect pair…She was a young Ginger Rogers…and I was Fred Astaire.

Time has flown by since that day…four years to be precise

so to all you grandparents out there…let me give you some advice.

If you want to make a memory…I suggest you take a chance

to trip the light fantastic…when your granddaughter asks you to dance.

Because even though I have less rhythm now than the rhythm I had back then…

I know for certain if she had asked me today…

I would danced with her again.

POTTERY CLASS

 

The other night we took a pottery class and I wish I could convey…the excitement we both felt with our hands immersed in clay.

In some ways we felt like kids again…perhaps that’s the appeal…as we began to play in the mud…upon the potter’s wheel.

Sitting on my stool or at the table where I stood I was struck how working with the clay…is a lot like parenthood.

When you first come face-to-face with the clay you feel so unprepared…you have no idea what you’re doing…you’re excited…and you’re scared.

You know you have to do something because deep down you understand…whatever happens to this clay…is totally in your hands.

And so you take a deep breath, perhaps smile at your wife…and then you jump right in…at first trying your best just to hold on as your world begins to spin.

The clay seems to have a mind of its own…it’s not going as you planned…and it’s only when you relax that you feel the clay conforming to your hands.

You do your best to feel your way…you squeeze, you push, you pull, you scrape...and eventually right before your eyes…the clay takes on a shape.

As the clay keeps spinning and spinning…you’re always on your guard…hoping you’re not pulling too softly…or pushing way too hard.

When you’ve done all you can…you stop to look at the creation you’ve just thrown...hoping you’ve created something that can stand up on its own.

And whenever you see what you’ve help make…your smile is as wide as a Cheshire Cat…as you proudly whisper to yourself…”I had a hand in that!”

And you’re proud to see how tall your children have grown on they’re grown…still…every time you see their face…you smile…knowing they wouldn’t have grown so tall…if you hadn’t built their base.

MURMURATION

 

Have you ever witnessed a murmuration…that beautiful and wondrous sight…when birds all together change directions in the middle of their flight?

Seemingly they work as one…as the flock swoops left, right, lower and higher…murmuration is another reminder of nature’s beauty and her ability to inspire.

I noticed them walking ahead of us on the beach…an older couple holding hands…and I marveled at the graceful synchronicity with which they walked upon the sand.

There, with the waves of the ocean splashing on the shore, in the midst of the setting sun…were two people walking together…but they seemed to walk as one.

I stood there for a moment…mesmerized…my eyes wide open…unblinking…for it seemed that as they walked…each one knew what the other one was thinking.

Perhaps they’ve waked together for so long…perhaps they knew every inch along this sand…or perhaps they gave each other silent signals as they held each other’s hand.

Whatever the reason, to me, the beauty of the beach that day was thoroughly enhanced…for this couple did not just walk together on the sand…they danced.

Suddenly a flock of birds circled overhead…just out of our reach…and I felt blessed to watch a murmuration in the sky…and another on the beach.

And I wondered…were these birds heading in this direction or was it purely by chance…and seeing this older couple decided to join them in their dance.

After watching the sunset…the beach was deserted…we found ourselves alone…so I immediately took Deborah’s hand in mine…to dance a murmuration of our own.

It is something I’ll never forget…how we bathed in the beauty and the wonder nature can create…and how, following in an old couple’s footprints, 

we learned it only takes two…to murmurate.

HOME

 

I was brought up thinking that our house was where the mailbox had our name…and like everyone in my family…our house and our home…were the same.

It’s where we laughed and cried…where around the dinner table we sat…but as I’ve aged I’ve come to realize…home is much more than that.

A house is just a house…floors, room and walls with a roof above…but what makes a house a home is when it’s filled with love.

Since love is not restricted to one place…it has the ability to roam…I now understand that many of us…live their lives in mobile homes.

Because as long as we are blessed with family…a family whose love is strong…then anywhere we go…we take our home along.

When we’re driving in our car…a car made of metal and rubber and chrome…whether it’s just the two of us or our children or grandchildren in the back seat…our Subaru feels like home.

When we celebrate a birthday at a restaurant…have a picnic under a sky of blue

as we talk and laugh together…it feels like home, too.

When we see a movie together…taking up an entire row in the hippodrome…as I sit there surrounded by family…the theater feels like home.

And when we ring our son who lives across the country…when we talk to him on the phone…even though we’re standing 600 miles apart…it feels like he’s home.

Yes, our house is certainly important to us…but as has been proven to me time and time again…I don’t need walls, a room a roof…for wherever I may roam…

wherever I have family…

wherever I have their love…

then that’s where I call home.

MEMORY LAKE

 

I love swimming in the lake of my memories…closing my eyes and diving in headfirst…and bringing with me to the surface…memories submersed.

Take yesterday for instance…I dove in on a whim…and ended up, of all places, where memories of our granddaughter swim.

The memory of the day she was born…I remember the feeling of joy…

that we finally had a girl grand child…after the wonder of three boys.

The memory of the day when they all slept over on our floor…a memory I shall forever keep…not knowing where’d she be in the morning because she traveled in her sleep.

The memory of the day when she was older…just a couple of years later

when she found a comfortable place to sit…inside our refrigerator.

Yes, our granddaughter…who starts high school next year and is now almost as tall as me…I found the memory of the first time I bounced her on my knee.

As I dried myself off of these memories I found myself hoping one day she’ll understand…how important are my memories of when she’d run up and hold my hand….

As I stood upon the shoreline of my lake…I had to smile as I suspect…

there are moments in her lake…where our memories intersect.

And I’d like to think as we are swimming…in our memories…separately

that every now and then…for a brief moment…we share a memory.

For as wonderful as it is to make a memory…nothing can be compared….

to a memory that was made together…that forever will be shared

AFTER THE RAIN

 

I looked outside one morning as the day had just begun to see a grey sky overhead….dark clouds blotting out the sun.

Sadness seemed to blanket everything at the beginning of this day…the world seemed smaller…more confining as a storm was on its way.

Soon the sadness that had filled the clouds dropped to the Earth in rain…and I thought why the weather can change my mood…is difficult to explain.

Sometimes the rain makes me happy as I remember playing in it with Mom and Dad…other times when I am missing them…the raindrops make me sad.

The storm completed its visit around noon…and again…it’s difficult to explain how the sadness I was feeling…departed with the rain.

Once the skies cleared and I could see the sun would be shining for a while…it’s as if the sun took any sadness I was feeling…and replaced it with a smile.

What is this strange phenomenon I thought….what is the weather trying to say…perhaps that, in our life, there will be storms along the way.

And when a storm brings sadness…as some storms often do…It’s okay to be sad…knowing when the storm is through…

the clouds will break…the sun will shine…and happiness will return…

Perhaps this is the lesson the weather wants us all o learn.

That yes, we will experience storms…but eventually all storms wane…

And we must decide if our life is to be guided by the sun…

or determined by the rain.

THE RECEIPT

 

They walked into the bookstore…a young girl and her mother

and as they browsed throughout the store they held hands with one another.

I love the innocence of the young for wherever they chose to look

The little girl asked, “Mom can I have this puzzle…Mom, can I have this book.”

She asked for every book she saw…everything under the sun 

and after negotiating for a while…they narrowed it down to one.

When they arrived at the counter they were smiling…still holding hands with one another…they held in their other hands two books…one for the little girl…one for the mother.

I rang them up and I asked the mother, as I always do, when they were ready to go

if she wanted a receipt to which she smiled and answered…”No”.

But then the little girl spoke up…in a voice both innocent and sweet

“If it’s okay with you” she asked, “could I have the receipt?”

“Certainly.” I said as I watched the smiles on their faces unfurl

when I handed the two books to the mother and the receipt to the little girl.

What a wonderful moment for me…what a wonderful treat…

as I watched that little girl smile while repeating….“This is my very first receipt.”

The mother smiled at her daughter then glanced back and gave me a look

“She seems more excited about the receipt,” she said, 

“than she is about her book.”

And I had to smile as immediately my brain turned back all my internal clocks

to a time when we bought our son the perfect birthday present

and that present spent the day untouched while he played inside the box.

I hope some day this memory will stir…perhaps triggered by someone they meet…

of the time her mother bought her a book…but all she wanted was the receipt.