Dear John,

In my dreams, I meet you in warm conversation.  You wrap your arm around my neck, pull me in and kiss my forehead.  I can feel your warm breath on my skin and I look up at you and you smile that smile.  You say nothing.  You don't need to.  I am safe. Happy.

But we both wake up in lonely beds, in different houses.

Time is taking its sweet time erasing you. You've got your demons, and, Darling, they all look like me.

I memorized your face like the words to my old favorite song.  Remembering you comes in echoes.  Moving on is impossible when I still see it all in my head, burning red.

I let it fall, my heart.  And as it fell, you rose to claim it.  My hands, they're strong but my knees were far too weak to stand in your arms, without falling to your feet. 

The playful conversation starts, I counter all your quick remarks, like passing notes in secrecy.  Now, I'm pacing back and forth wishing you were at my door.  I'm wonder-struck. I'll spend forever wondering if you knew just how enchanted I was to meet you.

Never a kiss nor a touch.  How can one be affected this much?  Behind every lyric you stand, every word I write that will never be read.  The mind is a canvas for what it wants to paint.  Your heart only remembers what it desires to.  But truth be known, it was real. You were there. I was here. Autumn leaves were falling down like pieces into place, and I can still picture it after all these days.

Time won't fly, it's like I'm paralyzed by it.  I'd like to be my old self again, but I'm still trying to find it.  I lived in your chess game, but you changed the rules everyday, wondering which version of you I might get on the phone each night.  There's a side to you that I never knew.  All things you said, they were never true. And the games that you played, you would always win.

Please forgive me for my sins.  Yes, I swam dirty water, but you pushed me in.  Now you will add my name to your long list of traitors who don't understand.

And I'll forget about you long enough
To forget why I needed to...

So casually cruel in the name of being honest.

 I'm a crumpled up piece of paper lying here,
'Cause I remember it all....all too well.

Thank you, Sir!

This morning on my way to work, hunger got the best of me and I was craving a greasy, fattening sausage biscuit for breakfast.  I had enough time to stop, so I pulled into the fast food joint next to work.  There are two entrances to the parking lot and as I pulled in, I noticed two other cars pulling into the parking lot from the other entry way.  Myself and the other car pulled up relatively at the same time and the end of the line.  He was a man my age, in a little sports car.  Behind him was an elderly man in an nicely kept, older model truck.  The younger man and I tried inching our way into the line at the same time and it was apparent that he wasn't letting me cut in.  I wondered where his manners were and assumed his hunger got the best of him or perhaps he was just rude.  So, I check the clock and decide I will sit back and wait for an easy opening and get in the back of the line.  The cars pull up and I sit there, letting the elderly man move up.  He smiled and motioned for me to go in front of him.  I waved, smiling, and pulled up, ordered my biscuit and waited to pay.  Clearly, the difference between this generation and the ones previous.  I wanted to get out and tell that elderly man how much I appreciated his gesture and not let it go unspoken but didn't want to seem crazy.  As I pulled up to pay, it hit me!  I asked the cashier if could pay for his meal and she grinned saying "Yes Ma'am, of course!"  She rang us both up and I pulled out and headed to work.  His order was only $2.58 but it was worth much more than that to me.  I hope he realized how much this woman appreciates manners and politeness, no matter how small the action, because I see it less and less these days.  That's the first time I've ever paid for a strangers meal before and given the opportunity again to return a kindness such as today, I would most likely do it again.  You never know when kindness will be returned to you, so it is best to show it all the time.  You never know when you may get a free meal from doing so!

Today in a nutshell.....

Now I'm standing alone in a crowded room and we're not speaking,
And I'm dying to know is it killing you like it's killing me, yeah?

How'd we end up this way?
See me nervously pulling at my clothes and trying to look busy,
And you're doing your best to avoid me.

I'm starting to think one day I'll tell the story of us,
How I was losing my mind when I saw you here,
But you held your pride like you should've held me.

I'd tell you I miss you but I don't know how,
I've never heard silence quite this loud.

This is looking like a contest,
Of who can act like they care less,
But I liked it better when you were on my side.

The battle's in your hands now,
But I would lay my armor down
If you said you'd rather love than fight.

I'd tell you I miss you but I don't know how,
I've never heard silence quite this loud.

Now I'm standing alone in a crowded room and we're not speaking.
And I'm dying to know, Is it killing you like it's killing me?

Lyrics by Taylor Swift

Cooking with Estelle

My Granny cooked for her family three times a day, seven days a week.  Fried eggs, sausage, had homemade strawberry jam & apple butter on handmade biscuits for breakfast.  Spam & tomato sandwiches for lunch. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, another round of handmade biscuits at dinner.  She always had a tin full of brownies and a lemon pound cake or yellow cake with chocolate icing on the table.  She was in the kitchen 90% of her day, always wore an apron over her house dress, her long grey hair neatly wrapped into a bun, secured with hair net.  She was advanced in age when I was a child, as my father was her baby of eight children.  I loved visiting her.  She did not overindulge with words, though she would tell a story from her younger days from time to time.  I would sit at the table and watch her, for what seemed like hours.  She seemed to work nonstop, effortlessly. 

I can't recall if I always ate all her lemon pound cake, which forced her to make another, or if she just always waited until I was there with her to make one.  But that is a process that I remember and cherish with all my heart.  She had a certain pan she baked it in and she had a small baking tin for me. I loved that little tin.  She would have me grease it with Crisco and flour it.  She would leave just enough batter for me to fill up my little tin.  I would patiently sit and watch those little cakes rise and bake to sweetened perfection.  She always dabbed a little bit of icing on them for me.  It was pure magic. 

When the time came for our family to sort & divide her belongings,  I hadn't stepped foot in her house for far too long.  I was in my early twenties then and hadn't baked anything in that kitchen, regretfully, for several years.  I had no idea if I would be able to find that little tin.  The fear of being disappointed was nearly overwhelming.  I remember walking into the kitchen that smelled & looked the same, although the heart of that kitchen was gone.  I nervously walked over to the stove, pulled open the bottom drawer, and there it was waiting there just for me.  My heart smiled. 

I've had that tin in my kitchen for years now.  Last week, I made cupcakes for my son's class and I pulled out that tin and handed it to him.  I have been setting him on the counter top beside me since he could sit up on his own while I prepared the meals for my family.  He saw that little baking tin and said "Is this for me?"  I smiled at his smile.  We sprayed Pam on it, rather than greasing it up with Crisco, he held the mixer and spooned out enough batter to fill those little cups.  He watched as those little cakes bake into that sweetened perfection, just as I did many years before.  I pulled them out of the oven, popped the little cakes out, dabbed a little bit of icing and we gobbled them up as fast as we could! 

I told Brody of the story behind that tin and he grinned.  I knew my Granny was in the kitchen with us that day.  She always is.  So many memories made in a kitchen, past and present.  So thankful to share something like that with my son.  I don't have an expensive house or jewelry but that little tin is worth more to me than any of those things.  That is my childhood, some of the warmest, happiest times I shared with my Granny in her kitchen, now I am sharing with my own child in ours.