This is about my dad's cousin, Jerrie Flesland Kyle who contracted polio at the age of ten and for the rest of her life walked with braces and often a wheelchair. She was bigger than life with a "can do" personality and a warm smile and kind word for all that she met. We would see her occasionally when our paths crossed at the Farm in Aitkin, Minnesota where we visited her parents, Blanche and Olaf Flesland...the farm my parents bought and later retired to. 

 

                       1929-1985

You crossed the window of my mind 

     yesterday and as soon 

   as I got home I took down  your

     forgotten  poetry

        book on my shelf.

Opening its pages I remembered

    you….your courage with polio

    your indomitable spirit

      and that huge smile.

I was transported back as a 

     child visiting Minnesota

 who looked at you as 

        a thing of wonder.

How could you be so happy, 

      While unable to walk unaided?

  I felt nothing but strength

   and warmth coming from you.

I, so able to run and skip and 

   jump was always grumbling

      about this problem or that.

But, you with legs that wouldn’t

    work carried yourself with 

           dignity and grace.

Thank you for the lessons…

   for the poetry on my shelf,

    for the painting on my wall

  and mostly for teaching me

  that no matter what might 

   hinder us, 

we can walk…

    and we can smile 

              and

      we can achieve our dreams. 

 

                                           A week in January
Jan. 23, 2021

The Franz kids have been staying here all week.

It’s been such a fun time as into their lives we got a peek.

Brennan, a Senior, busy with school all the day long,

Hayzel has lessons as well, but often breaks into song.

Ava, on the couch wakes up early to view her class,

Zoë in the basement, gets up late and works for her driver’s ed pass.

Gentzy is closeted in my office with clients on the phone.

They all rise from their areas once lunch is done.

They laugh and point at The Survivor and love each episode.

Once in a while they get excited and screams do explode. 

It’s crazy, it’s lovely and we wouldn’t change a thing.

These children so pleasant with love to our hearts do bring. 

                  My Husband 

 

I hear you moving in the kitchen lovingly making my meal

while I lay on the couch reading poems and you enjoy the rhythm of The Band on Alexa. 

I feel such love and adoration for those energetic meal making noises out there. 

You never question why; you just joyfully cut up onions,

Measure beans,

Slice up salad,

And I lay here dreaming of rainbows and books and artist dates 

And fall in love with you all over again. 

 

 Jan. 4, 2021

Woke up thinking about flowers for my birthday.....shall I ask Gentz or is he going to surprise me? Then I thought, well, I need a new runner for the table to set the flowers on  which then moved to I need a new table! When I sat down to write, this poem tumbled out. 

                      “Wantitis”

Will there be an end to wanting someday?

Or will I always wake up feeling this way?

Maybe the wants will change from tables to pens.

Or from a new sweater to a package of Depends!

Whatever the case wantitis seems to plague my mind.

Worrying that without these items I will be left behind.

Trying to keep up with the pictures, but unable to do so.

There is always something better that makes me feel low.

So, I’ll be content and look up instead of around.

Realizing that peace in things is never to be found.

I’ll just hope those flowers come in a pretty new vase

And happily set them in the usual old place. 

 

Jan. 5, 2021

 

     My 70th Birthday

 

My 70th birthday is here and I really must say!

I never gave much thought to seeing this day!!

I’ve always felt so young and have gone gadding about.

I’m healthy, I feel good; why I don’t even have any gout!

I remember my mother turning 70 so long ago.

We drove to Minnesota and surprised her in spite of the snow.

We hid our big van behind the garage at Becki’s log place.

When we all popped out it was so fun to see her face!

Years later, here I am at the very same age

Was I like she was when she reached this stage?

What will I do with this last part of my life?

I’m still a mother, gramma and of course Gentz’s wife.

I’m grateful the years have all piled up together

And he and I are still a team no matter the weather.

I’ll take whatever time I have left and learn what I can.

For there is much I don’t know about the ways of man. 

Mother was happy and healthy until almost ninety four.

I want to live that long before I walk through heaven’s door.

I’m thankful for the many blessings I have been given.

And need to remember them each day I am living. 

My children are precious, my grandchildren not a few.

I adore  each one who brings experiences so new.

I hope not to get tired and stop growing my mind.

For there are so many truths and treasures yet to find.

Yes, I’ve turned seventy and though a bit wrinkled and gray,

I’m thrilled to still be here and thank the Lord for each day.

Happy Birthday to me I will with others most gladly sing..

Smiling and grateful for all of life’s wonderful  things!

 

 December 10, 2020

I was looking at my Grandmother Jones' information on Family Search and found where I had posted her poignant poem about feeding one of her children (my dad was one of four) and her compassion for mothers who didn't have enough food for their little ones. It touched my heart as I really didn't know her that well since she died when I was 9 years old and since it might touch yours as well, I decided to post it.

                                                            Feast with Tears

A tender poem written by my paternal Grandmother Elma Faye Barr  (Jones )who lived from 1889-1960. She was a Methodist Minister’s wife and had four children…three boys and a girl. 

You moor your midget ship and on brown feet,

You run to me for something good to eat. 

There is cool milk, sweet butter for your bread,

Thick marmalade and apples - sunned and red.

I have brown meat to slice, and fragrant broth;

There is a feast to lay on red checked cloth!

I glance into your lifted, eager face

And fight with tears before I take my place.

Because, small son, I fancy how it would feel 

If I were to tell you I could set no meal;

How can they bear it, women who must say,

“Be still my child, there is no bread today.”

 November 2020

Watching the falling leaves out my window stirred  a few sweet memories of our children playing in leaves that I wanted to capture in poetry. 

                             Autumn leaves 

 

                          

I watch the autumn leaves lazily falling one by one

Floating to the ground in the light of the golden Sun.

They sway, they dance, they land upon the ground

Ever so gently never making the slightest sound.

 Yet when  I walk upon them and crunch them beneath my feet

They crackle and move and cause  me to feel so sweet

As memories of autumns now past rush thorough my mind,

Of Children jumping into raked piles and then so hard to find.

Their cheeks are filled with joy and redness of the chilly air

But they jump and swirl and hide without the slightest care.

These autumn leaves and children remind me that time passes quickly by

And soon it is winter where we are old and the leaves have all gone dry.

So, dance and swirl and play without a care falling into a heap.

For the winter winds soon will blow and the snow will be so deep

Covering any leaves that may have escaped the rake and left behind

But never forgetting their lovely descent and the joys of childish minds.