Tea

Tea and kluntje isn’t the same without milk, but it’s still pretty good.

We always drank tea with milk and kluntje growing up, usually at family get-togethers. Tea is comfort. Tea is family. Tea is home.

I’m drinking my tea with kluntje this afternoon and wishing I had some milk to go with it. It’s strong tea. German tea. It has a robust flavor when brewed properly, but I let mine steep too long today. It tastes almost…bitter.

Twenty-five years ago today, my mom passed away. I miss her every day. I wish that I could call her for advice. I wish that I could call her to ask about her day. I wish that I could remember her. I wish I had some milk for my tea.

It would be easy to become like my tea – dark and bitter. And for a while, I was. But as I sit here drinking my tea, wishing things were different, I’m reminded that even in the depths of darkness, there is still sweetness to be found. The cracked and broken shards of kluntje fill my mouth with sweetness. They’re strong, those remnants – they withstood the boiling tea.

The survived – and so did I.

I still miss my mom – I always will. But, like my tea, I am strong; I am robust. Like my tea, I can still bring comfort and joy. Like my kluntje, life has changed me – it has bent me, but it has not broken me. The hot water has worn me down, smoothed my rough edges, but it hasn’t melted me completely.

And I refuse to let it.

(c) 2019. All rights reserved.

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Transcribing memories

20170112_222829I saw this week’s Discover Challenge post about transcribingmemory about a day after I had discovered the site for myself. Being a huge fan of diaries, and having kept diaries of my own since I was eight, I knew this was a challenge I could have a lot of fun with. I may not be nearly as devoted to my diaries as I was before I had kids, but I do still write in them every now and then, and this challenge provided me with the kick in the pants I needed to sit down and read through some of my old, old, OLD writing once again.

20170112_212507I learned a few things from reading my old diaries, like…

Fred and Stanley and Me

You and me and Stanley
Make three. Or maybe two, or four,
Or seven or more.

Measure twice, cut once,
Keep it straight, don’t fuss.

Sand it down,
Paint it up,
Let it dry and wrap it up.

Merry Christmas, happy birthday.
Need a lift?
Nothing says, “I love you!”
Like a handmade gift.

If you liked today’s poem, there’s more where it came from! Check out Tuesday Daydreams and A Song for All Seasons for more of my poetic ramblings. Happy April!

(c) 2016. All rights reserved.

Big

Girl meets boy. Girl woos boy with her Star Trek knowledge. Girl falls on ice, and boy catches her. Boy asks girl to marry him, and girl loses her voice. History. Made. Memories made. Love made.

loverocks

Love: Small word. Big concept.

(c) 2016. All rights reserved.

Memories and feelings

If you haven’t read Justine Manzano’s post about regrets and Facebook memories, go read it. Now. Without it, the following probably won’t make a whole lot of sense.

Read it? Good.

Her words about how “Facebook Memories are equal parts fun and annoying” sound so, so familiar. Mostly, I really enjoy seeing my Facebook memories because I’ve always tried to be very positive online. But sometimes even the happy memories remind me of a sad time (my youngest son’s birth, for example, was equal parts joyous and terrifying).

I’ll see all that positivity when I’m feeling down and think, “Why can’t I be more like that now? I used to be so positive. What happened?”

The thing about trying to wear such a positive face on the web, though, is that all the smiles sometimes make you see things through rose-colored glasses. You forget all the negative stuff that was going on way back when and how it affected you at the time. How it made you more of a black rain cloud than a ray of sunshine. After all, if everything looks so great, it must have really been that way, right?

It’s on the internet – it must be true.

And then…

Dishwasher memories

wpid-rocky-and-bullwinkle.jpgOur new house is considerably smaller than our old house, especially the kitchen.  There’s no dishwasher and a lot less counter space, so I had to do dishes yesterday morning by hand; the lack of dish-stacking space required I do them in two batches.  The boys were watching The Little Mermaid in the living room and “Under the Sea” drifted into the kitchen, calling to mind the ants from Garfield and Friends (I know, my mind makes weird connections sometimes).  While I was drying the first half of the dishes and humming along, I got to thinking.

It’s a dangerous pastime.   I know. 😀