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Monday, August 31, 2009

We're all here for a family reunion . . .


Here we are . . . 

gathered together again . . .
on this . . . 

our Reunion Day.
 

Reminiscing 
and laughing 
and crying . . .
about all of our yesterdays.

Those special times . . . 

we vow ne'er to forget . . .
as the years . . . 

how they seem to fly.
 

And our precious loved ones . . . 
so sorely missed . . .
as one-by-one . . . 

they have said, "good-bye."

But for now . . . 

I believe they are with us . . .
and if we could hear them . . . 

perhaps they would say,
 

"May the circle once again be unbroken . . .
on this . . . Our Reunion Day."

And as we travel on . . . 

through life's unknown days . . .
may we anticipate that day up in Heaven,
 

When we'll all gather 'round . . . 
and once again hear them say . . .

"We're all here for a Family Reunion!"





 

P.S. I vaguely remember being inspired to pen these words by something I read . . . somewhere. While Googling parts of the above poem, the poem posted > HERE < is the only thing similar that came up.




Monday, August 17, 2009

I've been taking pictures all my life, even before I had a camera.




"I've been taking pictures all my life,
even before I had a camera."


Sabrina Fairchild in the 1995 remake of Sabrina


Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Ghosts of forgotten memories


Alex Haley is often quoted as having likened the death of an old person to the burning of a library . . . such a tragic loss of the many and varied pages and chapters of the assorted books of a unique life . . . and even more so if others have not listened to and remembered and memorialized the stories . . . then they just vanish . . . like ghosts of forgotten memories . . .


Remembering . . . Alexander Palmer Haley . . . born 11th August 1921 in Ithaca, New York . . . died 10th February 1992 in Seattle, Washington . . .






Monday, August 3, 2009

Inspiration . . . will feed your soul . . .




Inspiration is not just some flight of fancy.
It is the air you breathe;
the water you gulp down when you are thirsty;
the bread that fills your belly.
The process and products of your creative work
will feed your soul, if you let them.

Molly Anderson-Childers