A crack in the wall

 She felt a cold breeze, knowing it was the crack in the kitchen wall that she had been going to fix and hoping her grandson would stop by and take care of it for her. But he was a busy young man who didn't have much time anymore, as she sighed, putting on her sweater. She missed her husband, who passed away five years ago now, and not a day passes when she doesn't think about him. He was the handy one, always fixing something around the house, and he loved it. His metal toolbox still sits in the corner of the kitchen where it's been all these years. How crazy must she seem to find herself speaking to it as if it were him? 

Isn't it strange how we can remember the smallest details in everyday moments, but when those details are removed, our life is like looking through broken glass? 

A few days later, her grandson showed up and repaired the crack in the wall using his grandpa's tools from the metal toolbox he once used. Seeing him holding the same tools her love once held brought a tear to her eyes. She reached into her apron pocket and took out a ten-dollar bill to give to her grandson, but he refused, asking only for a piece of pie. How do you know I have pie, she asked. Because you always have pie, he answered. They sat at the kitchen table, the same place he and his grandpa sat, and talked about almost everything a kid wanted to talk about. She looked at him with his grandpa's wavy black hair and smiling eyes. It was as if he was sitting here with them, eating pie and laughing together at what he used to do and say that made him so special in their lives.

With the pie eaten and the dirty plate in the sink, he kissed her cheek and gently pulled away from her grip, assuring her he'd be around more often.

She watched out of her kitchen window as he drove down the driveway in the truck his grandpa left to him. He blew the horn, waving until he was out of sight.

The cold draft was fixed, but she kept her sweater on because it was the one her husband gave her on her birthday many years ago. She guessed shed wash the plate in the sink with no crumb remaining. How many plates had she washed? How many dinners were cooked? Her entire life now reaches for memories before they disappear into the darkness. But she has many, and at her age, she's confident they'll be with her for her forever.

                                                                              

Mike 2024                                                 

lost Veterans

 It was cold outside, with tiny snowflakes barely reaching the ground. The streets were quiet, and the only sound was that of a city bus on its final run. The storefront windows thrilled its last shoppers, two young lovers' arms wrapped around each other to keep warm as they talked about future holidays together.

The bells of St. Mary's tolled twelve times, reminding us of the true meaning of this Christmas Eve as people arrived and found a seat. Candles were lit for souls gone before us, and prayers asking for forgiveness silently passed through the crowd.

Now, deep into the night, children everywhere sleep with dreams of Christmas morning, and the streets are empty except for a lone figure walking towards someplace unknown but feeling at peace as the incense still lingered on his coat and the words of the priest repeated themselves with each step he took.

He grew tired and found a bench to rest on as the night grew colder and a North wind froze everything it touched. A million thoughts crossed his mind as he remembered his younger years when life was good, and happiness filled his life with the love of family and friends.

They found him on Christmas morning frozen to death, and nobody thought the frozen tears on his face meant anything except to him. He was just another unfortunate soul down on his luck alone at Christmas who died of a broken spirit and lonely heart.

There were no whiskey bottles or crack pipes, no wallet or credit cards, just a crinkled one-dollar bill and a small wooden cross around his neck. The church took care of arrangements that nobody attended, and he was laid to rest in a pauper field alongside others who passed into the night and were forgotten.

Too many veterans suffer in one way or another as their world is seen through their eyes only. They are broken and need our help to return home and leave the carnage of battle behind them. My heart cries out to all of our veterans who didn't know how to leave the fighting behind them and, for reasons only known to them, just wanted to be left alone to walk the streets in search of the unknown.

Mike  2024                                        

Thanksgiving 2024

 Look around the table. What do you see? There are fewer kids at the children's table and two fewer settings than last year, as we remember those gone before us. Not too often we have so many relatives and good friends gathered here, but it does the heart good, even if visits are few and far between. It's a noisy room as siblings catch up on news from their towns and cities. Elder folks talk about times past and how the food has remained a tribute to grandparents keeping the old traditions alive.

The older sons helped set up the tables, putting in the leaves to accommodate everyone expected to show up. The girls polished the good silver, which was only brought out on special occasions. But in the kitchen, the real magic happened. Three generations of ladies had a job, and the mood was festive and heartfelt, along with a bottle of red wine. 

Snack trays were put out with mountains of crackers, five different cheeses, and sweet midget pickles that the kids grabbed when nobody was watching. 

When the doorbell rang, everybody went to the door to welcome a weary traveler who took the Red Eye to arrive in time or a distant cousin whose last-minute decision to attend this year was greeted with cheers. Soon, the house was packed with laughter and endless conversation as the wait was over and dinner was served.

An uncle whose age wasn't really known but was thought to be in the nineties, give or take, said Grace as heads were bowed and hands held. He liked to go on and would if his great-grandaughter hadn't cleared her throat and said, "Amen, let's eat."

The entire meal was beyond expectations, and when asked who wanted dessert, most said they needed a little while to let dinner settle. Men and boys retired to the living room and a football game while others cleared the table and began putting leftovers in Tupperware containers for those with miles to return home.

A while later, dessert was served, with an assortment of pumpkin and sweet potato pies, peach cobbler, strawberries with whipped cream, assorted cookies, and Grama's homemade fudge. As the day grew longer and the November air chilled, hot coffee and hot chocolate were served, and small talk replaced loud welcomes and cheers.

The next day, everyone who stayed over helped with the long family tradition of decorating the Christmas tree, eating leftovers, and cherishing the little time they spent together.

I hope your traditions live on with your family and friends, just as I know mine will.

                                    HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

Mike  2024                                                               

Broken heart

 Now I know what it means to have a broken heart. There will be no more walks on the beach or candlelight dinners, no more sleeping late on Sunday, and no more reading the newspaper together and sipping coffee on a rainy morning.

No more stolen kisses in the grocery store, no more Saturday date nights, and no more holding hands while walking down the streets of autumn colors. No more you and me, just me alone with an emptiness that chokes my every breath and weakens my every step.

There are no words to express a broken heart, just the darkness where there once was light and the emptiness that once was full.

Mike 2024                                                        

Clouded glasses

 There is no more genuine love than that for a child. From the innocence of a smile to the wonders of a world yet to be discovered, every moment is a time for growth, reaching out to arms that embrace them, needed or not.

A child can always keep your attention, taking you miles away from your worries and keeping you in the moment with a silly face. They can teach you more than you teach them, leaving you with smiles etched in your memories forever.

With every passing year, you grow older, watching them blossom into amazing people who can make you feel young again. As roles are reversed, you are cared for like you once cared for them.

Looking out through clouded glasses, you see what you remember from all the yesterdays shared and all the love given and received, and all you can do is hope for many more tomorrows.

Mike 2024                                        

Five colors

 He sat on the front porch, drifting somewhere but nowhere in particular. He did that a lot more frequently these days since she passed on to a place she believed in. For years, she tried to get him to join her for Sunday service, but he always came up with an excuse of one sort or another. He could see her in a Sunday dress, her hair neatly combed, and the bible in her hand that she was never too far away from. He buried it with her because she told him to, and he wasn't one to tell her otherwise.

The night air had a bite to it, so he went inside but wished he hadn't because all it did was remind him of her everywhere he looked. He roamed around from one room to another, seeing her sewing bag in a corner where she sat for hours making a blanket for a grandchild or a hat for him that he wore when it got cold enough, even if he felt a little silly in it with its five different colors.

He went into their bedroom, where everything was just the way she had it. He remembered so many times he'd sit on the edge of the bed, her reading, but put down the book to listen to him about one thing or another. They never solved any world problems, but they worked through many things in their world.

He hasn't slept in there since she passed. He couldn't lie there without her by his side, but when missing her got bad, he'd go in and sit at her dressing table, hold onto her perfume bottles, smell her hair in the brush, look into her mirror, and wonder why she had to go first.

When he closed his eyes, he saw her as plain as day, and they were dancing all around the living room to her favorite song, not a care in the world.

He didn't realize just how much he missed her, but the pain was real, and he doubted it would ever heal. He went through the motions of everyday life, going to the places they would go, each bringing a tear he didn't wipe away.

He grew older than he should have from eating his cooking, and not a second passed that he didn't miss hers. He supposed she was looking down at him, getting a few laughs at his culinary talents.

Three years was all he had left before he got called to be by her side again as his broken heart healed. Maybe she mended it with five different colors.

Mike 2024                                     

One love

 I was fortunate enough to have had one true love, someone who made the hair stand up on the back of my neck whenever they were near, the one whose kisses left a taste on my lips I prayed would never go away.

I was attracted to her like no other, although there were times in later life when I tried to find a love as true but never did and had to settle for second best. I know that's not fair, but I won't lie and say I didn't compare her to every woman I dated, lived with, and, in Two cases, married. None of them could ever take her place.

I loved her for a short time before she went to be with the angels, leaving me broken with an emptiness I still feel today decades later.

Her picture hangs on the wall in my study, a bit yellowed now, but her smile still shines through, and her perfect lips are worn away from my kisses, hoping to taste hers again.

I've come to accept the world's loss of such a beautiful person, but I can't accept why she had to go so young. Did she know I'd never be the same without her, and all I had were just memories to keep me from going insane?

It's been forty-some years that I've mourned her, and if I live to be one hundred, I'll mourn her even more.

Is there a bright side to this sorrow I've lived with? I believe there is. One day, I'll be called home and see her standing there, smiling at me with cherry-red lips, waiting to kiss mine. She said she'd been waiting for me for just a few moments, as heaven knows no time. And as she reached for my hand, my youth returned, and we were two teenagers in the deepest of love, walking together in eternity like we should have been doing on earth a very long time ago.

Mike 2024                                         

Writing in darkness

 He wrote by the light of candles. He said it was because he had to pay close attention to ensure his words made it to the paper rather than on the day's unread news. The candlelight chose a specific spot on his work, which was up to him to ensure it remained throughout the pages.

He wrote in silence, as the darkness of night was his favorite time to compose what he hoped would be worthy of his readers. The night was darkness, welcomed as most things slept, assuring him of the quiet he needed to grab hold of memories and other events he felt like sharing with perfect strangers.

Sometimes, he sat in that darkness for long periods when words stayed hidden, and his heart grew cold. No matter what he thought about, it wasn't worthy of telling, as wads of paper littered the floor and grew.

He tried to go back in time to where he felt most comfortable, and the thoughts came easier even though he had no idea where they came from.

Sometimes, that worked as if a switch was turned on, and words once again flowed.

Sometimes, as the sun began to rise, he knew what he had to do, so he snuffed out the candles and welcomed the light of day, the sounds of birds and lawnmowers, children at play, and life being lived. For now, he would enjoy the day, but in his mind, he longed for fresh candles and darkness to unleash a story.

Mike 2024                                                 

One last moment

 One last view of the forest. One last taste of the sea. One last amazing sunset before it's time to leave.

To hear a baby cry once more and one more time to dance. One more chapter in a book I can't leave to chance.

One more moment to hear the birds singing me to sleep, one more quiet memory belonging just to me.

One last time to tell you just how beautiful you are and one last time to kiss you, if only from afar.

One more precious second as the sun goes down to rest, I'll hold you in my arms and cry, knowing I was blessed.

Mike 2024                                       

A town forgotten

 In the distance, a car drove down a deserted street in a deserted town in a forgotten place. As he walked to the beat of snow crunching underfoot, he counted the light poles that still gave light and a traffic signal that stayed green for what seemed an endless amount of time.

He stopped in front of store windows that once a long time ago would be decorated for the holidays but are now boarded up, leaving him only his memories of time passed.

He sat on a bench where dozens of people would sit, waiting for the bus into the city. Where Initials in hearts were carved out, professing endless love that time once again forgot.

He lit up a smoke and watched as he blew smoke rings into the emptiness of the night, remembering days past when everyone seemed to smoke and never gave a second thought that they would kill you. After all, John Wayne smoked.

The sun would rise soon as he took one last walk through the town that time had forgotten. A drunk lay in a doorway of a closed drug store, his empty bottle beside him, and tomorrow, not promised.

At the edge of town, he stopped and looked back at where he grew up and the memories he made there. Now, it was just another whistle-stop he was passing through, hoping for a change but realizing he had just paid his last respects.

Mike 2024                               

    

Moments

 Some called him a storyteller, while others said he was a little outside the box. Whatever he was called, he did have a way with words, and he lived to write them down.

It all starts with a thought, a scent, maybe a song, and then his mind and heart take over. Like paring a fine wine with a tasteful dish, he carefully savors every word and begins to write.

There are times when hundreds of words attack his brain all at once, and it takes everything he has to capture them, arrange them in a sentence, a chapter, and the final product.

He often wonders when the words will stop and hopes he's one of the few who retains his memories and creativity until the moment of death when the final chapter is written, and everything stops or does it?

Mike 2024                                            

Veterans Day

 The sound of artillery fire haunts him to this day. The choking smoke of diesel fuel and the cries of fallen brothers broke him in ways only those who lived it could understand.

Cold steel was everywhere you touched, making you long for home and the softness of anything at all.

Like a lilypad floating on an endless sea, you forget what land felt like as you steam where you're needed, knowing it won't be good.

There is silence among your brothers trying to eat, but food isn't on your mind, and sleep only comes in spurts as the distant sound of the big guns sends ripples through the ship.

Weeks turn into months and months into more months with no word from home, leaving you with only memories to hold onto, along with a tattered photograph of the one you left behind.

Somewhere beyond your sight, a battle rages on, and men are dying, yelling for their mothers who watched them sail off so young and so scared.

It's your turn now as shells fly past you and a brother falls. Another strike and a gaping hole puncture the ship, and another brother cries in pain but can't be heard as more shells find their mark in the darkness of night.

Daylight brings support ships that shield us from further destruction and sinking to the ocean floor.

As we limp into port, an eerie silence fills the air as wounded are tended to, and shock is buried in your brain for as long as you live.

Like all battles, many are lost but never forgotten. The heroes of war don't feel like heroes; they are just thousands of warriors, some who made it home and some who didn't.

On this Veterans Day, stop for a minute and thank those who gave it all so we as a nation could live free and for those who will take their place on distant oceans, young and scared but ready to answer the call.

11-11-2024                                     

       

Mike

Small wooden box

 He had a small wooden box he kept in a drawer that he sometimes opened and traveled back in time to days long passed. With nimble fingers, he turned the pages of his life and remembered when things were simple and held great meaning.

He took out a box and removed the purple heart he received back when he was just twenty years of age and fighting for freedom. A sniper's bullet found its way to his leg and ended his time in the army, but he felt okay most days, and his limp was a constant reminder that freedom doesn't come easy.

He pulled out a picture of his wedding day, which had yellowed over time, and his beautiful bride, Marie. She was his nurse at the VA hospital, where he recovered from his wounds. It was love at first sight for him, but she needed a little more convincing.

The day he was discharged from the hospital, he promised her he'd come back carrying a dozen red roses and an engagement ring. He did, and she said yes. They had sixty years together, and when she passed, his heart broke into pieces he could never mend.

The next thing he removed from the box was a bag of marbles that belonged to their son, who left this world too young but filled their lives with joy and happiness every single day they had together. He wiped away the tears that always flowed when he held that bag of marbles.

There were letters from his wife she wrote to him in battle, sometimes taking months to reach him, but he didn't care because reading her words and smelling her perfumed envelopes got him through the darkness of war.

His son's baseball cap he never took off, a piece of rope he taught him to tie knots with, an old pitcher's mitt, and a pocket knife he thought every boy should have. They were his treasures in the old wooden box in an old dresser drawer under lock and key to preserve his memories, good and bad, happy and sad.

His wish was to be buried with the small wooden box so he would always be close to everyone and everything who gave his life meaning. On a cold and windy day, he was lowered into his final resting place next to his wife and son and his old wooden box that would join him on one final journey.

Mike 2024