frog music

the girl child says, “today, this moment, it truly feels like fall”

and time is passing whether I want it to or not

seasons changing, moments moving, people living

and dying

and grieving

and smiling

and the leaves begin to drift from the trees


their colors are slowly fading

one last vibrant moment

before falling

and I gaze into a treeless wood

sunlight kissing bits of earth for the first time

since spring


I am weary of it all

this changing

this carousel of seasons

and yet it must happen

fall will come

and winter

and the flowers will freeze and die


and I will set new ones out


the ground will no longer welcome bare toes and

the sun will no longer cause me to shed my skin

I will hibernate as the bear

tucked away next to a fire or

under a blanket

I have chosen to cherish

made by another’s hands


time to plant the pansies

just as my Granny did

this time each year

time to cook the soups

and the cornbread and sop

up the pot liquor

and wear socks on my feet

just to stay warm


as I turn out the lights and listen to the quiet

I hesitate–

the quiet

too quiet

ahh, summer is leaving

and I shall miss the

frog music

most of all



May They Never Not See

I’m not here to argue the Second Amendment.  If you’re looking for that battle, head over to Facebook or any other social media and you won’t have to look long to find someone who will take the side opposite yours and debate the merits of their side for hours…..and days.

So this is not about that.  We don’t have to agree, okay?

This is about folks carrying their weapons.  In plain view.

I’m not going to argue about whether that’s right or wrong either.  I’m not there.

What this is about is, as usual, my emotions when I saw the gun, and more importantly, my children’s reactions.

The first time I saw someone carrying–and not concealed and not a police officer or peace officer or any kind of officer–was in our favorite barbecue restaurant.  (I was getting catfish, but that’s another story.)  The man came in and sat down at the table cater-cornered from us.  He added a salad bar on to his meal so he was up and down.  Which drew all of our attention.  My children were all bug-eyed.  In the interest of having good manners, I insisted they look away and lower their voices as they asked me “Why?” and “Is there a bad guy in here?”  Their worried faces and voices worried me.  And made me sad.  I know people carry concealed weapons.  But still, it was a shock to my system to see a weapon out in the open like that without a badge accompanying it.  I tried not to let my shock show in front of my children, but yeah.  It was there.

Yesterday, after an *ahem* incident with my phone being dropped and not working, we were at the store where I have a protection plan, testing out just how good the plan was.  My littles and I were standing at the counter for quite a while, waiting for the service to first be approved and then completed.  As we stood waiting, people came and went at the customer service register next to us.  Then I saw him.  A man with a gun in a holster on his right hip.  Within reaching distance, quite close, of my little guy.  Cooter turned to me with his eyes bugging out of his head.  I shook mine and moved us a little further away.  Fortunately, the man wasn’t there long.  I had to answer questions again about why and what was going to happen in the store.  *sigh*

I am not gun-ignorant but I’ll admit I’m not overly savvy either.  I’ve known folks who carried their guns in racks in their trucks.  I’ve had an aunt who tucked a gun in her purse for protection. My point is, I’ve seen guns before.

But not like this.

I think what troubles me the most is there are countries, neighborhoods where children would not blink an eye at guns in plain sight.  There are countries where guns are expected to be out in the open, and children duck and go on their way when they hear gunfire.  Where the person not carrying a weapon openly is in the minority.

Oh y’all.

I have no answers tonight.  Just fear.  I fear that my children will become accustomed to seeing these weapons out in the open, and one day their eyes won’t even really see them, they won’t bug out, and the questions won’t follow.  It will be the norm.  That’s what I fear.

For some reason tonight, I have a hankering to watch “Andy Griffith,” where the sheriff didn’t even carry a gun and the deputy’s gun and bullet were carried separately.

It’s not the guns–it’s what they represent.  That there is seemingly a more pressing need for them, such that they need to be carried openly.  And often.

Remember I said last night I’m needing some balance in my life?  I’m also hoping for some peace.  In my heart, in my home, in my world.

Love to all.



Sunday Drives and Other Ways of Doing

Saturday night.  Almost Sunday.

A shift in the mindset is about to happen.

It does every Saturday night, but this one in particular.  I’ve been thinking all week about what has happened to the Sunday traditions I was raised with.

It started last Sunday when my phone rang around 10:30 in the morning.  It was a real number–meaning that it didn’t show “Unknown Caller” or a 1-800 number on the caller ID.  So I answered it even though I didn’t recognize it.  Sometimes I throw caution to the wind like that.  Don’t get excited though, it’s not very often.


“Yes, hello.  I’m so and so and I’m calling for this agency which raises funds for this group of people and we can really use your support because it’s important to us and your support allows us to continue to exist which totally betters your life as a matter of fact we don’t know if you’re aware, but life without this organization would be totally unbearable, so—-”

Okay it was something like that.  I’m not quoting him verbatim here. 

“Ummm, I’m sorry.  Ummmm.” Calmly, Tara.  Be kind.  “I’m sorry, are you aware it’s Sunday?  Sunday morning?”  I paused.  “This just isn’t a good time.”

“Oh ma’am I’m sorry.  I’m not a part of the organization, I work for the group who does the fundraising, so please don’t be upset with the organization.”

I ended the call with suggesting to this man that while I realize he is trying to make a living, perhaps he should tell his supervisor that Sunday morning is not a good choice of times to call people.


Frankly, I was shocked.  I thought that Sundays, especially Sunday mornings were considered sacred and respected, pretty much across the board, whether folks were church goers or not.  The unwritten do’s and do not’s of the day so to speak.  I guess not so much anymore.

Growing up we weren’t always involved in a church. So for different periods of our lives our Sunday mornings were free.  During the springs and summers, if we hadn’t gotten it all done on Saturday or if we’d been otherwise occupied or if the weather had been off, the grass would still need mowing on Sunday.  If it were any other day of the week, Daddy would wait only long enough for the dew to dry up and then head out as soon as possible after, so it wouldn’t be too hot for the job at hand.  But not on Sundays.  He didn’t let us start that mower up one minute before noon, and he never did either.  I always thought it was out of respect for the other folks who lived nearby, but maybe it was his way of tipping his hat to how he was raised.  Much like my “no doing laundry on New Year’s Day.”  A tradition continued out of respect for our past and our people.

We didn’t go to the store on Sunday unless we absolutely needed something.  And if we did happen to go (always after the morning church hours), we sure didn’t tell our Granny.  Sunday was the Sabbath, and things like that would have upset her greatly.  Or so I grew up believing.

Sunday was the day Mama often fried chicken for dinner.  It was a quiet day.  (Well I guess not for her, bless her.) We might read or finish up homework or watch the Sunday afternoon movie on one of the local channels.  Some Sundays might find us taking a drive…..and winding up at my Granny’s for a visit.  It’s what we did.  And by evening, it was either potluck night or I made waffles on the old waffle iron.  Waffle nights.  Those are good memories.  I even made up my own recipe for peach syrup out of the peaches we’d frozen the previous summer.

Okay, pardon me while I wipe the drool off my keyboard.

I am not judging those who do not take their Sundays “off.”  There are folks who have no choice.  Their job might require them to work that day.  Or they might have something that needs doing and it cannot wait another day at all.  Even the Good Book addresses those situations, when Jesus told some folks that sometimes things just need doing on a Sunday, and that’s okay. **

I am not judging the man who called me last Sunday.  He was, after all, doing his job.  I am just wondering, in a curious sort of way, where we are heading.  I actually rather like the inconvenience of not being able to get a meal at one of our favorite places on a Sunday.  And not being able to shop at the craft store.  Or the on-line yard sale site.  Or our favorite used book store.  All those things suggest this day is different from all the others.  Set apart.  I like not calling folks early or knocking on doors before noon.  Sometimes the old ways make sense.  And they help us take care of ourselves.

Tomorrow is Sunday.  I’m going to try to slow down a bit and remember what that means.  We’ve come a long way from the days when the constable could penalize you if he caught you working on the Sabbath. (We watched the Revolutionary War period movie “Johnny Tremain” on Friday.  Intense.)  And yet, I do hope we don’t go too far in the other direction.  I don’t think we were made to fill up each one of our days with someTHING to do or someplace to be.

Sometimes it can’t be helped.  But when it can…..

I think we might take a Sunday drive tomorrow.  And maybe, just maybe, I might pull out that waffle iron.

Love and a restful Sunday to you all.


**Luke 14:4-6  They were silent. So he took the man, healed him, and sent him on his way. Then he said, “Is there anyone here who, if a child or animal fell down a well, wouldn’t rush to pull him out immediately, not asking whether or not it was the Sabbath?” They were stumped. There was nothing they could say to that.

**Matthew 12:11-14  He replied, “Is there a person here who, finding one of your lambs fallen into a ravine, wouldn’t, even though it was a Sabbath, pull it out? Surely kindness to people is as legal as kindness to animals!” Then he said to the man, “Hold out your hand.” He held it out and it was healed. The Pharisees walked out furious, sputtering about how they were going to ruin Jesus.