New Territory

Bride and groom, their quarrel
resolved, the mending begun
with softer words, moderate tones,
kisses hugs love promises.
Sensitive issues aired
bring deeper understanding.
The aftermath
a new territory.

— C. Goodnough

I offer this reply to the WordPress daily prompt and trust this little verse will strike a chord with readers. Relationships are a fascinating—and sometimes frustrating—learning ground. As they flourish, they take us a lot farther than we ever thought we’d be able to go. 🙂


The Bumps & Bruises Doctor

by Edgar Guest

I’m the bumps and bruises doctor;
I’m the expert that they seek
when their rough and tumble playing
leaves a scar on leg or cheek.
I’m the rapid, certain curer
for the wounds of every fall;
I’m the pain eradicator;
I can always heal them all.

Bumps on little people’s foreheads
I can quickly smooth away;
I take splinters out of fingers
without very much delay.
Little sorrows I can banish
with the magic of my touch’
I can fix a bruise that’s dreadful
so it isn’t hurting much.

I’m the bumps and bruises doctor
and I answer every call,
and my fee is very simple,
just a kiss and that is all.
And I’m sitting here and wishing:
in the years that are to be,
when they face life’s real troubles,
that they’ll bring them all to me.

Taken from the book
© 1916 by The Reilly & Britton Co.

Monday Morning and Life’s A Puddle

Bright and Early

Woke up at 4:30 this morning and I was AWAKE. Ordering myself to “Forget it,” I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but fifteen minutes later I concluded it was a lost cause. Besides, one can always blog. 🙂

Made myself some coffee and decided to wash up the few collected dishes. As I was standing at the kitchen sink my memory went back to the old Monday morning wash day. Back in the day, one of my favorite tasks was getting up early Monday morning and tackling “Mount Washmore,” as the FlyLady calls it. And I was thinking, “It’s a shame I dealt with all the laundry Saturday. Now I don’t even have one load to put in this morning.”

A minute later I looked down and found myself standing in a small puddle of water. My first thought was that I must have really sloshed, but then I saw water pooled in and dripping out of the kitchen sink cupboard as well. Apparently our kitchen tap, one of these combination gooseneck things that pulls apart to give you a sprayer, has given up the ghost and had leaked seriously around the join. My brain registered, “Grab rags —immediately!”

The water had spread around a fair bit, so I used a number of towels to sop it all up. They’re in the washer now. Does this serve me right for longing for the good old Monday morning washday. Oh, well, the cupboard got emptied and cleaned out, too. Last week I was making a start at doing a proper fall housecleaning, so this will just be part of the programme.

When Bob got up he tried tightening it at the joint (which is a screw together affair) so here’s hoping it will work okay now.

The hummingbird showed up just before 6 am, so I kept scaring him off coming and going from the rag cupboard and the washer. Maybe by now she’s come back and had her fill. The one bully male that policed the feeders and wouldn’t let the others near hasn’t been around since Wednesday, so I’m thinking he’s headed south already.

Our Daily prompt word today is expert so I’ll share a little tale I read one time:

A professional psychologist was constantly admonishing parents to “Love the child.” An expert in his field, the doctor encouraged all his clients and his neighbors as well, “Children need to be shown love and kindness.”

Then one day he had a new concrete pathway poured in his back yard. A few minutes later he looked out and saw a neighbor boy tromping through the wet concrete. He rushed out, grabbed the boy, and was about to give him a good cuff on the ear when a neighbor woman saw what was about to happen. She quickly shouted out her window, “Remember, doctor. Love the child.”

“To which he replied, “I do love him — in the abstract. But I DON’T love him in the concrete!”

Five Husbands.

I’ve been wanting to reblog this article by J S Park ever since I read it because it’s so worth sharing. (Caution: keep the tissue box handy.)

J.S. Park: Hospital Chaplain, Skeptical Christian

Part of my hospital chaplaincy duties is to write a reflection on how it’s going. Identities may be altered for privacy. All the writings are here.

The doctor tells him in one long breath, “Your wife didn’t make it, she’s dead.”

Just like that. Irrevocable, irreversible change. I’ve seen this so many times now, the air suddenly pulled out of the room, a drawstring closed shut around the stomach, doubling over, the floor opened up and the house caving in.

“Can I … can I see her?” he asks the doctor.

The doctor points at me and tells Michael that I can take him back. The doctor leaves, and Michael says, “I can’t yet. Can you wait, chaplain?” I nod, and after some silence, I ask him, “What was your wife like?” and Michael talks for forty-five minutes, starting from their first date, down to the very second…

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Home & Loved Ones

Today’s Daily Prompt asks how long we’ve spent apart from our favorite person. Well, I spent seventeen years apart from my husband. But I guess it was for the best, as I did have some serious growing up during those seventeen years. But then we met, were joined in Holy matrimony, and got on with married life. And we’ve been together almost 45 1/2 years now.  🙂

Edgar Guest has written some terrific verses about the joys of home. Here’s one of them:

The Path that Leads to Home

The little path that leads to home,
That is the road for me,
I know no finer path to roam,
With finer sights to see.

With thoroughfares the world is lined
That lead to wonders new,
But he who treads them leaves behind
The tender things and true.

Oh, north and south and east and west
The crowded roadways go,
And sweating brow and weary breast
Are all they seem to know.

And mad for pleasure some are bent,
And some are seeking fame,
And some are sick with discontent,
And some are bruised and lame.

Across the world the gleaming steel
Holds out its lure for men,
But no one finds his comfort real
Till he comes home again.

And charted lanes now line the sea
For weary hearts to roam,
But, oh, the finest path to me
Is that which leads to home.

‘Tis there I come to laughing eyes
And find a welcome true;
‘Tis there all care behind me lies
And joy is ever new.

And, oh, when every day is done
Upon that little street,
A pair of rosy youngsters run
To me with flying feet.

The world with myriad paths is lined
But one alone for me,
One little road where I may find
The charms I want to see.

Though thoroughfares majestic call
The multitude to roam,
I would not leave, to know them all,
The path that leads to home.


From the book Collected Verse of Edgar A. Guest
©1934 by the Reilly & Lee Co