Tag Archives: Relationships

Mother’s Day Every Day

I am grateful for the opportunity to let my mom know how much I love her on this special day. She loved me before I was born and looked forward to the day she met me.

I feel the same way about my kids. “Mother’s Day” is great but every day is Mother’s Day to me. My kids gave me the best gift anyone could offer–the gift of motherhood–when I conceived them. Meeting them, loving them, raising them, and seeing them grow into beautiful young adults has not been without challenges but I wouldn’t trade a moment for anything. 

Children, I love you. Thank-you for the gift of you which has helped make me into a better person. You have my heart. 

Happy Mother’s Day to those of you who are moms, who act as moms, who love as moms. Today is a special day to celebrate the gift of you!

~Pamela

On Motherhood

9087497-mother-and-two-kids-silhouettes-on-beach-at-sunset

What do you wish someone had told you before you had kids?

All the planning in the world cannot prepare you for becoming a mother. Even if you received too much advice from other moms while you were pregnant, you only realize this fact after you give birth—not a moment prior.

You will take pictures and videos—lots of them. From hearing the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of your baby’s heartbeat to grasping ultrasound pics in hand to your husband’s photo capture of you with a tear streamed face holding your precious baby in your arms for the first time to waving good-bye at the bus stop while your stomach lurches to your daughter going to her first middle school dance to talking about the birds and bees to waking up one day and your son is grown-up, you will capture every important moment with a snapshot and/or video clip—and then some.

Real parenting is not your friends’ Facebook shares. Facebook is not the real world. Seeing highlights of your friends’ exaggerated posts, whether it’s viewing pictures of their little ones who are reading novels by the age of 3, potty trained by age 2 using the M&M’s method (it does work sometimes), or playing concertos at age 4, isn’t necessarily reality—even though the photos may be cute. Reality is:  little ones will become preteens, next teens, and then they will go off to live their own lives. Your heart may feel like breaking but you will be proud—so proud. Welcome to the real world and celebrate every moment.

You will always be a mother. This reality will never change no matter how large your son’s shoes are or how your daughter towers over you in heels or if your kids become chefs, police officers, teachers, or parents themselves or if they adorn their bodies with tattoos or piercings or if they grow their hair out and join rock bands—whatever. After the umbilical cord is cut, you are forever mom. If you are lucky, you will become grandmom at some point. Love will never be in short supply.

You won’t ever be the same—never ever. From the moment you find out that you are carrying a life inside you, the ground will careen under you, you may see stars, and you will free fall into a love that no life alert call could rescue you from. You wouldn’t want to be rescued. You fall hard and thank God every day for it.

You are a mother. Imperfect at best yet filled with love so consuming that its presence is like breathing. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

To my mom, I know now–and I appreciate everything you are to me. You are the best. To my beautiful children, you will always be mine. I adore you.

~Pamela

Mom

Dear Mom,

I want you to know how much I love and appreciate you. You have shown me so much–how to love, what love is and much more. While life has not always been kind and although the last couple of months have been trying, you have come through it all with a never-ending, deep well of love for all of us.

Today I celebrate more than your existence. I think about your love and what it has meant to everyone who has come into contact with you. I consider your humor that has lightened my life. I reflect on your endurance when life’s shadows have blackened out the sun, moon and stars and you’ve had to navigate in the dark (even after stubbing toes) to find your way into the light.

You are the most inspiring woman I know and I am beyond happy to call you “Mom.” You are so much more than a best friend.

Have a beautiful day.

Love,

Your daughter

All In

Google Image

she was all
in no cheating
no folding
she had to play
her hand win
or lose life was a
series of five cards
kings and deuces
she refused to quit
because there was
no repeat royal
flushes or full
houses she picked
up her cards and
waited for the flop
she was all
in no cheating
no folding

© Pamela Rossow

The “c” Word

So many people use it every day. It’s one of the most hated words (probably THE most despised word). Yet, we hear it over and over again.

It’s not until it’s used to describe what’s happening to OUR friends, OUR grandparents, OUR selves, OUR moms, OUR brothers, OUR sisters, OUR children, OUR dads, OUR aunts, OUR uncles, OUR loved ones that the word slams us face down onto the asphalt and tries to drag us backwards. But to positive test results, we say, “sCrew you!”

Those of us who either receive The Call or hear about The Call (later when our loved ones tell us about it) encounter the initial effects of “c.” During those moments, “c” seems to have us pinned. We cry. We rant. We get pissed off. We crumple.

Then, we maneuver out of its grip. We stand up. Put on the gloves. Step into the centers of the rings. We don’t wait for the first punches. We throw them. We fight, hard. We love, fiercely. We feel, deeply. We live with awareness. Thankfully, there’s no “c” in H-O-P-E. Just a whole lot of positive energy and prayers.

(Dad got The Call today)

To Mom with Love

“We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.”
~Maya Angelou
 
Mom,
You have shown me by your words, love, and life that we only become butterflies when we have spent time patiently waiting to emerge from the chrysallis.  Then our wings must straighten and dry.  They are delicate and can tear easily, yet, strong enough for flight.  I love you more than words.
Love,
Pamela
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
                            

    

                      

                                                         

                                                                

                                                   

                                                                                                                                                                                      

                                                                                                                       

                                                                

            

                                                         

                               

NPD

 

 

 

 

 

Then-
(you, “The Universe,” thought) 

That-
my intellect-
cerebrated
you

my lips-
explored
you

my heart-
thrummed
you 

my arms-
catered
you

my hands-
stroked
you

my legs-
received
you

my breath-
inhaled
you

Now-
(you, “The Universe,” know better)

And-
(she will know too)

 © Pamela A. Rossow

Bradbury’s Brainy Bites

Work is done for the day so time to ponder.  I was thinking about Ray Bradbury tonight.  He’s the author of two of my favorite texts: Fahrenheit 451 and Dandelion Wine.  He has penned so many inspiring words I have trouble choosing only some quotes (a few are taped to the shelf above my desk).  Long story shorter (I can never guarantee short), here’s a few of my faves:

“We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out.” ~Bradbury

“He glanced back at the wall. How like a mirror, too, her face. Impossible; for how many people did you know who reflected your own light to you? People were more often–he searched for a simile, found one in his work–torches, blazing away until they whiffed out. How rarely did other people’s faces take of you and throw back to you your own expression, your own innermost trembling thought?” ~ Ray Bradbury (Fahrenheit 451)

“We cannot tell the precise moment when friendship is formed. As in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is at last a drop which makes it run over; so in a series of kindnesses there is at last one which makes the heart run over.” ~ Bradbury (Fahrenheit 451)

“You’ll find out it’s little savors and little things that count more than big ones. A walk on a spring morning is better than an eighty-mile ride in a hopped-up car, you know why? Because it’s full of flavors, full of a lot of things growing. You’ve time to seek and find.”~Bradbury (Dandelion Wine)

“Are you happy?” she [Clarisse] said. “Am I what?” he [Montag] cried. But she was gone- running in the moonlight. Her front door shut gently.” ~ Ray Bradbury (Fahrenheit 451)

“Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there. It doesn’t matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away. “ ~ Bradbury

“If we listened to our intellect we’d never have a love affair. We’d never have a friendship. We’d never go in business because we’d be cynical: “It’s gonna go wrong.” Or “She’s going to hurt me.” Or,”I’ve had a couple of bad love affairs, so therefore . . .” Well, that’s nonsense. You’re going to miss life. You’ve got to jump off the cliff all the time and build your wings on the way down.” ~Bradbury
 
“You’re either in love with what you do, or you’re not in love.” ~Bradbury 
 

“You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.” ~Bradbury

Jazz

your first ancestors
had geographic ridges
purple-blue crisscrosses
once slashed gaping open
crimson that mouthed
“wade in the water chillan” 

you called people
responded the blues
bent in depressed
trances third fifth and
seventh like pancakes
flattened by a spatula

you ragged people
shagged under red
lights to a syncopated
rhythm AABBACCC no
more cakewalks just sexy
marches and falling Maple Leaves 

© Pamela A. Rossow

 

 

Percolator

 

 

 

 

I percolate

bubbling

up over

out for

you.

Pamela A. Rossow

Monday Memory

Everyone has a memorable picture that brings a smile to their face.   Monday Memory occurs the last Monday of each month and allows us to share that favorite photo and story.   If you choose to participate this month, please remember to drop your link in the comments section of each Memory you visit, so that we may come and visit your site.  This idea was hijacked from my friend, Mary!

My story is cute, funny, and brief.  My dad has always been the treasured “Granpy.”  Part of his obtaining  this status involved many introductory rites (such as the event pictured below).   My parents have been actively engaged with my children since I gave birth.  They have helped out and loved watching their grandchildren grow.  Dad came over to stay with my children while I went to the store and when I came home that is what I found.  Biker Granpy tattooed with Crayola washable markers!  While this was the first (and only) time Granpy was “decorated,”  I could not stop laughing!  Soon after this picture, I almost lost my dad to a heart attack (thank God I didn’t).  I’m not sure what we’d do without him.  He’s irreplaceable!  When I see this picture, I remember good times!  My children were also known to “style” dad’s hair (wonder where they got that from?) gel and hairspray included!  Lucky Granpy!  My kids are grown now and those fun days of young childhood are gone. . .time the ever selfish bandit continues to hoard precious hours, seconds, minutes.  I, however, was so grateful to snatch some of those passed moments from time’s clutches and enjoy them today! Love you dad!  xo

 


Mash Up

Words-

slippery
heartfelt
coy
dissonant
confident
sordid
distant
forgiving
misleading
hopeful
shallow
fertile
lacking
coarse
sincere
malicious
dear
hurtful
pregnant
vulgar
sweet
cultured
barbaric
merciful
forbidding
gracious

Rhetoric-

Pamela A. Rossow

This Friday Moment(s)

{this moment} – A Friday ritual. Photos – no words – capturing  moments from my week. Simple, special extraordinary moments ( I know, I know.  I’m a rebel.  Couldn’t pick just one this week!  Too many beautiful children in my life!)

 

 

Moments I want to pause, savor, remember.

This moment is a ritual I found on life inspired by the Wee Man adopted from SouleMama and shared by Sarah – Jane.

Check out their blogs…. They are very interesting and inspirational to read, and if you are moved too, please leave a link to your Moments in the comment box below :-)

Flirt

 

 

 

 

 

suggestive with-
out amore casual
advances and
superficial intent
no breach of social
norms mere dallying
with a major
organ

Pamela Rossow

折り紙

delicate paper not cuts
glue or tears simply folds
tucks creases an adorer’s
fingers shaping fragile
symbols of  devotion

Pamela  Rossow


Monsoon

winds reversed
affected by seasons
I’m blown along
the all too familiar
precipitation and
pounding deluges
punctuated by
scorching desert
dryness
sea breezes?
hell no yes to
intense turbulence
drought once
more I’m seared
parched and thirsty

© Pamela A. Rossow

Butterweed

she stood a child amidst
waving grasses a cupped
butterweed flower in her
hands slowly she closed
her eyes letting the
azure mist of the skies
drench her soul gently
she began to pluck each
petal a flaxen butterfly
fluttering to the ground
descending in a graceful
dance he loves me he
loves me not he loves
me he loves me. . .
she paused eyes
closed

Pamela A. Rossow

Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

I will always be your sweet pea, your princess (ha-ha), your loving daughter.  But, just a reminder, I am 37 yrs. old.   I have my own opinions (as you know), my own belief systems (as you know), my own mouth (you more than know).  I love you (more than you probably know). Living together, you have become acquainted with a woman:  a pigheaded woman, a stubborn woman, a woman not afraid to speak.  If, at times, you do not agree with what I say, don’t listen (you do this well).  If you experience shock and awe at what comes out of my mouth, just ignore me (and turn up the TV).   I love you and will always love you.  Remember one thing, I inherited my stubbornness from you.

Love,

Your daughter

Letter of Marque


You stand gripping your
letter of marque yellowed

waving Congress stamped
close to me too near me.  Your
mahogany eyes telling me you have the
right to take from me what is mine
what was mine. 

Only papers are
needed legitimate piracy you
utter legs planted arms crossed
gaze firm unwavering
close to me too near me.   The
plank shudders.   Diverted eyes I
raise. 

How am I to get back what
you stole from me?  The beating
pulsing piece of me that pumps
crimson through my channels and
life through my waterways?  A split
second your tawny eyes flicker.  Concern or
pity? I cannot tell.   

 Your stance remains
unreadable.  Emboldened I ask once
more.  The plank bounces.  How am I to
get back what you stole from me?  You stand
close to me too near me.  You
stare silently into my
sunglow eyes.  

 ~Pamela 

Special Relativity

you in the North Pole
I in the South charged
particles moving in and
out velocity dependent
dipoles connected creating
force and special relations
mixtures of interlocking
electricity + magnetism
F=q(v+B) no monopoles
here just quantum-mechanical
phenomena magnetic flux
and possible permeability

Pamela A. Rossow

Evolution

I sat up all night waiting for
you-
somewhere between one
billion to ten billion years.

 
You-
a red supergiant with your
tightly bound, iron nuclei,
dense stellar winds,
contracting core.

 
I sat up all night waiting for
you-
somewhere between one
billion to ten billion years.

 
You-
and your increased surface
temperature smoldering
within me, your fused elements
consuming my energy.

 
I sat up all night waiting for
you-
somewhere between one
billion to ten billion years.

 
You-
and your shockwave, instead, you
collapsed from within exploding into a
supernova flashing bright then
fading into blackness.

 
I sat up all night waiting for
you-
somewhere between one
billion to ten billion years.

 
You-
and your magnetic field a
dynamo, yet, your stellar flares
dimmed, your rotation slowed, your
luminosity fluxed, and I slept.

© Pamela A. Rossow

Erosion

thankless moments as crystal

dew drops slip one by one

down green veined leaves

falling cascading while

past like black loam

clouds these pools of present

tumultuous deluges pummel

tiny rivulets turning them into

brooks that swell rush the

future hurry time billowing

currents unaware of piffling

trickles the forgotten source

Pamela A. Rossow

Palmolive Days

Palmolive days spent
reminiscing amidst
sudsy yellow bubbles
lemony scent wafting
childhood into adulthood as
sunshine tiles gleam under
bare feet the view from my
Nonnie’s white porcelain sink
blue green some days a misty
gray always beautiful salty
grainy life a tea cup
awaiting the faucet a saucer
sunken anticipating the
sponge immersed in citrus to
cleanse away  grime

Pamela A. Rossow

Catch and Release 101

Catch and Release 101

  • grab hook and twist it free
  • be careful not to tear hook
  • do it quickly
  • the longer it takes, the more trauma caused
  • if it takes too long, snip leader and let it swim free
  • practicing catch and release will allow fish to live happier, longer lives
  • remember, catching and releasing is a privilege

Dear Children,

Dear Children,

You are precious to me. I loved you before you were born. I prayed and asked God for you. From the time the little blue lines matched on the pregnancy tests, I was ecstatic. I couldn’t wait to begin the journey of motherhood.

It’s been quite a trip. From feeling you both kick inside of me, to laboring to bring you into this world, to holding you for the first time, to  knowing that you were a physical extension of me, I have appreciated every moment. I have watched you grow into a young man and a young woman who have made me proud over and over again. I am fully aware what a blessing it is to call you son and daughter. The best vocation I have had (and ever will have) is being “Mom.”

Please listen carefully–I love you (up to heaven and back). I will always love you. No matter where life sends us, or how quickly time passes, I will treasure you. I will never give up on you. You will always be my children. I will always be your mom. Your fingerprints are permanently imprinted on my heart.

Love,

Mom

Dear Karl,

 

 

 

Dear Karl,

I must admit, to the dismay of some of my friends, that I like some of your ideas. I’m not pleased about one aspect of your personal life involving rumors of your relationship with Helene and fathering a child with her (when you already have a wife and seven kids).  Should the allegations be true, you are thoughtless and vulgar. But, I digress . . . .

Your fetishism of commodities is brilliant. Love it. Human labor as objectified–amazing.  I also admire your concern for the rights of the oppressed and downtrodden during the time you spent in London. Children should not be chimney sweeps shoved headfirst to clean out the soot and muck. They should not work in pottery mills breathing hazardous dust that kills them at young ages. Thanks to you, Engels, and your contributions to the dialogue concerning child labor abuses, child labor laws were finally enacted. While enforcement wasn’t carried out well or much, it was a step in the right direction.

Your theories regarding dialetical materialism, a whole other matter, Karl. Your belief that “the ideal is nothing else than the material world reflected by the human mind, and translated into forms of thought” (Marx, Das Kapital, Vol. 1.) is nutty and I must disagree. I’m leaning towards Hegel on this one.

I can agree with you that the bourgeoisie, a more elite population with power, privilege, and prestige, controls the means of production. I also concur that within capitalism, a certain level of greed propels the system and can spiral out of control. However, this is where I leave your Communist Manifesto on the shelf.

Capitalism is dialectic to a degree. It is filled with contradictions–I will give you that. But your belief that capitalism in an economic downturn means that an end is near, seems to have been proven false (at least with the U.S.). The system bounces back. If it does not, we will speak more about this matter.

Furthermore, you say that a revolt against capitalism is needed because it is most likely the only way a society will move away from it. You’re probably correct about this, too.  Many of us, who are capitalists, will not wave white flags and lay down.

Your hope that socialism will ultimately result in communism is interesting to mull over but your concept of communism, as a stateless, classless, societal system is bizarre. I must inquire, really, Karl? Even you must admit you have no idea how this system will make it off your paper and be implemented. That’s why so many of your followers cannot agree on this matter and bicker about it to this day.

Karl, you also seem to neglect the reality that many countries who have tried to adopt your model have failed, repeatedly. Not only have they failed, they have flopped. In the flopping, what was supposed to be a stateless society, ended up being overridden by the government and a chosen few. Economies tanked and stagnated. Human rights were violated.

Sorry, Marx. It was a darn good try. I admire your zeal and prolific writings on these matters but, in the end, many of your texts are just interesting reads.

It’s true capitalism has its flaws–every system does. Changes could be made for the better. We have to deal with monopolies, outsourcing, modern-day slavery, imperialistic snobbery, and much more. But I’m sticking with it and will try to be a positive agent for social reform. So here’s to change, maybe a direct democracy? There are many other types of democracy to try. Why not? In the meantime, Karl, get some rest.

Regards,

Pamela

The Haunting

October breathes reflection for me. There’s a supernatural quality to this particular month that evokes sentimental remembrances. Whether it’s because of the changes reflected in nature that strip life down to its bare, autumnal branches, I’m not sure. What I am certain of is the fluctuating nature of life.

Have you ever been haunted?  Truly chilled by specters in the form of uncanny experiences that won’t let you forget past loves or childhood’s embrace? To stand in a particular space and sense a gauzy veil has lifted and you can feel, see and almost touch your past, your joys, your sorrows?

These spirits persist in fingering our souls with their icy bittersweet hands. They haunt us, disguised as filmy apparitions of people who caressed our lives so that, while time unmercifully shoves us forward, our memories, our subconscious, resuscitates them, breathes life into them, and clothes them with skin, flesh, and bones.

So when people cross our paths who remind us of these persons in our pasts, we feel the coolness of shadows. In the shadows, a darkness which briefly flits across our hearts and is the complete opposite of warmth and sunlit freedom and meadows.

These phantoms reach and clutch and we rarely escape unscathed. Our minds, in an effort to deal with the mausoleum of preserved memories, try to wrap themselves around the mysterious and cannot make sense of it. It’s too evasive–too mettlesome to grapple.

We press forward and eventually break away from their grasps. Time, once more, fills our lives with flurries of work, bills, and children. We forget–until the next haunting.