“Goodnight, my love…”

Daylight melts in shadows                   Memory on overload.                                         Life sinks- then slumbers .

©Nancilynn Saylor 5 May 2017.                     

Wish you were here…

I awakened  after a night of restless dreams to a sweet text message from one of my late son Steve’s high school friends. He always adored Jo and they participated in theater arts together…he truly loved her for her beautiful heart.

I have a some sweet special friendships with many of his friends from high school and am happy to report that it is a positive result from FaceBook. Social media can have some positive benefits . 

My sons had a wild and wacky relationship growing up. They often fought like siblings can do, but would defend each other like knights, against the dragons of the outside world! 

I miss my oldest boy and know his brother, Mike, does too! 

So thank you, dear “JoJo” Daly-Di Nova, for this morning surprise picture from your ten year reunion. Love those beautiful smiles!

© Nancilynn Saylor                                         16 February 2017

My dad’s birthday

My dad was born on January 8, 1923. He passed just a month before his 91st birthday.

He liked spicy foods, reading good books and watching football or other sports, on television.

I woke up this morning thinking of him and missing him.

I spent my day making homemade Salsa and watching my favorite football team.

Happy birthday in Heaven, Daddy.  I love and miss you!


©Nancilynn Saylor January 8, 2017

Farmin’ Fool

It was a name he gave himself in a song

and farm he did

nestled in our southern suburban paradises

turning endless backyards of clay into soil

 

we drew hope that

we would have tomatoes

slowly, but certainly, each year the garden came

some years two crops if we had the energy

 

some years both crops failed us

some years there were no tomatoes

unlike true farm families

a grocery store less than a mile away

 

now  we are aging

farming grows harder…

in my mind’s eye

I see my grandparents- their slow walks

 

and bent backs, he as he walked to the garage to fire up the

ancient tractor

she as she went out to toss vegetable scraps in the garden

to decompose

 

just as their lives slowly did the same

wiping her rough hands on her worn apron

she trudges back up the stairs to the house they built

so many decades past

 

our parents had different lives

a generation skipped but just as important

the farming genes of the grandparents passed on

to us

 

we are those who remember

we are the ones keeping  the legends

and their memories

alive.

 

© Nancilynn Saylor2016

Photo of the “Farmin’ Fool”

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