My first memories of poetry were from A Child’s Garden of Verse by Robert Louis Stevenson,  the same author who wrote the beloved classic Treasure Island

A.A. Milne, When We Were Very Young, Now We Are Six, and the Winnie the Pooh stories. These beloved verses and the illustrations of E.H. Shepard were to see me through my childhood filling my mind and fertilizing my imagination as they did for so many children.

Yet where did that love of poetry go for so many people?

I think it is in the way poetry is taught in today’s world. For instance, on my first day of Honors English class in college as the professor was giving us the curriculum for the semester.  listed what we would cover in the order in which we would cover it. The very last on the list was poetry, with a shrug she said “I’m not really comfortable with poetry, so am leaving it for last. I hope there isn't time.” I heard much the same, when I joined the editorial board of the college Journal of the Arts. The poetry picked for the journal by and large was full of abstract thought. It was as if the general consensus about poetry is if it’s abstract and difficult to figure out the meaning behind the words than it must be good. No wonder so many say they don’t understand poetry or don’t like poetry, when English professors admit they don’t understand it.  "Life doesn't frighten me." Maya Angelou 

It is a shame that poetry has such a bad rap, (no pun intended) as poetry weaves through our entire lives, even if we don’t know it. You hear it in the lyrics of the music. It is in our greeting cards on coffee mugs, in commercials, you name it and you will find poetry. Yet many parents shy away from either reading it to their children or picking it up and reading it to themselves.

What is the meaning of poetry to me you might ask? Poetry and verse are short stories telling the tale lying in the heart and mind of the author. It doesn't matter if it is adult or children’s poetry, I don’t want to have to study the poem to understand the concept behind the verse. This doesn't mean that if it is complex and difficult to figure out its , Maya Angelou, any more than a piece of abstract or minimalism art is bad art. It only means it isn't a preference of mine. I prefer my poetry to speak to me. I want it to carry me into the emotions and thoughts of the poet.

If I am reading or writing poetry aimed at children, I prefer it speaks to a child in their language and doesn't talk down to them. I like it to help me remember those feelings I had as a child thus connecting me both with the child within and with children in general. The same goes with adult poetry I want to feel something to see a picture and experience the mind and emotion of the author.

As I see it the main difference between the children’s and adults’ poetry is children think more literally. They feel the same emotions but don’t always understand where they are coming from. They are still learning and their vocabulary is growing. They see the world with more innocence and wonder. An adult on the other hand has seen more of life which usually means they will have a larger vocabulary and understand their emotions more or the subtle nuances and complexity of a poem.

Poets, who have stood the test of time and are considered great poets, tell a story in their poetry. Between children and adults the stories differ, but still there is a story and the use of imagination and/or emotion.

If you read the work of a contemporary poet like Maya Angelou, who is universally acclaimed one of the finest poets of our generation she tells a story in her poetry. It is full of beauty, sorrow, imagination, and hope. One of my favorites is her Phenomenal Woman you can find the link to the rest of the poem below as well as a youtube video of the reading.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pNj9cpvj-pU Maya Angelou, Phenomenal Woman

 http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/phenomenal-woman/[b2] 

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me……

You can also find that same lyrical, storytelling style in the poetry of any of the classic poets. For example look at Edgar Allan Poe’s, A Dream Within A Dream, below is the link to the whole poem and a short example of the poem itself.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rxg7OFFtWQE&feature=related Edgar Allan Poe, A Dream Within A Dream.

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-dream-within-a-dream/

A Dream Within A Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

Some classic poetry rhymes, all of it is lyrical. Most children’s poetry rhymes because children remember rhymes more easily making it simpler for them to learn. They enjoy the rhyming and it helps spark their imaginations.

Many articles have been written on how rhyming helps children learn and why the classics are a great way to both entertain and teach children. You can read it in many articles, one of them is classic poems for kids.  http://www.squidoo.com/classic-poems-for-kids  It shows the simplicity that inspires children’s poetry.

This simplicity is shown so well in, William Makepeace Thackeray’s, 
At The Zoo .

First I saw the white bear, then I saw the black;
Then I saw the camel with a hump upon his back;
Then I saw the grey wolf, with mutton in his maw;
Then I saw the wombat waddle in the straw;
Then I saw the elephant a-waving of his trunk;
Then I saw the monkeys-mercy, how unpleasantly they-smelt!

Or in Robert Louis Stevenson’s poems The Cow and The Land of Counterpane, which describes  so intensely just how a child’s imagination works.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MouuBLfHBBc Robert Louis Stevenson, The Land of Counterpane

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p0K-umvbKgY The Cow by Robert Louis Stevenson

The Cow
The friendly cow all red and white,
I love with all my heart:
She gives me cream with all her might,
To eat with apple-tart….

The Land of Counterpane

When I was sick and lay a-bed,
I had two pillows at my head,
And all my toys beside me lay
To keep me happy all the day.

And sometimes for an hour or so
I watched my leaden soldiers go,
With different uniforms and drills,
Among the bedclothes, through the hills….

In Wee Three: A Child’s World, you find a similar rhyming quality that helps a child stretch their imagination and will speak to them in the language of youth. This language is full of imaginative, innocent, and literal ways children look at the world. There are many children’s poets but the ones that seem to stand the test of time all write as though they were looking at the world through the eyes of a child.

In my book A Poet’s Journey: Emotions, my style is more like the poets of the past and present  who tell a story in their verse and less abstract. It tells of the emotional roller-coaster that life can be.

If you read either children’s or adults poetry I believe you will agree the main difference between poetry written for a child and that for an adult is in the sophistication of the poem and the type of story it tells. At least this is true of most of the classic poets.



 

My first memories of poetry were from A Child’s Garden of Verse by Robert Louis Stevenson,  the same author who wrote the beloved classic Treasure Island

A.A. Milne, When We Were Very Young, Now We Are Six, and the Winnie the Pooh stories. These beloved verses and the illustrations of E.H. Shepard were to see me through my childhood filling my mind and fertilizing my imagination as they did for so many children.

Yet where did that love of poetry go for so many people?

I think it is in the way poetry is taught in today’s world. For instance, on my first day of Honors English class in college as the professor was giving us the curriculum for the semester.  listed what we would cover in the order in which we would cover it. The very last on the list was poetry, with a shrug she said “I’m not really comfortable with poetry, so am leaving it for last. I hope there isn't time.” I heard much the same, when I joined the editorial board of the college Journal of the Arts. The poetry picked for the journal by and large was full of abstract thought. It was as if the general consensus about poetry is if it’s abstract and difficult to figure out the meaning behind the words than it must be good. No wonder so many say they don’t understand poetry or don’t like poetry, when English professors admit they don’t understand it.  "Life doesn't frighten me." Maya Angelou 

It is a shame that poetry has such a bad rap, (no pun intended) as poetry weaves through our entire lives, even if we don’t know it. You hear it in the lyrics of the music. It is in our greeting cards on coffee mugs, in commercials, you name it and you will find poetry. Yet many parents shy away from either reading it to their children or picking it up and reading it to themselves.

What is the meaning of poetry to me you might ask? Poetry and verse are short stories telling the tale lying in the heart and mind of the author. It doesn't matter if it is adult or children’s poetry, I don’t want to have to study the poem to understand the concept behind the verse. This doesn't mean that if it is complex and difficult to figure out its , Maya Angelou, any more than a piece of abstract or minimalism art is bad art. It only means it isn't a preference of mine. I prefer my poetry to speak to me. I want it to carry me into the emotions and thoughts of the poet.

If I am reading or writing poetry aimed at children, I prefer it speaks to a child in their language and doesn't talk down to them. I like it to help me remember those feelings I had as a child thus connecting me both with the child within and with children in general. The same goes with adult poetry I want to feel something to see a picture and experience the mind and emotion of the author.

As I see it the main difference between the children’s and adults’ poetry is children think more literally. They feel the same emotions but don’t always understand where they are coming from. They are still learning and their vocabulary is growing. They see the world with more innocence and wonder. An adult on the other hand has seen more of life which usually means they will have a larger vocabulary and understand their emotions more or the subtle nuances and complexity of a poem.

Poets, who have stood the test of time and are considered great poets, tell a story in their poetry. Between children and adults the stories differ, but still there is a story and the use of imagination and/or emotion.

If you read the work of a contemporary poet like Maya Angelou, who is universally acclaimed one of the finest poets of our generation she tells a story in her poetry. It is full of beauty, sorrow, imagination, and hope. One of my favorites is her Phenomenal Woman you can find the link to the rest of the poem below as well as a youtube video of the reading.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pNj9cpvj-pU Maya Angelou, Phenomenal Woman

 http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/phenomenal-woman/[b2] 

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me……

You can also find that same lyrical, storytelling style in the poetry of any of the classic poets. For example look at Edgar Allan Poe’s, A Dream Within A Dream, below is the link to the whole poem and a short example of the poem itself.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rxg7OFFtWQE&feature=related Edgar Allan Poe, A Dream Within A Dream.

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-dream-within-a-dream/

A Dream Within A Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

Some classic poetry rhymes, all of it is lyrical. Most children’s poetry rhymes because children remember rhymes more easily making it simpler for them to learn. They enjoy the rhyming and it helps spark their imaginations.

Many articles have been written on how rhyming helps children learn and why the classics are a great way to both entertain and teach children. You can read it in many articles, one of them is classic poems for kids.  http://www.squidoo.com/classic-poems-for-kids  It shows the simplicity that inspires children’s poetry.

This simplicity is shown so well in, William Makepeace Thackeray’s, 
At The Zoo .

First I saw the white bear, then I saw the black;
Then I saw the camel with a hump upon his back;
Then I saw the grey wolf, with mutton in his maw;
Then I saw the wombat waddle in the straw;
Then I saw the elephant a-waving of his trunk;
Then I saw the monkeys-mercy, how unpleasantly they-smelt!

Or in Robert Louis Stevenson’s poems The Cow and The Land of Counterpane, which describes  so intensely just how a child’s imagination works.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MouuBLfHBBc Robert Louis Stevenson, The Land of Counterpane

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p0K-umvbKgY The Cow by Robert Louis Stevenson

The Cow
The friendly cow all red and white,
I love with all my heart:
She gives me cream with all her might,
To eat with apple-tart….

The Land of Counterpane

When I was sick and lay a-bed,
I had two pillows at my head,
And all my toys beside me lay
To keep me happy all the day.

And sometimes for an hour or so
I watched my leaden soldiers go,
With different uniforms and drills,
Among the bedclothes, through the hills….

In Wee Three: A Child’s World, you find a similar rhyming quality that helps a child stretch their imagination and will speak to them in the language of youth. This language is full of imaginative, innocent, and literal ways children look at the world. There are many children’s poets but the ones that seem to stand the test of time all write as though they were looking at the world through the eyes of a child.

In my book A Poet’s Journey: Emotions, my style is more like the poets of the past and present  who tell a story in their verse and less abstract. It tells of the emotional roller-coaster that life can be.

If you read either children’s or adults poetry I believe you will agree the main difference between poetry written for a child and that for an adult is in the sophistication of the poem and the type of story it tells. At least this is true of most of the classic poets.



 

The elite of the horse world are the high-dollar mares. They are show animals or racing animals, bringing high dollars for their foals because they have a history of excellence and winning. For them, time is money and it's important that the mare be kept busy birthing instead of spending weeks nursing her offspring. That job is given to a nurse mare.

Much like the old-time wet nurse employed by wealthy mothers throughout history, the nurse mare is of uncertain or unimportant bloodlines and incapable of bringing substantial income to her owner. In order to nurse the important foal, she must have recently given birth and produce the necessary milk. The question is: What becomes of the nurse mare's foal?

By many called a “junk foal,” this unfortunate newborn is considered a necessary
evil, a disposable byproduct. The cost of trying to nurse this foal until it is
weaned is high, so often the“junk foal” is killed outright and disposed of.
Sometimes it's shipped off to auction and bought by manufacturers who use its
hide to make expensive bags or shoes. Whatever its fate, the nurse mare's foal
is considered an unimportant nuisance.

The nurse mare’s foal is usually taken from its mother anytime from one day to a
week after birth instead of the ten to twelve weeks that foals commonly nurse.
The times vary, depending on when the high-dollar mare foals. Generally the
nurse mare is shipped off to the farm to nurture and foster the high-priced foal.

The horse industry benefits from this barbaric practice because the high-dollar mare gets back in shape more quickly, so she can show well and invite more offers for her offspring. While some stables allow the mare three to four weeks to
recuperate after giving birth, many are sent to the stallion for rebreeding
within seven to ten days of giving birth.

There are Equine Rescue Leagues that have spent their time, energy, and money to help the rejected foals. Without them, more of these small lives would be lost. Most of the rescuers are knowledgeable, but there are a few well-intentioned people who want to save the newborns without any knowledge of horses. In some cases these organizations succeed almost by accident, and in others they make matters worse for the animals in their care. Unfortunately these groups sometimes rely on unscrupulous people, self-proclaimed experts who have their own hidden
agendas.

The lucky foal is adopted by people who know and love horses or who go out of their way to learn the needs and care of this fragile baby animal. Too many are
adopted by men and women who know little or nothing about horses, let alone the
unique care these foals require, and the new owners soon become overwhelmed. As a result, some foals are bought and sold several times before they reach
maturity. Others die from lack of proper nutrition and proper parasite control.
The nurse mare's foal unfortunate enough to fall into the wrong hands usually
grows up with multiple deformities and bone development problems. Some have
social development issues, never learning how to be a horse or understanding the
role of a horse with a human companion.

This book is the story of one nurse mare's foal and its fight for survival.

Marta Moran Bishop and Toni Boyle

The elite of the horse world are the high-dollar mares. They are show animals or racing animals, bringing high dollars for their foals because they have a history of excellence and winning. For them, time is money and it's important that the mare be kept busy birthing instead of spending weeks nursing her offspring. That job is given to a nurse mare.

Much like the old-time wet nurse employed by wealthy mothers throughout history, the nurse mare is of uncertain or unimportant bloodlines and incapable of bringing substantial income to her owner. In order to nurse the important foal, she must have recently given birth and produce the necessary milk. The question is: What becomes of the nurse mare's foal?

By many called a “junk foal,” this unfortunate newborn is considered a necessary
evil, a disposable byproduct. The cost of trying to nurse this foal until it is
weaned is high, so often the“junk foal” is killed outright and disposed of.
Sometimes it's shipped off to auction and bought by manufacturers who use its
hide to make expensive bags or shoes. Whatever its fate, the nurse mare's foal
is considered an unimportant nuisance.

The nurse mare’s foal is usually taken from its mother anytime from one day to a
week after birth instead of the ten to twelve weeks that foals commonly nurse.
The times vary, depending on when the high-dollar mare foals. Generally the
nurse mare is shipped off to the farm to nurture and foster the high-priced foal.

The horse industry benefits from this barbaric practice because the high-dollar mare gets back in shape more quickly, so she can show well and invite more offers for her offspring. While some stables allow the mare three to four weeks to
recuperate after giving birth, many are sent to the stallion for rebreeding
within seven to ten days of giving birth.

There are Equine Rescue Leagues that have spent their time, energy, and money to help the rejected foals. Without them, more of these small lives would be lost. Most of the rescuers are knowledgeable, but there are a few well-intentioned people who want to save the newborns without any knowledge of horses. In some cases these organizations succeed almost by accident, and in others they make matters worse for the animals in their care. Unfortunately these groups sometimes rely on unscrupulous people, self-proclaimed experts who have their own hidden
agendas.

The lucky foal is adopted by people who know and love horses or who go out of their way to learn the needs and care of this fragile baby animal. Too many are
adopted by men and women who know little or nothing about horses, let alone the
unique care these foals require, and the new owners soon become overwhelmed. As a result, some foals are bought and sold several times before they reach
maturity. Others die from lack of proper nutrition and proper parasite control.
The nurse mare's foal unfortunate enough to fall into the wrong hands usually
grows up with multiple deformities and bone development problems. Some have
social development issues, never learning how to be a horse or understanding the
role of a horse with a human companion.

This book is the story of one nurse mare's foal and its fight for survival.

Marta Moran Bishop and Toni Boyle

My heart and soul are full today; the holiday season has brought peace and joy to me. Spending time with family on
Christmas Eve and then spending Christmas with my husband, watching the Kittens play with their toys.


Our three horses were so overjoyed with the extra treats in their breakfast bucket and the extra time we spent with them. It was a quiet day, Ken and I watched a few movies some old John Wayne and some new brought a much needed respite for both of us.

I hope all of you had a joyous Holiday season, however you celebrate it and wish for all a happy, prosperous and healthy New Year. Blessings

Spirits danced high on waves of colored lights
Joyful song, laughter and well wishes fill the air
Kittens snuggled up near the woodstove today
Warming their backsides on this cold winter day
Bless all the children and the furbabies too.

My heart and soul are full today; the holiday season has brought peace and joy to me. Spending time with family on
Christmas Eve and then spending Christmas with my husband, watching the Kittens play with their toys.


Our three horses were so overjoyed with the extra treats in their breakfast bucket and the extra time we spent with them. It was a quiet day, Ken and I watched a few movies some old John Wayne and some new brought a much needed respite for both of us.

I hope all of you had a joyous Holiday season, however you celebrate it and wish for all a happy, prosperous and healthy New Year. Blessings

Spirits danced high on waves of colored lights
Joyful song, laughter and well wishes fill the air
Kittens snuggled up near the woodstove today
Warming their backsides on this cold winter day
Bless all the children and the furbabies too.

I care not what your race is for we all come from the same foundation.

I care not what religion you practice, for all paths lead to the same source.

I care not how much you have in your bank account for this is not who you are.

I care not how high your education level is, for ignorance isn’t the mark of a formal education.
 
I do care how you treat people, men, women, children, and animals.

I do care how hard you will try to understand others.

I do care whether or not you attempt to accept others or judge them without
thought.

I do care whether you wish to leave the world a better place.

I do care if your thoughts are only upon your own status.

I do care if you only think of those whose beliefs or lives are what you think they should
be.

I care not what your race is for we all come from the same foundation.

I care not what religion you practice, for all paths lead to the same source.

I care not how much you have in your bank account for this is not who you are.

I care not how high your education level is, for ignorance isn’t the mark of a formal education.
 
I do care how you treat people, men, women, children, and animals.

I do care how hard you will try to understand others.

I do care whether or not you attempt to accept others or judge them without
thought.

I do care whether you wish to leave the world a better place.

I do care if your thoughts are only upon your own status.

I do care if you only think of those whose beliefs or lives are what you think they should
be.

I’m a living, breathing person
I think, work, and love as you do
I’m not an extension of you
Nor am I a part of the house
Not just mother or grandmother 

I’m not a breeding animal
Nor child needing a parent
I’m a woman with desires
The need to be loved, heard, and seen
Recognized as a human being



Copyrighted 2012 Marta Moran
Bishop

I’m a living, breathing person
I think, work, and love as you do
I’m not an extension of you
Nor am I a part of the house
Not just mother or grandmother 

I’m not a breeding animal
Nor child needing a parent
I’m a woman with desires
The need to be loved, heard, and seen
Recognized as a human being



Copyrighted 2012 Marta Moran
Bishop

All six stockings hung above the fireplace, one for each of us. Slyly looking at the stockings each time one of
us went by, the report was the same, nothing, nada, they were still empty. Of course, none of us had shown any knowledge of them when the momma’s were around. It was fun to hear them all wondering about our lack of interest.

“It has to be soon.” I told Poofie.
“They put up the tree and decorated it days ago. I even helped momma Marta to make our little catnip balls today, but I don’t know where they disappeared to.” Beau added.

Poofie’s had a gray coat with little white stockings and a white collar, and I was totally black, we always got the short end of the stick when it came to spying, it was the two of us that did the extra round. Of course, there were reasons for this. Mamma Paula always noticed Kitten; he could barely walk through the house without her playing with him or petting him. It was revolting to watch. Morris and Champ’s coat was bright orange, so they were too conspicuous and Mikey. Well he was just a kitten and always distracted or into something. His calico gray coat would have made him an ideal candidate for spying. He couldn’t be trusted to carry out a mission, because of his youth.

After everyone had walked through once, Poofie and I as usual did the rest of the undercover work. After all, we couldn’t let the Mamma’s notice we were interested in our little stockings. They might take them down and make us wait.

“Beau, you are so much older than I am. Since we moved to this house, everything has been different. Poofie asked. Have you ever seen the momma’s just hang the stockings and leave them empty Beau? Do you think they going to fill them?”

“Poofie, I don’t know, everything is different tonight. I never saw things happen this way. Beau said”

In fact, everything had been different since we moved here. Gone was the snow we used to see when we looked out the windows, so many months of the year. The days here were foggy in the morning and sunny in the afternoon. This house was darker than all the others; we had lived in, especially the last. Still we all preferred it to that first house. The first one we lived in, when we moved out here to the land of sunshine and flowers. The first house was smaller and high up in the air, with a door that opened to an outside area.

The outside area wasn’t for us cat’s we always heard the mommas say. Seldom could we even see a bird circling over the water if we strained our eyes. If we sat on the top of a chair or the couch we could see the ocean off in the distance, but that was about it. In this house, they seldom opened the back door so we didn’t get to sniff the air. The mommas didn’t like the noise from the highway, but the back yard held all kinds of
critters and birds to watch and it filled our days. There was a lot of room for all of us to run and play. Best of all the mammas all had their own rooms again.

It was in that first house that we all met. Kitten and Mama Paula moved in last. They had a separate room for many months. Mamma Paula worried about Kitten and so the rest of us could not go into that room. We didn’t much like that. Closed doors are never a pleasant thing as for the six of us. Cats don’t believe in we should be barred by a door.


Those first months were difficult, especially when Kitten moved out of the room and joined the rest of us. He always got into a fight with someone. As a result of his fighting, none of us could figure out why mamma Paula worried about him. He especially didn’t like Mickey, once they got into a brawl that woke the momma’s Marta and Pat, in the
middle of the night. That was not a happy scene. The rest of us hid during the bulk of it all though we watched. Kitten jumped and bit mommy Marta on her backside, when she bent down to separate the two of them. Lordy, it was a sight. In the middle of the night, mamma Pat sat in her motor chair, and cleaned up the blood from mamma Marta’s backside, but I digress.

“I signaled to Poofie, we crossed the room, slinking away through the shadows to meet our friends. We had a report to give. The excitement in the air was tremendous.  Even
old Morris loved Christmas. Little Mikey asked. “I heard the momma’s talking about Santa Claus, is that who will fill our stockings?”

“It could be.” I answered him, as Poofie and I reported that all the mommas were still sitting and watching TV.  “The stockings are still empty.” Poofie said. “It doesn’t appear anything will be happening tonight. Morris do you have a rule to help with this situation?” He asked. “I can’t figure out how to train the mommas’s to fill our stockings.”

Interrupting Kitten piped in. “Can I go get my brushing then? If we aren’t to get our stockings tonight, I would like to get my brushing. I don’t honestly care about catnip
anyway.”

“Kitten, you are such a brush slut.” Morris said full of disgust. “Can’t you leave it be for one night? After all, there are more momentous things going on just now. You may not be interested in catnip toys, but the rest of us are. I suppose if you aren’t going to help, you might as well go and get your brushing, but keep your mouth shut around the momma’s, please.”

“Stay out of my life Morris.” Kitten snarled. “Don’t be so snarky, if I prefer brushing to catnip it is none of your business, and don’t act like I am not stupid, of course, I won’t tell
the mammas.

“Shush, one of the mommas turned off the TV. Something is happening.” Champ said diffusing the situation.

 Sure enough the mommas gave each
other a hug and went into their separate rooms, our stockings still empty. Each of the mammas called out for us to come to bed. Kitten tearing off, he never missed going to bed with mamma Paula. Though, he did come out later to play or terrorize Mikey if he could get away with it.

“Morris, you are the oldest, what do you think Santa Claus and the momma’s will put in our stockings this year? Do you think we will get any other presents?” Champ asked
sweetly.

“Champ, there are already bright packages under the tree, that I think are for us, but you can go look if you want.” He answered. “Now everyone off to bed, we will meet up later. I expect Kitten will find us, even though he didn’t wait to find out the meeting spot.”
Morris stated.

A few months ago I read this quote,
“Just when things look like they are falling apart, they may actually be falling
together. During stormy times we sometimes feel like we are losing everything.
Maybe this stormy time is waking us to something better.” I don’t know where I
saw the quote, but have had it hung at my desk for the better part of the last
three months.

 This quote is a daily reminder that whatever, the purpose behind things rearing their ugly heads, over and over. There is a reason, and that purpose is to teach me something. It is my responsibility to figure out the meaning.

The message may be to stop beating your head against the wall and walk through a different door. Or it may be I must take a stand and move beyond the limitations. Those limitations that I allowed others to set for me. Instead, learn to live a happier, healthier, and more successful life.

The last few years have had the same message in different clothes repeated over and over again. Till I wanted to do the fight or flight thing, and since I am not a fighter it would be the flight option. I didn’t run this time. Instead, I learned to ask myself, and the universe please, tell me what the true message is? What things do I need to change in my life?

With each day that I have asked myself these questions, the answer has become a bit
clearer. Each time my belief that I am finally thinking with wisdom and courage, is clear, and I know I am closer to the stars that shine so darkly on a bright night.

My beach you see is a bit different than many. It does have its share of sand and sun, but it consists of the majesty and beauty that one can find in each blade of grass, each wave upon the beach, and each twinkle of a star.

Even though, I walk alone, my hand is always available for a fellow traveler who wants to share my journey and beach for a space. For even when we share our life and love with another, no matter how deeply, our beaches are a bit different. Our rocks sit differently along the shore, and the sun sets just a little deeper or brighter some days. We can pop in and visit one another’s beach, sometimes staying for a while and
sometimes just learning, growing, and sharing the company of kindred spirits.

For I believe, no matter how close your beach is to someone else’s still they are separate and cannot be claimed as identical. We can only share our beach for a spell, with spouses and lovers we may be in and out of each other’s beach. We can never actually cohabitate
totally, and yet we are never fully alone, for we are all individuals. So our beach can be as plentiful or as corrupt as we make it. For it is ours.