Looking back on days gone by
On carefree days of youth
On summer days of simple pleasures
And winter days of snow

Barefoot days in glorious pastures
Berry pails at my knee
Picking yellow wildflowers
Clenched in an eight-year-old fist.

Dreams filled my brunette head
With fantasy and tales
They swept me far to days ahead
Of my life that God would give.

Dreams of future, ambitious goals
I was certain I’d attain
Dreams of wealth and high applause
Respectful fear and awe.

No time for tea and sympathy
heading straight for the brink of sixteen
it’s been over a year, suddenly realizing,
since playing at some imagining.

How long it’s been since sticks and arrows
how long since paper planes
how long since flags and carboard houses
how long since spying games.

No time for books arranged in series, for
each year in between, growing up more
suddenly standing at the library door
finding the characters two years younger or more.

When I was your age we used video tapes
TVs were square and fat
We had to rewind after every viewing
You should see how long it took to do THAT

You'd say the video games were primitive
DVDs were strange and new
Cell phones didn't have all those neat gadgets
Kids your age who owned them were few

iPods hadn't shown up yet
But Furbies were all the rage
The cool kids played with Polly Pocket
Gameboy was a fave

Dear Homeschooling Friends,

The word "innocence" and the phrase "respect for innocence" have been in my thoughts during the last two weeks. In fact, they have been with me ever since I wrote innocence in as one of the inspirations for apricotpie on the about page. At first my thoughts turned toward what innocence does not mean to me. But later I began to hear it in a different way. This is how it is coming to me now:

     Walking across the dust covered floor, uncovering old laughter in my mind, of the times we'd tried to keep things quiet. Do you remember the failure of our fluffy pillow covers, when we hoped not to make a sound? Trying not to wake our sleeping little brother in the next room? Those times, of happy hearts, joy, and ease? Light minds and new starts. We were truly free. Almost running everywhere we dared, without fear or any cares.

*I don't know what made me think of this today, but here's what came of it...*

It was green, I remember,
fields stretching long,
and bushes hunched together
blackberries

It was stone, I remember,
statues, steps, path
grass growing through the cracks
and the pool full of our reflections
and tadpoles

It was damp, I remember
on a cloudy day under sweeping trees
reaching high with rustling leaves,
and the little house in the shadows with cobwebby sills
chasing, running

I've always wanted to have a lot of kids. My mom courageously bore six of us, eight if you count the two that miscarried. I always try to remember them, too. Growing up with so many of us was like having my own little group of friends. That's not to say we didn't have real friends over. Hardly. But we grew up so emotionally close to each other that the need for outside friends was dampened. I honestly can't imagine having any fewer than eight kids, be they my own or adopted as my own. Six would be the bare minimum. Eight might just do it.

This is a picture of the baby broiler chicks I raised in 2003. It's early January, and the temperature outside the coop is probably in the mid-30s, so they've nestled together under the heat of a brooder lamp to stay toasty warm. I like this picture for how content and peaceful the birds look.

The night, this cool and breezy night,
While in the vast unclouded sky
Stars stand lonely vigils, bright

The sea, the sea which rushes gently to the shore,
Reflects the starry light
Into the coral’s distant roar

The wind, this wind that softly stirs the trees,
Blows soundless ’cross the sand
On its journey o’re the seas

The sand, the sand which softly sinks beneath my feet,
Lies damp twixt quiet waves
And a silent jungle, deep