April 18, 2016
Joyce Kilmer wrote, “I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree…”. Trees was my favorite poem as a child. Never knew anything about him until the other day. Funk and Wagnall gave him lists of words, paid him five cents a word to define. Would love a job like that with a little more pay. He was shot and died in WWI. His notebook and pen on his desk waited patiently at home to begin the book on his war coverage commissioned by a publishing company upon his return.
Where I grew up’ there was a giant weeping willow in my neighbor’s front yard. It was my favorite tree. Strong, yet gracefully elegant, as those long thin branches quietly draped themselves all the way to the ground.
MY HOMETOWN…Conneaut OH A small town, a tiny person with “short girl’s disease”….what happened? “How did you get to be such an awfully little girl with such a big chatter box?” A question my second grade teacher asked me. Something I’ve been asking myself since.
I guess many things are built in us at an early age, genetics from the womb, those vital years 1-5. We learn how to function around different types of people and situations as we grow up. When I was on my own and difficult life situations came along, I made it through with the will to keep waking up and going to work each day for several reasons. No matter how sad, unhappy, unconfident, unrestrained wild child I had become through the years on what was in me…. it always came down to personal will, events in my childhood and drive to know…..
Laughter was a rare occurrence in my home. It often was an oppressing and a depressing environment from my viewpoint. Everybody was always serious, except when Ed Sullivan, Soupy Sales, Mr. Ed, Disney, Lamb Chops and Howdy Doody for those few those “great” moments. The sad part of it is that we laughed at something a stranger said on this screen in a box sitting in a corner of our livingroom that had no arms. Now we did yell at each other to shutup cause we missed hearing something on this addition to our family when one of us piped up about the show. I studied the characters, thinking they aren’t very funny. They got a smile out of me, but not many hearty laughs. Studied them mostly like I Love Lucy. Lucy was a dork and maybe that’s where my self-deprecating humor evolved.
I most definitely was a clone of my mother physically. Except apparently my legs. My father made the mistake of telling my mom in front of me that my legs were prettier then hers, that she had piano shaped legs. Ohhh no he ditunt!!!! Well yes he did and she got so pissed off at him, said a few choice words and the Wrath of Con it did come down upon him and the resentment of Con it came down on me for an instant. My mother was raised a serious Baptist. She was not allowed to play with her dolls or play at all on Sunday. Although, somewhere along the way she learned how to cuss like a sailor which I proudly award my grandfather, her dad, Chesley Walker, that honor. My Father was raised a casual Methodist. I never heard him swear except on two occasions and that was the “s” word. Woohoo!
My mother’s name is Iona Athena Walker who was raised on a beautiful farm. I am her namesake Iona Cheryl Ware and I dedicate everything I say that’s good here to her. Mothers will be given special rewards at the return. I’m sure of it. How could I have made it without her.
Please fasten your seatbelts if you would like to ride along. We babyboomers can be multi- generational thinkers having been born during the music of the Platters to now with Disturbed. Now that’s disturbing.
I don’t know why I’m writing this or where I’ll end up but the engine’s started so might as well keep driving.