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Tag: mystery
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Untold stories below a railroad tressle
Posted at 3:00 pm , on December 31, 2016
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One foot in front of the other…
Posted at 3:00 pm , on December 26, 2016
Can’t remember when I arrived in this town,
Trying to piece that past together.
Pressure inside makes me know I have to go,
Again just one foot in front of the other…
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Tracing History
Posted at 1:00 pm , on December 11, 2016
Today, tomorrow,and so on. Might we work hard to preserve our family tree.
We love to reminisce about memories of family members so, we are making more of an effort to write them down.
We are realizing that the roots of the tree are the strengths and hardships that our family, as a whole, has endured. Finding more information only helps our tree to grow.
Even though we are traveling in to the future, someone in our family will be looking back on us. Our dream is to blend information our parents have, with work and time we put in, to leave for our children, their children, and so on.
Someone in our family might be just as curious as we were. We want them to find that we worked hard and loved raising beautiful children, proud of being a family , curious about our history. Ever persistent in recording what we were told and discovered . That we took special time to help preserve our precious family tree.
When we work on our family genealogy, we realize we love the challenge of the search. When we trace history we are digging through clues, piecing them together to solve mysteries.
We discover our family was persistent. They pushed through, or went over and around, life’s hardships and kept on going. We realize even though they are not with us on this earth, they are our inspiration.
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Her lost memory
Posted at 3:30 pm , on December 4, 2016
When she lost it or where, I do not know. She simply lost memory of her secret life. Where she hid it, I definitely know. She kept it in a big overstuffed red book that she tied shut with two long white laces. She would walk over to talk to me about my weed and grass salads I was making and the orange tree root I was trying desperately every single day for three whole days to dig up. I thought it was a huge carrot and I wanted it for my “salad”. She wore a big bag purse on her shoulder and inside was this diary of sorts. While we talked, she seem so interested in what I was doing.
Maybe she wrote about me and how she could look me right in the eye and slip that red book right in that slit in the tree without worrying that I was noticing. How it was so perfect that I was so small, that maybe I would not realize this was her hiding place. She wrote in pencil. She looked so confident,peaceful when she was writing. Her left hand so twisted around that a lot of times I still picture just her elbow staring pointedly at me.
Her hair would cover her eye and she would tuck it behind her ear at first,but once she finally got into that other world’, her hair was forgotten. She would talk out loud and laugh and have little conversations with someone invisible in the sky or in front of her. She would turn her head sideways and smile and be looking at nothing. She would look happy and clasp her hands together and press her lips shut. She would sigh and grab the sides of her hair and kind of growl. She would write so fast that I couldn’t believe someone could have so much to say. She would get upset and stomp the grass, around and around in a circle, looking both happy and sad at the same time. She would cry,sometimes even sob, and press her hand to her mouth, or rub her eyes until the tears were gone. Her nose would be red and swollen and that is when she would go in her little home and bake.
We lived in our large farm house that sat close to a lane that lead in to town,but almost surrounded with trees and out back was her little home. I could look out my bedroom window and see the path that lead to her front patio. If I went up to the attic I could see the tops of all the trees and a small opening that showed her front door and her window nicely where she sat to write. We knew when anyone would visit her since it was so quiet and our dog would begin to bark or if she had a nice smelling meal in the kitchen, or maybe let’s say, sit up all hours of the night writing by her open window. I would read by candle and glance at her window every page or so.
I became attached to her schedule. She stayed up quite late. Turned off her light and woke up to our rooster. She would leave for our house when it was still dark, and go home right after I got home during the school year. She spent days at our home cleaning,cooking,and baking. I loved having her in the house because she would laugh and my parents would be so happy. Sometimes she would look so tired, that my daddy would insist she rest. He would so gently lead her to a chair,crouch down in front of her,push her hair gently to the side and look her in the eyes. I was young,but I still noticed these times of affection.
Daddy and Momma told me Aunt Ray was in need of some rest and much needed time alone. But she still wrote and was always out rain or shine to check on her little covered porch. She looked as plump as Momma had become with the baby on the way. But she still took care of her ivy plants,tomato plants in buckets and little jars of herbs. For awhile,she stayed at her little home but after Momma had the twins,she stayed in the big house day and night for about a year. She shared a room with my new sisters,feeding them and changing them while Momma slept.
Every week a delivery man would walk down the side of our home,and through the woods to bring her a bouquet of fresh flowers and she would reach for the card before the flowers left the man’s hands. She would smile so big and press them to her face. One time she had yellow all over her eyebrows and nose. She looked so happy and so beautiful. I wanted to know what the card said to make her sing that day.
How to find her lost memory, do I go back to start? What I want most though is not her lost memory but her last memory. What was it? Her last memory seems to have triggered a mystery life I only knew she had. The ad in the paper read simply-Help me. I have lost something very dear to me. My memory. It is in a red, stuffed with thousands of papers,notebook,tied with a couple of shoelaces. I don’t remember it. I just dream about that damn notebook and the life of a secret love story between 3 people. On those cried on, crinkled folded pages, are poems of arms and legs entwined,bluebirds he sent me so I would sing. A love song that I sang into his ear as his arms wrapped around me and pulled me close. I really want to remember what that song was. I want the tears to flow as I find that page that held the words that he wrote just for me. Just me.
This was her journey. Their journey. One no other person needs to understand or criticize because they have not found that path in life. Their path.
Now Ray’s mind was a jumble of letters. Letters big,letters small. If she only had some paper, she was sure,so sure,she could make out the order they were suppose to be in. Why was her mind so fuzzy? They were all neighbors in Tennessee. She was in a small home in the woods. A lovely little home with a path of trees and flowers that lead to the large home. The first time she saw him was at an outside vegetable stand in this little downtown area and she knew she had to get closer to him . He was sweet and kind and anyone could tell how he loved and adored his wife. He looked at her with such adoration in his eyes. She couldn’t take her eyes away from that look on his face. She knew without a doubt,she desired that look from him. She was so amazed how they met later in the park.
Her name was Ray Seene and she was one of my dearest friends and confidantes. The first time we saw her was in the park as my husband John and I were passing through to place flowers at the cemetery. She was all alone, sitting under a tree writing in a notebook. She had her legs to the side of her and at one point,looked up through the tree,shutting her eyes and smiled. John looked also,and paused,tightening the hold on my hand just slightly. Sunlight was shining down on her and she was quite the attraction. I guess she felt us staring. She smiled this beautiful smile and we were both hooked. John said hello to her and she said something we could not hear. This only caused us to walk over to her. And that is when we fell in love. The attraction was so strong at first none of us could make complete sentences. We kept tripping over words,finally all laughing together. Introductions were made and we shook hands,John pulling her to her feet as her hand met his. The flowers I held were pink carnations. They were no small bundle. Are you spreading these beauties through your home,she asked. I’m placing them on our daughters’ graves, I responded so quietly. She gently placed a hand on the flowers and took a part of them from me. John said he had expected me to get angry. I was the only one to touch them and the one who arranged them on the graves. I told him that I just felt how right everything was when her fingers brushed over mine.
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When will the tunnel end?
Posted at 3:30 pm , on November 29, 2016
My head ached. Hard, throbbing, pounding pain. Slumped over in the back seat of a car. Whose car is it? How did I get here?
My last memory was standing outside of the store glancing at the window display waiting for my meeting with Joey. He was late, as usual, but what just happened? As I reach up to feel the bump on my head, my fingers feel the cold cool traces of blood. My blood! What is going on?
I see two men in the front seat, the one on the right occasionally glancing back to make certain I was still there. Who were these two? Neither one of them was Joey. Joey who was my best friend since college. Where was he? Was he involved with these two guys?
Our plans were to grab a bite at some newer place Joey had found. Joey had been working at a firm in Detroit before relocating back to Baltimore this past month. He landed a position with one of the larger firms in D.C., and I was just glad to have my old friend back in town. Is he tied up in this situation?
“What do you guys want?” I ask loud enough for both to hear. Pain immediately began searing across my face as a gun came crashing across my skull. The man on the right clearly is not a talker. My eyes still blurry, I gaze up and realize we are in a tunnel. I don’t recall ever traveling in this one before. Though my vision is still too blurry to make out precise details.
Where am I heading, what in the world is going on? What are these two planning to do with me? When will this tunnel end….?
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“Alone”
Posted at 2:51 pm , on October 29, 2016
“Alone”
BY EDGAR ALLAN POE
From childhood’s hour I have not beenAs others were—I have not seenAs others saw—I could not bringMy passions from a common spring—From the same source I have not takenMy sorrow—I could not awakenMy heart to joy at the same tone—And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—Then—in my childhood—in the dawnOf a most stormy life—was drawnFrom ev’ry depth of good and illThe mystery which binds me still—From the torrent, or the fountain—From the red cliff of the mountain—From the sun that ’round me roll’dIn its autumn tint of gold—From the lightning in the skyAs it pass’d me flying by—From the thunder, and the storm—And the cloud that took the form(When the rest of Heaven was blue)Of a demon in my view—Check us out at JenGaryNewAdventures.com and follow us on Pinterest.
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The Souls Walk Free
Posted at 11:30 am , on September 23, 2016
Their shadows, teasing his eye.
Sounds overcoming his breath.
Excitement roars in his ear.
A little old man stooped over with cane
blinking tears mixed with cool rain
this country trail has seen torture, some pain
from little boy to grown man
skinned knees to shaky hand
holding seeds and walking near
her laughter, he can still hear
clouds are pushing, holding the storm
tall grass clears, revealing their forms.
Daisies are blooming all through the night
with the flowers they are obscure from fright.
Fingers digging, finding only fresh dirt
he remembers, her feet, sweetly peeking from under her skirt
where were the words to her song
with another she belonged
his love was to protect
never hers to select
all her little stones lined up in a row
he is the soldier that loved her babies as they rested below
safe from the man who means to do them in
until he joins them, he will always see them ascend.
Up springs stems, up springs petals, up grows his daisies
protecting her babies.
She is beauty,they are a joy,smiles a man who defeated the evil mans ploy.
This time…..They dance with the little man who planted the daisies to protect them from the curse, special seeds selected from her purse.
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Can I Tell You My Dream? Part 1
Posted at 1:37 pm , on August 16, 2016
The secret lies with the dead fox,thus why I wrote my poem about a sneaky fox titled, that Fox. When someone walks up to me and says, “Can I Tell You My Dream?”. I feel secretly blessed…
Source: Can I Tell You My Dream? Part 1
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Beside Us
Posted at 3:22 pm , on July 21, 2015
Who walks beside us when we think we are alone?
In daylight, look to the right,
the same beings will sit beside you each night.
Dreams, it seems…
Lips pressed close to our ear, telling us something, to calm our fear
Their sweet whisper, why can’t I remember?
In to the sky, they fly.
Making us smile, as we look above,
taking our heartache, giving their love.
Their steps on this earth no longer touch the ground.
They hear our prayers and pass them around.
This world is full of mystery that is not clear.
Beside you is a secret that is always near.
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Mystery in a Stare
Posted at 9:12 pm , on February 6, 2015
I’m looking out at you. You are looking in at me………What do you see?
I stare at you. You stare at me. Who could I be?
Something about me must have been written down in time.
May you find whatever I left behind.
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