Something to Ponder

Recently, I came across this poem and it touched me deeply. Although it’s sad, there’s a very meaningful message so I thought I’d share it here today . . .


When an old lady died in a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland, it was felt that she had nothing left of any value. Later, when the nurses were going through her meager possessions, they found this poem.

An Old Lady’s Poem

What do you see, nurses, what do you see?
What are you thinking when you’re looking at me?
A crabby old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply,
When you say in a loud voice. “I do wish you’d try!”

Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
And forever is losing a stocking or two —
Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill —

Is that what you’re thinking?
Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse; you’re not looking at me.

I’ll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of ten — with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters, who love one another.

A young girl of sixteen, with wings on her feet,
Dreaming that soon a lover she’ll meet.

A bride then at twenty — my heart gives a leap,
Remembering vows I promised to keep.

At twenty-five next, I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide their secure happy home.

A woman of forty, my young sons all grown,
But my man is beside me to see I don’t mourn.

At fifty, once more, babies play ’round my knee,
Again we know children, my loved one and me.
For my young ones are rearing young of their own,
I think of the years and the love that I’ve known.

Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead:
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.
I’m now an old woman — and nature is cruel;
‘Tis jest to make old age look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles, grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
And now and again, my battered heart swells.

I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
And I’m loving and living life over again.
I think of the years — all too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people, open and see,
Not a crabby old woman; look closer — see ME!!!



No beige for me!

You’re probably familiar with the following line:

“When I am an old woman I shall wear purple…”

from the poem, Warning by Jenny Joseph.

I figure I’m way ahead of the game on this one…

I’ve been wearing purple ever since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. 😉

Someday I’ll be a little old lady who boldly wears purple, or fuchsia, or red!


But ya know, kids, it occurs to me that we haven’t gone shopping together in months! So, just for fun, let’s pop over to etsy and see what we can find in purple! (If you’d like a shopping trip in your favorite color scheme next time, just holler!)

Fashion meets art with this gorgeous shawl from sweetknitting.

There’s something special about handblown art glass. This vase is from infiniteglassworks.

As an iris-lover this adorable wristlet purse from KnitzyBlonde caught my eye!

Here’s a lovely linen and crochet pincushion from namolio.

And finally, a pretty Hydrangea Pillow from dedeetsyshop.

‘Til next time,


Slow Dance

I bumped into this sweet little poem and just had to share it with you . . .

At first glance, it looks a bit long, but it’s really a quick read!

Thank you for your visits and comments this week! I appreciate it so much. 😀

Happy weekend! See ya Monday!

Slow Dance

Have you ever watched kids
On a merry-go-round?
Or listened to the rain
Slapping on the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly’s erratic flight?
Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?
You better slow down.
Don’t dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won’t last.

Do you run through each day
On the fly?
When you ask “How are you?”
Do you hear the reply?
When the day is done,
Do you lie in your bed
With the next hundred chores
Running through your head?
You’d better slow down.
Don’t dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won’t last.

Ever told your child,
We’ll do it tomorrow?
And in your haste,
Not see his sorrow?
Ever lost touch,
Let a good friendship die
‘Cause you never had time
To call and say “Hi”?
You’d better slow down.
Don’t dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won’t last.

When you run so fast to get somewhere
You miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day,
It is like an unopened gift….
Thrown away.

Life is not a race.
Do take it slower
Hear the music
Before the song is over.

[ Author Unknown ]


Hugs for all,


Friday Favorites

abcslateYou’ve probably noticed that store aisles are brimming with school supplies, which can mean only one thing . . . school is about to begin!

So this week’s Friday Favorites features a classic poem that’s perfect for the season. I remember having to memorize parts of it in grade school. Do kids still have to do that today?

If you’re unfamiliar with the poem, don’t be discouraged by the length. The ending is well worth the effort. 🙂

Hope you enjoy! See you Monday for the new questions.


schoolkids In School Days

Still sits the school-house by the road,
A ragged beggar sleeping;
Around it still the sumachs grow,
And blackberry-vines are creeping.

Within, the master’s desk is seen,
Deep-scarred by raps official;
The warping floor, the battered seats,
The jack-knife’s carved initial;

The charcoal frescoes on its wall;
Its door’s worn sill, betraying
The feet that, creeping slow to school,
Went storming out to playing!

Long years ago a winter sun
Shone over it at setting;
Lit up its western window-panes,
And low eaves’ icy fretting.

It touched the tangled golden curls,
And brown eyes full of grieving,
Of one who still her steps delayed
When all the school were leaving.

For near it stood the little boy
Her childish favor singled;
His cap pulled low upon a face
Where pride and shame were mingled.

Pushing with restless feet the snow
To right and left, he lingered;—
As restlessly her tiny hands
The blue-checked apron fingered.

He saw her lift her eyes; he felt
The soft hand’s light caressing,
And heard the tremble of her voice,
As if a fault confessing.

“I’m sorry that I spelt the word:
I hate to go above you,
Because,”—the brown eyes lower fell,—
“Because, you see, I love you!”

Still memory to a gray-haired man
That sweet child-face is showing.
Dear girl! the grasses on her grave
Have forty years been growing!

He lives to learn, in life’s hard school,
How few who pass above him
Lament their triumph and his loss,
Like her, because they love him.

~John Greenleaf Whittier

Friday Favorites

With the start of snowy weather and the holidays just around the corner, it seems a natural choice to select one of Robert Frost’s most well-loved poems for this week’s *Friday Favorites*. Hope you enjoy it! 🙂

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.