rancherwriterpoet

Poetry, musings, reflections, life

Archive for the month “May, 2016”

Number 7

In the world of superstition, the numeral seven is often thought of as a “lucky” number. Fortunes have been won and lost by the use of that number in games of chance. I never considered myself as a “lucky” person. I have never won any sort of prizes or contests. Usually, I do not enter any type of sweepstakes or lotteries. I do recall winning a football pool once. I suppose that would have been “luck”. I hear people describe the results of winning as the “luck of the draw.” In illustrating a winner, one could say, “you lucky dog!” On embarking on a particular venture, “Best of Luck” sometimes is conveyed. A shared meal with a group is often explained as “Potluck”. It has been said, “with any luck…” and so forth. As you begin reading this you may have gotten the idea this is about luck, not necessarily so.

December 2008, I had an encounter in a Barnes and Noble bookstore with a wonderful woman. This changed my life. I have heard scenarios such as this described as a “chance” encounter. I disagree. It was anything but “chance”. “Chance” implies that some sort of luck was involved. I do not believe that to be the case. However, it may be possible to describe it as fate. I much prefer to say I was “blessed”.
When my eyes caught up with her eyes, I was hooked. As I stood there in the map section, (I love reading maps, educational, you know), and she in the romance section, it was a defining moment.

I, being the male species, made the first move. I probably should have spent more time in the romance section. Not being a teenager for a long time, I was rusty at this sort of thing. I invited her for a cup of coffee, Starbucks coffee. That stuff will get your blood pressure rising. Mine was already on the increase. We began a wonderful conversation. We shared our similarities. Amazing how much we discovered in common. This coffee shop was in the mall, thus we walked and spent time window-shopping. I recall she bought a set of coasters.

After a second cup of coffee, she with a double shot of espresso, (not me, I was already wired) we decided to take a walk through a local park. As we walked, we both knew this was a special moment in time. We were completely enjoying our time together, (except for the Pomeranian which was “bad luck”).

Finishing our day, we had lunch at On the Border Café. It seems that Mexican food is probably our most favorite meal. The time raced by. I did not want this day to end. Sadly, it did. However, it was the beginning of a very true romance, the kind you might read in the romance section at Barnes and Noble bookstore. I could see this coming back when I was in the map section.

May 15, 2016, we will celebrate our seventh wedding anniversary and counting. It is impossible to list all the wonderful experiences we have enjoyed over these past seven years.

So, through this brief article and very publicly, I am expressing my love for this woman, sometimes affectionately referred to as “The Rancherette”, but always my wife Jennifer. Happy Anniversary to my helpmate, my sweetheart, my constant companion, my soul mate and yes, my playmate. Come to think of it, maybe, I did get lucky after all. I know for sure I am blessed. The God of my beliefs put all this in motion and I am grateful. His plan is perfect, like the number 7.

To be continued:

Lest We Forget

Mother’s Day is almost upon us. This is a day set aside to honor mothers. Not every woman is a mother, thus, not every woman is afforded the opportunity to celebrate this day as a mother. Perhaps the choice was not theirs. Perhaps it was. It is not an inconsequential decision. For whatever reason, they should still be celebrated for who they are, and I for one, choose to honor them as well.

I no longer have my mother with me today. My biological parents were killed in a tornado in 1946. For the first six years of my life, I enjoyed all the benefits of being an older sibling. I was well fed, clothed properly, maybe not exactly fashionable, but clean. I was treated well, had a bed to sleep in and as I recall, an ice cream cone every once in a while. To the best of my memory and from all accounts of my childhood, my mother was a wonderful mother. It was a good life, until tragedy struck this young family; a tornado destroyed all semblances of the J.C. Morrison family, killing my mother, father, brother, and an uncle. I was the only survivor.

As I write this, I have in my hand my 1st grade report card from 1946. It describes the academic grades for my first year in school. Just so you will know, my average grade for the year was an A-, but who is keeping score. However, the front of this card is not the story. On the back, there are lines for parents to sign after each six weeks period. And at the bottom, it says I was promoted to the second grade. The first two lines are signed by my mother, Mrs. J.C. (Mae B.) Morrison while the middle two lines are blank.

The last two lines are signed by my mother, Mrs. N.R. (“BB”) Robertson.  Curiosity got you. yet?  “BB”, as she was called, was Mae B.’s sister. She became my adopted mother. She was the loving, caring mother who raised me. Even in my rebellious times, she continued to love and care for me and she disciplined me, obviously. Ever have a peach limb across your bare legs? Trust me, that was love. That is what mothers do, love their children.

I am sure I must have been a handful at times. Recalling, a stupid decision I once made when I was thirty-seven years old, she flat out asked me, “Son, when are you going to grow up?” I was thirty-seven years old!

She has long passed from this life to her rewards. It is amazing how I never dwell on all the times we disagreed and the times I surely must have disappointed her. Yet her love for me never wavered. I think of all the people who no longer have the presence of a mother in their life. There surely must be good memories you can recall. I hope so. I am blessed to have had two mothers in my life. Mae B. and BB.

I choose to celebrate Mother’s Day, for both my mothers, for the mother of my children, for those who have given me grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and for my wife and her daughter, my stepdaughter.

I lose count of all the mothers I know, but mothers, know this, you are a gift from God. Lest We Forget, thank you, Father, for the mothers in my life.

Happy Mother’s Day.

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