The Best Tradition

Traditions R.Yehuda

Photo: R. Yehuda

 

The doorbell rings

The gate stays open

As they trickle, stream, come in.

Sisters, brothers, nieces, cousins,

Nephews, parents, aunts and uncles,

And new additions to the scene.

Candles lit and babies cuddled,

In the kitchen tied-up aprons swirl

As busy hands ready cuisine.

A phone is passed:

A distant caller

Hellos each loved one from the screen.

The rooms are filled

The hearts are fuller.

Another year of treasured family din.

 

 

For the Sunday Stills Challenge: Traditions

 

 

Sufficient Space

dormitories AmitaiAsif

Photo: Amitai Asif

 

Side by side

Close together

They won’t really

Worry whether

There is sufficient

Personal space,

Just scoot a bit

And make a place

So this bed

Can rest another

Weary head.

 

 

For Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: places people live

 

My Neighbor’s Bike

 

toddler s pink bike near wall

Photo by Afta Putta Gunawan on Pexels.com

 

My first bike

Was a neighbor’s bike.

“Too many hills,” my mom had said

As if topography in any way diminished

The accelerated thrill

Of legs off pedals

From the top of the rise

To our street.

There was no arguing

Or vowing to share and never fight.

We knew her words were code

For “we cannot afford.”

But my sister’s friend across the street

Did have a bike

And with it the absolute power to dispense

Rides, routes, direction, and duration.

There were no training wheels

To ease one in.

There was no question of admitting

Complete lack of experience

And risking an evaporated offer.

So it was guts and trepidation

A stranglehold on the handlebar

And the utter exhilaration

Of flying.

 

 

For Cee’s Share Your World Challenge

 

Cookie Share

round biscuit with heart jelly in center

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

“Now it’s my turn to ask you a question,” she said. “And you have to answer.”

“Fair enough,” I smiled. After all, I’d just subjected this child to a long list of questions to which she had to respond.

“What if,” she began, twinkle-eyed, “you had only one cookie, but you needed to share it with fifty kids?”

“Hmm …” I pondered. “That’s a tough one. One cookie only?”

“Yep!” She raised her eyebrows in satisfaction at what had to be my stupefied expression.

“Can I hand out something else instead?” I bargained.

“Nope. One cookie, fifty kids.” The eight-year-old was utterly too pleased with herself.

I smelled a rat but I wasn’t going to show it. She’d earned this after soldiering on through the difficult portions of the testing battery. “I give up.” I raised my hands in surrender. “I don’t see how I can split one cookie between fifty kids.”

“I never said how big the cookie had to be, did I?” she chortled. “If you have a gigantic humongous cookie it would be easy peasy to have everyone share it!”

 

 

For Cee’s Share Your World June-18-2018

Spill The Beans

dip AmitaiAsif

Photo: Amitai Asif

 

Spill the beans

On what is

And never

Should’ve made

Secret.

Share the stories

You know

And others

Also

Have lived.

Find the balance

Between

Private stashes

Of sorrow

And the tender joys

To be had

In remembering

Both.

 

 

For The Daily Post

Fair Share …

 

flower girl

A little girl of preschool age sits with her mom in session. She substitutes some sounds and tends to delete the ends of words, saying things like: “pe” instead of ‘pen’, “la” instead of ‘laugh’, “ha” instead of ‘hat’, “may” instead of “make”, “wabee” instead of ‘rabbit.’ Her speech can be difficult to understand, which is why she sees me for speech therapy.

Articulation aside, this girl’s language and expressive skills are up to par, and her infectiously delicious personality keeps us in stitches half the time.

We’re practicing saying word-endings by “discovering” (uncovering) and naming picture cards: “pig”, “hug”, “map”, “cat”, “man” … She pauses on the picture of the man. He is dressed in a suit and tie.

She’s been to a wedding recently as a flower girl to the bride–her mom’s cousin–and has been fascinated with weddings since. White dresses, tutus, flowing gowns, flowers, princess-wear… It enchants her to no end and she ‘plays bride’ with her dolls, marches with imaginary flowers down makeshift aisles.

“Mommy,” she pipes, pointing at the picture of the suit-clad man. “Is he getting married?” (“ee he geti mawee?”… it helps to know what she is referring to, if one is to understand …).

“Maybe,” The mother smiles.

“I want to get married, too,” the child demands.

“When you grow up you can. Who will you marry?” Mom can’t resist.

“Daddy.”

“Oh, but I already married Daddy, Sweetie. You’ll have to marry someone else.”

Storm clouds gather on the little girl’s face. “That’s not fair!” She states, hands on hips for emphasis. “You already had your turn. You have to share! It’s my turn to marry Daddy now!”

share chairhere comes the bride