He is my Great-Grandfather
He lives in Wisconsin
I live in New Hampshire
He is old
I am young
He is lonely
I am too
He is the one who put the
worm on my fishing pole
I am the one who threw the
line into the water
He is the one who helped me
bring in my first fish
I am the one who thought it
was a great blue whale
When in reality it was a five inch sunfish
He is the one I love
He is the one I always will
He is my great-grandfather
I am his great-grandson
Toby M.
100 Quickwrites
Think about someone you like to do things with and write as quickly as you can for 8 minutes all that comes to mind when you think of that person and all you do together.
Try writing about that person using the contrast of "he" or "she" and "I".
Think of a grandparent and write as quickly and as specifically as you can, the things you do together.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
18 comments:
Love and lonliness sometimes go hand in hand. It's amazing to love and find the great rewards of its return. In the absence of that love, lonliness sometimes fills the gap. Even with the pain, though, love is always worthwhile.
He is the one who taught me to ride,
I am the one who held on tight.
He is the one who taught me to try hard,
I am the one who has tried to live by that model.
He is the one shared with me his techniques and secrets with the horses.
I am the one who soaked it in.
He is the one who has believed in me without waivering,
I am the one who loves him entirely.
my grandmother is aging
for the longest time she was she
now i can hardly recognize the strong woman of my youth
i was small and her hands were strong
it was summer and her house was home
under the elm tree her hammock hung
"row row row your boat," she would sing as she swung my cousin and i
we were young and laughed until my cousin screamed as a bee flew near
my grandmothers hand reached out and caught it
she held it til her face winced
my grandmother threw the bee in a pale
"gently down the stream" she does not go
My grandmother, the great huntress who guarded her berry bushes with fierce tenacity and a handy .22 which she kept handy at the back door.
My grandmother, the great butcherer who lops off heads fifty at a time while the bodies fall to the ground hopping around on two legs only to end up in a kettle of hot water soon to be featherless.
My grandmother, the great baker of multiple loaves of white bread never to be tasted again after her passing.
My grandmother, the great jelly maker who squeezes the fresh red juicy current berries through the cheese cloth and ours hot wax over the prepared jelly in neatly lined rows of canning jars.
My grandmother the great lives on forever.
My best friend is comfortable to me.
He is a Florida native, I am not.
He is a fly-fisherman, I am trying to be.
He is an engineer, I am a teacher.
He loves Montana, I love Montana.
He is an archer, I will watch.
He is a marksman, and that I will also try.
He is a cautious driver, so he does the driving.
Whatever we do together, I know I can relax and trust him.
He can speak, or not, and I can speak, or not, and we can still enjoy the company.
He is outwardly simple but inwardly sophisticated.
He has figured me out, he says. Why would he want to start over with anyone else?
I say he hasn't, but it's easier to let him believe that. Engineers like to have things figured out. Teachers like a constant challenge.
Nathan,
Robert Cormier has a set of short stories call 8 + One. One of those is a great piece where a grandson reluctantly goes to visit his grandmere in a nursing home. He is mistaken for his grandfather and he comes to understand something about love that he had no idea of. I can't remember its name, but your piece reminds me of the short story because of your first lines.
I too have those memories of my great grandfather. He was milker of the cows, feeder of the chickens and tender of the geese. When you went to the barn with Papa, you could be assured that you would end up with milk squirted at you, along with the dozen or so cats who also enjoyed milking time. As feeder of the chickens you had to dress appropriately - with Papa's coat and hat or the chickens would be stressed. He is also the one who made a noose to hang the chicken hawk for us right outside the hen house to ward off evil chicken hawks. When all the Canadian geese came hissing at us as we went to the creek, it was Papa who sent them running back to the safety zone of deeper water. My Grandpa Meyer - my children's Greatgrandfather had similar heroisms to myself and my children. He was feeder of the wild turkeys on his four wheeler for my children. He was the supreme horseman for me. He built wooden or metal toys for my children. He was the Loon Lake guide when haying season was over - for me. Grandpa was also that safety net to sit by when you hated peas - Grandma insisted that you tried everything and then ate it or you didn't leave the table. Grandpa would eat those peas for you if you were sly. These Papas and Grandpas were the place where you learned unconditional love.
Patti
Super Olsen,
You have me curious about who you love entirely - who it was that nurtured that passion for woring with horses.
Great-Grandfather. What a priviledge to know someone that most people only get to know in pictures. My son also has a great-grandparent. His great-grandmother.
She is his great-grandmother
She lives Opheim
He lives in Corvallis
He is young
She is fun
They are friends
She is the one who picks up rocks
from the winter garden
He is the one who carefully examines each rock she gives him
She is the one with the special
place that only he gets to sleep
He is the one that admires all
her woodworking with delight
She is the one he loves
He is the one she loves
She is his great-grandmother
He is her great-grandson
This is a beautiful tribute to a great-grandfather. The contrasts are strong yet definitely pull a piece together. Comparing the sun fish to great blue whale painted me a picture to visualize a small boy with a bowed rod and a big grin.
My Kenna
She is my niece
I am her Aunt
She is young
I am grown
She lives far south
I live far north
She has just begun
I am partway through my journey
She is the one who broke my heart
when she was born with Down's Syndrome
I am the one cried
for what would never be
No boyfriends,
No prom,
No wedding,
No children
She is the one who smiled at me
before I left for home
and made me cry again
this time tears of joy
She is the one who stole my heart
and opened it up to new possiblities.
In my life I've longed to love and be loved by a grandparent. My grandmother, the only grandparent with whom I shared this lifetime, didn't have room in her heart for children; but, I was so fortunate to find the deep and unconditional love of a woman who held our family as her own. English was her second language; she neither wrote nor read, but she loved. She loved each of us, my brothers and I, with all her aging heart could give. We would slip into her bedroom during the night, finding we had all had the same idea, and we'd fight to have a place next to her to relax and dream. She kept us safe, held us close, and left us too soon. I never knew my own grandparents, but I knew the love that blessing might give and felt the embrace of a beautiful spirit.
She is my grandmother, seventy-nine years and one month older than I am--to the day. She was born in 1900. She lost friends in World War I, taught school in rural northern Utah in the 1920s, lived through the Great Depression, sent a son to World War II and another to Vietnam. I was born in 1979, have lost no friends to war, taught school in rural southeartern Utah, have no children to send to future wars. She married in 1923 and lost her husband in 1995. I doubt I will ever marry. I lived with my grandmother for two years, between the ages of 13 and 15. She never lost her mind. Several years later, I did. She died in 1998.
Merrilyne
Bridget --
I love your poem. It makes me sad, yet happy.
Jennifer
She is the one who taught me to guage the ripeness of a cucumber on its way to picklehood,
I am the one who harvested tiny green kettle-bound gherkins,
She is the one who concocted the brine from the family lore that runs in her veins,
I am the one who packed the quart jars tight with produce, and wiped the glass rims clean
She is the one who filled jars with hot syrup, sealing "summer" in to make delicious dills
My Grandfather Estes was one that came to mind after reading the poem. He lived in the other end of the duplex that I talked about before. He smoked Camel staights and had a ice cold beer every afternoon, winter or summer. He seemed so old as he continued to work the farm with my dad, the oldest son. Grandpa was such a gentle man. We really didn't do much but he was always there. Now we would call it part of our safety net. His answer to everything was come and have a peppermint patty, which were kept in his secret dresser drawer. Grandpa was the one who would always ask if we needed cheese and juice before we went to bed. I would go out and we would have the best visits. So many stories about Grandma and him, some that Grandma would shudder as he told them but that didn't stop him. The day I was getting married he sensed the tension in the house which came from just your normal wadding day gitters and called Dad and I to his bedroom. I thought I don't want any candy but I went as did Dad. He gestered for us to sit on the bed. We sat like two children in trouble. Grandpa told us this was going to be a wonderful day and we needed to relax and enjoy. Then he reached in the closet pulled a bottle of whiskey, three shot glasses and poured us a drink. He made a toast and said enjoy the day. I will never forget Grandpa and the day I got the call from my Mom, that he was in the hospital and probably wouldn't be with us much longer. Instead of feeling I was 2500 miles from home, I felt like I was on the other side of the world, all alone. The next day as I returned from class Steve met me at the door. He didn't say a word, he just held me. I will never forget my Grandpa Estes.
Kathleen
Merrilyne,
Was she as honest as you are?
Lovely piece!
His mind is still there as his body starts to fail him.
I miss the stories when time seemed endless and the sharing of the early days flowed from his heart.
He is frail and week and I worry about him daily.
I feel I need to be there yet circumstances don't allow for it.
He is an amazing person that was educated in so many ways even though he never went to college.
I take classes here and there yet find the knowledge passed on from him to be unequaled.
He misses my grandmother that passed away a few years ago.
I am glad that my mother has taken the time to record his stories, poems, and other writings.
He still has so much to share yet is in pain as his heart struggles to support him.
I remember the time he gave me a cow... "This will teach you responsibility."
He always reminded us that the person you are is most important.
I milked that cow daily, then two cows daily, and soon learned what it meant to be responsible.
He gave so many lessons that stressed the importance of honesty, sincerity, friendship and more...
I hope to be half the man he has been in his 94 years of life.
He is my Grandfather.
At this moment I am going to do my breakfast, after having
my breakfast coming again to read additional news. http://www.gocrew.net - best car insurance
- progressive car insurance rates
Also visit my web site; general car insurance
Post a Comment