Grasshopper War 2012
2012 was a horrible summer for grasshoppers!
This place isn’t only about how a life ended.
It is about how a life was lived.
Places they went to or jobs they worked.
People they loved.
Lessons they taught us.
What made them who they are in our hearts.
All those ordinary Tuesdays that became extraordinary
- because of their life and our love.
I’m just getting comfortable y’all –
I’ll be here a while.
Gonna take my shoes off now.
Got my coffee right here, with a few photos, a pen and paper.
This is the place where we remember.
Through stories, and photos.
With laughter and a few tears.
Some will be held in obituaries and other records.
This is where we share the dash between the dates.
Do you have someone you would like to have remembered here?
Perhaps a photograph tucked away?
A story you have heard or told?
A letter you want to share?
A favorite recipe that was only theirs?
Something that still makes you smile after all this time?
This is your place, too.
Bring it to me via a message,
I will give them a place here in our Meadow.
Then, I will send you a link when it’s ready.
No charge.
Some things aren’t meant to be sold.
Just meant to be remembered . . . and shared.
This is where we share memories of days and times gone by.
Where we keep the life, the laughter, the legacy going forward.
Some are life lessons that give us strength
and a hand to hold on to through the ages
Some will bring a soft tear to the eye,
and warmth to the heart.
Some, well - some are for laughter.
Join me for a look at these lives that were well-lived,
and greatly loved.
2012 was a horrible summer for grasshoppers!
(this pic is not my Daizy Mae - but she looked a lot like this)
When I was 4 years old, my daddy and momma were out driving and looking for a pea patch one early summer day.
When I was about 10 years old, Momma had her sewing scissors that no one was to use.
One late night I was called to the hospital with the words,
I was about 5 years old or so when the state department came through and built the interstate
Momma was a short and round woman.
My dad taught me a lot of what not to accept in a man
I have watched the pilot episode for The Beverly Hillbillies several times.
Many years ago when Rick was being ordained as a pastor, he was counseled by the church leaders to be re-baptized as a way to show his outward commitment to the ministry.
In 1994-1995, we lived on Dickey Prairie Road, out of Molalla Oregon.