My eyes are just brown, in brown alone, no magic found.
When they gaze at you, it is then brown's light comes into view.
The light there you find, is yours not mine.
When my eyes speak, it is you the words seek.
Gaze long and often please, the magic you find, is you reflected in me.

If art is something that moves the observer, then you are the masterpiece that stirs me. If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, then you are beauty, for you are all I see. If fate decides ones course, then I am gazing at you, my destiny. If God has a plan for all things, then I pray you stay everything to me.

Beautiful vision
It is time to come again
Find your own peace in me
The peace to others, you often lend
Come to me my heart
Now is no dream
Now is the time
and love is what it seems

Happy Mother's Day

still your baby

Growing up, I was rather fixated on the fact that my father simply had no interest. Countless little boys and teenage men fell victim, to a child who was desperate to prove to his father that he was tough enough, strong enough, mean enough, that he was good enough. I never started a fight, but I never walked away from even a shadow of one. Their challenges were always accepted, before they even knew they had issued them. Decades later, I think he may have come to accept me. I will never find an absolute answer to that quandary. He has since passed on, and that is a conversation we two could never have. Men don't discuss such things. A story of a poor unloved boy surely follows, but that is not the case. I had three amazing women, who made me feel no one else existed in the world.

I don't know if Annie was blind from birth, or if it came upon her later, but she always saw me. Annie was my father's grandmother. She lived out of town. A few times a year she would come to visit her son. During these times the whole clan would come around. I didn't care much for the clan, but I loved seeing Annie. "Mawmaw.... you got company," was the heralding cry coming from whatever bothersome cousin happened to be near. I didn't want their interuptions. It was my turn. I'm sure, at some point, she was introduced to me, but not after I became aware. The process was always the same. Small wrinkled fingertips trembling as they moved over my face briefly. A soft shakey voice warms my heart with, "Hello C." I can't tell you how special it feels to be know from just a brief touch. "You look just like your daddy." The next phase of the process was, "let me see your hands." Oh, how I love when they do that. "So soft, so strong," as hands trailed up to shoulders, "you are going to be a big one." For the smallest of the group, this foretelling was magical. I would be big someday, although, it would not be until after she was gone, for those magical years with her, no matter how dwarfed in size, I was going to be big. Annie was loving and magical, but the woman who owns the magic crown was Rose.

Rose was quite possibly the smallest thing I have ever seen. Even in my younger diminutive years, she was tiny. My mother's mother. Rose was sick for a large portion of her life. The man ,who would be my role model, always at her side. However this isn't a tale about a frail beloved woman, instead it is a tale of magic and wonder. Rose was frail and most of her time was spent inside. She loved to browse. She never bought, but she would take her favorite little brown eyed boy to the 5 and 10 cent store. She would spend hours just moving up and down the aisles. Then when her browsing was done, she would take her patient little man and buy him the most magical elixir on earth. The cup seemed as big as me. A full 12 ounces of real cherry coke made at the drugstore fountain on Main street. We always walked. We never went more than a mile, but oh those walks were wonderful. If you have ever seen a Disney princess walk through the forest, then you have walked with Rose. The world would be dead silent, until, "sing a pretty song for me," escaped that tiny mouth. Then on cue, birds I hadn't even seen popped into view, all singing their own songs. Six different bird types all singing vying for her attention. When we make it. Back she is tired. She will just sit and play with my hands. I don't know what magic she had, but in those few moments with Rose, I was enough. I mattered. Rose's daughter lacked her magical charms, but had a magic all her own.

My dear mother, who never deserved such a burdon as her "baby," refused to let him be left out. She loved both her sons in every way a mother should. I was her special project. If dad didn't want me, she made it painfully clear she did. My father taught me the prerequisite lessons. I can shoot. I can hunt. I can fish. I can fight. I can survive. However, despite my prowress in all areas, he had no interest beyond the lessons. Enter mom. "I'm glad he didn't want you to go with him." We need to make these cakes. We need to get these candies done. We need to finish the sewing/embroidering. God I hated those tasks. There are times when it doesn't pay to be good at what you do. Those times usually are followed by your father stating, "you will make someone a good wife." However, every "my baby made it," just made everything else unimportant. When they loved the candies her baby made, or the cakes were delicious, I was "her baby." I still am. "This is my baby," is her common introduction to her friends. "This is my baby, ain't he purdy," to her friends daughters. My father is gone. My brother too. I am possibly the worst son ever, but when I do give her a small fraction of the attention she deserves, I am still her baby. It is still impossible to feel unimportant when she is there.

I was not the apple of my father's eye. At best, I was a talented and useful after thought. However, three magical women made sure I was able to feel. They made me important. I was wanted. I mattered. So, for all of the amazing NN mothers and grandmothers, you are adored. From one momma's baby:

Happy Mother's Day. Thank you all for everything you do everyday.

Can you find tomorrow today, in the sounds of what a heartbeat has to say? Your place in these arms where troubles melt away, into forgotten memories of yesterday. Can you for this moment just be, tucked away safely here with me? Worries will not disappear, but together we can face them here. You need not face the world alone with wounded pride, not when I'm honored to be at your side.

Now is the time
For like hearts to find
A world of wonder
Of yours of mine
A place where
No others can be
I place inside
For you and me

Here is where you belong
Before longing dark eyes
My star in the evening sky
The lone bright spot
In soft brown eyes
Gaze as deeply as you will
See yourself still
The only visions
That fill my being
Are you and love unseen.

Math is simply a language for describing things. Much like any written language, it has a structure. The key to understanding math is knowing what order to read it in. Easy is English. You, in any order, can write. The meaning will be the same. Wether read 'yes, I can help you,' or 'help you I can, yes,' it means you watched Star Wars. You do not have that luxury with math. You can write in any order you like, but it has to be read back in the correct order to be understood.
4(4)=16
4+4(4)=20 not 32
It's called order of operations you must read the equation in the correct order.
() ^ • / + - (Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally) you must always read in that order. When you do the truth will be found every time. Some of us are as beautiful as a morning dew drop resting upon the lush red petal of a rose. Bright as the sun, they however, have trouble with this. So, I will attempt to explain it a bit differently. Perhaps my humble attempt will help them grasp the concept.

Math is like making love. (Don't laugh yet)
There is an order of operations, to find the truth, you have to follow. In math it is () ^ • / + - in love it is want, ache, and need.

Want is simple. I like the thought. I want to kiss you, to caress your face, to feel you in my arms.

Ache is a bit more complex. Ache is a deeper desire. A want that borders on physical pain. I long for those beautiful lips. My lips ache to feel the soft caress. Your lips alone can quell this ache.

Need is the most complex, but the simplest to understand. Need is not a want. Need is something you must have to exist. Like oxygen, I need to see those beautiful eyes in the morning light. I need to feel you in my arms. I am incomplete without you. I need you to make me whole.

In love making, want is the tiny tingles, the embers, and sparks that begin the fire; ache is when the flames are reaching their heights; need is when we have been completely engulfed in the blaze. Here is where we belong. Completely taken by our need for one another. Here is where our hearts, minds, and bodies find truth. The answers are simple to find. You just have to read.

Come melt with me into a gentle spring. Lets flow over smooth stones and down gentle slopes. Traveling along at the speed of hope, we can travel the world each day. If we tire of the ground, we can take flight. Soar to the clouds and view our world from there. Sailing the sky's, or riding ocean waves. Together we journey. No course need be laid. Just come with me. We will begin each day anew. Another step toward forever with you.