Poetry, short prose, & general musings.
At times I want to envelop you
Like the amoeba we once were
A primal instinct
Returning you to a place
Where it feels secure
I long for you to be with me
Everywhere I go.
But your spirit won’t allow that
The wild freedom of you
Bursting forth to the world.
Does anyone remember having agenda books in high school? We had them back in 2003 in LaRue County. I would personalize mine with stickers and doodles, carrying it with me everywhere I went. After a few months it would become inundated with folded and forgotten papers. I’m not sure I ever used it for it’s intended purpose of organization. I’ve always wanted to be a planner person, but I routinely fail at it. I’m still trying in 2021. I think it’s because I have this image of J. Lo from The Wedding Planner in my head and am unconsciously trying to become her.
At one point junior year of high school I met a boy at a church youth event and developed quite a crush on him. I can’t remember his name now for the life of me. I asked my best friend from high school about it recently and we had a good chuckle reminiscing. But back to the agenda book. This blond boy who had captured my young heart played basketball for a neighboring school. His picture would often show up in the local newspaper for his mad skills. So in true 14 year old girl fashion, I cut out said photos and articles and turned my agenda book onto a homage of his basketball career. Instead of homework assignments, the pages became a collage of jump shots and headlines. I’m here to tell you I don’t think I ever talked to that boy again after that one youth event. I was a forever secret admirer- never to reap the fruits of my passion.
The innocence, immaturity, and silliness of this season of my life make me both cringe and laugh. I was not the girl who got the guy in high school. I was the girl who carried around a copy of “I Kissed Dating Goodbye” (which is a topic for a different post) and didn’t date or kiss a boy until college. I think about that little girl sometimes and smile. I hope I can remember her dreams, ambitions, desires, when my little girl is that age.
I hope you’re all having a good Good Friday, and that this non religious post didn’t disappoint. My hope is that it helped you reminisce on a season of your past & laugh.
Reading: The Golden Tresses of the Dead by Alan Bradley & The Whole Brain Child by Daniel Siegel & Tina Payne Bryson
Listening: 90s smash hits on Spotify; What should I watch next? The Popcast
Watching: The Falcon & the Winter Soldier on Disney+
Doctors can’t figure
What is going awry
With daddy’s heart.
Won’t beat on time
Rhythm out of whack
Arteries too small
To carry life to his bones.
Time after time
Changing medications
Cutting him open.
Never works quite right.
What the docs don’t know
What I wish I could explain
Is the organ is simply this-
Broken.
The child he raised
Loved with his whole self
Left this place forever.
Daddy’s soul severed that day.
The grief he carries
The literal weight of the world
It’s something modern medicine
Can never explain.
Only time & Jesus
Can heal his heart now.
During the pandemical times, I started baking with my kids. I’ve always enjoyed the activity but haven’t spent much time on it since having babies. Baking is in my blood so it was bound to come back around once the haze of sleeplessness lifted.
So today my two children and I cobbled together a chocolate cake. I don’t even love chocolate cake, but my husband and kids do. What started as a Texas sheet cake turned into a two layer cake from a different recipe because I couldn’t find the right pan. By the time I was whipping the butter, my kids had found the lime I had cut up for my tea and squirted it all over each other’s heads and the floor. We carried on and ended up with an ugly but moist cake with a crap ton of buttercream frosting. Chocolate cakes have a proclivity for being dry so all in all I think ours was a success.
Even though baking with my kids is honestly exhausting and messy, I think it’s something I can’t help but pass onto them. I baked with my mom, dad, and Meme growing up. I can still remember making fruit cobbler with my Meme as a small child and wrote a little poem about it here. In my hometown, baked goods were things you made for celebrations and funerals. They’re what you took to church potlucks and birthday parties, and what you brought the shut-in down the street who has cancer. Baked goods are a love language.
Southern Living posted a recipe for blackberry jam cake on Instagram and I was immediately transported to Christmas Eve at my Mamaw’s. I can see the three layer spice cake as clear as day on her antique side board. I can taste the raisins and the pecans crunching together. My teeth ache a little thinking about the thick layer of caramel frosting slathered on top.
Sometimes I feel foolish for all of the hullabaloo baking creates because most people around me are so health conscious- they are barely interested in it. It’s “I’ll take a small piece” or “I’m not eating carbs right now.” I fall into these patterns, too, but I bake anyway. Sure there are healthy recipes for sweets these days and I’ve made a lot of them. Subbing maple syrup for white sugar and apple sauce for oil. The kind of baking I grew up doing and enjoy the most is inherently decadent. Butter creamed with sugar is what you need when your dog dies or you had a baby or you’re celebrating a 50th birthday- not an almond flour cupcake with a light glaze.
Maybe a brownie from scratch or a slab of coconut cake will brighten one persons day or at least make my kids happy. Maybe my children will learn a thing or two about mixing dry ingredients and wet separately and then combining them gently. Or they’ll think back on standing in our small kitchen crowded together eating spare chocolate chips while I whipped the butter.
What is something you enjoy doing that isn’t necessarily productive but important to who you are?
Kacie B. Sharpe 