tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7545534162856779432024-03-04T20:22:39.698-08:00Daydreamer...is not a bad thing to be. Many of us called daydreamers as children grew up to be poets, writers, artists. I celebrate daydreaming. It saved my mind as a child. Here are a few of my daydreams.Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.comBlogger77125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-56914993374909083492016-12-05T18:28:00.001-08:002016-12-05T18:28:36.513-08:00Vivienne at Twenty Months<br />
<br />
She has hazel eyes and honey hair. Her hair has a bit of natural wave it it, which I, her Grandma, insist she got from me. She is a beautiful child, not just because she is my granddaughter.<br />
<br />
She walks and runs all over the house, and strews toys, clothes and shoes all over with abandon. She especially loves shoes.<br />
<br />
She puts her tiny feet into Daddy's or Mommy's shoes and delightedly walks around in them. Sometimes she will put her brothers' shoes on her hands.<br />
<br />
Formerly just fine with going barefoot in the house, now she insists on shoes and socks.<br />
<br />
She drags one or both of the pink plaid blankets that her Great Aunt Kaye made her everywhere and has to have them to sleep. When we tell her it's naptime with her own little naptime song, she starts calling for "Binky, binky, binky!" till she finds it.<br />
<br />
Once in her crib, she will settle down with her binky and her thumb - once again, like me as a baby.<br />
<br />
She blows kisses when someone leaves. Her favorite book is <u>Hugs and Kisses. </u><br />
<u><br /></u>
She loves to watch <u>Coraline</u> and <u>Sarah and Duck.</u><br />
<u><br /></u>
We all adore her. All the big people in the house, and Sadie the dog, whom she calls Say-Dog.<br />
<br />
I love little boys, but this girl baby has my heart.Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-48951944172115717842016-04-08T19:50:00.001-07:002016-04-08T19:50:18.672-07:00I Have Had a Poem PublishedI have been published today by Poetry Breakfast. Here is the link to the page, in their online magazine. Here is the link:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://poetrybreakfast.com/2016/04/06/honeysweat-a-poem-by-becca-burke-allison/">http://poetrybreakfast.com/2016/04/06/honeysweat-a-poem-by-becca-burke-allison/</a><div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It calls up summer nights in Birmingham, Alabama, in the 60's. We didn't have air conditioning, so our father built a huge box fan that fit in the dining room window and blew outward. Then we opened the windows of our bedrooms and the fan pulled air in those windows and out the fan window.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The breeze was fresh and wonderful. It dried our little sweaty necks and the spots behind our knees. We could smell the night air and hear the crickets and cicadas as we fell asleep.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sometimes I think we lose something with the advent of air conditioning. No, I know we do.</div>
Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-15358251279303513002016-04-06T11:27:00.002-07:002016-04-06T11:27:13.656-07:00Vivienne at Seven MonthsMy grandbabygirl is almost seven months old.<br />
<br />
Her length and weight are healthy, maybe a little petite, but fine. She is cooing and "talking" , sitting up and rolling over right on schedule.<br />
<br />
She is beginning to look more like her mother, Beverly. Her eyes are a pretty blue green like her mother's. She has no hair to speak of, like her father at that age.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVwCIGNw9uV1ZdwD9Hh1HvGUtoKCSeH-5gf4lyZdM61nThcBKeFIuMhuySgs9p5VurJ6f-7hyphenhyphen0jUsTts1Bhm8pX9FdCoJ32ce-11NJFnuVtA5_a4ZXV4MjevLTeaPbgpRBwG1l5E5GV_-G/s1600/523.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVwCIGNw9uV1ZdwD9Hh1HvGUtoKCSeH-5gf4lyZdM61nThcBKeFIuMhuySgs9p5VurJ6f-7hyphenhyphen0jUsTts1Bhm8pX9FdCoJ32ce-11NJFnuVtA5_a4ZXV4MjevLTeaPbgpRBwG1l5E5GV_-G/s320/523.jpg" width="217" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Beverly and Vivienne</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
2 months old</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
She lies on her back and kicks her legs vigorously. We will see them at Christmas. I can hardly wait!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-46543482569247127972016-04-06T11:23:00.002-07:002016-04-06T11:23:54.841-07:00It has been far too long since I wrote here. I am not sure what the reason is; I could claim things like being a new grandmother or a new political activist for Bernie Sanders - both give me hope for the future.<br />
<br />
But the fact is I have been writing elsewhere and neglecting this blog.<br />
<br />
So I am back, bringing my daydreaming along.<br />
<br />
I've been campaigning for Bernie Sanders, and learning a hell of a lot along the way. He seems to be the brightest hope for my grandchildren's future.<br />
<br />
While we were buying the Republican trickle-down garbage, a lot of my children's future trickled away.<br />
<br />
Saddled with ridiculous student debt for college - $15,000 for one year - my sons are struggling to make the payments. I don't want that for my grandchildren.<br />
<br />
I hope to move to Greensboro this year to be closer to them.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile I am volunteering at a local thrift store, working part-time as a food demonstrator at Costco, and writing poetry. I have even done a couple of poetry slams locally. Didn't win, but learned a lot.<br />
<br />
Also had another poem published online, in Poetry Breakfast. I will see if I can link it to this blog.<br />
<br />
Talk to you soon!Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-80772392365329833532015-07-01T20:06:00.000-07:002015-07-01T20:06:11.891-07:00Vivienne<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbVvgHk0ublfNVqV9cE662CT0HNbTdtbDvXmfimkhqFtytnhvseA_sLR_s43_kNgsPFRhAXAZ1_8UPeuF_b1rSmiiyFP5Y3IIsgNOVRm_mfVLRa96-YWBnFuZ59kS0C1ezgt-6vpuMdfNz/s1600/20150411_142509.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbVvgHk0ublfNVqV9cE662CT0HNbTdtbDvXmfimkhqFtytnhvseA_sLR_s43_kNgsPFRhAXAZ1_8UPeuF_b1rSmiiyFP5Y3IIsgNOVRm_mfVLRa96-YWBnFuZ59kS0C1ezgt-6vpuMdfNz/s320/20150411_142509.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
Here is our sweet baby Vivienne. She was five pounds and 17 inches long.<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEQt67ptoa9_Bbu8UxH2Fdo2EiMs5Wg7apcbIs8X7MCI640CsMoT8Tf7IRBUJsB6ppBssqxPZ_tZb1ie9sD1qb0YxyHwnZVyT7TIoe9eKcWtkcQNLspRFalmS8k_Xj8CH7FJj4KJSO2LWN/s1600/20150506_232808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEQt67ptoa9_Bbu8UxH2Fdo2EiMs5Wg7apcbIs8X7MCI640CsMoT8Tf7IRBUJsB6ppBssqxPZ_tZb1ie9sD1qb0YxyHwnZVyT7TIoe9eKcWtkcQNLspRFalmS8k_Xj8CH7FJj4KJSO2LWN/s320/20150506_232808.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div>
<br />Here is her exhausted mama, Beverly.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4EVGmli0gmUXaMtTTsQVyj6d1Fq0504EYC41Z-AUc5qYAc7jKHu26RSEGn9h4vYe-G9325LZe9spK02AISCUuBurXI3FqzTVuzIgu62xFO5Y309gz5BxzwYJgWF1TyWFyl-9JHI7A6Say/s1600/20150424_212943.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4EVGmli0gmUXaMtTTsQVyj6d1Fq0504EYC41Z-AUc5qYAc7jKHu26RSEGn9h4vYe-G9325LZe9spK02AISCUuBurXI3FqzTVuzIgu62xFO5Y309gz5BxzwYJgWF1TyWFyl-9JHI7A6Say/s320/20150424_212943.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
Here is her adoring Daddy, Mack, our son.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjozpll9S9ZqsVvtbVVNENtW9-MjEIwLvNXp-H9tu5w3KqGvg7nV1PJ5NxaIjaBLVEA1q8VBzNlO7IzaavEDNb4ozShLg_fqIN90z0ZWw9BDW8oCF8ZEH_NXA7wH6RWJcoICG0jSHzId4-v/s1600/20150411_144135.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjozpll9S9ZqsVvtbVVNENtW9-MjEIwLvNXp-H9tu5w3KqGvg7nV1PJ5NxaIjaBLVEA1q8VBzNlO7IzaavEDNb4ozShLg_fqIN90z0ZWw9BDW8oCF8ZEH_NXA7wH6RWJcoICG0jSHzId4-v/s320/20150411_144135.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
Here is her big brother, Terry.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfzEPty7EupFib3W6TAQRfwlcUI3b9laDHff6SWWCf4SB7hiIyeUSNtwReGnPCp7Tu5H2bQSCoGW5w7tpdXolWQJwR1zcfwiDvLkygBNm8VEgxnuE7AYslmcvNPhLsiRTenUi_5S8HiRj_/s1600/20150406_221741.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfzEPty7EupFib3W6TAQRfwlcUI3b9laDHff6SWWCf4SB7hiIyeUSNtwReGnPCp7Tu5H2bQSCoGW5w7tpdXolWQJwR1zcfwiDvLkygBNm8VEgxnuE7AYslmcvNPhLsiRTenUi_5S8HiRj_/s320/20150406_221741.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
Here is her other big brother, Rowan, and the family dog, Sadie.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxmBgx55NT7295i7hVKf0X2NN7mvkxuu2y30q4DoCt8crhXkwkMQ6MvRTtMceYU6df64F8-pR-DZXSV-c_94aNbVGuNg9_xTyisC6BUx8b1zqtVWE7PJC02OGIMAybtHPeE3sB2dMXxiIX/s1600/20150601_173805-ANIMATION.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxmBgx55NT7295i7hVKf0X2NN7mvkxuu2y30q4DoCt8crhXkwkMQ6MvRTtMceYU6df64F8-pR-DZXSV-c_94aNbVGuNg9_xTyisC6BUx8b1zqtVWE7PJC02OGIMAybtHPeE3sB2dMXxiIX/s320/20150601_173805-ANIMATION.gif" width="180" /></a></div>
Here she is in her first photo shoot by Grandma! I didn't realize it moved til just now!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLqXzvBNcWbRFP14R9YEUsxywBjGyP80TNq8phEXik9lAQSygev83XiZWLMfKO3VvaPK8PrATvi8ReD8FdrVw2WrOBM-Nw2JablD_0q6GCrpzZVaarJDpyNypiHlHBbwJkttadlmCFATEk/s1600/20150601_173445.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLqXzvBNcWbRFP14R9YEUsxywBjGyP80TNq8phEXik9lAQSygev83XiZWLMfKO3VvaPK8PrATvi8ReD8FdrVw2WrOBM-Nw2JablD_0q6GCrpzZVaarJDpyNypiHlHBbwJkttadlmCFATEk/s320/20150601_173445.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimBFo3mn3umiU-99uFYm0PSYLeuWMXIx2BiSDlnboEeZ5cZiI5cuHZB9ShV8HtGoxT6GWi-BLyKOUEqbV9PF3KjuwZZFy0UpJNwgdEvpVAgOn89ed2DhUqCLpHGpQm9wIGWik89KZUXijH/s1600/20150601_173522.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimBFo3mn3umiU-99uFYm0PSYLeuWMXIx2BiSDlnboEeZ5cZiI5cuHZB9ShV8HtGoxT6GWi-BLyKOUEqbV9PF3KjuwZZFy0UpJNwgdEvpVAgOn89ed2DhUqCLpHGpQm9wIGWik89KZUXijH/s320/20150601_173522.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL0Zh3vohogwIM2Wal8dKVDl6c0VwsHuwXwcRsT86xsTqw8x6Bz7naRBhozatSdNC5_hehb-FWWoR8CVQlEV-0XAmkH9hNwG5Szy4PDJ_ob9NHLdw1F7z2DjT3P_v-ldC22fTeNZ2PFyGZ/s1600/20150601_174001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL0Zh3vohogwIM2Wal8dKVDl6c0VwsHuwXwcRsT86xsTqw8x6Bz7naRBhozatSdNC5_hehb-FWWoR8CVQlEV-0XAmkH9hNwG5Szy4PDJ_ob9NHLdw1F7z2DjT3P_v-ldC22fTeNZ2PFyGZ/s320/20150601_174001.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeNueH2XcDLoBaFqaTmqA6lEmO0G-1zkBVF-FDw1DesJighOF7ziNYkD_aEfDERo0I0o4q5GujCNIkEfV3xDlAoKK8qnQl1S9qVYVJrfmYiSZES0yctOJiPrSdwfTk6XvsPMPscqngGBlY/s1600/20150601_173813.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeNueH2XcDLoBaFqaTmqA6lEmO0G-1zkBVF-FDw1DesJighOF7ziNYkD_aEfDERo0I0o4q5GujCNIkEfV3xDlAoKK8qnQl1S9qVYVJrfmYiSZES0yctOJiPrSdwfTk6XvsPMPscqngGBlY/s320/20150601_173813.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlNWqDN8MlxMfeqU8wSqaR0ocyW8EJ9QccrKrtRitUVE3kH1LmrUFuYLzxG_MDIjSpcTvrFFZdRHvYBoHbnEBuvOrng-gsDS-FFTGrBrVThTs2SspB4h9bHycAG2dnh9RhVSmSyCumFv0X/s1600/20150601_173420.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlNWqDN8MlxMfeqU8wSqaR0ocyW8EJ9QccrKrtRitUVE3kH1LmrUFuYLzxG_MDIjSpcTvrFFZdRHvYBoHbnEBuvOrng-gsDS-FFTGrBrVThTs2SspB4h9bHycAG2dnh9RhVSmSyCumFv0X/s320/20150601_173420.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
In the top photo, she is definitely from my side of the family in part! That little raised eyebrow is just like my grandmother, mother, and me. Below is the game she plays!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4-eE6moht8s5vHaPd11L0sgukmYg1BOQsvQ6UCfEzaovr8rBwfXO01cUdJybmGKOjFg6TdZPmxYjukwFDvJgJPzCvNxmxSO_oSZO5fhxRN5QSl6pFQzJPiKF_g6Ss-F4Si_JUeSoTNDTe/s1600/20150529_194055.mp4" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4-eE6moht8s5vHaPd11L0sgukmYg1BOQsvQ6UCfEzaovr8rBwfXO01cUdJybmGKOjFg6TdZPmxYjukwFDvJgJPzCvNxmxSO_oSZO5fhxRN5QSl6pFQzJPiKF_g6Ss-F4Si_JUeSoTNDTe/s320/20150529_194055.mp4" width="180" /></a></div>
</div>
Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-72680046645913524672015-04-11T09:52:00.002-07:002015-04-11T09:52:56.627-07:00Grandbabygirl is Here!Vivienne Simone Allison was born April 10th. She weighed 5 pounds, and is 17 inches long.<br />
<br />
The doctor decided to do the C-section early, concerned that the baby was not gaining weight. So approximately 7 in the evening, she was born, and is doing fine, as is her mother. She might be little, but she is awesome!<br />
<br />
I am waiting for my son to call and let me know when to bring her big brothers and finally visit her.<br />
<br />
I will post pictures when I can.<br />
<br />
I can hardly wait to hold her. But I respect my son and my daughter-in-love and their wishes, and am making myself useful cleaning the house for them.<br />
<br />
Still.....call already!Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-1408674584851609262015-04-10T11:16:00.001-07:002015-04-10T11:16:31.143-07:00GrandbabygirlThat's what I have been calling her for months now.<br />
<br />
My granddaughter will be born April 15th, just five days from now. I am staying at my son Mack's house awaiting the birth, and trying to help out as much as I can. My daughter-in-love, Beverly, is hard to keep resting, but I try. My son's son, Terry, nine, and Beverly's son, Rowan, seven, are also living here and their activities have to be monitored. I am currently the homework monitor for Terry.<br />
<br />
Soon it will be a family of five - his, hers and theirs. But they will all three be ours.<br />
<br />
Her name will be Vivienne Simone Allison. Big name for a little baby girl, but one she can grow into. Currently they are going to call her Simone, but Beverly referred to her as Vivienne the other day. We shall see who she becomes.<br />
<br />
I find myself speculating on what she will be like. I found with my sons that people seem to come a certain way, and you can only modify them so far. They come with talents, preferences, personalities, evident from birth. You can help them develop manners and habits, but you are not likely to turn a lover of words into a math person, a math genius into a poet, and so forth. You can only help them become the best of who they already are.<br />
<br />
God knows my poor parents gave up on this strong-willed daydreamer.<br />
<br />
I pray that she is healthy, and further than that, I will not go. Even healthy seems to be asking for a lot. Certainly children born with handicaps and illnesses and deformities have thrived in the right settings.<br />
<br />
I pray that she is kind and loving. That she will defend those who need defending, help those who need help.<br />
<br />
I pray that she will find happiness inside herself and not ask others to provide it for her.<br />
<br />
I pray that she will be brave and not shy away from difficult things.<br />
<br />
I do not ask that she be beautiful, or smart. If she is loving, that trait trumps beauty and high intelligence. Beauty will shine out of kind eyes.<br />
<br />
Whoever she becomes, she will be born into a family who loves her already.<br />
<br />
I am looking forward to meeting my grandbabygirl.<br />
<br />
<br />Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-55926099437920440812015-01-15T15:54:00.000-08:002015-01-15T15:54:55.632-08:00GrandmaGrandma.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I like that name. Some grandmothers prefer the more modern names for the relationship, to the extent that we now have women answering to Gigi, Gogo, Nana, and even, God help us all, Glamma. As in glamour, right? Wrong.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As grandmother to two and a half children (NewBaby is due in April), I like the old-fashioned name and the old fashioned role of Grandma.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Mothers are all well and good, but they have such a serious role in the upbringing of children that they can't have half as much fun as Grandmas. Plus Grandmas get to send the grandchildren home and sit back with a glass of sherry.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I had a fun Grandma when I was a kid, although everyone called her Mama. Mama lived in the town my Dad and mother (whom we called Nana, to add to the confusion) grew up in, Montgomery, Alabama. The 't' was silent in the town's name if you were from there. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We lived in Birmingham, about a hundred miles away. I remember riding in the back seat when we went to visit Mama. We would pass the water wheel that is still there on I-65, and the sign, also still there, that announced,"Go to church or the Devil will get you!" complete with a stereotyped devil with horns and a pitchfork.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Daddy would always ask us, "What's Mama going to say when she sees you all?" and my little brother, Kip, and I would shout, "I de-CLARE!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And she did, in that honey soft Southern accent, and hugged us and led us into her old fashioned house, with its smell of kerosene heater and with a big, scratchy living room sofa.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We would end up in her kitchen with something to eat. The old kerosene heater was fascinating to children who lived in the suburbs.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She made the best lemon cake in the world. White cake with a tart, translucent frosting. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We would also get to eat watermelon in her kitchen, on the table with the oilcloth tablecloth. The best part was that she didn't mind if Kip and I shot seeds at each other. In the kitchen. She didn't want us to spit, but the slippery seeds would sail a good distance if shot from between your thumb and forefinger.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I want to be that kind of grandmother. The cookie-baking, story-telling, singing Grandma. The one who is always glad to see you.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I think I have to go practice saying, "I de-CLARE!" now.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-67143110631429000462015-01-13T16:53:00.000-08:002015-01-13T16:53:25.765-08:00The Times, They are A-Changing - AgainI am back home. I love my husband, I really do, but I do not love trucking anymore.<br />
<br />
Two people living in close quarters - with three dogs, I might add - and never knowing what the schedule will be or how much money they will make or when they will get home - no. Not anymore.<br />
<br />
My older son, the one with the baby due, would like us to move to Greensboro to be near them. I was already planning on being there in April when BabyGirl arrives.<br />
<br />
So I am home, trying to pare down the house, getting rid of old furniture left at our house by various grown children, a cousin and an erstwhile friend who left us a mess. It is still up in the air as to whether or not we will actually move. My husband reserves the right to make the final decision....<br />
<br />
Meanwhile I am trying to live on my retirement income, just to see if it is possible. Refinanced the house and paid off the car, and the taxes and insurance on the house are rolled in, so that frees up $492.00 a month.<br />
<br />
If possible, I would like to get rid of the stuff we don't need, pack up all the rest and move it to a storage unit in Greensboro. I would stay at my son's till the baby is born and till the mama recovers from her scheduled C-section. Then find a place to rent that is small and manageable.<br />
<br />
I want to be with my kids and grandkids. Bottom line.<br />
<br />
My oldest grandson, Terry, is now living with his father, my oldest son, full time. As he is almost nine, I think it is good. Boys need their fathers at this age, to show them rules and how to work and how to treat women.<br />
<br />
We shall see what transpires.Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-47447565562834110112014-11-22T13:09:00.001-08:002014-11-22T13:09:46.182-08:00So Much for That Job.So much for that job....<br />
<br />
I worked at Cracker Barrel for a month. Without going into detail, let me just say that I can run a kitchen better than they can, and I am not working like a galley slave with no break in 4-8 hours for $8.75 an hour.<br />
<br />
Pleasant people - but disorganized. So when they cut my hours from 30 to 10 a week, I took it as a sign. I realized I didn't want any more hours!<br />
<br />
So, as much as I did not want to, I am going back out on the road driving a big wheel.<br />
<br />
With my husband.<br />
<br />
Going to make it as pleasant as I can.<br />
<br />
At least this way I will not have to beg some fool for time off when my grandbaby is born. We can just schedule it.<br />
<br />
Did I tell you? It's a GIRL!<br />
<br />
I will write more later, as my younger son and his lady love are expected for a short visit in less than an hour.<br />
<br />
I am so happy about that and virtually everything else!Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-42975709970990531332014-09-04T19:31:00.000-07:002014-09-04T19:31:38.340-07:00Got a Job And Wonderful News!I've been hired as a prep cook at a company which shall remain nameless. They don't like to be talked about on social media, so I shan't.<br />
<br />
I like the company, and there is a chance I can move up here, also a chance I can move to North Carolina with this job.<br />
<br />
I have to move closer to my sons and grandchildren.<br />
<br />
I AM GOING TO BE A GRANDMA AGAIN!!!<br />
<br />
Mack and Beverly told me right before my birthday that they were expecting. I am so excited. We want a baby girl this time, but we will, of course, be happy with a healthy baby.<br />
<br />
More on all this later - I am a bit tired from standing on my feet instead of sitting on my butt.<br />
<br />
But it is gonna be great!<br />
<br />Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-38355225780472076222014-07-13T12:42:00.000-07:002014-07-13T12:42:07.613-07:00No Longer a TruckerI have stopped long haul trucking, as of July 13, 2014. I was tired and bored, and my mental and physical health was deteriorating. Plus, my friend who had been keeping our three dogs and taking care of the house had to get her own apartment because she could just barely get up our stairs. She couldn't take our three dogs. It was a sign that it was time.<br />
<br />
Now what? I have been applying for jobs online for a month now, and have little to show for it. I have been technically hired as a limo driver, locally, but it is contingent on the business growing. I may be hired at a daycare center. I have applied to nanny jobs and to a laser technician job.<br />
<br />
I am working on getting my house in order. Working the way I was, there was little time to deep clean or organize.<br />
<br />
I still need to work, both for money and for a feeling of accomplishment.<br />
<br />
Hope God will put me where I'm needed.<br />
<br />
Till then, I am also stepping up my writing.<br />
<br />
<br />Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-27094480227326552652014-03-06T20:47:00.000-08:002014-03-06T20:47:44.429-08:00RevivalI have neglected this blog. I have a few excuses, but not good ones. In true daydreamer form, the actual reason is that I just got bored with it and stopped for a while.
I went on to write a blog for pay, for a couple of trucking recruiting sites. I need to be careful or I will get bored with that, too.
I do not do well when I get bored. I tend to slack off, get sloppy, procrastinate...whatever you want to call it. As a child, my procrastination was chronic. But then again, in the schools I went to, the boredom was rampant. How they managed to suck the life out of this fascinating world, I do not know.
I became a daydreamer to save my mind. I think it worked, though it did prevent me from going on to a fascinating career. I didn't know there were such wonderful careers available to me such as architect, pilot, writer....
Looking back, I wonder at how I just accepted the "Help Wanted: Female" ads as if there was nothing more. I didn't know that wonderful jobs were never advertised in the paper. The least boring job I knew I could get was teacher, so that is what I headed for in college.
Until, of course, I got to the Education courses.....you guessed it, boring.
So I dropped out and joined the Army. That was fun and challenging for quite a while. Unfortunately, before I could retire, it got....boring.
I finally retired and had quite an awful time deciding what to do with the rest of my life, at only 43. I had not a clue what I wanted to do with my life.
I had finally gotten a degree while in the Army, a Bachelor of Science in Occupational Education, with a concentration in Culinary Arts. This meant I could teach Culinary Arts. I got a job as a "permanent" substitute in the high school Culinary Arts class, finishing out the year when the teacher had to retire in January. Had a great time with the kids.
When I went to apply for the actual job, though, I was told I was not qualified, because I didn't have a degree in Home Economics. Never mind that my degree was better, plus I had 22 years professional food service experience.
That's when I decided to join my husband in driving a 18 wheeler.
Now I have been doing that for sixteen years, aside from the three or so years I spent driving a bus for a retirement community.
And guess what? Yep...I'm bored.
I have pretty much mastered maneuvering the beast on highways and tight docking situations. I have solved each problem and met each challenge....several dozen times. I can feel it setting in. The dreaded boredom.
I need a different set of challenges.
I'll keep you posted when I figure out what they are.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBMT30Aqy7YFota9YNxN7pdwtYWuaAik-_pZQAv2owyq_uvJoY-rl8cIYSaOnXJIhH_lru0KFL3dHsIHlo7i4ywsqgJpPjfwdzrRi0hoF1MqbYZANgZiEoIbHA0dlV9NErkZ3XdQc-dkzv/s1600/327.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBMT30Aqy7YFota9YNxN7pdwtYWuaAik-_pZQAv2owyq_uvJoY-rl8cIYSaOnXJIhH_lru0KFL3dHsIHlo7i4ywsqgJpPjfwdzrRi0hoF1MqbYZANgZiEoIbHA0dlV9NErkZ3XdQc-dkzv/s320/327.JPG" /></a></div>Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-8695398818401554812013-01-28T13:14:00.001-08:002013-01-28T13:14:23.266-08:00Yes, I am still aliveIt has been months since I posted here. I must have been resting on my proverbial laurels after the "30 poems in 30 days" feat.
Or it might have been that after that, I started driving my own truck and training students. Not much time to blog then; sleep is more important.
Or it might also involve the fact that my sons are doing well and there is no anguishing to be done.
Or it might be that I just got tired of blogging for a while. For us daydreamers, boredom can be a show stopper.
But I am back.
I love the appearance of my own words on a beautiful blue page. I love searching for just the right words. It's like sifting through jewels.
I am sitting here trying to feel what the process of writing is like. In general, when I write, I "see" the words sort of floating in my mind's eye and pluck them into a sentence. The background behind the words is shifting pictures. Quite marvelous.
Sometimes when I get just the right words, it excites me so much I have to get up and move. I jump up from the computer and go get coffee or check the mail, just to be moving while the words are settling onto the screen.
I love the feeling. I love the struggle to capture the right words, wrestle them into the sentence, tie them to the other words to make a beautiful beast no one has ever made before.
Guess I'll be blogging more often.Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-64687421554234997352012-05-01T12:16:00.002-07:002012-05-01T12:19:19.770-07:00Yellow Iris<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzfvM1ZSK_hHgHHYRqUtdPna4wOftE6uqs8XPgI454uvuHUIS5h_uOlvldtePhkGpVSw8OqOUk5be0myfNzzZu9hjf7io-3s4TBMOudMpleVL-jz4gLIOvnFt1-xTFyQraMLo90Ww6IOpj/s1600/033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="200" width="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzfvM1ZSK_hHgHHYRqUtdPna4wOftE6uqs8XPgI454uvuHUIS5h_uOlvldtePhkGpVSw8OqOUk5be0myfNzzZu9hjf7io-3s4TBMOudMpleVL-jz4gLIOvnFt1-xTFyQraMLo90Ww6IOpj/s200/033.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
Captured by a camera,<br />
Fresh and bright forever, <br />
Dew will never dry on you.Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-1854415182527639102012-04-30T16:45:00.000-07:002012-04-30T16:45:02.692-07:00Poem Thirty - The FinishThis is the finish line.<br />
All the poems are written,<br />
Posted on my blog, <br />
Polished in the rush.<br />
Thirty poems in thirty days - a job<br />
Of huge proportion, yet<br />
No arduous task.<br />
As with blessings, poems need<br />
Only to be seen,<br />
Heard with mind's ear,<br />
Sounded in the heart,<br />
Captured in soft bindings,<br />
Shown to the world.Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-2921402738552772672012-04-30T16:32:00.000-07:002012-04-30T16:32:22.160-07:00Poem Twenty-nine - Terry is SixTerry turned six today.<br />
Dark eyes shining,<br />
He had sung a song,<br />
"And I'm gonna be,<br />
And I'm gonna be, <br />
Six years old!"<br />
Of course he had not stopped at six,<br />
And made himself older <br />
With each verse.<br />
Perhaps his best present<br />
Is his Daddy in his arms.<br />
Finally able to<br />
Be there for him.Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-80273076968093844792012-04-30T16:24:00.001-07:002012-05-01T08:09:59.005-07:00Poem Twenty-eight - Fall MorningThis morning air curled crisp,<br />
October sky canopied clear,<br />
Fog rose from the pond,<br />
And smoke from stone chimney.<br />
Cows lowed in the meadow,<br />
A dog barked down the lane.<br />
A semi rumbled, swept the leaves,<br />
Down the highway leading west.Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-88184741850956087222012-04-30T16:15:00.000-07:002012-04-30T16:15:31.951-07:00Poem Twenty-seven - ArgumentFreezing in my own heart’s winter,<br />
Clutching myself with my self,<br />
Hunching against wordwinds,<br />
Grabbing soul tatters,<br />
Clenching teeth, <br />
Dying,<br />
Proud.Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-50308370100246377742012-04-28T07:59:00.000-07:002012-04-28T07:59:12.407-07:00Poem Twenty-six---Soul Healing CircleWe are here and frightened,<br />
Grasping straws of reason,<br />
Buffeted by chance or fate,<br />
Victims for a season.<br />
<br />
Some choose the comfort of a faith,<br />
Some ritual, some luck,<br />
Some declare there is no God,<br />
Some rely on pluck.<br />
<br />
At some time each has found a place<br />
Where life has been unjust,<br />
And where we cannot heal ourselves.<br />
Who then can we trust?<br />
<br />
Come together in a group<br />
Tell all your woes and fears,<br />
Though each is different, they all share<br />
A gift for salving tears.<br />
<br />
Soul Healing Circle, all are blessed<br />
With gifts of love and care,<br />
And all who are encircled,<br />
Will find much comfort there.<br />
<br />
<br />
--written for the Facebook group, Soul Healing CircleBecca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-41938285296035926682012-04-28T07:34:00.000-07:002012-04-28T07:34:25.725-07:00Poem Twenty-five---RainSilver slanting sharpness,<br />
Blowing blasts of wet,<br />
Wild rivulet on concrete,<br />
Wash away regret.Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-67832532960405329592012-04-24T07:13:00.000-07:002012-04-24T07:13:10.206-07:00Poem Twenty-four - PoemEverything's a poem.<br />
The song of voices in a restaurant,<br />
The rumble of truck motors.<br />
Starlight and shooting stars,<br />
Sunset and black silhouettes,<br />
The rhythm of the rolling wheels,<br />
The faces of people <br />
I will never meet again.<br />
Everything's a poem.<br />
The words tumble from my fingers,<br />
Magical, amusing,<br />
Sad weeping and child-like laughter:<br />
Trying to catch it all,<br />
I can't type fast enough.<br />
Everything's a poem.Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-48704486188000858202012-04-24T07:05:00.000-07:002012-04-24T07:05:29.332-07:00Poem Twenty-three - WaitingShe pours my coffee with a practiced ease,<br />
Asks if there will be anything else.<br />
I say no, thank you, and<br />
As there are few customers<br />
In the truck stop diner,<br />
I ask her if she's in school.<br />
Just making conversation,<br />
As she looks to be young.<br />
Her eyes dart away, and she says, no,<br />
I can't afford to go right now,<br />
But I did finish high school.<br />
I'm waiting, she says, to be able to go.<br />
Waiting till my baby's in school.<br />
Baby? I ask, and she smiles.<br />
He's one year old tomorrow.<br />
What about his father? I ask,<br />
And her face darkens.<br />
Gone, she said.<br />
I'm waiting; he might be back.<br />
I paid the check, adding more money<br />
Than I usually would.<br />
I knew, if she didn't, <br />
That she might wait forever.Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-68371237314882963662012-04-24T06:54:00.000-07:002012-04-24T06:54:06.228-07:00Poem Twenty-two - UnforgivingI should not have said it.<br />
I told myself not to.<br />
But when I heard her voice,<br />
It all came back,<br />
The enormity of what she had done,<br />
The finality of the result.<br />
I had thought I forgave her.<br />
But the loss overwhelmed me,<br />
Crept into my reason,<br />
Loosened my tongue.<br />
I said it, <br />
Told her how it hurt,<br />
And she frosted up<br />
Like a root beer mug<br />
Being jerked from the freezer.<br />
I hear from other people<br />
She is unforgiving,<br />
Will not forgive me <br />
For not being able to forgive her.Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-754553416285677943.post-930723243936070442012-04-22T05:45:00.000-07:002012-04-22T05:45:32.135-07:00Poem Twenty-one - Night DriveWhite lines down a black road, <br />
Stitching miles through darkness,<br />
The driver wipes crusty eyes.<br />
Fixes them for a moment on a distant star,<br />
A beacon through the windshield.<br />
Beside it shoots another star,<br />
Streaking to oblivion..<br />
No time to stop,<br />
The driver swigs the bitter brew,<br />
Gone cold a hundred miles ago.<br />
Low rumble of the truck,<br />
Soft music on the radio,<br />
Speak, sibilant, of sleep <br />
That must be brushed away.<br />
The dark sky pales,<br />
Sunrise silhouettes a spire.<br />
The driver smiles.Becca Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07762693990757187081noreply@blogger.com0