Luvada

This is Luvada Walker Hollingsworth, my grandmother.

Isn't she beautiful? I've never met her. She died when my father was a teenager. She had breast cancer.

My middle name is also Luvada and I would love to know her. Since she has 4 children, I like to imagine that she enjoyed being a mother as much as I do. I know she had very good taste. For heaven's sake, look at those "to-die-for" spectator pumps. From my Dad's stories I know that she was a disciplinarian, a strong woman, and rarely missed church. I gather that she had a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ and is worshipping Him in heaven right now.

What a treasure to have this photo!

It got me to thinking...

What will the next generations "gather" about me?

What will my legacy be?

I wonder about the granddaughters and great granddaughters who I will never meet in the flesh. What do I want them to remember about me and my life?

What about yours? Have you given it much thought?

In the meantime, I look forward to meeting Luvada in heaven. We will worship the Lord together. Do you think we will be rockin' some awesome shoes? I can guarantee that painful high heels will not be there. Crocs? maybe.

We are still here

I wonder if anyone noticed I haven't posted in a while. Well, I've been super, crazy distracted with my consignment sale and then there's the seven kids and all. They have grown accustomed to eating and wearing clean clothes. So that had to be done.

I will update you on everything...in time. And I have SO MUCH to catch up on like the surprise I found in the dryer, my unfortunate incident with the Polly Pocket house, my hormonal meltdown last weekend....and there are a few "How do you do..." questions left to be answered.

In the meantime I will share an original poem by Scooter (14 yrs). The assignment was to write a poem that imitates the poem "December" by Thad Stem. I think she did a great job. She has submitted it to a poetry contest. We'll see what happens.

August

August waded into our sleepy town

With her flambeaux blazing streaks of orange and crimson

She lethargically fans her sweltering face

So powerfully, humid air crested over the rooftops

Like a cascading wave.

Then she flipped her fiery auburn hair

And the flames were provoked higher and more vigorous

To stew us and reveal her deceiving mirages

With an occasional performance from vivacious, pounding drummers

That make her flash a smile.