Just a plug for the new J. Calton Watters online store on Etsy.com. Julie's a very talented artist -- and I'm not at all biased.
J. Calton Watters -- Artist.
Julie Calton Watters on Alabama Tourism site.
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
My Husband
My Husband
(For Guy, with grateful appreciation to Dean Koontz)
Years ago, you captured my heart with a kiss.
You bound it to yours with dreams and passion.
But my heart is not a beast that, once vanquished,
Is forever tame.
My heart is a creature caught yet wild --
Faithful, but prone to wander.
Bind it to yours with silken chains
Of tenderness and desire.
Like other wild things
Captive, but not crushed,
My heart requires tending --
Protection and provision.
Brand my breast with the fire of your passion,
Train and nurture my heart with your love.
Create for me a peaceful habitat
Where I can thrive and grow strong,
For you are my husband.
Years ago, you took my hand in yours.
Before God and many witnesses,
We said the words.
I gave myself to you, and you, to me.
We pledged to love,
To honor and to cherish
For as long as we both draw breath.
You cleave to me. I cleave to you
For you are my husband.
My Father created me and
Gave me a will of my own.
My will is vigorous and oft
Grows wild and uncontrolled.
My will is a robust vine ungoverned.
My heart, an undressed vineyard.
I wilt in the heat of trials.
My fruits wither on the vine.
Train my wandering heart with gentleness,
Uphold me with your strength.
Bind my heart upright to you
So I will grow with grace and flourish.
For you are my husband.
Your touch is like water on parched earth.
Nothing else will slake my thirst.
Your love makes me grow beautiful.
In your safety, my harvest is abundant.
Set your seal upon my lips,
Your brand upon my breast.
Bind my heart to yours and yours alone.
Fix your mark upon me.
For while we both yet breathe,
You are my husband.
With gentle attendance
And unbridled ardor,
You aid and nourish.
You strengthen and encourage.
You provide and protect,
Cultivate and preserve.
You are my husband.
Copyright 2007 Sandra D. Coburn All rights reserved.
(For Guy, with grateful appreciation to Dean Koontz)
Years ago, you captured my heart with a kiss.
You bound it to yours with dreams and passion.
But my heart is not a beast that, once vanquished,
Is forever tame.
My heart is a creature caught yet wild --
Faithful, but prone to wander.
Bind it to yours with silken chains
Of tenderness and desire.
Like other wild things
Captive, but not crushed,
My heart requires tending --
Protection and provision.
Brand my breast with the fire of your passion,
Train and nurture my heart with your love.
Create for me a peaceful habitat
Where I can thrive and grow strong,
For you are my husband.
Years ago, you took my hand in yours.
Before God and many witnesses,
We said the words.
I gave myself to you, and you, to me.
We pledged to love,
To honor and to cherish
For as long as we both draw breath.
You cleave to me. I cleave to you
For you are my husband.
My Father created me and
Gave me a will of my own.
My will is vigorous and oft
Grows wild and uncontrolled.
My will is a robust vine ungoverned.
My heart, an undressed vineyard.
I wilt in the heat of trials.
My fruits wither on the vine.
Train my wandering heart with gentleness,
Uphold me with your strength.
Bind my heart upright to you
So I will grow with grace and flourish.
For you are my husband.
Your touch is like water on parched earth.
Nothing else will slake my thirst.
Your love makes me grow beautiful.
In your safety, my harvest is abundant.
Set your seal upon my lips,
Your brand upon my breast.
Bind my heart to yours and yours alone.
Fix your mark upon me.
For while we both yet breathe,
You are my husband.
With gentle attendance
And unbridled ardor,
You aid and nourish.
You strengthen and encourage.
You provide and protect,
Cultivate and preserve.
You are my husband.
Copyright 2007 Sandra D. Coburn All rights reserved.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
SPAM and Eggs
Until recently, if you mentioned SPAM, my mind would immediately shift to the Monty Python’s SPAM Sketch. But this changed a few weeks ago, when I met my mother and father at a Holiday House for lunch. On the buffet, amidst other dishes recognizable and unrecognizable, was a container of stewed prunes.
“I ate so many prunes in the Service that, when I got out, I told your mother I’d never eat a prune again,” my father remarked with a laugh. “And I haven’t eaten many!”
My father never talked much about his time in the military when we were growing up, but now that he is nearing 82, he will share his memories from time to time. My father was a Naval Hospital Corpsman (HMC). He retired from the Navy after having served in both WWII and Korea.
As we ate our lunch, Dad shared a few of his memories with me and my four children. Another dish that was apparently as ubiquitous as prunes was SPAM.
“Fatty stuff – couldn’t stand it,” he grimaced.
My father’s grandmother loved fat. She would eat the fat others removed from their meat. Great Grandmother also made the best noodles on the planet – so good that my older brother once asked her to mail him some! She kept a box of chocolate-covered cherries in her bureau drawer. On our visits, she would sit me in her ample lap and share a precious morsel. She lived to be nearly 100 years old. My father loved his grandmother dearly -- but he doesn’t share her love of fat.
Fatty or not, SPAM was extremely helpful in preventing starvation among British and Soviet troops and civilians in WWII. However, my father and many of the soldiers on Guadalcanal might disagree with British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, who called SPAM a “war-time delicacy.” My father described an incident when a Japanese plane bombed the supply depot – destroying their store of SPAM.
“We all cheered!” he chuckled.
I pictured my father and his fellow Skeeter Beaters, brave young men, standing in the suffocating heat so far away from home, applauding the demise of the hated tins of luncheon meat. At that moment, those men seemed connected with all the other soldiers, past and present, who sacrifice not only their comfort, but risk life and limb to keep our nation free, and I was humbled by their sacrifice.
Our meal progressed, and the discussion of war-time foods did as well. After SPAM, there came the dehydrated foods, including powdered eggs. My father said he used to carry a bottle of Tabasco Sauce with him in his pocket.
“It was the only way I could stomach those eggs.”
Growing up, our kitchen never lacked Tabasco Sauce, and the pantry never held SPAM. My husband and our four children like SPAM. Maybe I’ve picked up an instinctive dislike for the stuff. But I think I will always be happy to see SPAM, because from now on, when I see a can of SPAM, I will think of my father and the brave Allied soldiers of World War II.
“I ate so many prunes in the Service that, when I got out, I told your mother I’d never eat a prune again,” my father remarked with a laugh. “And I haven’t eaten many!”
My father never talked much about his time in the military when we were growing up, but now that he is nearing 82, he will share his memories from time to time. My father was a Naval Hospital Corpsman (HMC). He retired from the Navy after having served in both WWII and Korea.
As we ate our lunch, Dad shared a few of his memories with me and my four children. Another dish that was apparently as ubiquitous as prunes was SPAM.
“Fatty stuff – couldn’t stand it,” he grimaced.
My father’s grandmother loved fat. She would eat the fat others removed from their meat. Great Grandmother also made the best noodles on the planet – so good that my older brother once asked her to mail him some! She kept a box of chocolate-covered cherries in her bureau drawer. On our visits, she would sit me in her ample lap and share a precious morsel. She lived to be nearly 100 years old. My father loved his grandmother dearly -- but he doesn’t share her love of fat.
Fatty or not, SPAM was extremely helpful in preventing starvation among British and Soviet troops and civilians in WWII. However, my father and many of the soldiers on Guadalcanal might disagree with British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, who called SPAM a “war-time delicacy.” My father described an incident when a Japanese plane bombed the supply depot – destroying their store of SPAM.
“We all cheered!” he chuckled.
I pictured my father and his fellow Skeeter Beaters, brave young men, standing in the suffocating heat so far away from home, applauding the demise of the hated tins of luncheon meat. At that moment, those men seemed connected with all the other soldiers, past and present, who sacrifice not only their comfort, but risk life and limb to keep our nation free, and I was humbled by their sacrifice.
Our meal progressed, and the discussion of war-time foods did as well. After SPAM, there came the dehydrated foods, including powdered eggs. My father said he used to carry a bottle of Tabasco Sauce with him in his pocket.
“It was the only way I could stomach those eggs.”
Growing up, our kitchen never lacked Tabasco Sauce, and the pantry never held SPAM. My husband and our four children like SPAM. Maybe I’ve picked up an instinctive dislike for the stuff. But I think I will always be happy to see SPAM, because from now on, when I see a can of SPAM, I will think of my father and the brave Allied soldiers of World War II.
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