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Excerpt from 'The Gift'
[This story began at a pre-wedding party for my friend's daughter. We had been asked to bring something to share something from marriage - something we hadn't expected. A dear friend of the family, in her 80's, stole the show with her contribution.]
The wedding was only a few days away. Coffee and dessert at 'Hawthornden Inn' was such great way to celebrate. Laughter, chatter and stories one by one echoed round the little old church. And then it was her turn. Yellow tissue paper rustled around the package she held. We waited. Memories of the years began to unfold seamlessly, wrapped delicately in carefully chosen words ...' He was twenty four when he enlisted for the war. Many of the boys from our area didn't come back ... I treasure all his gifts but this one was special ...'
Excerpt from 'Gifts of the Heart'
[Nothing can ever quite prepare you for the moment when your first child leaves home. I wrote about my experience for a small, local, informal writing group I attend. Later it was accepted for publication in 'Fuel for the Soul.' ]
The questions had plied my mind for weeks. Have I done well as a Mum? Is the daughter I am sending into the world ready? Are there any gaps? ... I had written a letter to her, on beautiful note paper, telling her she was indeed a gift of us, a unique and special gift after years of waiting and praying ... although as so often happens during those teenage years, the gift-wrapping between us had got a little tattered and torn at times ... She was by nature quite independent and sometimes during the last days it was difficult to find a Mum-shaped gap in the whole process. Sometimes I tried too hard and the conversation flow reduced to a trickle. One thing I had told her more than once was that I would miss hearing her playing the piano ...'
EARTHEN CLAY POT
My body;
a clay pot
made from the earth
shaped and moulded
unseen in the depths
fashioned in secret
intricately turned
on a womb-shaped wheel
fired in the kiln of life
for a time
decorated with peculiar experiences
emerging to be a unique vessel
like no other
holding a treasure of being
until one day
cracked and chipped, the vessel shatters
releasing its treasure into eternity
as the earth opens her hands to receive again
my clay pot
my body.
© Valmai Redhead
[This story began at a pre-wedding party for my friend's daughter. We had been asked to bring something to share something from marriage - something we hadn't expected. A dear friend of the family, in her 80's, stole the show with her contribution.]
The wedding was only a few days away. Coffee and dessert at 'Hawthornden Inn' was such great way to celebrate. Laughter, chatter and stories one by one echoed round the little old church. And then it was her turn. Yellow tissue paper rustled around the package she held. We waited. Memories of the years began to unfold seamlessly, wrapped delicately in carefully chosen words ...' He was twenty four when he enlisted for the war. Many of the boys from our area didn't come back ... I treasure all his gifts but this one was special ...'
Excerpt from 'Gifts of the Heart'
[Nothing can ever quite prepare you for the moment when your first child leaves home. I wrote about my experience for a small, local, informal writing group I attend. Later it was accepted for publication in 'Fuel for the Soul.' ]
The questions had plied my mind for weeks. Have I done well as a Mum? Is the daughter I am sending into the world ready? Are there any gaps? ... I had written a letter to her, on beautiful note paper, telling her she was indeed a gift of us, a unique and special gift after years of waiting and praying ... although as so often happens during those teenage years, the gift-wrapping between us had got a little tattered and torn at times ... She was by nature quite independent and sometimes during the last days it was difficult to find a Mum-shaped gap in the whole process. Sometimes I tried too hard and the conversation flow reduced to a trickle. One thing I had told her more than once was that I would miss hearing her playing the piano ...'
EARTHEN CLAY POT
My body;
a clay pot
made from the earth
shaped and moulded
unseen in the depths
fashioned in secret
intricately turned
on a womb-shaped wheel
fired in the kiln of life
for a time
decorated with peculiar experiences
emerging to be a unique vessel
like no other
holding a treasure of being
until one day
cracked and chipped, the vessel shatters
releasing its treasure into eternity
as the earth opens her hands to receive again
my clay pot
my body.
© Valmai Redhead