Tag: family

Posted in Prose

Modern Day Knight

Posted on by Penny Wilson Writes

Image

One day in the dark of the forest, down at the bottom of that deep, dark well, he came to me.

His arms, strong, but tender, raised me from the depths of that well.

The blue of his eyes shone through the night as if the light were coming from within.

I discovered this man was a mere mortal of flesh and blood.  The light I saw in his eyes was that of an honorable man.  The honor this man carried with pride, was that of rare and unimaginable beauty.

I knew he was a man, with weaknesses as men have.  But I saw what was inside.  He was a Nobleman of Old.  He saw the demons and beasts that few of us see.  He would give his life to slay them.

He thought his life was better served on the battlefield.

This man had no sword or armor, as we would normally see with a Knight.   He relied on his instincts and his brethren in the heat of battle.

My hand touched his, one last time, as he turned his shining eyes away.  I knew he couldn’t stay.  He had paused on his quest just long enough to give me a glimpse of himself.  There were battles to be fought and dragons to slay.

Beautiful artwork by Murphy Elliott

*I originally penned this in 2014.  I came across it recently and decided that it deserved a 2nd outing.  I hope you enjoyed it.  

Copyright (C) 2014 Penny Wilson All Rights Reserved

Posted in Prose

Box of Memories

Posted on by Penny Wilson Writes

Sorting through that bookshelf, all I intended to do was to gather a few books to donate when I saw it.  The Box of Memories.  The box was something that I had found in an antique store.  The box had been carefully hand made and at one time was someone’s treasure.  It was battered and aged, but had it’s own beauty and I had to have it.

I pulled the box down and wiped the dust off the top. After opening the lid, I lifted an old photo out of the box and looked at it.  It was curled and yellow with age.  I couldn’t remember the last time that I looked through The Box of Memories.  Years.  The picture of my oldest brother, taken just after High School.  He was ready to take on the world.  A slight smile played at the corners of his mouth.  He looked out past the camera lens at something in the distance.  What was it that made him smile?

Another picture.  This one of Grandpa, looking like none of us had ever seen him.  Young, strong, red headed and a handle-bar mustache, carefully waxed and  curled up at the ends!  I giggled a little at this.

I dug down toward the bottom of the box.  There’s one I need to see.  I know it’s in here someplace.  I flip through the curled photos as I dig, memories flash by.  I click them off in my mind like a grocery list.  Yep, there’s the one of my baby brother standing in front of the car in a diaper.  My other big brother goofing off with a silly grin on his face.  Here’s one of Uncle James.  So handsome.  More photos flash by.  Grandma, with long dark hair hanging down her back.  Lifetimes pass before my eyes.

Finally, I see it.  The only one I have of him.

My mother standing next to my father.  The two of them squinting a little in the bright sunshine.  My mother is looking up into his face.  He looks down at her, an arm wrapped casually around her waist, pulling her next to him.  They are both smiling.

I never knew the man.  Things went awry when I was just a toddler.  Did he love her?  Did he love me and my brothers?  Was his hair brown like mine or dish-water blonde like my little brother?  The black and white photo is a bit faded; it’s hard to tell.

I pass my hand over the face of the picture.  I close my eyes and bring it to my chest.  I’m wishing for a pulse.  A breath.  To feel my hand in his.  To hear him speak my name.

Opening my eyes, they focus once again on the photo in my hands.  Carefully, I put the photo back in the box and close the lid.  I place The Box of Memories back on the shelf.

Copyright (C) 2018 Penny Wilson

 

Posted in Poetry

Old Photos

Posted on by Penny Wilson Writes

Pieces of paper that hold a link to the past.

The edges are curled; they won’t lay flat.

 

In shades of grey and black they are bound to the page.

Eyes that no longer see, from a long ago age.

 

My history, I’m told, in the faces of that time.

The images are cold; frozen in time.

 

These strangers we cling to, a link to the past.

We long to connect; a link to be grasped.

 

We close the album pages; trusting again

That we’re leaving a link, for our family & friends.

 

Copyright © 2017 Penny Wilson All Rights Reserved

Posted in Life, Stories, Uncategorized

Hardship for Mom

Posted on by Penny Wilson Writes

My mom was probably one of the most unusual people you would ever meet.  I’m sure a lot of people say that.  But let me just give you a sampling.

My mother is a complicated person to describe.  When I was a small child she had me believing in gnomes and fairies.  With her words, I could imagine a magical, beautiful world filled with wonder and enchantment.

My doll house did not have Barbie living in it, but elves.  The moving neon lights outside the stores at night were lit and powered by small beings (elves again?) inside that were throwing levers and turning knobs to make them move.  Every mushroom was an umbrella for a tiny fairy!

My mother could cook a gourmet meal over an open campfire and tuck us into bed that night snug and warm.  We may be living in a tent, but we felt safe and secure.  Mom made sure of that.

My mother raised 4 of us kids, mostly by herself.  She had no real education.  She graduated from high school and her chosen profession was waitressing.

My mother’s Picker was broke.  You know, the thing inside us that we use to “Pick” a mate.  Hers never did work right.  She married 5 times.  Badly.

We lived on commodities, pinto beans, peanut butter and pancakes.  One of my favorite meals to this day is fried potatoes, pinto beans and cornbread.  This was a meal we ate often.

With the wages my mother made, things were very tight.  There was NO extra money.  Mom would make light of it and we would have a pancake eating contest that night at dinner.  Because pancakes was all there was to eat.  If there was no money to buy bread, our school lunches would be a sandwich made on a homemade biscuit.

My mother would go hungry if it meant one of her kids could be fed.  There were times when she did just that.

One of my mother’s “Picks” was a man that picked fruit for a living.  So we followed the fruit.  Doing so meant that we would live where we could while traveling.  It might be a “picker’s cabin”, which was basically just a wooden structure to keep the rain off of you.  Or we might be living in a tent or sleeping on the ground.

If you ever want a real eye opener about this kind of lifestyle, you should watch the YouTube video called Harvest of Shame.   This was broadcast on Thanksgiving Day in 1960.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yJTVF_dya7E

This video is about an hour long.  You will be amazed and horrified at how these people were treated.   There is one man in the video that made the comment “we used to buy slaves, now we just rent them”.  He was referring to the migrant workers.

In this documentary, they show mostly black people, but in the 1960’s, more than 80% of the migrant workers in the US were white.  White families just like mine.

Despite the hardships of day to day living, I had no idea that we were “poor”.  I was a happy kid.  I was loved and cared for.

Looking back, my mom is the one that had the hardship, not us kids.

Thank you for joining me on this journey.  Penny ❤

 

Posted in mental illness

World Teen Mental Health Day

Posted on by Penny Wilson Writes

Being a teen is hard enough.  If you add mental health struggles to that, makes life for some unbearable.  In this world of social media, peer pressures can be amplified.  Anxiety and Depression are the most common issues dealt with. 

Depression and Anxiety should not be taken lightly.  Teen suicides have increased dramatically since 2019.  

What can you do to help?  

*Be watchful of behavioral changes in your teen.  Are they isolating themselves more?  Have they lost interest in things that used to bring them joy?  Is your teen sleeping more or have a change in their eating habits?  

*Listen without judgement.  So often, people will keep the signs of Anxiety and Depression hidden for fear of being judged.  The feeling of shame is strong among those that suffer because of the stigma attached.  

*Talk to your teen.  Be willing to start the conversation.  We, as parents, don’t always know what to do, so we hope they will “grow out of it”, or that it’s “just a phase” they are going through.  Because your teen is keeping things to themselves, you will often need to make the first move to start the conversation about what they are struggling with.  

*Reach out.  Seek help in dealing with your teen’s struggles.  If you don’t know where to start, often your family doctor can help steer you in the right direction for resources in your area.  

*Educate yourself.  Being aware of the issues and their symptoms can be a huge help.  There are many helpful websites for this.  This is a good place to start: https://988lifeline.org/

The Suicide Prevention Hotline Phone # is 988. 

You don’t need to be experiencing a crisis to contact a crisis hotline. At most of these hotlines, the volunteers and counselors who answer calls, texts and chat messages are trained to help someone in crisis. But you can also reach out if you’re feeling sad, anxious or stressed and don’t know where to turn. 

These hotlines also serve friends, family members and loved ones of someone who is experiencing a mental health crisis, domestic violence, abuse, addiction and many other issues. 

Even if someone at a crisis hotline cannot help you with your specific needs, they can point you to the right resources that can. No one will ever make you feel bad for trying to get help, and no concern is too trivial or small. If it feels hard for you to manage, it’s worth reaching out.

For more information and other helpful resources and articles, please visit my Mental Health Help Page HERE.

Copyright (C) 2023 Penny Wilson

 

Posted in Poetry, Writing

A Different Outcome

Posted on by Penny Wilson Writes 


I keep looking 
for a different 
outcome 
to my past  

My heart doesn't 
understand 
the memories 
I relive  

The self inflicted 
punishments 
don't resolve 
anything  

I shake my head 
in disbelief  

I'm taught 
I'm forgiven
  
If He can forgive 
why can't I

Copyright 2023 Penny Wilson All Rights Reserved

#Name Your Number Challenge Click Here for info and to join in!
Posted in Poetry

Frayed Memories

Posted on by Penny Wilson Writes 

My memories 
of you 
have become frayed.  

Tattered and worn 
around the edges 
from endless usage.  

They are not 
as crisp and sharp 
as they were yesterday 

but still 
just as 
precious. 

Copyright (C) 2022 Penny Wilson

*Photo is of my Mother when she was a teen. 

**My friend, Chuck at The Reluctant Poet used the words
"Frayed Memories" in something recently and I was inspired
to write this poem.  I hope you enjoyed.
Posted in Life

Connection

Posted on by Penny Wilson Writes

Since I am still going to work every day, my family worries about me during this uncertain time.  I do my best to reassure them that we are very careful and being as safe as we can be.  It’s just a skeleton crew at work right now.  I get texts and phone calls now much more often than I have in the past.  I miss my family and my friends.  I’m sure you do too.  Reaching out and communicating is incredibly important right now.  I’m touched and feel loved with each text, email or phone call.  It’s not as good as a hug, but it’s just as important.

Please be sure to take that minute to send a text or make that phone call.  It might just mean the world to the person on the other end.

Thank you for joining me on this journey. ❤ Penny

Posted in depression

Depression and Denial

Posted on by Penny Wilson Writes

It’s like it’s a scar that must be hidden. Like some dirty secret.  An ugly sweater you keep in the back of the closet and only bring it out when that aunt comes to visit.  You hide it.  You deny it, even to yourself.

There are the days when you tell yourself “I’m ok”, as you look in the mirror.  You do what you have to do to to get through the next moment, the next hour, the next day.

But you’re not ok and you know it.  Your sleeping too much.  You’re avoiding any social interaction, isolating yourself.  Things that normally bring you joy, no longer do.  There is this dark cloud over everything in your life.

Why do people that are depressed deny it?  The answer is complicated.  Often, the person going through the depression is embarrassed.  They want to appear “normal”.  They don’t want people to think there is something wrong with them.  There is such a stigma attached to depression and other forms of mental illness that the person hides it from those around them and even from themselves.

Sometimes, they don’t know that they’re depressed.  They know something’s not right, but they don’t recognize it.  Depression is a sneaky thief.  It sneaks in under the radar and robs you of the joy in your life.

What can you do if you see that a loved one is depressed but they deny it?  Be there for them.  Listen, talk, check-in with them.  Take that extra minute, make that phone call, or send that text.  Get them out of their isolation.  Take them to lunch, pop in for a quick visit.

Since a depressed person will often isolate themselves, it is incredibly important to BE THERE, not just physically, but emotionally.  Be supportive, encouraging and most of all, be caring.  They won’t want your attention, at least not outwardly.  They will push you away and try to discourage you, telling you that they are fine that nothing is wrong.

Encourage that loved one to seek help.  If you are sure that they need help, don’t give up.  Don’t turn your back on them.  BE THERE for them.  You might just save a life.

The Suicide Prevention Hotline, available 24/7 is 1-800-273-8255

A terrific website on this can be found HERE.

There is a site specifically to help our veterans.  Find that site HERE.

Is talking to someone too much for you?  It was for me in the past at times.  There is a Crisis Text Line.  Text 741741 and you can text with a counselor.

Want to do an online chat?  There’s a site for that too.  Find it HERE.

You can even TWEET with a crisis counselor at @800273TALK on Twitter.

HERE is a link to many international phone #’s for Suicide Prevention.

This is a British number to help Children in crisis.  08001111

Copyright (C) 2019 Penny Wilson