Waste Not, Want Not

 

Waste not, want not

She said

as she shook the crumbs

from the bottom of a bread bag

for the birds

or her next casserole

placing the bag in a drawer for re-use

as she brought someone a freshly baked treat

Waste not, want not

She said

as she saved the yarn ends

to hang in trees

so the birds can have some color

in their nests too

Waste not, want not…

and rags were cut into strips

sewn together

and braided for mats (see picture above)

fabric scraps became comforters and quilts

for the needy

…or here and there perhaps a stuffed toy

Pie dough left-overs were scraped

from the counter-top and

put in a dish in the fridge

for next time

and seeds were collected from her garden

for next year

and empty spools were saved

for crafts and creations (see pictures above)

and she would tell me of their wedding

during the depression years

and how they had to choose

between either turnips or potatoes

for their meal

and how her aunt took a cherished vase

out of her china cupboard

and gave it to her

as a wedding gift

because there was no money

and then she would often repeat

‘He who does not value a penny

does not deserve a dollar’

She never heard

Reduce, reuse, and recycle

But she reminded me constantly

That no generation is immune

To hard times or want

As the root cellar was filled with

Preserves from her garden

I am glad to have known

This part of her

As I attempt to pass some of Grandma on

To the next generation

In waste not, want not

© Janet Martin

I am privileged to be living  in the house that belonged to one of the most beautiful people I ever knew; my Grandma.

Written for Poetic Bloomings Final Memoir Prompt

I hope to complete the memoir project this winter. They are very patient Gardeners:)

Today Would Be Your Birthday...(or, Treasured Legacy)

Today's poem-a-day prompt from Robert Lee Brewer.

For today's prompt, write a living poem.

Today and every day  is our

lifelong legacy in the making!

Let's make it treasure-able💝

This poem is about a Treasured Legacy I inherited

simply by being her granddaughter!!

Both of my gramma's birthdays were in April,

one on the 3rd, and one on the 13th!

(I hope a kind cousin or sibling corrects me if I got the dates confused...)

Today would be your birthday...

Caught by surprise...

I think if we would line up the stitches she sewed in her lifetime

they would reach to heaven and back

So many quilts and comforters for family and charity.

After her family was grown, so much mending

for her daughters and daughter-in-laws!

Her hands, when she was feeling well, were never idle!

My last 'family picture' of my grandparents.

She cared for our 'special Aunt' until she was no longer able

Then Special Aunt was welcomed into the homes of her siblings.

Today, would be your birthday

Dear Gramma, your legacy

Is the most treasured hand-me-down

That you have left for me

Life wasn’t always easy

Yet, your faithful un-complaint

Often made me wonder if you

Were a gram-disguised saint

Humble, frugal and generous

You treasured each grandchild (all forty-something of us!!)

And always made each one of us

Feel special when you smiled

Your sparkling eyes and helping hands

And wisdom-seasoned speech

Instilled within your precious ‘grands’

Sound truths for us to teach

Where now by time’s fleet sleight of hand

I am a gramma too

Trying to emulate the love-

-liness I learned from you

Trying to hand down memories

That, by God’s grace will be

In the heart of every grandchild

A treasured legacy

© Janet Martin

A few more Gramma mementos...

Like Old Postcards

Waste Not, Want Not

Waste not, want not

She said

as she shook the crumbs

from the bottom of a bread bag

for the birds

or her next casserole

placing the bag in a drawer for re-use

as she brought someone a freshly baked treat

Waste not, want not

She said

as she saved the yarn ends

to hang in trees

so the birds can have some color

in their nests too

Waste not, want not…

and rags were cut into strips

sewn together

and braided for mats (see picture above)

fabric scraps became comforters and quilts

for the needy

…or here and there perhaps a stuffed toy

Pie dough left-overs were scraped

from the counter-top and

put in a dish in the fridge

for next time

and seeds were collected from her garden

for next year

and empty spools were saved

for crafts and creations (see pictures above)

and she would tell me of their wedding

during the depression years

and how they had to choose

between either turnips or potatoes

for their meal

and how her aunt took a cherished vase

out of her china cupboard

and gave it to her

as a wedding gift

because there was no money

and then she would often repeat

‘He who does not value a penny

does not deserve a dollar’

She never heard

Reduce, reuse, and recycle

But she reminded me constantly

That no generation is immune

To hard times or want

As the root cellar was filled with

Preserves from her garden

I am glad to have known

This part of her

As I attempt to pass some of Grandma on

To the next generation

In waste not, want not

© Janet Martin

I am privileged to be living  in the house 

that belonged to one of the most beautiful people I ever knew;

 my Grandma.

And then, a new song uploaded today by two artists I LOVE,

fitting perfectly with today's prompt

Cycle  of Life

On Living In The Moment

Look! morning’s epic entrance thunders with moments we’ve never met...

Because God is without beginning or end,

there will be no end to goodness!

Sometimes I am guilty of forgetting this,

 falling prey to doleful dread, 

believing the good days are over for good 

rather than finding the good in each day,

and thanking God for it by honoring Him with it

 in every way I can!

Ps.31:19 

(click reference link to read the whole glorious Psalm)

How great is Your goodness

which You have laid up for those who fear You,

which You have bestowed before the sons of men

on those who take refuge in You!

I do not want to stare too long at sanguine scenes in Bygone’s glade

Nor covet echoes of a song, much softer now than when first played

Lord, give me ears to hear What Is before its music disappears

Open my eyes so I don’t miss the font that soon fills yesteryears

Beneath the hand of Time harsh sorrows and raw edges smooth, it seems

Washed by a tide, primed with tomorrows, rolling through a world of dreams

Darling, ere you and I awaken on the other side of This

Let’s be sweetly and humbly taken by the melody that is

For, far too soon Bygone’s infinite isle will claim tunes turned to mist

So, let’s not waste one precious minute while today's lyrics untwist  

Look! morning’s epic entrance thunders with moments we’ve never met

Oh, let’s not grow too old to wonder at mercies not tasted yet

© Janet Martin

Oh, let’s not grow too old to wonder at mercies not tasted yet...

Dawn's eyelids were heavy with snow-shadows!

It's been a while since Old Man Winter

 lugged out his white-wash bucket and tipped it over the earth...

I almost have First Snowfall thrills!

Goodness of God

The Essence of Life

Wring out each moment in your grip
Experience every drop of it
Savor its nectar on your tongue
It tarries not, for old or young
But pauses for a breath or two
Before it drifts into the blue

Relish its kiss upon your face
A soft caress from Hands of grace
Oh, do not blindly stumble past
The moment that is fading fast
For whether wrought by joy or strife
It is the essence of a life

Wee drops combine to shape the sea
Moments design eternity
Then handle well this gem you hold
And squander not this drop of gold
For it will not revert its glance
To offer us a second dance

How wise the sojourner of earth
Who values every moment’s worth
Instead of gazing longingly
At what once was or yet will be
But knows that living must begin
In whispered moments we are in

Janet Martin

This morning the alarm clock drew me from one of those rare dreams
that I really did not want to wake from...
but as it was fading these words remained 'wring out each moment fully
and savor its nectar on your tongue'...
WELL!!! When waking with words like this as my first comprehension of day
I simply could not let the thought go to waste!

This Was Before...

 I bet you think this is a tree;-)

While trying to come up with activities for the boys the other day and remembering what we used to play I told Victoria 'the thing is, we had Imagination and it took us anywhere and offered endless ideas'...(then came the sad,sad day when 'what we used to play' didn't feel as fun as it did and mother told me, 'it's because you're growing up'...

‘Neath maple-willow banners happy Martin-children grew

And What or Where or Who they were nobody ever knew

Aboard Imagination and a picnic-table ship

They traveled holding on with all their might lest wild waves tip

And toss them to the green grass sea; Ker-plunk. Save me, the cry

Stirred sibling-hearted bravery. We’ll save you! they reply

And with their arms a-flailing to battle the boisterous wave

They drew their drowning ship-mate from a hard and grassy grave

Then, harbored near the hay-mow Alps they paid a visit where

Heidi and her Grandfather lived; offering a hay-bale chair

For each guest and invited them to share their bread and cheese

And, if it is no trouble could we see the goats too, please?

...or, where the towels were flapping on the clothes-line we would sit

And welcome all those sad strangers to join our fun a bit

The maple-tree branch broncos and the playhouse ‘general-store’

 Where shelves brimmed with things salvaged from the trash; this was Before

Reduce-reuse-recycle; 'waste not, want not' our way

Of life because ten Martin children learned to live like that each day

The storehouse of imagination gave what coin could not afford

And often on a summer afternoon they could be heard

And What or Who or Where they were nobody could full-tell

Imagination at it its best is Unpredictable…

© Janet Martin

The Quest

Some long for fame and fortune
Their hour in the sun
Forgetting in a moment
It could all be gone
Some long for the arms of
Anyone but who they’ve got
Forgetting that true love
Is not a game of ‘love me not’

Some long for a destination
Far across the sea
Their life an imitation
Of whom they wish to be
And some long for anything
It seems but what they have
Living in a foolish dream
Instead of in their life

But I’ve got what I want
I’m glad to be me
I wouldn’t wish me on anyone else
So its better this way, you see
And I’ve got what I want
Because when God gave me you
Well, I guess He must have known
That no one else would do

Happiness is not a city
Or a place where we arrive
Yet, is it not a pity
Some search for it all of their life
Happiness is the journey
Contentment in God’s great plan
Happiness needs no money
And is free to anyone

Let's not waste our moments in longing
For things beyond our reach
We all have moments of wanting
Or the ache of an unfulfilled wish
But oh what a pity to miss it
The moment we briefly clasp
Because we were foolishly wishing
For something beyond our grasp

Janet~

Much To Learn

 We are all scholars because...

Until the will of us is not so stubborn and me-wrought

Until the fear of God is greater than the fear of thought

Until the letting go surrenders woeful want for need

Until we learn to love the way that Jesus first decreed

We still have much to learn

Until the More we hunger for exceeds mere touch and taste

Until the battle that we fight is not for blood-shed waste

Until we fully recognize the size of tick and tock

And how its Ultimatum minimizes skies and clocks

We still have much to learn

Until we do not need to understand God’s what or why

Until we realize the best that we can do is try

Until the heart is thrilled with meditation on God’s word

And mouths don’t shout or spout with doubt and anger undeterred

We still have much to learn

We still have much to learn, but God so rich in mercy cares

He does not turn against us as we repent-repeat prayers

But lavishes our penitence with a new day of grace

And like a mother hen longs to fold us in His embrace

While we have much to learn

© Janet Martin

 "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you,

 how often I have longed to gather your children together, 

as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, 

and you were not willing.

Matt.23:37

From Gentle Hands

This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it."

Psalm 118:24

This is the day the Lord has made

A gift we dare not waste

Wrapped in blush tulle then gently laid

Beneath our touch and taste

Sometimes the highs and lows of love

Can cause us to mistreat

The Gentle Hands that tip Time’s trove

With treasure, bittersweet

To track-records of sad disgrace

He does not yet repay

Nor does He turn away his face

But grants another day

Where miracles are sometimes veiled

In merits, hard to see

And prayers that look as if they’ve failed

Are answered faithfully

Where what we want may not agree

With the needs He supplies

Goodness and mercy’s Mystery

Finesse faith’s hard-fought Prize

This is the day God helps us bear

A gift of thorn and rose

Then pray we trust Him with whate’er

His gentle Hand bestows

...and may we in return reply

Not with selfish demands

But open up our bit of sky

With kind and gentle hands

© Janet Martin

Pass Me Not Oh, Gentle Saviour

Oh, Gentle Shepherd

Take My Hand and Lead Me

My God, Where Shall I Wend My Flight

Cherished Moments~

We know too well

What must be will be

So cherish each moment

Then set it free

Waste not and want not

Fulfillment is this

To cherish each moment

Of fleeting ‘what is’

We cannot reach

What was or will be

So cherish the moment

That rests on your knee

A life well-lived

Is done, not in years

But in cherishing moments

Before they disappear

Softly and tenderly

See how they slip

Sweet, cherished moment

From life’s fingertips

The thought of forever

I cannot grasp

So I’ll cherish each moment

Of you, in my clasp

© J~

A week ago the dandelion fields were a sea of gold...this week silver.

Like Old Postcards

We strain to grasp at days gone by

Faded, like old post cards

Their frayed-edge bare foot echoes fly

O’er long-forsaken yards

Where now and then a picture show

Of younger, longer days

Replays time’s tender ebb and flow

Before our shut-eye gaze

And tenderly we touch the air

That wears upon its screen

The mystic remnant of a stair

That leads to what has been

…and what never again will be

Its places overgrown

With many a faded memory

Still clinging to its stone

© Janet Martin

A few weeks ago we attended a family reunion on the farm where my dad grew up! In the afternoon they shared some childhood memories, leafing through fond, faded postcard-like pictures to share a few favorites.
My dad recalled haying days and the fresh bread and jam his mother wiuld bring out to them for a snack. He said in his mind nothing ever tasted better! that made me think of a poem she would quote to us when we didn't want to eat our crusts...

The Crust of Bread

by Anonymous

I MUST not throw upon the floor
—The crust I cannot eat;
For many little hungry ones
—Would think it quite a treat.

My parents labor very hard
—To get me wholesome food;
Then I must never waste a bit
—That would do others good.

For wilful waste makes woeful want,
—And I may live to say,
Oh! how I wish I had the bread
—That once I threw away!

My grandmother was a storehouse of quotes and proverbs gently reminding us to live well and wise.

Her daughters recalled how she would remind them 'it is a sin to steal a pin'.
Her sons look back and remember a father often stern but with a keen sense of humor. He taught them to pay their bills on time...if you were worth their while to fill your order they should be worth your while to pay promptly...in person!
They said he never mailed his cheques but liked to deliver them personally!
After farming, in 'retirement' my grandpa did roofing until Alzheimers forced him to put his hammer down!
I remember many roofing stories repeated, fading to half-stories fading to lips searching for words and hands reaching toward a lost, invisible world.

Cyndy’s post this morning stirred, for me, a fond return to snuggling under hand-stitched quilts with shivers of delight as the train wailed and rumbled through the night and we would strain to hear its whistle a few miles further on and then, still the low, rhythmic moan of steel wheels fading…fading…back into black silence.

 ( and oh, how black that silence was!  I wished my brothers would not have made so much noise when they were told, more than once to ‘be quiet and go to sleep’, because then mom or dad would turn out the light in the hall and my, how pitch black that blackness was to a wide-eyed girl too old to be afraid of the dark)

Sometimes, they would remember 'the girl afraid of the dark' and turn it back on, but if they did not it was unthinkable to usurp their authority and turn it on myself!

Some of my old favorite train-songs...

 

So sorry! this turned into a long post as I hopped aboard the memory-train:)