Stories Collected While Living in France

French la Vie

Every Life Tells a Story

                              

Stories collected, memories gathered thoughts that keep me going on dark days. The patterns in the sky, the unfolding of hearts, life in the monastery and how I learned to pray while cooking. Stories of finding and keeping and losing and weeping, the struggle of having lived when death thought to call. Moments of living the words of a dream: Life continues to continue even when unseen. Memories of childhood and Portuguese donuts and saying the rosary with my cousins. Running in dry rice fields, cracking walnuts, riding motorcycles and walking down the lane. Marty, Mathew, Mark, and Zane. The best deal I ever found in the shadiest puce was the rarest gem.

What words tumble from your heart and soul?

What words tell your story?

What book would you write?

Comments

6 responses to “Every Life Tells a Story”

  1. Marilyn

    Your memories and words are precious!
    For me it is walking on a hot summer day, barefoot, with the soft sifted dirt squishing through my toes, looking for the perfect apple on the tree to eat, praying as I drive while imagining family members riding along with a song.

    Reply
  2. Martina

    Holding Grandma’s her hand while watching her smile and enjoy her “kids” and grandchildren when we gathered. Sitting on a friend’s dock in Montana, feet dangling in the water with the smell of the woods. Dear friends announcing they were at long last expecting. Being presented with a dreamed of standard poodle puppy thanks to a coworker and generous bosses. Seeing my rose petals as part of Chelsea and Martin’s wedding celebration. So many good memories.

    Reply
  3. g

    wow this is really beautiful and thought provoking and I love the 2 comments above-I am in a bit of a mood today so I feel my answer will bend that way…so I will think about this…for now the book would be I’VE GOT A MILLION OF THEM-strange things happen and have happened to be my whole life no one believes me till I start sharing some of the happenings…sun ALWAYS THE SUN-SUMMER ALWAYS THE SUMMER

    Reply
  4. Elizabeth

    Such a beautiful post 💫

    Reply
  5. Patti L

    An old clock sat on a shelf , wound every night by my dad. The pendulum fascinated my sister and I and the ticking was constant through days of bikes, hop scotch, swimming at the city pool, dad’s bbq chicken, climbing hay bales on grandparents farm, picking apples, cherries , blueberries and beans including dad being lost overnight in the woods on one wild blueberry adventure, the smell of fresh cut wood in the work shop, the chime of the clock every hour, flooded streets in the summer, the backyard rose garden, and thinking life would always be as it was , the clock keeping time, my sister and I in bunk beds, but one day that clock stopped, life changed because he was gone and I had to grow up in an instant. Like a pendulum, the memories kept constant and beat in my heart as a legacy of strength through the flooded streets and rose gardens of the rest of my life.

    Reply
  6. Deborah Bauernfeind

    Our first kiss, our last kiss, Chairlift #3, taking all my chances on him, feeling safe for the first time in my life, all consuming passion, the patio home, the RX7, slow dancing on Kauai, speaking with foreign accents, laughing laughing laughing, losing babies, birthing babies, raising our family in my Real Home, singing Christmas songs while he laid in the hospital bed in the living room of the teeny tiny townhome where I now live alone. Only love remains.

    Reply

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