Hi, this is Volunteer Mike introducing another John Ratliff short essay on life in general, with a special focus on his family and friends. I love reading these essays which always seem to arrive early in the morning! I tend to wake up early too, so as I drink my first cup of English tea for the day it is fun to read the latest happenings in JW’s world. Without the boost from the enjoyable tea, I might otherwise struggle to send him a witty reply, or sometimes an appropriate lyrical extract from a song we both remember. So I am sitting here writing this introduction wondering what I used to do with my time in the morning prior to starting my Memory Matters day! Isn’t it interesting how we move away from old friends due to various reasons (their passing on, distance, or new life interests) but then establish new friends through a mutual passion? In our case, it is simply volunteering and giving back to the community. Of the many rewards offered, one is the forging of new friendships. Oh, and we both love music!
This new story is hot of the press since John and Marie moved into their new home yesterday.
Hold on, to me as we go
As we roll down this unfamiliar road
And although this wave is stringing us along
Just know you’re not alone
‘Cause I’m going to make this place your home….Philip Philips
Slept like a rock.
Refreshed, recharged, a little stiffer than usual I tiptoe down the stairs to our brand new kitchen in our brand new house at 4:30am.
Start the coffee, take my vitamins, prepare breakfast, meditate, just like every other morning. Except this one is very different. The anticipation is over. The gratification no longer delayed.
Empty, snow-covered lot to the realization of our dream in eight months. At times the journey seemed to be permanently stagnated. We were convinced it would be Christmas before we moved in. And yet, here we are..
I just heard the low thrumming of a hummingbird’s wings. I looked up to see her and noticed a turquoise dragonfly watching me from the other side of the screened-in porch, his translucent bi-plane wings still for a brief moment in time. That’s when my ears were graced with the night owl’s echoing last call as he bid farewell to the darkness.
Sometimes we get lucky.
Sometimes Christmas morning comes in August.
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