Young Willie Strang

Last week I shared another version of this poem.  This was the first effort after reading about young Willie Strang in a couple of books about Brown’s Park.  Continue reading

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Those pesky to-do lists

Sure, I have a daily to-do list to help me organize my time and an attempt at productivity.  Sometimes the list seems overwhelming and I’d rather not tackle it.  But at least I still can choose to do or not to do instead of the choice being made for me due to health or other reasons. Continue reading

Poor Willie Strang

I mentioned in an earlier post that I’ve read a couple of books regarding Brown’s Park (Hole).  An area that straddles Wyoming, Colorado, and Utah.  My interest is piqued because I have ancestors that lived in that area in the early 20th century.  I didn’t find much family history in my reading but I did read the sad story of Willie Strang.  He was 14 or 15 when killed by Johnson (or Johnston).  It’s a sad story that caught my attention.  I attempted to write about it in next week’s poem but didn’t like it so this week is take 2.  After I finished this poem I think I prefer the first one better.  It is now up to you, dear reader, to decide which poem is better.  

Continue reading

Four Angels Divided

angelMy mom was an artist.  As an artist, she found many outlets for her creativity.  One outlet was painting ceramics.  Her dad and stepmother owned a ceramic shop and she helped out.  Along the way, her family were benefactors of ceramic projects big and small.  I remember her painting four angel ornaments for the tree.  One boy and three girls, or in other words, one for my brother and one for my sisters and me.

For years the angels hung on her Christmas tree every year.  Her little angels painted with love by our guardian angel.

Every year for thirty some years her angels hung on momma’s tree.

But all things come to an end.  This Christmas, the angels were divided and each hung on different trees in two states and three towns.  Mom’s angels are separated by distance but still connected by memory and love.