A PK's Journel

If I had to say what were one or two of the most loved memories I have about being a southern preacher's daughter I would say foremost I loved and still cherish being the "apple of his eye." His only daughter, not in a princess-y way at all but just a light in his eye, a sparkle, an honor in his life that I did not deserve nor earn. Never once was there any hint or lack of favor toward me. One learns young in a "fish bowl" that people will believe what they choose and they will misunderstand a man and his heart and they will take it out on him and his family but they can never touch the "apple of his eye". The second treasure I carry with me as a southern preacher's daughter is the peace and stillness of the iconic "Sunday afternoon Nap." We didn't really have to go to sleep at all but it was a private safe haven when the world stopped turning and my two brothers, my beautiful mother, my dad, and I all took off our Sunday outfits and each lay between our washed cotton bedsheets and rested our heads on sweet southern smelling pillows and Rested. It was a Sabbath Rest that I did not yet understand at an early age. It was a sturdy parson's home and all was right with the world. I never knew what lie ahead for us nor that life would not always taste as sweet as those Sunday afternoons. I didn't know yet that daddy couldn't fix everything and that my sweet, sweet brothers weren't men yet. I didn't know that my mother's southern beauty hid pain that I had not yet heard of and had no inkling of the hard things that were expected of her. I memorized each one of them and I tasted the ripened rays of childhood and it has stayed on my tongue forever! I love them.

Seconds' post dawn...

It is early in the morning a few seconds post dawn. The melted butterscotch sky is streaked with baby blue and left over indigo. A nice squall blew up last night and the sand has no footprints in it. I cross the dunes: they are pregnant with sea oats. The oats sway so charmingly in the breeze and quietly support the island. As I come over the last dune I see something amazing. The biggest cat paw prints I've ever seen. I fit both of my feet and both hands into one paw print. After sixty seconds of sheer panic attack I think about turning and running but then I see him. Out of the corner of my eye I see movement: it is a quiet movement, like a ballet dancer. His mane reminds me of thick gold honey. His eyes command and pierce my heart. I am petrified. I cannot catch my breath. He is possibly eight or nine feet long, not counting his tail.
Somehow I feel he bids me, "come." I gently inch forward in awe and reverent fear. This lion could kill me with one swipe of his paw. I know somehow that he will not. After what seems to me like eons the lion waves his head up and down sending his mane like halo around him just like you would imagine it would. His unspoken message seems to be for me to come even closer so I do. His fur is rich like silk. I can feel the drum of his heartbeat. He lies down extending one pan and then another. I feel like he want me to get on his back. I have always wanted to do this (I am a big fan of the Chronicles of Narnia and Aslan). I have no doubt in my mind that this must be him. This is my time.
The sun has risen in the sky toward mid-morning. The cool breeze from day break in now warm. I walk back to my little cottage feeling rested and sated although I have not slept nor eaten. Everything I see is pristine. Just as I reach the sand dunes the earth quakes as if a terrifying lion has released his loud roar...I cannot help but smile.

It Might Be Better Left Unsaid (but that’s not how we do it around here)

Pages of snapshots in my dreams
I reflect on all the wonders I've seen.
Pulling off I-45 into Houston's city lights
I consider all the miles I've been.
And I'm glad to be here tonight.

I will always know
I can always see
You're still here
And you think of me

Sims Bayou fields is where I played
I went to church and studied life's game
I had to go without regret
I lived and loved and lost some bets
But that South Texas wind sings me home again.

It all might be better left unsaid
But that’s not how we do it around here
Those Houston city lights shine bright up ahead
And everything seems so clear.


sjad