Tag: family

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We Have a Ghost

Last month, I started writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. I’m continuing this month so that I can experience the entire deck of prompts. Goldberg’s book was among those recommended at the top of my reading list by the chair of my doctoral committee a decade ago, and the messages about writing remain timeless.

Today’s topic: How are you invisible?

I’m not invisible, but our ghost is the closest thing to invisible around here, even though the presence is translucent. It’s an orb.

We’ve done a lot of unearthing of things around here lately. First, all the trees came down and I wonder whether some poor Civil War soldier is still looking for the missing button on his coat. Maybe he thinks it is in our garage.

Next, we lost Dad in June and have had to clear out seven storage rooms and his house, and in the process of preparing for the estate sale, I’ve brought home things to price – – such as old coins and all my great grandfather’s briarwood pipes and other relics that might have conjured up a spirit following them here with me.

I knew we had this invisible ghost when my eyes flew open, wide awake suddenly from a deep sleep where I thought I’d heard a noise. I turned on the camera in the garage, certain I was going to have to call 911 for an intruder. But that’s not what I saw.

I saw an orb. It was hovering and floating around just as you’d expect any ghost to do, all ethereally, very demure out there, not rattling any chains or slamming any objects around. It floated over between the camper and the truck like it was planning for how to pack when we go camping, and then it went off screen toward the Home Depot clearance sale fig tree before returning to the garage and floating unhurriedly in between the cars.

My husband woke at this point and asked what I was doing.

“We have a presence,” I told him. I added, “Don’t think me crazy, please. I have proof.”

When I explained I was waiting for the ghost to come back out of the garage, he pointed out it might have slipped through right underneath the camera where I couldn’t see it exit. Then, as an afterthought, he pulled up the camera in the living room – the one we use to check on the dogs – and there was no orb floating around in there. Good thing – – that’s just on the other side of our bedroom door.

I snapped a few photos, but then realized I needed to renew the Ring subscription to capture any video.

Flash forward to two nights ago, and I now see two orbs in one of the videos.

And last night, I captured sound for the first time. We’d gone to bed shortly before the time on the two videos that prompted the camera to record. I will check those out today and post them another day so that you can hear the clicking and breathing of this ghost. Perhaps this evening we will move more cameras around to this side of the house so that we can see from other angles as well.

Here on the Johnson Funny Farm, we continue to attract all the quirky animals, people, and spirits. We look forward to finding out who this is and how we can help. We feel it’s a friendly presence with some kind of unsettled business. And like all the wildlife around here, it has come to a safe place to find some peace.

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How I Learned to Drive

This month, I’m writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. Today’s post inspires us to write about how we learned to drive.

In a Volkswagen

I learned how to drive in a

red Squareback stick shift

I still remember those days vividly – especially the day I pulled out in front of a car coming around a curve to make a left-hand turn at the last minute, thinking I had time. I don’t know how I avoided a collision, but I am convinced it was the other driver’s reaction time that kept us from wrecking. My mother was on the passenger side, and I remember the look of sheer fear on her face. She screamed, and the other driver laid on the horn.

This is what comes to mind when I think of the patience of my mother. She didn’t take my license away or put me on restriction – she quietly reminded me of the consequences of decisions that are made too quickly without enough forethought. Unintended consequences often have impacts on others that can’t always be undone.

Some lessons are never forgotten, and some words come rippling back right through the years.

Last night at our County Commissioners’ meeting, in a count of 4 to 1, our Commissioners did something no other Board has ever done in Georgia history. In a “hold my beer” move by one Commissioner who confused courage with a lack of sense, he made a motion to reject the school board’s millage rate proposal. The consequences for this are now that our county Tax Commissioner will not be able to collect taxes until the millage rate is submitted. The deadline is September 1. Today is August 27. I fear for the ripple effect that may close our library doors or other county departments; this impacts far more people than school leaders who are charged with making the best decisions for their schools and taxpayers worried about pennies on the dollar in their own pockets.

The one vote against this act of senselessness was my husband, I’m proud to say. As one who rarely comments or gets involved in politics on any level, I applaud his standing up for what is right in the face of overwhelming opposition. He voted for what was right.

It’s comforting to know that there are drivers who, unlike me in my learning days, do not put others in jeopardy. I rest fully in the confidence of his ability to lead and to drive. I pray for the ones who do not know what they do not know and do not count the costs.

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My Mother’s Hair

This month, I’m writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. Today, Goldberg inspires us to tell about your mother’s hair – or anyone’s, really. I think of the vignette in The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros as I think of this prompt.

my mother’s hair

was never long like

in that picture

of her with that wig

looking all beehive-ish

with the corkscrew finger curls

tumbling down

against her ears

like the swirl

of blackwater swamp

when something’s churning

underneath

my mother’s hair

was never thick like

her laughter

in that picture

in Dad’s arms

head thrown back

in her Georgia back yard

clipped and curled

short and common

like a wood shaving

whittled and whisper-thin

no, my mother’s hair

was never

long and thick

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Numbers

This month, I’m writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. Today, Goldberg inspires us to write for ten minutes using a number in every line.

Numbers

these 3 dogs

at 5:00 a.m.

here with me this room with 5 chairs

curl up like tiny zeroes

in their number one choice spots

and snooze as 5:00

turns to 6:00 and my husband ambles in

and makes me my first

cup of Eight o’Clock coffee

all in about 4 minutes

for 2 matching pods

in our pair of mugs

me with two teaspoons of creamer

him with his one

and I count five minutes

until shower time, 6:10

so I can get dressed by 7:00

leave by 7:30

and be to work by 8:00

where I will work until 4:30

stopping at noon

to eat a couple of bites

with a few hungry friends

before returning to count down the minutes……..

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Disease

This month, I’m writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. Today, what’s in the cards is disease. Goldberg invites us to write about any single disease we know directly.

the darkest disease

throughout human history

is no empathy

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What Did You Bring

This month, I’m writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. Today’s post inspires us to write about what we bring – in our purses, on a trip, to a party, in our suitcases, in our book bags or in our cars.

I’m reminded of our adventure book club that met at Barnstormer’s Restaurant in Williamson, Georgia the. month I couldn’t attend. You read that right. I’m reminded of a memory I don’t actually have. We’d recently finished reading a book entitled The Last Flight, where two women change identities to fly off to new lives but then one plane crashes. This inspired us to meet at our local small airport’s restaurant and actually bring a bag of only the five things we would take if we ever left and were limited in our departure possessions. They had to fit in a tote bag or small personal bag you’d carry when flying. We excluded cell phones, chargers, wallets with money/photos, and medications.

Only thing is, that’s when my father was in Hospice in his final hours and I was out of town – so I heard all about what happened at that book club meeting but was not able to attend. Today, this question for the prompt is timely. What would I bring?

5 Things I’d Bring

I’d bring the tiny obsidian dog

to remind me you knew my heart

I’d bring the silver pearl cross

to remind me you knew my faith

I’d bring the pumpkin bread recipe

to remind me you value tradition

I’d bring the bracelet with the cardinal

to remind me you know transcendending love

of motherhood

I’d bring the memories

to carry you in my heart forever

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Open Write Day 1 of 3 August 2025: Acrostic Poems with Mary Lee Hahn

Mary Lee Hahn of Ohio is our host today for the first day of the August Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com. She inspires us to write an acrostic poem. You can read her full prompt here.

My One Little Word this year is enough. With the recent loss of my father, a collector who kept everything he ever owned and left seven storage rooms and a house full of “collectible” treasures, my brother and I (both minimalists by choice) are using this word – enough– on a daily basis. We’ve had enough! When is enough enough?? So I chose enough as my word for my acrostic.

Enough

Even

Nothingness

Offers

Us

Generous

Harmony

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Late Arrival

This month, I’m writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. Today’s prompt card inspires us to write about arriving someplace late – a dinner, a job interview, a funeral, an appointment. I remember my father saying that my first marriage should have ended long before it did, and these words prompted my haiku poem today.

I arrived 19

years late to my own divorce

by the grace of God

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Being

This month, I’m writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. The prompt today captures the essence of what it feels like when you are all set to write, new journal and pens, time on your hands, the perfect chair, and nothing comes to mind that you feel like writing about. Today, Goldberg asks us to just write who we are, what we are feeling.

Layers of Being

when Dad woke up

after the shock

he announced he was

surprised to be here

and declared, I’m different

and it has me wondering

whether we exist in layers

of being

and when several get

torn away at once

we feel the going

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How’s the Weather?

This month, I’m writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. Today’s prompt opens with a quote: “All of the sadness in the city came suddenly with the first cold rains of winter.” – A Moveable Feast, Ernest Hemingway.

Goldberg invites us to write about weather – so I chose a shape poem for today’s writing, using a memory from Route 66, where I was so frightened by the sky I was practically trembling in the back seat. To see the shape, phone must be turned sideways…..(a real twister)…..

In Tulsa, Oklahoma

I’ve lived through hurricanes I’ve walked the eye in one

that came right over me ~ sunshine in the middle ~

but the wickedest weather I’ve seen was in

Oklahoma traveling Route 66 the sky

was yellow gray like a constipated

face only with the fear of the

stomach so ominous

it erased all

memory of

sunshine

Actual footage of the day I was scared