(nope, not political)

Mary L. Niehaus-Ralles

I was sitting on the corner of the fireplace wearing a plaid skirt, button up blouse, with a grey sweater tied around my neck as every respectable 80’s girl would. I wore low wedge heels, with cross straps around my ankles from Thom Mcan. My hair was feathered in the front and very long down the back. And my arms were folded over in my lap gripping a stack of books as I was headed off to school.

My mom and I were living with my grandparents on their farm. And I found the warmth of the fire irresistible. It clung to me offering comfort like a warm hug that need not end…

Now that was a very long time ago…I’m shocked to have that kind of recall when most days I can’t remember what I got up to get when I walk in another room. But I do. Because once again, I am comforted and warmed by a different fireplace. I’ve abandoned the hearth in favor of a rocker made of tooled leather.  I sit in front of the fire with a wrap around my Henley shirt, wearing a pair of Levi’s jeans, and Minnetonka house shoes my youngest bought me last year for Christmas. They are speckled with a polyurethane base (compliments of Minwax) from the other day when I dropped the can and it splattered all over me and the basement floor.

I am still with my thoughts the same as my younger 16-year-old self. Only now I am looking from a different perspective. I’m reminded of a poem I wrote in high school that resonated with my grandfather, though it was intended to represent my own world view at the time.

For me, it meant being on the verge of something big that had yet to happen…that seemed like it never would living isolated on a farm that was both a fortress of safety and purposeful living as well as a barrier to the outside world and growth that needed to happen as it does for every young life. For him, it was the feeling of waiting for something else after having experienced all the other big stuff over the course of his lifetime. Railroader, farmer, carpenter…human.

The funny thing about it all is that we never really feel any different inside. Whether you are 16, 57 or 70 something, it’s just a number. Our jumping off point is never restricted by a bad heart, broken leg, or aging body. It’s our mind so clever and faithful in perfect concert with our spirit. The right combination can be unstoppable and at other times, impossible.

But today, on this random Thursday morning, I give you a poem written from that old lens that has come back around for me. My hope for everyone is that we remain unstoppable and listen to what matters and disregard the reflection we see each day staring back at us. Be that kid and remember the time you couldn’t wait to get started. It ain’t quitting time!

In-between

We are no longer adolescents or youthful teens

Nor are we adults of countable means

We reach for the past as the future comes plunging through

Wishing for the old and rejecting the new

Our lives have been planned out so long ago

And yet we find we are not allowed to know

Which paths we will take

And what decisions we will make

It seems that our lives are full of dreams

But cannot become reality or so it is deemed

Our lives are at the threshold of In-Between

M