By Payne: one poem of many

"The Last Train" is a poem that my grandfather wrote shortly before he passed away.  It is found in his book, Leola's Mountain.  

The Last Train

"The steel tracks yonder lay meandering from hill to bay

What train travels this line ask I a man of hair like snow

His faded eyes looked into mine, my son you should know

This train is always on time, whether you board is for you to decide

Don't be mislead by ill winds for on it few will ride

 I wondered at his saying this man of snow white hair

This road of shimmering steel under the iron wheels

Secure your ticket in advance said he of snow

There is no second chance, prepare for the price to pay

There's no backing on this road, the train travels one way

Never slowing for crossings no matter what the load

At the crossings all will surely come right or wrong

Listen quietly and hear the rails whisper gently and still

The engineer sounds the whistle two shorts and a long

Warning of life's struggles, temptations bending the will

Ponder awhile at the crossroads, you have a choice

Ignore the barriers is to swim the deep and murky unknown

Arriving at the station too late, no reason to rejoice

Climb aboard this train of destination you are shown

The engineer is at the controls, the throttle on full

Life's grinding wheels of steel spin for the long pull

Everything is fulfilled, this train runs on time

Let the night whistle moan in the distances of neglect

The books are kept and balances made to much regret

Life is not a promise said he of the snow-white crown

Living is an obligation, tasks to mend, never to offend

The earth is plowed, the seeds long in the ground

The engineer is the conductor his hands in control

Forget life's hurt and pains for this train is on a roll

Steel rails yonder the horizons past, into the blue sky

Iron wheels turning for the long goodbye."

@Jack Payne Jones

The Third Season: Dedication

  Back in 1999, my now deceased grandfather gave me the honor of being the inspiration for one of his books. The title, "The Third Season."  I didn't know it then but it would become one of the most cherished objects I own.  I guess that is one of the conflicts of childhood. Innocence, spunk; the art of being carefree, loving without condition, simple trust. Yet...everything is taken for granted. It hurts me to grow and realize it too late...I guess that is one of the many lessons of getting older. 


 I think of my grandfather often and miss him more than I could convey with words. I wish very much that he could have met my husband; could have been at our wedding. I miss our daily emails and visits. Seeing the smile on his face when he told the stories of me being a toddler and saying, "big truck, papa" every time a semi passed and the fact that he would start snapping his fingers and say, "shake ya diaper" and I would start dancing. The way he smelt of winterfresh gum when I gave him a hug (he always kept a pack in his shirt pocket from which I would sneak a piece.) The person from which I got my love of Coke-a-Cola...  


Thinking further back, I miss sitting beside him on their porch at night, rocking, listening to the whippoorwills, waiting for him to tell me a story until it was well past my bedtime...


It is so hard when memories bring happiness and pain. Smiles and tears. But, I guess I can only remember and move forward. Pass on these things to my children and remain forever changed by that 'Old Man.'  Far to many memories  to express in a simple blog. Far to many emotions to bring to the surface.  So, I will simply make this his dedication...

"For the five-year-olds

They bounce into each new dawn

With a brilliant insight and a new

Wisdom, shattering the prim and 

Exhaustive philosophy of the ages."

- Jack P. Jones

from The Third Season

I love you, Poppy. Thank You for doing more for me than you ever knew. 

You have helped shape the better parts of me and I will always be 'poppy's little dummy.'

it's just a little water

At the risk of sounding, well, crazy, I have recently found that I lie to myself at times.  I don't know if it's because I don't want to accept the event or if I think that by telling myself something different it will change the course that I'm thrown down.  Case in point:  

Yesterday I woke and went to the laundry room to get something from the dryer.  As I approached I found that I had stepped on something cold and wet.  {Oh how I wish that I could tell you that I'm the type of person that awakes and jumps out of bed right when the alarm goes off;  a dance, skip, singing kind of morning person whose optimistic approach to the first dawns of day are so contagious that you would think you had walked straight into a Disney musical.  Alas, I am not. Very much the opposite, really.  I do fear that if we ever have children and they get this from me there will be terrible school mornings... gnashing of teethe, hair pulling, ice water, lights turned on, covers snatched off...and yes, that will probably be our child trying to wake me. Anyway}  It's a  terrible feeling first thing in the morning. Reluctantly looking down I saw beneath my foot a white t-shirt, soaking wet, lying in front of the washing machine.  And here comes the lie. 

My first thought, "Did Patrick drop the shirt when he put the clothes in the dryer last night." However, my gut was saying, "That shirt is too wet to have been dropped. The washer has to be leaking..." So, of course, that afternoon, I asked Patrick if he dropped a shirt. And, of course, as you have guessed, he hadn't.  We ended up finding multiple leaks when we lifted the washer up. Including one that looked like it was coming straight from the pump.  After discussing, we decided it was best to replace it. This led to an adventure in Dublin the following night. 

So, here I am.  Listening to our new (somewhat loud) washing machine fresh from The Home Depot. It was not in our plans to fork over money for it but we did manage to find a nice small washer for, well, cheap.  A few pictures to remember our marital journey to buy our first washing machine together.  And to think of what can change just because of a little water.

A little struggle to get it inside but we did it!

My awesome husband working on opening the box

The finished product up and running!

As a footnote I have to give some props to my husband. He remained patient and helped me lower my stress level through this. So, it is only fitting that I end this with a few of his wise words:

"It agitates. It cleans clothes. Congratulations."

Absolutely Nothing

  To relieve the pressures of what to post as my first blog, this is it.  Something random and not worth much time seeing as I should be doing dishes right now.