October

The chill in the air this morning affirmed to me that it really is October, which, along with her sisters November and December, are my favorite months of the year. 

This is my time.
These are my days.

When I step outside, and stroll 'neath fanning umbrellas of red and gold, a breath-taking crisp fills my lungs as if to say, "You are cleansed. You are fresh and flawless. You are spotless and shining."

And I love that feeling.

So bring on the apple pie baking, the long, rustling and crackling walks, the hooded sweatshirts, the candy corn jamborees, the parfum de campfire....

It beginning to feel a lot like fall, y'all.

Happy Birthday to Me

Happy Birthday to Me




The past week has been a whirlwind of bubbly bliss, trembling tears, deep thoughts, apparent no-thoughts, satisfied sighs, doubts and dislikes, loud laughter, quiet moments, grand anticipations, peaceful ponderings, resilient reflections...and today I begin the second day of my fabulous forties. 

Where has the time gone? 

It's gone like a song.

That still sings on. and on. and on.

I hear it. In the sleepy babbling of my children, in the buzzing near my little garden, in the thank-yous for the food I cook, in the silly words I write, in the clatter and clamor and chaos all around me, in the I-love-yous of my man so true, in the whines of a fiddle and the twangs of a mandolin, in the voice of my mama on the phone, in the song of my deck-dwelling birds, in the laughter of my grandpa....it sings on and on and on...




Happy Day After To Me...and may I be blessed with many more.

Christmas in July

Christmas in July

Red and green balls 

Bright yellow stars

Greenery draped

across wooden bars

colorful goodies

filling glass jars

friends and family

from near and far

little red birds

on angel~wings fly

glorious colors

light up the sky

laughter of children,

blinking white lights

It's a summertime Christmas

It is JULY

God is Watching Over Me

Who knew I'd have to switch driving hands seconds before so I could put the phone to my right ear to hear my mama a little  better.
Who knew I could have only made that sharp swerve with a now 'free' left hand.
Who knew I would be sitting sideways under a crossroad's traffic light, shaking uncontrollably.
Who knew that black truck that came barreling through his red light at the intersection would come within inches of plowing through my two children and me.  (and, just a FYI, kept right on truckin it...)


Who knew? 
The One who was watching over me, that's who.


When I straightened my van up, and started back up the road again, the same One who was watching over me put these words in my heart.  And when I reached my destination, through tears of gratitude, I put these words on paper...

Sometimes I wonder if He even sees me
And I wonder, does He know I'm 'bout to fall
Then He reaches down His hand to me
And quietly He lets me see
He was always with me when I thought I was alone


God is watching over me and He hears me when I pray
He reaches down His hand and blesses me each day
And like the little sparrow I am not afraid
For He's watching...over me.


Sometimes it takes a little bit of trouble
To open up my eyes and show me who
Has carried me and always been 
My ever-loving, faithful friend
He will still be with me when my work on earth is through

And now fast-forward past the almost accident.  Past my long practices in the shower. Past the giving it to my family to mold and shape.  Past the anxious recording time.  

Enter a saucy banjo.  Bring on a sassy mandolin chop.  Welcome the sway of a smooth fiddle.  


And there you have it.


Hearty hope.  
Joyful jubilation.  
Rapturous rejoicing.  
An upbeat uplift.  
Peace with some pep.


Song number 1 on:

www.cockmanfamily.com

And keep fast-forwarding... all the way to a calm drive home from church one Sunday afternoon, where just before we entered that same old intersection, a song came on the radio...God is Watching Over Me...

My voice.  

His words.  

Our song. 

And He reminded me again. 

God is truly watching over me.

I Saw Joy

I saw a man the other day
who had but just one leg.
The other was a metal frame
that ended in a peg.


I saw him as I sang for folks;
I watched him from the stage.
I wondered if he knew he was
the object of my gaze.


At first I felt such pity for
the man, but in a while,
I noticed that his old face shone
with a constant smile.


I saw upon his face a joy;
uninterrupted bliss.
I had to ponder reasons for 
a happiness like this.


I wondered if he'd fought a war.
Had he struggled overseas?
Or had he battled cancer or
some other cruel disease?


Had he overcome it all
to sit here just this way?
Had he met the One who gave
him every breath to pray?


Did he love our music?
Did he pick or play or sing?
Did he have a grandchild?
Did he wear a wedding ring?


I wondered as I stood before
this man whose hands were raised,
if I could just inspire him
who'd seen the darker days.


And then the joy I saw in him
swept o're me like the sea;
For this man with but one leg
had just inspired me.


And as we sang, down in my heart,
a rhapsody was put,
Because I saw a man whose joy
could tap his metal foot.

Mothers and daughters. Tea kettles and candlelight. Grandmothers and granddaughters. Soft music and lace. Aunts and nieces. Tea cookies and pink flowers. Giddy girls of all ages. Chattering. Chuckling. Cherishing sweet moments together. 


What a beautiful evening our girls had last night hosting their tea party!

Sigh. If only every day could be the tea party you thought it would be. You remember. When you were seven, and the view of the world from your bedroom window was wide and wonderful. And Teddy served the most delicious milk and sprinkled cookies on crocheted doilies that your grandmother made. And your dolls beheld you as the princess of the party. And you knew that when you grew up you would smile and sip and love and laugh the days away.


As I was writing this, I looked over my shoulder at my kitchen table today. History and math books scattered on one end. Car keys. A camera case. Cell phone.  A few dinosaurs. And a banana. Aha! Food! That could be a glimmer of  a little girls dream, right?


It appears this morning that I've replaced milk with coffee, and sprinkle cookies with raisin bread.
And you know what?
I take a sip and smile.


Because all those things that are winking at me from my kitchen table...they're the doilies of the wide and wonderful world I grew into.

Little Rules To Live By

~Little rules to live by~

Love your neighbor as yourself.

Treat each other with respect.

Crayons go back in the box.

Pray each day and change your socks.

Never swallow chewing gum.

Popsicles will numb your tongue.

Take care for surely you may be

the only Bible some may read.

Little rules to live by.

I found this little poem tucked away...not in a keepsake box, or an old book, or even in a drawer under a pile of owner's manuals...but in the hidden safety of my 2010 facebook timeline status updates. 

I know there are lots of ideas running wild in those busy brains out there in www land, home of the texters and the clickers and the scrollers and the flying fingers...ideas that involve more little rules to live by...

Send them in. Show us the insides of your minds. Submit the sweetness of your hearts. We want to read them...all your little rules to live by.