Dedicated to my mother, Lillian, who fought a quiet, determined battle with cancer.
But there was another destiny waiting for her, on the other beautiful side of the mountain top.
My Mountain Top
though you try to knock me down.
This time I'm gonna make it,
up my mountain top.
It's indeed a struggle,
a challenge, to succeed.
But I can't let you cast me aside.
I'm giving it my best try.
So death, don't you be calling.
This cancer I will beat.
The road may seem endless,
with many twisting turns.
The goal though is to win this.
I step out, each step climbing higher.
I push up for the footholds.
My palms are pools of sweat.
But this is my life.
I have my mountain top to reach.
By taking, just one step, at a time.
One of my Mother's favorite gospel songs was "The Old Rugged Cross."
I snapped this photo of a cross on the countryside July 14 2007 in remembrance of her.
I also dedicate my personal writings to my sister, Dee.
Delores, I hope you and Mom are having a great time in heaven.
I miss you! I'll never forget the great hysterical times we had.
singing, "We Are Family, I Got All My Sisters And Me!"
Hope there's plenty of handsome angel hunks up there to gaze at!
I'll continue to share our story.
OCTOBER ANNOUNCEMENT OF LOVE WRITINGS
Bristol Square Magazines has available my romantic short stories via their site or via Payloadz.com.
Feel free to visit Bristol Square Magazines.com and Payloadz.
Click on my name under Payloadz and my short story listings will come up.
G-rated romantic shorts to please your palate for love.
Bristol Square Magazines will have my romantic short about a woman
who finds a new start in life on a horseback ride in the country in
their January 1st and 15th issues 2007. In February 1st and 15th issue,
I share a romance connection about a teacher and her music man.
Please read ROLLING UPWARDS and MUSIC MAN.
My fiction short story, "Bundles of Love" is in Eloquent Stories. The link to view it is: http://mariadesrosiers.com/EloquentStories/?p=60
Just A Little Bit Longer, Lord.
I was ready.
I realized it was my time to go.
Because your angels were leading me right to your home.
I felt warmth and felt comfort as I drew closer to my destiny.
But Lord you gazed down at me and whispered so tenderly,
“Just a little bit longer child, before I call you home.
So rest and be healed my child, and gently drift back down.
Just a little bit longer, for a little more work you must do.
Your family still needs you and I regret you cannot stay.”
As I drifted away from your beautiful face, I couldn’t help but whisper,
“Just a little bit longer, Lord. It’s going to be real hard,
especially since I’ve seen your face and your heavenly home.
But I’ll obey and I’ll get well because I know your word is true.
And it will be just a little bit longer, before your angels lead me home.”
by, Claire Luna-Pinsker copyright July 20, 2005
Each day I arise to another day and start the daily drive.
I go down the mountain and up a rise and sigh, "Oh so lovely."
Whoever wrote purple mountains majesty had to be sitting where I am today.
I view the mountainline, the shifting designer clouds, and the brilliant color sky
and cry, "Oh so lovely!"
And my son growls and complains, "Keep your eyes on the road."
He mutters, "You saw this yesterday and the day before."
I ignore him and struggle at a light to capture the morning sky.
I greet my daughter with a morning photo of the clouds dancing
in the sky and text, "Isn't this lovely?"
She texts back, "It's clouds, keep your eyes on the road."
I text back, "The beauty I see today, I will never see again in time."
My son growls, "The lights green, go!"
My daughter texts back, "You're so nuts, drive!"
And so I drive, but still I sigh, "Oh it's so lovely!"
Claire Luna-Pinsker copyright December 3, 2006
My heroes are many as I study the world.
They're survivors like I.
They're someone who strives for the best.
They're someone who leaps forward in faith.
They're someone who stretches out a hand to help, says a word to reassure, or stands silently but strong just giving their support.
My heroes are my children as they grow and mature.
They're my family who love me.
They're my friends who accept me.
They're my neighbors who smile as they wave a hello.
They're the salesclerks who ask me "So how is your day?"
They're drivers who allow me to go over into the next lane.
My heroes are varied but basically are, people who show they know the meaning of what I feel heroes are.
Eyes of Love
by Claire Pinsker
And now I walk up the aisle to you. I know all eyes are upon me.
But your eyes are the only ones I seek. The ones I seek to view love.
The eyes on me as I take the steps, shaky but sure; are curious eyes, questioning eyes, teary eyes a few, admiring eyes, laughing eyes and waiting to party eyes.
But your eyes are strong and steady, they don't waver as I approach you.
Your eyes are glistening, smiling, assuring. Your eyes are filled to the brim with a passion and love which overwhelms me, bathes me in a glow I never imagined was possible.
Your eyes are love. Your eyes define love. Your eyes are the ones which made me realize love was indeed possible still in this fast paced world.
So eyes will be upon us all day while we celebrate our love, my husband to be.
But as we take our vows my eyes will only be gazing at you and realizing how blessed I am to see the eyes of love.
At night when the house is silent and calm, I sigh with relief and gasp, "I love him, I love him, Lord knows I love Him."
My motherly love is sorely stretched at times and I find myself asking, "Can I really go on?"
A day of literal confrontations and one physical tantrum may cause me to scream out, "Why me? Why him?"
After he's resting I can sit back and laugh, "Well the puppy survived though his whiskers did not."
This Asperger's a wise one gifting my son with a high I.Q. and I ponder, "Whose smarter my son or am I?"
His impulses and energy sap mine all the time as I explain for the fifth time, "You can't punch holes when you're mad."
Each day is a fresh start when he bounds from his room at six and I turn to the clock and growl, "Please, I just closed my eyes."
I watch him eat his meal with his hands and offer an idea, "Why not use your spoon?"
The fork goes flying, the bowl crashes to the floor and I grit my teeth and say, "What a wonderful start to this day."
Later at school when I'm called to assist, he runs to me smiling when I reprimand, "The teacher knows her duties. You can't dismiss the class."
I watch him when he stands alone on the side and I find myself crying, "Please just someone say hello and be his friend."
The doctors, the medicine, the therapies, the time, and I question, "Can Asperger's ever be cured?"
I am his mother so my well of love refills but I keep praying, "Lord, I'll do my best with my Asperger son as long as you keep filling up the well."
I Cried Though They Weren’t My Own
I cried though they weren’t my own.
I mourned though I didn’t bury a one.
I grieved as if I experienced a terrible loss.
I shuddered over the terror they must have experienced.
I wailed viewing every parent’s agony.
Not my babies but now they’re the world’s babies.
Each to hold close, acknowledge and remember forever.
Remember a horrific tragedy which snuffed out young lives.
Lives filled with promise, with hopes and with dreams.
No-one can explain why this had to unfold
Even if we question, investigate and probe endlessly.
No answer can possibly explain this away.
Why thirty-three lives faded in just moments of time.
By Claire Luna-Pinsker
copyright April 17 2007