Featured Writer: Mom & Her Favs

Mom never claimed to be a poet. She did write me one poem, when I was 13; one to help me get through the loss of my beloved dog. She also sent many poems, by other poets, for love and encouragement.

Aug 27, 2024

a note with a pen, ink bottle, and inkwell sitting on a table — Photo by Theo Crazzolara on Unsplash

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Hello all and sundry,
Well! Come on in! Let’s get your favorite something to sip, get comfy in a good chair, and take a deep breath as we ease out of August. So grateful you have been on this journey in memoriam with me this last week and I so hope you got to see some of the rainbows of Mom’s life; some of those most joy-filled highlights. It has been a week of swirling emotions as I wrote, dug through poems/photos, unearthed letters and cards, brought to surface memories, reconnected with old friends, and went through one very large box of Kleenex.
I arrived at the need to create my end of the month Featured Writer post and… Well!! Mom sent hint to my heart that once-upon-a-time she had written a poem to me herself!! So, I got back to diving and FOUND IT! Will be sharing it here, but first, as I dove, my also founds: poems mom would send over the years to encourage and inspire! I’ll begin with one she sent while I was in college and in the throes of figuring out my LIFE! Most of you are familiar with it, I am sure! The poem, I mean…or, you thought of your own throes in life, or maybe you're thinking back on those pieces I’ve posted from my college days??? Whichever…that’s all fine, too! However this moves! The poem is a GREAT one! Have a read:

If—

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If you can keep your head when all about you
   Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
   But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
   Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
   And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
   If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
   And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
   Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
   And stoop and build ’em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
   And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
   And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
   To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
   Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
   Or walk with kings—nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
   If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run—
   Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!


Rudyard Kipling     1865 –1936

This poem is in the public domain.

Isn’t it a wonderful one! Certainly has been a go to for me over the years in character building and moving forward in life!
Now, let’s get to the one that Mom wrote just for me and my devastated heart. I had lost my very best friend, a furry German Shepherd named Shaker. Writing her poem was a most loving way for Mom to comfort me and give me hope that my broken heart would heal and that new days would bring other faithful companions who would have their own special spot in my heart. It meant the world then, and still does.
For everything in life there is a backstory or a read-between-the-lines, and this one…… Oh, in my reread after all these years, this one is overflowing! Still, for this post, I am not going to give all of that to you here. (Future posts can take you on that roller-coaster). For this post, let’s just feel the sooth and the salve that, in this poem, Mom extended as a dressing for my 13 year old wounds created by the loss of my best pal; an ‘emotional support’ dog long before that term was coined.

Shaker, a most precious friend during the tumultuous days of my childhood. She was a Godsend! Photos by Wendy Gray

My Friend

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I was eleven years old and feeling blue,
Seemed like I had no one to talk to.
I was reading the pet list in the paper one day,
And saw a puppy to almost give away.

I asked Mom and Dad if I could have a pet,
So, Dad took me in for a German Shepherd to get.
It was a hard choice to make and a $10 fee,
But one was so special and meant more to me.

I got my puppy I had wanted for so long,
Oh, what a happy day, it was like a song!
But then we had to think of a name,
For the one I’d picked out didn’t fit the little dame.

Sitting on the seat, shaking and scratching her ear,
Faus said, “We should name her Shaker cuz look at her!”
So, from then on, Shaker was her name;
My friend and companion finally in my life came.
My problems were always easier to talk over with her,
For never a secret did she tell and she knew what all my secrets were.

She was sometimes a problem, like all puppies are:
Clothes off the line, toys chewed up, what a war!
Mom yelled and chased her away,
Broke her leg and ruined Mom’s day.

But, it all healed and Shaker grew.
She was everyone’s friend but still knew,
That I was her master and came to my room,
To wake me on the weekend, always before noon!

Off of the school bus, I’d give my whistle,
Along came Shaker fast as a thistle.
She’d take my arm and lead me home,
Oh, I wish over that highway she wouldn’t roam.

We had so much fun and best friends we were.
The highway and fast traffic were my main fear,
For over the highways she liked to roam;
She had no fear of the traffic on the way home.

One day her close call came.
Broke her leg and made her lame.
I cried so hard and hoped her lesson was learned,
But it only lasted a short time and more traveling she yearned.

Two more close calls, when with her friends she played,
They were the unlucky ones and how hard I prayed.

Dear Lord, “Help Shaker be spared,
From that treacherous highway she dared,
To travel across each day,
To hunt gophers and play.”

Shaker was a good watch dog and friend.
At night the safety of our home she’d tend,
We knew she’d bark and make us feel at ease,
She was so precious and me she loved to please.

We decided to take a vacation to Grandpa’s house we’d go,
Two weeks at a ranch, with people we loved so.
It was hard to come back home, because we’d had so much fun,
But, school work, responsibilities, and our parents we couldn’t shun.

Mom and Dad greeted us with happiness and a kiss,
Two weeks away from the kids they did miss.
A tear I could see in the corner of Mom’s eye.
But, for all of us was the reason, I thought she was going to cry.

But some feeling within me told me something was wrong,
I was afraid to ask, but couldn’t wait too long,
For our car my buddy didn’t greet.
Why, she was always there for me to meet.

Mom had to tell me the bad news.
That treacherous highway, where most of our pets we did lose,
Took my precious friend away from me.
Lord, ‘Why couldn’t that danger be hers to see?’

Dear God, “Take Shaker to pet heaven.
Please fill that place she’d given me since I was eleven.
Help me to remember all the good times with my friend,
And maybe someday another one to take her place you’ll send.’



Joey Silvernale, 1982

Mom's handwritten verse...been a treasure for so many years. Now, it is more than a priceless one. Photos by Wendy Gray

Wasn’t that a heart yank-er?! A child’s grief can be so deep and in much need of hope in order to get through it. I think back to this time and, whew, so much had already been twisting and swirling in my little life by that tender age of eleven, when Shaker came. In her short life, she had tugged my soul as far out of a pit as she was able and, though, she didn’t have the chance to get me all the way out, she did give me a glimpse of light and a peek at a future that could be filled with better days. My heart will never forget her. I thank Mom for reaching out, in her way, to my sadness, and for trying to make it all better.

woman looking on wall mirror — Photo by Vinicius "amnx" Amano on Unsplash

This last poem that Mom sent is a reflection we all must consider as we travel this life with all of its trials and trails, in our quest to create and know ourselves. Such— words of wisdom to live by.
Another poem I am SURE you have seen, but did you know its origin? Have a read about the author, Dale Wimbrow, the search for the penner of this poem, originally titled The Guy in the Glass, and his being revealed as author through research done by his dear family. He isn’t ‘Unknown’ after all! His poem is below:

The Guy in the Glass

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When you get what you want in your struggle for pelf,

And the world makes you King for a day,

Then go to the mirror and look at yourself,

And see what that guy has to say.

 
For it isn't your Father, or Mother, or Wife,

Who judgement upon you must pass.

The feller whose verdict counts most in your life

Is the guy staring back from the glass.

 
He's the feller to please, never mind all the rest,

For he's with you clear up to the end,

And you've passed your most dangerous, difficult test

If the guy in the glass is your friend.

 
You may be like Jack Horner and "chisel" a plum,

And think you're a wonderful guy,

But the man in the glass says you're only a bum

If you can't look him straight in the eye.

 
You can fool the whole world down the pathway of years,

And get pats on the back as you pass,

But your final reward will be heartaches and tears

If you've cheated the guy in the glass.



Dale Wimbrow, (c) 1934
1895-1954

Poetry journal of my youth. Photo by Wendy Gray

Okay, dear friends!
Hope this takes you on a nice coast out of this Heavy-Hearted month of my writing, and into the brisker breezes of September, with its changing leaves, that it brings new emotions for you and me! I do mostly promise they will be of lighter fare as I give homage to the people and bars I came to know, and love, in my college days in Dillon, Montana: special people, interesting establishments, and noteworthy experiences!
Google Dillon and get your mind ready….Labor Day weekend in Dillon is known as Montana’s Biggest Weekend with a LONG history of, well….A WHOLE LOT! As my husband would say of like places he has been, “A place where it’s REAL easy to get a beer and a beatin’!” He’s half right! It’s that and well…A WHOLE LOT MORE!
Thank you all for reading and being such a wonderful part of this newsletter writing TRIP! Love to y’all and happy FALL!
Many Blessings and MUCH LOVE,
~Wendy 💜