Sally from RevGalBlogPals writes for this week’s Friday Five:
This year Tim and I have planted and nurtured a vegetable garden, and I have just spent the morning preparing vegetables and soups for the freezer, our veggie garden is producing like crazy and it is hard to keep up with, that said it’ll be worth it for a little taste of summer in the middle of winter :-). That got me thinking of the things I treasure, memories are often more valuable than possessions. How about you, can you share:
- A treasured memory from childhood? Going camping with my family in the mountains, in a place called Blue Valley, North Carolina. It was in the Nantahala Forest. We did “real” camping with lashed tables, trenched tents, Coleman lanterns and campfire cooking. The campsites were streamside under trees. It always seemed to rain. There were mosquitos. And we had a blast!
- A teenage memory? Teen years? Yeah. I have memories. Not a great decade in my mind. Or maybe I am the only person who did not enjoy high school.
- A young adult memory? Ohio State Marching Band. TBDBITL!! The Best Damn Band In The Land. (O- H!!!)
- A memory from this summer? Faces of patients and their families.
- A memory you hope to have? Meeting and spoiling my great-grandchildren.
Bonus- a song that sums up one of those memories
Gotta be Bette Midler’s rendition of “The Rose” (written by Amanda McBroom)
Some say love, it is a river
That drowns the tender reed
Some say love, it is a razor
That leaves your soul to bleed
Some say love, it is a hunger
An endless aching need
I say love, it is a flower
And you, its only seed
It’s the heart, afraid of breaking
That never learns to dance
It’s the dream, afraid of waking
That never takes the chance
It’s the one who won’t be taken
Who cannot seem to give
And the soul, afraid of dying
That never learns to live
When the night has been too lonely
And the road has been too long
And you think that love is only
for the lucky and the strong
Just remember in the winter
Far beneath the bitter snow
Lies the seed
That with the sun’s love, in the spring
Becomes the rose.