Helen

Desert Rose Dishes

A DAY IN THE LIFE by rl Simpson 11/18/27

Thursday is my Day. Helen brought me in 1950. I was part of a set, I think. That story has been lost but I was not and am part of the whole. Most of the year I live in the back of a dark cupboard. I don't mind -safer that way. I am quite large, over 19 inches. We of the Desert Rose patterns are the everyday dishes. I have never seen the other patterns, but 'We' see life with the family. John's breakfast on the Kitchen porcelain table or diner on the big table in the dining room when the children and their families come home. Helen brings me out the day before Thursday and washes me, I am the Turkey Platter. Well, truthfully Helen has served beef roast and pork roast and *gag* Lamb on me, but I like hearing the 'oohs' and 'ahs' when the big Tom Turkey rides on me. John gets his special carving knife and fork and the family all talks while he does the honors. It is my favorite day Even Christmas Ham doesn't compare. When it is over, the food is put away and sometimes an exhausted Helen has help, to wash the dishes. The daughter in Laws and the daughters aren't as gentle with me.
I now live in the dark cupboard of the eldest granddaughter. She cannot cook and rarely uses any of the Desert Rose patterns. She has never used me. I hear she may sell us. I hope we all go together.

When I think of being home

My Place by rl simpson 4/20/2017

I can not decide what kind of a reading chair I want. A wing back chair with exposed legs, and a tall back that pushes back into a recliner.  Or maybe a low back, leather upholstered club chair that also pushes back into a recliner. In my Mother's Florida house, I liked to sit in an old upholstered rocker, but I sold that with the house when they died. I close my eyes and picture myself reading. I sink into an upholstered chair filled with clouds called; down feathers, my feet are on a matching ottoman. Two matching chairs, both filled with clouds, One is covered in silk and the other in leather. One chair sits in a quiet corner near the door to the porch. The other sits in the silent Library, where my NaNa grows her violets and my Grandfather built shelves for books. I smile. I am in my Grandparent's home. I can feel the breeze cool my skin by the porch door. I can hear the quiet in the Library when I close the French doors with the glass door knobs. We are on a rare visit to my Mother's parents. I am eight, he is six. My little brother is in the Tv room with my Grandfather, who has little patience and a few words for a little boy. I have to read as fast as the clock beats until my brother will be banished from the TV room by our Grandfather. Maybe three chapters. He will come with Tinker toys or Lincoln logs to invade the quiet. He brings his little boy energy and the sweet smell of dried sweat, from his hard day of adventures. He is a good little brother, but he never is still and he does not like to read. I close my eyes and sink back into the clouds of down feathers. I am home.

Inside a Bubble

The assignment was to write about being inside something:

By rl simpson 4/15/2017


My breath has taken me away.
I am inside a rainbow called a bubble
Lighter than I am, I rise
I float.
I marvel at the patchwork
of the world below me
No longer afraid of heights
I float with the clouds and
Reach out to shake hands with
God.
No problems, no sounds.
 The beauty of my world
Takes my breath away.

Just like that, it all disappears
I float into a million pieces
And become all that I see
All that I am
All that I can be.

By rl simpson 4/15/2017 My breath has taken me away. I am inside a rainbow called a bubble Lighter than I am, I rise I float. I marvel at the patchwork of the world below me No longer afraid of heights I float with the clouds and Reach out to shake hands with God. No problems, no sounds. The beauty of my world Takes my breath away. Just like that, it all disappears I float into a million pieces And become all that I see All that I am All that I can be.