Looking Through the Same Window

I took this picture of my mother-in-law looking out Uncle Grant’s kitchen window the day we put him to rest. He sat in that same chair looking out the same window daily for decades. Often, I bet his wife, Aunt Dora cooked bacon and eggs while he gazed out at the blanket of snow on the ground and could smell the aroma of breakfast. For Uncle Grant it was a common occurrence and missed after his sweetheart passed away. Loneliness soon filled the air that was once filled with those smells of bacon and eggs.

Even though this is the same window that both Uncle Grant and my mother-in-law looked out at during different seasons of their lives. Different thoughts, different emotions, different desires. I even looked out of that window and noticed a different scene than Uncle Grant and my mother-in-law into a world we all see in a different setting, different moment, and different time. We were all in a different season of life. Trials poured into each one of our lives, and we each approached it in a unique way.

When I was in the final stages of editing my book Perfect Rose Cracked Vase, I realized each member of my family saw the world in a different way. Each one of us experienced growth, rejection, love, jealousy, hurt, pain, and emotional trials. Even though we lived under the same roof, cooked on the same stove and used the same bathroom, we all saw the world differently.

We need to embrace each other’s unique styles, traits, and talents. Love unconditionally and remember we are all valuable, priceless human beings that see through the same window and are blessed to see a different view into the life we have been given. I personally see life through one eye that gives me a full view of what is important to me and that is my family, friends, and all those who breathe the air I breathe. We share the air, we share the sun, we share the moon and the stars. We can freely distribute love that God has blessed us to share.

 

Life is short, time is precious, and memories with loved ones should be treasured.

 

My Thoughts

 

It’s been over a year now that my dear Aunt Dorothy took her last breath. I miss her. I miss her encouragement, words of wisdom and love. There is not a thing in this world that could measure up to her sweetness and honesty. I have two beautiful aunts still with me and I adore them both. I hope they know how much I love them. Their phone calls mean the world to me.  Time goes by quickly and the years seem to slip by. I see myself moving into the next phrase of my life. Being a grandma, great aunt and watching my loved ones return to our Heavenly Father. I have been blessed with good friends’ ones I treasure and enjoy spending time with. Family and friends are worth more to me than any item I own. My two brothers hold a special place in my heart.

It’s been five years since I broke my humorous bone in three places and it’s been difficult to get full use of my hand again. The break in my humorous bone damaged my radial nerve and some of my fingers are now permanently numb. I have decided to try and learn how to play the guitar and it’s been an obstacle with the C chord. I am determined to master it. Sometimes pain comes with playing, but I will not stop. I have great appreciation for those who don’t have full use of their hands or arms. I spent a full year without the use of my hand and arm, and it was a nightmare.

There are days when something or someone reminds me of the years being a child or a youth. Ice skating, swimming, playing red light, green light. I remember playing jacks near the cafeteria and singing Miss Mary Mack. I remember my little dogs Minnie, Gigi, Pepe, and Gretchen. It’s interesting how a song from the past stirs emotions and reminds me of an experience from my past. Music can change your mood, thoughts, and desires. The words of my father’s love song, my favorite loved song, and one song I loved to dance to. It’s interesting how I can remember the words even though it’s been decades since I danced to them or sang them.

There is a nine-year-old little girl named Brielle Bird that was called home December 11, 2025, because of cancer. She was an inspiration to me and someone I will think of for the rest of my life. She was a spiritual giant with a big loving heart. She was an example of strength, and she never complained about her struggles with having cancer.

Well, this is the first time I have posted on my blog since 2023 and its crazy random thoughts.

Continuum of Life

 

In the year 1929 on a cool autumn day on the 24^th of September my father took his first breath. The moment my grandmother held him I believe her thoughts turned to her four other sons Bud, Bob, Fred, Frank and now my dad Roger. Another rambunctious boy to add to the mix of the Shelton home.  I bet her arms ached for a little girl after losing her first born daughter Josephine, at the age of six. The house would be filled with baseballs, footballs, and muddy clothes instead of lacy dresses and bows.  That first time she held my father was 94 years ago. I have always wondered what he was like as a small child and teenager, but as a father he was perfect for me.

Continuum, repeat, revive, rejuvenate are a few words that come to mind when I think of loved ones that have passed.  My mind tries to rekindle those moments with my dad. A man who was short in stature with pudgy little fingers. Those short stubby fingers would dance across the piano keys to accompany me in my solos at high school concerts, church, and weddings. Dad aways said when we practiced, “Oh, Pam you have a beautiful voice.” Those days are gone, but the memory is implanted in me.

Memories that repeat with each generation. The birth of a new baby, the unwrapping of a granddaughter’s birthday gifts and the hugs that bring warmth that linger even after the hug is done. That word Continuum is the circle of life.  Each generation from my great, great grandparents to my great grandchildren will have memories that keep them moving forward. My father loved music and with each deep note he sang it was one with perfect pitch.  Now, my children have a love for music, even my nephews and nieces do too.

Music is the link in the Shelton family. It gives each one of us the opportunity to share something we all love. The melody, rhythm and words keep those moments we shared alive. I strive daily to recount those songs my father wrote. Songs that I have wanted to instill in my children and grandchildren. Dad would play my Aunt Dorothy’s piano while his siblings would stand around and sing the songs that they treasured and wrote. Uncle Fred was a talented guitar and harmonica player. Oh, and my dear grandpa Shelton would let me sit on his lap while he played his harmonica, and I would always place my head against his chest to hear him breathe. These memories that are cherished and never to be forgotten.

Dad, you can not read the words I write, but I hope you can see your legacy loves you. That your smile and love of music has flowed into your grandchildren, great grandchildren.  My heart aches to hear his voice, watch him play the piano and accompany me while I sing. I miss, oh how I miss having someone accompany me. I often wonder how my father felt when his parents passed. Did he feel as empty as I do? I bet he did because it’s a continuum that circle of life that repeats the loss, growth, and watching a loved one unwrap a gift meant just for them.

 

Perfect Rose Cracked Vase is now available as a audiobook.

https://www.amazon.com/Perfect-Rose-Cracked-Vase/dp/B08VFN3F5M 

#teenagelove #bulling #mentalillness #CongentialRubellasyndrome #childtruma

My Published Book Perfect Rose Cracked Vase

Words generate a rhythm when embedded on paper. A beat that can give an indication of someone’s thoughts, emotions, and trials. Hidden pain etched in the paper that the writer wanted to hold hostage but felt a need to let go of. Their fragile life of incidents captured between the lines on the paper of a world only they believed they lived. Discouragement and dissatisfaction sneaked in between the hopeful words that they believe would be saved for future adventures.  

My book has been released!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0998220906/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=perfect+rose+cracked+vase+book&qid=1585155268&s=digital-text&sr=1-1-catcorr

Why aren't people honest?

 I see it, can you? Can you see how my right eye is different than my left? So often people tell me it's not noticeable. But to me it is. I can see it just like I can see it in this picture.  Don't tell me you can't tell the difference, because if you say you can you are not being honest with me. 

As an adult I am more aware of my visual impairment than I was as a little girl or even as a teenager. 

Why do I let it brother me? Why do I let it control how I feel about myself?

 We all have something we don't like about ourselves and my happens to be this deformed eye. 

Even though I can't see out of it I still get pain in the eye.

 Pain for something that serves no purpose in my life. 

I do feel blessed for the vision I do have. And I do appreciate that 

         I can see the world with color and not a dark canvas.