This page, WRITE TO A PICTURE, is an invitation to our regular writers and to our visitors. Send an original poem, a story, or your recollections. Share your thoughts and experiences with those who like to READ what others write. Send to me at LaraOct7@aol.com.

 Early 'Write To A Picture' pages are archived. The links are here:

Beach Scene "1" Old Train Station "2"
The Carousel "3" The Fifties "4"
Summer Picnic "5" From The Heart "6"
Cloudy Moon "7" September Morn "8"
Passing The Time "9" Apples "10"
Rain "11" Pumpkins "12"
Halloween "13" Big City "14"
Remembrance Day "15" Autumn Harvest "16"
A Cozy Nook "17" Migration "18"
The Kitchen On Memory Lane "19" Holding Hands "20"
Indoor Gardening "21" Playing In The Snow "22"
Bonding With Children "23" Old House "24"
The General Store "25" Friends and Friendship "26"



 


There's A Story Here

By Marilyn (LaraOct7@aol.com)







If those walls could talk..... We've heard the expression many times and now is your chance to tell us what the walls know. Notice the torn drapes and dirty floor, the wallpaper hanging from the ceiling. There's a story here and it's your story to tell.

Has the house been abandoned or does someone live there? Maybe someone is thinking of restoring it.

Fiction or fact, we look forward to your entry.






 


That Old Chair

Sharon (Sunyskys1943@aol.com)





A visit to Auntie's house each year
Was a treat no other could compare
In her kitchen around the table
Sitting on a rickety old chair


Upstairs were the bedrooms overlooking
A crabapple tree in her front yard
I remember eating one one time
My brother laughed out loud and quite hard


Crabapples taste so very bitter
Of this I had not an inkling of
For apples that grew from my home town
Were sweet and I so dearly did love


She would bake in a wood burning stove
Oh the aromas that sprang from there
As we gathered at kitchen table
Sitting upon an old wooden chair


Steep steps led into the dank basement
It was scary to venture down that way
She sent me to fetch a few things once
With her I always tried to obey


Down the steps I so carefully went
Was sure a goblin would be down there
Got the things she wanted and sped back
Plopping myself in that old chair


Auntie's house sat amid some farm land
The milk cows in the pasture would graze
It brought me such great pleasure oh yes
To sit upon fence railing to gaze


Auntie called me in to wash my hands
The time had come for dinner in there
We all came to the table to eat
I sat on that old rickety chair









 


What We Found In My Grandmother's Attic

Joy (JOY3032@aol.com)





I found it in the attic of my grandmother's house long after she had died. We went up to her place in Stratford, Ontario and most of her possessions had been apportioned to the 5 children, 13 grandchildren and many great grandchildren. I got her piano stool because I spent so much time on it playing her upright piano in the parlor. Her armoire went to my mother who used to pick out her clothing from it and twirl around and showed everyone how beautiful she looked. My Aunt Kit got her dining room set because she was such a good helper in the kitchen. My Uncle Frank got the chaise for his wife who was so beautiful and long and lean and just fit on it perfectly. Uncle Tom got all the nitty gritty stuff from the garage where he spent so many hours tinkering with everything. Aunt Marg got the jewelry as she was always dressed to the nines.

We looked through the house and we could see faded spots on the wallpaper that used to have pictures. The pump in the pantry was so rusted it couldn't pump water anymore. There were spots on the rugs where all the Victorian furniture had been.

It made me so sad to see the curtains dingy, the furniture gone, and the flower beds so overgrown which had been her pride and joy.

I was feeling so down and then I went up the back stairs to the attic to see if anything had been overlooked. I turned on the bare bulb with the string attached and saw some old newspapers, some boxes that were full of canning jars and way back under the dark area by the staircase I spotted something. It was wedged in tightly, but I finally got it out and I was amazed....it was the old doll house that we girls (and sometimes the boys) had played with. What a wonderful find. It brought back so many wonderful memories of staying at Grandma's house.

I was going to take it home, but it was a pretty good size to get into our Chevrolet Coupe' and my mother thought maybe one of the nearby great grands or great great grands would enjoy having it. So that is what we did. I would love to see it now. The young lady who took it was so excited and said she would repair, wallpaper, paint and find furniture for it and would treasure it all her life and pass it down to her children.

I am sure Grandma would be very pleased!








 


Forlorn

susi Taylor (Texaswishr@aol.com)





Forlorn, abandoned old house. Once someone's home, these peeling old walls heard the laughter of children, the conversations of a husband and wife, the smells of wonderful, simple food being prepared for the evening meal.

These floors have felt the stomp of boots knocking off snow, the patter of tiny feet just learning to walk, the click of a daughter's first pair of high heels and the scuffling of her prom date's shoes.

Many generations have lived and loved in this kitchen. Kids were bathed in tubs in the middle of the floor. Each Fall saw the harvest being canned, beans, corn, tomatoes, bushels of peaches all to be eaten throughout the wintertime. I can see the lady of the house sitting in a rocking chair shelling peas or beans, an old wood stove with the big old black pot full of stew for supper. Long ago, someone added the wallpaper to make it look beautiful. Now, no one is here, the room looks empty and forlorn, wallpaper faded, linoleum worn off the floor. But once, life was here in all its glory. If the walls could talk, they would tell you so.








 


The New Old House

Swampetta (SWAMPETTA@aol.com)





"Oh, I know it's a fixer-upper."
He said to me over supper.
It's been vacant for many a year,
That's why the price isn't too dear.


Two months later, we moved in.
It felt like being in a garbage bin.
Took almost a year to fix the roof,
Didn't make a big difference to tell the truth


Took us so long I got some gray hairs.
Only thing we kept was two wooden chairs.
The floors and the walls just took forever.
People asked; "Are you finished?", we said "Never."


There may come a day when we look around,
And no more repairs are there to be found.
Even the cat can't find a mouse,
As we sit in the chairs from our new old house.









 


The Old House

Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)





“Honey, oh honey you will love it; oh don’t get me wrong it will take some work, but there is so much potential there and the location, oh the location is fantastic,” Vic Arles said to his wife as he sped across town toward the south side where he had found what he thought was the ideal house for them.

“Slow down Vic, slow down. It has been there for a long time and will remain there until we get there. You scare me, slow down,” Ginny said.

Yes Ginny is short for Virginia Eloise Talbot Arles. “Now how many rooms does this house have? You say it is a ranch style and has a non-attached single garage?” she asked. Her fingers were white as she held on. “This is the south side," she added. "This is not a good place to live, too many Mexicans and blacks and too much crime.”

Vic and Ginny had been married for twenty-four years and they had seven children. The youngest one just a few months ago who was 17 and a senior in high school had gotten a girl pregnant so he married her and the next day joined the Navy, for they were the ones who would take him quickest. Vic and Ginny had signed for him and now they were just two people in the house they had partially built themselves after getting a small four room modular. Since Eugene had gone all they talked about was enjoying life and relaxing.

“Oops,” Vic said with a laugh as they crossed the eight sets of railroad tracks where the UP yards were. “And it has four apple trees and a barn, I just know you will love it,” he said for the fourth time.

Just past the railroad they turned West and followed a gravel road for about a mile. Then he nearly stopped as they turned off the gravel road onto a small dirt road. You had to go down through the barrow pit to get to the road to the house.

As they came up on the road there ahead, Ginny saw a small white bungalow with some falling down outbuildings. She squinted and then wiped her eyes hoping she was not seeing what she knew she was seeing. She was hoping it was all a dream...a January Halloween prank. “Is that it?”

“Yep, isn’t it a beauty? Look at all of the open space. We are going to love it,” Vic said as he started to yammer, yada, yada, yada.

The glass in the front door was broken and a piece of plywood had been nailed over it, with the broken glass still in the frame.

Vic opened the door and they entered. “This must have been built around 1900,” Ginny said as she looked at the ceiling. Three separate layers of different colored wallpaper was hanging loose in places and some had been stripped off. There was a hole where a stove pipe went, or a chimney had been removed. The doors all hung at an angle and the floor, “Oh my god, the floor!” she screeched. The floor was plywood. Sheets of plywood and they were not nailed down, certainly not level enough for anything with two or more legs.

A piece of old, leaning, tilted or broken furniture was here and there. She walked toward the kitchen. She shook her head for there was an old wood stove with two legs propped up with bricks and the stove pipe, rusted of course, ran across the kitchen and out a window. Ginny stopped and shook her head again. “You said this was a ranch style house. This is just an old four room little house that has been added onto. Who lived here, the hog family?”

“Oh, it is rough," Vic said, as ht kept trying to find good graces and positives to say to his wife, "but it has potential.”

Ginny walked outside and saw piles of rusting junk and scrap. “Vic I am going back to the car. You continue to look around and if you have done what I think you have, then tomorrow morning I will be in Luther Addison’s office filing for a divorce.” With that she walked around and got into the car.

Vic’s jaw dropped and he looked like a kid who had just lost all of his marbles and his money for an ice cream cone. “But Ginny, Ginny honey, it has potential,” he kept saying and whining as he too went to the car. Vic started the engine and turned on the radio. He headed back toward the road and did not speak a word.

When he got back to the hard surface instead of turning North he turned South. Still, neither of them spoke. He drove about a mile down the road, took a left onto a paved road, and drove ¾ of a mile and turned off.

Ginny was looking but not speaking for she knew their marriage was over. There were half a dozen houses under construction but Vic drove past them all. Then he turned in a gravel road heading toward a hill. He drove about a mile and stopped in front of a lovely brick ranch style house with a triple car garage and five outbuildings. It had a lawn, a large flower garden and a vegetable garden. Vic turned off the engine. “Since you did not like the one I liked, would you consider looking at this one?” He broke into a laugh.

Ginny hit him with her purse, breaking Vic’s glasses and drawing blood from a deep scratch. “You sorry son-of-a-gun. You set me up, you set me up and here I was wondering how it would be to be single again.” She grinned and added, “We can’t afford something his nice, maybe the other one but not this one.”

“It is paid for and if you do not like it I can get the money back,” Vic said.








 


Two Men

Jeanie (Mingo184@aol.com)





THE TWO MEN STUMBLED INTO THE OLD ABANDONED HOUSE. THEY HAD PRIED THE CREAKING DOOR OPEN AND ONE HELPED THE OTHER TO THE CHAIR NEAR THE OLD DRY SINK. WHEN HIS FRIEND SAT DOWN, HE PEERED INTO ANOTHER ROOM AND SAW ANOTHER CHAIR AND HE DRAGGED IT TO NEAR WHERE HIS FRIEND SAT.

'SHUT THE DANG DOOR' SAID OLD MAX.

'GIMME A CHANCE' SAID BILL.

BILL AND MAX HAD ESCAPED FROM THE NEARBY PRISON. THEY HAD MADE IT THIS FAR IN THE RAIN AND WIND. IT WAS OBVIOUS THE HOUSE HAD NOT BEEN LIVED IN FOR SOMETIME. GOOD PLACE TO HOLD OUT TILL DAWN.

BILL CHECKED THE OLD CUPBOARD AND FOUND A CAN OF PEACHES AND A JAR OF JELLY. THE JAR WAS EASY TO OPEN, BUT HOW TO OPEN THE CAN OF PEACHES? BOTH MEN WERE HUNGRY AND BILL LOOKED THROUGH THE DRAWERS OF THE DRY SINK FOR A CAN OPENER. HE FOUND A RUSTY NAIL AND A KNIFE ONLY. BUT THE HANDLE OF THE KNIFE WAS STURDY, SO HE MANAGED TO PRY OPEN THE CAN OF PEACHES.

THE 2 MEN ATE AND THEN MAX SAID HE WANTED TO SLEEP. SO, HE GOT UP AND LAY DOWN ON THE RICKETY FLOOR.

WHILE MAX SLEPT, BILL CHECKED OUT THE OTHER ROOMS. HE THOUGHT TO HIMSELF THAT THIS PLACE WAS A GOOD FIXER-UPPER. HE WAS HANDY, HAD ALWAYS BEEN, AND COULD MAKE THE PLACE LIVABLE. BUT THEY'D HAVE TO BE ON THE MOVE, AND SOON.

MAX THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT KIND OF PEOPLE HAD LIVED HERE AT ONE TIME. THE WALLPAPER WAS TORN IN PLACES, FADING WITH AGE. BUT, THERE MUST'VE BEEN A FINE WOMAN TO KEEP THE HOUSE FROM THE LOOK OF THE DESIGN. SHE MUST'VE BEEN A HEARTY SOUL, TOO, HE THOUGHT. MAYBE BAKING AND COOKING FINE BREAKFASTS OF EGGS AND HAM AND BISCUITS. CHILDREN RUNNING THROUGH THE ROOMS, LAUGHING AND CARRYING ON, GETTING READY FOR SCHOOL. THE MAN OF THE HOUSE WAS PROBABLY A FARMER, OR MAYBE HE WORKED IN TOWN AT THE LOCAL MERCANTILE. MAX WOULD NEVER KNOW. HE LIKED TO THINK OF A FAMILY SITTING AROUND THE TABLE, ENJOYING THEIR MEAL, TELLING ABOUT THEIR DAY. IF ONLY THE WALLS COULD TALK, HE SMILED.

SOMETIME, IN THE MORNING, THE POLICE FOUND MAX AND BILL AND BROUGHT THEM BACK TO THE PRISON. BUT BILL THOUGHT TO HIMSELF..IF EVER I GET OUT OF HERE, I'M GOING BACK TO THAT RUNDOWN OLD HOUSE AND, IF I CAN, I'LL FIX 'ER UP, FER SURE.








 


The Old House

Barbara (Brierhillbarbara@aol.com)





I always loved the old stone house. It was historically famous, had been right there on US #40 since many years before. I sat on the front swing with Mr Bills, its owner.

The house had beautiful dark woods in every room. It had been a house of beauty years ago. Envelope doors, and clean as a pin. Mr Bills and his daughter lived there alone in that huge stone house. Around back was a chicken coup.

They were good neighbors, and they lived in that great old house. Now that has been striped. Woods and anything of value. I stood on the porch a few years ago and read the historical plaque. What was left of the old house of history and the loving gentle people who lived in it until their lives were over. I had a terrible feeling as I looked into the old house, as if it had been raped and its life pulled from it. Those lovely pocket doors and lovely walls of wood. Such a wonderful piece of history. So much love was on the front porch, love for friends and neighbors. Edith Bills, I hear lost her sight in her last years, but not her dignity.








 


The Old House

Connie (CSThomas@aol.com)





When I was a child, we had just such a room in our house. Well, all the rooms were just like this with the marble door knobs, walls made of single planks of wood, where canvass tacked over that, then wallpaper was pasted on top of that. The ceilings were extremely high, approximately 14 feet. Therefore, the wallpaper man would paper up 10', then a small border was applied, and from there on up to the ceiling, was the same design of paper.

We had an ice box, where the man would come and bring a chunk of ice for the little box out on our screened in porch. Had an old oil stove for cooking and old wooden floors which cracked when walked on. The house was always very cold inside, but with the Mother we had, it was very warm to us.

A very depressing life I lived and one I would never want to re-live again, except for my Mother. It's truly amazing how far we have come in the comforts of today that we all take for granted. One only needs to have lived back then to appreciate the 'present.'








 


A Lady Who Loved Cats

Lilly (Lilprincessitali@aol.com)





THERE WAS A LADY WHO LOVED CATS. SHE HAD ONE AND
TOOK GOOD CARE OF IT AND LOVED IT. SHE WANTED ANOTHER.
NEXT DAY ONE CAME TO HER DOOR AND WOULD NOT GO AWAY.
SHE LET IT STAY. SEEMS EVERY DAY ONE CAME, WANTING TO STAY.
HER HUSBAND DIED BUT SHE KEPT HAPPY WITH THE CATS.
SHE KEPT TAKING AND KEEPING ONE EACH TIME THEY CAME.
THEN SOME BECAME MOTHERS AND IT MULTIPLIED WITHIN TIME.
THIS WENT ON AND ON UNTIL THERE WAS NO END IN SIGHT.
SHE LET HER HOUSEWORK GO AND LAYED AROUND WATCHING TV.
YEARS WENT BY, SHE COUNTED ONE HUNDRED CATS IN HER HOUSE
NEIGHBOR BEGAN TO SMELL SOMETHING BAD FROM NEXT DOOR.
THEY CALLED SOMEONE TO CHECK. THE HOUSE WAS IN BAD SHAPE.
SHE HAD TO MOVE AND CATS WERE REMOVED. DOOR LOCKED UP.
HOUSE WENT UP FOR SALE AND NO MORE LOVE, WHAT A SHAME.









 


"Vacant Again"

Mary (MusingByMary@aol.com)





"Vacant again", Old House cried,
forsaken and so alone . . .
where bright sunshine, laughter,
why is everyone gone?" ~


Tears stain my walls now
oh, curtains are dusty . . .
windows are cracked
and hinges are rusty ~


Two rickety chairs
weep tears of empathy . . .
"We, too, feel forsaken,
oh, how can this be?"


"Once we were filled with
mothers, dads, kith n kin . . .
what deplorable condition
they've left us in" ~


"Yet, wouldn't it be swell
to be filled once again . . .
with warmth of the hearth
freedom from pain?" ~


"Hear and feel a new family
who'd clean, redo and paint" . . .
"Yes, I want something cheerful,
not faded and faint" ~


"And curtains with tassels
not one rip, tear or tatter . . .
hear prayers whispered again
'bout things that really matter" ~


"AMEN, agreed all
we'll do just that today . . .
surely there's restoration
God answers when we pray!



Mary Carter Mizrany©
January 23, 2007









 


Rooms of Remembrance

Norma (Twi1ite@sbcglobal.net)





Rooms of remembrance of a young couple moving
Into an old abandoned place,
The young wife crestfallen,
So far they had come,
They only had money
For this.


Wallpaper crumbling from walls,
A few forgotten pieces unusable,
Wind moaning through the cracks,
Like stories of past tenants,
Their work, their play,
From an older time.


Walking through these rooms together,
They began to light and lift,
As this little family dreamed
Of new paint, curtains, a crib,
These rooms of remembrance now sound
New laughter, new peace.









 


The Scars

Bobbye (Barbara.Cope@chickasaw.net)





No one knows the scars I bare as I stand here alone with the emptiness I carry
Ah, the sites I have seen have left me humbled and thread bare
My Family has moved on to a better place and time
Left me alone to suffer the pangs of loneliness and slow decay


I remember the babies with their little splintered knees from my old rough floor
I remember Mama trying to soak the stains out of my old tired wood-
Giving up and just covering me up with a nice warm piece of rag rug
Felt warm and toasty to my old sagging floors as they got old and worn


I remember my windows cracking from a thrown baseball by the kids as they thrived and grew
Some cracks from old age and cold weather-no money to replace it-just a piece of new tape,
Replaced every now and then, to hold me together


My paint’s turned yellow and smoky from years and years of living
She covered my walls with paper and glue that felt pretty good to these tired
‘Ole cracks and holes


The scars of the lives, once my family, have opened up again
They’ve forgotten to care for this dear old friend-I gave them shelter and kept
Them warm, now I must go the way of the lonely and forgotten


Such is life as I know it to be-passed down thru generations and now I’m free
Free to stand or free to fall—Maybe I can stand just One more ball.









 


The Old House Lives and Is Filled With Love

Evelyn (Evenccw@aol.com)







This old house still rings with laughter!




It was the year 1962. With five children, in ten years, our little three-bedroom, one-bathroom ranch house was splitting at the seams. We desperately needed more room. We engaged a real estate agent in May. She told us about an old house on South Rose Boulevard that had been vacant for five years. It was beginning to be vandalized and the owner was desperate to sell. I can't tell you that it was love at first sight. It was overgrown and windows were broken. The floors were bare and in need of refinishing. It was, in a word, ghostly. But loving ghost stories, I became intrigued and we kept going back. We made an offer on the house and it was accepted.

On a Saturday in Mid-July we rented a U-Haul and with the help of family and friends we moved to our new home. All of our furniture fit into a few of the rooms. Nothing seemed to scale. During our first dinner in the dining room, three-year-old Maureen said, “Mommy, our dining room table shrinked!”

Though we adjusted quickly to our new home and the work it involved, I had one great fear. How could a “little farm girl” fit into the grand surroundings of an “upper class” neighborhood. My fears were soon laid to rest when I bonded quickly with the wife of a doctor a few doors down. She too was a farm girl from Oklahoma. She said, “Anything can happen in America. Just think, two little farm girls living on South Rose Boulevard!” I loved her till the day she died for affirming me thusly.

The children were excited about the new friends they were making and because of them we quickly got to know our neighbors. In 1963 our sixth child, Karen, was born. Every day was an adventure and the years flew by.

After thirty six years, the nest was empty, and the house became a little much for two. On a much later July day, in 1998, we handed the keys to our daughter Karen and her husband Jeff when they purchased the “old home place.” It continues to be the “family home.” As I was preparing to vacate the home I had loved so much, I was on the third floor, looking down on the familiar scene below, and I wrote:


TUESDAY–July 21, 1998--8:39 a.m.–Another hot one. Just the kind of weather we had moving in here, almost to the day, that July in 1962. Clearing out the third floor, I am beginning to realize that the smell of it is getting to be the same as it was when we moved in. With all of the clothes out of the cedar closet, it gives off the distinctive aroma of cedar once again, as if awaiting the new load of clothing from Karen and Jeff's closets. It’s not a bad feeling at all. The torch is passed. I know that they and Chrissy and Brett will be happy here.

With the fresh air coming in at the window over the drive, I looked down on the scene below so familiar to me. Through the seasons there were daffodils, white and purple lilacs, azaleas, rhododendrons, peonies, apple blossoms, violets and snowballs. As the seasons changed, sun, rain and snow created their own magic. The seasons were all graced by the cross rising to the heavens on the Presbyterian church spire. An added grace each morning and evening was the music that drifted across the neighborhood from the church’s clarion bells. What a beautiful place to live. What a thrilling place to live!

Thirty-six years have flown so fast. Where did my babies go? Where did my youth go? It seems that babies and youth flew away together. But the memories will live on. I love the following lines by an unknown poet. I could not have said them better myself:

The view from these windows
hasn't changed at all,
but the feel of it has.
Something changes
at the back of the eye,
some inner interpreter,
another memory, another I.


The “old home place” has remained in the family. What a blessing. Our children who live around the country are forever grateful that they can “come home again!”








 

 

 

 



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The Fish Kite

A Sleigh Ride

Cold Winter Morn

Winter Storm




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