Memoirs of Opulent Poverty

By Angela Johnson

The beginnings of this book of poetry, essays, short stories, and childrens bedtime stories took shape when my children came into my life. They came through hills and valleys, glorious sunlit mornings, sweet barefoot beaches, fields of gold, and firefly nights.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543460889

Angela Johnson

Growing up in the 1960s, my mother and I baked cookies together and I learned about measuring and mixing. I was not, however, interested in moving past cookies since our meals were mostly TV dinners and boxed meals. I didn't have any interest in cooking until the 90s when I finally discovered real food. (You don’t even want to know what I ate in the 80s.) I bought cookbooks and learned to cook, and soon found myself fascinated by how people cooked and ate in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. When not in the kitchen (a kitchen with electricity and running water) or book store or library, I’m traveling and taking photos. I also author a blog about old time cooking and recipes, plus have begun a book series titled "In Great Grandmother's Time." I am not ready to pack my cast iron pans and move back to the 19th century but knowing about every day life in those kitchens has made me appreciate the time, work, and ingenuity it took to feed a family.

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Copyright © 2017 by Angela Johnson.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2017916484

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-5434-6086-5

                Softcover      978-1-5434-6087-2

                eBook         978-1-5434-6088-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 10/26/2017

Xlibris

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Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Preface

POETRY

Hindsight

Dignity

Where Dreams are Guests

Touch Me

Silence

Teresa

Brilliance of the Moment

Golden Pond

Goin’ Up

Northern Magnolias

Lady in Waiting

In Retrospect

Where is the Child in Me?

The Open Window

Beyond the Balustrade

Angels in the Night

The Empty Nest Syndrome

Haiku Notes

Updraft

Let it Snow

Color off the Edge

Maui Girl

Finality

CHILDREN’S LITERATURE

Lost Berries

The Oregon Jungle

Gabby

The Princess by the Sea

Touching

STORIES OF WOMEN WHO KNEW JESUS

Book of Teresa

Book of Anna

Book of Porsche

Book of Miriam

Book of Jacqueline

MY STORY

Ultimate Abundance

Beauty is Essential to the Soul

MY CAREER PATH

Designing Women

Alpha Beta Sorority

Park Service Maintenance

Massage Therapist

LETTERS FROM HOME

A Perfect Garden

Those Who Inspired Me

Prayers for my Children

Taos

Beautiful Lake

For my Brother

Pretty Women (Mother’s Day)

Abundant Living

Penning My Thoughts

Passage to Heaven

Bird in Flight

Equine Massage - Cowgirl Up

My Adopted Father

Uncle Bill – Retrospect

Dear Lord

Little Women

Gayle

Dora

Meth on Fire

Nana Bread

MY CHILDREN

David

Kim

Mark

Lance

Tara

Tammy

Heidi

Erika

Jeremy

SHORT STORIES

A Bad Day at the Ranch

Beyond all Courage

PUBLISHED WRITINGS

My Affair with Trolley Square

Acknowledgements

The beginnings of this book of poetry, essays, short stories and children’s bedtime stories took shape when my children came into my life. They came through hills and valleys, glorious sunlit mornings, sweet barefoot beaches, fields of gold, and fire fly nights.

They kept me high upon a fantasia castle, and the Knights of the Round Table, had not a thing up on me. Yes, t’was Camelot reborn as five beautiful princesses and four handsome princes shared all there ever was of love and beauty. This preface is a profound tribute to all my children.

David

Kimberly

Mark

Lancer

Tara

Tammy

Heidi

Erika

Jeremy

Preface

I have always written. When I was very young and tender hearted, my schoolteacher became obsessed with the idea of changing my left-handed preference to right. There was no way this was about to happen. The more she tried, the less it took place, ever.

Persons of interest check out my writing, a stretch of the imagination calligraphy. Wow, you really write beautiful for a left-handed person! I’ve learned to first say thank you, smile and then pass by quickly the desire to say Perhaps that is a left-handed compliment! I subtlety pass by the mentioning of my secret. I am right brained. Oprah’s friend and mentor Dr. Daniel Pink, Psychologist, says the future belongs to those who possess this gift! We have arrived!

Poetry

Hindsight

Remembering –

Our conquests of younger days.

the horses we were promised as children

never came to fruition;

Yet this small infraction hardly came to mind

as we mounted our thoroughbred fantasies

attired in raccoon skin caps, complete with bushy tails.

Chaps of leather fringe,

soft maple-syrup colored moccasins.

Armored with mountain man mentality,

we chose to get wranglin’

miles past sweaty miles,

Lil’ brother and me – keeper of the flame (plains)

courage personified, traveled past more mountains

parfum (perfume) of lavender, blue tansy, spruce

tripled our euphoria.

Disorientation surely followed:

Adversary on black stallion entered

flung poisoned arrows

pangs of hunger attacked

thirst consumed our emaciated bodies

A pause – we sat by the railroad tracks, anticipating

being shook almost to death by the Union Pacific

orbs of steel, visualizing that our father

Senior Engineer, could be at the wheel

Now this mighty steed must push beyond endurances

across purple mountains, herbs, flora

arrive Pony Express

ahead of schedule!

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Dignity

Today I am staring at the face of a fallen soldier.

Far, far, away from his sacrifices on the beaches of Normandy,

yet embracing the cold dark earth.

Savoring all its redeeming qualities.

Who measured his stature for this final journey?

How do you begin to measure a man’s soul?

Once a handsome soldier, now an older veteran

through fields of blood and watery graves.

What does one wear the last mile, having died

a thousand times?

On the beach,

ten thousand miles away from home.

A flag draped body, and a mother’s tears.

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Where Dreams are Guests

Since when is my life a yearning

to see your face once more,

waiting in the courtyard,

longing by the door,

in the absence of your smile,

I honor my dreams.

They arrive as stately phantoms,

depart on soft moonbeams.

You have found me laughing

in my unpretentious power,

gilded by my daydreams

sweeter by the hour.

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Touch Me

The cold of the almighty coin