Table, Anyone?



© 2013 Jeanne E Webster.  All rights reserved


Life is an ever-changing kaleidoscope, and for most of us women our first colorful formatting began months before birth. That phase was the preparation of a cute little nursery containing a changing-table. We don’t remember but have seen photos and heard stories about that table. It was loaded with all the gotta haves:  drawers stuffed with wash cloths, receiving blankets, undershirts, nightgowns, bibs and tons of diapers. The top was the cleanup and/or changing area, cluttered with jars of baby oil, baby powder, wipes, cotton swabs, baby lotion and the tiny comb and brush.


Quickly outgrowing that scene, we shifted into the bright “I’m Mommy’s big girl now” table, strewn with Barbie dolls, stuffed dolls, dolls that walked & talked, dancing dolls, crying dolls, doll clothes of every sort and color, crayons and colored pencils, paper doll cut-outs, coloring books, little reading books and an over-sized doll house for little people in-residence… for a while.


Having held a bye bye rummage sale for our doll collection, we splished and splashed into teen hood with a vanity table, full mirror, racks of lipsticks, drawers of powder makeup, liquid makeup, mascara of sexy black shades, jars of Noxzema face cream and acne preparations, perfumes, the latest deodorants, photos of boyfriends taped on the glass sealed with a kiss of the reddest lipstick we could find, a hand mirror with a flip zoom lens to get those close-up shots of the back of our fancy hairdos, and the ever-present bobby pins and hair clips to control the stray unmanageable hairs.



A few years after high school graduation, the sparkling vanity table lost its luster due to the addition of a brilliant husband and vibrant children. We parted easily with the radiating frills of yesteryear to concentrate on family. The table now spun a different scene, and the old photos were long gone along with the acne preps. Maybe the two were connected in some way? Hair curlers, perm rods, scarves and lots of hair products played their parts now: sprays, softeners, firmers, high lighters and ultra-controllers. With a growing family, we had less time to color at the table. Family was our main priority and love.


The middle-age vanity table made its entrance years later with a slowing down of the sparkling revolutions. Crisp, clean crocheted table scarves and miniature lamps with smokestack looking shades replaced the “shake rattle and roll” scene. A tabletop makeup mirror was added to enable the user to repair damaged areas due to the aging process. Makeup flavors were fewer now; we were done with the experimental stages and settled in with our favorites. Less time was spent sitting in front of the table as we became enraptured with soap operas, chatting with friends on the phone, or baking new recipes in our spic-and-span kitchens. What a ride we had had; what brilliant, beautiful scenes of life we experienced.


Where did the pretty lights go? One day we waken in bed to a small bedside table holding a glass of water, 6 bottles of prescription medicines, two or three cough drops, a cell phone, a TV remote, a small flashlight and one of the old miniature vanity table lamps. My, how time has changed things!


A Big Hairy Deal

hairy Day


© 2013 Jeanne E Webster.   All rights reserved


My world started out all right

Till I was aroused by pleasures

I believed my strength was tough

But easily gave in at a whim

I didn’t measure up at all

To my potentials and fizzled

Let down my very best friend

Pride slithered down the sewer

Guess that’s where it belonged

Always prided myself as good

Compared with others I did shine

Till real life choices knocked me down

Hammered in the awful bad fixes

“Everybody does it so no hairy deal”

Well it was and is a big deal to me

Though I’ve skewered self many times

That’s the whole crux of this poem

One can slip out of that sewer hole

Wipe up and put on new clothes

Clean under those finger nails too

Comb the hair and affix that smile

Let it beam out from your heart

You know you are better now

Learned how to swat those flies

Peskies trying to get under your skin

You know how to block their end zones

And can shine your sun every day

Into your new life, you’re born again

You met the Man and He sure can

Make you new and vibrant too

Chucked those sins into the farthest sea

They are no more and you are free

To be loved and loving others too

Chin up, eyes ahead, rest my friend

In the love and peace of Jesus Christ

The Son of God, the Son of Man

Learn of Him and open your heart

He’s waiting for your sincere request

Embrace His love and forgiveness

Heaven is yours for evermore


Day 7 NaPoWriMo


You can’t go home again . . .

2grams home


© 2013 Jeanne E Webster.   All rights reserved


An old adage says you can’t go home again

Once you’ve grown up and moved on.

Don’t believe a word of this, my friend

You can return to those times so fond.


Yes, you can!

I can and do.

You can too!


Sit back; close your eyes;

Open up your mind.

Pick a place or memory

And you can be there.


It’s sort of like dreaming

But you know where to go

And how to get back.

It works every time.


I visit my Gramma’s home a lot;

God padded it full of love.

For many little girls and boys

Gramma was an angel on earth.


I loved her so much and still do.

One day we will meet again.







We’ll continue on

Our big adventure called


Day 3 of NaPoWriMo

Are You Ok?

©Jeanne E Webster


Psalm 139:14 “You are fearfully and wondrously made.” 


Who were your heroes when you were growing up?  Did you wish upon a star… want to be like them?  A few of my heroes/heroines were:  Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, Annie Oakley, Gene Autry, the Lone Ranger, Davey Crockett, Clara Barton, Albert Schweitzer, Superman and more. My all-time favorite heroine was my grandmother.   She was nice, loving, good, kind, clean, and the best person I ever met.

My search for life’s purpose ran the gamut from a 4-year-old wanting to be a horse, a 7-year-old believing she could fly like Superman, a 10-year-old wanting to be an Indian, a teenager wanting to go to Africa and join Albert Schweitzer in bringing Christ to the natives, a high school graduate aspiring to become a nurse.  These heroes/heroines registered in my innocent mind as being wholesome, good, and as close to perfection as a person could get, and that ideal fed my very soul.

Life has a way of bursting your bubble…and mine burst shortly after graduation.  My innocence was shattered when I became a young adult, and my idols fled the scene as quietly and quickly as dust on a wind struck prairie.  The real tragedy was that I had let myself down; I had failed that inner sanctum we all have deep within our souls, the untouchable sacred room where all is holy and good.   All was no longer well with my soul.  I guess you would call it growing up.  And I did not like the feeling.

For years I rebelled inwardly, trying to get back to the innocent age, the squeakee clean feeling that was sort of like your compass, showing you the way.  I found the way, after becoming a wife and mother, a divorcee, a new marriage, and a widow.  I met a man called Jesus…and He touched me and made me whole. 

Jesus “got a hold on me,” and I will never be the same again.  He has replaced my anger and bitterness towards myself, for making so many mistakes, with such loving assurance that I am ok…and loved…no matter what.  Oh, thank you, Lord.  I am what I started out to be, “a child of the King!”  Amen and amen.