Dedication to Mr. Schimanik

The Special Place

The shade of a favorite tree

Is a spot to relax and be,

A preferred reading chair,

Or a cool brook, a shady deck or county fair,

Are special places many hold near,

Containing memories that are dear.

One step further is a space more rare,

A scene not all souls care to share.

Is the area between a dancer’s foot and the stage,

The space between a writer’s pen and the page,

The spot in a chest for a toddler’s cuddle,

The place between the fragrance and a flower’s petal,

The ridge between a mountain cliff and snow,

Where the mist separates from a waterfall’s majestic show.

Another individual spot is more rare than those,

Reserved for little girls and bows,

It’s a location not all can go,

It’s a site that’s not to show.

A private and precious position can be found,

A setting for two and two alone are bound,

A station two share in moments together,

It’s the space between a mother and a daughter.

It takes a special hand, an extraordinary touch,

Only someone who’s adored so much,

Can be invited in to this quiet secret place,

To be part of a bond, a home, or a base,

Only a person with exceptional care,

Will be welcomed where only two can share.

She took a curtsy, and opened the door,

She floated in and took possession,

She firmly stood in fifth position,

Embedding herself in the essence of the core.

She danced in the post between mother and daughter,

With pink ballet ribbon she laced and placed,

Her unique way in the valued place.

She’s the mist, the fragrance, and a petal,

She’s a princess, royalty, and a gold medal,

Wherever I go, wherever my base,

I’ll love the dancer standing in the special place.

By Darla Clement January 22, 2002

In Memory of Judith McCarty

(1919-2002)

First Day of Kindergarten

We got up early; I dressed, showered, and applied makeup while you ate cinnamon toast with your dad. We’d been sleeping late every day during the summer, so your dad was delighted to breakfast with you. He missed starting each day with your delightful sunny smile.

I drove you to school; we walked, holding hands, to the cafeteria. There were many kids and teachers who seemed to be moving in slow motion, and we did not know them. I was completely overwhelmed; you were not. Mrs. Kunkel, a friend of the family, suddenly appeared from the sea of nameless faces and swooped you up enfolding you under her arm taking you to the gym, and I followed three paces behind, happy to see a familiar face.

The new kindergartners were sitting in lines, backpacks on their backs with teddy bears in their arms and grouped in lines by the name of their teacher. I walked with you to Mrs. Cox’s line and sat with you.

All of the other moms were leaving, and a mom was sobbing in a dark corner of the gym. I was sweating, but I left too.

You were a little afraid at that moment, but so very brave. You let me go only clutching me slightly. You were fine until the line began to move toward your classroom. You began to cry, and I was not there to comfort you.

A little boy took you by the hand and asked, “what is wrong?” You said, “I want my Mommy.” He said, don’t cry, you will see your mommy soon. After school.”

He watched over you the whole day, and he watched over you most of the year.

So began the friendship between Stephanie Clement and Kaleb McCann.

By Darla Clement

These Little feet

These little feet I hold in my hand will one day belong to those of a man.

They yet cannot walk; nor can they stand and fit perfectly in my hand.

I will cherish now holding them closely this day.

For nearer yet is the time that he will use them to walk away.

July 5, 2005

For Rada from Yaya (Sharlena Matt)

my sister-in-law

A Poem called "House of Legacy"

What kind of a house am I building oh Lord?

What sort of a foundation is being poured?

Search my heart, as I cannot afford

To hoard my legacy or cause it to be abhorred

I want no favoritism outscored

No selfish behavior should be aboard

My words shouldn’t injure like a sword

I want relationships to be restored 

I do not want my family to experience discord

Things that are wrong cannot be ignored 

Give me strength for that to be explored

I want my legacy to be a reward

Your blessings I want to be poured

Over my household that I am the ward

Make my actions pure as gold

Give me a strong threshold for my foothold

As I build a legacy for my household

Make my actions right and controlled

Break any and all strongholds

Your blessings on me, do not withhold

I want more than reminiscing of days of old

A new tone that I can unfold

A life that I can voice with pride

Only you can make me dignified

And in you I can be glorified

It is up to me to decide

I can unite or I can divide

You will be my guide

Every day I plant a seed

My harvest is guaranteed

Neglect will give me a house of weed

Wisdom will provide me a house that’s freed

So, your word I will take head

Give me your mercy, I plead

Restore my home with great speed

A fresh legacy, help me to lead

I want to plant the seed of harmony

So I’ll change my testimony

Change a heart that is phony and stony 

To beat with warmth from your sanctimony

Kneed my heart oh Lord

Pierce it with your sword

So my legacy will be restored

By Darla Clement, April 2006

Monday

I'm just about to go visit GiGi, then I'm picking up my newly designed business cards that feature Ethan Hodde, a graduate of Pleasant Grove High School.  After that, I'm meeting with a potential client who's getting married soon.  We're meeting at the place of the wedding.