By Phalma Hobbs In memory of her son Donal Wlmer Hobbs Born June 6, 1954, Died June 15, 1954 Dear Donald, For such a little while I held you in my arms, smelled your sweet baby fragrance, touched your downy soft skin, and felt your goodness and your strength. I looked into your eyes and…
“A Cat Named Timmy” By: Phalma Hobbs Timmy came into our lives in the spring of 1970, my youngest daughter, four years old, wanted a kitten. The neighbor’s cat had a brood of kittens they were trying to find homes for, so off she went with her older sister to pick one up. I remember…
My Mother’s Rocker By: Phalma Hobbs I remember my mother rocking my younger sisters and brother in that old rocker. I guess I had my turn in it, likewise my older sister and brother. We were nursed through everything from an earache to whooping cough in my mother’s rocker. Mom would use her chair when…
by the late Phalma Hobbs, my mother. There is a house that stands alone upon a hill. Its roof outlines the horizon, its walls stand straight and still. How I loved that house; it was my childhood home. That house once knew happiness, love and laughter, the patter of children’s feet, the knowing smiles of…
