1800

 

 

 

"1800" is the affectionate name we gave to the house in which my parents lived for forty good years. My father bought the house in 1954 when my twin sister and I were two years old. By that time my parents had seven people that needed beds. The list included my parents, an older brother and sister, me and my twin sister and my father's mother. I have no memory of our first house at all but when I was older I would drive by it with my parents and they would tell me about how great the neighborhood was because they had made life long friends.

 

I really believe it used to snow more when I was growing up. My memory may be mistaken but I could swear it would snow every single year. In 1800 we had radiators for warmth and they were the best thing to put your sodden gloves or socks on to dry after sledding on a sheet pan for hours in the cold snow. School invariably was on hold while no one drove on the streets and no busses passed in front of our house. All was made pure, white and quiet until children's voices could be heard throwing snowballs or building a snowman. One could not resist going out and joining in the neighborhood fun.

 

Afterwards hot chocolate waited for our return to 1800 after being chilled to the bone. As soon as our noses thawed and our gloves dried out it was back out the door while the sun shone. It's amazing how a day after a snowstorm the sky shines blue as a robin's egg and the trees turn into crystal sculptures shining like they are made of venetian glass. It seemed as though each snow that fell was deep enough that when I would have to stomp slowly through it to get anywhere it reached up my calves.

 

Now if we get any snow here it usually is not very deep. If it is then we are delighted even though the newscast reports doom and gloom if you are not prepared. One of my daughters lives in Minnesota and I am sure they would all laugh up there at us down here in the South as we prepare diligently to be snowed in for one day. All the milk and bread disappears from the grocery store shelves as well as peanut butter and jelly. The neighborhood Lowe's puts salt and scrapers to the front of the store along with flashlights of varying sizes. Heaven knows you may lose power so you better get two of  those and all your candles ready.

 

We did have a huge snow in 2000. Was it 21 inches? I was away in the warm climate of the Bahamas when it occurred and therefore was stranded until our plane could finally take off in the tropics towards a land blanketed in the white stuff. Catching a ride home in a reliable snow worthy car from a stranger that my traveling companions and I met at the airport was our sleighride home. It was magnificent. I don't believe I've ever experienced snow that deep.

 

 

(c)nancy  2.24.2020

2011

Another year gone. Another year to look forward to with hope and belief in better moments and a fuller bank account. Right?

Let's face it. It's okay to want that for yourself. It's no joke that this past year has been challenging for a lot of us. If it hasn't been that way for you then you are among the few and I hope you are thankful. I am thankful for each time when I go to the grocery store that I am able to go to the grocery store. And my close friends know that I do not like going to the grocery store! But I have tried to make the items go a long way. The portions on my plate are smaller and it's okay to lose a few pounds in the process. I pray every day for the roof over my head to stay the roof over my head. I like this roof.

Where are you in all of this? Wherever you are, let's believe together for better. Better relationships, better income, better attitudes, better all over. There's nothing wrong with that . . .  don't give up. Hang in there. Keep breathing.

(c) nancy 1.28.2010

Bah Humbug or It's a Wonderful Life ... it's your choice

Really?

Yes.

Let's talk George Bailey. Christmas looked pretty gloomy and overcast. In fact, it was snowing. Snowing so hard that it clouded George's vision and he wrecked his car. What else could go wrong? Could his life ever get better? Maybe his family would be better off if he never existed. The freezing water under the bridge looked like a quick way to end the suffering.

But ... freeze the frame.

Enter ... Clarence who jumped off the bridge instead and George had to jump in and save him. Clarence smiled all the way to shore. He knew what he was doing.

George, on the other hand, did not.

Life happens and sometimes you'll need someone to show you the way. When someone comes into yours and rescues you from fates unknown take the time to take stock and decide you're not drowning after all. You may be treading water but you are breathing. So get yourself to shore or let someone help you get there. Dry yourself off. Look at your life and what it would have been like without you in it. You have no idea how you have positively affected someone else's life in the past.

Without you, they would have drowned.

(photo courtesy of the web)
(c) nancy 1.23.10

Hasenpfeffer

Hasenpfeffer

I was reading  The Cat Who Dropped A Bompshell by Lilian Jackson Braun today and came across a word I haven't used since 1978ish.

The word was 'hasenpfeffer'.

No, it's not a German word for a big sneeze but rather a German recipe for rabbit stew. When I was young and pregnant and living on our family's ancestral farm out in the middle of nowhere in Chocowinity, N.C., my young husband ran over a rabbit. Because we lived from check to check he thought it a good idea to bring the fresh kill home and make something out of it. If they could do it on Little House on the Prairie then we could too.

I told him to go ahead and try, so he asked someone what he could do with it and he got a recipe for Hasenpfeffer. So he skinned the rabbit and tried to pin the fur on a board to dry. He then proceeded to make this thing called Hasenpfeffer for our dinner. I gratefully stayed out of the kitchen as I didn't want to see any part of it. After all, being pregnant I didn't fathom the thought of seeing anything that had just hit the road being put in a pot. But my husband was rarely in the kitchen cooking during those years so I didn't want to negate his energy toward making a dish however unappealing it was in my mind.

This stew is made with bacon, wine, garlic, shallots, other herbs, and spices. But what he actually used at hand I have no memory.

When all was herbed, doused with wine, and stewed for a long while it was finally ready. I sat at the old wooden table which my mother had bought at an "antique" store and smiled wanly as my husband dished out this concoction into my bowl. I took my first spoonful and tried hard not to gag on the very stringy meat. Not what I had thought. I had visions of a thigh looking somewhat like a long, skinny chicken leg and was going to pretend that it was, but this stringy thing in my mouth did not resemble that and I couldn't eat another bite. All I could see in my dish was this furry little animal that had been merrily hopping across the Aurora Highway to its sudden demise and my pregnant self could not go on.

I excused myself gracefully from the table and made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while my husband gallantly trudged on eating the stew which he had not necessarily hunted for but rather gathered off the side of the road.

I'm not sure if he really liked it or just pretended to because he had his pride.

At any rate, no more Hasenpfeffer was ever served at our house again!

(c)nancy 6.8.2016

A friend of mine and I were writing stories last winter to keep ourselves entertained. We would take turns putting out an idea and then we would each write something around that item, picture, words, and get back in a week and read what we came up with to one another. Quite fun.

Here's a story I wrote around a picture of a silver Aladdin's Lamp.

The Brown Papered Package

It was just an ordinary Sunday. Jane, as her manner was, drank her coffee slowly to savor the warmth that the cup gave to her cold morning fingers. Holding the brew below her nose, she breathed in its aroma. Ummm, it smelled so good. The air in the room began to get warmer as the thermostat clicked up the winter heat. She looked outside the window and saw the sun's rise burning the atmosphere a quiet red which changed gradually into a soft yellow as it rose above the backyard neighbor's trees.

It was one of the quiet times of the day and Jane thought, "another day". And with that thought came the realization that it may be a day just like yesterday and the day before that and the day before that. But that was okay because, like she agreed with her mother, "it's better to have a boring day" than one they had a few years back. They never wanted to have another day like that one when her mother was having a heart attack and they found themselves in the emergency room waiting to hear if a triple by-pass would be performed. So, yes, a boring day was a good day. All was well.

Ding dong!

Who can that be? Jane put her mug down on the side table and raised herself off the corner of her couch. It's too early for anyone she knew to be at the front door. Everyone she knew understood she wasn't ready to talk on the phone much less in person until at least 11 a.m. And besides, it's Sunday. Good grief!

She walked barefoot over her cold, wood floors to her front door hoping it wasn't bad news. How can it be good news this early in the morning from a stranger? Opening the door carefully, ready to slam it shut quickly if it was a burglar or someone that looked even remotely strange, she was puzzled because no one was there. However, a brown wrapped package had been placed on the brick stoop. She looked up and down the street for any sign of a delivery truck or a person running away. But again, there was no one. She opened the door wider and stepped out into the frigid air, bent down, and grabbed the package. Holding it close to her chest she closed the door, turned around, and walked back to her couch where she sat with the box in her lap. She reached over and grabbed her lukewarm cup of coffee and drank it down to the dregs.

She noticed that there was no label on the brown paper. That was a little scary. But Jane didn't hear a ticking sound coming from inside the wrapping nor any other sound so she decided to rip off the packing. What was revealed was a simple, brown box with a lid. She took the lid off with a bit of apprehension but Jane began to feel excited. What she saw was a beautiful jeweled box about a foot long and about a hand's length wide. Every color of gem dazzled her eyes. They couldn't be real, she thought. It would be worth a fortune! From the box alone she could pay off her mortgage, buy a new car or do anything she had ever wanted to do. The Bucket List she had taped to her fridge after her mother had died could finally be taken seriously. Could see really go to Paris and see the Eiffel Tower in person and not just in travel magazines? Could she actually stand in the midst of the huge rocks at Stonehenge and have a "religious experience" like her mother said she had when she traveled there twenty-odd years ago?

She opened the lid of the box with her thumbs and looked inside. Nestled on a deep red velvet fabric was a silver lamp. She reached inside and carefully brought it out. The surface was intricately engraved with swirling designs and it had a long, thin spout. It wasn't cold. She had expected it to be as cold as the great outdoors but it was neither cold nor hot. 

But it was heavy and radiated its own energy as if to say, "Rub me"!

"What?" Jane said out loud to the lamp which looked like something out of the Arabian Nights.

"You've got to be kidding me, right?"

The lamp seemed to reply, "Rub me and find out." 

"Oh come on!"

Jane stared at the object. It was as if she was hearing the lamp's thoughts. She dropped it like a hot potato back into its box and closed the lid. Throwing the box on the couch she jumped up and almost ran into her bedroom slamming the door behind her. She took her pajamas off and got into the shower and began washing her hair.

This has to be some kind of a practical joke. I need to get a hold of myself.

As she lathered up her hair for the second time she closed her eyes and tried to think of who could be behind this silly gag. It must be Regina, her weekend coworker at Starbucks. Hadn't they just been talking about what they would wish for if they had gotten a magic lamp? But it had just been a bunch of girlish daydreaming during a lull in espresso.

Before she got out of the shower she wrapped a towel around her wet head and then proceeded to dry off her body with her second towel that hung on the towel rod. Lotion was then applied to her long limbs, arms, and cheeks. The ritual continued with "putting on her face". Walking back into her bedroom she almost fell over herself as she saw the box on her rumpled bedsheets.

"Whoa!" 

Clutching the towel around her body she tip-toed to her bedroom door that was now open and looked down the hall. No one there. She cocked her head to one side but she didn't hear anything out of the ordinary.

"How did you get here?" she screamed at the box from the doorway.

"Rub me," it answered.

Okay, this was getting creepy. She picked up the box, closed the lid firmly once more, and carried it at arm's length, as if it was a stinky pair of shoes, out to the foyer. She opened the front door and placed it back on the front stoop.

"There!" she exclaimed as she wiped her hands of its annoyance and locked the door.

Back down the hall to her room, she whistled a happy tune and breathed a sigh of relief. Whoever put that box on her doorstep could come back and get it for all she cared. Or it could stay there and rot or disappear. She wouldn't be surprised if the box could vanish in a puff of smoke only to materialize at someone elses' house looking all bored, wrapped in plain grocery brown bag paper, and whisper 'rub me'.

She took the towel from her body and hung it up over the shower curtain rod to dry. Next, she removed the towel from around her head. Looking in the mirror she decided she didn't look too bad for a forty-something-year-old, divorced but looking single, white female.

"Wait a minute", she said to her reflection, "you sound like an ad in the personals".

She scrunched up her face and stuck her tongue out at herself. "Get a grip!"

Ding dong!

"Now what?" she moaned.

She grabbed her terry cloth robe from the hook on the back of her bathroom door and stomped down the hall to the front door and yanked it open, ready to give someone a piece of her mind. But there was no one there.

"Again?" she cried out into the empty front yard. "This isn't funny."

Lying over her black wrought iron railing was what looked like someone else's dry cleaning.

"Okay. What's going on here?" she asked no one in particular.

The box was gone.

Shaking her head she closed the door and brought the garment with her down the hall. Once again she stood in her bedroom with a renewed notion that the day was going to be anything but boring. She could see no tag on the hanger, no name anywhere. Jane could see through the plastic covering that it was a very expensive dress. She took it off the hanger and held it up for inspection. She walked to her floor-length mirror and held it up to herself.

Hmmm. Not bad.

"Try it on."

"Okay."

Jane whipped around where she stood and said, "Wait. What? Who said that?"

"Guess."

Jane looked on her bed.

"It's you again! I thought I put you out."

"You did but I came back in. Put the dress on."

"No!"

"I thought you'd like it," suggested the voice in her head but was really from the box.

"Well it is pretty," she conceded as she looked at it again in the mirror.

If you can't fight 'em join 'em, Jane thought as she dropped her robe at her feet and drew the dress over her head. It settled around her figure as if it was tailored to fit all her ins and outs. She looked slim, young, and fetching in a sophisticated sort of way.

"If there's a Genii in the lamp then come out so we can talk person to Genii!" 

She picked up the lamp inside the box and rubbed it. What could go wrong? If she was crazy, then so be it.

But nothing happened.

She rubbed it again more vigorously.

Nothing.

Ding dong!

"Dang it! Now what?"

Jane was getting irritated at the silent lamp. She had finally given in and rubbed the darn thing and absolutely nothing had happened. She had a fleeting comical thought that maybe she was in a dream of which she would wake up if she only knew the magic words.

"Abracadabra!'

Nope. Nothing. Nada. She was still in the dress and still walking to the front door and she was still opening it for the umpteenth time.

"Bob?! What are you doing here?"

Bob worked with Jane at her "real job" during the week at a perfectly boring company that employed boring people to enter boring information into its database. The office was made up of individually decorated cubicles that separated the wheat from the chaff. All the exceptional programmers, like Bob, had bigger cubicles by the outer windows. Jane daydreamed that one day she would have a window next to her desk. It would be fab. 

Bob pushed his glasses up his tiny, straight nose and remained glued to the spot with a dazed expression plastered on his freckled face.

"Bob, what are you doing here?" Jane reiterated in slow, precise words.

"Um, wow . . . you look . . . gorgeous!!"

Jane tilted her head and asked, "Really?"

"Really."

Bob was confused at the stirrings in his chest and thought maybe he was having a spasm. He had to admit to himself that it didn't feel all that bad.

"I forgot to put this on your desk Friday."

He was holding a manila envelope in his hand. He handed it to Jane and when she reached for it a tiny electrical charge ran up her arm.

She was startled but not unpleasantly and replied, "You could have called first."

"I tried three times but your phone went straight to voicemail. I hope you don't mind."

"Hmm. That's weird. I never heard my phone ring. Would you like to come in?"

Bob was a bit flabbergasted but said yes and found himself seated in Jane's tiny kitchen at her little table.

"Can I get you a cup of coffee?"

"Sure."

Jane poured him a cup and brought over a spoon, the sugar, and creamer.

"I'll be right back," she said.

Jane carried the envelope to her bedroom, sat on the edge of her mattress, and ripped it open.

In bold capital letters on one sheet of plain light brown paper were the words . . . WISH GRANTED.

"What?"

"Wish granted," came the voice of the lamp.

"Wish granted?"

"Yes."

"What do you mean?"

"You wished for happiness."

"Huh?"

"You wished for happiness. Remember?"

And she did remember. She could picture herself with Regina at the Starbuck's counter talking, just yesterday, about what they would wish for if a silly thing like a Genii showed up in their life.

"Hold on! Are you telling me that the wish I made yesterday is coming true?"

And then she remembered something else. Regina had a nickname at work. Some called her Geeny. 

"Yes, that is what I am showing you. He's sitting in your kitchen right now and you are dressed to go out to lunch."

"Lunch? He hasn't asked me to go to lunch."

"He will."

All of a sudden an awful sound blurted out into the room and wouldn't quit. On and on it went until Jane reached over and slammed her hand down on the off button. She opened her eyes and looked at her alarm clock. It read 9 a.m.

"Huh? Phew! It was all a ridiculous dream after all," Jane said to herself and stretched while thinking that her mother would have loved to have heard about this one. What a doozie! They used to call each other up in the morning and tell each other their ridiculous dreams trying to figure out their meaning.

Jane threw the covers off, got out of bed, went to the bathroom first, and then shuffled to the kitchen to start her cup of coffee. Two level teaspoons of sugar and two level teaspoons of non-dairy powdered creamer made it just right. Her day was starting to look like any ordinary, boring day and she smiled just thinking about it. 

"I'll take it!" she said out loud as she brought the hot cup to her lips.

Ding dong!

"What?"

For a fleeting moment, Jane thought about quickly combing her bed head and splashing her puffy eyes with cold water. But who cares? Whoever or whatever was at her front door on a Sunday morning would just have to take her "as is", robe, coffee breath, bed head and all.

When she opened the door there was Bob.

Deja vu, anyone?

"Bob! What are you doing here?"

Bob stood transfixed with a "who are you" expression on his face. He had never seen Jane look like this, all crumpled and slept in. In a flash, he saw his future. This was a woman he could live with for the rest of his life. He saw his children in her terry cloth dishevelment and her tangled hair. She never looked so beautiful standing there still holding her cup of coffee. 

Jane looked at Bob. She couldn't ignore the flutters in her stomach that also went down her spine and back up again. She felt a flush wash over her face. What is happening?

After a moment's silence, Jane asked Bob, "Would you like to come in?"

"Uh . . . sure. By the way, I thought I would drop this envelope off on my way to grab breakfast. It looked important. You left it on your desk at work on Friday. I took the liberty of picking it up. I remembered this morning and brought it straight over because it said 'Urgent' so . . . "

"Thanks. Would you like a cup of coffee while I put something on?"

"You look beautiful just the way you are," he blurted out before he knew what he was saying.

Did she hear him right?

"Um . . .  thanks . . . I think. I'll only be a minute. Help yourself. Cups are in the cabinet above the coffeemaker."

Jane took the envelope to her bedroom and ripped it open hoping she wasn't getting fired. On a white sheet of plain paper were the words in capital letters . . . WISH GRANTED! . . . love, Geeny.

She shook her head and smiled. No use arguing with Fate. Jane got dressed and went back into the kitchen.

Bob asked her, "Would you like to grab breakfast with me?"

Jane looked into his big blue eyes that were way beyond boring and said, "I do."

(image courtesy of the web)
(c)nancy 4.7.2016

 

 

Here's a fun writing trick you might like to try. I had an idea that a friend of mine and I would practice writing during the upcoming long, cold, overcast winter. I decided we would take turns suggesting an idea that would be used for a story we each would write. We would then get back together the next week and read each other's story to one another and see just how different the plots would be or if we hit on the same nerve. We usually varied hugely and it was fun to anticipate just how much. If I wrote comically she might write seriously.

 

When it was my friend's turn she emailed me a picture of a carved wooden totem-like structure which she and I were to use in our next story. As you read the story below called 'Namaste" you will see what this statue looked like and wonder perhaps how I got a story like this one out of it. Your guess is as good as mine. 

 

 

Namaste

 

My grandfather lived in the cold mountains of Virginia. His great, great-grandfather, Joshua Tilman, homesteaded on the 1,000 acres back when there was nothing and no one. By the time my grandfather inherited the property, it was mostly tamed. It has a beautiful, freshwater stream that runs through the hills and it flows into a pretty good-sized lake where swimming in the summertime is one of the best memories I treasure.

 

My grandfather died three weeks ago and here I stand under the huge oak that has always been known as the Cemetery Tree because it stands protectively in the midst of the family plot where all of our loved ones reside waiting for the good Lord's return. All the babies that didn't take a breath, my founding ancester and his wife and eleven children, their children, and so forth. It's a good thing we have a lot of land because we have more relatives than you can shake a stick at. I've already reserved my spot next to my father. He meant the world to me. If he was alive right now it would be him who would be looking over this vast and beautiful landscape.

 

 As far as my eye can see in either direction from the cemetery hilltop is land that is mine now. I can see why this spot was picked so long ago. It would have been an excellent place for a home but I guess Joshua knew that he would be resting on this spot for much longer and wanted to be able to see all that he had accomplished in his lifetime as well as watching the goings ons of his loved ones in the future. I understand it now.

 

I used to come up here and play in the Cemetery Tree when I was a kid for the very reason that I could see forever. I could see the whole sunrise and the whole sunset all in one swoop. I'd bring my dog, Taffy. a real beauty of a collie and smart too. It was as if we could read each other's minds. I still miss her but she's here with all the other cherished farm pets. But I have one of her last litter pups who is as gentle as I don't know what. A very sensitive soul. Her name is Blue because of the one blue eye she has that seems to look at the world a little differently than her brown one. That sounds far-fetched I know but it is what it is.

 

It's strange, but twenty years and three weeks ago I was born. Why things happen like this I have no idea. Why did my grandfather die on my birthday? Perhaps one day I'll be able to understand but right now it's puzzling and feels kind of unsettling. Well anyway, being the oldest of four children and a son is the whole reason why I was next in line to inherit. To keep the home fires burning so to speak. I have two younger brothers and one sister. I am going to give each of them some land so they can build something for their families if they choose. One of my brothers wants to be a doctor so I'm not sure about him but maybe he would like a cabin on a piece of heaven, a place to come to in order to breathe and relax. We'll see. Time will tell.

 

Come with me and I'll take you to the main house. But before we go there, let's go to the original cabin. It's right over there. Can you see it? It's that small log cabin you see through the crook of those trees. Joshua built that with his own bare hands with trees felled from his own land. That must have felt good. I'm going to build something too and carry on the skills passed down through our generations. I'm the only one that seems to have this soil truly running through my veins. There is nowhere else I want to be and raise a family.

 

Well, here we are at the cabin. Let's go inside, shall we? As you can see it is very minimal but all the furniture in here was made to be useful. There's nothing extra. Because he had so many children you can understand why he built the table so long and why it takes up most of the room. Well, that's where everyone would eat, you see, sit around and talk, do their studies, work out family problems. It's a lost tradition these days but I want to bring it back. I think it builds strength in a family. I think you lose one another in a big, rambling house.

 

Over there is the hewn mantlepiece from one large tree that almost fell on Joshua. The story goes that he was walking in the north woods hunting for deer when this tree fell out of nowhere and landed not one foot in front of him. It hit the ground so hard that it made him fly in the air and land five feet away. To show who got the last word, he cut this huge mantlepiece from it and the long table and benches. He also made that rocking chair over there in front of the fireplace for his wife to rock their babies.

 

And over there . . . well I know that looks out of place because everything in here is so practical and has a purpose but I have to tell you another story for you to understand.

 

Before my ancester came over here to seek his fortune he grew up in the Swiss Alps. He was used to walking in the rolling hills and doing back-breaking farm work. He had muscles of steel and legs as strong as an ox. He learned ironwork from his grandfather and he learned sheep and cattle farming from him and his father. I don't think there was anything that man didn't know or couldn't do with his hands.

 

He was also restless. He had never been anywhere nor seen anything but the snow-capped mountains and the shadowed valleys of Switzerland. Back in those days, when a boy turned sixteen he was considered a man. His grandfather could see the far-off look his grandson's eye and knew the meaning of it for he had experienced it too when he was a lad. So he gave him leave to see the world before he settled down to raise a family. He gave him the money to board a sailing vessel to the great unknown.

 

Joshua sailed for four years and in all that time he would write his father and grandfather of the wonders of the world. He knew that at the end of his travels that he wanted to go to America and carve out his own destiny. With that in mind, he only brought home with him one large souvenir he had picked up along the way. It was this strange carved statue you see before you. As you can tell it's of a woman dressed in clothes which, at that time, no one had ever seen from a culture that far away. As you see her hands are held in a prayer position in front of her chest yet her eyes are open and she has a smile on her face. Her earrings are of painted gold and her jet black hair is tied up with gold painted cloth. The dress is white, very slim and long. Joshua called her Namaste, meaning "I bow to the divine in you", which is all he'd say in the way of explaining her presence.

 

You may be wondering why he would bring such a thing all the way from his travels home with him. We have never heard that story from Joshua. He would only say that it came from a sacred place he visited and from that point on his eyes were opened.

 

He said he spent the next year being with his family and saying all his goodbyes for he knew he would never set foot in the Alps again. He planned and worked out his passage to America as well as his travels to the Virginia mountains where he could still have a taste of home. Where he could still smell the sweet smell of snow and see the sun over a mountain range.

 

So here I am now and it's my turn to put a mark on this land which I love. Which is in my bones. If you look out this window you will see the rise over there and that big tree, right? That's where I will build my own cabin. Jessie has agreed to marry me and she loves this soil as much as I do. We hope to have at least four children and we'll have some horses, chickens, dogs, a cat or two and maybe some goats. A big garden. Some fruit trees. Getting back to the earth. That's what I want. It's what we want. To dig our souls in and stay rooted and grounded to a place that keeps us anchored. That will keep my whole family anchored. That's all we ever really want, isn't it? To know we belong?

(c)nancy  4.4.2016

 



Today I went to see my mother for Thanksgiving. I had the radio on, 101.5 FM, to listen to Christmas music on my way down Glenwood Avenue. The sky was blue and the sun was out. A beautiful morning.

As I passed Krispy Kreme on my left approaching Historic Oakwood my mother's favorite Christmas song came on the radio and I had to smile and shed a tear at the same time. Charlie Brown's jazzy tune filled my car and I rolled down my window so that it could fill the air. A warmed 61 degrees floated in and cooled my face. I took a huge deep breath to still my melancholy and continued to drive to Oakwood Cemetery. I knew that the song would come to an end as I approached mom's spot. Sure enough it did.

I got out of the car and walked over the grass to our family's plot, a peaceful area on a hill that catches every breeze. The mistletoe in the tree above mom's stone and cross was more visible as the leaves laid bare the branches.

I knelt down and put my hands on her cold stone as the warm morning sun hit the right side of my face and I quietly let the peace wash over me. Tears streaming down my face. Church bells in the distance rang out ten times.

Happy Thanksgiving, Mom. I miss you.

When I got back in my car and turned the key Frank Sinatra was singing "You better not cry".

I had to laugh.

Thanks Mom. As always you wipe away my tears.

Hugs.

(c)nancy  11.27.2015