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Make yourself at home. Put your feet up. Grab your favorite beverage and prepare to enjoy the reads.
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Showing posts with label Memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Memories. Show all posts

Thursday

Autumn Leaves

The abundance of blooming chrysanthemums enticed me. Of course, being only 4 or 5 years old at the time, I couldn't resist picking a few flowers and tucking them into my pockets to surreptitiously sniff them, later. Too bad I forgot about them and mommy found them when I came home. I sure got yelled at!

My mother was confounded at my thievery. Hadn't I been spanked enough for my evil ways? And yet I was still willing to take the chance each time I picked other people's flowers. It seemed logical to me that such abundance was to be shared. Of course, if Mommy had a garden of her own, perhaps I would not have had such urges. But, since I was given the freedom to roam.... well... it just seemed natural to me to help myself. I had no idea what was to follow the blooming of the chrysanthemums. It seemed like the metamorphosis happened overnight.


I walked the length and breadth of the streets marveling at the extraordinary changes taking place. One day the trees were green, the air was humid, and suddenly the next day, the trees were screaming brilliant and the air was brisk with a new warmth and freshness. The fragrance was tantalizing. That first autumn I remember surprised me.


As I walked the sidewalk that magical day the multi-colored leaves deliciously licked my feet as I crunched my way through them. I remember gathering maple, elm, oak, even willow. I knew my trees by name, of course. Only for a moment did I ask myself if this was another form of stealing. But, did the trees belong to individuals? It seemed to me that since they lined the streets on both sides, they belonged to the streets and not to people. Besides, the leaves were already no longer attached to the trees! It seemed the leaves were up for grabs. I often tossed down one pretty captured leaf in exchange for another even lovelier one. My hands were so full of leaf bouquet by the time I returned home, this time, I was sure it was okay to bring this bounty. And for once I was right.


The instant I walked in the door, my mother's shriek was one of delight. She was pleased with what she thought was a gift for her. I immediately went along with that idea. It hadn't occurred to me to offer them to her. But, I was so happy she approved, so relieved I was not in trouble for being a bad, stealing girl that it was easy for me to give up my newly acquired treasures.


Mommy laid each leaf out on the table, then mysteriously began to slip each one into a book, to save them, she said. Imagine my disappointment with the next stage the trees exhibited... the skeletal barrenness preceding winter. 


Wednesday

James Deane for President


He's my Daddy

He comes home from work
wearing his grey striped
overalls covered with
Vanadium dust.

I think he is the
President
of the United States
I'm close.
He is the President
of his Union

"Carry me. Carry me."
I whine and beg.

He's so tall,
when he lifts me up,
I can feel the sky!
Well, not the sky, really,
but the ceiling is
almost the sky.

I can touch the place
where he fell through
one day, when he worked
fixing something in the attic
as I sat in my high chair
just a moment before.

They tell me I wasn’t there,
That it happened to my brother.
Perhaps I was there,
Waiting to be born.

Elizabeth Munroz

Saturday

Winter Beach Memories

Sitting on a bench at Capitola Beach today, children nearby chasing seagulls reminded me of Linda and I, with our kids at another shoreline. Today the beach is deserted, no tourists. We've had a lot of rain lately, so only the locals come out to watch the sun drowse into the deep.

I've been feeling very blue most of today. I hate it when I get like this. It's such a miserable loneliness and longing. I miss having a close friend living nearby at times like this. Someone I can spend time with right here, right now. We can dump on each other all the woes of the world, and lighten our load. Whenever Linda and I got together for a session like that, it always ended up in laughter.

She had a great sense of the ludicrous and could see how silly some melancholy of mine could be. She was able to turn it into a joke. Although I often didn't think it was funny at first, by the time she got through with me I could laugh and realize things were not so bad as I had imagined. She was the only one who could insult me, hurt my feelings and still be there to cheer me up. It's not that she purposely insulted me or hurt my feelings. It was that I felt insulted, felt hurt. As she often pointed out, I chose to feel that way. Why not turn it around, feel happy instead? If not happy, then at least not wallowing!

My method was different of course, all serious. Linda was not subject to fluctuating brain chemistry as I was, but If there was something she was bummed out about, I always wanted to guide her in what to "do" to make it better. I showed her how to analyze it and tear it down so it wasn't so overwhelming and make a new plan for improving the situation. We were a fine compliment to each other. Yin and Yang. I need her ridicule, she needed my hard core rationalizations. It's odd how we could never employ our own techniques upon ourselves!


When Linda died, I went through three months of numbness and denial, always thinking I caught a glimpse of her in a crowd, and mistaking others for her. Then it hit me, and for three years I grieved and dreamed of her laughing eyes.  Occasionally, like today, she nudges my memories.

Losing my Soul-Sister, I had hoped for a new friend to replace her. But, she was so unique; irreplaceable. New friends have come into my life. And I have finally realized that the empty space Linda once occupied in my heart is not meant to be filled up with someone else.


I still miss her.

The sun has set. A cold wind blows, more rain to come. Time to go home.

Linda Duran Watkins
November 24 1949 - November 24 1982


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Note: Thank you to Peter Wall for permission to display his photo of sunset children.


Monday

The Hardest Thing to Do

A first person account of Daniel Mercy:

I remember when my best friend, Johnny, came home from the hospital. We were both five. But he was half my size. He had been living with leukemia but then, he died. I remember that was when I first decided "when I grow up I'm going to be a doctor".

I soon forgot that dream and before you know it, all I wanted to do was ride my bike and be a racer. As I peddled like a speed demon delivering the newspaper throughout the neighborhood, I always avoided the house of Johnny's parents as much as possible. I got very good at throwing the paper from impossible distances, making sure his parents weren't in sight. If they were, I would go back later to deliver.

As I grew older Mom and Dad encouraged me to be an accountant. They pointed out my thriftiness with the income I made from my paper route as a way to point out that I was a "natural" for such a career. I would be secure with good money and I would always be well off, they said.

It was at that time I took up art and scribbled away on any piece of paper I could get my hands on drawing the microbes I saw in Biology class, drawing the map of the stars in astronomy class. It was then I decided I wanted to be an astronomer

But, the day came when at a neighborhood festival, I ran into Johnny's parents. They had gone on with their lives, and had other kids by this time. I met them one by one, right down to the youngest, the five year old they had named John.

That day is indelible in my mind, it was the day I got serious and began to study. I made up my mind, it would be medical school or nothing. It wasn't easy. I thought it was the hardest thing in the world I would ever do. But, it wasn't.

I thought the hardest thing I ever did was when my first patient died. I went home in a daze, I punched the wall in the garage before I went in the house and cried my eyes out in my wife's arms.

But, that truly was not the hardest thing I ever did. Not the hardest thing I will ever do.

The hardest thing I ever do, is every day... Sometimes it is when I have a new patient come in the door with worried parents.

And later on, after you have tried your best to save that little life, you would think the hardest thing is being honest and telling the kid its over. But they are so understanding and wise beyond their years. They already know. They are relieved. They want it to be over. They know it is time. They knew it before I did.

But that's not the hardest thing. The hardest thing is telling the parents there is nothing else that can be done. That it is all over. Time to go home and wait it out. Get hospice. And knowing the child wants to go, but the parents cling. That's the hardest thing.

>>>>>>>

Note: This was a fictional writing exercise in character development.

Wednesday

Loss

From Memories of a Geisha~~~

At the temple, there is a poem called "Loss", carved into the stone.

It has three words...but the poet has scratched them out.

You cannot read "Loss"... Only feel it.

The heart dies a slow death, shedding each hope like leaves...

Until one day there are none.

No hopes.

Nothing remains.

Thursday

Aging Holiday



Another Christmas letter from my parents from before they died:

December 11, 2004
Dear Ones, All,

With the wonderful thanksgiving holiday behind us and the recent giving of thanks, we have been aware about how grateful we are that the Lord has seen fit to keep us together all these years, and to bring us to this new place we now reside. We have moved twice in the last year and finally settled in at our New Address, which is nearby to one of our granddaughters. We are fortunate that some of our great grandchildren and great-great grandchildren also live nearby.

Due to a “no pets” policy, our two Abyssinian cats have moved up north to live with our eldest daughter. We miss our furry family members, but they have taken up writing to us regularly to keep us informed. We enjoy their stories, and antics. What talented felines!


It certainly has been a year of changes and challenges as well as Blessings. Between moves this year, the youngest member of the family arrived, a boy, Alexander, born to our great grandson, Justin. Our grandson, Xavier, got married to Trisha and we celebrated 67 years of marriage. Due to continued changes in our health, our most recent move is to a full care facility, which we are still trying to get used to, has turned out to be a blessing in that we have very loving care.

Moving brought up all the memories of our past connections with family and friends as we came across letters and cards that we have saved over the years. We truly enjoy going over those old memories, and often think of all who have touched our lives. Let's not lose contact, and make new memories in sharing our lives by letter or phone call.

We hope and pray, as winter begins to welcome the Christmas season, that all is well with you and yours. We hope to hear from you soon.

God Bless You,      
 
Jim and Gennie