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Froggies

Mar26

My sister Agnes held up her Corning Ware tea pot and asked, “Would you like a cup of tea?” Suzie, Agnes’ black pug hopped around me on her hind legs, begging for attention. Her funny little face with her pink tongue lolling about, gave her the appearance of a small, friendly clown.

With a smile, I assured my sister, “I never turn down a cup of tea!” Dropping down on a chair at the table, I leaned forward to pet Suzie. After getting a few good pets and a scritch behind her left ear, Suzie trotted over to the kitchen counter and barked.

Placing two cups and spoons on the table, Agnes scolded, “You’ve had enough cheese, Suzie!” To me, she confessed, “That dog is so spoiled. I was snacking on cheese before you came and let her have a little. She knows there’s some on the counter, and she thinks I should give it to her!”

Knowing that I like dark chocolate, Agnes opened a bar for us to enjoy with the black tea. While we visited, a small fruit fly flew into my sister’s face. She sighed, “Fruit flies are so annoying!” I nodded. I had them in my house too, since I love fruit and often have various types on my kitchen counter.

Because it was such a pleasant fall afternoon, before I went home, my sister and I walked around in her yard to look at her flowers. Suzie followed us, snuffling the ground, obviously reading the scent of wildlife who used her territory at night. Agnes said, “I think it will freeze tonight so we better take in plants that are on our back decks.”

During one of my visits to Agnes during December, she swatted at a small flying insect and complained, “My house is too chilly for fruit flies. These must be soil gnats from the potted plants that were out on the deck all summer.”

I questioned, “What’s the difference between fruit flies and soil gnats?” Neither of us knew the answer to my question. All we knew was that they had different appetites and had different habitats. It was time for me to visit Mr. Google again.

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A Hard Knock Life

Jun19
Elderly Woman Falling Down, Retired Person Falling Back, Accident, Pain and Injury Cartoon Style Vector Illustration Isolated on White Background.

Despite having iced my wrist a few times since I fell, it felt swollen and painful. Knowing that an ace wrap would make it feel better, I began searching through the bathroom cupboard. There was one in there somewhere.

Having finally found the elusive elastic wrap, I went to sit on the edge of my bed. Mindful to not wrap my wrist too tight, yet firmly enough to help curb the swelling and lend support, I carefully wound the ace bandage from the palm of my hand to the elbow. Although still painful, the support of the wrap did make my wrist feel better.

The cut on my scalp was another matter. I never thought to ice that after my fall. It hurt when I rested my head on the pillow. Sighing, I thought, “My wrist and head bump will eventually heal. It just takes time.

Thinking about healing set my mind off on an inventory of my past injuries. As a toddler, I fell headfirst off the side of the basement steps. Hitting my shoulder on the table Mom used as a place to clean eggs probably saved my life. A few years later I was walking rung to rung on a ladder in the haymow with the older kids. I missed a rung and fell face first, cutting my eyebrow open.

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Mary’s Christmas

Dec13

Mary smiled when I walked into her room at the Stoney River Assisted Living Facility. She exclaimed, “My sweet little baby sister!” I laughed and kissed her cheek. She had often called me that when we were growing up in our childhood home.

Holding out a small vase filled with lovely red and yellow tea rose blossoms for her to see, I marveled, “Despite the cold nights this past week, the rose bushes in my garden are blossoming. All the plastic walls of the greenhouse do is block the wind, but that must be enough to allow some healthy plants to thrive this late into fall.”

My sister lightly touched a blossom and observed, “They’re pretty.”

Placing my flowers on the dresser across from her bed, I commented, “It’s hard to believe that Christmas is just a little over two months from now! As a little girl, I loved when you told me your memories of moving into the new farmhouse two days after Christmas the year before I was born.”

Mary nodded and explained, “Daddy said the varnish on the woodwork wasn’t dry until then. A bed sheet was wrapped around the Christmas tree, and it was carried across the snowy yard to our new house. Only one ornament fell and broke.”

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Wandering Star

Aug30

A cluster of bright orange leaves still clung to a tree alongside the road. Colorful fallen leaves driven by a brisk October breeze swirled across the road. I loved autumn. As I drove I happily thought about the colorful decorations I wanted to put up in my new two bedroom 12’ by 52’ Shult mobile home, and about making special holiday meals and treats for my new husband.

Arnie and I married early in the spring of 1970. Now, months later, with a baby on the way, I still felt surprised by my sudden catapult into adulthood. I was happy with these changes in my life, and I loved my husband, a broad shouldered, handsome, dark-haired man. The car I was driving home from my 20-week obstetrical clinic visit was the navy, 1966 Chevrolet Impala Arnie owned when we first met. Like him, it was good-looking.

A popular song I liked began to play on the car radio, so I turned up the volume. Actor Lee Marvin’s deep, raspy voice tunefully drawled, “I was born under a wandering star.” This song was unusual and had an appealing, but melancholic tone which fascinated me. “Snow can burn your eyes, but only people make you cry. Home is made for coming from, for dreams of going to…which with any luck will never come true.”

Just as Lee Marvin sang the words, “Do you know where hell is? Hell is in hello.” I hit a pothole in the road and the car jarred violently. The car instantly shut down: the radio, heater fan, motor and lights were all gone. There was no coasting to the side of the road: the car was dead in the center of the city street. This had happened a few nights previously when I was with Arnie. He had looked under the hood where he found the wire on the battery connection had popped off and made the fix look easy.

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Dark Anniversaries

Mar29

The sound of the ringing phone dragged me out of a deep sleep. Before I knew what I was doing, I was on my feet and stumbling in the dark mobile home hallway toward the living room to answer the phone. I felt heavy with a strange nagging dread. Arnie, my young husband was two steps behind me.

Two months earlier, I had given birth to a baby girl named Christy, who had a rare birth defect. We brought her home twice but were forced to return her to the hospital within days. Having no childcare experience and feeling terrified by her special needs, I felt like a failure as a mother. Yesterday evening Arnie and I had visited our little girl at the hospital. Reaching through the bars of her crib, I gently patted her back. I didn’t know what else to do.

The voice on the other end of the line was Christy’s pediatrician. He said, “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your daughter has just passed away.” Handing the phone to Arnie, I sank onto the sofa and cried. Christy’s death was our first experience with losing someone dear to us. My husband and I had celebrated out 20th birthdays a few months earlier.

The call from Christy’s doctor at 2 a.m. on April 2nd, 1971, introduced me to days that I have come to call dark anniversaries. Unlike a birthday where you celebrate the person’s birth, the death date is a day you remember them and miss what might have been. Dark anniversaries are seared into your memory forever.

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Slide Line

Mar8

Blustery cold winds blew clouds of snow across the playground. Happy to be out of the classroom for recess, my classmates and I burst out of the school building ready to play. I stopped and realized it was too windy for jump ropes or kick balls. What games could we play?

            The mittens Mom had fastened to my coat so I wouldn’t lose them, and a large cotton headscarf tied tightly under the chin kept me toasty warm.

            The snow wouldn’t stick together, so we couldn’t throw snowballs or make a snowman. I shrugged. Our teacher wouldn’t let us do either of those things anyway. Sister Florence gloomily scolded, “A hard snowball can take out a person’s eye if you hit them in the face!” Making a snowman was completely out of the question since our playground was the church parking lot.

A classmate named Jimmy found a perfect place to slide on the far end of our play area, a stretch of gently sloped blacktop covered in packed snow. Yelling at the top of their lungs, several of the boys took turns running to that spot and suddenly stopped to slide. I watched with interest. Before long, the slide looked like a dark, shiny ribbon of glass.

            Everyone on the playground wanted to take a turn sliding on the ice. True to our grade school training, instead of fighting, we formed a line so everyone could take a turn at our homemade carnival ride. With shrieks of laughter, some of us fell into nearby snow piles. We tumbled and rolled in our bulky woolen coats, landing unhurt and unconcerned.

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Exit Interview

Dec28

The old man pushed mightily, before the large, heavy door finally opened with a loud squeak. Sighing wearily, using the scythe he carried as a walking stick, he shuffled across the room to the receptionist.

Smiling brightly, the woman adjusted her nodest jacket before announcing, “Welcome to Earth’s Human Relations Office, Mister 2022. Saint Peter will be ready to conduct your exit interview as soon as he is finished advising young Mister 2023. Mister 2023 will be taking over your job after your exit interview at the stroke of midnight.” 

Sinking with a plop onto one of the waiting room chairs, the old man pulled out his cell phone and checked the 2022 events tracker app. He shook his head in disgust. People all over the world were drinking and acting crazily because the old year was ending and the new year beginning in just one hour.

The office door next to the receptionist desk opened. A young, rosy-cheeked lad skipped across the room to stand in front of the old man. The youngster exclaimed, “Hiya gramps! I’m taking over in one hour!”

The old man nodded and answered slowly, “Yup. I wish you all the luck in the world. You will need it.” Adjusting the 2022 events tracker app to the year 2023, the old man handed the cell phone to the young boy and advised, “You’re going to need this.”

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Born in a Barn

Dec21

A pile of old newspapers stacked on the floor in front of our large living room window nearly caused me to fall. I was eager to see if it had started to snow yet. There was no change in the overcast December afternoon weather. Everything looked just as it had, when I came in from playing in the yard before our noon meal.

A proper Christmas snow needed to be deep. We had snow on the lawn and flowerbeds, but I didn’t think it was deep enough. There were bare spots here and there in the yard. Christmas was in only ten days. I ruefully speculated, “If there’s any snow in those clouds, it’s refusing to fall.”

At ten years of age, I didn’t believe in Santa Clause anymore, but I did want Christmas to be perfect. Glowing memories of past Christmases guided my fevered holiday expectations. Trying to sled on the sparse snow on the barn hill in the forenoon had been disheartening. Feeling restless, I decided to go outside, but not to play in the scant snow again. I wanted to spend time in the barn instead.

Leaving the living room, I crossed the hallway on my way to the entryway. My coat and boots were kept there when I wasn’t using them. A loud scream startled me. My sister was on her knees scrubbing the floor in the kitchen. Her face was red with exasperation. She snarled, “Were you born in a barn? You’re walking on my freshly washed floor!”

Glancing around, I noticed the linoleum underfoot was indeed damp. I volunteered, “My feet are clean.”

My sister screeched, “I don’t care if your feet are clean. You’re leaving footprints!”

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Pause to Listen

Feb2

Rain drops pattered overhead and a long, low grumble of thunder followed the sharp crack of a distant lightning strike. As my brother Billy sank down into the chair across from me in the living room, he instructed, “Close your eyes and listen.” I stretched and rested my head on the sofa back.  

Billy questioned, “You know that when it rains on a hot summer afternoon, you can smell a beautiful, earthy scent sometimes?”

I nodded, realizing he had his eyes shut, too, I answered, “Yes, it’s the smell of clean, wet soil, or maybe the chlorophyll in the plants.”

There was another roll of thunder, but the rain on the roof had lessened. We became aware of the sound of water trickling down a rain spout. Somewhere there was a slow, steady drip of water falling into a puddle.

My brother jumped to his feet and took the storm CD out of his new radio compact disk player. He said, “My new Bose has the best sound of any radio I’ve ever had. I almost imagined smelling the rain. Right now, when I looked outside, it seemed like I should have seen gray rain clouds scuttling away.”

Getting to my feet to look closer at my brother’s new toy, I admired its sleek lines before stating, “I’ve been told these are quite expensive.”

Defending his splurge, he maintained, “Yes, they are. But you get top quality for the money.”

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Finally, Christmas Eve

Dec22

Leaning against Mama, I whined, “Why can’t we put up our Christmas tree?” Longing for Christmas was beginning to make me feel sick. Hearing holiday music on the radio, listening to letters to Santa on the radio, knowing everyone in the family was secretly wrapping presents behind closed doors and talking about Christmas with my second-grade friends was nice, but I had an anxious, deep desire for it to finally come. In the past week, my longing for Christmas had started to feel more like pain than pleasure.

Mama sighed but patiently repeated, “I told you, we don’t put up the tree until Christmas Eve.”

I wailed, “Other people don’t wait until Christmas Eve! My friend Peggy said their Christmas tree was put up last week.”

“Peggy’s family has different traditions.” The look Mama gave me as she answered told me no amount of begging would change things.

December 24th finally arrived, but I continued to wait, pining for Christmas. Daddy and my brothers had time to bring the tree into our house before the noon meal. Mama wouldn’t hear of it. She insisted we sit down to eat first.

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