FIRES, THEN AND NOW…

FIRES, THEN AND NOW…

My husband of 57 years who now resides in Heaven was an expert at fire making. I never asked him if his short stint as a Cub Scout whetted that appetite, or whether six weeks of Pioneer camp when he was a preteen solidified his expertise. I only know he knew how to make a fire that initially flared hot and brilliant. And then, with special tweaking, nuance—a piece of kindling here, a new log there, an added poker proficiency—the fire  smoldered and spit and crackled and hummed, giving off a comforting glow, a steady heat as long as we were able to enjoy it.

OVER THE SUNSET MOUNTAINS: REMEMBERING DADDY...

OVER THE SUNSET MOUNTAINS: REMEMBERING DADDY...

One frosty night this winter hunkered in the folds of flannel sheets and a fur throw I read the above quote in the text of the 1948 novel, Pilgrim’s Inn written by English novelist Elizabeth Goudge. Inadvertently tears fill my eyes. Then follows a longing that mostly rests untouched beneath the surface of my consciousness; the longing for my father who loved me as that father loved his little girl.

WIDOW WOES: THOUGHTS ON YEAR TWO...

WIDOW WOES: THOUGHTS ON YEAR TWO...

My beautiful, comfortable home is a disaster zone. A riveter blasts through concrete on my first floor. I am upstairs in my office, Barrett’s old room, jarred to the bone and unable to think. Doing “paper work,” paying bills, and struggling to calculate how many times 5 goes into 390 without a calculator! I wonder to myself does eight go into 40 five times? Really?

ANNIVERSARY MEMORIES...

ANNIVERSARY MEMORIES...

Early morning autumn sun streaks our wooden deck with strands of gold. The sky is a heavenly shade of blue. In the distance the sumac is turning. Celadon greens becoming burnt orange, barn red, mahogany. The reds stand out, brilliant against a drying, wheat-colored landscape. It is the sumac I remember most. It reminds me of the year my mother died, September 30, 1993, twenty-eight years ago today.

BOOKS, STACKED BY MY BEDSIDE...

BOOKS, STACKED BY MY BEDSIDE...

It is morning and I begin my daily ritual. Beside my bed, piled a bit unsteadily upon the

round marble-topped table that was my mother’s, is a stack of books. Nine books to be

exact! Why nine? I make no apology for my book choices, nor for the unwieldily pile.

The explanation is simple: one never knows which book(s) are a fit for what life is

dishing out on a particular day, season, challenge.

SNOW UPON SNOW...FEBRUARY 2021

SNOW UPON SNOW...FEBRUARY 2021

I love snow. And this morning I awake to many inches of the softest, fluffiest, freshest new layer that has come in the night to grace the towering oaks, the remaining deck furniture, a distant roof, all of which I can see from my bedroom perch. As if this beauty is not enough, the sky, a pearly blue, contains a rising sun casting shadow-ribbons of gold upon it all.

FIRE PIT MEMORIES...

FIRE PIT MEMORIES...

The air is light, fragrant. Smoke, curls high up into the trees. Our clothes will retain this smokey fragrance. We talk of everyday things. We talk of important matters. We may need to iron out a misunderstanding. Often we are silent, listening to the crack and sizzle and spitting sounds ’til a chill drives us inside.

The “now” intrudes. The fire pit is a metaphor. A talisman of days gone by. A reminder of the never again-ness of life without my best friend. The ache I feel is there still. It’s been four years.

COVID 19 MUSINGS, CONTINUED...

COVID 19 MUSINGS, CONTINUED...

I’m reading Eric Larson’s new World War II tome, The Splendid and the Vile”. The above quote precedes the start of the book’s recounting of the years 1940-41, years when London was attacked by German bombs and raids in what has come to be called “The Blitz”. I picked up this book on one of the last “normal” days before social distancing and self quarantining and isolation became a way of life. I chose this book because I am a fan of Eric Larson’s page-turning, historical nonfiction. And I chose this book as I had a gut instinct that we just might begin to live out an unprecedented life-changing upending of our world as we have known it.

COVID-19 RUMINATIONS, APRIL 2020

COVID-19 RUMINATIONS, APRIL 2020

This morning a wan sun shines through skies streaked with fleecy clouds and patches of pale blue. Dare I say that here and there, in ground level brush I see traces of celadon, tiny leaves so delicate and ethereal as to leave me questioning their substance. This is spring in the Midwest. This is spring in the Corona Virus pandemic. This is spring, coming as it always has, in fits and starts but ultimately in all the glorious reality of yet another season of growth.