The Little Blue House
Somewhere there is a little blue house nestled amongst irises and mature trees. The little blue house has seen the trees grow from saplings to the giants they are now. They’ve grown up together.
The little blue house is not so little now. Over the years, Pete and Martha have added on — first to accommodate their children and then their grandchildren. Soon it will be time to leave the little blue house to someone who will love it and move to small, more convenient digs somewhere in town close to doctors and pharmacies. Pete and Martha are at that age.
Continue readingYou deserve a more tender tomorrow.
You deserve a more tender tomorrow, the Universe said.
“I do,” myself replied. I went on to say, “Life has been hard and a bit dreary these past few months. Tender would be good. Did you have something in mind?”
The Universe said, “No. Quite the opposite. Tomorrow the weather is going to reenact the Wizard of Oz and then I might dump snow on you. Haven’t decided yet.”
“If you must bring snow, please bring between 12 and 20 inches. Please. Anything less is just a nuisance as folks expect me to maintain my normal activities if we are anything short of shut down.”
“Nah, I’m thinking an inch or two. Just enough to snarl morning traffic on Wednesday.”
“Why are you in such a cantankerous mood? This really has gone on too long you know. Since about August you have just been downright ugly to me. Fortunately, I have a good support system and I’m not in a fetal position, but this is really getting old.
Continue readingA Scrapbook Tree
I’ve been standing here for 5 or 6 years. She can’t bear to take me down, but she doesn’t spend any time in this room either. She’s always called me a scrapbook tree. Every ornament is a memory of a person, place, or thing. There is a seahorse to commemorate her first trip back to the beach since 1980. There is a graduation cap with a tassel to recognize the adventure that completing her degree in her 40s was.
There is a heart with a pink ribbon for the second best friend who died. Oddly there is not one for the first best friend. I wonder when that will occur to her. There is a sunflower for the third and best best friend who died.
Her dad is well represented – a miniature Marine in dress blues as well as a “lid” with the Marine Corps insignia on it. There is not an ornament for her grandchild. She has bought them, but they lay in boxes waiting for her energy and desire to return. She also has a COVID mask at the ready to remember the pandemic and resultant case of long COVID.
Most years, I am adored and celebrated. She takes photo after photo. She’s very proud of me.
But she’s grieving. Still the best friend, still the father, still her lover. She is grieving the circumstances surrounding her only grandchild. She is grieving her lost youth. She is grieving her mother’s dementia. She is grieving her physical decimation that COVID wrought in her body.
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W. Va. Fur and Root 