Friends, I thought long and hard about this. This morning, I decided that it’s something I simply have to do. I’ve signed up to knit for 12 hours on April 5, 2025, to raise funds for Feeding America, World Central Kitchen, No Kid Hungry, and Meals on Wheels.
Many of you know that knitting is my “happy place.” I can do other things like weave or write, but my deepest intrinsic satisfaction always comes with knitting. And that’s one reason why I haven’t been blogging very much. I’ve been knitting. Recently I completed the Elvan shawl that I wrote about here.
The first photo of the Elvan Shawl is from the designer, Florence Spurling. The others are my own photos showing more detail of the intarsia patterns. Generally, it was fun to knit, and the yarn was wonderful to work with.
After these photos were taken, I sent the shawl to a friend. This particular friend was someone I knew from high school, someone I had lost touch with until a few years ago when I heard that her mother had died from Covid. And then a couple of years later, she was diagnosed with cancer. Thankfully, she’s gone through her treatments and (so far, so good) has been doing well. I thought of her often while I was knitting the shawl, thinking of how sweet the soft wool yarn would feel against her skin.
She wrote to me when she received the shawl. She wrote all the words that makes a knitter’s heart sing.
And so I keep knitting.
For the Knit-a-Thon, I’m planning to knit socks. I have quite a stash of sock yarn, and socks can be done quickly. Plus, who doesn’t need socks?!
It is my deep pleasure to participate in the blog tour for John Howell’s latest novel, Detour on the Eternal Road. As John notes below, we’ve been blogging pals for over ten years. When I first met John, he quickly captured my heart with his wit, his kindness, and his great storytelling. I love seeing how successful he has been over the years. He is the hardest-working writer I know. His novels also have the best book covers. Over to you, John!
I am excited to be here with you today, Marie. You and I have been blogging for over ten years. I look back with fondness on the days when we spent more than a year writing the Top Ten lists for simultaneous publication on our separate blogs. You were always an inspiration and that continues today. Thank you for offering to host me on this stop on the tour. My latest book Detour on the Eternal Road is book threein the Eternal Road Series. Here is the blurb.
Blurb Sam and James are dragged into another strange assignment when a couple of souls on The Eternal Road drop off the radar. Archangel Michael gives them specific orders to resolve the issue and get Billy Ray Chitwood, the national race car champion, and Dale Earnhardt, his guide, back on the task of finding Billy’s Eternal Home.
Finally, meeting up with Billy Ray and Dale, the foursome finds themselves in the future where World War III has devastated the country. The team discovers the cause of the start of the war and vows to mitigate that circumstance and save the world from devastation. They encounter their old nemesis, Lucifer, who has in mind trading preventing the war in exchange for Sam accepting his offer to be his queen.
Since Lucifer’s offer is a non-starter, Sam and James must overcome Lucifer’s interference and work to change the course of history, or humankind is doomed.
Excerpt Wyatt stands by the reception desk and decides to pick up the bill himself and not bother the sheriff. Since they haven’t charged for breakfast, Wyatt assumes the old man hasn’t eaten this morning. After waiting a few minutes more, Wyatt becomes concerned that maybe the old man slept in. He heads up to the room and raps on the door.
Light shuffling follows his soft knocks on the wood. Finally, the door opens, and the old man seems ready to go.
“You had any breakfast?”
The old man pulls the door closed. “Yup, sure have.”
“Where did you eat? The bill didn’t show anything for breakfast.”
“Well, sir, I had this big ole steak for dinner and couldn’t finish it. Seemed a shame to waste good beef so I wrapped it in a napkin and had it this morning.”
Wyatt smiles at the resourcefulness of the old guy. “That would make a mighty fine breakfast for sure. So, you ready to get going?”
“I sure am, and I’m grateful for your help, what with your brothers shot ‘n all.”
“I’m always ready to help. Let’s go over to the livery and get the wagon.”
The old man nods, and Wyatt allows him to pass into the hallway. They leave the hotel and walk toward the livery—up the road and near the O.K. Corral. While walking, the old man asks, “How’d it feel to shoot the rustler?”
Wyatt explains, “I never enjoy killin’ a man, but when duty calls, I’m ready.” The old man nods and rubs his stubble.
Wyatt says, “Here we are.” He and the old man go into the business side of the livery. The horses stand hitched and ready, so Wyatt helps the old man onto the wagon. With a click of the tongue and a shake of the reins, the horses go at a slow walk out of the stable. “I took the liberty of packing lunch and water, given that your house is a far ways.”
“Again, I’m obliged to you, Wyatt. Not sure how I can repay your kindness.”
Bio John is an award-winning author who after an extensive business career began writing full time in 2012. His specialty is thriller fiction novels, but John also writes poetry and short stories. He has written seven other books that are on Amazon in paperback and Kindle editions.
John lives in Lakeway, Texas with his wife and their spoiled rescue pets.
Nature We rarely spend time on the east side of our house. Only a chain-linked fence separates us from our neighbors there, and they are on a higher elevation so we have no privacy if we are all out at the same time. Maybe not a problem; just an excuse. Still, we miss the wonder of our Camilla bushes when we neglect that side. One bush in particular gave a wonderful view of the cycle of Life, from one new bud to a spent bloom.
Snow To my utter shock, we had a couple of inches of snow in Tallahassee last week. Far less than other places (like New Orleans and Pensacola), but enough to surprise me. I’ve lived here since June 1990, and I can count on one hand the number of times it has snowed in Tallahassee. Usually we just have flurries and the snow melts as soon as it hits the ground. But this year was exceptional.
A panoramic view of our deck and back yard on early Wednesday morning.A view across our front yard.
As of this writing, we still have a bit of snow, or perhaps I should call it slush.
Writing Oh, I wish I could say I had started working on my novels, but alas, no. Instead I’ve been writing letters.
I may well be pissing in the wind, but given our current state of affairs, I have to do something … even if it’s just pissing in the wind. I am not limiting myself to only “my” Congressional Senators and Representative who are loyal to you-know-who. My attitude is that each Senator and Representative in Congress who is voting on bills that affect ALL Americans should listen to all Americans. I am being mindful to give praise when it’s due (hence the letters in the photo are to thank certain Florida Representatives for certain votes). But, yeah, when I see that a Democratic Senator voted for Kristi Noem, they’re going to hear from me.
So … letters and postcards for now. No novels.
Knitting Since I can knit or stitch while watching TV, I am doing that. No photos as yet. The shawl is finished but not yet blocked (i.e., washed). I signed up for a month-long knit-a-long which will start January 31. We are to knit a cardigan! One of my least favorite projects … lol. I’m hoping I can use up some of the stash that is threatening to break through my cedar chest. And maybe having a couple of Zoom sessions with a knitting expert will make the process less daunting.
Cats Thanks to the colder-than-normal temperatures the last few weeks, Raji has officially become a SnuggleBunny!
Raji getting close and personal with Greg while he watches TV.
I doubt that he will continue with this behavior as temperatures warm but we’re enjoying this closeness while we can. Wendy often sleeps with me, but she doesn’t cuddle. No, she just curls up in the middle of the bed and expects me to work around her.
Thank you for reading! Tell me truly: Am I pissing in the wind?
Recently I began reading Jimmy Carter: River and Dreams by Jim Barger, Jr. and Dr. Carlton Hicks. It’s a wonderful book, and I’m learning a great deal about fly fishing although I don’t fish at all. I highly recommend this book of remembrances and reflections, considerations of faith and duty.
I thought of you when I read this passage by Dr. Hicks:
[…] I’ve often thought about how religion is used to justify much of the evil and cruelty that plagues our world, even as it serves as a source of great comfort, love, and compassion for many people like the Carters. Most of the people I grew up with practiced some form of Christianity, and I have seen over my lifetime many self-described Christians not only fail to love their neighbors but also choose to treat others with contempt and hatred. As for the Christian ideal of loving one’s enemies? Well, that seems to me to a completely foreign concept to so many who claim to follow the teachings of Jesus. It never ceases to amaze me how the very same religion can prompt some people to act out of fear and hatred and conversely prompt other people, like the Carters, to act out of courage and love. [pp.62-63]
I thought of you, Mr. Speaker, because while you claim you are a Christian, you do not act like one. In fact, your actions often contradict the faith that you claim. For example, on your official Congressional website, under Issues, Human Dignity, a summary statement begins with:
Because all men are created equal and in the image of God, every human life has inestimable dignity and value, and every person should be measured only by the content of their character.
Firstly, “all people” rather than “all men” would be more appropriate here, as you well know. That you’ve taken actions to deny women’s autonomy, in particular reproductive autonomy, reveals that your choice of the word men is meaningful.
Secondly, your disdain for immigrants, your desire to have families torn apart and deported, and your preference to round up human beings and keep them in cages rather than allow them the dignity to work and contribute to society give the lie to your statement that every human life has inestimable dignity and value.
As well as your claim of Christianity, your hypocrisy is shown by the following statement and your actions that contradict it:
In America, everyone who plays by the rules should get a fair shot.
Mr. Speaker:
You have shamelessly supported a convicted felon for President of the United States.
You have shamelessly courted a man who has, just as shamelessly, broken every rule to get what he wants, never mind who gets hurt in the process.
You have shamelessly embraced a man who has mocked people with disabilities, sexually preyed on women, and suggested that people born with birth defects–even ones in his own family–should just be left to die rather than receive life-sustaining treatment.
You have shamelessly encouraged the advancement of a man who has referred to U.S. soldiers who were held as Prisoners of War or injured during service losers.
Mr. Speaker, you fool no one. Christians who believe as the Carters believed see right through you. You might feel that you’ve won this round, but the fight for Democracy is not over. It will never be over as long as there are agents like yourself who seek to establish an autocratic theocracy, restricting our inalienable rights until we are no more free than those living under the Taliban.
Those of us who truly believe in Democracy, who truly believe in the dignity and value of all human beings, will never give up.
Although it’s not my first Christmas without my mom and sisters, I felt their absence more keenly this year. Especially the absence of my sister Shirley since Christmas was her favorite holiday. I still remember the utter shock on her face when, years ago, I said that my husband and I had stopped exchanging gifts. I barely managed to stifle a laugh at her reaction.
I do give gifts to my family, but I expect and ask for nothing in return. The gift is in the giving, as they say. But this year, I received a very special gift.
Front cover of the photo book.
Inside this book are copies of my sister’s recipes for cookies and cakes.
I can’t express how it felt to see her handwriting, the old recipe cards with smudges and stains from frequent use. I can only say that it was a lovely gift to receive at the close of this year and one that I will always cherish.
Writing
I don’t make New Year’s resolutions. I don’t make goals anymore. I often have tasks related to housekeeping, doctor’s appointments, grocery shopping, but they are not the sum of my days.
Still. I do want to renew my focus on writing. I have four unfinished novels. Three of the novels are a kind of trilogy as they share the same characters. One is a standalone. All were first drafted during a National Novel Writing Month. I want to finish them. Get them done. I don’t want to write anything “new” until they are out into the world. I haven’t set a way for publishing them yet (all of them need considerable editing first) but I’m not in this for the money. As I did with my short story Love Me Tender, I might produce the novels using Bookfunnel and Lulu.
Nature
I’m continually surprised by what I sometimes literally unearth on our property. While weeding around the tendrils of our strawberry plant, I found this little critter.
Wooly bully
At first I thought it was a wooly seed of some kind. Further investigation through my iSeek app revealed that it was a caterpillar curled up in defensive mode. If all goes well, it will eventually morph into a Giant Leopard Moth.
While I contemplate renewing my focus on writing–that is, finishing my novels–I’ve been knitting. In early November I started knitting an intarsia shawl. Kind of like painting but with yarn. The shawl is still in progress but I wanted to share a couple of photos.
While intarsia isn’t difficult, the changing shapes and colors can be a challenge.
Here’s what the finished shawl should look like when completed.
I don’t work on this shawl every day. What I like least about knitting is the finishing process (well, I guess that’s true with almost everything I do) so, as with writing, I procrastinate. One afternoon I procrastinated by taking a virtual workshop on knitting little cats.
This is supposed to be a cat in a box but with the edges curled under, I think the box looks more like a bed. And I like it like that.
Which leads me to my fifth thing at the end of 2024.
Cats
Wendy isn’t so much reaching out to touch Raji as she is letting him know that he better not get any closer to her.
Thank you for reading. I hope you all have (or had) a Happy New Year. Here in the U.S., some of us feel dread as we begin 2025. I hope it’s many of us feeling that dread because we’ll need a lot of us to show up in 2026 and vote out the authoritarians and broligarchs and vote in Democracy. We won’t be alone. We’ll have lawyers: Democracy2025.
As one of my favorite lawyers, Joyce White Vance, would say, “We’re in this together.”
In her Author’s Note, Casey Mulligan Walsh begins her tough, bittersweet and unflinching memoir with this quote from Barbara Kingsolver.
Memory is a complicated thing, a relative to truth, but not its twin.
Casey notes that The Full Catastrophe is “a true story to the best of my recollection.” And a reader cannot expect better than that. Some writers of memoir will ask family members or friends to fact-check their memories, but I’ve often thought of memoir as a window into one person’s perception of their life and take it as such. It’s not autobiography. It’s that person’s truth, the essence, of what they remember.
What impressed me more than anything while reading this book was Casey’s seeming determination to not whitewash her story, to not spare herself any blame criticism in how her life turned out.
I started to use the word blame but that wouldn’t have been fair. Casey turns a critical eye on herself, but in such a way that allows her to rise above where she feels she might have gone wrong. Hers is a story of how the best of intentions can lead one astray and how being honest with oneself can save a life (hers) and a family.
Determination, I see now, is not always a positive quality. It can spur you to great things. It can also make you blind, unable to see when enough is simply enough.
When still a young girl, both of Casey’s parents died. Several years later, her only sibling–a beloved brother–also died, leaving Casey alone and adrift in an unfriendly world. She was placed with relatives who weren’t shy about showing her their displeasure in having to be responsible for her.
In such an environment, it’s easy to imagine any young woman jumping at the first chance to leave. In this case, that chance was an ill-fated marriage.
All Casey wanted was to feel safe in the world and to shower love on a family of her making. She really wasn’t asking for much, not considering how hard she was willing to work for what she believed in. Unfortunately, she and her husband were a “mismatched pair.” Later Casey also learns that his parents (who she had believed accepted her as much as they would their own daughter) were perhaps her greatest enemies, siding with her husband during their separation and subsequent divorce, and coming between Casey and her children.
It’s not enough that Casey struggles to keep together the family she always wanted. Two of her three children, her first-born son and then her daughter, are born with a genetic condition, a form of high cholesterol called familial hypercholesterolemia (FH). Can you imagine the worry, the fear for your children, knowing they have a condition that can lead to a premature death?
As Casey’s marriage deteriorates, she becomes more controlling of her children and her husband. She admits this. In the context of her children’s health, it makes sense. In the context of all her losses, the deaths of her parents, her brother, other family members and friends, it makes sense. In the context of her husband’s drinking and combativeness, it makes sense. Her world was falling apart, and she was desperate to keep it together. As anyone would be.
And then her oldest son dies. Not from FH as Casey feared, but from something so random and so common as a car accident. Casey holds it together until she can’t. She finds comfort and strength in the outpouring of love and support she and her family receive, but then dissolves in tears at the end of TV news story about Eric.
The Full Catastrophe is a story of love and loss, the devastating grief of losing a child, the determination to make a family, to make a home. All along I was taken with Casey’s resolve to do the right thing by her children, sometimes to the point of seeming to turn them against her. Tough love, you might call it, but love nonetheless.
I often thought of my mother as I read Casey’s memoir, recalling how my mom tried to protect me from the big, bad world, how her efforts to protect me drove me away from her. I wondered if at times she too blamed herself for her children’s failures. I can only hope that, like Casey, she came to realize that she had done the best she could have done given her circumstances and that her love would ultimately bring me back to her.
The following quote from The Full Catastrophe is one that I keep nearby, a reminder that while death is inevitable, love never dies:
Just in time, I understood our connection to those we love doesn’t end with death, that nothing can separate us unless we choose to walk away. That it will all be over so soon for all of us, and what’s important is what we do while we’re here.
I highly recommend The Full Catastrophe for all readers, but especially those interested in memoir and who may be experiencing their own never-ending grief.
All orders placed at Battenkill Books will be fulfilled with a signed copy.
To further entice you into preordering, Casey has some bonuses for you! After you’ve ordered, head over to her website at https://caseymulliganwalsh.com/preorder-the-full-catastrophe-now/. Scroll down to the preorder form and provide your name, email, order number, and supplier. Hit submit and you’ll receive the link to three preorder bonuses:
Five Ways to Support Those Who Grieve, a concise sheet with advice about ways to support grievers when you struggle, as we all do, with ideas of what to do or say, and a list of supportive podcasts, books, and websites
The Full Catastrophe Spotify playlist—hours of music that became the soundtrack for the life Casey lived, then captured in her memoir
Finally, a link to an ask-Casey-anything zoom call/celebration on launch day, February 18, 2025 (time TBD).
(If you plan to order from Amazon on launch date, just enter “00000” in the order # space on the form, and you’ll receive these bonuses as well.)
I’ve been a bit “out of it” lately due to world events and general procrastination. I keep meaning to get back into the swing of things so when I (finally) sat down to catch up with my online community, I came across this Lens-Artist Challenge is hosted by Leya. She encourages us to share what makes us smile. For some, smiles these days might be hard to come by so this is a particularly timely challenge.
What makes me smile? Here’s a few:
Nature
Whether it’s an Eastern Carpenter Bee getting up close and personal with Kay’s Pink Roses (photo featured above) …
Or the tell-tale sign of a raccoon visiting our campsite at night …
Or a swallowtail butterfly feasting on penta blooms …
Or a praying mantis praying that it is blending in …
Or an red-tailed hawk just hanging out in the ‘hood …
Or a momma gator and her baby.
Sometimes Art makes me smile …
Sonic Blooms, Seattle, Washington, 2014
From the exhibit: Created by Seattle-based artist Dan Corson in a collaboration between Pacific Science Center and Seattle City Light, these sun loving, harmonic blooms use regionally manufactured, custom solar panels to generate their own power. Each flower top contains 48 solar cells that produce 4.6 Wp (watts at peak production) for a total of 1,104 Wp for all 5 flowers.
The electricity generated will make the flowers dance with light through the evening and sing through the day, 365 days of the year. Sonic Bloom combines art and science to help educate about solar energy in the Pacific Northwest and inspire people to consider how they can incorporate renewable energy into their lives.
Especially funny signs or photos …
A bigger smile from me when they refer to knitting …
What makes me smile the most? Cats, always the cats …
Junior (RIP) and Maxine (RIP) staking out their territory on my husband. Wendy and Raji zonked out in the sun.
I hope you got some smiles out of my selection! Let me know what makes you smile.
If you want to participate in this Lens-Artists challenge, remember to tag with Lens-Artists and link to Ann-Christine’s original post.
Next week, Sofia will lead us from her beautiful site Photographias – be sure to visit on Saturday 30!
To all of you who celebrate Thanksgiving, I hope you have a wonderful time with family and friends. Despite current world events, we still have much to be grateful for. I know I am grateful for each one of you.
Today we honor those who fought on behalf of our country.
Theodore Albers, Army
I honor my dear surrogate grandfather, Ted Albers (RIP), who was drafted into the Army at the age of 34, captured at the Battle of the Bulge, and held as a POW under the end of WWII …
Greg admiring some tall Horrible Thistles at our happy place, St Marks National Wildlife Refuge.
I honor my husband, a Vietnam-era Navy veteran who flew in P3s looking for Russian submarines …
To honor them, I’ve made a donation to The New York Bar Foundation’s fundraiser to assist veterans in need of legal services (https://nylawyerslovevets.swell.gives/).
Don’t just thank a veteran for his or her service. Hug them. Hold them close and tell them you love them.
Support them. Make sure that what they fought for is not denied to them. Last week’s election should have secured their rightfully deserved benefits. Now their benefits are at risk by people who know nothing of sacrificing for their country and who consider POWs and wounded soldiers losers.
Do what you have to do to honor those who risked their all for our freedoms.
We are no longer trusted. The hierarchy we must not debate goes like this: God Leader landowner boss father husband . . .
we, the foolish girls
A man has twenty-four ribs A woman is one twenty-fourth of a man."
From Eyes Open by Lyn Miller-Lachmann
Several months ago I won Eyes Open in a giveaway hosted by L. Marie at El Space. I did not take several months to read this compelling novel written in free verse. Procrastination–the one thing I excel at–preempted a timely review. But perhaps not.
Given the U.S. election results, perhaps this is the right time to share a review of this powerful book.
Eyes Open is the story of Sonia, a feisty, independent-minded teenager and her struggle to realize real independence in Portugal during 1966-1967, a slice of time during a dictatorship that lasted from 1926 to 1974. Sonia is in love with Zé Miguel, a dissident not much older than herself. Her family is against the relationship because they are both considered too young (in their mid- to late teens) and because of Zé Miguel’s anti-government activities.
At the beginning of the novel, Sonia’s family is enjoying a relatively middle-class life. They own their own restaurant and the five daughters (to Sonia’s father’s deep disappointment, he has no sons) attend a Catholic school. There Sonia and her friends create a poetry club and write poems honoring Zé Miguel after he is arrested and imprisoned.
Sonia writes in free verse because
I don’t have time to rhyme.
And indeed she doesn’t. Zé Miguel’s arrest causes suspicion among Sonia and her friends and her sisters. Sonia gets revenge on those who turned Zé Miguel in. The backlash is quick and fierce.
One step over the line. My boyfriend’s in prison.
One step over the line. Our family’s business is gone.
One step over the line. We leave our home forever.
We scatter, start over, refugees in our own land.
Sonia is a brave young woman but naive in that she seems to take men, at least the ones she is attracted to, at face value, despite (or perhaps in spite of) warnings from friends.
Zé Miguel breaks Sonia’s heart but she understands why: in this country, even among the dissidents, women are expected to be subservient. Another young man plays the long game with her, courting her, convincing her that he admires her poetry and her independence when, frankly, all he wants is to get into her pants.
Despite the betrayals, Sonia’s willingness to believe in people and, more importantly, believe in herself as a positive force is heartening.
Sonia takes many risks for the sake of her independence, suffers beatings from her father, survives dangerous work at a hotel laundry, and eventually manages to escape Portugal. (And it is an escape. As a female, she is prohibited from traveling freely.) Still, she does not give up.
I am a scatterling one of many. [...] for the monsters among us moved into our home made colonies of our minds and between a hostile neighbor and the sea I cast my lot with the sea
with the certainty that like fishing boats sailing beyond the horizon brave sailor eyes open gazing toward a new world beyond the horizon
I too will return.
I have tried to replicate the structure of the free verse used in this novel so you can see how effective that structure is to convey feeling. Eyes Open is available at Bookshop and Amazon.
An audio version is available through libro.fm. Such wonderful narration by SoneelaNankani! If you can afford it, I would recommend buying both, perhaps listening to the book as you read it.
I also highly recommend this interview with Lyn Miller-Lachmann on El Space: Check This Out: Eyes Open. L. Marie always conducts a great interview.
Eyes Open is a powerful story of one young woman’s fight for self-determination, for independence for herself and her country. It may well be necessary reading for these times.
And so. Here we are. I am struggling to keep my composure. I am struggling to take care of myself. I had looked forward to the end of the election so I could finally relax and refocus on all the things I’ve been neglecting during the campaigns. Instead of writing for my blog and knitting for myself, I had mailed letters and postcards, donated $ when and where I could. Stay informed. Voted.
I don’t regret a second of it. Instead, I wish I had written more letters, more postcards. Would it have made a difference? Probably not. But it’s who I am.
I no longer march and I don’t believe in text banking or phone banking. I’m one of those people who will not answer calls from unknown numbers and who finds unsolicited text messages annoying. But I can write so that I did.
I am fearful. I’ve often been literally sick to my stomach since early Wednesday morning. I know it’s going to get real ugly and dark and scary. I believe we will probably be okay because we’re old white people. Then again we might witness the end of Social Security and Medicare as well life-saving vaccines … but we are not panicking. Not yet.
For now, I’m grabbing any and every little bright star I can find. At last count, 69.1 million people voted for Harris so there are 69.1 million people in this country who still believe in Democracy. Another 2.2 million voted for someone other than Harris or what’s-his-name. I’m not sure what those voters believe in. But I will keep returning to that 69.1 million as 69.1 million brilliant stars in a very dark sky.
I find other brilliant stars in the Democrats who won local or state-level races, in the states that voted for reproductive rights, in the lawyers who are gearing up to stop or at least slow down the heinous policies set forth by Project 2025. I am not going to give up.
I can’t give up. I don’t want to give up. I think of Sonia and how much worse her life would have been if she had just given up and given in.
Lastly, these two need me.
Raji showing off his best side … or end.Wendy in deep slumber.
Please take care of yourselves. I know that many of you who read my blog feel as I do. You are all brilliant stars to me.
I don’t know where you are right now. I don’t believe in Heaven or Hell, but if there’s a Heaven, then I imagine …
You sitting at a picture window, in front of a card table where a spread of 1,000 puzzle pieces wait for your attention which is distracted by the Baltimore Orioles and Cardinals and Bluebirds also vying for your attention outside your window.
Your oldest daughter Charlotte is watching TV which is permanently set to daytime soaps, the ones you and she would discuss on the phone when she lived in Florida and you in New York. She sits in her blue leather recliner, offering running commentary that you only half listen to.
Your other daughter Shirley is flipping through Amway receipts while she recites the latest accolades of her grandchildren. During commercial breaks she’ll pick up a James Patterson novel and read a bit. She sits in her chair, a facsimile of the recliner she left behind, the shawl I knitted for her draped over the back.
You watch your birds, piece together your puzzle, and maybe listen to your daughters. You don’t have to hear every word. It’s enough to have them near you.
Maybe you’re waiting for one of your siblings to drop by. Maybe Beatrice who was the first to go, or Alice who was the last before you. Maybe your brothers Virgil, Ed, Bob, or Leon will show up, or Mildred, Edith, or Leona. It’s been so long since you had seen your siblings. And you wonder about the last two–Howard and Orvetta. You want them to be well until it’s their time and then … no pain, no pain.
You miss berry picking and going to the casino, but then your daughters might take you when you’re in the mood. In this version of Heaven, Shirley does not have Parkinson’s and Charlotte can breathe easily on her own.
After your daughters–your girls–died, you missed them so much that you were relieved to miss your 100th birthday. You got close, very close. But the pull of your girls was too strong, the loss of them too much to continue to bear.
People ask me why your last two children–me and your son–weren’t enough to keep you going. Why did you openly lament the loss of your girls as if they were the only children you had?
They were the only children you had for eight years. You were in your twenties then. By the time your son and I came along, unexpectedly, you were nearly middle-aged with a sick husband and decades of hard and poorly paid work ahead of you.
I want to believe that those first eight years, when it was just you, my dad and your girls, were happy years. Maybe, when your girls died, that was the loss you felt most keenly. They were no longer around to remind you of that time.
No child should die before their parents. No parent should experience the death of their child.
I know you loved me as best as you could. I loved you as best as I could. Yes, I could have been a better daughter. My efforts paled compared to my sisters. Yes, you could have been a better mother. Hindsight is 20-20. There’s regret on both sides, but no point in it.
You were never one for regrets. You didn’t like to look back, and you didn’t pay much mind to the future. From you, I’m learning to live in the moment. That may be your greatest gift to me.
Marie at 1 Write Way 