A Dream? No, It Wasn’t…..

“You’ll forget the minute your feet hit the floor.” the beautiful girl said.  “That’s the way it’s supposed to be.  The way it has to be right now.”

It had been a long night.  I was back in my girlhood bedroom.  A soft lamp glowed in the corner.  The sheer white curtains swagged in the windows.  The window shades drawn against the darkness were a little lopsided.

Just the way they used to be.

The teenager sat at the end of my bed.  Her feet were drawn up underneath her.  She leaned against my book case and smiled at me.

“You’ve enjoyed my company.  I know you have.  We’ve laughed and told stories.  But, you have a few questions.  You can ask them you know.  I won’t promise to answer all of them.  But, you can ask.” she said as she threw her long auburn hair over her shoulder.

She leaned in with interest.  She really wanted to know what I wanted to know.

“Who are you?” I asked tentatively.  I really wanted to know but was a little afraid of the answer.

“Oh, you know who I am.  You’ve missed me.  I have to say I haven’t missed you at all.  Oh, don’t go and get your feelings hurt.  I haven’t missed you because I’m always with you.  You know that now.” she proclaimed as she stretched her long arms over her head.

Alright.  That wasn’t the answer I was expecting.

“I know you?  You do look familiar.  But, no.  I’ve never seen you before.” I said quietly.  The last sentence sputtered out as I looked into her green eyes.  Her green eyes that looked just like mine.

“A little confused, are we?” she said with a laugh.  “Take a look into that mirror on the bookshelf.  You’re not talking to yourself.  You haven’t lost it.  We look very similar.  But, completely different don’t you think?  We do have the same eyes.  And, you can thank me later for the nose.  But, your father had a lot to do with the shape of your face.” she said.

It was beginning to dawn on me.  It had been a long night just sitting there talking.  Getting to know each other.  Listening to each other’s stories.

I finally got it.

“Ma?” I whispered in her direction.

“Darlene?” she whispered back.

And, then she threw her head back as she laughed at the ceiling.

“Boo!” she barked out with another laugh.

I blinked at her………the beautiful girl curled up at the bottom of my bed.  I had missed her every day since my 40th birthday.  When she went and died on me.  I blinked and blinked the tears out of my eyes.

“Oh, don’t go crying on me now.  Didn’t we have a great night?  Didn’t we talk and talk?  Didn’t we learn all about each other?  Your questions have been answered.  You won’t remember asking them……………..but, the answers are here.” she said as she touched my temple.

I had just seen my fourteen year old self in that little mirror on the bookshelf.  The young woman in front of me was about eighteen.

“Ma?  What kind of game are you playing at?  You go and die.  You don’t visit me in my dreams.  Nothing!  Nothing!  No signs.  No nothing!  You just go and leave me without a goodbye.  You don’t check in…………….where in the HELL have you been!” I yelled.

My feet almost hit the floor as I went to get out of the bed.  You really need to be standing to yell as loudly was I wanted to.

“Uh, uh, uh!  Don’t let your feet hit the floor!” she said with a chuckle.  “It’s all over the minute your feet hit the floor!”

I drew back and sat on my end of the bed.  At this point we looked like bookends sitting at opposite ends of the twin bed.  The bed that was covered by the quilt that hasn’t existed in thirty years.

“Okay, I’ll ask the questions then.” said the beautiful girl.

“What’s with the dust covering that typewriter?  You gave up dolls and wanted a typewriter.  You told us that you had to write.  You had to tell your stories.  What’s with the dust?  Don’t you think it’s about time?” she wanted to know.

“You have books in you.  Books that people will actually want to read.” she added with a laugh.

“I have been writing.” I complained.  “It’s taken over my body.  I started and I can’t stop.  But, I use a computer now.  Maybe you don’t know what those are but………….that typewriter doesn’t exist now.  I sold it twenty years ago at a yard sale.”

“I know all about your stories.  I read them all.  Sometimes I read right over your shoulder.  You’ve gotten your father just right.  All the ladies have fallen in love with your Daddy.  He’s gotten a big kick out of that you know. ” she said with a soft chuckle as she got comfortable hugging a pillow shaped like a dog.

That pillow hasn’t existed for forty years now.

“You’re still getting to know me in your stories.  Oh, sometimes you get me just right.  Sometimes you don’t.  But, don’t stop trying.  The answers to the future do come in remembering the past.  Remembering who you are.  Who you used to be.  Wondering who I really was before you came along.” she said as she scooted towards the edge of the bed.

“Recognition.” she said as she was about to stand up.

“Recognition?” I asked.

“Go back and find it.  You’ve already written it.  It was so late at night…………it came out of you when you were half asleep.  Recognition.  You got it just right.  You knew yourself.  You understood exactly who I was.  The shortest story you’ve ever written…………..you made every word count.  You blew the dust off of that typewriter.” she said proudly as she stood up next to the quilted bed.

“Just remember………….I am with you every time that you write about me.  Even if you get it wrong.  I’m standing right next to you.  Your mother would never leave you, Darlene.  It’s an impossibility.  I’ll always be with you.” counseled the beautiful young woman.

“You won’t remember this for a long time.  Not until you come across that story.  Recognition is what you called it.  Don’t let your feet hit the floor!” she said laughingly as she disappeared from the wood paneled room.

I came across that story today…………..I hardly remember writing it.  A writer doesn’t say this very often……….but, I got it just right.

And, tomorrow when I awake from my dreams?  I will sit at the side of my bed.  And, I will think.  I will remember.  I will grab the snatches of my dreams in both hands before I let my feet hit the floor.

And, Ma?  I have written that first book.

 

Recognition

February 27, 2016 ~ growinguponcolumbusstreet ~ Edit

I was about 14.  I was at the kitchen table eating crackers and peanut butter with my mother.  She was telling me some story about herself and one of her sisters.  She threw  back her head and she laughed.  She laughed so hard she picked up the dish towel sitting on the table and threw it in my face.  She threw it to tease me.  Like I was a sister and not a daughter. To aggravate me and it make me laugh too.

I stopped laughing and stared at her.

“What?  What are you thinking right now.  Your face is so weird!” my mother exclaimed.

Perhaps I couldn’t explain it well. But I tried. I’m still trying today.

“I just realized.  I just realized you’re not just ‘Mom’.  You’re a person.  You were Ellie before I was born.  You were little Ellie in Worcester.  You were Ellie to your sisters and brothers.  You’ve been Ellie all along.  You’d be Ellie even if I didn’t exist.  Even if I’d never been born.” I whispered in astonishment.

She stopped laughing and fooling with me.  She got quiet.

“You just discovered that?” my mother asked in a quiet voice.

“Yes.” I answered just as quietly.

We stared at each other over the kitchen table.

“Even without me, you would be you.  You never needed me to be you.” I said.

She looked at me and said “I wouldn’t be me without you.  Never, ever, without you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pet Phrases

I’m the funny one in this house.  Or, at least I think I am.  Perhaps I just picked the right husband.  He listens to everything I say.  He responds in all the right places.  He usually laughs with me and not at me.

My honey can tell a funny story.  He needs to work on his stories for length however.  He can drown the punch line in too much detail sometimes.  I’ve learned to wait for it.  It’s always worth it.

He works a technical job.  I ask him how his day went.  I’ll hear about meetings.  I’ve learned to widen my eyes and pinch the back of my hand when he goes into too much detail.  I’ve been married to this guy for almost forty years.  I’m still figuring out what the hell he does for a living.

Like I said.  It’s technical.

He’s an old-fashioned guy.  Every year I buy him a Day Planner.  Each month has its own little book.  A few pages a day.  He uses it at work.  He takes notes at meetings.

I’ve glanced at these books more than once.  Abbreviations.  Acronyms.  Once in a while you hit pay dirt.

He’s jotted down what he’s thinking at the moment.

“You still don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.  Dear, God, go and do your homework.” might be found in the middle of the page.

“You called a meeting for this?  This could have been done in an email.  I don’t have time for this crap today.”  he jots down as he smiles at a speaker.

He also jots down phrases.  Most of the people that speak at these high powered meetings have gotten past the um, um, um way of speaking in public.  They fill in the blanks when they need to think with their pet phrases.

“Generally speaking” is one.  “Bet you a dollar!” is another.  My husband squiggles them into his notes.  These are the phrases that are driving him crazy at that very minute.

He told me he got himself into a little hot water in a meeting today.  He cracked himself up with his note taking.  Hey, it’s Friday.  It’s been a long week.  He’s tired.  The guy sitting next to him that read his notes guffawed a teensy bit also.

Today’s stand out phrase that he wrote down was “As a whole.”  This was the speaker’s pet phrase today.

“What’s so funny about that?” I asked.

He showed me his notebook

I read “As a whole.  Sounds Italian to me.”

 

 

It’s Cold Out There

P

Photo:  Top of our lamp post a few years back……………yup, that was a LOT of snow.

I’m not a vegetarian.  I eat meat.  Not a lot of meat.  I’m satisfied with the deck of cards sized portion that dieticians recommend.  Not that I pay a lot of attention to dieticians.  I’m just more interested in the cheesy potatoes and the green beans covered in butter and almonds.

I’m starting to lose interest in pork chops though.  This has to do with being introduced to some very nice, smart pigs wearing tee shirts.  Yes, I’m serious.  They were out for a walk with their owner.  I was told they’re smarter than dogs.  They love pillows and blankets and watching Downton Abbey.

I love all of those things too.  So, should I really be eating any being that I have so much in common with?

I love chicken.  No, I don’t love any particular chicken.  I love to eat them.  So, I will resist if anyone ever tries to introduce me to their favorite pet chicken.

I don’t personally know any cows.  But, they’re pretty safe with me.  I’d rather eat their friend the chicken.

I’ve known some smart parakeets.  Lovely dogs and loyal cats.  Canaries.  Guppies with names.  Gerbils that were escape artists.  I’ve never been tempted to slap any of them between two slices of bread.

Ducks aren’t safe around me if there is any blackberry sauce in the vicinity.  They should stay in their large group for safety.  They should just fly over my head in their V formation honking out their obscenities.

I know where to find them in the freezer aisle.

It was sixteen below zero the other night.  Yes, that’s right.  -16 degrees Fahrenheit.   The kind of cold that seeps through the walls and settles around your ankles.  The kind of cold that makes a deep breath of fresh air painful to the lungs.  It also makes your nostrils stick together.

I got a little worried about my animal friends that live in my woods.  The birds.  The squirrels I feed leftover bread and unwanted macaroons to.  The opossums that scare the crap out of me with their rat like tails.  The majestic deer that decimate my rhododendron bushes.

I was even feeling sorry for the skunks that live under the shed.

I mentioned my wildlife worries to my husband.  He didn’t help any.  He didn’t tell me any bedtime fairy tales about fur lined burrows in the deep dark woods.

“Natures way of separating the weak from the strong.  Some of them are going to freeze to death.” he remarked as the snores overcame him.

My big round eyes stared at the ceiling.

I love all these animals that let me catch a glimpse of them now and again.  The squirrels and the birds.  The opossums with their babies on their backs.  The deer.  They’re all safe with me.  Okay, I admit to one bite of venison.  I hated it.  Like I said the deer are safe with me.

And, you’d have to be starving in the woods to even think of eating a skunk.

I rolled out of the bed.  I decided to watch some television while I worried about the freezing animals out there.  I turned the heat up a little when I saw my cat burrowed under a stack of throw pillows on the couch.

I made myself a snack.  No peanuts were harmed in the making of my sandwich.  I decided the bread was a little stale.  I might as well throw it out the back door.  Won’t the birds and the squirrels be happy to see that in the morning I thought.

I ripped the Italian loaf into small fist sized pieces.  I poised at the back door.  Open it quick.  Throw throw throw.  Close the door fast and only lose ten degrees of heat in the living room.

I opened the door.  I threw.

I heard a thunk.

That is funny.  There is nothing out there to hit.

I threw another bigger piece.

Thunk…………………..SNORT!

What?

I flipped on the backyard flood lights.  I was staring into the eyes of a huge deer.  And, his friend.

The large male put his head down between his front legs and sniffed at the hunks of Italian bread that had hit him in the forehead.  Twice.  He stared at me and snorted again.  He put one hoof on the bottom stair leading up to the deck.

I apologized.

“Oh!  I am so sorry!” I said to the elegant animal.  “I didn’t mean to hit you.  Don’t eat that.  It’s not good for you.  Go back to tearing apart my rhodies.  Have a good night.  Stay warm.”

I slammed the door and looked at the cat that was now rubbing against my ankles.

I think she was laughing at me.

I opened the door once again and said to the animals retreating backs “I don’t eat venison you know!  You’re safe here.”

I slept late the next day.  No reason to pop out of bed when it’s so warm and the house isn’t.  I heard the wind whip past my windows.  I burrowed deeper into the blankets.  The cat came under the blankets with me.

It was about noon.  I was bundled up.  Wool socks in my boots.  A fleece lined vest under my parka.  I stared out the front door at my snow covered car.  I threw my purse over my shoulder.  I tucked my car keys into my fleece lined gloves.  I held my breath and I went for the car.

The snow brush wasn’t in the trunk like I thought it was.  I popped open the back car door and grabbed the long black ice scraper.  The air hurt to breathe.  My nose squeaked shut.  I started brushing the icy powder off of the car.

I stopped.  I wanted to spend a moment drinking in the silence that only sub zero temperatures and snow can give you.  I try to take a moment in time to enjoy such things.

Gives me something to write about later.

But, there was no quiet.

The road had been plowed many hours before.  It had been covered by a few inches of fluffy whiteness since.   Tire tracks were apparent where neighbors had gone to the grocery store ahead of me.

The quiet was broken by the sound of something running down the road.  Fast!  What the heck?  Who or what can run that fast in the snow?  The answer to that question rounded the bend.

I was expecting perhaps a large German Shepherd that had broken it’s leash.  A sprint for freedom.

I wasn’t expecting a line of ten wild turkeys running down the middle of the street at about twenty miles an hour.  In a perfectly straight row.

I sucked in a deep breath.  It hurt.  I burst out laughing.

The turkey in the front stopped.  These turkeys must have been trained in the old Vaudeville Days.  They all bumped into each other like keystone cops when their leader stopped running so abruptly.

The one in the back looked at me standing there with the long black snow brush in my hand.  He squealed out a warning.

I don’t speak turkey but I think he yelled “Gun!”

Then the smart one in the middle (the one that no one ever listens to because he’s a know it all) spoke up.

“What the hell are we running for?  That is a gun in her hand.  Fly!  Dammit!  Fly!” he blurted out.

Turkeys do not have pretty voices by the way.

If you’ve ever wondered……………….a twenty five pound turkey only needs three running steps to take off and fly over your head.   Ten of them were quite a sight.

I smacked the top of the car with the snow brush over and over as I laughed my head off.

And, I had been so worried about all the animals freezing in the night.

I still won’t eat a deer.  Not because they’re so majestic staring me down on my own deck in the middle of the night.  It’s because one taste made me say “yuck’.

Turkey?  I love turkeys.

With mashed potatoes and gravy.

And stuffing……………….and ooooh!  Cranberry sauce.

And, perhaps a little slice of pumpkin pie.