The Long Way Home

I may be sentimental.  But, I’m also a realist.  Those two parts of my personality clash sometimes.

I am totally in the here and now.  But, I pay attention to whispers.  I pay attention to signs.  I don’t ignore signs.

My mother has been gone from this world for twenty two years now.  That doesn’t mean we don’t talk.  I see her in my dreams.  I know what she’d say in certain situations.  Is her voice in my head occasionally just my imagination?  Or, is it real?

A phrase my mother might not have ever heard of is “The new normal.”

I’m just wrapping my head around it myself.

A few days ago I volunteered.  I volunteered to be the family member to go out and pick up dinner.  Face mask around my neck at the ready.  Charge card in hand.

A twenty minute excursion turned into two hours.

The sushi wasn’t ready yet when I called in at the restaurant.

“Ten minutes!” said the sweet lady that mans the cash register.

I decided to wait out the ten minutes sitting in my car.  Because?  The new normal suggests that two human beings can’t be in the same room together for ten minutes anymore.

I sat in the car.  The sky darkened.  I looked to the left and watched a very black cloud slide in sideways over the buildings.  It kind of looked like a dragon from Game of Thrones.  The wind picked up.  Rain came down in buckets.  The sound of the rain hitting my car was pretty deafening.

I saw the lights flash in the restaurant and go dark.

Power outage.

I waited another ten minutes and entered the building.  The sushi chef was finishing my order by the light of three cell phones held by his grandchildren.  I hoped that I wouldn’t find a finger in the food once I got home.

“You’d have been better off with a grilled cheese and tomato soup!” my mother’s voice said in my head.

“Well, they were in the mood for freaking raw fish!” I said as I ran to the car.

I got totally soaked to the skin in that ten seconds.

I was six miles from home.  It took me two hours to get there.  The dragon cloud that I had noticed a few minutes before………………turned out to be a tornado.  It struck down between me and my house.

I know many back roads to my home.  I tried each and every one of them.  I was met by huge trees down on every road that I tried.  I did 20 point turns to avoid the trees because the sides of roads were washed away.  Wires were down.

This devastation happened in the five minutes while I was paying for the sushi I no longer really wanted.

I went many miles out of my way.  I’d pull over now and then to try and call home.  My husband tends to become a nervous wreck if I’m late.  I was having one hell of a time finding a passable road…………..I didn’t need the extra stress of having him climbing the walls at home.  Or, worse.  Driving out to find me.

My cell phone hung up on me every time I tried our home number.  Ah!  Power must be out at home.  No power at home?  No phone service.  I texted my son’s cell phone.

“I may have to go to Schuylerville to get home that way.  Every road I try is blocked by downed trees or fire trucks.  I’ll get there when I get there.  Tell Daddy not to wig out.” I started.

I tried to get home from the right.  I tried from the left.  I went above us.  I went every route I’d ever taken.  Each time I was met by a downed tree and wires.

I’d been at this for more than an hour.  I went back and tried the original short route.  Trees were still down.  I pulled over and called home and connected to my son’s cell phone.  I have no idea how I got through.  I hear the tornado took down most cell towers near here.

“Daddy says he has a way for you to get home.  Hold on a minute.  John across the street told him how he got home.  Here’s Daddy.” said my son.

My husband got on the phone.

“Okay.  Listen closely.  I have no idea what the names of these streets really are.  Head towards the ice cream place where we used to go for clam rolls when the kids were little.  Take that left right past the building.  Go past the red house with the white chicken coop and take a left.  Hang a hard right that brings you behind the other development.  Don’t try to come in the main entrance.  Go behind our neighborhood and come in he back way.” he said over the static of the cell phone.

“Does that make sense?” he yelled into the cell phone.

“Yes!  I know exactly what you’re talking about.”  I answered.

I took the long route to the ice cream joint.  Oh, only 20 miles out of my way…………I took the route I thought he had described.

Have I mentioned yet that I really don’t like sushi all that much?

By this time my hands were gripping the steering wheel.  I hadn’t left my house for anything in over a month.  Now, I was murmuring under my breath “There’s no place like home.  Just let me get home.”

Over and over again.

A red cardinal flew across my windshield.

I braked in order to not hit it.

Red cardinals are my symbol for my mother.

“Oh, come on, Ma!” I screamed in the car that was starting to smell like bait.

Cars were behind me.  Cars were coming towards me.  That was a good sign.  Signs of an open road.

I came to a four way stop.  Half a mile to home.  What was the hold up?  I didn’t see flashing lights.  I didn’t see trees in the road.  Come on!  Move people!

I have to pee so bad!

There was a lady in the middle of the street.  Holding a folding chair.  And, she was trying to hurry a huge tortoise across the street by bumping it with the chair.

Nope.  You can’t make this stuff up.

“Oh, please, let there be no more trees down between here and home.  I’m so close!” I said out loud as I watched a very, veeeeeeeeeeeeeeery slow turtle cross the road.

My mother’s voice filled my head.

“Maybe you should get to church once in a while.” she said.  A little accusingly.  A little judging.

“Oh, yeah?  Mom!  Have you ever heard of a freaking pandemic?  Churches are closed right now!  I just read a story of a priest blessing his parishioners with holy water………..he was using a FRIGGING squirt gun!  Talk about what you know about!” I yelled at her as the tortoise finally got to the weeds at the edge of the road.

My husband’s strange directions got me home.  I had to drive slowly through our neighborhood.  For some reason there were small groups or people standing here and there and everywhere.  I paid close attention as I drove so I wouldn’t hit some little kid running around the adults in a circle.

I parked in the driveway.  I sighed a huge sigh of relief.  My forehead hit the steering wheel as I said a heartfelt “Thank you, Jesus!”

I ate sushi with my son and husband, even though I would have preferred a grilled cheese and tomato soup.

Then, my husband took me for a tour of the neighborhood.

Cars with their windows blown out because they’d been hit by trees.  Three houses cut in half because huge pine trees were blown from the ground by their roots.  The damage was immense but no one had been hurt.

We stood in front of our house after our walk.  There was no power.  But, we didn’t have a branch down.  Not one leaf littered our yard.

A bright red cardinal swooped in front of me as I stepped onto our front porch.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Moment In Time

 

I had a lot of aunts and uncles.

I could easily keep track of the relatives on my father’s side.  They all lived far away.  I recognized their handwriting on Christmas cards.  I enjoyed their yearly visits.  My Daddy had three sisters and I had no problem telling them apart.

My mother’s relatives.  That was a different story.

Ma had a lot of them.  She came from a huge Irish Catholic family.  I’ve never stopped to actually count them …………..because, I will feel guilty if I forget someone.  A good guess is eight adult siblings were connected to my mother.  They all had spouses.  They all lived close enough for numerous visits throughout the year.

One of my favorites was my Uncle Jimmy.

My mother treated him differently.  He was older than she was.  She waited on him even though he didn’t expect it.  She hung on every word he said.  Ma’s parents were long gone.  I think she distributed a little parental worship onto her oldest siblings.

I have no idea what Uncle Jimmy did for a living.  But, in his spare time he was a marvelous musician.  I loved to watch his fingers fly over a steel guitar.

My parents rented a camp on Lake Champlain every summer for years.  They eventually bought one there.  Ma’s relatives came and went.

Uncle Jimmy would come for a long weekend most summers.  He’d bring a cousin or someone along to keep him company in the car.

He was a very quiet man.  He probably wasn’t used to the commotion of so many people in such a small building.  But, he seemed to love it all.

When the noise level got a little too much for him……………..he’d go out and sit on an Adirondack chair and just stare at the lake.  I would miss him and go looking for him.

I had a lot to say when I was a kid but I wasn’t a chatter box.  I enjoyed quiet.  I remember Uncle Jimmy so sharply to this day because………..neither one of us was afraid of quiet.  Neither one of us had the need to fill a quiet moment with chatter.

I’d find Uncle Jimmy at the lip of the cliff sitting in a low wooden chair.  Those chairs always come in pairs.  I’d sit next to him and squint my eyes at the setting sun bouncing off of the water.  We stayed quiet for quite a few minutes.  I sometimes wondered if he even knew I was there.

But, he eventually would break the silence.

“There are quite a few of you girls…………..and you all look quite a bit alike.  With your long brown hair.  You wonder.  Don’t you?  If I can even tell you apart?” he asked me one night as the sun started sinking into the water.  As the mosquitoes started to buzz.

“No, Uncle Jimmy. I don’t wonder about that.  I’m about a foot taller than the other girls.” I answered with a laugh.

He laughed with me.

“And, your mother taught you how to walk into a room.” he said quietly.

I thought about it.

“I suppose she did.” I answered in the gathering darkness.

“When I got home from the war………….your mother had grown up.  She was so beautiful.  She was so tall……………….and she was slouching because she was ashamed of her height.  I had a talk with her.  I told her to stand up tall.  I told her she was exactly how God made her.” he remembered.

“I taught her how to walk into a room.” he whispered quietly.

“I don’t have children of my own.  I love all my nieces and nephews.  I come here every year to see how the ones from Connecticut have grown.  You’re as beautiful as your mother.  Your eyes are just as green.  When I look at you…………..the years melt away. If you ever need me………….you pick up a phone.  I’ll always be there for you.” he said in the longest speech I’d ever heard this quiet man say.

My Uncle Jimmy passed away when I was about eighteen.  My mother cried every night for a week in her bedroom where she thought no one could hear her.  I sat many of those nights in the living room……………one wall away from her and cried with her.

But, death doesn’t stop love.  Death makes things different.  Death is only final if you look at it that way.

I had a shining dream when I was about twenty five.

Once again…………..I sat in an Adirondack chair next to my Uncle Jimmy.  We gazed over the lake water again……………together.

Once again……………I waited for him to speak first.

He eventually did.

He tried twice to say something to me but it was very muffled.  I stared at his beloved face and was sorry that I couldn’t read lips.  I eventually had to say out loud “Uncle Jimmy.  I can’t understand you.  You have to concentrate and you have to say it slower and louder.”

He concentrated.

“I’m new to this.” he said.  “I’m still learning.  Can you hear me now?”

“Yes, I can hear you now.” I answered as I sniffed the air coming off of the lake.  As I heard the birds settling into the trees.  As I smelled campfire smoke and heard the slamming of the squeaky camp door.

“I just wanted you to know that you’re never alone.  I just wanted you to know that I’m always with you.  You were all my children…………and, I’ll never stop watching over you.  Never!” he said as he turned and smiled at the beautiful lake before him.

I wasn’t the only one that had that same exact dream.

 

Church Ladies Chauffeur

I didn’t see it as a blessing way back then.  I saw it as an aggravation.  Doing my duty.  Putting whatever I had to do on the back burner……………….because, I now had a driver’s license.

My mother never learned to drive.  She saw no need for it.  She was perfectly content at home.  My father worked a night shift.  All she had to do was sit in a kitchen chair with her purse in her lap during the day light hours.  Stare straight ahead………….and, my father would stop whatever he was doing and he’d ask her where she wanted to go.

He’d wash his hands, comb his hair, grab his car keys and off they’d go.

I took Driver’s Ed in high school.  A poor man that was paid to do it took me out on the road.  He was patient and didn’t scare easily.

I turned sixteen and asked my father to get me to the DMV so I could take the driver’s test.

“But, Little Girl!  You’ve haven’t driven since that time you almost killed us all getting to my parent’s house that Sunday.  I never prayed so hard in my life.” my father confessed.

He showed me his shaking hands for effect.

Daddy was born dramatic.

“My driving is just fine, Daddy.  I took lessons at school.  I even know which side of the road to drive on now.  Haven’t knocked a mailbox over in months.  That duck deserved to get run over!  But, boy was that duck noisy when he died!” I teased.

I drove the both of us to the DMV and parked his huge station wagon between two police cars.  Didn’t scratch either of them.

“Well, what do you know!” Daddy mumbled under his breath.  “She might actually pass.”

And, I did.

I didn’t celebrate for long.

Daddy worked nights…………………but, I didn’t.  I went to school.  I delivered my papers and then I came home for dinner…..a little homework…. a little TV……and then bed.

That license had been in my wallet for about two days……………….when I came out of the bathroom and saw my mother sitting at the kitchen table.  A sweater over her shoulders.  Her purse in her lap.  Staring at the clock over the stove.

“If we pick up Mary now, we’ll get there on time.”  my mother announced.

“What?  Who?  Where?” I asked.

“Bingo at the church.  Tonight!  Mary and I want to go.  You’re going to drive us.  You stick around and be our good luck charm.  You can fetch for us.  Fetch us coffee.  Donuts.  I’ve given the best years of my life to you…………….and it’s time for some pay back.” my mother announced.

“The best years of your life?” I asked.

“Yup, didn’t have any gray hair until you arrived.  These lines around my eyes…………..all you.  I like to call them laugh lines…………….but, they’re really worry lines.  No one told me that having a daughter with a mind of her own would give me wrinkles.” Ma said as she watched the second hand sweep around the clock.

“Get the car keys, now!  Don’t make me show you my stretch marks!” my mother announced.

I got the car keys.

This is where I was going to complain.  This is where I was going to moan about wasted hours.  How I became the chauffeur to a small group of church ladies.  But, I just can’t moan about it.

I had a freaking great time with them.

Bingo.  Church bazaars.  Luncheons with bishops…………..okay, I wasn’t crazy about having to dress up on a Wednesday.  Being sent to the nursery to pick up a hundred lilies for the altar at Easter.  Back to the nursery in December to pick up a hundred poinsettias.

Ironing altar cloths.  Digging around in church closets and finding the ancient nativity pieces.  Giving them a bath.

“You’re giving baby Jesus and the blessed Mother a bath, I see.” said a priest who had creeped up behind me in the church vestry.  “Be careful, lovely girl.  Those pieces are a hundred years old.”

Gulp!

The ladies group grew and grew.  My father now took the tiny car to work and left the station wagon to me.

Daddy would pat me on the head as he headed off to work every night.

“Do your duty, Little Girl.  Do it with a smile on your face.  These are the days that you’ll remember for the rest of your life.” he’d say as he ruffled up my hair.

The church ladies became my friends.  They told me all about themselves.  They invited me to their homes.  I blew up balloons at their birthday parties.

The church ladies threw their sons my way.

I now had male help picking up lilies at the nursery.  Decorating the church Christmas tree that stood next to the statue of the Virgin Mary.  Young men sat next to me at Bingo and told me amusing stories.

I finally figured it out.

I was seventeen and they were trying to marry me off.

I wasn’t having it.

The final test of my patience with the church ladies came in December.  A very handsome , smart , funny young man helped me find the nativity in the bowels of the church.  I bumped into him in the dark and almost stopped breathing.

Oh, yeah.  Smart.  Good looking.  Great laugh.  A little too old for me.  He even smelled great.

This was what I had promised myself would not happen.  I was going to finish school.  I was going on to college.  I was going to be a famous writer.  I was going to see the world.

“I’m glad my mother asked me to come along to help tonight.” he said as we loaded the nativity into the elevator.  ” You are one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen up close.”

He was actually being sincere.

“Thank you!  How sweet!  What a nice compliment! You’re much too old for me.” I said as I pushed a camel out of the elevator.

The next day I found myself an evening job.

I handed my mother the car keys.

“I can walk to work from here, Ma.  Learn to drive.  It’s time you got your license.” I said as I quit being the church ladies chauffeur.

“That beautiful young man was too much……………. wasn’t he.  We over did it, right?” she asked.  “Damn!  I knew he was too good looking!”

“Yup, big time.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Rosary

I’ve written this story before.  This time it will be better.  That’s the way it works you know.  Time and healing makes everything stronger. Especially, for a writer.

The original story was taken down because of my immaturity as a writer.  Because, I listened to critics.

And, the critics said that I was a little bit nuts.

Years have gone by.

And, what have those years taught me?

That I see things through my own experiences.  Through my own lens so to speak.  And, I understand that you may see things only through your own experiences.

This story will also be re-written tonight because……………..of a friend that held my hand at my father’s funeral.  I hadn’t seen her in twenty years and she gave me hell.

“Why did you take that story down?  People didn’t believe you?  I was there……remember?  I was there and it happened just the way you said it did.” my old friend said as she looked deeply into my eyes.

She gave me strength to write it again.

I grew up in a very loving family.  We resided together in a very small house.  We were surrounded by wonderful neighbors.  We could walk to the market.  We could walk to the church.  We could hear the school bells from our front yard.

My parents were church goers.  They didn’t just attend mass.  They were believers.  Holy days were circled on the calendar.

I didn’t find myself in church just on Sundays.  Easter and Christmas holidays were taken up by church.  Incense.  Choirs.  Decorating the altar with flowers and nativity figures.

The Catholic religion was very important to my parents, especially my mother.

Mom had a very close relationship with the Virgin Mary.

See, I just lost half of you.  And, that’s alright.

This time I tell this story just for me.

My parent’s bedroom was very small.  It was filled with furniture that was too big for it.  Lack of closet space was rectified by a large armoire.  A tall bureau held clothing within the drawers.  On top………….lived a statue of the Virgin Mary.  She was resplendent in her blue and white robes.  Many rosary beads rested around her neck.  Candles in jewel toned holders surrounded her.  A very dramatic biblical oil painting was on the wall behind the glowing candles.

The rosary beads weren’t just for show.  Nor, were the candles.  My mother lit the wax nightly and said her prayers.  She tried to get me in on it quite often.

“I’ll say the rosary with you, Ma.  But, only if I can kneel on a rug.  Does the Virgin only listen to me if I’m in pain kneeling on a hard wood floor?  Does that get me extra points?” I wanted to know.

“Watch your mouth.” my mother would answer as she passed me my favorite set of rosary beads and a pillow to kneel on.

Praying wasn’t saved for hard times  My mother didn’t just call on Jesus and Mary to solve horrible problems.  She prayed every day.  She prayed in thanks.

“What are we praying for tonight, Ma?” I would ask.

“Tonight…………….we are saying thank you.” she replied most every day of the year.

My mother left a large group of siblings behind when she married my father.  He moved her to another state.  She now had to rely on the telephone and expensive long distance charges to keep in touch with her extended family.

Every now and then her prayer request would change.  It usually coincided with a sibling’s visit to a hospital or some other dramatic family event.

One early evening my best friend and I arrived in my little kitchen.  Night was falling and our paper route was done.  I had invited my friend for dinner and to spend the night.  She lived right across the street and her parents always knew she was with me.

My mother was already in the bedroom and on her knees.

I looked into her bedroom and asked what was wrong.

“Eat your fish sticks, the two of you.  And, then go upstairs and get your brother.  I need you in here.” my mother answered as the beads were counted in her hands.

I bumped into my best friend as I turned around in the hall way.  She had heard it all.

“You can get out of here now, if you want to……………if you think this is weird.” I said to her.

“Nah, your mother and her statues don’t scare me.” my best friend replied.

It seems my mother had answered a phone call.  Someone near and dear to her was near death.  Not expected to make it.  Prepare yourself.  Doctors say there isn’t much of a chance.  All you can do is pray.

Ma hit her knees darned quick.

My friend and I ate our fish sticks, tartar sauce and french fries.  We enlisted my brother and went to my mother’s bedroom.

Ma handed us each a rosary.

“Jesus listens to the prayers of little children.  So, I need you to pray hard.  Pray that he lives.  Pray that there is no brain damage.  It’s not his time to go.  I don’t accept this.  So we need to pray and we need to mean it.” Ma said.

My eyes told my friend once again…. that she could get out of there…..now.

She stayed.  We all prayed.  Darkness was complete and the glow of the candles was our only light in the small bedroom.

I pray with my eyes closed so my brother was the first to notice it.  For some reason he was up and walking about and moving the statue of the Virgin Mary.  He was moving candles around and pulling window shades up and down.

My mother was in her prayer zone so she didn’t notice him.  My friend and I did.

I looked questioningly at my brother and he pointed to the wall.

There was a silhouette of a kneeling Virgin Mary on the wall.  She bowed her head and then lifted it in prayer.  Her hands were visible.  In her hands was a beaded rosary.  As my mother prayed…………….the silhouette moved it’s fingers and slid separate beads between her fingers.

The details were that clear!  The figure on the wall was animated.

My brother moved the statue.  The silhouette never changed.  He slid the candles around on the bureau top and nothing changed.  The window shades up or down did nothing to disrupt the praying silhouette.

He opened and closed the bedroom door.

Nothing changed.

The silhouette stopped praying long enough to turn and stare at my brother.  She raised her hand and pointed to the floor.

My brother kneeled once again.

He did what he was told.

My mother eventually became aware of the animated shadow on the wall.  It wasn’t in color.  But, different shades of dark and light outlined the Virgin’s robes.  Stray hairs escaped her veil.  Her fingers were long and slim.  Her profile was delicate with a strong nose and beautifully shaped lips.  You could count each bead on the rosary clear down to the cross dangling at the bottom.

Dangling and moving.

“Look at that children!” my mother exclaimed.  “Once in a life time will we see something like this.  Be very quiet………….and listen to the stillness.  No, we can see her but we can’t hear her.  She wants to hear us!”

“Hail Mary, full of grace…………………….” we all said in unison.

I noticed the time on the clock.

That is the minute our loved one awoke from his coma.