A Review: THE RED TENNIS SHOES (Final)

After dinner I called Burt.  He could still hear the exhaustion and anxiety in my voice after such a scary afternoon. We agreed I just needed to kick back and watch tv. I even considered a Jacuzzi soaker but I thought I might melt into the water.

Nothing interesting was on tv. I turned on my Ipod. I had progressed past the rudimentary cell phone and computer. Cate and Finn had spent a part of their Christmas visit helping me learn this new device. My son-in-law was much more patient with my learning curve than my daughter. I love my Ipod in the loud environment of the gym or an airplane. Before my trip, I decided to purchase an Ipod radio. I don't like to get far away from my music, especially my Music Man, Dan Fogelberg.  Every night in my cottage, I covered over any bumps in the night by falling asleep listening to his music.

Hot tea sounded good to me. Walking back to the sofa, I spied the guest book. One of the fun parts about staying at a B&B is reading what other guests have written and thinking about how you will sign out. The book had caught my eye earlier, but I decided to read it later, at my convenience.

Now it was convenient. Curling up on the sofa with my travel blanket, I put my mug down on the antique chest. It was great because you didn't have to worry about leaving a ring. The music was playing softly. Finally, after such a crazy day, I felt myself relaxing. After reading a little bit, I would turn in early. Tomorrow I would have to pack up everything before 10 a.m. but then I could relax and enjoy the weekend in the new place.

I took a sip of tea, putting it back down on the box.  The coffee table chest had become my writing spot because of its size and height. It was perfect for the sofa and almost as long. My laptop and paperwork were stacked on top, along with a couple of new magazines. I had a cozy little nest even with all the lights on.

The B&B property was close to town and just as old. The leaves had barely begun to pass their budding out and in the distance, a massive sculpture of Jesus stood on a ridge. I did not make a pilgrimage and I didn't need a sculpture to buoy my faith, but it was nice to look out and see Jesus standing on the hill, day and night.

Settled in, reading every one's comments, I grew calmer by the minute. And then the review, a couple of pages into the book.  "We loved the casket!  That is so cool to have an old casket in the living room as furniture."  Yes, I had to reread what had been written. And then came the major realization I had been enjoying the same antique box all week and it was a casket. Oh, Lord. And thank you Jesus, for standing on that hill two ridges away, even in the dark.

By this time, I was not still sitting on the sofa. I was jumping all over the room, calling Burt who was trying to make sense of all the shouting. Finally, I was able to relay what was occurring, the current tense of the extremely tense situation of dealing with an antique casket just feet from your bed. Even thinking about it now makes me throw up my hands.

One person remained calm.  Further reading in the diary revealed more references about the old box. Burt kept saying, "But it's never been used."  Whoa. Well, duh. But then he wanted me to lift the top and look inside for the extra pillows and blankets which had also been mentioned. Maybe if he had been there and I was in the bathroom with all the water running, singing Amazing Grace as loud as I can and holding two Holy Bibles, maybe then the lid could be lifted, to look for the extra pillows and blankets I thankfully had never needed.

We would hang up and then I would call him again. Here was a big old wooden casket in the middle of the room and I was never forewarned there would be a coffin in the middle of the room, a lovely bed and breakfast room. Oh my gosh. Mr. Logical, who is hours away, said calmly, "Amy, it's been there all along and it hasn't bothered you." But I didn't know what I didn't know, but now I did.

Of course, I slept with a light on, only sleeping when I fell over onto my bed. The sun woke me up, three hours later. I got around, packed and made coffee. Three hours is absolutely the bare minimum necessary for me to be able to open my eyes, form words and fall out of bed with hot or cold caffeine waiting on my nightstand. My sleep is precious and well-guarded. It helps my life run smoothly. I woke up wild and wired.

Later in the morning, I gladly moved to the new house, a neat old place with plenty of personality. My favorite room was the old dining room with a baby grand piano. I was kicking myself for not bringing my sheet music. But I didn't know I would have the house to myself.

House to myself. Not one of my favorite things, by myself, at night. In a large house. The front door would remain locked and my bedroom door had a keyed deadbolt. But the rooms upstairs were not yet reserved for the weekend and I was asked to keep the two back doors unlocked for easy access.  Never willingly or knowingly have I lived or slept in an unlocked house. Growing up in a big city, we locked our doors, coming and going.

I took a tour of the house to become familiar with my surroundings. Unfortunately, I found the basement door in the hallway near my room. Others might have ventured down the stairs but I didn't want to know how many vampires slept down there. I actually scooted a nearby chest against the door. Ichabod and Crane were not coming up that way. 

I tried to play the piano. All I wanted to do was sit in the pretty room and play my D.F. music which I had been playing all my life, but never memorized. I knew that would make me feel better.  Frustrated at my lackluster ability to remember the notes, I abandoned the idea.

I tried to write but I couldn't concentrate. Then the weather calls started coming in. I was wired, wild and now I was worried. I wanted Burt to leave early and come up this weekend. He was in an all day meeting and couldn't leave until after 5 p.m. and what about the dog? I called the manager, asking if dogs were allowed because my dog is wonderful and would be an excellent house guest. No dogs. Of course, dogs would probably scare whatever was in the basement. And there was an odd odor in the potting shed. Nothing got better as the day wore on, not my mental state, not the weather, not the color of the sky, not the possibility of a rescue. I was in such tunnel vision I didn't consider family who lived an hour away. I wanted to go home so badly but I also wanted to stay and finish my sabbatical. 

After hours of back and forth phone calls, about the weather and questions about if I was going to leave or if Burt was coming up, I realized my stomach was caving in from only drinking coffee and water all day. Everything was still up in the air. And the air was turning green to the far west as I made a run for an early dinner. I had a hamburger, guacamole and a frozen margarita. And the combination did calm me down a notch or two. But I still had no answers and the weather was marching in.

This system had produced tornadoes in the next state nearby. Tornadoes are a huge fear of mine but I've never been in one. In six weeks, I would be involved helping family clean up after the Joplin tornado. After seeing that horrific devastation, my lifetime fear would be compounded.  But for now, I felt absolutely frozen in not knowing what I should do. Burt decided to stay put. I told him I couldn't decide which way to go but I would call him back.  The clock was ticking.

Fifteen minutes later, my phone rang. "Amy, did you decide?"

I was pumping gas into my car for the trip home. The car was full to the brim with everything I had gathered up and tossed into the car, about four trips back and forth into the house. He was shocked, not believing I could move so fast. But as anyone who knows me will say, when I make up my mind to do something, look out. At the station, people said there had been a tornado two counties over. The sky was darkening and turning green black, always my favorite sky color. I told him I would call him when I got settled, wherever that would be.

My best plan of action was to head east and hopefully stay ahead of the storm. At the next town, I would have to decide whether to stop or keep going ahead of the storm, until I got to the next big town over an hour away. At that point, I would be driving through a national forest area, sparsely populated with few places to stop even on a good day.

As I drove east on the highway I had come across Monday, the storm was behind me, wrapping around the sides. The approaching clouds stormed across the western sky, darker than the night, with a slim piping of grey green sunset edging the black ripping. With new prosperity in the area, I hoped to find a new motel. At the farthest edge of town and no new motel in sight, I pulled into a station and went in and asked the clerk. She told me to turn around and head to the only decent place in town.

I pulled up to the office. Another first. I had never gone into a motel and gotten my own room. I stuffed some twenties into my pocket. For the last thirty minutes, I had been talking to the storm, looking over my shoulder as I drove, praying out loud. Now I was facing the coursing clouds, feeling the wind as it pushed into the vicinity and seeing the lightening. My heart was racing. I wanted shelter.

Just as I walked in, the wind slammed the door shut and lightening flashed. The little lobby had a television with a weather alert on the screen. Windblown and wild-eyed, no doubt I probably looked crazy when I came in talking about the weather. Seriously, at this point, it all became like a dream sequence to me. I asked the price. The manager couldn't have been nicer. I pulled out my money and took a pen to sign in. I looked down and couldn't believe those were my hands shaking and wondered if anyone had noticed. He said he'd put me downstairs in a central room where I would feel safer. Maybe. Why don't we name tornadoes or rate them ahead of time? With hurricanes, there are warnings, and initially days to prepare. Tornadoes are just there, bam.  Although, the digital radars have helped pinpoint storms, no one has found the ability to predict when they will fall out of the sky.

The rain was beginning to come down. I opened the back of the car and with all of my adrenalin, grabbed in order of importance, my purse, my unopened can of Coke, my medicine, my computer, my umbrella and my coat. I practically ran to my room and all the protection a cinder block building can afford.  It was old but it was clean and dry.

The tornado sirens started sounding about thirty minutes later. I had already talked to Burt and left a message for the B&B. I called Burt again while he was looking on the radar to check out the storm.  In a waking dream, you lose track of time. My lack of sleep was serious. The tornado warning ended.  I took my medicine with my last sip of Coke, laid my jeans and top out on the other bed and crawled into the cool sheets wearing my underwear and my tennis shoes. Relief for the first in over twenty-four hours. And no big old boxes anywhere.

The sirens went off again just as I was dozing.  I got up and put on my rain coat for a house coat and crawled back in bed. Middle of the night thinking - with my shoes on I could jump up and run into the bathtub and when I was found, at least I would be wearing my raincoat. Even later into the early morning, I woke up to the sirens, again. I decided the storm could have me, there was no more fight left. I had been in flight mode for over twenty-four hours.

I slept until I woke up, eight hours later. The April morning was grey November. But at least the bad dream was over and life felt more normal. On my way out of town, I grabbed breakfast and sat in my car thinking about everything. My first thought was my only success was in my failure. But then I thought about the craziness of being in three severe storms, progressively worse each time. In my favorite town, the people I had visited with, especially running into the bride and groom, taking pictures for them with their camera, and the light in their eyes and the party he was giving his bride and their friends in a month, on an island in a nearby lake. I remembered what it felt like to be married for one day and walking those sidewalks, buying peppermint fudge. What it felt like to be on my own and be productive and actually spend six nights all by myself, a first in my lifetime. And one of those knowing a casket was just feet from the foot of my bed.

And the hilarity of how I had packed up the car - my purse, my phone, two suitcases, a floor lamp, a computer, a printer, pillows, hanging clothes, a large tote of books and office supplies, a sack of groceries and a coat and umbrella and an unopened can of Coke.  I even remembered to scoot the chest away from the basement door. And how I drove to the gas station and was pumping gas, all in less than fifteen minutes, all fueled by fear. I had survived, everything, all by myself, with a little help from the angel in my pocket.


signed,


a photographer who forgot to ask the bride to show her red tennis shoes!


Originally published 09-24-13.

A Review: THE BRIDE IS STILL WEARING RED TENNIS SHOES (Part 3)

Sacred Grove by D.G. Womack

I checked my car thoroughly. Except for two very small dings, the car had not been damaged. I brought my purchases in and put the floor lamp together. Thankfully, the lamp cheered up the shadowed room. After washing my hands, which I always do after any outing, I plopped down on the sofa, propping my feet on the antique chest. My wandering for the day was done. I called a few  folks and relayed my storm adventure. After a supper of scrambled eggs, I opened my laptop. When I arrived yesterday, I discovered there was no Wi-Fi at the cottage. Facebook would have to wait until I could get to the library.

My days continued, quiet and simple, at the pace of my choosing. As soon as the sun woke me up, I would work on my writing. The morning of the Royal Wedding I set my alarm for early, early. The Prince was getting married. How well I remembered his parents' wedding day. Cate called and we chatted back and forth, as if we were in the same room together. Photos of Prince William had been taped to the back of her bedroom door when she was younger. If she couldn't be the princess bride, at least they shared a name and a love of Saint Andrews.

One afternoon, I went uptown. A four story hotel sits in the center of the downtown. When it opened in 1905, the 100 rooms had electricity and telephones. Next to the hotel, a bandstand, a gazebo, and a wrought iron fountain stand in a plaza. Wooden and iron benches, painted green, are a welcome respite after walking along the cobbled sidewalks, placed long ago, unforgiving of the hilly terrain. Shade trees and a natural hollow of rocks create a cool cove for three seasons.

When I walked into the gallery, it was love and amazement at first sight. One of life's pleasures is to be stopped in your steps, your attention riveted to a painting, a print, a melody, a sculpture or piece of literature that stops the cogs in your brain. For a moment, to be all about the wonder and the beauty.  The color and unique style caught my eye. The title, Sacred Grove. Painted the year my Daddy died.  I was hooked. But I was just looking.

The cottage had a little patio area where I liked to sit and drink coffee and write. I started an outline of a book already in progress. I submitted a couple of pieces to a writing contest and reviewed pieces I had written in the past. One day while I was sitting there, the manager nicely asked me to move
because the lawn needed mowing. He introduced me to the yard man. They were both distinctive looking, Ichabod and Crane, twisted scarecrows with bad teeth.  Nice but kinda' creepy.

Thursday morning, both mothers started calling about the pending weather headed for my part of the state.  Burt's mother is good to keep us updated on the weather but for my mother to call, well. They weren't sure I got the Weather Channel on my television. I did. Don't worry. If there is any weather pending, I have a sixth sense and I am high up in the crow's nest checking it out. And then Burt started calling. Three calls were okay but by mid-afternoon I was receiving county by county updates. Early notice is good, but when you are in the county where everything is headed, what are you going to do? Move? Knock on the door of a sturdy looking home. I didn't even have a good hidey hole anywhere. 

The weather station had this storm system pegged. Whenever the sky turns green-aqua, it is not for photographic purposes although it does make for dramatic pictures. Here I am, Miss Independent Writing Lady, knowing not a single person in this town but the Crane boys. Nothing like a good storm, ha. With no where else to go, I stayed put. Which was really my only choice but in the middle of the storm, I remembered the sweet, rock-solid library built into a cliff side..

Living on the fence line of Tornado Alley, spring storms are like the green pollen that covers everything just before April bursts. This is how life rolls in the South, and April is always one big stormy ball bouncing across, and up and down, and finally bouncing into Mississippi and Tennessee.  For me, this Thursday storm was unique for the amount of lightening inflicted on an area I was hiding in and also, for the hail.

My little protective hidey hole was nothing more than a glorified garage, albeit, a lovely, glorified garage. Of course, there was plenty of parental warning. When Burt called, the thunder and lightening were shaking the ground so badly that I had crawled under the bed, not into the bed but under the bed, for cover.  I was afraid a bolt would come through the ceiling.  He stayed on the phone, trying to calm me down.

At some point, the hail started.  Now I had to worry about the car, again. There had been nowhere to take it for safe keeping. I was in the garage, remember. And then the hail started falling so fast and at such an angle that it was naturally attracted to all the windows in the cottage. I can still hear the pings and cracks. I stayed under the bed until the storm passed. Then I grabbed my umbrella to check my car, with fear and trembling.  Once again, I thanked Ford Motor Company for their quality craftsmanship. Just a tiny, little dent or two.

I was exhausted. Eleven panes of glass had been pocked or cracked by the hailstones. Two hail storms in four days were two storms too many. Anxiety is an issue. A good, hot meal would help and it would be good for me to get out. A Chinese restaurant called my name. For our first date, Burt had prepared Lobster Cantonese as part of a college course. On this day, I went for sweet and sour pork. He was coming up to spend the last sabbatical weekend with me. But this weekend I would be on my own. I had already picked out a church to visit on Easter Sunday. 

Tomorrow I would pack up for the weekend and move into a house managed by the same owner.  I knew these arrangements when I made my reservation. The manager would help me move out and back in on Sunday night. But as Sister says, "We don't know, what we don't know."



signed,

the owner of the beautiful painting, purchased at a later date




Originally published 09-21-13

A Review: THE BRIDE IS WEARING RED TENNIS SHOES (Part 2 )

Places become familiar even when we don't visit often. Everybody has their spot, their breathing place. The sun slants differently. Leaves falling from unknown trees into curbsides full of mingled species. Fresh enticement from the same bakery every time you open the door, stepping in over the same threshold, this year, last year, five years ago. A slice of your sidewalk. Steps, sights and smells claiming you, refreshing you. Even just for a few days, leaving the touch.

A few years had passed since my last visit. A very full life leaving no moment for connection to my breathing place. While some things looked familiar, nothing stays the same, except for the fact I loved this place. The delightful French-style  bistro we discovered on our honeymoon and enjoyed for many years was now empty. Crusty bread, salad, quiche, French onion soup and our first chocolate crème brulee were served atop crisp table linens with cloth napkins.  Businesses had struggled during the economic downturn but others had run a well-executed course. A shopping mall and entertainment center had finally closed, "some one's dream" as my mother would say.  Our honeymoon bed and breakfast was for sale, as was another B & B we had visited. The roadside was weary with for sale signs but then another curve would be the booming, newest, largest gas station.  Here and there, new was beginning to replace the old because someone always has a new and better dream but unfortunately, most dreams do not last forever.

Monday, I headed to the next town to buy a lamp. The afternoon was overcast. A few years earlier, Cate and I had made a girls' trip to my favorite berg. The confinement of a speeding car offered an ideal environment to visit with your teenage daughter. No cell phones allowed.

We had made the same trek to the other town - less than thirty minutes. She rolls her eyes whenever I mention office supplies. Yes, they are a weakness. A new set of colored felt tip pens, arranged like the rainbow and drawing paper, became the after dinner entertainment. I drew our names in different colors and patterns. The doodled nameplate was taped to her bedroom door until she married and moved away.


My windowful little cottage

I was on my sabbatical with nowhere to be at any time, I let myself wander the aisles of this large retail market place, picking up this and that. When I stepped out of the store, giddy with my new purchases, I was surprised to see a new bank of clouds in the west. The colors were not pretty, the blue, green, grey of nothing good will happen. Hopefully, it was all look and no storm. I had no choice but to head the car back in the direction of my home for two weeks, right into the threatening storm.

The highway travels at the top of a hilly mountain, flanked by green meadow valleys. A couple of old, filled-in dogtrot houses, built by original settlers, hang to the ridge top. When the day is pretty and no clouds overhanging, this is a pleasant drive, back down into the valley below and up again, with an expansive view like the child in Robert Louis Stevenson's "The Swing."

.....Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
River and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside--

Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown--
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!   
  

I wasn't going to make it back to the cottage. The rain started and then hail. I pulled off the highway into an old cemetery. Large cedar branches hung over the drive. For a minute, I thought the cemetery would be my answer but I soon realized I needed more protection.

 Pulling back onto the highway, I headed for the nearest shelter which I had seen a couple of hours earlier, the huge, new gas station. A large network of metal canopies covered the pumps. Every car within driving distance had pulled in. I could not get my car completely under a canopy but I was close enough to partially block the hailstones hitting my car.

My well-loved car. This was the first, brand-new vehicle either one of us had ever owned in our lifetime. We had always driven late model used cars and done very well in our choices. We also had a very good buying agent. My dream come true was being pelted by hail. My ink exterior/camel interior with a sliding sunroof and heated seats, and my favorite - automatic lift rear gate.  High cotton.

The hail was smacking against the sunroof as if glass were breaking. With each strike, I waited for the sound of sunroof failure. Hail was ricocheting off the windshield.  If anything broke, I would have to pack my bags and go home for repairs. Sometimes the hit was so loud, I would shriek. And it seemed to last forever.

And then the hail stopped and I drove away, too afraid to get out and look at the damage. Two miles later I was back in town and the roads were hardly wet.  I stopped the car and opened my door and stepped up on the running board, trying to prepare myself for the outcome.

   

           

signed,

a woman turning off the lamp next to my desk, purchased that afternoon

Originally published  9-18-13

A Review: THE BRIDE WORE RED TENNIS SHOES (Part 1)

The bride wore red tennis shoes.  And she was running down the street as genteel as a bride, who is running down the street in a long wedding gown and veil, clutching a bouquet and her groom, followed by outfitted groomsmen, can run.  The groom had a ball cap on, backwards.  And they were very young.


Not as young as the crowd gathered on the steps of the tiny Carnegie Library - "Wa-Wa's" the junior high age group new to all the experiences in life, enjoying every activity with noise and abandonment, cheering on the wedding party.

 I had just pulled up to the curb on one of the tight roads of this quaint and quirky little village, one of my favorite places in the world.  The town is full of windy roads, some of them hanging on to the edge of the cliff sides in this hilly metropolis.  Parallel parking places are a premium.  The narrow roads are carved out like canyons between the city buildings and the Victorian homes built in another century when trains and carriages brought people here for the healing springs.

I jumped out of the car, grabbing my camera and got some shots.  This was my daily sojourn to the public library for internet service.  I was in the right place and the right time, in more ways than one.

This was just a few days into my writing sabbatical which almost everyone within shouting distance had heard me talking about for over a month.  A clever idea I devised on a bleak, cold January day to help me keep my sanity.

The very idea of a grown woman getting in a car and driving to a destination of her choosing. But this was the very first time in my life, all by myself, without friends or relatives. I think of myself as an independent woman but I had never lived in an apartment or supported myself until after getting married. Facts. Now at fifty-ish I wanted to spend time on my writing.

I had found the perfect location. My lists were checked and doubled checked. Burt was very supportive, one reason being that we both knew my favorite place well - we spent our honeymoon there, subsequent anniversaries (one with a bonus) and other trips throughout the years.  He helped me pack.  I left on Sunday afternoon after church, for two weeks.

My adrenalin picks up when I drive into these city limits.  I pulled up to the little sabbatical house and stepped out of the car. I felt like I was going to bust.  I have driven thousands of miles on other trips to exciting places but this was my trip.  Two weeks for my writing, an affirmation of my renewed belief that I was a writer whether I was successful or not, despite being sidetracked, by the fun things life had thrown my way.

I unloaded the car, set up my printer and found a perfect writing spot for my laptop, an old antique box in front of the sofa.  The one room cottage was as picture perfect as promised and charming in the fashion of this popular bed and breakfast mecca where uniqueness, artistic freedom and spiritual
enlightenment mesh together harmoniously.  I met the manager, ordered pizza from a watering hole up the street where I could occasionally hear laughter, and spent my first evening in my little house, gleefully happy.

An unexpected red glow greeted me very early on my first morning.  Even though I had closed every blind and drawn every curtain, the myriad of wood framed, single-paned glass making up the front wall, burned brightly once the sunrise fell on the red silk curtains.  This was not a problem because I love windows.  The former carriage house, turned cottage, was one large room, with a bed in one corner and the kitchen area on the opposite corner.  The rest of the room was the living area with a sofa, the antique coffee table, a desk, a television, a fireplace and assorted chairs.  Each side had three large windows. A modern bath had been built in a lean-to at the back of the place.

I had not made my journey to stay in bed all day.  One prerequisite of this particular spot was the ability to easily walk up to town and not have to worry with finding a parking place.  This was the week before Easter and the shops that closed during winter were beginning to open up for the tourists season.  My location was perfect except for the four flights of stairs I had to climb up to get to street level.  At that point, I was within easy walking distance.  After spending the bulk of the morning leisurely strolling in and out of artists' galleries, I walked back home with one or two small purchases, a special bar of soap and some peppermint fudge from a favorite candy shop.  I would have two weeks to finish my shopping.

During the course of the previous evening, I discovered the lighting was on the dim side, especially for any writing or computer work.  I have a strong relationship with good lighting.  There is an extensive local grocery store. I had already stopped by on Sunday and had the supreme necessities of Coca-Cola, coffee, milk, orange juice, bread, apples, eggs, butter and the next level of items required for the hard work of writing and television watching - the week of the Royal Wedding.  M&M's, Wheat Thins, Mint Milano Cookies, Cinnamon Rolls and Peanut Butter.

But I knew I would have to go in search elsewhere for the much needed lighting.  I couldn't take two weeks of dark nights.



The Bride Wore Red Tennis Shoes  (Part 2) to follow - a continuation of a "normal" getaway.



Originally published on September 12, 2013

SEPTEMBER 10, 2001

One year ago was the last Monday. 
The last Monday back to work after the weekend.  The last lunch with friends.
The last time to fill up the car.  The last  headache over a deadline.
The last glance at the work clock ticking to five.
The last chore of washing every one's coffee cup.
The last project to put off until tomorrow.  The last trash to empty.
The last toilet paper holders to be refilled. 
The last ink stain on the best shirt.
The last cocktail party to beg off.  The last time to set the answering machine.
The last mop buckets to fill up.  The last flour to dump into the bin.
The last paper to add to the copier.
The last sound of cans rolling into the drink machines.

The last call home to see what’s for dinner. The last shirts to pick up at the cleaners.
The last light switch turned off.  The last turn of the key to lock the office.
The last drink at a bar to avoid going home. The last package of gum to pick up at the newsstand.  The last steps descending the subway stairs. The last routine night at the station.    

The last cuss at afternoon traffic.  The last excitement over a date for dinner.
The last wait in the grocery line.  The last pizza delivery.
The last evening news worrying about the world.
The last empty home to come home to.  The last night for Monday Night Football.
The last bills to be opened.  The last night to put on something comfy to cook dinner.
The last night to call a mother.
The last shouts of glee from welcoming families.  The last battle over homework. 
The last detergent to run out of.  The last instruction to a youngster learning to set the table.
The last sink full of dirty dishes. The last harsh words over nothing at all.

The last bed to jump on. The last clothes to pick up off the chair.
The last briefcase bulging with a few hours work after dinner.
The last laughs over upcoming vacations. The last bag zipped and ready to go.
The last evening prayers. The last “no” to another glass of water.
The last sigh with a glass of wine. The last call to a girlfriend. 
The last check of sleeping children.
The last kiss goodnight.  The last eyes to close in slumber.

This was written on the one year anniversary of September 11. Originally published 9-3-13.

FIVE BY FIVE

While I'm on a roll, like a good librarian, I would like to point out the highest rated and the most popular posts in the last five years. For your reading pleasure, I present the top five in each category.


THE TOP FIVE POSTS RATED BY THE NUMBERS ACCORDING TO GOOGLE


1.     BJORN BORG HAS A PIMPLE ON HIS TEMPLE     August 19, 2018  
   
"There WAS a defining moment for the writer in me. My Daddy said, “You can always be on the newspaper!” the crushing after-second I found out I did not make the drill team at my new school. I probably fell out on the floor. My life was over...

My trusty cassette tape recorder was shaking in my lap. His fur coat was draped across a Razorback director’s chair. I was sixteen, he was twenty with brilliant blond hair and blue eyes... "
                              
https://tocatchathought.blogspot.com/2018/08/bjorn-borg-has-pimple-on-his-temple.html
                  
2.     THE DEFINITION OF A GOOD MAMA     May 13, 2018

For her, it has been a wonderful addition to her life...But this nutto cat is one more example of my mother's tremendous love and devotion...in her circle of family. And this cat is quite elevated...She gets away with mayhem because she has the ability to purr.

Leftovers are only tomorrow's meal in three weeks from the freezer. Waste not, want not.  But it was the chili, just that once.

Standing on the tarmac in her winter coat in Morocco.  Left waiting by her Naval Officer because he was right in third grade but wrong about her arrival time. 

https://tocatchathought.blogspot.com/2018/05/the-definition-of-good-mama.html


3.     BUT LATELY, I'VE LEARNED ALOT     February 18, 2018

I didn't know a collarbone could get old. But, lately, I've learned alot. I have learned my sixteen year old mind is attached to a little bit older physical body...I learned I was most likely watching Trump in escort to a function. According to my experts.

I have learned that you can lose your boarding pass but not your cool while the TSA agent is nothing but nice. Of course, no one was in line, thankfully, while you pull little receipts out of your crossover bag and lipstick and a credit card and the "pill" tin and the phone.

I have learned that 4,000 miles in one month is alot of travel.

https://tocatchathought.blogspot.com/2018/02/but-lately-ive-learned-alot.html

4.     OH SAY, WHY CAN'T WE SEE LIFE AND LIBERTY?     July 4, 2017

You can see Washington D.C. from her kitchen window.

"You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one."  The exact lyrics when this man from Togo tells me he is dreaming of the day he can bring his family to America.  He is working on the Dream.

When and why does our dream for freedom, two hundred years ago, one hundred, thirty years ago matter more than the least of these?  Life and liberty- a gift not a given.

https://tocatchathought.blogspot.com/2017/07/oh-say-why-cant-we-see-life-and-liberty.html


5.     VACATION RECESS: A GOOD MATTRESS WILL GET YOU THROUGH   July 2, 2017

We had four because we were four, traveling the country in a packed to the gills Yellow Ford Galaxy...The best ever air mattresses were dual purposed, a necessity for camping.  By night, soft pillows of air tucked under flannel lined sleeping bags.  In the light of day and within sight of water, buoys across whatever beach, river, or lake called our name to a day of water-filled adventure.

We didn't have anything resembling an air pump but two pairs of lungs.  Oh the joy for the lucky children who got to blow up the mattresses.

https://tocatchathought.blogspot.com/2017/07/vacation-recess-good-air-mattress-will.html

MY TOP FIVE PERSONAL FAVORITES (in no particular order)

1.   THE BRIDE WORE RED TENNIS SHOES   (The Series)  Part 1  September 12, 2013

   
The bride wore red tennis shoes.  And she was running down the street as genteel as a bride, who is running down the street in a long wedding gown and veil, clutching a bouquet and her groom...can run.

This was just a few days into my writing sabbatical... But this was the very first time in my life that I had driven off to spend time all by myself.

I unloaded the car...and found a perfect writing spot for my laptop, an old antique box in front of the sofa.  The one room cottage was ...charming in the fashion of this popular bed and breakfast mecca where uniqueness, artistic freedom and spiritual enlightenment mesh together harmoniously.

https://tocatchathought.blogspot.com/2013/09/the-bride-wore-red-tennis-shoes-part-1.html

     THE BRIDE WORE RED TENNIS SHOES     Part 2   September 18, 2013

 Our honeymoon bed and breakfast was for sale... The roadside was weary with for sale signs... Here and there, new was beginning to replace the old...but unfortunately, most dreams do not last forever.

When I stepped out of the store, giddy with my new purchases, I was surprised to see a new bank of clouds in the western sky.  The colors were not pretty, the blue, green, grey of nothing good will happen.  I had no choice but to head the car ...right into the threatening storm.

https://tocatchathought.blogspot.com/2013/09/the-bride-wore-red-tennis-shoes-part-2.html


     THE BRIDE IS STILL WEARING RED TENNIS SHOES   Part 3   September 21, 2013

Thursday morning had hardly begun when both mothers started calling about the pending weather...the thunder and lightening were shaking the ground so badly that I had crawled under the bed, not into the bed but under the bed, for cover.

One day...the manager ... introduced me to the yard man.  They were both distinctive looking, reminding me of the description of Ichabod Crane, twisted scarecrows with bad teeth.  Nice but kinda' creepy.  But as Sister says, "We don't know, what we don't know."

https://tocatchathought.blogspot.com/2013/09/the-bride-is-still-wearing-red-tennis.html


     THE RED TENNIS SHOES (FINAL)     Part 4     September 24, 2013

Hot tea sounded good to me.  Walking back to the sofa, I spied the guest book.

Curling up on the sofa with my travel blanket, I put my mug down on the antique chest...My laptop and paperwork were stacked about...I had a cozy little nest even with all the lights on.

I slept with a light on...I woke up wild and wired.

Nothing got better as the day wore on, not my mental state, not the weather, not the color of the sky, not the possibility of a rescue...The sky was darkening and turning green black.

I had never gone into a motel and gotten my own room... Now I was facing the coursing clouds...My heart was racing.  I wanted shelter.

https://tocatchathought.blogspot.com/2013/09/the-red-tennis-shoes-final.html

2.   KUDZU     November 18, 2013

The last morning in Maine was ending in a late afternoon in New Jersey...With all of his energy, Daddy went inside, returning with a map and directions to our room.

In its halcyon days, this motel had offered the best accommodations...The place was not seedy or dirty, just past its prime.

The young man sitting next to me was from New York City.  He asked me if I was from the South...Touring Graceland had been his personal highlight...he loved the South.

I told Buddy I had been on the road with my parents...now we were heading home. Daddy had been a trooper but he was worn out... we were headed back to the South.

https://tocatchathought.blogspot.com/2013/11/kudzu.html


3.     TUMPED, RATTLED AND ROLLED     August 14, 2015

This great adventure began with a surprise and a birthday... I told him to pack his basics. I packed tricks up my sleeve.

 Neither one of us had ever floated or tubed down a river...this was going to be a nice little float down a lazy river with a little rapid here and there.

You are at the mercy of the river.

https://tocatchathought.blogspot.com/2015/08/tumped-rattled-and-rolled.html


4.     DROP DAY      October 21, 2017

I woke up this morning and realized today was the day, the primary day of acorn flinging, Drop Day. Elephants running across our roof.

Drop Day is a big deal at my house.  We have oak and hickory trees circling the house.  The acorns are so big...The dog has had his legs crossed for days. 

https://tocatchathought.blogspot.com/2017/10/drop-day.html

5.      TO SEE AND HEAR     December 17, 2017

Ezekiel. Sarah. Mary. Wondering, running, hoping.

https://tocatchathought.blogspot.com/2017/12/to-see-and-hear.html









5 X 5 The Top Recipes and the Top Poems soon to follow, completing the anniversary celebration series. 

DOROTHY SHOES

Pleasant smiles. Quiet dinners at good restaurants. Pictured toasting the evening away. "Lovely" couple. They had retired to New Mexico where she had continued working as a speech pathologist. But only they knew, when they stepped out into the evening and returned home, behind their bedroom door, hung a treasure among treasures. Their little secret for twenty-two years? Goodnight dear. Goodnight honey. Good night "Woman-Ochre". Goodnight Willem deKooning. Sleep tight $160 million dollars.*

Chances are most of us would think the painting was (?) interesting and maybe of some value. But if the stolen pair of Ruby Slippers which skipped down the yellow brick road were sitting nearby on a dresser, we might shriek. The slippers may have a value of $5 million at auction, according to The Washington Post. To most of us, the monetary value doesn't compare to the representation of having a heart, having intelligence and possessing bravery, along with a loving family.

Without an alarm or fingerprint, the sequined shoes were stolen in the middle of the night from The Judy Garland Museum in Grand Rapids, Minnesota. A smash and grab, leaving one sequin behind as evidence.* A pair of red sequined shoes does stand out. Only millions of people have watched Dorothy slide her size 6 1/2  into the red shimmering shoes, standing in the new technicolor world of Oz. What is the drive to risk the punishment for putting the shoes in a plastic shoebox and tipping it up onto a shelf? Or into a shoebox marked for an ugly pair of orthopedic shoes? A jealous witch?

Labor of love

My father worked in retail. One day a family came into his office for help. The parents had brought in their very little daughter. After leaving the store, they discovered she was holding onto a tiny purse. They told her she must bring it back to the store. My father gently asked the little girl why she took the purse. "Because I wuv it," she said, with her eyes watering.

I have found the Dorothy shoes, as we call them. Almost to three, Cate had double pneumonia with high fever. Even after the worse of it, she languished on the sofa for what seemed a very long time. My baby was very sick. And the most requested and best received, The Wizard of Oz video. On TV at least once a day, sometimes twice a day. Seriously.

We had one sofa, one living room and one television. She learned every word, verbatim. We sang to the music. Our house was very small. There was no place to hide from the Lollipop Gang.

When Cate got sick, my mother came for a few days and helped around the house, cooking her famous Worcestershire meat patties, pear salad, green beans and mashed potatoes or salmon croquettes, LeSeur peas, rice and one roll.

With Cate's third birthday coming up, I was ambitious and decided to make a pair of Ruby Red Slippers. This was before Pinterest. I bought red lace-up tennis shoes made in the USA. Sequins, red beads, red sparkling spray paint and red grosgrain ribbon. And a big fat thimble and a sharp needle. I hid everything in a shoebox and only worked on them in my bedroom after her bedtime. It was impossible to totally cover the shoes in sequins. The canvas was stiff as a board. But I prevailed.

Glinda, The Good Witch left the sparkly shoes in Cate's bedroom on her birthday morning, along with a note! Cate loved her shoes from Glinda.

Today, authorities announced the stolen pair of Ruby Slippers has been found after an undercover operation involving the FBI. They have the slippers but not the culprit.

Can love be in a house where the mind of an artist is held captive behind a bedroom door?

What about a place where possession is never enough, wrapped in the fear of discovery?

Or a love of immediacy, the innocent swooning for something beautiful but no clue of responsibility or the cost of blindlove?

Dorothy was right. Or as Cate said, "Grannie, there's no place like home."


"It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home."
    Edgar Albert Guest




Sources:   CNN September 4, 2018/ The Washington Post August 3, 2018


WHOOPS. Correction. My post, Swept Away - In Remembrance, suffered a little set-back. I do try to carefully edit before publishing. Unfortunately, I must have been called away for chocolate or knitting. My apologies. Next time, feel free to send me an email and let me know I've messed up.