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 three socket light cheered up the dark 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.  Upon my arrival the day before, I discovered that there was no Wi-Fi at the cottage.  Facebook would have to wait until I could get to the library.

My days continued, very quietly and simply, 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 to wake me up, bringing back memories of watching another royal wedding thirty years earlier.  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.  When I was her age, David Cassidy had been the center of my photo collection.  If she couldn't be the princess bride, at least they shared a name and a love of Saint Andrews.

One afternoon, I took an easy stroll up to town.  An old hotel sits in the center of the oldest part of town.  A gazebo and a wrought iron fountain stand in the crescent shaped plaza next to the hotel.  Long, wooden and iron benches, painted green, are generously placed in this cool cove, a welcome respite after walking along the cobbled sidewalks placed long ago, unforgiving of the hilly terrain.

I have three favorite galleries with a good mix of local artist. My parents and grandparents always favored something original.    Usually, the piece that speaks to you is not the latest model of whatever the Jones' are purchasing.  Cost may affect what you can afford to pay but it is not the jury and the judge for what is true art.  There are some items on Antique Roadshow that were ugly when they were first purchased a zillion years ago.  Time and rarity may bring value but ugly doesn't change.  Buy the notecard set from a museum and frame a card.  Use your sense and cents wisely to surround yourself with art you love.

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.  Where did that idea come from?  How did they master the medium?  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, reminding me of the description of Ichabod Crane, twisted scarecrows with bad teeth.  Nice but kinda' creepy.

Thursday morning had hardly begun when 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?  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 I love so.  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, the sweet little marble library built into a cliff side came to my mind.  Next time.

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 was unique for the amount of lightening inflicted on an area I was hiding in and also, for the hail.

My little protected 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 was almost too much.  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.  Enjoying old standbys reminded me of Burt.  Our first date was Lobster Cantonese.  He was coming up at the end of my stay, to spend the weekend.  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 this 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

THE BRIDE WORE RED TENNIS SHOES (Part 2)

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

Travel time to that next town is less than thirty minutes.  One item we purchased was a new set of colored felt tip pens, arranged like the rainbow and drawing paper.  She rolls her eyes whenever I mention office supplies.  Yes, they are a weakness.  When we returned, the evening's entertainment consisted of me doodling our names in different colors and patterns.  Her nameplate was taped to her bedroom door through high school, graduation and into marriage.  We get in trouble when we call it the guest room, which it is now.  Of course, it will always be her room even though everything has changed.  Our original guest room is now my office.


My windowful little cottage

With graduations, weddings, family health issues and travels, my last visit had been with Cate.  While some things looked familiar, nothing stays the same, except for the fact that I do love this place and its ability to refresh my batteries.  The delightful French-style  bistro we discovered on our honeymoon and enjoyed for many years, even a later visit with our teenage daughter, 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.  Many businesses had struggled during the economic downturn but others had run a well-executed course.  A shopping mall and entertainment center had finally closed, "someone'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. 

I went into the store and because 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 western sky.  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 and the occasional old two-story farmhouse and even a couple of old, filled-in dogtrot houses built way back by original settlers.  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!       

One of the places I had noticed on my earlier journey was an old, small cemetery.  My mother says I'm observant and I do try to notice where I am in my surroundings.  The rain started and then the hail.  I remembered the cemetery which was overshadowed by large cedar trees.  Hoping the thick branches would be protective, I turned off the highway and onto a small gravel drive, waiting under the sheltering trees.  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 the canopy but I was close enough to partially block the hailstones hitting my car.

My well-loved car had never experienced a hailstorm.  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.  This car was my ink exterior/camel interior dream come true with a sliding sunroof and heated seats, and my favorite - automatic lift rear gate.  High cotton. 

The hail was smacking so hard against the sunroof it sounded as if glass were breaking.  With each strike, I waited for the tinkling sound of sunroof failure. At the same time, 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.  We were all huddled under the canopies together but not together.

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