A walk on a day in January

Went for a gentle hike today.  First hike since my broken wrist in August.  I asked my Love to please let us go on something I won't fall down on.  Feeling wimpy yet knowing I need to do this. 

What a lovely sky of blue with long sweeping clouds.  The header is another photo from today.  My Love and Annie way ahead of little Stewie and I....sorry no photo of Stewie.  Long shadows from the bare Oak trees on the East facing hills.  Quiet and alone except for a family out with their Golden.  I think I will go here with the poochies on my own during the week while the weather is clear. 

Closets in our hearts

   There she was coming down the lift while I looked up from the back stairwell.  Gliding down in slow motion.  Her caregiver walking down just ahead of her descent.

"Your daughter is here to see you Mrs. L."

     My mother looks at me, her eyes scanning down at figures below her.  The caregiver says she has much going on today with a previous visitor and what else I do not find out.

"Ellen", she says it clear as a bell.  My name.  The name I have not heard her say in ever so long.  I am surprised and delighted all at the same time.

     She reaches the bottom, rises from her seat with the aid of our hands and stands facing me.  Her words that flow from her mouth so odd.  Her face shows a glimmer of being happy to see me.

     I see she is wearing the black pinstripe jacket that she wore on Christmas day and black slacks in need of being taken in as they are too large for her now.

     I direct her to her chair that she always sits in at her breakfast table and sit in the chair nearest her.  She reaches for my hand and I to her.  

"Love you...." those words I understand that come from her lips.   My thoughts come to how she says these words to me now so often.   Whereas before it was I who would tell her "I love you" at the end of our phone calls or saying goodbye from a visit.  A desperate attempt from me to want to have her understand how much I needed to know I was truly loved by her.  I had to tell her to let me know.  What an odd thing for me to have thought?  Does she not love me?  Does she love me the way I love my children?


     I look at that jacket.  How is it that her mind goes to this jacket and the need to wear it?   My mom has three very large closets in her bedroom, one being a walk-in.   Two other bedrooms have large closets with one room having a walk-in as well.  Down on the lowest level of her home she has another walk-in closet.  All are filled with her clothes.

     When Papa was alive he surely had a closet in their room.   I know this to be true, I know he had the two smaller ones though it is hard to see it that way now.  I remember after he passed away seeing his handsome jackets, suits, dress shirts, slacks, and sweaters all neatly hanging in one near the armoire.  I see his grubby clothes as well.  The ones he wore to do "work" around the house.  The puttering that men do so well.  I see those pale khaki ones that he would wear with an old polo shirt.  They were the kind one doesn't wish to let go of because they are comfortably broken in.  

     When a spouse passes away, while they leave our presence their belongings, clothes, personal items remain.  How long does one hold onto the clothes, shoes, hats and such?  For my mom is was a bit by bit passing on of his things.  A long raincoat to a friend who might use it.  His belongings of day to day passed on.  Yet in the top drawer of the armoire his watch, wallet, keys and small items such as these remain.  I only found this out while trying to figure out where she might be hiding her jewelry before we insured them and put them in her new safe.  I wanted to gather them up and put them in my pocket.  I wanted to still feel like he might put his watch on.  I never noticed, though I know it doesn't, if the watch still ticked.  No, I know it has stopped as surely as his heart did.


      How long does one leave their loved ones closets empty once they have taken those clothes away?  How hollow to see a room still in the living yet a closet empty.  Moved on.  How long before one chooses to not open the door to see that emptiness?  The wanting of it to not be empty of their loved one and the comfort they once had.  


     I can imagine my mom filling each closet more full to somehow fill her emptiness she had within herself.  More items added till it no longer looked like it held a man's life of living.  Yet now filled with clothes never worn, tags still on, alone hanging mutely.  I have looked at these items remember how my mom enjoyed shopping.  She often shopped alone, getting to know the store personnel who kept their eyes open for things she might like.  She bought to buy for no other reason except to buy.  She didn't need these things.  It just was her way to fill the empty spot in her closet.  When it became too full she started to give those clothes away only to go and buy more to once again fill the space that to her was still empty.  She did not know that while one can fill a space it does not fill your soul of the loneliness that creeps in.  No matter how her family tried to help fill in the space we were not what she wanted.


     I have clothes with stories.  Memories of a time and place that make them hard to let go even if they were out of style, worn out or do not fit.  Most are of my children clothes.  The tiny layette gown they wore, so small but once worn by my babies with curled up legs that kicked and moved in them.  Receiving blankets I made of flannel so soft and cozy.  I have a dresser filled with childhood sweaters, dresses, knit baby hats and such.  A trunk with baby toys, handmade blankets knit and crocheted. In the attic more clothes of each of theirs to someday hopefully to be passed on to a grandchild.  Two of my daughters closets hold boxes of each child's life, school days, drawings, cards, report cards, stories of their growing up.  The inside walls of the closets covered with their personal touch of photos, fortune cookie fortunes, magazine pictures.  I can't remove them though my Love would like to clean the walls up.  Stories, so many stories I know nothing of but they do.  Those are my closets, drawers of my heart.  Held there that keep me whole as the mother I am.  Dreams, sweet dreams.  Though I hold these treasures of days gone by my soul is full.  I know I need not fill a visual space to know what I have. 


     The closets in our hearts to keep full, to hopefully overflow.  To spill into our arms, hands, fingers, eyes, to softly graze our skin with the life memory of times well spent.  A lifetime to fill, to share, to open. 


    

Those Silver Goblets

A prayer for what I believe must be a Christmas dinner.   The year I am unclear of but near 1963.  The little child me, eyes wide open with a grin.  Naughty me to not be in reverence .  My brother is praying so very hard with such determination.  My mother in a nun like pose with her hands.  My Nan, bowed head with humble heart.

God is great
God is good
And I think thee
For our food
Amen.


That was what I would say when it was my turn to say prayer.  My brother must have said something more creative than my repeating this simple prayer.

Crisp linen table cloth and napkins, my mom's Chantilly silver neatly placed next to her Lenox China pattern of Harvest.  Candles lit  with her centerpiece of gold and red.  

See the silver goblets?  Oh those silver goblets how I loved them!  Our water staying chilled in them as well as a frosty condensation forming on the outside.  Sometimes she would fix real Egg Nog and serve it in them.  But not for my brother and I as it had bourbon in it.  Southern Egg Nog which is nothing like what comes in a carton.  Real eggs separated, with yolks and cream beaten till frothy.  Sugar added along with the bourbon then let sit to "cook" the egg.  Beating the egg white to a stiff consistency and folding them gently into the egg yolk / cream / bourbon mixture.  When I was an adult she fixed it after a very long time of not serving it.  It had quite a kick and though I am not fond of bourbon I would try it again.   Maybe when the silver goblets come back to me.

Remember the song "Indian Giver" ....
That song plays in my head over the numerous times my mom would give and take them from me.   Several times she loaned them to me for a special dinner I would be doing.  It was the gifting that bugged me.  Each time she gave them to me they were all cleaned with silver polish and wrapped up.  Some lines she would say were that she didn't really use them much and new I would enjoy them.  Each time I was thrilled to be given those cherished globlets and within a few months she would need them back for her own special dinner.   I would not see them come back to me the last time this happened.

I could have reminded her to return them but that wasn't something I could or would do.  She didn't take to kindly to my asking for them back or most times there would be an excuse.  She once even said I didn't want them and had given them back to her!   They stand in grace in her large glassed door cabinet in her dining room.  All twelve staggered on the shelf like trophies along with other silver platters, urns, and such.   

San Francisco 1977

     Hauling our first Christmas tree up to our fourth floor apartment my Love and I were laughing and filled with smiles.  The needles from our tree left a trail up the stairs to our door since it had been another drought year for California leaving  Christmas trees dry and brittle.  No trouble!  It was Christmas!  Just a few needles left behind for our landlord Mario to vacuum up.  We had gone to the Delancy Street Foundation's tree lot down from where we lived and found our perfect tree.  A trip to Cost Plus led us to small wooden painted ornaments and the nearby drug store where we picked up lights.  We placed it in the corner between our windows in the living room to sit and admire as we cuddled on the the sofa.  Our first year together was like being on a honeymoon all the time.  We were far enough away from family to be really on our own but close enough when we were asked to dinner or a gathering. 


     My Love and I had lived in our  San Francisco apartment since June, the month before we wed, in 1977.  I had found this place while driving up and down the streets looking for 'For Rent' signs once we knew we would both be attending San Francisco State University for the Fall semester.  It was directly across from Golden Gate Park, with a view of the ocean and the biggest down side was living in the fog most of the time.  Still on quiet nights we could hear the fog horn blowing.  It reminded me of times out sailing on a calm socked in fog night when all you would hear was the lap of water on the sides of the boat while listening for the deep 'BUUUUAAAAAA!' sound of the fog horn letting you know how far land was.  


     Of course this perfect apartment would be on the top floor with no elevator.  We had a front row view from our bedroom windows as well as from the huge bay window in the living room of  Golden Gate Park.  We gazed at trees that stood strong and inpenetrable as though looking out on Sherwood Forest from the times of Robin Hood.  Yes, there were Merry Men amongst the growth below those trees.  I was warned by an officer on horseback while out jogging that it was not wise of me to do this as women had been raped or robbed in the hidden trails that wove in and out of the roads that ran through the park.  My Love and I tried jogging together, or attempted to try,  but he with his long legs ran circles around me.  Our dear Arleen and Clark had let us use their lovely Oriental carpets on the hardwood floors which as much as we enjoyed using them we would have rather that they had not moved away prompting a need for a place for them to be stored.  We had a charming breakfast room with a  built in hutch with glass doors and the tiniest kitchen with oddly plenty of cabinets.  I had a large old-fashion gas range that kept it cozy warm in there and was wonderful for cooking on.  Unfortunately I was not the best cook for my Love.  We did the laundry along with what felt like everyone else up the street at the nearest laundromat while we read the Sunday paper hopefully finding a place to sit while we waited. 


     Up the street from us was the home of Jefferson Airplane.  We never happened to see them even though they still owned the house.   It stood out due to the faded black paint color and oddly covered windows while we lived in the neighborhood giving it a forlorn and rundown look.   We were close to the Haight which was a pretty seedy neighborhood in the 70's so we rarely ventured there.  Our neighborhood was called the "Richmond District" with many small and unique ethnic restaurants and shops.  It was so cheap to eat out for two that we spoiled ourselves often by trying them whenever we could.  From Russian food at the "Miniature Bakery" we tried Borshcht and Pelmeni where the Babooshka who waited on us scolded me for not eating all my food.   

Jefferson Airplane home

We went to Chinatown often to browse the shops and bakeries but for us our favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurant  was Henry's Hunan Restaurant.  Small, with just a few closely placed tables, we chose to sit at the bar which filled the length of the place, while Henry himself helped cook and made suggestions of what to try.  Hot, fiery peppers made the dishes tasty as well as cleared your sinuses that only subsided the heat for me with a 7-Up and a beer for my Love.  If we sat at the end of the counter we could watch the help making the dumplings or chopping chicken with a cleaver knife.   My Papa came to love this food and it's proprietor whom opened a larger restaurant several years later.  Our personal all time favorite was the Smoked Ham dish that is unlike any Hunan or Chinese dish I have ever had.  To this day we always order it.  No argument over it except there is never enough.  Oh yes,  their Steamed Dumplings are simply the best we have ever tasted!

Henry's Hunan Restaurant

Henry Chung and his fantastic cookbook

    Occasionally on a Sunday morning my Love's sister and her family as well as his parents would come over to go for Dim Sum in the heart of Chinatown.  We often went to Asia Garden and sometimes to Yank Sing for some incredible dishes.  Chinese ladies would stroll up and down the aisles with metal carts covered with small plates or steam baskets singing out to the customer what dishes they had.  We never understood anything they said but we would stop them and they would lift the lid for us to see and pick.  A lot of great fun and adventure having Dim Sum as there was so much noise, talking, smells and sights to see.  Many tables were crowded with Asian families of all generations as well as folks like us clicking away with our chopsticks.  Afterwords we would walk the streets of Chinatown looking at the windows of Peking ducks hanging upside down or Tea Eggs in large glass containers, to Herbal shops, cookware, bakeries, and large stores filled with Chinese ware.

Dim Sum

Peking Duck

Chinatown

   Another haunt we had enjoyed for years was Mario's Bohemian Cigar Store where we could get a great authentic Cappuccino served in a real cup no less with a small biscotti to dunk in it.  In the back was a foosball table that you could play on for free.  It was always crowded with all sorts of people from old Italians from the neighborhood to young folks like my Love and I, all there to warm up in on a  cold  San Francisco evening.  San Francisco was an easy place to explore and parking was cheap once upon a time.   We could park in the Police lot  that  straddled the old Italian area and Chinatown for a buck an hour. Perpendicular to these neighborhoods was the raunchy area of strip clubs, hawkers yelling for you to come in for the shows, flashing neon lights and streets often crowded with Sailors on leave for the night.  Amongst them were the folks who lived in the apartments above this jungle.  Such contrasts in such a small area.

Mario's Bohemian Cigar Store

     My Love's brother found this crazy place called Cafe Sport that was also in North Beach.  The inside of the place was as much a feast for the eyes as the food was for our stomachs.    Every dish was filled with garlic and their specialties were seafood dishes.   We always went with a large group so we could order as many dishes as possible.  We would get so excited thinking about what the dish would taste like as we scanned the menu.  Wine would flow as we waited for the waiter to come.  There dinner times were seatings so everyone had to sit down before the food frenzy would begin.  The standing joke however was that once we would start telling the waiter what we wanted he would often say they were out of it.  We would pick another dish and it could be available or it too could not.  What ended up happening was the waiter would tell us what we were getting!  It didn't really matter because the food was so good the mood jubilant that we just waited till each dish arrived to devour.  We would walk out of the place reeking of garlic for the next several days.  

Cafe Sport

    Those days are so vivid in my mind and I guess I wrote a lot more than I thought I would...and realized this is a subject that still has more to go on...so Part #1 ...to be continued!

    


    

Heebee Geebees!

5:00 A.M. I am awakened hearing the oddest sound.  I can't figure it out in that brief moment before I prod my Love ....

"Wake up"

Nothing...he doesn't make a sound

"What is that?"

"What."


"Can't you hear that?  What is it?"

I am wondering if it is the pool pump/filter that is going to explode.  (I seem to think any odd machine sound is something potentially going to explode.)



"Go see what it is.  Your the man."   I think I have said this to my Love every time I am awakened by odd noises in the night, 'Your the man'.  I notice the dogs don't even wake up.  A shadow at the foot of our bed is the kitties who do wake up.  It figures that they hear something.  


My Love crawls out of the bed.  What is that sound.  RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!  He is softly walking but I don't know where.  No sound from him.  He comes back.  

The sound is coming from this stupid thing.

Yes.


Now what I can't figure out is how it was turned on?  You have to push in on the top to get it to turn on.  I think the cats might have done it but they are at the foot of the bed.  I think a mouse / rat (yikes!), no not strong enough (besides that just would so creep me out!).  My Love assures me it could not be a mouse / rat.   So how the heck does it just randomly turn on at 5:00 A.M.!!!!!!  Why?


I oddly fall back to sleep.  I say oddly because my freaked out nature is to lay there trying to mentally figure this out and I don't.  I am peaceful.  My Love however cannot fall back to sleep.  The dogs still are sleeping.  Little Luna comes and crawls under the covers to curl up close to my belly.  Sweet kitty to keep me (us) warm.  Of course once I do wake up at my so called 'normal' time, with the dogs jangling their collars, shaking and disturbing my slumber, time to be fed, I begin to think.

I find the device.  The hand massager that we have in the 'Man Room' where one may want to use while sitting down watching the Telly.  It is on the big wood table below our TV.  How the heck did it just turn on?  I press it on.  It takes some decent pressure to do this.  It lights up in a blue light and does the rumble as it vibrates.  Are we being notified by the beyond?


I have been reading a book that Ms. Moon suggested, "How Clarissa Burden Learned to Fly. "   The chapter I had been reading last night was a bit spooky only because of what Clarissa has just found out about what happened to the owners of the home she lives in.   (Sorry can't give any of the book away!).  Was something planted in my mind of ghosts?  Of course it is one thing to think of ghosts but another to have this strange thing happen.

You tell me...ideas?

Holiday Craft from a not-to-crafty person

Ah, the holidays are here!  

Tis the week before Thanksgiving (oh it is just days away!)

and I look at my dining table wondering what to do.....

What to do?

Inspiration!

So, okay, I am doing a bit of copying....

Visiting my dear friend Kathy who had a lovely

try of candles, many candles,

all different heights.

Some of those nifty faux candles with a vanilla scent

that you just use a remote to turn on!  (Costco)

Then the candles that have faux birch wood wrapped on the 

outside.  Leaves scattered amongst them on,

leaves scattered on her large coffee table as though a

wisp of wind laid them there....

Needless to say Kathy seems to decorate in the way

that feels warm, natural, and speaks of home....where

you want to sit and sip a cup of tea or better yet

a lovely glass of wine.  (hint, hint, Kathy)

I had candle envy.  Can you have candle envy?  

Oh back to the dining table. 

I had a mission yesterday.  I was thinking,  surely I can find 

some of the faux birch bark candles. 

Then I thought of how to use the candles.

 I should have remembered while I was walking the aisles of

Cost Plus.   I thought of a tray which I did not have the size I wanted.

I thought of a mirror laid on the table...reflection and light!

I found the candles at Cost Plus!  Yippeee!  Bought four.  

(the employees need to know their merchandise as they didn't

think they had them. They thought they were only online.   I found them

after searching aisle by aisle.)

On to the craft store.  Once again I am distracted.

Too many women, too many carts.

I bought sheet moss, bright green, fresh moss.

I bought Lichen that is black on one side

soft cream on the other side, curly, crisp as

though peeled from a oak tree.

Distraction over the faux trees and what I

could do with them for Christmas......

Home. Thinking.

I look up and realize I have so many baskets of every type.  

In the garage way of high I spy a long, low basket.

This basket was so dirty. 

I thought of wiping it down but it was a mess

and would take too long to clean.

I  hosed it down at full force and set it tilted over the heat vent.

Dry in no time!

Perfect.  

I have plenty of my own candles I can add.

I have a wide enough table but I still need room for my place mats and glassware....

The basket will give me the length I need for a table set for nine.

 

I could look for some acorns....but went out and cut some

branches off the Maple tree for now.  

Christmas ideas are brewing in my head.

Seriously...thank you Kathy for the idea....

Horse Tails - End

  

     Rodger found the flag holsters for our saddles as well as the flags.  Up until then we had practiced just with the horses, to keep the same pace and uniformity.  We had that down and we were feeling quite good about ourselves.  The vests and horse pads were almost ready and with horse show season as well as Fair time coming up we were getting excited about being able to do the Color Guard for the beginning of those events.  Note:  that we never thought we wouldn't get to do this.  

     Spring in Antioch is quite windy and this day was no exception.  Becky wasn't able to work with us this day on her horse Whisky so David's sister was going to substitute for fun with us.  There were a few other kids on horses in the arena along with us,  just having a good time riding.  Rodger had already placed the holster on our saddles where it would hang down from the saddle horn by the right side of the saddle next to your leg.  David was on his horse walking around with the flag waving in the wind.  His horse didn't seem to mind.  Of course he noted that you don't want the flag flapping in your face.  He was laughing and excited about the whole deal carry the flag.  This will take a bit of learning on our part holding the flag with one hand and reins in the other, that when standing in place it would be a good to hold the flag against the pole with your right hand.   

     My Duke and I are all ready to give it a try.  Duke is the kind of horse you call "bomb proof".   He doesn't get nervous or do stupid things like some spirited horses can do.  I can walk behind and under him with never a worry of getting kicked.  He just isn't that kind of horse.  He is the perfect kid horse.    In my mind he is the best horse in the whole world whom I love with all my heart.  


                                ***************************************************

     Tragedy comes to each of us and we are never aware or prepared for it's arrival.  A day will begin just as any other day.  You rise, eat breakfast, dress and do whatever your day will be.  And that was how my day was until it ended in that one moment of disbelief. 

     I can hear Rodger talking to me about holding the flag.  I am standing next to Duke not up on him.  I have split reins and one is up around his neck and the other is down.  What I don't remember is why I was not on him when we put the flag in the holster.  Why did we do it this way?  Rodger had suggested I walk Duke and he would hold the flag for Duke to get use to before I was on him.  What I remember is the flag flapping with Rodger holding the pole straight up and I was next to him.  We had started walking,  then with out any warning Duke took off running, the reins jerked from my hands.  Just like that.  I can hear myself yelling to him "Whoa, whoa!".  Yelling is name "Duke!"  I was running after him wanting him to stop.   That horse of mine was running with the flag still in the holster dragging next to him.  He was running in fear and I was as afraid as he was.  

     Then Duke did the next thing he had never done.  He tried to jump the arena fence.  The tall arena fence that was sturdy and strong.  The height of which to climb you go up four rails till you reach the top.  My eyes saw him try to clear it but Duke was not a jumper, he wasn't a big horse and he had that flag dragging in the dirt.  I can see him in my mind making the jump.  Though he made it over my thoughts next were, will he stop running?  Will he keep running and why won't the flag pole drop?

     I ran to the arena gate and swung it open.  Dub and Ilene's barn is right there near the gate with the one lane drive that leads around the fairgrounds.   There was Duke,  stopped and I was so overcome by this crazy thing he had done that I ran to him as he stood there and it was then I noticed his trembling.  I noticed his hind leg that he would not bear weight on.  I saw the blood running down that leg he held up, cocked on the tip of his hoof.   I ran to him my arms flung round his neck the tears flowing.  I never saw Dub come to me and was looking Duke over.  I never heard a sound but my own cry and the burning tears blinding my eyes.  

    Dub. Dear, sweet man,  Dub.  He gets his truck and hooks the horse trailer up.  He unsaddles Duke and gets a halter on him.  He somehow gets me to let go of my horse and load him in the trailer.  Ilene was next to me, arms around my shoulders letting me weep and cry.   I remember Dub telling us that he would go to Davis to the Veterinary School.  I am reassured as I have heard they are the best for taking care of horses.  I watched that trailer take my horse for as long as I could.

     My mom came to pick me up, at sometime Ilene must have called her.   She drives me to the doctor's office that she works at and gets me in a room.  I don't think my mom knew what to do for me.  This was not a situation she was prepared for to see her daughter so upset and unconsolable.    The Doctor came in and it was discussed that she could leave early.  We went home and I buried myself in my bed.  Alone as the day became night, crying, just crying.  At some time the door opened in the dark,  letting a shaft of light in.  My mom came to my bed to tell me that Dub had called.   It was not good.  Duke had shattered his hind leg in the jump and there was nothing that could be done.  My Duke was gone.  My dearest friend in this awful life of mine was gone.   I know my mom must have touched me or stroked my back but she was gone before I felt the relief that I longed for.  The darkness and at last sleep came upon me.


                       ******************************************************
       
     It was weeks before I would go back to the barn and see my friends.  See Duke's empty stall, his saddle and bridle, halter and all the memories flashing in my head day after day.  I kept the shirt I wore that day with the blood on it, his blood.  I hid it, I didn't want to have it washed clean, I wanted to have something that was of him with me.

     Everyone was kind and caring.  Telling me all the right things to say to someone who has lost their horse.  I sat with Ilene in the office for awhile till I felt I needed to leave.  Dub was not there, he was truck driving cross country for the week.  I was never told I needed to remove my tack.  Everything was the same there in the barn.  It was only Duke gone and my insides twisted and torn.


     The Color Guard group went on.  A young girl named Ann on her pretty Appaloosa took my place.   She was a sweet girl who had been quite upset over the accident.  I have a snapshot in my head of the four of them all dressed in our uniforms, the horses with the fancy saddle pads, fluttering silver and black as they walked.  They looked good.  I never see myself in that picture.  It was over and it was the end.