Finally, it is beginning to feel like autumn! Those hot, humid days well into October have not felt at all like fall. Thankfully, we've received enough rain and a few cool nights, so the trees are beginning to show their brilliant colors... and it's about time!
The most beautiful tree is a maple in my back yard. That tree, a mere sapling at the time, was hand-picked by Elsie Wilson when Jim and I moved into this house. She marked it with a ribbon because of its beautiful range of colors so Doc would know which one to dig up to bring to Greenville. Every fall, that maple, which stands gloriously tall now, resembles Moses' burning bush... it is aflame with gorgeous yellows, oranges and reds. And, every fall, I have a few moments of sweet, sad memories of a mother-in-law who took such care in making sure we had a tree from "back home" that was beautiful. I've actually been agonizing that, if I move in the near future, can I get a cutting rooted so I can take a piece of the tree with me? I'll have to check with my yard man to see...because I'm not sure I can do without that tree every fall.
Autumn was always my favorite season, partially because of my birthday, but also because it seems like the whole world puts on a full-color show right before everything goes dormant for the winter. Growing up, my family always took a trip to the beautiful North Carolina mountains in the fall on a weekend near my birthday. We took a picnic lunch, including a birthday cake, and rode around admiring the myriad of colors of trees in the "hills". Often we stopped at a roadside stand and bought apples and apple cider before heading home. In 1970, when Jim and I got married, I was a bit sad that I wouldn't get to do the annual trip because of our wedding. How wonderful it was when I discovered that he planned our honeymoon in the hills of Virginia and North Carolina, giving me another reason to make fall my favorite season. It has been many years since I've taken such a pilgrimage, but I find myself thinking about it every fall.
One fall, only a year or two after my marriage, Jim and I were in Madison for a weekend. Elsie was up late on Friday night pre-cooking some of the meats and preparing the vegetables. Saturday morning, a fire was built under a huge cast iron pot in the back yard, and, with the help of Doc, Jim, and Hopper, we combined all the meats and vegetables, many of which came from Doc's garden, in that pot. I can still remember the cool, crisp air combined with the smell of wood smoke and brunswick stew...the best I ever tasted. And, as cool as the weatherman says it will get tonight, a big bowl of homemade stew would taste wonderful!
Having been a science teacher, I know that the shorter amount of daylight coupled with the cooler temperatures causes the chlorophyll in the leaves to stop working and changes the leaf color. I prefer to think some kind of magic has been performed, and that the trees are refusing to go quietly into the cold, dark days of winter. They rage against that prospect with all the fire and emotion they can muster, and I love it every year!
Friday, October 29, 2010
Friday, April 16, 2010
My Own Little Palace of Versailles
Back in the '90s, I accompanied my son and his classmates on a trip to Europe during spring break. It was one of those whirlwind trips during which we covered Paris, a couple of cities in Switzerland, and a couple of cities in Germany in ten days. One of the most memorable parts of the trip was a visit, on a Sunday morning, to the Palace of Versailles, just outside of Paris. Lately, that beautiful palace has been on my mind, especially in the mornings. Let me explain.
The Palace of Versailles was initially built by Louis XIV, the "Sun King", of France. Good old Louis had the palace built so that one side faced east and the other side faced west, and he had many windows installed on both sides so that the house was brightly lighted all day. So, the "Sun King" was the center of the sun's light all day, waking with its brilliance in the morning and watching it sink into the west every evening. Perhaps it was a bit egocentric of him, but apparently the sunlight was very important to him. (I don't know that his heirs had the same feeling for the sunlight. While they added onto the palace, including building enormous English-style gardens, the symbolism seemed lost on the later generations. And, I won't comment on the attitude and downfall of Louis XVI and his young wife Marie Antoinette!)
Why the history lesson, you may ask. Well, coincidently my house, though much smaller and less grand than the Palace of Versailles, is situated such that the morning sun shines on the front and the evening sun lights up the back. Almost every morning when I get up, sunlight is streaming through the beveled glass oval of my front door, creating a beautiful pattern on the living room and den floors. Since I had a screened porch added on the back of the den, the French doors (again, how coincidental) line up with the front door in such a way that light travels straight through the house. At the end of the day, when the sun is sinking in the west, the den is brightly lighted, and, again, light travels through the house to the front room. Okay, so what's the big deal? Well, it may not matter at all to some people, but to me, that sunlight has become very important.
I've always noticed the difference in mood between a sunny day and a dark, overcast one. Even when I was teaching school, it was obvious that moods changed on those cloudy, rainy days. I did not know, however, how important that sunlight was (perhaps even medicinal) until my husband was fighting a terminal bout with pancreatic cancer nine years ago. He began, as he called it, "following the sun" every day. With chemo, he was restricted from being out in bright sunlight, so he sat in the living room in the mornings, enjoying the brilliant sunlight, and then moved to the den after lunch when the sun began pouring into the back side of the house. It was as if the sunlight kept his mood positive and uplifted him.
A week or so after his death, I visited my physician to get a "doctor's note" allowing me to stay out of work the rest of the school year (2-3 more weeks). Along with his supportive and caring manner, he made a surprising suggestion (a non-written prescription, if you will): "open the windows and doors and let the light in...for if you don't I'll be treating you for depression in 3-6 months!" I immediately began opening the blinds and the doors, instead of "hiding" in the dark feeling sorry for myself. Within a few days, I not only felt better, I found I actually "craved" the sunlight... could not get along with it!
Now, nine years later, I get up every morning, reveling in the pattern of sunlight coming through the front door, and I begin my "rounds". The blinds in every room get opened, one by one, until light is pouring in on the front rooms of the house. The blinds on the French doors are opened, allowing me to see the beauty of the trees in my back yard, some just kissed by the morning sun. Soon, when the threat of pollen lessens, I'll begin taking my newspaper and my breakfast out to the screened porch every morning, where I'll enjoy the sights and sounds of the world waking with the sun. (Needless to say, I suffer greatly on the dark, gloomy days which do, by necessity, occasionally occur!)
It occurred to me recently that, of all the things I have listed in my mind that I'd have to have if I relocate to Raleigh or Greensboro, that I had forgotten the most important: lots of windows and sunlight! Wherever I eventually live, I must have lots of natural light. Like Louis XIV, I need to be in a position to see the light at all times of the day. So, the next time I'm thinking about moving, I'll add lots of windows and sunlight to the list of property features. I can't afford the Palace of Versailles, but I can have a taste of its features wherever I live!
The Palace of Versailles was initially built by Louis XIV, the "Sun King", of France. Good old Louis had the palace built so that one side faced east and the other side faced west, and he had many windows installed on both sides so that the house was brightly lighted all day. So, the "Sun King" was the center of the sun's light all day, waking with its brilliance in the morning and watching it sink into the west every evening. Perhaps it was a bit egocentric of him, but apparently the sunlight was very important to him. (I don't know that his heirs had the same feeling for the sunlight. While they added onto the palace, including building enormous English-style gardens, the symbolism seemed lost on the later generations. And, I won't comment on the attitude and downfall of Louis XVI and his young wife Marie Antoinette!)
Why the history lesson, you may ask. Well, coincidently my house, though much smaller and less grand than the Palace of Versailles, is situated such that the morning sun shines on the front and the evening sun lights up the back. Almost every morning when I get up, sunlight is streaming through the beveled glass oval of my front door, creating a beautiful pattern on the living room and den floors. Since I had a screened porch added on the back of the den, the French doors (again, how coincidental) line up with the front door in such a way that light travels straight through the house. At the end of the day, when the sun is sinking in the west, the den is brightly lighted, and, again, light travels through the house to the front room. Okay, so what's the big deal? Well, it may not matter at all to some people, but to me, that sunlight has become very important.
I've always noticed the difference in mood between a sunny day and a dark, overcast one. Even when I was teaching school, it was obvious that moods changed on those cloudy, rainy days. I did not know, however, how important that sunlight was (perhaps even medicinal) until my husband was fighting a terminal bout with pancreatic cancer nine years ago. He began, as he called it, "following the sun" every day. With chemo, he was restricted from being out in bright sunlight, so he sat in the living room in the mornings, enjoying the brilliant sunlight, and then moved to the den after lunch when the sun began pouring into the back side of the house. It was as if the sunlight kept his mood positive and uplifted him.
A week or so after his death, I visited my physician to get a "doctor's note" allowing me to stay out of work the rest of the school year (2-3 more weeks). Along with his supportive and caring manner, he made a surprising suggestion (a non-written prescription, if you will): "open the windows and doors and let the light in...for if you don't I'll be treating you for depression in 3-6 months!" I immediately began opening the blinds and the doors, instead of "hiding" in the dark feeling sorry for myself. Within a few days, I not only felt better, I found I actually "craved" the sunlight... could not get along with it!
Now, nine years later, I get up every morning, reveling in the pattern of sunlight coming through the front door, and I begin my "rounds". The blinds in every room get opened, one by one, until light is pouring in on the front rooms of the house. The blinds on the French doors are opened, allowing me to see the beauty of the trees in my back yard, some just kissed by the morning sun. Soon, when the threat of pollen lessens, I'll begin taking my newspaper and my breakfast out to the screened porch every morning, where I'll enjoy the sights and sounds of the world waking with the sun. (Needless to say, I suffer greatly on the dark, gloomy days which do, by necessity, occasionally occur!)
It occurred to me recently that, of all the things I have listed in my mind that I'd have to have if I relocate to Raleigh or Greensboro, that I had forgotten the most important: lots of windows and sunlight! Wherever I eventually live, I must have lots of natural light. Like Louis XIV, I need to be in a position to see the light at all times of the day. So, the next time I'm thinking about moving, I'll add lots of windows and sunlight to the list of property features. I can't afford the Palace of Versailles, but I can have a taste of its features wherever I live!
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Counting Blessings
In the movie "White Christmas", Bing Crosby sings a song about counting your blessings instead of sheep when you have trouble sleeping. Today I'm thinking it's a good idea to count our blessings any time, but especially during the Christmas season and as the new year approaches.
I am blessed to be part of a wonderful, loving, and supportive family. My mother turns 87 today, is in good health, lives on her own still, and is as fiesty as ever. My siblings are "good people", the kind everyone wants to have as friends. This year we've rejoiced at successful surgeries, recovering from heart attacks, the birth of a new grandchild, and the wedding of another son. The family is getting larger and happier every day.
I am blessed to have had the love of a good man for over 30 years, a man who was by nature a "caretaker" who, 'though he's been gone nearly 9 years, still seems to be watching over me. Through his planning and stewardship, along with my own investments, I have been blessed with the gift of retirement and the joy of being able to enjoy my life without having to go to work every day. His greatest gift to me was our son, who continues to be a blessing every day. He has blessed me with a beautiful and intelligent daughter-in-law and, so far, two wonderful granddaughters with number three due in January.
I am blessed to have increasingly good health, due in part to the decision to get control of my weight and my life. The highly capable surgeon who did my gastric bypass, as well as the friends and family who helped and supported me during the initial recovery, are also counted among my blessings.
It was a blessing this week to learn that a friend of my husband's, fighting a rare form of cancer that is probably the result of exposure to Agent Orange in Viet Nam, is in remission. So far his surgeries and the chemo and radiation have worked...praise God! It is always a blessing to hear when someone actually wins over the "Big C"!
I am blessed to be a Christian, and to know that God is always there for me. I am blessed to be a part of a loving, caring church, which, even when I haven't been attending regularly, has been shepherding and supporting me. Their prayers and visits during my recovery from surgery, their constant inquiries about my son and his family, and their genuine friendship have been invaluable to me.
I am blessed to live in a country where I can worship and move about freely. Even when conditions and politics are troubled, it is a place where people can question and discuss and brainstorm solutions without fear of recrimination.
Most recently, I am blessed to have a second chance at love. I am very aware that we are lucky to have found true, honest love even once in our lives, and I am sometimes a little overwhelmed to be given another chance. While he has been and still is my best friend, he has become so much more, and I cannot imagine my life without him in it.
While I am sure there are many more blessings I could count, I'll stop there. As the season for rejoicing over the birth of Christ approaches, I hope everyone stops to count their blessings. As the old year rings out, I hope everyone receives even more blessings for the new year!
I am blessed to be part of a wonderful, loving, and supportive family. My mother turns 87 today, is in good health, lives on her own still, and is as fiesty as ever. My siblings are "good people", the kind everyone wants to have as friends. This year we've rejoiced at successful surgeries, recovering from heart attacks, the birth of a new grandchild, and the wedding of another son. The family is getting larger and happier every day.
I am blessed to have had the love of a good man for over 30 years, a man who was by nature a "caretaker" who, 'though he's been gone nearly 9 years, still seems to be watching over me. Through his planning and stewardship, along with my own investments, I have been blessed with the gift of retirement and the joy of being able to enjoy my life without having to go to work every day. His greatest gift to me was our son, who continues to be a blessing every day. He has blessed me with a beautiful and intelligent daughter-in-law and, so far, two wonderful granddaughters with number three due in January.
I am blessed to have increasingly good health, due in part to the decision to get control of my weight and my life. The highly capable surgeon who did my gastric bypass, as well as the friends and family who helped and supported me during the initial recovery, are also counted among my blessings.
It was a blessing this week to learn that a friend of my husband's, fighting a rare form of cancer that is probably the result of exposure to Agent Orange in Viet Nam, is in remission. So far his surgeries and the chemo and radiation have worked...praise God! It is always a blessing to hear when someone actually wins over the "Big C"!
I am blessed to be a Christian, and to know that God is always there for me. I am blessed to be a part of a loving, caring church, which, even when I haven't been attending regularly, has been shepherding and supporting me. Their prayers and visits during my recovery from surgery, their constant inquiries about my son and his family, and their genuine friendship have been invaluable to me.
I am blessed to live in a country where I can worship and move about freely. Even when conditions and politics are troubled, it is a place where people can question and discuss and brainstorm solutions without fear of recrimination.
Most recently, I am blessed to have a second chance at love. I am very aware that we are lucky to have found true, honest love even once in our lives, and I am sometimes a little overwhelmed to be given another chance. While he has been and still is my best friend, he has become so much more, and I cannot imagine my life without him in it.
While I am sure there are many more blessings I could count, I'll stop there. As the season for rejoicing over the birth of Christ approaches, I hope everyone stops to count their blessings. As the old year rings out, I hope everyone receives even more blessings for the new year!
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Elvis did a movie called "Girls, Girls, Girls". In "West Side Story" one of the characters sings about enjoying being a girl. In "South Pacific", the sailors sing "There is Nothing Like a Dame". Can you tell I have girls on the brain??? Today my son and daughter-in-law learned from an ultrasound that baby #3 is another girl (which is what they have believed all along). That's a bunch of females in one house! And I love it!
This event has reminded me of an incident that occurred when my son Jimmy was very young (5 or so). I was explaining to him that the reason he didn't have a brother or sister was that some people just didn't have babies as easily as others. In the course of the conversation, I happened to mention that "I sure would have liked to have a little girl, too." He looked at me with those big brown eyes and said, in all the seriousness he could muster, "One day I'll give you a little girl, Mommy".
The day in the fall of 2005 when they had the ultrasound for their first child, Jimmy called me at school to give a report. "Remember that promise I made years ago? Well, you're going to get your little girl!" While I was excited about the news, it was the fact that my child remembered a promise made at age 5 that truly touched my soul. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I promptly went to the "pearl lady" at my school and ordered a set of white tiny baby pearls for my first granddaughter.
Katherine Elizabeth arrived in January 2006, and I entered a world of pink and lace and princesses, which was far different from Match Box cars, Star Wars, and G. I. Joe. Having a little girl to spoil was so much fun. We decorated the nursery with pastel colors, a green and white toile of Mother Goose rhymes, and yellow and white walls...and it was a thrill to sew some of the bedding and curtains.
Then, a little over a year ago, my son called again to tell me the results of the ultrasound for baby #2: it's a girl! Conferring with my "children" (because I truly think of my daughter-in-law as my child), I plunged into sewing red gingham and ladybug bedding for the second arrival. Naturally, I again conferred with the "pearl lady" and ordered another set of tiny pearls, pink this time. Margaret Josephine arrived in October 2008, and now I had two little girls!
Now, today, I've learned that baby #3, due in January 2010, is another girl! Just think of the tea parties to host, the doll houses to furnish, the doll clothes to make, the fairy tales to read, and "meals" to cook with three of them! And, yes, I've already called the "pearl lady" to order another set of tiny pearls, lavendar this time, for the third girl.
I am on Cloud Nine, and I just had to share my feelings!
Monday, June 29, 2009
Jimmy's Birthday
I'm feeling a bit nostalgic today because 32 years ago today I gave birth to my beautiful son.
The year before I had carried a pregnancy about 10 weeks and miscarried, and this pregnancy was filled with joy, excitement and anxiety. We knew that this might be our only chance for a child, short of adoption, so we were nervous. The pregnancy was as "textbook" as it gets, with movement, positioning, everything happening exactly on time. It was so perfect, in fact, that we came to believe that it was a gift from God.
On June 28, a horrible accident occurred a few miles away, a ruptured gas line causing a house to explode, killing one of ECU's coaches and his wife. For several hours I was involved in various phone calls with Athletic Department personnel about the accident and about one of the athletes, a wrestler, who was badly injured by the explosion. Naturally I was a little "keyed up" when I went to bed and had a hard time sleeping.
Around midnight, I began having occasional contractions (not at all regular) and having frequent trips to the bathroom. By 3:30 AM, I was sure something was happening, so we set off for the hospital. While they determined that I was not in steady labor, they did decide that my water was leaking, so I was checked into the hospital.
Officially, labor did not really begin until after 6:30 AM, and it progressed quickly. By 9:20 AM I was definitely in some sort of transition. When nurses determined at 9:30 AM that the baby had crowned and "I can see the hair on its head", I was wheeled to delivery. A few pushes later, I heard the loud cry of my son. The time was 10:04 AM, and it was not only his due date, it was almost exactly the same time he was conceived months earlier (yes, I knew exactly when he was conceived). Since there had been no drugs administered, he was wide-eyed, alert, and very angry about being so rudely handled!
The next day I was requested to meet someone at the end of the hall (he could not come onto the Maternity hall). It was the wrestler who was injured in the explosion, sharing some of his flowers with me and congratulating me on my new baby before he went home to recuperate.
Over the next years, my son became a dominant part of my life, perhaps more so than some because his dad had to work so many crazy hours that I was often mother and father. Was he a perfect child? Definitely no. Was he a good child? Most of the time. Was he a challenge? For sure, especially in the teen years! Was he the most precious gift I ever received? Absolutely.
And, when my husband died, my son truly became a man, being strong and supportive for me.
Now my son is a mature, responsible man with a wife, two beautiful daughters, and another child on the way. He is a good husband and father, a respected and well-liked member of the district attorney's staff, and overall a good man. He is the joy of my life and well on his way to being the man his father always thought he would be.
The year before I had carried a pregnancy about 10 weeks and miscarried, and this pregnancy was filled with joy, excitement and anxiety. We knew that this might be our only chance for a child, short of adoption, so we were nervous. The pregnancy was as "textbook" as it gets, with movement, positioning, everything happening exactly on time. It was so perfect, in fact, that we came to believe that it was a gift from God.
On June 28, a horrible accident occurred a few miles away, a ruptured gas line causing a house to explode, killing one of ECU's coaches and his wife. For several hours I was involved in various phone calls with Athletic Department personnel about the accident and about one of the athletes, a wrestler, who was badly injured by the explosion. Naturally I was a little "keyed up" when I went to bed and had a hard time sleeping.
Around midnight, I began having occasional contractions (not at all regular) and having frequent trips to the bathroom. By 3:30 AM, I was sure something was happening, so we set off for the hospital. While they determined that I was not in steady labor, they did decide that my water was leaking, so I was checked into the hospital.
Officially, labor did not really begin until after 6:30 AM, and it progressed quickly. By 9:20 AM I was definitely in some sort of transition. When nurses determined at 9:30 AM that the baby had crowned and "I can see the hair on its head", I was wheeled to delivery. A few pushes later, I heard the loud cry of my son. The time was 10:04 AM, and it was not only his due date, it was almost exactly the same time he was conceived months earlier (yes, I knew exactly when he was conceived). Since there had been no drugs administered, he was wide-eyed, alert, and very angry about being so rudely handled!
The next day I was requested to meet someone at the end of the hall (he could not come onto the Maternity hall). It was the wrestler who was injured in the explosion, sharing some of his flowers with me and congratulating me on my new baby before he went home to recuperate.
Over the next years, my son became a dominant part of my life, perhaps more so than some because his dad had to work so many crazy hours that I was often mother and father. Was he a perfect child? Definitely no. Was he a good child? Most of the time. Was he a challenge? For sure, especially in the teen years! Was he the most precious gift I ever received? Absolutely.
And, when my husband died, my son truly became a man, being strong and supportive for me.
Now my son is a mature, responsible man with a wife, two beautiful daughters, and another child on the way. He is a good husband and father, a respected and well-liked member of the district attorney's staff, and overall a good man. He is the joy of my life and well on his way to being the man his father always thought he would be.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
The Swing
The day was uncommonly warm for early March, even in the South. Bright sunlight, brisk winds, and temperatures in the high 60's had tempted her out onto the screened porch to have lunch. As she ate, she surveyed the yard from her comfortable chair, intent on curling up with a good book and staying where she was all afternoon. Her plan changed, however, when she noticed the swing moving slowly in the wind.
Long past needing a coat of paint, the porch swing hung from the metal A-frame that once supported a child's swing set. Shaded by a sprawling pecan tree, its chains were rusty, and the boards were faded white. There it sat, gently rocking in the wind, seeming to be inviting her to come over.
Putting lunch aside, she decided to accept the invitation, so she crossed the porch, walked down the steps and across the stone patio, and stepped out onto the grassy lawn. With no ceremony, she plopped herself down in the center of the bench seat and gave a small push with her feet, putting the swing in motion again.
For a few moments, she was content to sit just as she was, gently swinging back and forth. She looked up to see a jet flying high overhead, its contrail cutting a sharp white slash across the Carolina blue sky. An occasional fluffy white cloud floated by, and she remembered the joys of the childhood game of finding objects in the shapes of the clouds. She watched with amusement as a cloud frog turned into a dragon. Wanting to feel the warmth of the sun on her face, she twisted sideways, placing her back and head against the chains and stretching one leg out on the seat. The sun was warm, but it hurt her eyes, so she closed them. The wind ruffled her hair and tickled her face, causing her to smile. Between the warmth and swaying movement of the swing, she relaxed.
Lulled by the gentle rocking of the swing and the combination of sun and breeze, her senses seemed to sharpen. All around her, nature was playing its symphony. Bare tree limbs clicked and clacked, leaves on the magnolia whispered, a variety of wind chimes tinkled in different octaves, birds called to each other, and squirrels chattered as they chased each other up and down the pine trees. The quince bush was blooming, its salmon pink flowers brightening the corner of the yard. Her neighbor's Bartlett Pear was heavy with white blossoms. The lawn, which had been so brown all winter, was beginning to turn verdant green. The dogwood and pecan trees wore the fresh light green of early spring. The air was sweet with the smells of new grass and flowering trees. She smiled again as her senses picked up each sound, each sight, and each smell.
As she absorbed all the sensations around her, the swing continued to move slowly back and forth. It reminded her of the pendulum on a grandfather clock, marking time with each cycle. Suddenly, she was transported in time, seeing her life flash by as memories flowed around her.
She saw the yard 34 years earlier when she and her husband met the real estate agent and toured the property, nothing like it looked today. Moving day had been hectic, more so because her husband had been called in to work, leaving all the supervising to her. Their dog had explored and surveyed every inch of the yard, staking his claim to his new home. As that spring moved into summer, the yard witnessed many cookouts on the grill, evenings spent discussing decorating, landscaping, and their future.
Months later, they were gifted with some plants, dug up in her husband's home town and transported to them by his parents. The magnolia had been only six feet tall when planted, but it was now over 50 feet high. The dogwoods in the front and back yards had also been barely saplings, but now they were taller than the house. The quince and forsythia bushes had been, likewise, scarcely more than potted plants then. Her favorite was the maple, a tree marked by her mother-in-law the previous fall with a ribbon because of its flaming colors. It was the highlight of her autumn each year to watch that maple turn into glowing reds, oranges and yellows.
Time fast-forwarded to a June a few years later when she sat in the yard, anticipating the birth of their child. A year earlier she had miscarried, so she had been nervous as the due date approached. She remembered an evening cookout when she told her husband of a dream she'd had the previous night in which she had seen their child, a boy, so clearly she could describe his face. Only a couple of days later, they brought home their son, carrying him around the yard to introduce him to his home.
The swing continued its rocking motion, and time again shifted. She saw wading pools, water slides, squirt guns, and tiny friends celebrating birthdays in the yard. The swing set was a gift from a grandparent on one of those birthdays. In later years, the yard and the swing had witnessed many birthday parties. The yard became a galaxy far, far away for several years in a row, while boys dressed as Star Wars characters saved the universe. One year the yard had been an island where blood-thirsty pirates roamed, searching for hidden treasure, conveniently buried in a freshly tilled flower bed. Another year, a war had been fought with teams of boys opposing each other in their G. I. Joe gear. An Indiana Jones party resulted in the backyard being transformed into caves to crawl through, a sandpit of snakes to leap over, and other obstacles to maneuver.
During the next few years, the yard and the swing had become important parts of every day, whether it was playing in the sandbox, splashing in a wading pool, or swinging on the swing set. She saw her son on the glider he loved, soaring high into hyperspace in his Millennium Falcon. She saw him in red Superman boots, splashing in rain puddles. She saw him building roads for his Tonka trucks or landscapes for his G. I. Joes in the sandbox. She saw him trudging through snow deeper than he was tall, just to get to the swing set which was buried in snow.
Back and forth she rocked in the swing, taken completely over now by the memories rushing over her. There was the autumn of the "invalid" cookout, due to the fact that her husband and the next-door neighbors had all had accidents the same week and were in a variety of casts and slings, attracting avid attention by passing motorists. There was the pig pickin' held to celebrate her belated college graduation at age 45. And, of course, there were prom and high school graduation parties when their son reached those milestones. Sadly, two beloved dogs were buried under the pecan tree, near the swing. Somewhere in that time frame, the swing set had been replaced by a porch swing as a gift one Mother's Day.
Clouds began blocking out the sun, and she shivered as the swing continued to move back and forth. Her mood chilled as she began remembering the time several years earlier when this swing had been shared nearly every afternoon with her husband. Chemotherapy kept him from enjoying the sun, but he loved sitting in the swing in the shade of the pecan tree. She would come home from her teaching job, throw down her things, and sit with him in the swing. His time was short, and they both knew it, so this was precious time, holding hands, sometimes talking, sometimes silent, and rocking back and forth in the early spring.
Vividly, she recalled the day in May when, shortly after the funeral, friends had gathered at the house. One young couple, who seemed to instinctively know what she needed, had handed over their young son. Cuddling him close, she had walked away from the others and sat in the swing. For a few moments, she cradled him in her arms, feeling the warmth, the life, in him. In the midst of her loss, she found comfort in rocking the baby to sleep in the swing.
How many days in the following months, she wondered, had she sat in that swing, feeling her husband's presence beside her? Sometimes she talked to him, hoping he could hear as she struggled with the loneliness, the pain, the loss of serenity and peace of mind, and the decisions that had to be made. Other days she shared joys with him, like the day their son proposed to his future bride.
Two years later, she went to the swing again when she returned from the out-of-state wedding of their son, sharing the moment with him. Again, she went to the swing when their son became a father. And, it was only natural that, when the young family brought their new arrival to Grandma's house for the first time, she would take that beautiful new granddaughter to the swing, introducing her, in a way, to her Grandfather.
The swing continued to sway, and her memories leaped forward again to another time when her serenity and peace of mind had once again been shattered. She had returned home from errands to find an intruder in the house who not only robbed her but pointed a gun at her, turning her house and her life upside down. No longer did she feel totally comfortable in her own home. Pressures overwhelmed her: pressures to put in a security system, pressures to sell the house and move closer to family, and pressures about testifying in court. All the pressures hovered over her like a dark cloud.
The sun disappeared behind clouds that darkened with the threat of rain. Opening her eyes, she shivered with the new chill in the air. She shook off the memories and roused herself to present day. As the first raindrops fell, she got up and slowly walked across the yard and back to the screened porch. She glanced back at the swing as its pendulum motion continued. Who would have thought, she mused, that a faded, rusty old swing could become a time machine?
Long past needing a coat of paint, the porch swing hung from the metal A-frame that once supported a child's swing set. Shaded by a sprawling pecan tree, its chains were rusty, and the boards were faded white. There it sat, gently rocking in the wind, seeming to be inviting her to come over.
Putting lunch aside, she decided to accept the invitation, so she crossed the porch, walked down the steps and across the stone patio, and stepped out onto the grassy lawn. With no ceremony, she plopped herself down in the center of the bench seat and gave a small push with her feet, putting the swing in motion again.
For a few moments, she was content to sit just as she was, gently swinging back and forth. She looked up to see a jet flying high overhead, its contrail cutting a sharp white slash across the Carolina blue sky. An occasional fluffy white cloud floated by, and she remembered the joys of the childhood game of finding objects in the shapes of the clouds. She watched with amusement as a cloud frog turned into a dragon. Wanting to feel the warmth of the sun on her face, she twisted sideways, placing her back and head against the chains and stretching one leg out on the seat. The sun was warm, but it hurt her eyes, so she closed them. The wind ruffled her hair and tickled her face, causing her to smile. Between the warmth and swaying movement of the swing, she relaxed.
Lulled by the gentle rocking of the swing and the combination of sun and breeze, her senses seemed to sharpen. All around her, nature was playing its symphony. Bare tree limbs clicked and clacked, leaves on the magnolia whispered, a variety of wind chimes tinkled in different octaves, birds called to each other, and squirrels chattered as they chased each other up and down the pine trees. The quince bush was blooming, its salmon pink flowers brightening the corner of the yard. Her neighbor's Bartlett Pear was heavy with white blossoms. The lawn, which had been so brown all winter, was beginning to turn verdant green. The dogwood and pecan trees wore the fresh light green of early spring. The air was sweet with the smells of new grass and flowering trees. She smiled again as her senses picked up each sound, each sight, and each smell.
As she absorbed all the sensations around her, the swing continued to move slowly back and forth. It reminded her of the pendulum on a grandfather clock, marking time with each cycle. Suddenly, she was transported in time, seeing her life flash by as memories flowed around her.
She saw the yard 34 years earlier when she and her husband met the real estate agent and toured the property, nothing like it looked today. Moving day had been hectic, more so because her husband had been called in to work, leaving all the supervising to her. Their dog had explored and surveyed every inch of the yard, staking his claim to his new home. As that spring moved into summer, the yard witnessed many cookouts on the grill, evenings spent discussing decorating, landscaping, and their future.
Months later, they were gifted with some plants, dug up in her husband's home town and transported to them by his parents. The magnolia had been only six feet tall when planted, but it was now over 50 feet high. The dogwoods in the front and back yards had also been barely saplings, but now they were taller than the house. The quince and forsythia bushes had been, likewise, scarcely more than potted plants then. Her favorite was the maple, a tree marked by her mother-in-law the previous fall with a ribbon because of its flaming colors. It was the highlight of her autumn each year to watch that maple turn into glowing reds, oranges and yellows.
Time fast-forwarded to a June a few years later when she sat in the yard, anticipating the birth of their child. A year earlier she had miscarried, so she had been nervous as the due date approached. She remembered an evening cookout when she told her husband of a dream she'd had the previous night in which she had seen their child, a boy, so clearly she could describe his face. Only a couple of days later, they brought home their son, carrying him around the yard to introduce him to his home.
The swing continued its rocking motion, and time again shifted. She saw wading pools, water slides, squirt guns, and tiny friends celebrating birthdays in the yard. The swing set was a gift from a grandparent on one of those birthdays. In later years, the yard and the swing had witnessed many birthday parties. The yard became a galaxy far, far away for several years in a row, while boys dressed as Star Wars characters saved the universe. One year the yard had been an island where blood-thirsty pirates roamed, searching for hidden treasure, conveniently buried in a freshly tilled flower bed. Another year, a war had been fought with teams of boys opposing each other in their G. I. Joe gear. An Indiana Jones party resulted in the backyard being transformed into caves to crawl through, a sandpit of snakes to leap over, and other obstacles to maneuver.
During the next few years, the yard and the swing had become important parts of every day, whether it was playing in the sandbox, splashing in a wading pool, or swinging on the swing set. She saw her son on the glider he loved, soaring high into hyperspace in his Millennium Falcon. She saw him in red Superman boots, splashing in rain puddles. She saw him building roads for his Tonka trucks or landscapes for his G. I. Joes in the sandbox. She saw him trudging through snow deeper than he was tall, just to get to the swing set which was buried in snow.
Back and forth she rocked in the swing, taken completely over now by the memories rushing over her. There was the autumn of the "invalid" cookout, due to the fact that her husband and the next-door neighbors had all had accidents the same week and were in a variety of casts and slings, attracting avid attention by passing motorists. There was the pig pickin' held to celebrate her belated college graduation at age 45. And, of course, there were prom and high school graduation parties when their son reached those milestones. Sadly, two beloved dogs were buried under the pecan tree, near the swing. Somewhere in that time frame, the swing set had been replaced by a porch swing as a gift one Mother's Day.
Clouds began blocking out the sun, and she shivered as the swing continued to move back and forth. Her mood chilled as she began remembering the time several years earlier when this swing had been shared nearly every afternoon with her husband. Chemotherapy kept him from enjoying the sun, but he loved sitting in the swing in the shade of the pecan tree. She would come home from her teaching job, throw down her things, and sit with him in the swing. His time was short, and they both knew it, so this was precious time, holding hands, sometimes talking, sometimes silent, and rocking back and forth in the early spring.
Vividly, she recalled the day in May when, shortly after the funeral, friends had gathered at the house. One young couple, who seemed to instinctively know what she needed, had handed over their young son. Cuddling him close, she had walked away from the others and sat in the swing. For a few moments, she cradled him in her arms, feeling the warmth, the life, in him. In the midst of her loss, she found comfort in rocking the baby to sleep in the swing.
How many days in the following months, she wondered, had she sat in that swing, feeling her husband's presence beside her? Sometimes she talked to him, hoping he could hear as she struggled with the loneliness, the pain, the loss of serenity and peace of mind, and the decisions that had to be made. Other days she shared joys with him, like the day their son proposed to his future bride.
Two years later, she went to the swing again when she returned from the out-of-state wedding of their son, sharing the moment with him. Again, she went to the swing when their son became a father. And, it was only natural that, when the young family brought their new arrival to Grandma's house for the first time, she would take that beautiful new granddaughter to the swing, introducing her, in a way, to her Grandfather.
The swing continued to sway, and her memories leaped forward again to another time when her serenity and peace of mind had once again been shattered. She had returned home from errands to find an intruder in the house who not only robbed her but pointed a gun at her, turning her house and her life upside down. No longer did she feel totally comfortable in her own home. Pressures overwhelmed her: pressures to put in a security system, pressures to sell the house and move closer to family, and pressures about testifying in court. All the pressures hovered over her like a dark cloud.
The sun disappeared behind clouds that darkened with the threat of rain. Opening her eyes, she shivered with the new chill in the air. She shook off the memories and roused herself to present day. As the first raindrops fell, she got up and slowly walked across the yard and back to the screened porch. She glanced back at the swing as its pendulum motion continued. Who would have thought, she mused, that a faded, rusty old swing could become a time machine?
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