Showing posts with label from archives. Show all posts
Showing posts with label from archives. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 17, 2016

Flight


On the afternoon that the Mama died, the Husband, Long-time Friend Kathy, Molly the Cat, and I sat on the patio and ate our lunch. The Mama's apple tree and her butterfly bush gave us shade from the warm Spring sun. The sky was blue. The Mama's roses, daisies, and other flowers were in bloom. The birds serenaded us. The Mama's bedroom window faced the backyard. I like to think that she could see, smell, and hear the day as we did and that she enjoyed listening to our relaxed cadences and tones.

At one point I leaned back in my chair and gazed at the sky. A crow was lazily flying back and forth. It was like a photo, the crow framed by the foliage of the Mama's trees and bushes. As I watched the bird, I felt like I could see the Mama's spirit flying up towards the crow and dancing alongside it.

When I finally looked away, I saw a white butterfly fly out of the Mama's garden by the  rose bushes. That was the first white butterfly I saw that day, which, ever since the Daddy died 34 years ago, represented the Daddy saying to me, "Hello. All is well."


At the Mama's rosary service, I read this short tale that I wrote three years ago. I had posted it on June 5, 2013.

The Girl That Did Fly

Once upon a time, in a far away place, a little girl wished upon a star, "I wish I could fly."

Unlike other fairy tales, Midge's wish did not come true. So, she thought.

One morning, Midge woke up, thinking, "Ah, today is the day I shall fly."


She flung off her blankets and jumped to her feet.

Bounce! Bounce! Bounce!

With each bounce, Midge hung in the air higher and longer. Nearly three-quarters to the ceiling, she turned somersaults and back flips, cartwheels and spins.

She bounced and she bounced until her grandmother opened her door.

"Very good, my dear," said Lola Sue smiling so proudly. "You're getting to be quite good with the triple flips. I do believe you take after your grandma."


Lola Sue jumped onto the bed, and together they bounced.

Bounce! Bounce! Bounce!

Holding hands, they bounced even higher and higher.

"I think it is time," Lola Sue said."Are you ready?"

"Yes! Yes!" exclaimed Midge, although she knew not what it might be.


"Then let us go!"


Midge and her Lola Sue bounced once more, hung a second, then flew around the room. 


"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," said Midge. "Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee."

"Hold on tight," said Lola Sue, as she lead the little girl out the door, through the house, and out a window into the Lola's garden. From there, they soared up through the banana plants and into the big, blue sky. 



Today is the letter F at ABC Wednesday, a wonderful meme with awesome bloggers from around the world. Click here to check out these other bloggers, and maybe to join in yourself.  Thanks to Roger, Di, Melody, and all of the ABCW team for giving us a place to share ourselves.

Wednesday, August 10, 2016

It's Elementary, My Dear.

"Make an effort."

This morning I read that line in Emma: A Modern Retelling by Alexander McCall Smith). I felt like the character, and the author, was talking to me.  

Please make an effort, Susie. 

The Mama said it another way about herself when she felt tired, which was every day for her last several years. Plain and simple, she used to say, "I push myself."

After we buried the Mama this past April, the Only and Older Brother said to me, "Keep on living."

I scoffed at what the Only and Older Brother said. Of course, I'd keep on living. Why would I not? Lately, though, honesty keeps trying to surface. Drat that honesty. For that matter, dang to introspection, rumination, and heart-searching that show up in my dreams.

Sigh.

So, this is my effort today for the letter E for this week's ABC Wednesday: a story that I shared three years ago (April 5, 2013) about an amazing thing that reminded me of the wonderful effortlessness of life.

Flying with the Eagles

The Loneliest Road in America truly sums up the stretch of U.S. Route 50 through central Nevada. I had no idea Nevada had so many desert valleys until I drove this national highway.  You get over one mountain range and voila! It's deja vu—another endless valley floor with a mountain range staring from afar.

In the late 1980s, the First Husband and I decided to drive cross-country, from San Francisco to New York. However, the first day of our adventure began with a dental emergency and a pain that would eventually make itself known as cancer for the First Husband. After several days of checking with doctors, we got in our red Mazda pick-up truck and headed east, with an open mind that we would turn back at Denver if the First Husband did not feel well.

I don't remember how we decided to take U.S. 50 rather than the more direct U.S. 80 through Nevada to Utah. Most likely it was the romantic notion of driving the Pony Express Route. Those poor fellows. Miles of dust behind them and miles of dust before them. Still, if I had lived during that era, I would've wanted to have been a Pony Express rider. As it was, I did imagine myself a modern one as I drove us through eastern central Nevada. Instead of the U.S. mail, I was delivering the First Husband to several places in the United States where we could research the life of his father, a first generation Korean American who had dedicated himself to Korean independence from Japanese rule, as well as to spreading the Christian word. But, that's a tale for another day.

As we approached the Utah border in the Great Basin desert, the First Husband was napping in the passenger seat. Not too long after passing the sign welcoming us to  Utah, I saw two huge birds standing in the lane up ahead. As we got closer, I saw that they were nipping at a carcass on the ground. One bird glanced up at our advancing truck.

"Husband! Husband!" I slowed down, but continued driving forward. They were bold and handsome eagles. Young ones, I think. I was almost upon them as they positioned themselves for take off.

One eagle opened its wingspan. It seemed to be as long as the width of the front of the truck.

"Husband!"

The First Husband woke up in time to see us driving between two gliding eagles before they soared upwards into the sky. 



Please click here to check out the other participants and/or link up in this week's ABC Wednesday.


Monday, May 4, 2015

From the Archives -- The Mama and Her Superstitions


Today is another archival post from my first blog, Cu'Pie Bird says Chirp. Chirp.

Superstitions
(originally published Tuesday, October 9, 2007)

Today was originally supposed to be my mom's quarterly doctor's appointment, but because it would be falling on the ninth of the month, I had to change it. According to my mom, the ninth is a bad day to go anywhere, make critical decisions, just do anything important. Hence she reminds me that I should not be traveling, paying bills, or signing contracts on the ninth. 

However, this is in contradiction to an astrological article I once read that stated the ninth is a lucky day for Sagittarius. So whenever my mom tells me not to do something because it's the ninth, I tell her it's okay for me. But I do wonder whatever happened to her--or to an important adult in her life--on a ninth or on successive ninths that causes her to say the ninth is a bad day. After all isn't that how superstitions begin.

When I was a kid, I was reprimanded with my mom's superstitions. A lot. I have no idea if they were passed down to her or if she made them up on the spot. But, they worked. My first memory is standing on the kitchen table as my mom was fiddling with something at the sink. Who knows how many times I must've stood on that table because I have a notion that I enjoyed standing on it. Instead of yelling at me to get down, Mama calmly said something like this, “If you keep standing on the table, your children will also stand on tables.” Whoa! I got down. Even as a small girl, I knew that wasn't something I wanted. Guess I knew how much of a handful I was for my mom.


As I grow older, I find my mom's superstitions charming. I pick and chose which ones to pay attention to just because maybe there may be something to them. One superstition is not to clip your fingernails on a Tuesday.


Being today is Tuesday, I won't be going anywhere near the nail clippers. Doesn't matter that the ninth is my lucky day.



Sunday, May 3, 2015

From the Archives -- The Daddy and Religion. Kinda


Today's archived post is from my second blog, This and That, Here and There, Now, Sometimes Then.
 
What Daddy Told Me
(originally published May 7, 2010) 

My dad didn't advise me much when I was growing up. When he did, they were humdingers, and usually they were one-liners.  For instance, on the day of my senior prom, he told me rather placidly, and unexpectedly, "Don't go f***ing around." The idea hadn't even entered my mind.  And, when I was attending community college, Daddy pronounced suddenly in his usual unruffled way to me, "Don't be a hippie." Nothing more.

Probably the most profound guidance Daddy gave me was when, as a teenager, I decided to check out different churches. Not because I was looking for a church to join but because I was curious about how different churches worshiped. I didn't know that Daddy had noticed what I was doing. Even if he had, I didn't think he would've cared since we were not avid churchgoers. But before I went on my fourth Sunday outing, Daddy said, calmly, as always, "I don't want you going to any other church as long as I'm alive."

Huh? Daddy only went to church (Catholic Church) on Christmas and Easter, with an unspoken sigh and a quiet damn each time he had to rise from his seat or bend down on the kneeler. Still, I honored his wishes, being the good daughter that I was. Years later, I figured Daddy was hedging his bets in case the priests were right about heaven and hell. He wanted to make sure that all his ducks were in a row, and one of those ducks was seeing that his daughter didn't stray into other religions. At least until he was dead.

How I miss my dad!

By the way, if you'd like to know what I meant by the "quiet damn," check out this post, Going to Church with the Daddy. Be forewarned, the Daddy did cuss in church. 

 

Friday, May 1, 2015

Digging into the Archives

The Blogging from A to Z April Challenge is over. Thank you very much. A part of me would like to say, "See youse all later, alligators." But, I'm not ready to throw in the white flag of posting every day in 2015. I will, however, take a break from doing original posts and instead put up past stories from deep inside my archives. For a few days. 

In honor of the Husband's and my first adventure together (I didn't do dates.) 20 years ago in May, I give you this piece that I published on January 31, 2010. 


Where Romance Is

Where is the most romantic destination you have visited?

I've come across this question several times during the last few days, both in print and online. Some publishers say that if I write about it in a minimum number of words (usually between 100 and 200) or less and it gets published, then they would send me money.

Easy, right?

Writing about something in so many words is no problem. I may ramble, but I can edit unmercifully when necessary. But coming up with a romantic place, which I assume also means with my honey, well that's a bit more difficult.

Sure, there was that bed-and-breakfast on the Kona Coast, where a guy named "Dude" answered when I called about reservations, which made me wonder if we really should stay there. The same place where I lost the husband on the highway that first night. We were driving back from dinner. It was so dark, we couldn't find the B&B's driveway. After several passes up and down the highway, the husband got out of the car to look more closely for the turn out (turn in?). Instead of following him, I went the other way because that's where I argued was the driveway. Of course, when I turned back, I couldn't find the husband. I drove back and forth in a very obvious first-year marriage panic. I even stopped at a house where the folks were hanging out on their front porch and asked if anyone saw a tall guy with red hair walk by. They were not surprised, which makes me still wonder how many tourists asked them similar questions after sunset.

What was I talking about? Yeah, romantic destinations. I suppose those are magical settings where couples all of a sudden feel lovey-dovey. That is probably why I can't come up with one specific place.

I asked the husband to pick one and he couldn't either. Turns out we both feel that wherever go together is romantic (sappy, I know)—a road trip, hiking a trail, pedaling our bikes through the neighborhood. . . .Even going to the grocery store is a romantic destination for us. After all, what's not lovey-dovey about the husband wheeling the cart as we go up and down the aisles?