My best guess, this photograph was made in 1940. Which makes my Mom 17. My father, age 26 took her to Covington, Kentucky on a Sunday night where they could be married. He was never reticent to say or be risque, he was “Shot down by a pair of 38’s.” He was completely in love with her.
It lasted 54 years. After I told him he had lung cancer and would die soon, he asked me “What about your Mother?”. And I told him we’d look after her. He sighed in relief. And we did. We were both lucky.
My last time with her was stolen by Alzheimer’s. Goodbyes are hard.
And it held the same pose during four trips past it with groceries. Okay, there was a stop at Total Wine and that trip wasn’t groceries.
Having stowed all away, I peeked later and saw it gone. So with some outdoor leisure time before evening meal prep, I have a story.
Somewhere in the very early 1960’s, there were some large open fields in easy walking distance of home. Before the developers scraped them clean for sub-divisions. In an after school afternoon, I found and picked up by hand, a beautiful Blue Racer Snake, probably 3+ ft long. I draped it around my neck and handled it gently as it explored it’s new and temporary environment.
My guess is, it was about 4:30 in the afternoon, before Dad got home from work. Mom had dinner simmering on the stove as I came through the kitchen. I walked through that now impossibly small bungalow to where she was trying to nap. Her days were long, something I only realized much later.
In the dim light of the bedroom, sunlight diffused and reduced by a window shade, I proudly and brightly said “Hey Mom, look what I’ve got!” and I lifted the snake for her to marvel at.
She opened one eye and I swear “Levitated”. My reptilian conquest was immediately returned to its site of capture.
If you landed here, surfing for any of my “Brooke Meyer” URLs, it’s not a mistake. Sunset my 14 year old event site today. It was time. The “About” page explains.
I can find any photograph that was published there, if you can tell me something about it.
71 degrees and forecast of 80’s this weekend! Too soon for mosquitoes, so good afternoon on the deck. And I finally figured out all the” rat-a-tat- tatting” I’ve been hearing.
Near the top of an immature White Oak are four, clean holes from Woodpeckers feeding. The tree is in trouble and will be deadfall, condemned I think, from an overzealous HoA Contractor, limbing to prevent roof hazards.
This is the instrumental “Sunny Day” theme from Sesame Street. Killer good harmonica! All that’s missing is the Barred Owl I heard today, looking for love.
I found this essay in a book by Margaret Renkl “Late Migrations”. It has helped me find peace, more than I can ever explain. Printed and kept a copy in my wallet, which ended up in the hands of folks in similar pain.
I intended to write and ask her if I could share it. Found someone who already had, so:
After The Fall by Margaret Renkl:
This talk of making peace with it. Of feeling it and then finding a way through. Of closure. It’s all nonsense.
Here is what no one told me about grief: you inhabit it like a skin. Everywhere you go, you wear grief under your clothes. Everything you see, you see through it, like a film.
Grief changes people. But change is not always bad and with time those changes create a different person who can still live.
What I mean is, time offers your old self a new shape. What I mean is, you are the old, ungrieving you, and you are also the new ruined you. You are both, and you will always be both. There is nothing to fear. There is nothing at all to fear. Walk out into the springtime, and look: the birds welcome you with a chorus. The flowers turn their faces to your face. The last of last year’s leaves, still damp in the shadows, smell ripe and faintly of fall.
The forest and ravine I wrote about yesterday are, literally, my window. Today and tomorrow’s presentation are illuminated by the the cool, diffuse light of overcast and rain.
The copper colored leaves of this mature American Beech are like gems, set against a field of rich, new, green, immature versions. And provide a proscenium for a pair of Grey Squirrels, in a frantic arboreal chase.
This is a photograph made long ago. I made it, thinking of dancers.
Our Realtor described it as a “Tree House”. Built into a hill, two sides are forest and ravine. Out front, a large Holly I’ve shielded from the HoA landscape crew and an undefended, smaller one, sculpted to suit a Golf Course Community. Sort of a Mockingbird Motel.
I made this photograph long ago, with a long, fast lens I bought for rear of theater use. The Mockingbird, in song and flight, demanded my attention.
Today, nine years later, I was greeted with their song and “Intra-Holly flights”, arriving home from an attorney appointment. The purpose of which will pave my exit to a practical, old widower habitat. Later, savoring my afternoon Bourbon and watching Beech branches sway, one flashed by a window.
I believe Atticus was right, it is a sin to kill a Mockingbird. I will miss them.
It was an excuse to get outdoors on a sunny, early spring day. Like today!
A car show. I think it was Don Bulluck Chevy in Rocky Mount. And I remember making this photograph. Had taught myself to be semi-competent with Manual Exposure! Probably, 2010.
And I remember this was in a Chevy Nova II. So ridiculously overpowered. The craft and care it took to build was clear for all to see.
My head cold is about done and the lack of discomfort allowed some restorative sleep. There is however, a different view of life after 3 days of misery. Which brings me back to a You Tube video I stumbled upon in the web-o-sphere, made by some fellow Wake County, NC residents: Summer In The South. It was the tomato sandwich that got me.
The only way to make a tomato sandwich, besides some big ripe slices of tomato, is with Duke’s Mayonnaise. Just accept that. I do use Arnold’s Whole Grain Bread but that’s optional. I don’t do White Bread – too White.
So feeling better and post ‘mater sandwich, I read all of the news of the day, accompanied by some room temperature Bourbon and beer. Amused by Wash., D.C and dismayed by pretty much everywhere else, I realized that my intended evening menu was not desirable. And then – aha!.
So when you don’t feel like cooking but need to eat something good and good for you, Duke’s to the rescue! An ample tablespoon or two, doused in fresh squeezed lemon juice (use you hands, they’ll smell good) and a good dose of Old Bay (Disclaimer – I use Old Bay a lot)! Stir that up and break out the celery stalks. Dried ends go into the freezer scrap bag for stock, the rest you dip and eat. A workingman’s Bordeaux and some chocolate after and you’re good!
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