i remember
that last frozen grey morning.
all my friends
waking to familiar belonging,
our hands and laughter
all tied up in the patted roundness of
a single snowman.
beneath the enormity of night,
morning waved stark white sheets in cold wind.
they clapped like thunder
as life threw a dark ribbon of pavement
before us.
we were gone before
the last star disappeared. before
anyone woke with a pounding red thrill in their hearts
to return to each other
and all that
snow.
connecticut for california
in the half dark morning.
i leaned across the back seat to
watch life as i knew it, grow smaller and smaller
retreating from the dark window like a silver necklace pulled from view.
strange how fast everything
we know can
disappear.
tennesse.
look out mountain,
pockets full of arrowheads
waiting in musky drawers.
old train tracks blowing past
the textile mill grandfather managed
all of his working life, never missing a single day.
my father rolled our car to a slow stop.
he looked so fondly up to the window of his youth.
something filled his voice, thickening it like honey in water.
words so golden with bright longing,
they formed stairs that took him back,
so perfectly back.
"we use to walk past these tracks after school
and stand right below
that window where dad worked.
he always knew when we would go by and
threw us coins...copper, that rained down to jangle and bounce
like a hard summer rain at our feet.
we scrambled for them and flew off waving goodbye
for the soda fountain and penny candy".
grandmother.
her never cut hair in a halo of braids round
and round the crown of her head.
her kitchen, enormous,
as were her meals.
together at the round oak table
where all her now grown children once labored over homework,
celebrated birthdays,
and when times were lean,
hoped for the last piece of corn bread.
every christmas
an old round tin arrived from that
chattanooga kitchen all tangled up with the smell
of time, wrapped in brown paper,
tied with tired
twine.
for as long as she lived,
they arrived like the last chorus to an ancient song.
her handwriting on the brown paper
wore away the years
until it barely recognized itself.
fruitcake dense with the work of her hands,
pecans from her trees.
trees where my brother and i fed squirrels
kneeling together, quiet for the chance.
almost like a prayer,
beside the long covered porch on the edge of memory,
we had to leave too.
endless road stops, the unfolding and refolding of maps,
sibling quarrels, car games,
a sketchbook within reach to draw pictures
of what i was sure waited.....
open windows without screens,
begging me to reach out and pick from the
abundance of always blooming flowers.
warm night air whispering
under the hem of stars.
a new neighborhood
to wake up in the
company of
friends.
california.
sarah jane and her husband dan.
ancient, childless relatives on my mother's side.
we filled their san diego bungalow
with the clamor of family life, as our house was built.
she filled my hands with needle and thread,
the endless possibilities of imagination, cloth, and creation.
she filled my heart with the miracle of making,
the grace of sharing, the mercy of caring.
for one languid summer,
i lost myself in the sanctuary of their yard.
where abalone shells nested in the roots of fragrant trees
...that tossed their white flowers
spilling over me, over me...
the iridescent shell pools catching the warm air,
the tiny flowers...
the quiet voice of solitary yesterdays.
where life held me suspended like a bookmark between chapters,
while sarah jane embossed my heart in the perfect art of being there.
before i dove once again, flat out into the gregarious life of growing up.
sarah jane
i will never know
who needed the other more,
the childless wife or the friendless child.
but i know this.
she was the open window, the warm air. she was the abundance
of always blooming flowers.
she was shelter and love that never left me,
kindness, mercy and compassion on
my stumble to belonging.
***
i want to thank everyone whose hands are all tied up in the
making of my life.
thanks too for the black and white photographs
that helped me share these memories.
i hope you will click on each one and marvel at the
exquisite work of their hands and eyes.
***
now, please tell me, where did your stumble take you?
a plague has fallen upon our house. but i am here.
xo
Posted by: adrienne | January 30, 2011 at 01:50 PM
Today I am stumbling towards the edge of the sea...Rebecca, this is such a beautiful post...I am going to read it again, and again!
Posted by: deb taylor | January 30, 2011 at 03:25 PM
oh this is ecstasy, divine, love.. beautiful
like Deb, I am going to read it again and again..
mine is up.. not sure if I am stumbling towards ecstasy but I am stumbling xo
Posted by: Miss Robyn | January 30, 2011 at 04:38 PM
Pure ecstasy!!! A LOVE of an older woman, I have known this love many times, well let me see, there was Pearl, Annie, Kathleen,Nell (Alberta, Virginia, Garnet,these 3 being grandmothers who I adored!),Mary(my mother-in-law, whom I miss more than she would ever have imagined!), Violet, Margaret and I too, have a Jane! I am becoming that older woman! I HOPE I can have a sweet young girly like YOU, Rebecca in my life! I am glad we are in each other's lives!!! (((Rebecca)))) I will come back to read this post too!
Posted by: Cinda Rae Oliverio | January 30, 2011 at 05:33 PM
Dear Heart, You told me the details in these beautiful words. I can only hope I'm remembered by my kin as you remembered yours. Thank you for sharing your life with all of us.
Peace
Posted by: spadoman | January 30, 2011 at 06:02 PM
oh, rebecca.
just . oh.
hugs to you beautiful woman.
Posted by: deb @ talk at the table | January 30, 2011 at 06:18 PM
This is a most splendidly written piece, Rebecca. And beautiful, touching photos. You are such a master of the written word and the paintbrush, and the mosaic. Thank you for sharing yourself.
Posted by: Laurie Zuckerman | January 30, 2011 at 06:18 PM
Lookout Mountain? Really? My mama and my daddy were born and raised there. You have a connection?
Posted by: Ms. Moon | January 30, 2011 at 07:34 PM
oo my i must go back and treasure this gratitude again...so close to my own heart remembrances...thank you, miss rebecca
Posted by: jean | January 30, 2011 at 08:30 PM
How beautiful -- so many stories and beautiful words. I will come back to them and savor. And the photos, too -- thank you Rebecca!
Posted by: Elizabeth | January 30, 2011 at 08:38 PM
So exquisitely recalled--your narrative is like a painting. Each of those black and white photos, when contemplated, pops up in amazing colors. Thank you. I hope you are feeling well this week, Rebecca, and thanks for visiting Sacred Ordinary.
Posted by: Fran aka Redondowriter | January 30, 2011 at 09:48 PM
Indeed. Exquisite. No other words can give it justice. Exquisite words. Exquisite images. Exquisite person.
Posted by: Molokai Girl | January 30, 2011 at 11:21 PM
Your gifts never cease to amaze thank you,
love Sue x
Posted by: Sue fox | January 31, 2011 at 02:48 AM
You've written an emotionally stimulating and visually colorful word picture enhanced by the photos. Reminded me of a relocation move from Great Lakes midwest snow country to the west -- memories.
Posted by: joared | February 01, 2011 at 02:45 AM
You are so talented. This is great.
All the best, Boonie
Posted by: Boonie | February 01, 2011 at 05:55 AM
such precious memories... told with artful beauty.
Posted by: Leslie | February 01, 2011 at 09:49 AM
Wonderful images and words. Thanks!
Posted by: L Marsh | February 01, 2011 at 12:32 PM
YOU are a beautiful girl~woman all sparkly* wonderful with morsels to share with the squirrels and people. The ones you love who have tied ribbons to your heart. They are attached to your soul, and have infused your fire earth water and air you possess. Love all who you are!
I thought of you yesterday, btw.
xox
Constance
Posted by: rochambeau | February 01, 2011 at 01:57 PM
As I child, I liked to eat the store-bought, factory-made fruitcakes that everyone seems to make fun of these days. If I had bitten into one of those homemade ones which you remember, I probably would have died on the spot--death by ecstasy!
Posted by: Magical Mystical Teacher | February 01, 2011 at 08:47 PM
I sit here stunned in a form of nostalgia for your memories
Posted by: gemma | February 03, 2011 at 08:23 PM