Morning Tea and the Memory Box

As if it knew there was little time left to waste with such frivolities as dreams, sleep spent very few hours with him each night.  He was always at his red-gingham-draped kitchen table long before dawn, sipping tea and poking though the souvenirs of his past. They'd grown a bit untidy over the years, but once the cobwebs were brushed away, they carried him back.

He’d had many good years, doing the things many like him had done, and enjoying every minute.  He loved being a husband and father.  It was the little moments of those roles, the everyday and mundane, that delighted him. 

When they were first married, he loved watching Maggie cook, his new bride’s face a study in concentration as she tried a new recipe from James Beard.  It wasn’t long before she no longer needed it, but she’d kept the tattered book on top of the refrigerator, just in case. It was there still, and he knew if he picked it up, it would fall open to the gravy-stained pages of “My Own Favorite Roast Turkey.”

He’d loved sitting with the family around the dinner table, listening to the words tumble all over each other like a bunch of exuberant puppies as the kids eagerly described their day.  Later, the laughter that cascaded down the stairs as the kids had their nightly bath made him laugh too, even though he wasn’t in on the joke.

It was all just as he’d imagined it would be, when as a young man, he’d thought ahead to his future.  But now, as he thought back to his past, he mourned the fact that today was not at all how he’d thought it would be.

He thought he’d fret as he watched Mike drive off in the beater they’d kept as a second car, the proud bearer of his newly acquired driver’s license, and when Becky, flushed with excitement, left on her first date with a gangly classmate.  He’d looked forward to the swell of pride he knew he’d feel as the kids graduated from college, got their first jobs, and stood at the altar, joyfully joining their lives to another. 

He’d eagerly anticipated pacing anxiously in the hospital waiting room as, one by one, his grandchildren filled in his mental family portrait.  He’d watch those grandchildren grow, with all the fun of spending time playing with them and none of the responsibility for their upbringing.

He’d always expected to spend today with Maggie, recapturing the intimacy and joy they’d had as newlyweds.  They would share new adventures, complaints about new aches and pains, and the thrill of welcoming new grandchildren into the world. 

What he’d never anticipated was the tractor-trailer truck that Maggie’s car had met as she drove the kids home from their cousin’s birthday party that October day.  He never expected a weary truck driver to steal his today from him and forever change his tomorrow and the days after. 

And he never thought he’d be sitting here alone at the kitchen table in the pre-dawn light, brushing off the collected memories he kept tucked away in the cigar box  in the corner of  his mind, along with a few of his other treasures, the lucky penny, the cats-eye marble, and the tooth he’d found under the elm tree.

He took another sip of tea, now grown cold and bitter.

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This is my offering for Theme Thursday, where the prompt was "brush."

Theme Thursday: The Call

Fronds rustling softly

As they answer tropic breezes,

Palm trees wave and beckon:

Come on down! Come on down!

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Posted for Theme Thursday, where the prompt is "palm."

Children of the Sixties?

 They took to the streets,

Bouncing off walls

Like crazed hippy revolutionaries

Rushing to the Haight.

It started with only a few,

But then the word spread.

The few became many,

And the many a demonstration.

While the city looked on,

Their numbers multiplied.

They filled the streets,

Dancing with psychedelic joy.

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This was written for Theme Thursday, where the theme for the week is “ball."

Once in a Blue Moon

It was probably too late to be walking on the beach. Alone. Certainly Dad thought so. But like I told him, this was one rendezvous I was not going to miss.  A chance like this came along once in a blue moon.

Smiling to myself at the aptness of the old saying, I strolled along the water's edge, digging my toes into the warm sand.  To my left, the patio bars in the hotels along Ocean Drive were still bustling.  Hot Latin music drifted across the sand to stir my blood.  Gyrating bodies filled the patios and spilled down onto the sidewalk.  It seemed I wasn't the only one out and about tonight.  And no wonder!  For South Beach, the night was still young, and the July weather was unusually perfect.  The heat of the day had passed, and the night air was like a caress.

But to my right was the real show.  The moon was completely full, a huge perfect orb hanging like a Christmas ornament over the dark waters of the Atlantic.  It was one of those moons I have only seen in Miami, as if ordered up by the Miami Beach Chamber of Commerce just for the tourists.  It was certainly the perfect moon for the wondrous date I was keeping tonight.

I glanced at my watch. It was time.  I pulled my tiny transistor radio from the pocket of my shorts and switched it on.

Looking up at that enormous Miami moon, I could imagine that I was there too.

"That's one small step for a man, one giant step for mankind."

Thrilled, I thought again, Oh, yes, only once in a blue moon.

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And on the lighter side:

Only once in a blue moon does talent like this come along!



This is my entry for this week's Theme Thursday prompt. To see more, visit here .

Theme Thursday: The Triangle

The theme for the week at Theme Thursday is Triangle

I'm not sure what to say about this, except that this guy obviously did better in Geometry class than I did.

The Triangle

Theme Thursday: I Am a Camera

We all know what a "camera" is, but while visiting Oxford, England a few years ago, I came upon a different kind of camera.  Beautiful and intriguing, it piqued my curiosity, but since it was not open to the public, all I could do was take pictures of its exterior.  The interior shots came from the Internet.

The Radcliffe Camera

by David Ross, Britain Express

The circular dome and drum of the Radcliffe Camera is one of the most distinctive landmarks in a city full of distinctive buildings. The camera (the word means simply "room") was built 1737-1749 with £40,000 bequeathed by Dr John Radcliffe, the royal physician.

The Radcliffe Camera was intended to house a new library, and designs were called for from several leading architects, including Nicholas Hawksmoor (responsible for much of All Soul's College) and James Gibbs.

It was Gibbs who won the competition, with his elegant Palladian design, though his final plans drew heavily on earlier work by Hawksmoor. Gibbs was also responsible for the Church of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, in Trafalgar Square, London.

Originally the library in the Radcliffe Camera held both scientific and general books, but those collections were gradually moved to other University libraries, so that today the Camera functions as the main reading room of the Bodleian Library. The finished building holds some 600,000 books in underground rooms beneath Radcliffe Square.

Sadly, the Radcliffe Camera is not open to the public.

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And now, another unusual look at "camera."

Theme Thursday: Candy

My favorite candy has always been turtles. You know, those oddly-shaped little chocolate-covered-gooey-caramel-with-pecan  morsels.  Yummy, yummy. But how they came to be my favorite is a bit of a good news/bad news story.

The good news? When I was about nine years old, my Dad would sometimes take me with him when he made some of his rounds, and at one of the stops, the owner always gave me a few turtles.  I quickly put them at the top of my list of favorites, above such ordinary candies as Tootsie Rolls and Necco Wafers (well, except maybe for the black ones).  I mean, who wouldn't?

The bad new? Those rounds I went on with Dad were to bars. Some of the bartenders did have pistachio nuts, though, so it wasn't all bad.  Except for the red fingers.

In a more current nod to candy, here's a musical offering.

Theme Thursday: Wrinkle Me This

The theme for the week at Theme Thursday is "wrinkle."  For an unusual (and really old) look at wrinkles, I offer you this:



...and some good advice for us all:

We're In This Together

He’s not much to look at, but he’s mine.    He’s happy to just be with me, and seldom requires me to entertain him.  Oh, I don’t mean to say that he doesn’t enjoy a good conversation, because he really does.  And he always listens to me when I speak, which is something of a rarity in my life.

When I stumble out of bed in the morning looking like something the cat dragged in, he still looks at me with love in his eyes.  Unconditional love is a wonderful gift, one I’d never known until I met him. 

He is unfailingly loyal. That’s the best part.  “We’re in this together, “ he says, “till death do us part.”   I worry that I don’t deserve him, but that doesn’t matter, because he thinks I do. 

I look up from my book, and smile at him, sitting on the other end of the couch.  He smiles back, and slides down and gives me a big kiss.  Laughing, I wrap my arms around the big dog, and kiss him back.  “We’re in this together,” I say.

In Memorium
Trevor Dog

This was written for Theme Thursday. This week's theme is Pets.

Theme Thursday: Bicycle

This week's prompt at Theme Thursday is bicycle.

I have always been fascinated by a pennyfarthing (almost as much as I am by the people able to ride one).  They're pretty rare; I'm always surprised when I see one.  I took this picture in New Orleans, where I'm never surprised by anything I see.

And now for an entertaining collection of bicycles, both familiar and fanciful:

Theme Thursday: Draft

The theme for this week on Theme Thursday is Draft. The dictionary I checked listed 38 definitions for the word draft.  But having witnessed this amazing time in our history, I can't hear the word without these memories playing in my mind.

And, of course, I have to include the anthem of another guy who lived it. The clip is long, and the sound quality not the greatest, but the video is an interesting meld of the song and scenes from the movie. 

Alice's Restaurant Massacree

Theme Thursday: Lunch

For this week’s Theme Thursday, I decided to take a trip to Fantasyland, Parisian style. Keeping in mind the theme for the week, Lunch, this is my offering.

If you’re still hungry when you’ve finished, drop in at Theme Thursday for some more goodies from the lunch menu.

Déjeuner dans le parc

The whistle blew and, mon dieu, I was ready. It had been a grueling morning, and it was only the thought of lunch that had kept me going. I collected my lunch pail from the window sill near my desk, and headed outside. It was such a beautiful day, one of the first of the year, and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to soak up some of the warm spring sunshine.

Le Jardin des Tuileries wasn’t too far from the office, so I decided to spend the lunch break there. Two hours in the warm sun were just what I needed.

I spotted a small copse of chestnut trees near the boat pond. I carried my lunch over, and settled beneath one of the trees. The tree was just beginning to bud, and the few pale green leaves that were out were not enough to shade my spot. The sun dappled through, covering me with a delicate blanket of warmth. I sat for a few moments, gazing over at the pond, and letting the stress of the morning drop away. It wouldn’t be long before the children came to launch their sailboats out onto the pond, but for now, a few ducks had the place to themselves.

With growing anticipation, I opened my lunch pail. Oh, la! Jean Luc had packed it with all my favorites. I laid out my feast, poured a glass of wine, and leaned back against the welcome support of the big tree.

Ah, c’est magnifique.

There were definite advantages to being married to a chef!

Like I said, Fantasyland.

Theme Thursday: The Box

This my entry for this week's Theme Thursday for "box." It’s a repost from an earlier date, which I don’t often do.  But it perfectly targets this week’s theme, and I just can’t get past it to another inspiration.  So if you’ve read it before, my apologies.

The Box 

Once upon a time, there was a box. Tucked away high on a closet shelf, it was an unassuming wooden box looking forward to a happy future next to the rocking chairs on the front porch.

It was filled with fun and fantasies, winter dreams and summer drives, passion and love. Postcards and coasters. Matchbooks and guide books. Ticket stubs and Playbills. Geegaws and tschotches. Baubles and bangles. Memories for the inevitable day when memory fails.

One day, the memories came to an end, and the box was left to languish. Instead of gathering life and love, it gathered nothing but dust and spider webs. But still it waited, because… well, you never know.

As will happen as time goes by and lives move on, the day came when there was nothing left to wait for. The box no longer held happy recollections. Instead, it held meaningless collections for the garbage truck.

And so off it went, its memories carried to the landfill to decay with the rest of life’s cast-offs.

But perhaps, when memory is gone, wisps from the box will drift into the cloudy grey heads of those rocking on porches far apart, and they will remember.

Theme Thursday - Yellow

This my entry for this week's Theme Thursday on "yellow."

The Perfect Yellow Rose

The doorbell rang, and she went to open it. It was her birthday, so she wasn’t surprised to see the Roadway Express man standing on the stoop holding a package. She signed for it, and laid it on the hall table. She’d open it later. She was in no mood now. It had only been a few weeks since Mike’s memorial service, and it was hard to be enthusiastic about anything, even a birthday gift.

She and Mike had been inseparable, until Uncle Sam managed to separate them by sending him to Vietnam. Their mothers were college roommates, and had ended up living next door to each other. She and Mike had been friends their whole lives, almost since they were born, two months apart. They’d shared a playpen, a skate key, afternoons watching Howdy Doody, and the chicken pox . They’d ridden their bikes together, played hide and seek in the dusk, wrestled, and occasionally given each other a black eye. They’d seen each other though swimming lessons and driving lessons, boyfriends and girlfriends, all the angst and joys of growing up. He was her best friend.

On every birthday since they were about six years old, Mike had given her a goofy gift, the sillier and more bizarre, the better!  Among other oddities, he'd given her a bullfrog, a Ch-Ch-Chia Pet and, her favorite, an alligator skull. This year’s birthday was a big one--she was turning 21--so the thought of commemorating it without some sort of gag gift from Mike was breaking her heart all over again.

That night, as she was leaving to meet her parents for a birthday dinner, she noticed the box sitting on the table by the door, and decided to open it. Inside the outer packaging, she found another long thin box. She unwrapped it and opened the tissue paper inside. Inside was a beautiful yellow rose, kept fresh by a little vial of water pressed onto its stem. She poked around in the tissue paper, but she couldn’t find a card.

She was running late, so she decided she’d look again later, and left to go to the restaurant.

“Here’s to the birthday girl!” Dad said, raising his wine glass. “We love you, Baby.”

And then she remembered. On her sixteenth birthday, an eager would-be boyfriend had overwhelmed her with two dozen red roses. When Mike had teased her about it unmercifully, she’d said to him, “That’s just so pretentious. I don’t even like red roses, and really? Two dozen? If a guy really loved me, he’d give me one perfect yellow rose.”

Improbably Pink

Florida Flamingos

Arizona Sunset

Florida Sunrise

New Zealand Sunset

Theme Thursday: Sign of the Times

This week's theme at Theme Thursday is "sign."

Sign of the Times

He should have seen it coming.  The signs were everywhere.   Hushed conversations that ended abruptly when he walked into the room.  Tension in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife.  He should have known.

He’d seen it happen to other guys, and wondered disdainfully how they could have been so blindsided.  The signs were right there under their noses.  If he could see it happening, why couldn’t they? Didn’t they have eyes?

His wife told him, “You need to be prepared.  Look for a new place.  Start packing up your stuff.”

But he didn’t believe her.  Not after all these years.  It’d been nearly 23 years.  With so much time invested, he didn’t believe it could end, just like that.  He would try harder.  Something would change and things would get better.  He was sure of it.

That Thursday, he couldn’t deny it any longer.  The minute he opened the envelope, he knew.  It was over.  He’d been a fool.

23 years!  How could this be?  He laid his keys on the table and picked up the box.   He took a deep breath and headed for the door.  The box holding his lamp and the pink slip under his arm, he left the building.

Unspoken Fears

This is my entry for Velvet Verbosity’s 100-Word Challenge.  This week’s word is Unspoken.

And it’s also my entry for Theme Thursday.  This week’s theme is Breakfast. There’s lots of yummy fare on the table, so drop in and join us.

Unspoken Fears 

 

I’m afraid of the dark, she thought, but she didn’t dare to say it out loud. 

Passing though sinister shadows black as night, she knew hungry monsters were lurking close by, watching for a sign of weakness. She could feel them there, just waiting to devour her the moment she let her guard down.  

She wanted to howl in terror.  But to give voice to the fears was to give them teeth, and then, snarling and slobbering, they would rip her heart out and eat it for breakfast.  So instead, she just held her breath, and walked a little faster.

Theme Thursday: His Best Hat Ever

This week’s theme for Theme Thursday is Hats. Why not grab your hat and head over to join the fun?

His Best Hat Ever

And all your future lies beneath your hat.

                                    - Colonial poet John Oldham

 

It started when he was about three years old.  The moment he donned his Grandpa’s straw plantation hat, he was smitten.  From that day forward, he never met a hat he didn’t like.  He bought the ones he liked best, and others were gifts.  He loved them all.

His mother used to say, “He’s always been into costumes.”  But that wasn’t quite it.  He did like to don the persona of some of his favorite characters, but costumes weren’t necessary.  You didn’t need much anything else if you had a good hat. He could be Sherlock Holmes; his deerstalker was a favorite.  Or maybe Che. Or Pinky Lee. Whatever his mood, whomever he felt like being, he had a hat to suit.

Over the years, his collection grew.  Indiana Jones, Topper, and Charlie Chaplin joined the cast of characters residing on the hat rack in his room.  Ali Baba, Patton, Uncle Sam, Dr. Seuss’ cat… He could be anyone he wanted.

And then, one day when he’d forgotten to put on a hat before heading out, he met her, the woman who was born for him. She was beautiful, smart, and funny.  She shared his love of the outdoors, and looked at the world through the same quirky lens he did.  And if all that weren’t enough, she owned a costume business!  How could it get any better?

There was just one problem. She hated his hat collection!  She thought it was childish.  Childish!!!

Well, he figured, everyone has to grow up sometime.  Reluctantly, he gave away all his hats, making sure that each would have a good home.  But, oh, it was painful.  He’d had them for so long.  It was like turning away family.

In time, he became accustomed to going out as himself, with no hat atop his head. But he never stopped missing them, wishing he could be someone else on occasion.

Until the day his son was born.  He realized then that, finally, he was who he was supposed to be all along.  For years, he hasn’t given his hat collection another thought.  Every day, he proudly wears his new hat: “Dad.”

Spring-ing Ahead

100-Word Challenge: Hidden

 

This is my submission to Velvet Verbosity's 100-Word Challenge:  Hidden.  

 Mother

 

Obviously in a bad mood, she glowers, all dark storm clouds and frost.  You might never guess that deep within, hidden from sight, a warm heart beats.  

She’s not always like this. If you catch her on a good day, she’s all smiles, their touch soft and caressing.  She rises in the morning glowing with good cheer, ready to spread her warmth on all she meets.  Her sunny disposition is like a salve.

But not today.  She’s been such a grump lately, keeping a cold shoulder turned toward most everyone.  I’m not worried, though.  Spring is just around the corner.

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And while we're on the subject...

Haiku in Green

Green grass springs skyward

Out of Winter’s frozen womb,

And hope is reborn.

Green is the color of March at Theme Thursday.

Visit to see the other participants’ take on things green. But beware the Green-Eyed Monster.  These folks are good!.

Theme Thursday: A Knell for the Bell

This is the first time I’ve participated in Theme Thursday, but I was drawn by the story behind this week’s theme.  On Thursday, Barry of An Explorer’s View of Life is celebrating his last chemo treatment by ringing a bell long and loud.  You can read about it and join in to make a joyful noise for him here.  Congratulations, Barry!  I’ll be hopping around madly at 2:00PM today, “ringing my bell” for you!

And now on to my offering on the theme of the week: Bell.

The Bell Family

Back in the day, when I was a kid, people who wanted to talk to each other called on the telephone.  You remember (or geez, maybe some of you don’t remember…), you went to that table in the hall, picked up the telephone receiver, dialed the number for your friend, stretched the cord to its limit to go into the hall closet, and chatted until Dad yelled at you to “Get off the phone!” 

A little later, there might have been an extension on the wall in the kitchen, not such a good thing if eavesdropping was a family pastime.  We all learned that if you unscrewed the cover on the speaking end of the receiver and popped out the little thingy inside before letting go of the button to open the line, they couldn’t tell you were listening on the extension.

Then, even later, if you were lucky, you had an extension in your bedroom.  And for many girls, it got even better.  Their parents took the path of least resistance to keep the house phone open just in case (unlikely as it seems) someone actually called to talk to them, and gave their daughters their own line.

If you wanted to make a long distance call, you dialed 0 (on an actual round dial) and a friendly female voice greeted you.  She would make the call for you.  My first job out of high school was to be one of those friendly female voices, sitting on a switchboard with 49 other friendly female voices (this was in Miami; lots of people made long distance calls) wielding those long cords like an expert.

Back in the day, all this was made possible by the Bell Family, known as American Telephone & Telegraph (or AT&T), which consisted of Ma Bell, and her seven Baby Bells.  

The Divorce

And then the day came when, as so many families do, the Bell Family broke up.  Judge Harold Greene, representing Uncle Sam, presided over the divorce and ordered the dissolution of the family.  The Baby Bells were sent out to fend for themselves.   The seven little Bells gave themselves new names and marched boldly (well, OK, some of them staggered) into the future.  And for many of us, service got worse.  The costs got higher.  And you have to buy your own telephone, for heaven’s sake!

One by one, the Bell offspring have been disappearing, gobbled up by the merger monster.  Southwestern Bell, PacTel, and Ameritech were the first to go.  Then BellSouth followed.  Bell Atlantic and NYNEX were next.  And then there were three, one of whom has taken back the old family name, AT&T.

But even these three are mere shadows of their former selves, from back in the day.   One sold off its landline business several years ago.   The others have watched the landline business evaporate as more customers switch to cell phones.  The handwriting seems to be on the wall. 

The Bell Is Silenced

There are probably no teenagers dragging the phone into the hall closet these days.  84% of them have cell phones, according to a leading research company.  (Shockingly, they also say 22% of children aged 6-9 and 60% of “tweens” aged 10-14 own a cell phone.)

The friendly operator has gone the way of the dodo bird.  I’m not sure what happens now if you dial 0.  I can’t test it out because I don’t have a land line.

Sure it’s progress.  But, I don’t know, somehow it’s sad. 

So long, Ma Bell.  I’ll miss you.