THE 70'S

When I hear the phrase "The 70's" I think of a wooden door thunking close onto a swinging bell, of bare feet walking onto an air conditioned cooled concrete floor, the wall air conditioner whose hum I can hear over the swoosh and squeak of the ceiling fan, the smell of mothballs mixed with tobacco, earth, and chocolates, the ice chilled glass bottle of a Dr. Pepper after the metallic glass clink when the top's popped off, of momentary sanctuary from the heat, the grime, and the toil.  This is "The 70's" to me.

The Ring

My mother suffers from rheumatoid and osteo-arthritis.  Her hands are gnarled and twisted to the point that it’s hard for her to perform some daily tasks that we take for granted.  A couple of years ago she made the decision to give each of her daughters and granddaughters her rings and her necklaces that had clasps (which she could no longer work).

She gave me the wedding ring from her second marriage.  My step-father was a pleasant man in the beginning but then he changed and our situation changed.  By the end of his life I hated him and was glad to see him go (being perfectly honest here).  So when she first gave me the ring – two linked hearts with a tiny diamond in the middle – I looked at it in a negative way.  It made me think of “him”.  I couldn’t wear it anyway because it was sized so large to fit over my mother’s enlarged arthritic knuckles.  I put it away for a while not wanting to look at it. 

Earlier this year I decided to have an antique ring resized for my husband as a surprise for his birthday.  I thought I’d resize Mom’s ring at the same time on a whim.  When it came back it was not only resized but cleaned as well.  It sparkled beautifully and looked nice on my hand.  It reminded me of Mom’s hands – when she cooked for us, cleaned the house, folded the laundry, tended our wounds, worked in her flowers.  The ring no longer reminded me of my step-father or their marriage anymore.

I brought the ring with me on this year’s Christmas trip.  I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to see her due to her recent health problems and my recent cold (which she couldn’t be exposed to).  Then I got the call on the day I was to visit her that she’d been rushed to the ER. The drive from my husband’s family to the hospital was an hour.  While getting everyone ready and during the drive, my mind worried over the situation with my mother.  I feared that I may lose her.  She’s 74 years old and the reality hit that she wouldn’t be with me forever.

 I looked at the ring, turning it nervously around my finger.  The two hearts joined together began to take on a new meaning for me.  Instead of it representing the joining of Mom and my step-father, it reminded me of the link I will always have with my mother whether she is with me or not.  My mother wasn’t perfect when we were growing up but she loved us.  She will always love us.

Thankfully when I arrived at the ER she was fine and not long after they released her.  While I was in her little ER cubicle, talking to her (and calming my own anxieties), she noticed the ring.  She smiled a little smile, happy to see me wearing it, and said, “I see you’re wearing my ring.”  I felt warmed and comforted somehow that she approved.  As I was leaving she gave me a strong hug that said a thousand unspoken things.  And my heart was healed just a little more.

Storm as Muse



Taken on the night of the Blue Moon 2012



Thunder echoes

the valleys shake

rain blows in

sideways

I watch the sky

light with streaks

and I hold no fear

knowing you're with me

I bow my head

to the pillow's shape

close my eyes

say my thanks

Feeling you near

I have no reason to fear

I hold your love

with the covers tight

blow out the candles

say good night

holding you dear

on a stormy night

JOE'S TREE

It was late afternoon.  Joe sat at his desk shuffling papers as the tightness in his chest increased.  This job is going to kill me, he thought.  He turned away from his desk, away from the computer, away from the stress, and looked out the window to the huge maple tree that stood on the hill across from his window.  Every year he watched the tree as it changed into deep colors of yellow, orange, and red.  There had been times when he had taken photos because the beauty of the tree in its autumn glory had left him awestruck.

That was how Joe felt now, awestruck.  Last year the drought had muted the colors.   But this year the colors were brilliant.  Joe stood up and took the couple of steps between the desk and the window and stayed there gazing out.  The wind picked up and leaves blew away in the breeze.  With the weather turning colder, the tree would be empty soon.  Undressed as it were, for a long winter’s slumber. 

The tightness in his chest hitched up, becoming more pain than pressure.  This job is going to kill me, Joe thought again.  Maybe it was time to let go.  Maybe when the tree was completely bare, he mused, he would leave too.    Walk away from the piles of reports and forms in near-toppling piles on his desk.  Walk away from his computer where the email in-box filled with upwards of two hundred new emails daily.  Away from the constant knocks at his door with someone wanting something from him.  He could leave this job and never look back.  He imagined himself at home with a framed photo of the tree in all its glory, smiling as he showed it to his beloved wife.

Then the old fears crept up.  How to support his wife and his son, who was now in college, without this job.  Maybe he could switch to a less stressful job, he pondered. 

“The tree is so beautiful,” he said out loud, though no one was in the room.  His mind made up, he turned from the tree back to his desk but didn’t make it into the chair.  The pain seized hold of him.  He clutched his chest unable to get a full breath, unable to call out for help.  He fell, just missing the desk and chair.  It seemed the air around him turned heavy, pushing him, but he couldn’t let go.  Not until the tree is bare, he thought.  He tried to let his body relax, to lessen the pain while he waited. 

The door banged open.  A man and a woman entered.  The man walked over to the desk while the woman walked over to the window.

“I am sure I heard something this time,” she insisted.  Her office was on the other side of the wall from Joe’s desk.

“I know, “  the man said, “I heard something too, but there’s no one in here.”  He wouldn’t admit to her that this was not the first time he had heard a noise on the other side of the wall that he had shared with Joe.

“Maybe it was just the wind against the window.”  He said looking out the window as the leaves slowly flew from the tree in a colorful parade.

“I don’t like it,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself, “It just feels so weird in here.  Something just feels so off.”

He looked at her and frowned, “You’re being silly,” he declared, “You just feel  that way because no one’s been in here since Joe passed away.  Once they’re found his replacement and someone’s in here all the time, you won’t feel that way anymore.”

She dropped her gaze and rubbed her arms, letting out a long sigh.  “You’re probably right,” she said, “I guess it’s just … you know … “ she faltered, “with him passing away so suddenly it just sometimes feels like he’s still here.”

His whole face scrunched in disapproval.  “Joe had no reason to hang around here when he passed.  He’s gone to a better place.”  He looked out the window watching the leaves rustle and flutter in the wind, a few releasing into the autumnal dance before dropping from the breeze to the grown.  It was hypnotic to watch but soon, he knew, the tree would be bare.

[Short story copyright November 2012 - Lelain de Peche]

Unsettled

I am torn and withered
the days pull at me

Hollow Tree with a hollow heart.

tangles of thorn bushes
without the color of roses
I am parched and burned
all resources torn from me
a dried river in a land
shifting into desert
I am shaken and rifted
soul shattered in tremors
earth and buildings ripped
from where they stand, tumbling
lost to time and space
forced to bow before the
unforgiving
martyrs in stone
staring cold unmoving
and bid me stand still
tongue heavy with ice
eyes on the ground
crumbling beneath me
- copyright 2012

Beautiful lone red tree surrounded by river on one side and a walking trail on the other.

Beginning, Middle, or End?

The chill is biting but I continue walking.  Not knowing where I will end, I let my feet guide the way through leaves of autumnal colors.  My mind is alive with stories.  Characters talk back and forth through dialog, describing people and places that exist only in my mind.  I know that my world is burning.  I am losing time and falling out of place.  I am desperate to finish all that I have dreamed before more is dreamt.

Squirrels run about rustling leaves under the trees and across the path.  I pause to watch them.  In distraction I lingering among them  as they gather food, climb, and play.  They are oblivious to me until I address one aloud as "Mr. Squirrel".  Then they all scurry up the trees to their hidey-holes leaving me alone again with my stories bickering with me to be told, to be spilled onto paper.

Detrius of Life

Right now, at this very minute, I have the dust and debris from the remains of someone's life stuck in my sinuses.  It is uncomfortable but I will live.  Yet my heart is breaking for this loss.

Just after the beginning of the year, a faculty member, our co-worker, passed away unexpectedly.  He was a wonderful person who always went out of his way to help others.  He always made time for others.  He set an amazing example for others.  He is greatly missed. His family came by his office and took some personal items away with them.  Some of the books and research files were taken from his office by other faculty members.  Then there was still a room full of materials to be dealt with.

Our supervisor called together all the clerical staff.  We all agreed that if we all went in, full blast, we could get the office cleaned out in one sitting and it would be done.  Besides the physical stress, the dust, and other allergens, we knew  there would be an emotional toll.

My back and knees are strained from lifting heavy files repeatedly (file after file - four horizontal cabinets full).  My sinuses are burning and inflamed from dust.  Worse, though, someone's life came down to all this research, files, books, and magazines that no one else wants or cares about.  I felt like we were losing him all over again.  All that he had left behind was now being washed away on a tide into huge blue recycle bins.

It sounds silly to say it outloud.  So I'll leave it at that.  I'll go now to my car, through the rain that will wash all the dust away (the last of his dust) and continue on for another day.