I REMEMBER YOU SO CLEARLY RUTH

When I was a kid, heaven was only a mile and a half away.  It was at my Aunt Ruth’s house.  I liked going there and when I got old enough, maybe twelve years old, I walked there often. 

I remember running down Maywood Street from the Columbus Park area of the city I lived in, Worcester Massachusetts.  By the time I got to Park Avenue, I’d run, walk, run and walk.  I would turn up Austin Street to my favorite house.  By then I always had my second wind and ran up the long outside stairway to the second floor.

I knocked at the door with so much anticipation.  The door would finally open and usually my beautiful Auntie Ruth would be standing there.  She always said, “Hi darling, did you walk?”  I’d say, “Yes Auntie.”  She would take a deep breath and blurt out, “Oh my god, what a kid.”  She always made me feel so proud of myself.

My Uncle Harold would be standing near-by smiling.  I can see him now in my mind.  He always had a sleeveless tee shirt on and was so handsome.  My cousin Harold, whom they called, young Harold, was in the service at the time.  I hardly ever saw him.  My little cousin Joan was always home and so cute.  My cousin Ronnie would always be in his room listening to his and my favorite singer, Mario Lanza who was a great tenor.  Patsy was always painting her nails or pondering over her hope chest.  In those days young girls saved things for their future marriages.  Patsy was so cool and I idolized her.  Aunt Ruth was the heart of the home.  She was very good to me and would let me stay overnight any time I wanted to when I got the O.K. from my parents.

One particular day that I remember crystal clear was, I had just arrived and called my mother to tell her I got there O.K..  Aunt Ruth got on the phone to talk.  Meanwhile, Patsy interrupted her mother to ask if I could stay overnight.  We listened for the answer, trying not to giggle.  Auntie asked the big question and the answer was, “Yes.”

Patsy and I dreamed up at least twenty plans without saying a word.  I heard auntie say, “But Winnie, I just remembered, we are having horse meat for supper tonight.  I don’t think Jean will eat that.”  The laughing and my heart stopped.  Then I heard my aunt say, “Winnie, I know what I’ll do.  I have enough hamburger, she can have that.  I perked up again, yelping, “Yes, yes, I’ll eat the hamburger.”  So the deal was on and I cleaned my plate that night.

While writing this memory, I can’t help but re-think the hamburger.  I wonder if? – If? – No. No, of course not.

10.

One day, years later after I had children, I remember a scene in my mother’s kitchen.  Aunt Ruth gave me a scolding.  My mother was trying to give me gas money to make sure I got home to my family without running out of gas. I said, “Mom, I don’t need it.”  My mother said she would feel much better if I took it.  I came back again with, “Really mom, I’m all set.”

With that, my aunt walked right up to me, under my chin.  She was so cute and short and tough.  She made me have to use every bit of strength not to laugh.  She was reaching up and pushing her finger into my chest, holding it there.  Did I mention what beautiful nails she had, that were pointy and hard?  She was invading my personal space, BIG TIME… Finally the words came.  Now she was putting her point across by stabbing with her pointer finger. “Now you listen to me.  Your mother wants you to take that money, now, YOU TAKE IT.”  I called out to the other room where my mother had gone to get the money.  “Mom, I’ll take the money.”  As I was leaving for the second time, Aunt Ruth stood on her tippy toes to whisper, “See darling, now she’s happy.”

Years later, my aunt was in a nursing home with Alzheimer disease.  My mother and I visited her as often as we could.  We had a chance to hug her and kiss her and got a lot of love back.  Mom and I always felt so good by the time we left.  We would go to comfort Ruth and we ended up having the comfort.

One particular evening at the nursing home, I fed my aunt ice cream.  She started falling asleep so I transferred her to the bed and made her nice and comfy and warm under her afghan.  Her eyes closed, so I began looking over her head at family pictures on the wall.  I happened to look down and Ruth was looking up at me.  It took me by surprise when she said, “thank you.”  I was dumbfounded.  I put my arms deeply around her and told her how much I loved her.  It was like she didn’t have any sickness at all at that moment.

My aunt is gone now.  I will never forget what a caring, generous, kind, friendly, uplifting and respectful woman she was.

Wherever she went, she crocheted afghans, mittens, hats, scarves, vests, buntings, booties and sweaters.  She made us all something.  While she was crocheting, she would teach anyone who showed interest.  She made us all feel happy for whoever the lucky recipient was of the work she was doing.

No one will ever know that she was the type who loved us all so much, that she gave each of us, at one time or another, her last mint, gum, tea bag, piece of cake, pork chop, coffee, egg or aspirin.  I would have loved to have seen what would happen if we said, “no.”

My aunt Ruth is the true meaning of what God meant when he said, “Love one another as I have loved you.”

                                                                

                                                                     

FESTIVAL IN THE WIND

November 5, 1972

I poked my head into the family room.  “Coffee’s ready dad.  How do you want it?”  He stood up and strolled to the kitchen with a big grin on his face.  “I’ll get my own,” he said, as he reached to fetch two cups from the cabinet.  I smiled back, but was thinking how mom and I were usually waiting on him, hand and foot.  I’ll never forget his smug words of wisdom as he turned to me and said, “Jean, coffee is a personal thing.”  I loved it when he was in a good mood.  Those words have never been forgotten.

We fixed our perfect cups of coffee and went back into the family room.  We sipped and talked while mom was taking a shower.  When she came out, I promised I was going to try to make bacon and eggs like hers.  My mother was famous to many people for her great breakfasts.  I realize now, that her success was in her patients.  Everyone knows I don’t have any.  I’m just like my dad.  I have a, “Let me get this job over with now,” attitude.

I could see that dad was ready for a lazy day.  He had a full pack of camel cigarettes and the Sunday newspaper on the small table beside his favorite chair.  We call it the “King’s Chair.”  None of us, (his family,) ever sat in it.  It was our love law.  Community auditions and Charles Kurault would be coming on television soon.  Later on, my brothers Thomas and James and they’re Family’s would be coming for dinner.  A typical Sunday was already in progress.  I had come early with my three children that day to help mom with dinner.  My daughter Susan was thirteen, Michael eleven and Jennifer was three.  Forty two days before that, my husband Mike died of a stroke at age forty.  The children and I loved going to nana and Pepe’s house. It was good therapy for all of us.

Suddenly the sound of the wind made us jump to our feet and look out the window.  The outside chairs were blowing over and the acorns were bouncing off the cars.  We stood gawking with our mouths open.  “Dad, remember the year it snowed before most people even started raking?”  I glanced at him and got no response from my memory.  He was not impressed.

I saw a blank look on his face and he was uttering baffling words like, “Come with me, I’ll teach you to rake, my way.”  I gasped in hunger and in very real shock.  “But dad, what about breakfast?  What about our perfect coffee?”  I quickly followed him as he mumbled, “We will have an appetite when we come in.”

He called down the hall where mom was just coming out of the bathroom.  “Winnie, get my jacket.  Jean and I are going out to rake.”  “But Al, are you not going to have breakfast first?”  She was as surprised as I was.  Mom and I passed each other in the hall darting raised eyebrows.  I grabbed my jacket and followed dad to the door.  I tried once more to  

be saved with no luck.  “I’m hungry mommy and what about my brothers will be here soon.”  She flashed a pitying smile at me.  Dad was bellowing louder now, “Come on, lets get this job over with.”

The wind grabbed hold of us, almost ripping the storm door out of the frame as we stepped outside.  I held on and forced the door shut behind me.  We each took a rake from under   the back porch.  I followed dad to the other side of the driveway.  As we walked, dad was telling me that when a windy day like this comes along, we should take advantage of it.  Go upwind and rake toward the street.  It was true that with every sweep of the rake, the leaves twirled and burst into the wind with such a mighty rush.  They blew down the hill and into the neighbor’s yards too.  Dad and I laughed through the whole job.   I was hoping the neighbors would not call the cops on us.  The leaves were going wherever the wind took them, but out of Dad’s yard.  It was amazing how fast we got the job done with the wind as our partner. 

Dad is gone now, but every year about the beginning of November, on a windy day, I think of him.  By this time the leaves are out of control.  I stand at my window meditating at my leaves with so much depression.  As I fight with my options of raking or not raking, a vision comes to mind.  I see dad and myself out there laughing and raking long hard sweeps of leaves.  Each rake full twirling and spinning into the wind.  I somehow catch the spirit, get my jacket and run out the door.  I grab the rake and before I know it, the raking is done for another year.  I always look up to the heavens and say, “Thank you for the energy dad.”   

                                            

2 ATWOOD TERRACE

Just before thanksgiving of two thousand eight, my brother Jimmy, sixty four and myself seventy two, were talking on the telephone.  I haven’t seen him since our mother died in August of two thousand two.  He lives in Nantucket of Massachusetts and asked if I ever drive by Mom’s house.  “I did a couple times.” I said, “It is shocking that every tree on the half acre lot was cut down by the new owners.  Jimmy, the sight is paralyzing.  Can you imagine if mom and dad could see they’re precious grounds now?”  We reminisced about the beautiful little five room home that was nestled among lots of tall oak trees that caused endless raking in the fall, but so worth it.  He was in awe about the trees and asked when I could take a few pictures for him.  “Tomorrow,” I said with joy.  At the same time I will go to my favorite diner to have my usual bacon, egg and cheese on a Jewish roll I thought.  I have been going there for years and have the same breakfast every time.

I got up early, got ready and went out the door by ten a.m.  I reminisced the whole ride toward my destination.  I didn’t know which to do first, eat or go to mom and dads. I started thinking about the trees again and was drawn to go to mom and dad’s first.  Maybe I’ll get a glimpse of dad and myself raking, I fantasized.

As I drove, I remembered a raking lesson dad gave me once.  We were sitting in the den one morning and it was getting pretty windy.  Acorns were bouncing off the cars and lawn furniture was blowing over.  Dad stood and said, “Come with me and I’ll teach you to rake my way.”  We grabbed our jackets and I followed him out the door.  Right away, as we walked outside, the wind grabbed hold of us, almost ripping the storm door out of the frame.  I held on and forced the door shut behind me.  We each grabbed a rake under the back porch and I followed dad.  As we were making headway, he called out, “When a windy day comes along, take advantage of it.  Go upwind and rake toward the street.” With every sweep of our rakes, the leaves twirled and burst into the wind with a mighty rush.  They blew down the hill and into neighbor’s yards too.  We laughed through the whole job.  I was hoping no-one would call the police. The leaves were going wherever the wind took them, but out of dads yard.  It was amazing how fast we got the job done with the wind as our partner.

With much thought, I made the decision of which street I would approach the house of the horseshoe neighborhood.  Mom and dad lived right on the curve for forty four years.  I pulled the car up to the edge of the back yard to take my first picture, so no-one would see me from windows.  I knew everyone.  I got out of the car and crossed the street with my camera.  Just as I was all set to click on my first perfect view, a large dog was quickly approaching me.  I was a little nervous, but then saw a man coming toward me too and decided the jig was up and walked toward him to explain my presence.

“Oh hi!” I said nervously.  “My two brothers and I sold you this house.  My brother Thom lives in Texas now and Jim lives in Nantucket.  Jim just recently asked me how our house, looked now and if I‘d take a few pictures.  I hope its O.K. with you?”  He was nice and extremely welcoming.  “Did you notice I got rid of all the trees?” he said.  “Remember the huge double oak in the front?  Got rid of that too.”  I was in a stupor and just offered an agreeable, “smart!”  While making a circle with two fingers, he said, “My raking in the fall now is zero.”

He then blurted out the startling words, “Why don’t you come on in and see what I’ve done inside.”  Stunned and worried about how I would handle it, I uttered, “Won’t your wife kill you?”  He chuckled, “No, I invite the whole neighborhood in.”  I said, “O.K., I’ll shut my car off and get my purse.”  I ran to the car feeling distraught.  I was worried that the minute I got in the house, I was going to burst out crying because I miss my mom so much.  Next thing I knew, I was walking in the back door with the owner.  I felt like Dorothy entering Oz.  The inside was truly beautiful.

Nothing was the same and suddenly I became quite relaxed. I didn’t have a chance to grab a look at where mom used to stand in the kitchen making bread and pies, or to check out where dad used to sit watching his favorite shows on T.V. like, Milton Berle or Jackie Gleason.  Dad always sat in what we called, “The Kings Chair.”  I didn’t try to see mom coming down the hall.  I was disoriented and my head was spinning a little.  “Were they with me now, I wondered?”

Where the kitchen table was, is wide open now.  The man pointed out that he tore that whole wall down for easy access to they’re new dining room, which used to be the den.  He showed me another wall he tore down in the new dining room and we strolled through it to go into the living room.  While he was telling me of other work he did, I went deaf for a minute, as I spotted mom’s bedroom doorway.  I could see a delicate gold cross on the far wall and had the urgency to rush in the room to see for myself if she was there.  The excitement of that treasured day took a lot out of me.

Later, when I got to the end of my mother’s street, I realized, it was a couple weeks before thanksgiving.  The first thanksgiving after my mother died, I was making pies and getting depressed because I couldn’t call her for a certain recipe like I did every year.  I wished then, I could go outside heaven’s gate and sell pies, so I could get one more look at her.  I fantasized, if I could be selling pies and mom heard about it, she’d want to see if they measured up to hers and I’d see her sooner.

“I got my wish,” I screamed in my mind.  I was with my mother one more time, even if it was, in spirit.  Inflamed with excitement, I changed my mind about breakfast.  I took a right into traffic, instead of a left, so I could hurry home to call Jimmy and Tommy.  After burning everyone’s ears off about my day, I knew I’d write a story about it, so I wouldn’t forget one minute of my phenomenal, mind boggling and unexpected encounter.

                                              

                                                                          

Was that you...

I remember you liked little old ladies

Well, I’m one now

I hope you like me

You were so young when you sailed off

But this time,

Not in a sail plane.

I have always felt you near me

It would be just like you,

To wait on heaven,

Which you deserve,

So you could help

This

Little old lady

So…

We can go together someday.

You always were so romantic.

Is…

It really O.K. with God

Did he say you could stay

And

Wait for me?

I remember you liked little old ladies

I think,

I saw you

Last night…..