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.”