TO REMIND YOU.....

   “Life is about creating yourself…” – George Bernard Shaw

It wasn’t Christmas. But it might as well be, thought Nora.  It was Spring Break. Wet, windy and cold , sleet, some hail. Snow in the forecast. Nora shouldered her grocery bags and eyed the stairs to her apartment. Twelve. Be careful of number 6, she thought. It was loose. Nora sighed deeply.  I should get that fixed, she thought. But what’s the point….

 At least she had two weeks off from the school office.   Kids coming and going . Taking her computer paper she stacked neatly in its tray. Always being interrupted. Everyone wanting late slips. Retirement was looking pretty good. Six months to go. She was saving for a trip. To anywhere. She wondered if she should tell her mother. 

Nora unpacked her groceries.. She could hear the landlords below . Always singing. This time it was a smattering of carols.  Piano pounding. Accordion loud as the devil.  Edna and Stan Grubbs. Ugh. Nora could hear Edna warbling away . Stan plowed right in on his accordion  with a rendition of “Grandma got run over by a reindeer”.  

The two of them sounded like camels. Nora turned up her tv, as loud as possible.

Mother. Nora had forgotten to phone her. She checked the answering machine. Her mother had left about six messages. Nora sighed. She was tired.  Her elderly mother lived in her own little house, a hop skip and a jump from Nora. She hesitated then dialed . Her mother answered on the second ring.  

Her mother needed the Christmas decorations taken down. She’d been asking for some time now. Nora had forgotten to arrange it.  

The tree was long gone, but the outdoor lights were still coming on at night. Her mother  needed Nora to take care of it. 

She promised to deal with it. Soon.  She put the kettle on for some coffee.  

Six months to retirement, Nora thought. Six months and then I’ll move away. Go anywhere I want. I won’t have to fix anything. She plopped in a spoonful  of Irish Cream in her coffee.

Edna Grubbs had started singing again. Stan  chimed in with what was supposed to be harmony. Nora plopped in  another tablespoon of Irish Cream and  revved up the sound on the tv.

A week passed. It was the end of  Spring Break.Time to go back to the office in a day or two.   Nora got a call. Her mother had died. Unexpected. What a  shame, people said. It took a few days to arrange things. Edna  and Stan Grubbs sang at the memorial service the day before Easter Sunday.  They sang “Silent Night” and “Oh Promise Me”. Stan brought along his accordion and  jauntily played with the hymns.  Nora didn’t notice. She was thinking about the Christmas lights on her mother’s house. The ones Stan took down.

She didn’t even hear  much of what anyone said to her.  Edna and Stan  drove her home. She had to sit beside the accordion in the back seat. They saw her to the stairs. All twelve of them. The sixth one was loose. Her mother was always reminding her to fix it. Nora let herself in.

On the table was a large parcel. The return address had her mother’s name. Edna and Stan had brought it upstairs a few days ago. The mail carrier had left it with them.  She hadn’t opened the parcel.  Till now.  

Inside was  a note from her mother: “Sending these to you, so you will have  Christmas, even though it’s not Christmas yet. I just thought it would be fun to send you a few things. To remind you…..” 

Inside the parcel, Nora found two beautiful cashmere sweaters. There was a gold locket that had  belonged to her grandmother. Fruitcake, Shortbread, Wine gums and floral gums, Scotch mints, chocolate fudge, tablecloths  edged in lace. Christmas decorations. A box of costume jewelry, and an old doll, with real hair and moving eyes. Her mother’s vintage doll she had as a child. Nora used to ask to borrow the doll at bedtime, when she was a child.

 There was a knock on the door. It was Edna and Stan Grubbs. Was there anything that needed fixing? He had on his tool belt. Edna brought coffee cake and a fresh bottle of Irish Cream.

 Nora started to say no. Then she  remembered.  Those twelve stairs.  The sixth one was loose……

Photographs 2023

SPIDERLINGS

"First we molt, then spin a web, after this we weave, till our food is dead...." -Craig Froman

They squirmed . They writhed. They crawled, jostling for position as if part of Napoleon's army.

They were new.  New in spring.  Thousands of them. Perhaps millions....

Each wanting to say good morning. Each with his or her own agenda.

On this chilly spring day. On this day when no sun would shine, but only rain would fall.

They shimmied away from the nest. Pitter Pattered over one another. Finding the best spot.

Into the wind and light. They were the first. The first of their kind to exist.

They crawled up and over. Into the tall grass. Into the trees. 

Grasping at branches. Higher and higher.

Through the rain drops. Through the wind. 

There were thousands. Perhaps more. Perhaps less. Perhaps a million.

They clung to the top of the fence. It had a better vantage point.

And Spun their webs of silken threads.  Thousands upon thousands. Perhaps millions.....

Twisting , turning, flying into the wind on  parasols that they created.

The air took them farther than they've ever believed.

Took the Spiderlings far from where they were born. Thousands upon thousands. Millions upon millions....

"Sir, you have an eight legged beast crawling up your shoulder..." -Spock of Vulcan

Photographs 2023

 

WHERE HOME WILL BE,,,,

“Home isn't where you're from, it's where you find light when all grows dark.”
― Pierce Brown, Golden Son

“Home wasn't a set house, or a single town on a map. It was wherever the people who loved you were, whenever you were together. Not a place, but a moment, and then another, building on each other like bricks to create a solid shelter that you take with you for your entire life, wherever you may go.”
― Sarah Dessen, What Happened to Goodbye

“I love cats because I enjoy my home; and little by little, they become its visible soul.”
― Jean Cocteau

“Home is anywhere that you know all your friends ......”
― Orson Scott Card, Hart's Hope

                                                           “Home is everything you can walk to.”
                                                          ― Rebecca Solnit,

“Put the coffee on, bubbles, I'm coming home”
― Richard Brautigan, 

                               “I've got to go home. Even if such place doesn't really exist.”
                                                                                                                           ― Elizabeth Wurtzel

“The farther away, the closer the home becomes.”
― Dejan Stojanovic

“It is a great comfort to a rambling people to know that somewhere there is a permanent home-”
― Ben Robertson

                                                                   “Home. Let me come home......”
                                                                ― Edward Sharpe 

“Home was not the place where you were born but the place you created yourself.....”
― Dermot Bolger

                                                          “Sometimes home is not a place......”
                                                                                                                                       ― Nancy Omar

“Home is a fairy tale, the kind where children are lost in the woods, found, cooked and eaten.”
― Jamie Ford, Songs of Willow Frost

“This is what happened when one left one's home - pieces of oneself scattered all over the world, no one place ever completely satisfied, always a nostalgia for the place left behind.....”
― Tatjana Soli

                              

“Where you live, where you breathe--that is where your home will be.”

                                                                      ― Farah Naz Rishi

Photographs 2023