Tag Archives: lost

STARRY, STARRY NIGHT- A MEMOIR BY SUSAN A. CULVER

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I hear my mother’s voice calling me, “Susan, Susan, it’s time to come in now.” I don’t want to go home yet. I gaze up at the inky blue star-lit sky. I imagine that I’m living on one of those far away stars looking down at my younger self. I see myself standing there in the moonlight with a thousand stars above me. My whole life is ahead of me. The lightning bugs are twinkling all around me. I hear the voices of my neighborhood friends laughing at a distance.  I hear my best friend calling out my name. “Susie, Susie, your mom is calling you. You better go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Photo by Robert Culver

I close my eyes and imagine myself on that faraway star lightyears away. And when I wake up in the morning, I don’t recognize the room I’m in. It smells differently. The room is painted in a weird color that I don’t recognize. My sister’s bed isn’t on the other side of the room.

I throw my legs over the side of the bed and get up and walk over to the window. I look outside. And where there should be the Lombardi’s house there’s nothing but a barren field. I shove the window open and, in the distance, I hear the sound of bells ringing. I say out loud, “that must be the church bells ringing. But where did the Lombardi’s house go? Where is Mr. Lombardi’s police car? Wait, where is the church? I rub my eyes over and over. I convince myself I must be dreaming. This can’t be real. I creep down the steps as quietly as I can. I’m terrified of what I might find. What if my mother and my father, aren’t there? What then? Will I be alone in this strange world?

When I get down to the bottom step, I peep around the wall and look into the kitchen. I don’t see my mother. Where is she? Where’s my mother? Oh, maybe she’s at Mass? Or maybe she’s in her room getting dressed? “Mom, mom, are you down here?” I call out. She doesn’t answer me. No one does. Then I notice that the kitchen doesn’t look the same. The table is smaller and only has four chairs instead of six.

The light over the table looks like an upside-down umbrella instead of the wagon wheel my father recently put up. There is an eerie glow to the room.

The table isn’t set. My mother always sets the table before she goes to church in the morning. The coffee pot isn’t percolating. I can’t remember any day in my whole life when the coffee pot wasn’t on when I got up in the morning. My parents drink coffee all day, every day.

I slowly creep over to the front window in the kitchen. I’m afraid of what I’ll find or what I won’t find. I look across the street. I stare outside onto Fellowship Road that is right in front of our house. There’s a road there but it’s a dirt road. And I don’t see Mrs. McFarland’s house or her garden. In fact, there aren’t any houses. There are instead miles and miles of fields.

I’m beginning to feel panicky. I break out into a sweat. I yell at the top of my voice, “Mom, Dad, where are you?” No answer. In fact, my voice echoes throughout the house. The house feels empty. As if there is no one else anywhere. I frantically run from one room to the next. My mother’s room has a bed and a dresser. None of her personal things are there. Her rosary isn’t draped across her mirror. The rocking chair that she sits in every day to say the rosary isn’t there. The bedspread I crochet for her isn’t lying at the end of her bed. It’s gone.

I run over and look under the bed for it.  The bedspread isn’t there either. I practically rip off my mother’s closet door in my haste to see if my mother’s clothes are in there. Only empty hangers remain.  I look in my father’s small closet. It is empty, as well. Save for his favorite slippers at the back of his closet. I feel a tear run down my cheek soon, followed by countless more. Where are my father and mother, where are they? Has someone stolen my parents? I hear my voice inside my head, screaming,” I want my mother and father, bring them back, bring them back.” I’m crying hard; I can hardly catch my breath.

I finally manage to breath normally and stop crying. I run out of my parent’s bedroom to the bathroom. I can’t open the door immediately it’s stuck. I yank it as hard as I can. It slams into to me, and bangs into my forehead. I feel a knot rising up. No one is in there, and there aren’t any towels hanging on the racks. My mother’s mirror isn’t sitting on top of the toilet tank, where she always puts it. I look at myself in the mirror. I appear the same except for the tear-streaked cheeks and the knot on my forehead. I touch it gingerly. The pain is real enough.

I don’t know what to do or where to go. And then I remember the phone. I can call one of my older sisters. And they will explain it all to me. Maybe my parents are at one of their houses. I run back into the kitchen and dial my sister’s phone number. The phone rings and rings but no one answers. I call my other sister. No answer. I dial 911. No answer. I call my best friend, no answer. I drop the phone and slide down onto the floor and start sobbing in earnest.

Then I decide to go down into the basement maybe they are all hiding down there for some reason and forgot to tell me. Maybe there’s a hurricane coming and all the phone lines came down. That’s happened before. I practically fly down the steps. I yell out, “ Daddy, Mom, where are you? Are you down here?” No one answers me.

I run over to the bilco doors and push as hard as I can. They fly open and slam down on either side. I step outside into what should be my backyard. The yard I have played softball and pitched tents and played hide and seek every summer of my life.

The Willow tree is there and the benches my father built around the massive tree trunk. This is the place where I seek solace and read all the long summer days away. I wrap my arms around its massive base.

I’m so happy to see something that I love so dearly is still here. The tree that offers me a retreat.When I need to be alone and shade from the sultry and humid Summer days. As I sit there, I look around and see nothing else that is familiar. Not the parking lot of the church, no sign of the pump house in the parking lot that I had climbed up so often and then slid down nearly breaking my neck every time.

I don’t see Popular Avenue that should sit right behind the church parking lot. Nothing, just an empty dirt road with no cars, no kids on bikes riding up and down the street, no kids on roller skates. Nothing, no one just me sitting here hugging my tree.

And then I think, where are the birds? Why aren’t the birds flying in the sky and nesting in my tree? How will I go on without all the birds that I love so well? I close my eyes tightly. And wait and wait and wait.

And the next thing I’m aware of is a bright light shining in my eyes. I can see nothing else. Just the unbearably bright light that blocks out everything else. I try to close my eyes but can’t. I try to raise my arms so I can touch my eyelids and see what is holding them open so wide. I can’t. It feels like something is restraining my arms. I begin to feel panicked. I try to yell out, but nothing comes out of my mouth. I’m screaming as loud as I can inside my head. But I hear only silence. I feel a tear make its lonely way down my cheek. What fresh hell is this? Have I been abducted by aliens? Are they going to experiment on me or cut me up in little pieces?

“Doctor, doctor I think she’s waking up. She’s crying. Untie her, take the light out her eyes.”

“Susan, this is Doctor Buckley, can you hear me? Can you see me?

My throat feels dry, I try to swallow, but I can’t there’s something lodged in my throat. I try to cough. But I can’t.

“Doctor, she’s trying to cough. Can’t you remove the tubes?”

“Yes, Susan, this is going to hurt a little. Take a deep, deep breath, and I’m going to pull the tubes out of your throat.”

Tubes out of my throat. What’s happening? I take a deep breath and feel a terrible sense that something big is pulled from deep in my throat. I cough and it’s out. I begin to see something besides the blinding light. My mother, my mother’s face, is there in front of me. I feel more tears running down my face. I say in a voice that I hardly recognize, “Mom, Mommy, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you and Daddy. There was no one in the house or outside. I called everyone on the phone, and no one answered. Where were you? Why did you leave me all alone?”

“Susan, we didn’t leave you alone. We have been here all along. Do you remember what happened at all?”

“Yes, I remember I woke up and no one was home. Our house looked all different and so did our neighborhood. I couldn’t find anyone. Not even birds, they had all  disappeared.”

“Susan two days ago when you were out playing hid and seek, I called you to come in and you must have fallen and hit your head. The doctor thinks you might have had a seizure. Remember you had them before when you were in church taking Holy Communion? But don’t worry you are going to be perfectly fine. And Susan, we would never leave you alone. We will always be here for you for however long you need us. Until you are grown up.”

I look at my mother’s sweet face and at my father’s face that for once had a smile on it from ear to ear. And I started crying again, only this time it was from happiness. My father said, “Oh no, here comes the waterworks again.”

My mother said, “Oh Harry don’t be such a grouch.”

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MAMA’S BOY

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Little Mama slowly opens her eyes and squints at the bright morning sun. The wind has died down. Last night she listened to the eerie melody the trees made as the wind blew its way through the woods. She made a nest of leaves and sticks and spent the night there as the storm rages on.

It isn’t raining anymore. Everything looks and smells differently. Branches are strewn all over, and a few trees have fallen onto the ground.  Little Mama stands up unsteadily. She peers through the tree branches in search of a fallen bird nest.

Kitten up a tree

Photo-sspiche3-Pixabay

If she’s lucky, maybe she can find a baby bird or two. Late yesterday when she left the nest in search of food, she knew there was a storm brewing. But she was hungry. She needs to eat so she could nurse her babies. They were sound asleep when she left.

But that was yesterday; anything could have happened to them by now. The kittens recently opened their eyes. As she is about to give up, she spies a baby bird lying lifelessly on the ground. She smells it and determines it hasn’t been dead that long and swallows it whole.

She leaps over the branches and debris along the path and makes her way back to her nest. Frighten that one of her kits wondered off. Last winter she had lost a litter due to her near starvation. Winter is never a good time to give birth. But she has little control over when these things happen.

As she makes her way over to the nest, she smells each of her mewling kittens. She realizes that one of them is missing. The one who always tried to climb out of the nest? Her heart sinks a little at the thought of another lost kit. Nature is cruel, and she’s learned the best way to deal with losses was with acceptance.

She’ll take care of the rest of her litter as best as she can until they’re able to take care of themselves. When they’re about six weeks old, she’ll begin to teach them how to hunt. She’ll wean them off her milk.

She lies down on her side in the nest. It’s a little damp but warm from the five kittens that lie sleeping bundled together. As soon as they sense their mother, they crawl over and find a place to nurse. They push and shove each other out of the way. Until finally, they all taste the sweet, warm milk, safe and warm. Little Mama sighs and falls into a fast sleep exhausted from her stormy adventure.

Big Red stumbles and cries. His stomach’s aching from hunger. He has looked for his mother all night. Finally, he gives up his search. He finds shelter in a hollow of a tree under some fallen leaves.

When the morning light wakes him, once again, his stomach’s growling, he has no memory of ever feeling this gnawing pain. He really can’t think about anything else. He even stops wondering what has become of his mother.

Just as he’s about to give up, he sees something fluttering just above his ahead. He doesn’t know what it is, but his instinct tells him to get it. He jumps as high as he can and grabs it with his sharp claws. He can hardly believe it. And he chomps down on it, and it stops moving. He swallows it. It tastes good.

It’s warm and fills his stomach the same as his mother’s milk had. He decides to find a place to take a nap. He starts walking through the woods until he sees another tree. Looking for a hollow place to sleep. He finds it and crawls under the musty leaves. He feels satisfied with himself.

He wonders what he’ll do next. And with that thought, he falls into a fast asleep. He dreams of how he caught the fluttering thing in the sky. And how he swiftly captured it. He feels safe.

He wakes up to an odd sound. He senses danger and looks from right to left. Trying to find the source of the strange noise. Without any warning, there is a movement right next to his bed. He lets out a frightened meow. And that is when he hears the strange noise again.

There’s a huge creature snuffling around him. Big Red is afraid that the creature will eat him, just as he had eaten the fluttering creature in the sky. He quickly ducks his head under the leaves and tries not to move.

“Daddy look., I think I just saw a little kitten in the leaves over here.”

“I doubt that, Chrissie,  what would a kitten be doing out here in the woods all by itself? Come on, let’s go; your mother will be wondering what’s happened to us.”

Chrissie leans over and pushes the leaves out of the way. She yells excitedly.” Daddy look. It’s a kitten.”

Big Red knows he needs to get out of here. Or these giant creatures will surely make breakfast out of him. With that thought, he burst out of the leaves and runs through the wet leaves, and brush. He leaps over broken branches like the devil himself is chasing him. Of course, Big Red doesn’t know about the devil, but he knows something is chasing him. Something was about to make him their breakfast.

The next thing he knows, he is on a branch at the top of the tree. He has no real memory of climbing the tree. Let alone how he will ever get down again. The ground seems very, very far away. Big Red settles on the branch and digs his nails into it. But to his surprise, it’s comfortable. Maybe this will be his new home.

Chrissie and her father look up the tree. “Daddy look. The kitten is way up at the top of the tree. How will he get down? He’ll fall on the ground. Can you help him get down?”

“Chrissie, of course, he can get down by himself. He climbed, there didn’t he? He ran up there to get away from us. When we leave, he’ll come down out of the tree. And his mother is probably nearby and will come to get him. Let’s go home now; it’s getting late.”

“Oh, Daddy, please, please, please let me keep the kitten. I promise that I’ll take care of it.”

“No, Chrissie, that’s the same thing you said about the fish, and look what happened to him. Maybe when you are older, you can get a pet. Let’s go; it’s getting late.”

As the creatures start walking away, Big Red’s heart begins to beat more slowly.  Suddenly a squirrel jumps onto the branch next to him. Big Red is so startled that he runs down the tree and is on the ground in a moment. He scampers over to his hiding place in the leaves.

He’s staring out through the leaves when something runs across his front paws. He lunges at it and grabs it with his sharp little claws. He holds it down. It is a strange creature, nothing like the giants that loomed above him earlier.

This is stranger yet, it’s small, and it feels hard and has many legs protruding from under its hard shell. Big Red tries to put it in his mouth. He feels it moving, not an all-together unpleasant feeling. He bites down on it. He finds it difficult. He opens his mouth slightly to get a better grip on it. Just as he is about to bite down again, he feels a sharp pain in his tongue. He opens his mouth wider, and the hideous creature makes his escape. Big Red decides to find something to eat that doesn’t try to swallow him first.

He feels and hears a weird feeling in his stomach. He knows it is because he needs to find something to eat soon. He looks around in every direction. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for now. But he knows that when he sees it, he will know then.

As he looks out from under the leaves, he hears a weird noise like something is moving near him. He looks toward the sound, and he sees something is moving near his feet underneath the leaves.

He jumps up, and all but flies onto the moving leaves. He slams his paws with their little sharp nails into the leaves. He captures whatever was moving.

He pushes the squirming thing into his mouth and bites it. It isn’t moving anymore, He swallows it. It stops moving. Soon his stomach stops aching, and Big Red decides to look for a safe place to live.

He stealthily heads through the forest in search of a new nest and something to stem his thirst and hunger, which doesn’t seem to rest for long. He spies an enormous tree surrounded by piles of leaves that have recently fallen from above. As he makes his way closer to the tree, he hears a familiar sound. He isn’t quite sure what to make of it.

__________________________________

She Was Laid To Rest

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Photo by Robert P. Culver

Celtic Moon by Robert P. Culver

I received the call very late at night, long after I went to bed. Long after, I finally fell asleep. I heard the phone ringing. But my mind refused to acknowledge it. We all know that good news never arrives after midnight. And this call was no exception to that maxim.

In the morning, after my first cup of coffee, I notice the message light on my phone is blinking. I look at the caller ID. It’s my Great Aunt Maeve’s number. I can’t remember the last time I heard from her. The fact is, I thought she died decades ago. I haven’t kept in touch with that side of the family. Too Catholic, you know. Too old school. Too judgmental.

My life choices would not bear scrutiny. Not that I’m a serial killer or anything that drastic. Just that, well, let’s say I believe the ten commandments have some flexibility in them, some leeway, if you know what I mean. For instance, it’s not that bad to lie as long as you aren’t hurting anyone with that lie. It’s not that bad if you steal, as long as it isn’t hurting anyone personally. And if the money isn’t missed by anyone, then what’s the harm?

Besides, the church doesn’t believe in drinking or playing the horses or gambling at all, for that matter, unless it’s Bingo. But really, how is that any of their business anyway? What’s the problem with the occasional pint, or ten pints for that matter? Isn’t hurting anyone else, is it? No, of course, it isn’t. Get over yourself. Mind your own business. That’s what I say. Mind your own damn business.

I push the message button.  It isn’t my Great Aunt Maeve. It’s her granddaughter Katie. I always had kind of a crush on her. She was a real Irish beauty back in the day. Hair down to her waist, as dark as coal and so thick your fingers would get lost in it. Her eyes, well, they were that shade of blue that looks like blue ice. Light blue, deep as the ocean. You could drown in those eyes. Her body was a young man’s dream. Sometimes I couldn’t get to sleep at all at night just from thinking about her.

“What’s that, you say? Isn’t she’s your cousin?” Yeah, sure, she’s my cousin. But not my first cousin. What’s the harm, I say? We were young, and it was all very innocent — just a kiss or two, nothing more. Oh, get over yourself.

Anyway, Katie is letting me know that Aunt Maeve has passed over to the great beyond. She tells me the funeral is in three days. And, of course, after the funeral will be the traditional Irish Wake. Well, ordinarily, I avoid funerals like the plague. But an Irish Wake well that I wouldn’t miss even if it were going to be my own goddamn wake. Especially then, I guess. She tells me that the funeral is at 10:30 on Friday morning at Holy Mackerel Church. OK, so that’s not the real name.

It’s really called St. Patrick’s. It’s in Gloucester City, NJ. Don’t let anyone ever tell you the Irish have any creativity. Every other church and child’s name is Patrick. Even after the church admitted, there never was a real St. Patrick. They just continued naming every child and church after him. The Irish lot is about as stubborn as they get; don’t let anyone tell you any differently.

Well, no doubt about it, I was going to have to fortify myself in the next couple of days with some good booze and beer. If I am going to survive a week with my family. I’ll have to be good and drunk and stay that way if my psyche will survive the inquisition that every cousin, aunt, or uncle is going to put me through. But, not to worry, I’ve had years of practice — years of training. I’m up to the challenge. Ready or not, here I come.

So here I’m on my way to the funeral. I have Radar Love cracked up as high as possible. I get off the freeway to buy a six-pack of Old Milwaukee. Yeah, I know not a beer of choice unless you like the taste of armpit, but it brings you right down to earth. And that’s what you need when you are going to spend more than a week with the dearly departed and your loved ones.

As I pull off Route 130 onto Market Street in Gloucester, NJ, I have an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. It could be nausea, could be I drank too much. But I doubt that since I have a pretty high tolerance for alcohol in any form. As I see the house at the end of the street, I realize I feel like that kid I was long ago that left home at twenty. Angry, resentful, lonely.

Indeed, I didn’t come back as a war hero or successful businessman.  But hell, I’m a tin knocker. When I work, I make pretty decent money. When I don’t, I live on unemployment until the Union calls me back. That’s life if you work in construction.

I pull my 1971 El Camino next to the curb and stare over at the house. It looks the same. It’s a two-story stucco with faded shutters and a red front door with black hinges. My Uncle Hugh just loved to paint everything black and red. He was quite the character. Heavyset with those light blue eyes. And could be mean as a snake if you got on his wrong side. He was the one that caught Katie and me kissing on the couch in the basement.

The lilac bush was overgrown, and the grass hadn’t been cut in a long time.

But still, it’s the house where I spent most of his youth. My Aunt Maeve took care of me every summer. She fed me Lebanon bologna and cheese. Or sometimes fried bologna sandwiches with chicken noodle soup. Every Sunday, she made a different kind of cake for dessert. My favorite was chocolate cake with vanilla icing sprinkled with shredded coconuts. It was the only day they ate roast beef and noodles. I can almost smell it while I stand here on the porch.

I have my hand poised, ready to knock, but at the last moment, I grasp the doorknob and turn it. The door opens, and I hear a chorus of voices all talking at the same time. Aunt Aileen yells out,” it’s our Danny standing at the door like a stranger. ”Come in, come in and give us a kiss for the love of god. Has the cat got your tongue?”

“Hello, Aunt Aileen. It’s been a long time. You look great.”

“Oh, get on with you. You must have kissed the blarney stone. Say hello to your Uncle Pat.”

“Hello, Uncle Pat.”  He’s sitting on an ancient upholstered rocking chair. There’s duct tape holding it together. He’s even fatter than I remember. He’s wearing a red and white striped shirt with a pocket. In the pocket are his Pall Mall cigarettes. He lost all of his hair, which was thinning even back when I was a kid. I can smell the nicotine on him from two feet away. The lampshade on the coffee table next to him is stained yellow from years of exposure to Uncle Pat’s smoking unfiltered Pall Malls.

“Well, I may have put on a pound or two. You’re a grown man Danny, but I would have recognized you anywhere. So, what have you been up to? What kind of work are you doing these days?”

“I’m a tin knocker, Uncle Pat, just like my dad. I’m sorry I didn’t come back for his funeral. I didn’t hear about it until long after. I was in the middle of moving at the time. And staying with a friend. I should have kept in touch.”

“Well, you’re here now. That’s all that matters. Sit down, take a load off.  Your Aunt Aileen will get you something to eat. There’s enough to feed an army, as usual. I hope you brought your appetite with you. You’re a bit on the scrawny side, if you don’t mind me saying. But your Aunt Aileen will fill you out, don’t you worry. She’ll be right back with a plate.”

Danny plops down on the couch. He could swear it was the same couch he remembered from his childhood. They must have finally taken the plastic cover off.  He looks around the room, and there’re some familiar faces. Older than he remembered, but still, he would know them anywhere. Danny doesn’t see Katie anywhere. Maybe she’s in the kitchen. It’s loud in here.  Irish music is playing in the background. He thinks it’s the Clancy Brothers. When he was a teenager, he couldn’t stand hearing all the Irish tunes.

At that moment, he hears his Aunt Liz calling out, “Danny, Danny, my boy, where is he? Oh, there you are. Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Come here, give us a hug.”

Danny stands up and walks over to her and is crushed in her bosomy embrace. When he catches his breath, he looks up at her. Her face bears the weight of the years and all the pain she has to carry.” “Hello, Aunt Liz, it’s good to see you. It’s been a long time. You look good. Is Katie here? I haven’t seen her?”

“Oh, sure, she’ll be here in a  shake of a lamb’s tail.  Oh, I’ve forgotten how you two used to be as thick as thieves when you were kids. I’m so happy you came. I wish you had come back before Maeve left us. She talked about you all the time, and you were the light of her life. Why don’t you come into the kitchen with me and you can fix a plate? You look half-starved, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Danny follows his Aunt Liz into the kitchen. It looks as if time has stood still in this kitchen. It’s still painted a cream-colored stained with years of nicotine. The linoleum floor remained in the orange and brown checkered board pattern. Tracks are worn into the tile surface from forty years of foot traffic.

Danny walks over to the narrow cabinet next to the refrigerator and opens it. The ironing board is still neatly hidden within its depths. The General Electric refrigerator had been replaced by a more recent and larger one. And the chandelier which once graced the ceiling is now a fluorescent light fixture. Danny’s Uncle Hugh had an artistic streak and often replaced everyday household items with his creations.

Take a load off Danny. Danny pulls out the chair and sits down. His Aunt puts a plate down in front of him. Danny looks down, and his plate is so full there isn’t an inch of space that isn’t covered with food. He picks up his fork and starts shoveling it in. He hadn’t eaten a home-cooked meal in years. Mostly his diet consisted of fast food and bologna and cheese sandwiches, followed by a six-pack of Michelob.

When he looks up again, everyone is staring at him because his plate is entirely empty. And they all start laughing. Danny is embarrassed at first, but then he too joins in the laughter. He didn’t realize how hungry he had been.

“Well, you poor thing, are you still hungry? Do you want some dessert? We have some homemade chocolate cake with vanilla icing with coconut on top. What do you say?”

“I’m pretty full, but yeah, I would love a piece of homemade cake.”

His Aunt Liz hands him a huge piece of cake, and a cup of coffee, so strong Danny tastes the caffeine before he swallows any. After he finishes, he rubs his stomach and exhales. “ God, that was the best meal I’ve had in years. Probably since the last time I ate since the last time I was here. Thanks so much.”

As Danny looked around at all the faces at the table, he noticed there were tears on his Aunt’s and Uncle’s cheeks. At the same time, he realizes there are tears running down his own cheeks.

His Aunt Liz comes over and hugs him. “Oh, Danny, we have all missed you so much. It’s sad that losing Maeve’s passing is what it took for us to get you back. But I know that she would be thrilled to see you sitting back at her table.”

Danny looked up at her. ”Aunt Liz, I didn’t realize how much I missed all of you. Aunt Maeve was the closest thing I had to a mother. I guess I couldn’t get over all the anger I had when I left. I just wanted to block out all the angry words between my dad and me. And then he died, and I felt so guilty. That I hadn’t come back and made it right, I couldn’t face the funeral. I’m glad I come back now. It’s hard to be in the world without anyone caring what happens to you.”

“Oh, Danny, we did care. We all love you. We never stopped. OK, no more tears today. Let’s try to remember the good times we all had with Maeve.”

The next morning Danny comes downstairs from his old bedroom dressed for the funeral and feels a sudden emptiness.  On some level, he was expecting his Aunt Maeve to be sitting at the table drinking her tea and reading the paper. He did hear his Uncles and Aunts talking quietly together. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.

“Good morning Danny, how did you sleep? I guess your childhood bed was a bit uncomfortable for you.”

“I slept fine. I fell right to sleep and slept through the night. What time will we be leaving for the funeral?”

“In an hour. Danny, we would like it if you were one of the pallbearers, and I would like you to get up and say a few words about Maeve. You were such a big part of her life. She would have liked that. What do you have to say?”

“Well, I’m not much on public speaking, but yeah, I’d like to say a few words. After we eat, I’ll go upstairs and write down some of my memories of Aunt Maeve. I hope I don’t mess it up.”

“Danny, just speak from your heart. You never had any faith in yourself. But we do. We always did.”

“OK, I will do my best, Uncle Hugh.”

After breakfast, Danny went upstairs and started thinking about his Aunt Maeve and how much she meant to him. And how much she had loved him and accepted him just the way he was. If it hadn’t been for her, Danny would have left long before he got out of high school. His father was a falling-down drunk and used him as a punching bag. His mother had left when he was about three or four. He had very few memories of her at all.

Without his Aunt Maeve, he wouldn’t have survived his childhood. As he thought about that, he realized how much he missed by not keeping in touch with her for the past ten years. He can’t do anything about the past. But he can do something about the here and now. He starts writing.

It’s time for Danny to step up to the pulpit. He clears his throat and looks up and out at all the people who came to acknowledge his Aunt Maeve’s passing but also celebrate her life. He sees his cousin Katie in the first row. She nods at him and lifts her chin up. It’s a signal they used to use to give each other support. When they were young and, things got tough. He lifted his chin to her.

“Good morning, everyone. We are all gathered here to mourn the loss of someone dear to us, someone we will all miss. She will leave an empty space in our lives that she used to fill. But I hope we can fill that space with all the loving memories we have of Aunt Maeve.

For me, she was that safe place I could go when I felt all alone and unloved. She would cook a hot meal. She always gave me a warm and loving hug and a kiss on my cheek. She assured me that I was a person of value. And that I was someone that she loved and would always love, no matter what. She accepted me for who I was and never told me I wasn’t good enough, not smart enough, or not good-looking enough. She held my hand and warmed my heart.

My life was richer for having known her. When I talked to her, she listened. She heard and cared. She was never too busy. She was always there for me. I can see by the way you are nodding your heads that she did the same thing for each of you. We were blessed by having to know her. She was both strong and soft at the same time. I can only hope that someday I can inspire someone else the way she inspired me always to work hard and do my best. So, as we go forward in our lives, let us keep her in our hearts and minds. I know she will be traveling with me throughout my journey through life. I will always feel her by my side, and I will never be alone again.

AS THE CROW FLIES

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I woke up abruptly this morning. I heard something tapping on my bedroom window. I tried to ignore it for quite a while. I put my pillow over my head. I plug my ears. The noise is relentless. My bedroom is on the second floor. So really, who could be knocking on the window? A window washer, Superman, a drone. Oh no, perhaps it’s a second-story man.  All highly unlikely suspects. I toss and turn and try to fall back to sleep. No luck, I’m wide awake. And once that happens, I have to get up. I  walk over to the window and throw open the curtains.

CROW by Capri 23auto

I’m startled. I see a Crow with bright, black eyes staring back at me. He begins tapping on the window. Tap,   tap. tap. I tap back. Tap.  Tap.Tap. He’s hanging on the screen.  “Hello,” I yell loudly. He opens his beak wide. I believe he might be saying hello back to me.  I smile. He opens his beak again. And then tap.  Tap, tap. What does it mean? He flies away and lands in the Dogwood Tree that I planted next to my Koi pond last year. It’s just now beginning to bloom—my favorite tree.

I’ve always been very fond of birds. I think you might call it some kind of harmless obsession. I’m a painter, and almost all my paintings have birds in them.  I spend a great deal of time in my garden, planting flowers that will attract birds and butterflies, and bees. I have nesting boxes and bird feeders all over my yard.

But all that is beside the point.  I have enjoyed my momentary interaction with the Crow. Since I’m awake, I decide to get an early start on my day. I dress and go into my studio and continue working on my latest painting. Several pleasant hours pass by. I notice a growling noise. It’s my stomach; I realize that it’s nearly lunchtime, and I haven’t eaten anything yet today.

I rummage around inside my frig and decide to heat some vegetable soup. That I made yesterday, it’s a gorgeous sunny, Spring day I choose to go outside to my screened porch and eat my soup and crackers. I take a deep breath. The air is sweet and fresh.

I so enjoy watching the birds fly from one feeder to another. There are six Cardinals at the feeder next to the back fence. I notice that a Blue Bird and her mate are building a nest inside the Blue Birdhouse. I smile. What could be better than this? I look forward to seeing them raise a family there. Spring, by far, is my favorite season. It inspires hope when the earth wakes up from its wintery sleep. It inspires hope as all new beginnings do.

As I sit on my porch, I think, what could be better than this? I finish my soup, and I must admit it’s delicious. Nothing tastes better than something made from vegetables that you grow in your garden from seed. As I’m about to go back to the house, I notice a crow in the cul-de-sac. He’s standing in the middle and is bowing over and over again. Four crows are walking in a circle around him. It looks so absurd that I burst out laughing. I wonder if he’s the same crow that was taping on my window early this morning. Perhaps he’s the King of the Crows.

The next morning, I’m still fast asleep. And I hear a tapping noise once again. I groan and look over at the clock. It’s 6:45 am. I pull my pillow over my head so as not to hear the tapping. It’s relentless. I can still hear it. Tap.  Tap.Tap. I throw my legs over the side of the bed and walk over to the window. And Pull the curtains aside. And behold, it’s the King of Crows. Once again, tapping on my bedroom window. As I study him, I realize that he isn’t the uniform black that I first observed. He had a light violet on his torso. And his wings were a fantastic, greenish-blue.

“What? What are you trying to tell me? Please stop waking me up so early in the morning. I realize he can’t hear me through the closed window. I open it up slightly. He begins to caw loudly. I still don’t understand what he wants me to do. I decide to do some research on Crows that will enlighten me on this behavior.

The next morning, I wake up bright and early. I wonder if the Crow will tap at my window. I’m somewhat disappointed when he doesn’t arrive. I get up and walk over to the window. I pull one of the curtains back just far enough to the lookout. My crow is hanging on the window screen.  He looks directly at me. I see his beak opening up wide. I know he‘s cawing at me. I decide that this is just his way of saying Good morning or hello. I laugh. He opens his beak again.

He flies away, and I  watch as he lands one again in the middle of the cul-de-sac. Four crows fly down from the forty-foot evergreens on the opposite side of the cul-de-sac. They form a circle around him once again, and he bows as they circle him. I open the window, and I hear him cawing. The four other crows join in. It’s a mysterious ceremony. I feel a compulsion to join in. I know it’s absurd, but still, I want to do it. Perhaps I was a crow in a former life? Then I say out loud, “former life, I’m losing it. I’m going off the deep end.” I’m spending too much time alone in my studio. I need to get out more. See more people, join in. Go to the gym. Something.

I end up going to the library and researching Crows. I know I can find information about them online. But then I wouldn’t be getting out of the house, would I? And I would also miss going to my favorite place in the world, the library. Yes, that’s right, the library. I have memories of a lifetime of experiences within the walls and between the stacks at my childhood library, the library in my college, and of course, my local library. The bastion of knowledge, a literary jackpot. The somewhat cheesy smell and touch of old books, ink on paper. The oily residue of a hundred hands.  Old books have their history. How many people have touched the pages, digested the words? The possibilities are endless. For me, it is a sanctuary, a respite. Yes, even nirvana.

I decided I should approach the research librarian. I’m somewhat ambivalent though I have a fierce love of the library and its contents. I fear the librarians. It has been my experience that librarians are not social creatures. I believe they each chose this calling because they don’t care about interacting with their fellow human beings. And that is precisely why they chose this line of work. Because they thought mistakenly, they would spend their entire working lives with their beloved books. But alas no. They soon realized that they would be interacting with people. Beings capable of disrupting the quiet. They might become noisy, even boisterous at times. And god forbid dogearing the pages and most hideous of all desecrating these sacred volumes by marking the pages.

I stealthily approach the research librarians’ desk. She has her head down. Several ancient-looking tomes are open on her desk, and she’s running her index finger along the line of printed words. She is scrupulously not to touch the page lest oil from her hands’ mar, its precious surface. I consider telling her to use finger cots, but I imagine she might slap me for making such a crude suggestion. As if I might be suggesting she use a condom.

“Excuse me,” I say in a voice hardly louder than a whisper. “Excuse me.” No response. I clear my throat several times. Nothing. I say in a somewhat louder tone, “Hello, madam, could you please help me. I need some assistance. I wish there were a bell on the desk. But no such luck. I imagine she may stroke out if I did ring a bell. She slowly raises her head. She gives me a cold, dead stare. Her eyes are pinned on me. I fear she might make a sudden move and attack me in some way.

“Yes.”

I smile, my very friendliest smile. One that I reserve for dogs and babies. A smile that rarely fails to ingratiate me. It does not affect her. She continues to stare. It’s unnerving; I decide just to jump in and spill it all out at once. “Could you please help me find information about the crows that live in this section of the country?”

She begins by typing rapidly on her computer. I wait patiently. After no more than a minute, she says, ”Corvus brachyrhynchoz, American Crow. Common to this area.”

“Can you tell me if you have any books in this library that I can take home to study?”

She accesses her computer once again. “No, not here. But I can put in a request from one of our other branches. If you give me your library card and contact information, I will notify you when we receive it at this branch. She slides me a form to fill out. I quickly do so. Then, she writes down some numbers on another paper and says abruptly, “here, go to the stacks listed on this paper, and you will find several books on birds that inhabit North Carolina. They’re reference books, but you can copy pages that interest you.”

She puts her head down; I’m dismissed. And I have disappeared from her conscious thoughts. I count my lucky stars. I come away from this interaction relatively unscathed. I look at the call numbers for the books. And I’m off to the reference section of the library. I notice that my teeth are clenched and my shoulders hunched. I take several breaths and try to relax. At one time, I had considered becoming a librarian. I can see that I would then have become a clone to this woman. And I don’t know for sure if that would have been a good thing or a bad thing.

I find the books noted on the paper and sit down for several hours immersed in my current obsession, the Crow. It’s fascinating.  I wonder where this experience will take me. I could study this particular species and be done with it. Or perhaps once I read about it, I’ll then want to observe the “Crows” behavior. Or maybe I’ll take it further. There’s no knowing at this point. But I have been down this path before. And have only regretted it once before. Only time will tell.

After spending numerous hours reading about crows, I realize that this will become a long-term project. OK, some may call it an obsession. But I say tomato, tomato—same difference. I would spend the evening creating my strategy, and tomorrow I would begin.

I set my alarm for sunrise. Last night I studied the research that I gleaned from my visit to the library. It was enlightening, to say the least. Most importantly, I have discovered that Crows are highly intelligent creatures. More intelligent than Parrots. They are capable of making and using rudimentary tools in their pursuit of food. They have phenomenal memories. They can distinguish and remember a human face over a long period even if they haven’t seen that face for several years.

They are known to ban together to mob predators and even humans that they consider a threat for some reason.  They mate for life, and both the male and female and older siblings care for the baby birds communally. And what I found most profound of all they mourn the death of a fellow crow, even if it was formerly unknown to them. And it’s at that point I know I have entered the first stage of a full-fledged obsession.  I welcome it. I’m never more complete than when I’m immersed, whether it be a new painting, creating a new garden, or solving a mystery.

Last night before I retired to my bed, I gathered different types of food that I believe would entice my new avian friend to stay longer at my window. And that I might become better acquainted with him. I had read during my research at the library that Crows are omnivorous. And they will eat whatever food is readily available. That could include anything from vegetables to insects. Or even dead animals and garbage.

I collect an assortment of food, from hard-boiled eggs to a spider I captured in my basement. I carefully placed it in a small cup that I attached to the siding underneath my bedroom window.

The following morning, I hear a scratching sound followed by cawing outside of my window. I carefully peek through the curtain. I see my crow studying the food cache I left for him. He’s eyeing it thoroughly, and then he reaches down and gingerly picks up a grape and eats it.  He looks directly at my face and caws. He picks up the piece of boiled egg and flies off with it in his beak. I watch him until he’s no longer in my field of vision.

Later that afternoon, I peek out the window. And I realize that all the food I left is gone. And in its’ place is something shiny. I shove the window open and pick it up. A small cut stone.  I realize it is an emerald. It looks familiar, somehow. I stare at it. And then it comes to me. It looks just like the emerald that I lost last Spring when I was working in the kitchen garden. I rush over to my jewelry box and pick up the ring that’s missing its stone. I remember how upset I was when I lost it. I looked everywhere for it. It was a birthday gift from my mother on my sixteenth birthday.

My mother passed away last summer. I put the stone in the setting. It fits perfectly. A wave of emotion fills me up, and tears flow out of my eyes. I feel like I have regained a little piece of my mother again. I can’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day. I think that King Crow and I were somehow ordained to meet. And I’m somehow meant to help him someway in the future.

About a week later, I enjoyed a bowl of hot oatmeal on my back porch when I heard a loud ruckus. I realized that it’s a murder of Crows cawing at a hawk swooping down on a fledgling that’s eating seeds on the ground underneath my birdfeeder. I stand up and pick up my binoculars and look at the bird on the ground. It’s a fledgling crow.

I’m finally able to drive off the Hawk by walking around the back yard banging a pot and pan together. After I go back onto the porch, I sit and watch as four crows come down and surround the fledgling. They walk all around him bobbing their heads. I know he will be safe for now. But I have to come up with a plan to keep the hawk out of my pond and away from the crows.

I decided to create a scarecrow. I‘m going to dress the scarecrow in my old gardening clothes. I know the Crows recognize me and aren’t going to be scared away by a scarecrow, but the hawk would be. My Koi will be safe, and so will King Crow and the fledglings. I go into the garage and begin to build the frame for my scarecrow and put my old clothes on it. I have to admit it looks like a decent facsimile of me. I even put my old straw gardening hat on its head.

As I place the scarecrow near the back fence, I notice that at least a hundred crows are roosting in the trees in the woods behind my fence. They are cawing to one another. Then one crow flies down and lands on the ground about five feet away from the bird feeder. He watches me with great interest. He doesn’t leave until I start walking away. I look at him and bow, and he bows back. I‘m certain it’s King Crow. He caws loudly, and I caw at him. I walk back to my house and then turn and wave at the crows.  He brought the ring back to me, and I gave him and his fellow crows a haven. It’s. No one will ever convince me of anything different.

The Apron

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I run up the front steps and throw back the storm door and pull open our red, front door. It’s 3:08 pm. My personal best time for getting out of the third-grade classroom and into our kitchen. I open the cubbyhole next to the front door, toss in my schoolbag with one hand, pull off my galoshes, and threw them in with my other hand.

My mother is standing slightly hunched over the ironing board. There’s a basket of clean clothes waiting to be ironed on the kitchen table. The front of her dark hair is still set in bobby pins. She’s wearing her everyday apron over her favorite blue housedress. Hanging down her apron is a line of safety pins that are attached to one another. They sway back and forth every time she leans over to pick up the next pair of my fathers’ pants or shirt. Anything that doesn’t get ironed today, she‘ll roll up and store in the refrigerator until tomorrow.
“Hi, Mom!”

“Susie, don’t forget to hang up your coat in the closet. How was your day, did you learn anything new today?”

“Well, I learn how to spell Mississippi and Arithmetic.”

“Would you like to have a snack?”

“Yeah, I’m starving, what are we having for dinner? I smell something good.”

“I made stew, your favorite, and I’m making the crust for the top.”

My mother walks across the room and takes out a glass and fills it with milk from the fridge. We have a milkman. His name is Ralph. He delivers milk and sometimes eggs to our side door early every morning. He takes away the empty bottles. He has bushy red hair and a mustache. There is always a big, stinky cigar sticking out of the side of his mouth that bobs up and down when he speaks.

My mother takes two homemade peanut butter cookies out of our Happy Face cookie jar. She puts them on the table near the front window and hands me the glass of cold milk. I dunk the cookies into the milk.

“Where’s Karen, Susie, how come she didn’t come home with you?”

“Oh, I forgot. She asked me to tell you that she was going to play over at Anne Marie’s house until dinnertime.”

“Well, she knows she’s supposed to come home first. Susie, when you finish your snack, will you pick up the newspapers off the floor, and throw them away.”

When my mother washes the linoleum floor, she always covers it with newspapers until it dries. So, if we walk on the floor when it’s wet, we won’t leave dirty footprints.

After my snack, I throw away the newspapers and run up the stairs to my room to change out of my school uniform. I cross the room and hang my uniform on a hanger in my closet. Well, it isn’t a closet. My room is on the second floor., It used to be the attic, and the “closet” is the eve of our house, which was never finished.

In the winter, it’s really cold in there, and in the summer it’s a furnace. So, either way, it isn’t a place you would want to spend a lot of time in. My older sisters’ have some of their old prom gowns stored in the closet, and sometimes I go through the boxes and try them on.

One day I decide that one of the dresses would make a beautiful dress for my doll, so I cut a big hole in the skirt which was made out of shiny blue satin with a crinoline on top. The next time my sister Jeanie visited us from New York, she noticed my dolls’ new dress and recognized the fabric. She was furious.

I decide to watch TV until dinnertime. I flop down on the floor about ten inches from the TV and put on my favorite show, Sally Starr and Chief Halftown. I love Popeye cartoons, especially when Popeye burst opens the spinach can, and gulps it down in one swallow, and his muscles immediately swell on his scrawny arms. But I still refuse to eat any vegetables except corn.

After the show, I turn off the TV. I overheard my father talking to my mother. He just woke up. He works for the bus company in Philadelphia from eleven PM at night until seven AM in the morning. So, he sleeps during the hours that I’m in school. He’s always a grouch when he wakes up, so I try to stay out of his way.

I want to hear what my Mom and Dad are talking about. So, I tiptoe over to the steps, which are next to the kitchen, and listen to what they were saying. I hear my father say,” Marie, did you look everywhere for them?”

“Yes, Harry, I did. The last time I saw them was when I put them in my apron pocket.”

“Well, I guess you’ll have to have new ones made, Marie. I don’t know where we will get the money!”

I don’t know what they were talking about, but my Dad sure sounds mad at my mother. I decided it would be better if I stay out of his way for a while.

Just then, Karen comes in the door and sees me crouched on the steps, and says, “What are you doing, snooping again?”

She walks into the kitchen and starts talking to my mother. I hope she isn’t telling them I was listening on the steps. If she does, I tell them that she always listens to them talking in the kitchen through the heating vent in her bedroom.

I decide to go outside, just in case. So, I put my boots on over my sneakers and my favorite coat. It‘s too small for me, but I love it. It’s fake white fur with big blue snowflakes on it. The hood is trimmed with fur. This is the first coat that was really mine and didn’t belong to one of my older sisters first. 

As I jumped down the front steps, I almost fall because there was a thin layer of ice. I decided to make snow angels in the back yard. I jump down the steps two at a time to the backyard. I notice the snow is beginning to melt.

I was hoping it will snow again soon, really deep so I can have some snow days off. I’ll build a snow fort. And have snowball fights with all the kids in the neighborhood.

I flop on my back and move my arms up and down. I’m disappointed because there isn’t enough snow for the angel’s wings to show up good. Maybe it will snow tonight. I decide to add that to my prayers tonight. Please God, please let it snow- two, no, three feet!

Then I hear my mother calling from the side door, “Susie, come in and get ready for dinner.” As I was going to the side step, I saw something on the ground. I walk over to it and push it with my foot. I realize it’s false teeth. What in the world are teeth doing out here?

And then it almost feels like a bell goes off in my head when I realize it’s my mother’s teeth. My mother and father wear false teeth. That’s what my parents were talking about in the kitchen. I stuff them in my pocket and run into the house. My sisters and parents are all sitting around the table. “Mom and Daddy guess what, guess what?”

“Susie take off your boots before you make the floor all dirty again!”
”But Mom I have a surprise.”

“Boots first, surprise later, Susie.”

I run into the hall and throw my wet coat on the floor, kick my boots onto the closet floor, and run back to the kitchen.

“Now, can I tell you?”

“OK Susie, what is the big surprise, maybe then we can eat in peace?”

I open my hand like I have a precious gem in my hand.

My father says, “Look, Marie, It’s your teeth!”

My mother comes over and gives me a big hug, and says, “but where did you find them, Susie; I looked everywhere?”

“I found them on the ground next to the garbage cans. Mom, they must have fallen out of your apron pocket when you leaned over to put the garbage in the can. I guess today is your lucky day.”