Nana's Pen

Through Winter Windows

2010-01-08T06:37:00.001-08:00

Trace of footfalls
pierce glistening white,
tokens of travellers.
Bygone origins,
trivial destinations.
Blinding reflections as
icy air sneaks through
unseen fissures.
Warmth beckons
and beauty is abandoned.

The Calendar

2008-08-21T07:08:00.000-07:00

In the early morning fog, the formation of geese rises above the Mississippi River taking wing amidst their rhythmic calls of navigation. The wind whispers among the trees. The lush green of the dancing leaves has given way to a pallet of reds, yellows and oranges. In the field, the pumpkin vines are withering as the fruit ripens full and round. On the wall of the garage the anger of the thermometer has been assuaged by the cool breeze. I sit at my desk, glancing at the calendar in a moment of confusion. August 21?

My pen

2008-08-13T10:32:00.001-07:00

has set silent, lonely.
It waits for my muse.
Or an assignment.
Soon.
Very soon.

Whispers

2008-07-18T08:22:00.000-07:00

Faded pages whisper of the woman who bore me. They whisper her heart, her dreams, her cares. I read and strain and caress the whispers.

Antique

2008-07-14T12:22:00.000-07:00

Among the dusty musty stalls
they sit.
Once mighty
oak, pine, maple.
Hand-hewn,
hand joined,
hand shined.
Beyond my will
my fingers
caress the grain.
Warm
still full of life.
Made to contain possessions
now harboring history
waiting
to be used again.

Smiles in the Dark

2008-07-10T08:42:00.000-07:00

When wandering through the childhood recollections that populate the archives of my memories, I am astounded at the variety. Some memories are precious and cherished. Others are traumatic and painful. All of them unite and create the unique me. I cannot embrace the pleasant experiences and renounce the grievous episodes for it is only together that they complete my life.

Far back nestled in the shadowy corners of my memory, I am still a three-year-old little girl in my great-grandfather’s farmhouse. If you sat me down today in the middle of the house, I probably would not recognize the walls or the rooms or the layout but I know I would still feel the house.

My mind sees shadows. I do not know if that is because the house was shadowy. Maybe other memories have darkened this one or maybe my little-girl self was just lost in the shadows of the adults.

My parents, my younger brother and I had just come from Germany where the U.S. Air Force had stationed my dad and Jimmy and I were born. We arrived this November at the century-old farm in Northwest Missouri to be reunited with Daddy’s family. After they all cooed over Jimmy and me and passed us around, the grown-ups talked of harvest and of shopping in Europe. They left me and Jimmy to our own devices.

I found my fascination in the nap of the couch upholstery. As I rubbed the rich, soft paisley back and forth, I marveled at the way the colors changed in the light. I was aware of the chatter and laughter around me, but I did not pay heed to their conversations. I breathed heavy to savor the sweetness of the ancient wood that formed the walls and floors of the farmhouse. The wood stove radiated warmth scattering the fall chill that resisted the coal furnace belching in the basement. The floor beams squeaked with joy as the family within moved about.

Occasionally, a loving hand caressed my hair, passing while I stroked the couch fibers. At a pause, I glanced around and fixed upon the only bright memory. In a corner, my great-grandfather sat and fastened his smile upon me. The smile engulfed his entire face from the wrinkled eyes to the grinning lips. My three-year-old self did not know and did not ask why he was smiling. I just basked in the warmth that filled my chest and that communicated love and security. Under his bright gaze I knew I was cherished.

In the bright light of the present, my grandmother-self understands the smile. I know the overwhelming joy that explodes on the visage when you see the future of your family in the face of a grandchild. There in the tenderness of the child resides hope and satisfaction. The simplicity of a three-year-old entranced by upholstery is assurance of worth for all you have endured. That smile communicated so many joyous emotions all seated in the future. I knew none of that then. I only smiled back.

I never saw my great-grandfather again after that day. He died the next year. There were many times, though that I thought about that smile. When life was hard, when accomplishments were rewarded, and when paisley distracted me I thought about him. Almost thirty years later, on a hot September afternoon I drove to the small community cemetery a stone’s throw from the Iowa border and stood at his grave. As I did, the shadowy memories swelled and filled me. I could feel the paisley couch. I could smell the wood, experience the warmth, hear the hum of excited voices and once again, I could see his smile.

Some ten years after the November at the farmhouse, in the spring of 1974, I could have used a loving smile. Slouched in the abyss between the sprung springs of a child-worn Naugahyde couch, I pondered against the strains of Bugs Bunny’s exit music. A final interlude of Conjunction Junction would conclude the reprieve offered by Saturday morning cartoons. The reality of my circumstances, occluded briefly by Wylie Coyote whose attempts to capture the Road Runner did little more than enrich the Acme Company, reemerged and demanded my attention.

I needed to call the hospital and check on Mom but it was noon. The staff would be busy with lunch and vitals. It would be at least 2 o’clock before they would have time to talk to me.

Lunch! I needed to make sandwiches for my brothers and sisters. Jimmy and Suzan were lying on the floor staring blankly at a Woodsy Owl commercial. Robert and Lesli were rummaging through the toy closet in search of some elusive treasure.

“So, guys, what’ll it be? Peanut butter and jelly or bologna?” I asked as I clamored out of my sunken seat.

“I want peanut butter and ketchup,” Robert exclaimed poking his 5-year-old face out of the closet door. He ate ketchup on everything.

“Peanut butter is fine, Tay,” Jimmy answered, “We had bologna yesterday.” At 12, Jimmy was a year younger than me.

Suzan followed me into the kitchen. She had just turned 8 but she was already gaining on me in height. She jumped up and sat on the countertop to watch me work. “Are you going to cook dinner tonight? I don’t want another T.V. dinner,” she remarked as she handed me the Jiff out of the cupboard.

“Yeah,” I mumbled, “I took some hamburger out of the freezer this morning. If nothing else, we can have Hamburger Helper. I think we have a box left.”

I smiled at her and handed her a sandwich. I did not want the kids to worry but I was not sure what we were going to do. It had been almost two weeks since I had called the ambulance to take Mom to the hospital. She had been strung out on her medicines for a week before that. She had suffered a series of nervous breakdowns in the last five years and was constantly abusing the medicines that the psychiatrist prescribed for her. Now she had overdosed again and it looked like she would be in the hospital for awhile. Dad was in California where the Air Force had sent him and I had not heard anything from him yet. I could not drive to the store, and even if I could get a ride, I had spent the last of the cash I had scrounged up on the loaf of bread I bought at Pic-n-Pac. In a couple more days we might be eating each other.

I headed out the door to mow the lawn. If the house started looking scraggly, Old Lady Moore across the street might get nosey and figure out we were alone. Dragging the manual mower from the back yard to the front, I was wishing for a power mower. Then I remembered I would not have gasoline for one anyway.

With the rhythmic whirring of the blade and the sharp slicing of the green April blades of grass, my thoughts circled. A green sedan pulled to the curb and stopped. The overdressed man and woman inside shuffled papers, pointed to the house and talked for a few minutes. I watched them suspiciously from the corner of my eye. After a few minutes, they emerged and made their way up the driveway towards me. I stopped and stood as defiantly confident as I could muster while my insides quivered. Somehow, I knew this was not a good thing.

The woman spoke first and before I comprehended her words, I decided her voice was sticky, sickly sweet. “Hi, Hon, are your parents home?”

“No. Not right this minute. Why?” I tried to answer nonchalantly, but the edge in my voice was betraying my emotions.

“When will they be back?” the man queried.

Inhaling deep, I tried not to stammer the answer, “I . . . I’m not sure. Can I help you?”

They exchanged one of those adult glances that teenagers dread. They already had a plan and my input was not solicited. The woman asked in that dripping voice, “You’re Terri, aren’t you?” Before I could answer, she continued, “We’ve had a report that children are staying here unsupervised and we are here to check.”

Panic and indignation coalesced and formed my croaked reply, “We are fine. I’m here.”
The man began to explain the obvious shortcomings of my assertion in a condescending tone. Before he could get through his first sentence, I interrupted and repeated myself, “We are fine. Thank you for coming.” Turning, I walked into the front door of the house, shut it, locked it and collapsed against it.

The kids crowded around me wanting to know what was happening. I quieted them and tried frantically to think of an escape. We could run out the back door but I would not get far dragging the little ones and I did not really have anywhere to go. Fear was filling my lungs and I was drowning in it.

The man was now pounding on the door. “Terri, I need you to open the door. The police are on their way.”

Lesli’s blue eyes grew wide as saucers and she gasped, “The Poe-lease? Are we goin’ ta jail, Tay?”

I chuckled a little and patted her on the head, “No, not jail, but somewhere I’m afraid.” Not knowing what else to do, I unlocked and opened the door.

The man and the woman brushed past me and into the house. The woman headed straight for the kitchen and the phone and began making calls. I wanted to yank the receiver out of her hand and tell her she did not ask and it was rude. The man was asking the kids questions and I was trying to answer for them. Two uniformed officers arrived and stood waiting. I did not know what they were waiting for, but I knew it was not what I wanted.

Soon, the woman ordered the kids to get some clothes together. She told the man that a judge had issued “the order” and asked me if we had anything we could put our things in. Dazed I gathered some brown-paper grocery sacks and passed them out to the fearful faces around me.
Before I knew what was happening, we were all being herded out the door. Another sedan, this one gold, had arrived and with it two more women. Jimmy, Robert, and Lesli were directed to the gold sedan. When I realized we were being separated, I panicked. “Where are you taking them?” I shouted.

A police officer took a step forward and the sickly-sweet woman placed her hand on my forearm. “Terri,” she began, “we don’t have one place with enough beds for all of you. They are going to a nice home and you and Suzan are going to another. You will see them soon. I promise.”

She lied.

It would be four months before I saw them. Lesli would celebrate her fifth birthday and Robert his sixth amongst strangers. Somehow the Air Force would let Dad come home from California. Once again, Mom would get out of the hospital. By the middle of August, we would all be home again.

I would be different, though. The remnants of childhood innocence and hope were rent from me that spring Saturday. At 13, I was a cynical little adult who trusted no one and relied on no one. It would be almost ten years before I believed that anyone really cared about me or for me. Adolescence, usually rough, was to be a particularly brutal journey for me. However, just like that Saturday, I survived to tell the tale.

At times, when the sorrow overshadowed my thoughts, the memory of a bygone smile interrupted the darkness. When I felt as if no one loved me, I could remember that there was once an old farmer who loved me unconditionally. Pain can be blotted out by happiness. Memories are like that.

A Lady Bug Reminder

2008-07-09T07:04:00.001-07:00

A ladybug alighted alone on the sand.
A heavy heart wandered nearby.
The clean tide-washed sand stretched toward the sea;
Alone, the ladybug and me.
A gentle whisper in my hearts ear
Came as I studied the bug.
“I made and care for the little bug red,
Do I less for you?” He said.
Reminded again of Creator’s kind care
My spirit eased of its strain.
The ladybug mounted aloft on the wind
Her destination afar.
The cumbersome burden my human heart bore
Lifted with her toward the shore.

Travel Nocturn

2008-07-02T09:09:00.000-07:00

In my place
between wake and slumber
exists a platform,
a waiting spot
for the dream train.

Weathered wood planks
roughened by time and elements
joined by rust crusted
square spikes.
Wind whispering, stars shining,
no covering in sight.
Ancient iron tracks
stretch from horizon to beyond
beckoning the dream train.

On a night
my mind’s self
reposes there,
labors, worries, and joys
jumbled in thought
until
I board the dream train.

Heart to Paper

2008-06-30T10:56:00.001-07:00

click the pencil
advance the lead
make the marks
regret the words
sigh
erase the choices
wipe the remains
click the pencil
advance the lead

again

and again

and again

make the marks
enjoy the words
smile

Grandbabies

2008-06-27T08:21:00.000-07:00

Gentle lashes
Flashing eyes
Ready smile

Bubbling laugh
Busy hands
Lightening feet

Quick kisses
Mischievous tricks
Cherished hugs

Curious mind
Tender heart
Precious soul

A New Life

2008-06-26T08:46:00.000-07:00

Spotting my parents in the thousands of faces in the auditorium, I discerned relief rather than pride in their eyes. I winced slightly but tossed my head around in defiance, listening to the strains of “Pomp and Circumstance” I caught a glance of Mrs. Hill, my English teacher. I clutched the coveted paper in my hand a little tighter and suppressed the urge to make a nasty gesture at the old bat. For the last couple of months she had berated me daily by scolding, “You’ll never graduate now that you went and married that boy!”

I guess I showed her, I thought as my mind jumped to my secret. At that moment, I was glad for the fullness of the graduation gown even though I had not yet begun to show. If any of my teachers or the principal knew about the life that was growing inside me they would have denied me the diploma I had worked so hard to earn. Two weeks before graduation, my friend Barbara had been called out of class and expelled because the school nurse discovered her pregnancy. Some school districts were changing the rules and letting “expectant” girls graduate, but not mine. It’s 1960 for crying out loud! Crawl out of the dark ages! I wanted to scream at all of them. Instead, I forced the appropriate smile and clutched my deserved prize.

I longed for Michael to be there and celebrate with me. The days since he left echoed like years. In late April we had lingered on the platform at Union Station in downtown Kansas City and shared our goodbyes. His hand rested on my belly, and he stooped to press his lips against my shirt before he turned and scaled the steps of the passenger car. I waved as the train groaned through the yards and around the bend until I could no longer distinguish Michael’s face in the sea of soldiers filling the windows of the train. I was alone though surrounded by a massive throng of bodies bidding goodbye to their own soldiers.

Thousands of miles away in Syracuse, New York, Michael was attending language school. Though he was buried in classes, we corresponded almost daily. I laughed at his notes smattered with the Russian and Polish words he was learning. Really, the language didn’t matter, I ached for him so deeply that the stationery he caressed united us more than the ink marks on the page. After three months, the letters started arriving from APO addresses with tales of curious places with names like Darmstadt, Sembach and Ramstein. He migrated to a fresh German duty station every few weeks. Always, the first envelope of every month included money to be added to my own nest egg. When Michael first left, the only money I had to glean was the little meager amounts I made babysitting. I couldn’t get a fruitful job until I had that high school diploma in my hand.

The morning after graduation, I forced myself from bed and hurried to the trolley stop. I could finally go to the doctor without the terror of discovery hanging over me. I really needed to know that my baby was all right. This precious little one was making me incredibly ill. I could barely keep down water and for the last couple of weeks of school I avoided eating or drinking anything because my heaving would have drawn too much attention.

“Missy, you should never have waited to see me!” chided the white-haired doctor. I was so severely dehydrated that I could have lost the baby. He administered a shot of vitamin B6 and for the first time in weeks I was hungry. Leaving his office, I caught the trolley to the card factory. I knew they were hiring. I also knew that once again, I would have to conceal my little one. The company had a policy of terminating any girl who was pregnant. I lied on the application and wore big shirts to work. My doctor visits remained a secret.

As our letters crossed back and forth across the seas, Michael and I exchanged our dreams of the day I would be able to join him. He had braved an exhausting eighteen hours crossing the Atlantic on a Constellation propeller plane. Asking around he discovered that TWA was offering jet service into the Frankfurt airport. Though it would cost more, he decided it would be faster and better for out little one to travel by jet. So I scrimped and saved all the more. I worked every minute the factory would allow. All summer long, I rode the trolley to the doctor’s office, tolerated my daily morning sickness shot, and hopped the next trolley to my job. Every extra nickel went into my savings.

Then it happened. One day, in spite of the medicine, I just couldn’t keep my lunch down. I was alone in the bathroom, leaning over the sink, supporting my growing belly with one hand while I splashed cold water in my face with the other. The door opened and my supervisor stopped and stared, taken by my obvious condition. Without a word, she turned and left. That evening a bright pink slip encased my time card when I clocked out.

It was already early September and my planned trip was in mid October. I had enough money put away for the ticket, but not enough for baby things when I got there. I trudged to the trolley stop and made my way home. Brooding, I silently ascended the stairs to my room. My mother knew. She followed me and posed pensively on the bed beside me. For a long time we just sat side by side in heavy silence. Finally, she put her arm around my shoulder and said, “Sue, I’ve been putting back a little bit each week. I want to buy things for the baby now, but I know you can’t take them with you. Will you take the money I’ve saved with you and buy my grandbaby some things in Germany?”

In a flurry of activity the ensuing weeks blurred. Soon I found myself high above Europe in a DC-8. The stewardess was making her way down the aisle instructing each passenger to prepare for landing. Leaning over she asked me to secure my seatbelt. I fidgeted for a minute making sure it fit snugly under my bulging tummy.

I rubbed the small mound and spoke softly to the little life within me. “Hey, little one. You don’t have any idea what’s going on, do you? Here I am almost eighteen and this is the first time I’ve ever gone much more than a hundred miles from home, let alone taken an airplane anywhere. You’re not even born yet and you’ve flown halfway across the world.”

The wings popped and creaked and I stiffened. The white-haired man sitting next to me must have sensed my fear because he reassured me that those were the normal sounds the plane made as it approached a landing. The engines screamed as we descended upon the runway and I held my breath until I felt the solid ground beneath the wheels. I forced a smile at the man in the next seat and he patted my hand, “You made it just fine, sweetie. You’ve landed.”

Afternoons

2008-06-25T11:57:00.001-07:00

In the floor
on his belly
time yields
to fantasy.
Childhood
envelops universe.
Plastic trains become
mighty iron horses
surging across continents,
ferrying masses of tiny soldiers,
delivering tinker-toy freight,
avoiding disastrous chasms
between tile and carpet.

Looking Skyward

2008-06-24T07:37:00.001-07:00

From my back
in cool shaded grass
Light dances
with leaves
Steps and twirls
to wind’s melody
Brilliant patterns
in greens and glows
against deep blue
of sky

The Mississippi

2008-06-23T08:18:00.000-07:00

I meet with her each morn.
As she glides beside me
I sense her mood.
Some dawns she fumes in fog,
others she glistens in glee,
yet others she tumbles in turmoil.

Time alters my days
seldom I see her
and then
my path leads to her again.
She greets me with glory,
sunlight dances upon her face.
Joy to my soul
from her ancient waters.

Escape

2008-06-22T12:17:00.000-07:00

The wooden screen door thwacked shut and the shouting inside succumbed to the droning chorus of the cicadas. Lydia’s summer-browned bare feet carried her across the searing sun-softened tar. At the end of the street, blacktop yielded to hard nature kilned-clay veiled by powdered sand. The dust cooled her toes.

She paused to crouch at the small stagnant pond beside the path. Last summer she would have stretched out on her stomach to watch the tadpoles, crawdads, and water bugs. Not now — even in her over-sized t-shirt she didn’t want to be reminded of her emerging breasts. Stretching her legs, she trekked on.

Thoughts tumbled as she passed dry, root-bound tumbleweeds and gnarled mesquite trees. The sharp exchange between her parents pierced her mind as she avoided prickly pear cactus. A skittish black tarantula hastened to her hole, safe from the burning heat.

Lydia reached the NO TRESPASSING sign at the base of the earthen dam and climbed past it to the top. She settled on a large rock and scanned the horizon for the muddy lake in the distance. An emerald skink flashed in the brush beside her. She hugged her shins, knees pressed against her bosom and sighed.