Winter Discontent

by Lauraine Alberetti Lombara

Shadow person waiting, watching,

Judging, juggling, playing for time.

Where’s my heart?  My head is hurting.

Why I sing when nothing’s known?

Through the night the rushing wind

Icy cold to freeze emotions.

Tumbling down the narrow hole

Looking for the summer sun.

Alone, abject, amiss, askew,

A word, a sign?  A love adieu.

 https://www.flickr.com/photos/karenhorton/5430180287/in/photostream/

Valentine's Day

                            by Beth Alexander Walsh

     My earliest memory of Valentine’s Day was at the Gleason School in Medford, Massachusetts in the early 70’s. The celebration would start with crafting cards several days before the 14th. It was always a good day when the scissors, construction paper and paste glue came out. This is where I first learned the trick of folding the paper and cutting out only half a heart and magically unfolding to a perfect symmetrical whole heart. For added drama we were given white paper doilies to simulate lace. I’m pretty sure just about every homemade card that went home had the word MOM printed somewhere in crayon or marker. Dads didn’t seem to rate the red hearts, lace and X’s and O’s. Next, we would decorate a paper lunch bag with our names for all the valentines we would collect from other students. We had the choice of making our cards or buying them. I always wanted store bought.

    The trip to Woolworths to purchase the cards was also exciting. There were the generic cards with pictures of boys and girls or animals holding up hearts with “Be Mine” written on them. Also available were the cartoon characters from Looney Tunes and Scooby-Doo along with Disney favorites Winnie the Pooh, Peter Pan, Lady and the Tramp and Minnie, Mickey, Pluto and the gang. My favorite of the cards was Snoopy and I remember purchasing them several years in a row. I would lay out all the cards on the kitchen table, carefully picking out which card would go to which student, making sure my best friends and secret crushes always got the best. Then, I would write the names on the envelopes in my best handwriting and stack them in piles to be held together with rubber bands.

     Valentine’s Day was not the extravaganza that kids enjoy today. There was no party. There were no cupcakes to be eaten or candy attached to every card. In fact, you didn’t necessarily have to give a valentine to every student in the class.  At the end of the school day, the lunch bags were lined up at the back of the room and one by one we would distribute the cards. There were always a few kids whose bags were overflowing with valentines and unfortunately other bags that only contained a few. I was always grateful to be somewhere in the middle. When the school bell would ring, we would collect our bags with our winter hats, coats and mittens. I would open mine immediately on the bus, hoping my Special Valentine had also thought of me.

A Golden Memory

by Gail Balentine

They were a few feet away from me, a mother and her small child playing tag with the ocean waves. Just as I came closer, I heard the girl’s breathless voice.

 “Look Mommy, the sun is dripping on the o-shun!”

My eyes followed her chubby finger as she pointed to the sun’s golden reflection on the blue-green sea. The sparkling bits of color did look like paint drops and I smiled as I continued my walk along the beach. The sea was calm that day, the waves gentle as they danced over all the small rocks and seashells on their quest to reach the wall that separates the water from the grass. Warm sand trickled between my toes with each step I took, my skin tingled with warmth and salt air, and I needed to raise my hand to shade my eyes when I looked out at the boats in the distance, some with sails unfurled, others bobbing in place. It was a picture-perfect day and I etched all the details in my mind.

I’ve always loved the ocean, any time of day from sunrise to sunset to moonlit night; in any of its moods, from moments of peace and calm to its rage during storms and everything in-between. It might be the sheer size of it or the changing nature it has, I’m not sure, but the ocean is what I seek when I have things to think about and my restless heart needs to settle down a bit. It never disappoints. That little girl comes to mind often and I still smile at the sheer wonder in her voice and I have long been grateful for her innocent reminder of how amazing simple things can be.

My life has sped by since that day and I am old now and can no longer walk in the sand beside the ocean, but I can still remember. I close my eyes and bring it back – the sights, the sounds, even the smells. Memories are such precious gifts.

“Look.” My nurse gently pats my hand and points out the window. “The rain has finally stopped and the sun is coming out.”

It had been raining non-stop for a week and I had begun to wonder if the sun was ever going to come out again. But there it was. I smiled and I thought of that little girl. After all these years, she’d be old enough to have her own child with whom she could share the wonder; she could show her how the sun drips on the o-shun.

A Tiny Tale

by Beth Alexander Walsh

She cries at the sight of me. She tells me I remind her of the family she once had. I tell her she still has a family. I am living proof. She blames me for her decline; me and the assisted living complex. I tell her she needs to be here, to be safe, to have help. She shakes her head and sits in her chair clutching her box of tissues. 

I'm so tired. I'm tired of the emotions, the anger, the fear, the crying. I'm tired of doctors who shrug when I ask advice. I'm tired of the pills and their little compartmentalized trays and the paperwork that keeps them coming. I'm tired of the words: arthritis, osteoporosis, incontinence, psychosis, dementia, ALZHEIMERS!  I'm so tired.

"You look pretty today Beth."

I look up to see her smiling face and hazel eyes full of recognition.

"Thank you Mom."

I walk over and give her a kiss on the cheek.

Today is a good day.