Early Morning

Sometimes
A full moon contradicts itself
And gives clarity, not illusion.

The mid-tide is so still
That its water reflects
Both the clouds and clear sky above.

Three student sailboats sit up straight,
Tied to a square of pier.
The bows point forward,
Up, and out to the open sea.


--Liz Ciampa, 2017.

A Few More Reindeer

by Beth Alexander Walsh

Bea sat at her small kitchen table while her daughter, June, put her groceries away. It was a far cry from the large farmhouse table that commanded her old kitchen. Her life had become an endless stream of downsizing since her husband had died three years ago. A four- bedroom house full of furniture pared down to a lonely single bed in her bedroom and whatever else would fit into her senior living apartment with the remaining split up between June, her grandchildren and the Salvation Army. The only new item in the apartment was the large TV that her son-in-law attached to the wall to compliment her new life in her new home. Bea, however, saw her new home as the last stepping stone between her old home and a nursing facility or death. She hoped it would be the latter. The new TV, however, turned out to be a great idea. It was how she kept track of time. Good Morning America with breakfast, Kelly and Ryan while she did her dishes, and those God-awful women on The View after she washed up, dressed and made her bed. She dozed during soap operas awakening in time for Judge Judy until dinner, which consisted of whatever June had purchased and stocked in her fridge on Saturdays.

     “Do you want me to put your laundry away? Mom?”

Bea looked up at her daughter trying to decide about laundry. She used to do all this stuff…laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning.  June had offered to help until she got settled, which was eight months ago.

     “No, just leave it on the couch. I’ll take care of it. “Bea replied, knowing she had until the following Saturday to complete the job.

     “I saw a Girl Scout troop in the activity room downstairs setting up to make Christmas ornaments with the residents on my way up here. Do you want to go down and check it out?”

 Bea frowned.

     “Why would I want to make ornaments when I don’t even have a Christmas tree!”

      “You have some decorations in your storage locker downstairs along with a table top tree. I could help you bring everything up today,” June urged.

       “The decorations are a waste of time and effort. No one is going to see them.”

June studied her mother and knew it was futile to argue. She collected the dirty laundry from the hamper along with the reusable grocery bags.

     “At least walk me downstairs to my car to get some fresh air. You can get your mail on the way back.”

Bea grunted and pulled herself up from the table, while her daughter grabbed both their coats from the front closet. She then stood silent in the elevator as her daughter talked about Christmas shopping and new recipes and work parties. She buttoned her coat against the wind in the parking lot as she followed her daughter to the car. June kissed her mother goodbye and promised to call the next day. Bea went back inside to the row of mailboxes outside of the activity room. She shuffled through several days of mail, dropping the unwanted into the recycling bin nearby. A small girl in a white shirt, jeans and a Brownie vest came bustling her way.

     “Hi. I’m Zoey Jordan with Brownie Troop 14. Would you like to do some crafts with us?”

     Bea looked down at the girl’s vest ambitiously covered in badges.

     “No thank you. I need to get back up to my apartment.”

 Zoey held up a candy cane dressed as a reindeer with pipe cleaner antlers, googly eyes and a pompom red nose.

    “Well, you can take this to put on your tree.”

     “No, thank you,” Bea replied, “I don’t have a tree.”

     “Oh! Do you have a menorah?” Zoey asked eagerly.

     “No. I’m not Jewish. I just don’t have a Christmas tree.”

      “What’s your name?” Zoey asked and Bea pondered where this conversation was going.

      “My name is Bea.”  Zoey’s eyes widened.

      “Like a bumble bee?”

       “Bea is short for Beatrice.”  Zoey seemed satisfied with that answer.

       “Okay Bea. I’m going to get my mom to see if we can get you a Christmas tree.”

Zoey ran into the activity room before she could answer, so Bea bolted for the elevator hoping to escape the little Brownie.

She probably needs to earn a ‘Helping Old People” badge, Bea thought as she kept pushing the elevator button willing the doors to open.

    “Bea?”

Bea turned to see a tall woman with curly brown hair and eyes to match. She was the adult version of the Brownie standing next to her.

     “Zoey tells me you’re in need of a Christmas tree. We have an extra table top tree that we could give you. I’m Marilyn Jordan by the way.”

Bea reluctantly shook her hand.

     “I really don’t need a tree. In fact, I already have one in my locker in the basement. It’s such a bother to put up and no one is really going to see it anyway.”

     “We’ll help you put it up!!” Zoey announced eagerly.

The elevator doors opened and Marilyn guided Bea in as Zoey pressed the button to the basement.

     “I really don’t want to bother you both. Don’t you have to get back to the activity room?”

     “We were almost done.” Marilyn replied, “It’s no bother at all, besides, what is Christmas without a Christmas tree?”

Bea sighed as they all exited the elevator and made their way to her locker. She now knew that Zoey’s impudence was genetic. She fit the key into the lock and opened the door. In front were an aluminum folding chair for the summer and a foldable cart for carrying groceries and laundry, both of which had yet to be used. She pulled them out and Marilyn and Zoey busied themselves retrieving every box marked Xmas. Zoey then pulled out a candy cane shaped object encased in bubble wrap.

     “What’s this?” she asked.

Bea took the object and carefully pulled the bubble wrap away unveiling an elaborate pinecone wall decoration in the shape of a candy cane with a red and gold bow attached to the neck of the cane.

     “That’s lovely!” Marilyn exclaimed. “Did you make that?”

      “Yes, about 40 years ago. My daughter helped me find the pinecones.” Bea smiled at the memory.

They loaded up the cart and headed to the second floor where Bea’s apartment was located. The elevator doors opened to find Bea’s neighbor Alice in the hallway. Alice looked down at the pine cone candy cane resting in Zoey’s arms.

     “That’s beautiful!” Alice gushed as she entered the elevator. “You’re sure to win the decorated door contest with that.”

     “Oh, I’m not entering any contest.” Bea replied

     “You’re automatically entered if you have something on your door.” Alice waved as the doors closed.

Marilyn and Zoey followed Bea into the apartment and set to work. The Christmas tree was up in minutes, plugged in and ready to decorate. Bea wrapped the tree stand with a multicolored quilted skirt. She then opened a box and pulled out a ceramic lighted tree she had made as a teenager in ceramics class and placed it on her kitchen counter. Next came out two holiday throw pillows which she arranged on the couch. Zoey placed a square box on the kitchen table and looked at Bea for permission to open. Bea smiled and nodded, and Zoey pulled the lid off the box.

   “WOW!” she cried.

Inside the box were a dozen delicate antique glass ornaments. There were bells, and spheres of all sizes and color as well as a long vintage tree topper. Zoey was particularly enamored of an ornament that was in the shape of a child’s face wearing a red hood.

   “That’s my favorite too.” Bea said,” Would you like to find a spot for it?”

Zoey carefully took the ornament and placed it front and center. They quickly placed the rest of the ornaments on the tree and Zoey added her candy cane reindeer last.

    “You need a few more reindeer. I have some downstairs.” Zoey said.

They attached the pine cone decoration to Bea’s door and headed down to the activity room where the troop had finished and were cleaning up. Zoey handed her 3 more candy canes.

   “Merry Christmas Bea!”

   “Thank you, Zoey. Merry Christmas to you too.”

Bea gave them both a hug and watched them walk away. As Bea left the activity center a woman with a clipboard stopped her at the door.

    “You’re Bea Sanders in 207, right?”

    “Yes.”

    “I’m Janet the activities coordinator. I hear you’re a contender for the door decorating contest.”

Bea was nonplussed over the rate at which news traveled in the building. The beehive of busybodies had spread the word in less than an hour.

    “Oh, I’m sure there are better decorations than mine.”

    “I’m so glad I caught up to you. I would love to sign you up for our cookie swap this Thursday at 2.”

     “Oh, I don’t think that would…

    “It is such fun and I bet you have a great family recipe to share.” Janet interrupted.

     “Well I don’t have any ingredients in my kitchen to make something and my daughter…”

     “That’s no problem, you can just sign up to take the bus on Monday at 10 a.m. to the grocery store. I’ll sign you up for now, and if you change your mind you can let me know.” Janet smiled as she turned to her next cookie swap victim.

Bea went to the elevator before anyone else could stop her. She had enough of pushy people for one day. She stopped at her apartment door and admired the decoration that she had not seen in three years. She smiled with pride at the thought of being a contest contender. Once in the apartment, she made herself a cup of tea and sat at the kitchen table gazing at her small tree. The lights became brighter as the afternoon sunlight waned, casting a glow on the hanging glass orbs, while the heads of the candy cane reindeers peeked out of the branches. She reached for the calendar on the table along with a pen and scribbled in the Monday square.

Grocery Bus 10 a.m.

     

Untitled

by Lauraine Alberetti Lombara

As I age I am noticing how often I lose track of names, numbers, messages and many other necessary (or not) items.  Many times I don’t ‘lose’ the aforementioned for any length of time - after a few minutes, hours or days, the thought I lost appears out of the blue.  While speaking with a friend or one of my children, I come out with some non sequitur, as in,”her name was Priscilla”...as if they know what I’m talking about. I know it is the name I was at such a loss to remember a few hours earlier. They may raise an eyebrow.  I tell them, “another brain freeze” if they are near my age or, “just you wait” if young.

Anyone who knows me knows my former love of shopping: food, furniture and clothing. I had energy galore and was able to accomplish many errands in record time. Now, heaven forbid, after making the lists, remembering to collect the coupons, my glasses, smart phone, keys, water bottle and, oh yes, a sweater or jacket (some stores are as cold as meat lockers), I manage to get out, and on my way within 15-20 minutes.

I arrive at the grocery store, head in and remember that I left my reusable sacks in the car - too bad, next time! Onto the fray. I retrieve my list from my purse and search for the coupons which also remain in the car. Uh oh, never mind, next time!  My list is front and center as I start at the non-perishables. Store items get moved, prices are invisible and help is non-existent. I find some bread and take another look at my list. Oh no, where is the list?  In the carriage?  In my pocket or purse? On the floor below me? It’s gone. I retrace my steps, my head bent, searching the market floor and shelves, all the while cursing under my breath.  Oh  goodness me, I never should have had that extra cup of coffee! Time for a bathroom break .As I return to my carriage (if I can find it), I decide I will cruise the aisles quickly (ha!) and grab what I remember from the list. I praise myself and soldier on...no time for self pity since grocery shopping is not genius work.

A few friendly hints:

• Always try to maintain your composure while shopping.
• Avoid holiday weeks, busy times before a major storm and super sale days.  
• Calmly explain to the customer service employee that you were overcharged, or that the items on sale are not available and it is the first day of said sale, or you would really appreciate talking to the manager.
• No one likes to see a youngster or an oldster having a tantrum especially while the canned music is blaring and the aisles are jammed with customers and stock is piled high waiting to be shelved or to come toppling down upon somebody.

Extra note: There is no title for this story until I remember the great one I had!

Celebration in Savannah

by Gail Balentine

Before the trip to Savannah I was apprehensive. Why? Well, start with flying, continue with the arthritis pain when I walk, add wondering how being that close with family for days would work out, and end with going to a city we’d never been to before with people and food we didn’t know. Put it all together and the anticipation was exciting and nerve-wracking all at once.

Logan airport is not my friend. I find it too big and confusing, but we got through it and onto the plane on time. The captain who we watched enter the cockpit was an older gentleman. My daughter leaned over and said, “Not his first rodeo”, and we both smiled. Right after that, one of our flight attendants came to the front of the plane. She, the captain, and another flight attendant were discussing a passenger (he joined them) who had apparently been quite rude to her. I thought he was going to be leaving the plane immediately, but they straightened it out after he apologized profusely. I admired her self-confidence. It seemed that we were in good hands and with my nerves a bit less frayed, the flight went well.

Getting settled in the hotel was a smooth process and the evening went well. Our first dinner in Savannah – at Paula Deen’s restaurant – was unexpectedly delicious. All the warnings about heavy southern food may be true but we chose the buffet where we could select what we wanted, and it was a perfect introduction to southern hospitality and dining. True southern fried chicken – my mouth waters just thinking about it.

The next morning, I was up and ready early and went downstairs to get a cup of coffee. In one of the restaurants I met a waitress who obviously needed the coffee more than I – she had left her charm somewhere else. Funny thing was, later that day and each time we ate there, she was wonderful. That’s when I remembered that some days I would win no awards for sweetness when I first get up. Just ask my husband.

Savannah is a walking city with many parks, statues, and old trees draped with Spanish Moss. If the city in October was a color, it would be green. Fortunately, along with the charming streets and parks come many benches along the way. The arthritis that had haunted me before going receded into the background. No wonder Forrest Gump looked so comfortable sitting on that park bench talking about his chocolates.

From tour guides to waitresses and waiters to a terrific bartender to bookstore owners (and their two beautiful cats) to the wonderful woman who sang to us at our anniversary celebration dinner, the people we met in Savannah were the kind of people you hope to meet when you’re away from home. Helpful, thoughtful, efficient and able to answer questions and give directions patiently, as if they don’t have to say the same thing a hundred times a day.

On the last day, we went to a museum to pass the time until our return flight. We had no idea we were in for such a treat. Our guide brought Savannah’s role in the American Revolution to life. He had us following him outside, carrying flags, mounting a small hill and taking mock aim at the enemy. He had such a way of bringing you into what he was doing that it would have been no surprise to have a horse and buggy arrive to take us back to the hotel rather than the taxi that did come.

And last, but most emphatically not least, there was family. We have traveled together a lot and mostly it has been great. But, now and then, some not-for-prime-time moments show up – the kind that can throw a wet blanket on things for a while. Not this trip. Our children set out to make this a trip of a lifetime and they succeeded, in style. We had a wonderful time together and so many precious memories.

Of all the wonderful things we saw and did on our trip, the time we spent together was the best of all. It was such a lovely way to celebrate 50 years married.

*****

Serengeti

by Terri McFadden

When we arrived on the Serengeti, it struck me that the word fit what my high school poetry teacher termed onomatopoeia – the formation of words in imitation of natural sounds. It is the most serene place I’ve ever visited – at least at first view. The sound of the wind through the grass is nearly the only noise. Enormous animals, elephants, giraffes, leopards and lions move almost silently through the landscape. Even the herds of wildebeest and zebras chomp silently, their hooves only thundering when frightened by a movement of the occasional predator.

On our visit there in 2016 we were lucky enough to witness the great spring migration of animals through Tanzania. It wasn’t quite what I expected. Certainly, there were large numbers of animals all over the enormous plain, but they didn’t seem to be migrating. Not a purposeful, determined movement, but instead there was a slow and gradual drift of the mixed herds as they ate and walked, ate and walked. It was fascinating to see all these different types of herbivores mingled together. At night, we were told, they would sort themselves into herds of their fellows – zebras with zebras, wildebeest with wildebeest, but in the daytime, this wasn’t so. A peaceable kingdom – at least for the lucky ones.

For two nights, we stayed at a safari camp, many miles into the national park. We were greeted by a staff member with glasses of orange juice, refreshing after the bouncing, dusty ride. An open fire and a glass of wine before dinner while watching the sun set were memorable, as was the best dinner we had in Africa (except at our daughter’s house!), several delicious courses all cooked on a two-burner hotplate. Afterward we were escorted to our tents by the staff and warned not to leave them; night time on the Serengeti is a dangerous place. Not so serene when the sun goes down. In fact, we were given whistles to blow in case of an emergency and told more than once not to leave our tents. A staff person would come if needed, but we were told not to whistle for anything but a serious situation, as the savanah is dangerous for them as well.

              After a short peek at the most astounding sky of stars that I’ve ever seen, we entered our tent. There were trillions of lights in that African sky and I could have gazed for hours, but I was too frightened by the warnings about dangerous animals. It was my biggest disappointment of the trip, not watching that sky. Obediently we heeded our guides and retired to our king-size bed. The tent had a shower and toilet, so we were safe for the night. The profound silence and the long day of travel made it easy to fall asleep.

              A few hours later I was awakened by a loud scratching noise at the back of the tent near the bucket shower. I lay there for quite a while, my husband sleeping peacefully beside me. The scratching continued. I’m not a normally a nervous person, but I started worrying. Naturally, I woke Ed. He heard it too, but couldn’t think what to do and reassured me that the canvas was thick and urged me to go back to sleep. Ignoring him, I finally leapt out of bed and dashed to the heavy-duty zippers of the toilet and shower areas. Frantically, I pulled them down, reasoning (sort of) that the critter would have to scratch through two layers of heavy canvas to get at us.

              Neither of us slept for a long time. Finally, I suggested we blow the whistle and reluctantly he agreed. I placed it in my mouth and blew…and nothing. The whistle sounded, but no one came, no one shouted to ask what was wrong. I didn’t have the nerve to do it again, so we took Ed’s advice and finally fell asleep again. By this time too tired to mind the scratching.

              In the morning, I checked the back of the tent and there was no evidence of an animal – at least to my uneducated eyes. No scratch marks on the tent, no scat. The soil was scuffed, but I couldn’t see any footprints. The head of the safari company looked at us uncomprehendingly and shrugged – no idea what it could have been. I was too embarrassed to mention the night-time whistle.

              The great undulating plains of Africa greeted us again that morning, with a pink sunrise and indigo blue sky. On our journey that day we watched a lioness stalking a zebra, which she missed, scattering the herd. We saw a family of cheetahs sitting on a termite hill scanning the horizon for a meal. A sleepy (sated?) hyena lay in the shade of an acacia tree, mouth open, showing her teeth and panting in the heat.

              Not far from the great park’s entrance our driver and guide stopped the truck and pointed. He’d spotted two young cheetahs making their gliding way to what looked like a little family of wildebeests – mother, father and young calf. There was no sign of the herd. In fact, no sign of any other animals at all. The three of them had somehow drifted away while grazing, and now they were alone and hunted.

              We watched, holding our breath, not sure if we should root for the grazers or the cats. It didn’t take long. In silence, the beautiful cheetahs circled the prey, one in one direction the other opposite. The wildebeests finally sensed their peril and bolted. In a flash, the cheetahs attacked. It is hard, even when you see it, to believe flesh and blood and muscle can move that fast; the two acting as one.

The calf was down. The parents stopped running and turned to watch for a moment. And then, with no sound, they turned and trotted off.

True serenity, is I think, an illusion. In this life, we have moments of peace, times of silence, but mostly like the great Serengeti the tumult is there, waiting. And, like the darkness and the light, the tumult will return. Perhaps the only remedy is to sometimes take a chance and gaze on the stars. They are there, waiting.

             

                                                                                

 

 

With the Best of Intentions

We try to avoid

The mistakes of our mothers

Still, we make our own

Then scratch our heads,

Wondering, what now?

 

(Ciampa, Liz.  What is Left.  Boston, MA: Big Table Publishing Co., 2009. p. 15. Print.)

Dream Shadow

by Lauraine Alberetti Lombara

A Shadow at the window peering in.

Man or woman? Mystical jinn?

There's movement when I stare, I think,

Then gone in a moment when I blink.

Is there a parallel to what is in my mind,

When it cannot tell me what it finds?

As it looks - what it may seem...

Maybe, possibly, a dream?