One Hand, Two Hands by Max Lucado and illustrated by Gabey Hansen is a wonderful picture book that helps teach children about what they have the power to do with their own two hands. It's rhythmic movement and wonderful illustrations hold both the attention of the young listener and that of the reader. The entire family was anxious to turn to the next page and see what was to come next.
Children are best taught through example and Max Lucado has created a wonderful example in this well written storybook. When the story was finished our 3 year old asked if she could hear it again and then offered to tell the story back to me. At the end of story time we were able to have a conversation about what our hands can do to help ourselves and others.
Whether you are creating a Christian library or just looking for a well crafted book for your children, Max Lucado's One Hand, Two Hands should be considered for it. We highly recommend this engaging and educating book to parents of children of varying ages and gender.
I received this book free from the publisher through the BookSneeze.com BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255
Monday, September 6, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
My Mother's 1st Published Article for Grace Notes
Blessed By The Evening Sun
A Reflection by Karen Alessi
It was rather an unremarkable day. The skies were overcast with no promise of a clear sunset. Our moods seemed to reflect the cloudy skies above. Towards evening we decided to go for a drive, rather than our customary stroll and avoid the ever-increasing crowds coming into town. We hadn't planned on staying out too long anyway.
As we drove we noticed the sun making a very late appearance. We could see it bursting through the trees, more brilliantly than the last few evenings. We began to see more and more of it and thought we might stay out a little longer and try to catch the sunset down at the cove. We could feel our spirits lifting as we hurried to a secret place Bonnie had discovered last year. I knew of five good spots, but I'd never seen this one.
The sun was in its final descent. The silhouettes of three or four fishermen could be seen in their chosen places along the ocean side, the black rocks of the jetty behind them. The sky was already giving off its pink cotton-candy colors and the shades of the choppy ocean waves had changed to variations of cobalt blue.
As we got in closer to the water's edge, where the shore line curved and the jetty ended, we began to see tips of dolphin tails. Getting as close as we could to the rocks with three young children, we started to see whole families of dolphins, playing and jumping, sometimes two at a time, under the sky now flooded with shades of blue and pink. The water sparkled everywhere in the moments before night settles in.
Karin was at an age now, where she saw it all. She loved it and mentioned the magic she felt all around her. Ian only five, was searching for treasures among the seaweed. Faith was contented to find little seashells and present them as gifts, especially for me. We lingered that way for awhile. Squealing and "oohing" and "aahing" until the light dotting the few houses in the area started to come through the not quite darkness of night. The little night bugs were beginning to outnumber us. It was the last stage of dusk.
As we soaked in the colors of the sky, the dolphins jumping, the fishermen silhouetted in stillness, the children giggling in unprompted delight and the orange glow of lights coming on in the distance, we couldn't help but feel God's love for us. Everywhere we turned; we were bathed in it and warmed by it, in body and soul. It hugged us and made our spirits soar! Thank you God for all your blessings and the gift of this wonderful day.
We reluctantly headed back to the car, turning every few minutes to catch one last glance and promising to come back again...maybe tomorrow.
A Reflection by Karen Alessi
It was rather an unremarkable day. The skies were overcast with no promise of a clear sunset. Our moods seemed to reflect the cloudy skies above. Towards evening we decided to go for a drive, rather than our customary stroll and avoid the ever-increasing crowds coming into town. We hadn't planned on staying out too long anyway.
As we drove we noticed the sun making a very late appearance. We could see it bursting through the trees, more brilliantly than the last few evenings. We began to see more and more of it and thought we might stay out a little longer and try to catch the sunset down at the cove. We could feel our spirits lifting as we hurried to a secret place Bonnie had discovered last year. I knew of five good spots, but I'd never seen this one.
The sun was in its final descent. The silhouettes of three or four fishermen could be seen in their chosen places along the ocean side, the black rocks of the jetty behind them. The sky was already giving off its pink cotton-candy colors and the shades of the choppy ocean waves had changed to variations of cobalt blue.
As we got in closer to the water's edge, where the shore line curved and the jetty ended, we began to see tips of dolphin tails. Getting as close as we could to the rocks with three young children, we started to see whole families of dolphins, playing and jumping, sometimes two at a time, under the sky now flooded with shades of blue and pink. The water sparkled everywhere in the moments before night settles in.
Karin was at an age now, where she saw it all. She loved it and mentioned the magic she felt all around her. Ian only five, was searching for treasures among the seaweed. Faith was contented to find little seashells and present them as gifts, especially for me. We lingered that way for awhile. Squealing and "oohing" and "aahing" until the light dotting the few houses in the area started to come through the not quite darkness of night. The little night bugs were beginning to outnumber us. It was the last stage of dusk.
As we soaked in the colors of the sky, the dolphins jumping, the fishermen silhouetted in stillness, the children giggling in unprompted delight and the orange glow of lights coming on in the distance, we couldn't help but feel God's love for us. Everywhere we turned; we were bathed in it and warmed by it, in body and soul. It hugged us and made our spirits soar! Thank you God for all your blessings and the gift of this wonderful day.
We reluctantly headed back to the car, turning every few minutes to catch one last glance and promising to come back again...maybe tomorrow.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
My Grandmother's Recipe
This September take a moment to build some lasting memories for yourself and your children. September 12, 2010 is National Grandparents Day; make a phone call, write a letter, bake some cookies with a grandparent. Today in our hurried lives stop, take a breath and stand still in the moment. Shut off the television, log off of the computer, ignore your email, skip that kick boxing class, simply stand still . Take the hand of your child and put it in the hand of a grandparent, start a memory, build a legacy that will last forever. Teach your children to embrace those that have walked down the path of life ahead of us, a path we too one day, will tread down.
I can still smell the sweet scent of sugar cookies and coffee cakes wafting from my grandmother’s kitchen. Dashing to the door, mouth watering, I ran. There waiting for my arrival was my grandmother, wiping her hands on her apron before she hugged me. A chair would be waiting for me, pulled close to the counter, an apron draped over it’s back inviting me to tie it around my waist. After my hair was pulled back into a pony tail we would go to work. Like every other baking day, this time was set aside for just the two of us. At first I think it was the sweet reward that I knew would come with a glass of cold milk at the end of our days that drew me in. Later it would be the time we spent kneading the dough and weaving the fabric of our lives that kept me coming. Through my awkward teenage years, well into my young adulthood, I kneaded and sometimes cried with her on baking day. I watched her hands become frail and her energy fade, yet we never missed a baking day.
I can close my eyes this very moment and taste those sugar cookies. Today I use her exact recipe, measure for measure, yet they have never tasted as delicious as when we baked them together. Standing in a kitchen miles away from my grandmother’s house, years separated from the girl I was, I bake those cookies in search of her. I cherish those memories I built perched on that kitchen chair beside her. I could not be who I am today without having spent those moments with her making cookies. I realize now, years after her passing, that her recipe card did indeed contain the proper ingredients and measurements, but that her love was the most important ingredient of all. I bake with my children, this very recipe, as they bake it now with my mother, their grandmother and each time a healthy amount of love is thrown into the mix.
“I will never know what it is like to be another race or gender. But I, and many others, if we are lucky, will know what it is like to be old.” ~Diana Couper
I can still smell the sweet scent of sugar cookies and coffee cakes wafting from my grandmother’s kitchen. Dashing to the door, mouth watering, I ran. There waiting for my arrival was my grandmother, wiping her hands on her apron before she hugged me. A chair would be waiting for me, pulled close to the counter, an apron draped over it’s back inviting me to tie it around my waist. After my hair was pulled back into a pony tail we would go to work. Like every other baking day, this time was set aside for just the two of us. At first I think it was the sweet reward that I knew would come with a glass of cold milk at the end of our days that drew me in. Later it would be the time we spent kneading the dough and weaving the fabric of our lives that kept me coming. Through my awkward teenage years, well into my young adulthood, I kneaded and sometimes cried with her on baking day. I watched her hands become frail and her energy fade, yet we never missed a baking day.
I can close my eyes this very moment and taste those sugar cookies. Today I use her exact recipe, measure for measure, yet they have never tasted as delicious as when we baked them together. Standing in a kitchen miles away from my grandmother’s house, years separated from the girl I was, I bake those cookies in search of her. I cherish those memories I built perched on that kitchen chair beside her. I could not be who I am today without having spent those moments with her making cookies. I realize now, years after her passing, that her recipe card did indeed contain the proper ingredients and measurements, but that her love was the most important ingredient of all. I bake with my children, this very recipe, as they bake it now with my mother, their grandmother and each time a healthy amount of love is thrown into the mix.
“I will never know what it is like to be another race or gender. But I, and many others, if we are lucky, will know what it is like to be old.” ~Diana Couper
Monday, August 16, 2010
A bit more of Allison and Ryan
Ryan McJames, hometown hero, team captain, pitcher for Sanderton High stood in front of his bedroom mirror staring at himself, nervously pushing the hair away from his eyes. Downstairs in his living room sat a representative from one of the many universities courting this young high school senior. Dave and Eileen McJames were offering the gentlemen some refreshments while they all talked about Ryan’s possible future. Picking up his glove and rubbing it with oil was a ritual Ryan had begun so many years ago, today the smell of the oil was making him sick to his stomach. Nerves were never a big deal for Ryan, he had stepped onto the mound against a lot of odds and never faltered to nerves, why today? He glanced over at the picture of Allison they had made in a photo booth down bye the shore a few days ago, her smile was so big, he wished he was in that booth with her again. “Come on Ryan, shake it off it’s only a casual look see.” he told himself as he opened the door and headed downstairs. Running his fingers down the wall as he came down the stairs, Ryan turned the corner and entered the room. “Mr. Tuttle, thanks for coming bye, I see mom’s made you some of her famous lemon cookies.” Ryan McJames was on, the charm came easy for him, the room took notice of him right away. Mr. Tuttle may have thought he was courting James but it was quite the other way around. Ryan already knew where he wanted to go, how he was going to get there and when, poor Mr. Tuttle was merely a test run, a meeting to hone his skills before the ‘big game’. The group spent a little over an hour hashing out a would-be plan if the young Mr. McJames decided he’d found his collegiate home in the pamphlets now scattered across his mother’s coffee table. Ryan stood up to express his gratitude at the offers presented to him that day and reassured Mr. Tuttle that he and his family would give it great consideration. The representative left the McJames home feeling he had sealed the deal, like most people he thought exactly what Ryan had wanted him to think.
Allison smoothed down her hair, picked up her red purse and headed for the door. Color was something Allison was not afraid of, while most girls were wearing black she was wrapping a canary yellow scarf around her neck or sporting her new favorite red purse. You would never know by looking at her that getting dressed in the morning was an arduous task. Three or four outfits would lay across her bed before she decided which one fit her mood that day. The full length mirror that stood across from her bed was her worst enemy, it told no lies, hid no truths. The few times Allison actually liked what she saw in the mirror it was as if the looking glass was saying “you naive little thing it’s just an illusion”. Today Allison picked up her red bag, stared at that mirror in defiance trying to see what she knew was there, underneath all the pain, it had to be there.
Ryan rang Allison’s doorbell and was met by Mrs. Blake, a tall woman who had the faint hint of beauty still on her brow. She granted entry for the boy as she summoned her daughter to greet her date. The Blake house was tiny, the air was always thick and the curtains were always shut. A certain slant of light found it’s way through the window in the front room obscuring the bleakness. One could be fooled into believing that joy could be felt in this home, Allison knew the truth. Rachel Blake offered the young couple a drink of iced tea before she headed back to her room, Allison caught the tell-tale unsteadiness in her mother’s walk, she had been drinking. The girl quickly took Ryan by the hand and the two headed out of the house. Get in, get out as quickly as possible it was a routine Allison had come by as a young girl. When friends called for her she would crack the door open slightly and tell them to wait for her on the front steps. On the rare occasion that someone did gain entry, Allison would quickly grab their hand and head for the door, telling them that her mom didn’t really like people in the house. Ryan had become the exception he had been allowed to linger, Rachel Blake would spend a few minutes talking to the handsome boy, it made Allison sick. She wondered how Ryan could not see the mess that Allison saw, how he could stand the sight of her, how he could actually think she was worth speaking to. But there he was glad to see Mrs. Blake every time she opened the door, every time she offered him a glass of iced tea, or clumsily flirted with him. Allison kept waiting for the words to form at his mouth, for the look of utter disgust she had developed over the years, but they never did. The boy never spoke an unkind word about Rachel, he never mentioned that the smell of gin was on her breath, that her low-cut shirts made him uncomfortable or that she looked like a drowned rat even on her good days. Allison was glad of this even if amazed by it, perhaps Rachel’s retched life would finally stop ruining hers. The two hopped into Ryan’s shiny new car and headed for town. Allison looked back as if to see that nothing was following her, but it was, it all was, every bit of the last 10 years followed her every where she went. The music blasted from the radio, Allison held Ryan’s hand as they drove a bit too fast in that shiny new car of his, that vehicle that sped away from it all.
The first time Rachel Blake picked up a drink for any other reason than to be social at dinner was the day she realized her husband was not coming home. She sat in her kitchen staring at a life she had not known really, a life she had built but never felt was hers. Now alone, it all made sense to her, it all had meant nothing, the years, the hours, the minutes had ticked away for nothing. The gin found it’s way into her glass that day, deadening the pain, erasing the thoughts that danced in her head. The descent was slow, the wrecking ball merely chipped away at first, Allison and Jerry thought their mom was just grieving from the lose of her marriage, they had no idea she was grieving for the lose of herself.
Allison smoothed down her hair, picked up her red purse and headed for the door. Color was something Allison was not afraid of, while most girls were wearing black she was wrapping a canary yellow scarf around her neck or sporting her new favorite red purse. You would never know by looking at her that getting dressed in the morning was an arduous task. Three or four outfits would lay across her bed before she decided which one fit her mood that day. The full length mirror that stood across from her bed was her worst enemy, it told no lies, hid no truths. The few times Allison actually liked what she saw in the mirror it was as if the looking glass was saying “you naive little thing it’s just an illusion”. Today Allison picked up her red bag, stared at that mirror in defiance trying to see what she knew was there, underneath all the pain, it had to be there.
Ryan rang Allison’s doorbell and was met by Mrs. Blake, a tall woman who had the faint hint of beauty still on her brow. She granted entry for the boy as she summoned her daughter to greet her date. The Blake house was tiny, the air was always thick and the curtains were always shut. A certain slant of light found it’s way through the window in the front room obscuring the bleakness. One could be fooled into believing that joy could be felt in this home, Allison knew the truth. Rachel Blake offered the young couple a drink of iced tea before she headed back to her room, Allison caught the tell-tale unsteadiness in her mother’s walk, she had been drinking. The girl quickly took Ryan by the hand and the two headed out of the house. Get in, get out as quickly as possible it was a routine Allison had come by as a young girl. When friends called for her she would crack the door open slightly and tell them to wait for her on the front steps. On the rare occasion that someone did gain entry, Allison would quickly grab their hand and head for the door, telling them that her mom didn’t really like people in the house. Ryan had become the exception he had been allowed to linger, Rachel Blake would spend a few minutes talking to the handsome boy, it made Allison sick. She wondered how Ryan could not see the mess that Allison saw, how he could stand the sight of her, how he could actually think she was worth speaking to. But there he was glad to see Mrs. Blake every time she opened the door, every time she offered him a glass of iced tea, or clumsily flirted with him. Allison kept waiting for the words to form at his mouth, for the look of utter disgust she had developed over the years, but they never did. The boy never spoke an unkind word about Rachel, he never mentioned that the smell of gin was on her breath, that her low-cut shirts made him uncomfortable or that she looked like a drowned rat even on her good days. Allison was glad of this even if amazed by it, perhaps Rachel’s retched life would finally stop ruining hers. The two hopped into Ryan’s shiny new car and headed for town. Allison looked back as if to see that nothing was following her, but it was, it all was, every bit of the last 10 years followed her every where she went. The music blasted from the radio, Allison held Ryan’s hand as they drove a bit too fast in that shiny new car of his, that vehicle that sped away from it all.
The first time Rachel Blake picked up a drink for any other reason than to be social at dinner was the day she realized her husband was not coming home. She sat in her kitchen staring at a life she had not known really, a life she had built but never felt was hers. Now alone, it all made sense to her, it all had meant nothing, the years, the hours, the minutes had ticked away for nothing. The gin found it’s way into her glass that day, deadening the pain, erasing the thoughts that danced in her head. The descent was slow, the wrecking ball merely chipped away at first, Allison and Jerry thought their mom was just grieving from the lose of her marriage, they had no idea she was grieving for the lose of herself.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Untitled work, my next book (beginning)
Sitting at the kitchen table, Allison began to look around. The toaster needed it’s crumb tray emptied, the pile of bills next to the fridge needed addressing, the dishes needed to be washed and the dinner needed to be cooked. At forty years old, Allison sat on a chair in her kitchen feeling as if she were living someone else’s life. How did this house ever become what it was? She barley remembered unpacking the boxes, it all looked vaguely familiar to her. There were things, familiar things, that she had collected throughout her adult life, but suddenly none of it seemed to belong to her.
Put water on for pasta, get kid’s sandwiches ready, set table, Ryan likes a glass of wine with dinner, put blue stem glass out. Walk twenty steps to sink, rinse forks before setting on table, walk twenty steps back, fork on left, knife on right. It was a tape she played over and over in her head daily. A glance at the oven clock told her he would be home soon. She smoothed out her clothing, never wrinkled, never sloppy. Today she wanted to be wrinkled, she longed to be sloppy, just once she would like to be less than perfect. Maybe then, just then, the outside would match how she felt inside. The key made it’s familiar scratching noise in the door and Allison walked to the door to greet Ryan as the kid’s yelled for him from upstairs.
Ryan McJames stepped out onto the field and all eyes fell on him. The team cheered their pitcher onto the mound, a no-hitter was in the works. Ryan with his usual swagger walked out onto the field scanning the stands. This was going to be the day he had been waiting for. Scouts were in the stands, local newspaper reporters waited by the fence for a few words after the game for the weekend ‘ink’, Ryan was going to strike the batter out. The pitch was hurled, the batter missed, the clock read 90 miles and the game was over. Ryan McJames just bought himself a scholarship, a ticket out of this place, a step closer to his destiny. The team rushed their hero, throwing his hat into the air, the stands were lit up with cheers. Ryan was going to break her heart, but somehow he didn’t care, he knew what he wanted.
Dust flew up like a cloud as the car came racing down the road. Allison jumped up, checked herself in the mirror, smoothed out her clothing and raced for the door. The air was thick and dry, the wind hadn’t blown in a few days. The trees wilted in the heat, birds splashed around in dirty little puddles on the road to keep cool, Allison wiped her face as she swung open the door. With her auburn hair, blue eyes and slight build, she was the sweetest thing Ryan had ever seen. He had first noticed her in the stands across the field at a senior pep rally. She was standing in a group of girls, but she was the only thing he had seen. It was early in the season, he was still training, football was still the major sport at school.
Allison hadn’t even noticed him, she was more concerned with Jill’s story about her date with Chris. Jill was Allison’s best friend, her blonde hair rested on her shoulders which made her constantly fling it from right to left like a pendulum. Chris had asked Jill out to an after-game party and Jill was full of stories. Allison didn’t like Chris, she as a rule, didn’t like jocks. Jill on the other hand liked all kinds of guys, Chris was just another one on her short order list. The after-game party had turned into a major after-game-after-party hook up and Jill was going on and on about the way Chris kissed. The whole thing was beginning to get on her nerves when Ryan came into the stands to talk to her. Allison stepped back as far as she could into the crowd, the last thing she wanted to do that day was talk to a jock. The rally was just about to end when Ryan finally reached her tier in the bleachers. Jill was finishing up her graphic account of her night with Chris when Ryan gained entrance into the group. Ryan McJames had set his eyes on Allison Blake, and Ryan usually got what he wanted.
On the third Friday of every month Allison went to visit her grandparents. Today was Thursday and she was getting ready to make the drive out of town. The brown suitcase that was stowed under her bed was now laying open on top, clothes thrown across it waiting to be packed. Gram usually liked Allison to wear a dress to church so she had chosen a light blue one for that weekend. As she scanned her room to take inventory of what needed to come with her to Davidson, she noticed herself in the mirror. Generally speaking, she never liked what she saw in the mirror, but lately Allison started to see something appealing looking back at her. As a young girl Allison had been awkward and what her mom liked to call sporty. It was rare to find her in a dress or a pink top. Much to the dismay of Rachel Blake, whom had fancied herself a real girlie girl, Allison preferred jeans and a ripped top. Jerry, Allison’s brother had to hide his converse sneakers from his little sister , which she preferred over her black MaryJanes.
Jerry was seven years older than his sister and Allison idolized him and his friends. Jerry let his little sister tag along after their dad had moved away. Allison had cried herself to sleep for weeks after their mom had told them daddy wasn’t coming back. A few months after the divorce Allison heard he had married a girl from his office, she never heard of him again. Jerry and Allison were all that Rachel Blake cared about, she threw herself into motherhood. Mrs. Blake was always class mother, or a member of the school board. She never missed any of Jerry’s games and she sat patiently at Allison’s dance lessons. Allison didn’t have the heart to tell her mother that she hated dancing school and loathed the time her mother spent up at school. There wasn’t a place in school that Allison could go that she wasn’t Jerry’s little sister or Rachel’s little girl. By the time she entered High School, Jerry had moved out and Rachel Blake had thrown herself into her real estate career, Allison was finally finding a place of her own.
Jill and Allison giggled as they talked about Ryan McJames, after all who did he think he was some baseball god or something. Allison assured Jill she was not going to accept his invitation to the movies. When Ryan had asked her the other day she had brushed it off as if he was asking her to join a group. Ryan had felt the sting of rejection, she could see it on his face, but she wasn’t going to get all mushy in the movies with this demi-god. Jill answered her phone, it was Chris trying to finalize plans for the movies, Allison reminded her that she was getting ready to go to Davidson and that she definitely would not be going. Jill told Chris to pick her up at 7 pm Friday night at her house and to please let Ryan know Allison was not attending.
The road to Davidson was easy to navigate, Allison had driven it so many times she could do it in her sleep. A statement she refrained from making in front of her mother, who felt it necessary to remind her young daughter that sleeping behind the wheel was a bad idea. Allison pulled out of the drive and begin her trip, counting the mile markers, mile 68 only 30 more to go. The scenery started to change and Allison could feel her shoulders relax and her mind clear. Emma and Richard Ruland met their granddaughter at the door, taking her bags and offering her up some much needed kisses and hugs. All was right with the world at Cobblestone Cottage, Allison could forget about her daily life and just let her grandmother fuss over her and spend time painting in the barn with her grandfather. Those visits were her refuge from the sadness she saw streaked across her mother’s lined face and the emptiness she felt inside since her dad had left.
Cobblestone Cottage sat on 5 acres of what Allison liked to call heaven. The house shone with it’s white paint and blue shutters like a beacon on the road. The roses grandpa Richard and Allison had planted when she was a little girl lined the white picket fence. Gram’s bird houses and feeders hung from the large pines lining the front of the property. Emily the cat spent many a lazy day on the padded chairs of the gazebo in the yard. This year the groundhog was especially fat, eating the apples from the tree that sat near the pergola. The yard had 1 acre cleared, the rest had been left woodsy and had served as a place for Allison and Jerry to build forts and skip stones in the stream the meandered through the property. The house was not really a cottage, it had 5 bedrooms and a large kitchen, but Emma had fancied it a cottage in England and named it such. Allison liked the whimsy of the name and always told her friends she was off to the cottage for the weekend. After her father left she spent the entire summer at Cobblestone Cottage playing in the woods, leaving treats out for the deer and forgetting the heartache that faced her at home.
Emma Ruland dried her hands on her apron and urged the girl inside, the smell of apple cinnamon muffins wafted through the house. Grandpa was already buttering the hot muffins and placing a glass of cold milk out for his granddaughter when Allison entered the kitchen. “How was the ride, did your car do alright on this trip?” Richard asked as he passed the warm buttered muffin her way. Taking a bite and letting the butter run down her check Allison assured her grandfather that her car had done just fine. Richard had already decided that he better have a look under the hood of that old clunker to make sure Allison wouldn’t need to call roadside assistance on her ride home Sunday night. Allison knew her grandfather liked to play around with engines so she didn’t tell him she had just had the car in the shop. Emma joined her at the table, “So dear tell me about school, how is that friend of yours Jill doing, still boy crazy?” Allison gagged on her milk as she attempted to find the best way to tell her gram that Jill was indeed more boy crazy than ever, and that she herself might be a little boy crazy, over one boy that is.
The cool night air came rushing into the upstairs bedroom where Allison had spent that glorious summer. She could now lay in the bed and reach her feet up to the slanted roof while lying on her bed, a thing she did often. Emma had recently repainted the room and purchased new linens for the bed, Allison ran her fingers across the duvet. It was light sea foam green with a shell motif on it. The sheets were cold and crisp, not like at home, the sheets there were all stiff and itchy. Cynthia, the stuffed toy rabbit she had slept with since she was 3 sat in her regular spot in the white captains chair. The pine tree that could be seen from the eastern window swayed in the night air, a dove cooed in the distance, sleep came quickly that night, as did the nightmares.
A sweat began to form on Allison’s brow as she slept, she was running again, running away from something. The limbs on the trees were whipping her in the face as she ran through the woods. Jerry was calling her name and urging her to hurry up. She looked down and saw her bleeding feet crunching the leaves beneath them. The voices behind her were getting louder, she tried to run faster but her nightgown kept getting caught on the underbrush. Jerry was so far ahead of her she couldn’t keep up, a scream began to form in her throat. “Allison, honey, wake up.” Gram was standing over her bed gently urging the girl out of her nightmare. “Oh gram, I had the dream again, that horrible dream, running and running, I couldn’t catch Jerry.” Allison was panting as she explained the details of the all too familiar dream to Emma. A cold glass of water had been placed on the bedside table and Emma urged her granddaughter to have a sip. The two sat together for sometime, Emma sweeping the bangs from Allison’s forehead as she had done every other time the dream woke the house up. Sleep swept over Allison once again and Emma quietly crept out of the room leaving the door open a crack allowing Emily the cat to enter and jump up on the bed.
Richard was already in the barn setting up canvas and paints for the two to spend some time painting. Emma was going to the vegetable stand and then off to a woman from the local congregation for lunch. The better part of the day belonged to Richard and his girl. Allison liked that her grandfather in all his stature enjoyed spending time with her painting in the barn. She had received her first brushes from him 10 Christmases ago and the two had shared a love of painting ever since. Today the subject would be a still life, a vase filled with flowers, an orange and a few books had been set up on a nearby table, draped with a Provence table cloth. Allison quickly began to mix her palette, burnt sienna, chocolate brown, red, cerulean blue, daffodil yellow, white and black for shadowing, and paint thinner for diluting. Allison began to set up her canvas, watching as her grandfather’s knowledgeable hand swept across the canvas with such confidence and grace, that Allison wondered if she would ever be as talented an artist as he was.
Richard Ruland was a tall burly man, with a full head of salt and pepper hair that still turned the heads of the ladies in church. Allison would ignore the redness of his checks when the older women would fuss over him during fellowship time after service. Emma Ruland paid no mind to those ‘old crows’ as she called them. “Richard Ruland, don’t you be getting fancy on Pheona McBride you hear me, her raisin bread will break all of your veneers right out of your mouth. Woman can’t bake a decent bread to save her life.” Emma would remind her husband as they left church and headed back to Cobblestone Cottage. Richard liked that his bride of over 40 years still got her back up when another woman set her sights on him or offered him over baked bread with raisins. Allison loved to watch the slow dance of romance that her grandparents had developed, she wondered why marriage was so hard for others and yet so easy for some.
Put water on for pasta, get kid’s sandwiches ready, set table, Ryan likes a glass of wine with dinner, put blue stem glass out. Walk twenty steps to sink, rinse forks before setting on table, walk twenty steps back, fork on left, knife on right. It was a tape she played over and over in her head daily. A glance at the oven clock told her he would be home soon. She smoothed out her clothing, never wrinkled, never sloppy. Today she wanted to be wrinkled, she longed to be sloppy, just once she would like to be less than perfect. Maybe then, just then, the outside would match how she felt inside. The key made it’s familiar scratching noise in the door and Allison walked to the door to greet Ryan as the kid’s yelled for him from upstairs.
Ryan McJames stepped out onto the field and all eyes fell on him. The team cheered their pitcher onto the mound, a no-hitter was in the works. Ryan with his usual swagger walked out onto the field scanning the stands. This was going to be the day he had been waiting for. Scouts were in the stands, local newspaper reporters waited by the fence for a few words after the game for the weekend ‘ink’, Ryan was going to strike the batter out. The pitch was hurled, the batter missed, the clock read 90 miles and the game was over. Ryan McJames just bought himself a scholarship, a ticket out of this place, a step closer to his destiny. The team rushed their hero, throwing his hat into the air, the stands were lit up with cheers. Ryan was going to break her heart, but somehow he didn’t care, he knew what he wanted.
Dust flew up like a cloud as the car came racing down the road. Allison jumped up, checked herself in the mirror, smoothed out her clothing and raced for the door. The air was thick and dry, the wind hadn’t blown in a few days. The trees wilted in the heat, birds splashed around in dirty little puddles on the road to keep cool, Allison wiped her face as she swung open the door. With her auburn hair, blue eyes and slight build, she was the sweetest thing Ryan had ever seen. He had first noticed her in the stands across the field at a senior pep rally. She was standing in a group of girls, but she was the only thing he had seen. It was early in the season, he was still training, football was still the major sport at school.
Allison hadn’t even noticed him, she was more concerned with Jill’s story about her date with Chris. Jill was Allison’s best friend, her blonde hair rested on her shoulders which made her constantly fling it from right to left like a pendulum. Chris had asked Jill out to an after-game party and Jill was full of stories. Allison didn’t like Chris, she as a rule, didn’t like jocks. Jill on the other hand liked all kinds of guys, Chris was just another one on her short order list. The after-game party had turned into a major after-game-after-party hook up and Jill was going on and on about the way Chris kissed. The whole thing was beginning to get on her nerves when Ryan came into the stands to talk to her. Allison stepped back as far as she could into the crowd, the last thing she wanted to do that day was talk to a jock. The rally was just about to end when Ryan finally reached her tier in the bleachers. Jill was finishing up her graphic account of her night with Chris when Ryan gained entrance into the group. Ryan McJames had set his eyes on Allison Blake, and Ryan usually got what he wanted.
On the third Friday of every month Allison went to visit her grandparents. Today was Thursday and she was getting ready to make the drive out of town. The brown suitcase that was stowed under her bed was now laying open on top, clothes thrown across it waiting to be packed. Gram usually liked Allison to wear a dress to church so she had chosen a light blue one for that weekend. As she scanned her room to take inventory of what needed to come with her to Davidson, she noticed herself in the mirror. Generally speaking, she never liked what she saw in the mirror, but lately Allison started to see something appealing looking back at her. As a young girl Allison had been awkward and what her mom liked to call sporty. It was rare to find her in a dress or a pink top. Much to the dismay of Rachel Blake, whom had fancied herself a real girlie girl, Allison preferred jeans and a ripped top. Jerry, Allison’s brother had to hide his converse sneakers from his little sister , which she preferred over her black MaryJanes.
Jerry was seven years older than his sister and Allison idolized him and his friends. Jerry let his little sister tag along after their dad had moved away. Allison had cried herself to sleep for weeks after their mom had told them daddy wasn’t coming back. A few months after the divorce Allison heard he had married a girl from his office, she never heard of him again. Jerry and Allison were all that Rachel Blake cared about, she threw herself into motherhood. Mrs. Blake was always class mother, or a member of the school board. She never missed any of Jerry’s games and she sat patiently at Allison’s dance lessons. Allison didn’t have the heart to tell her mother that she hated dancing school and loathed the time her mother spent up at school. There wasn’t a place in school that Allison could go that she wasn’t Jerry’s little sister or Rachel’s little girl. By the time she entered High School, Jerry had moved out and Rachel Blake had thrown herself into her real estate career, Allison was finally finding a place of her own.
Jill and Allison giggled as they talked about Ryan McJames, after all who did he think he was some baseball god or something. Allison assured Jill she was not going to accept his invitation to the movies. When Ryan had asked her the other day she had brushed it off as if he was asking her to join a group. Ryan had felt the sting of rejection, she could see it on his face, but she wasn’t going to get all mushy in the movies with this demi-god. Jill answered her phone, it was Chris trying to finalize plans for the movies, Allison reminded her that she was getting ready to go to Davidson and that she definitely would not be going. Jill told Chris to pick her up at 7 pm Friday night at her house and to please let Ryan know Allison was not attending.
The road to Davidson was easy to navigate, Allison had driven it so many times she could do it in her sleep. A statement she refrained from making in front of her mother, who felt it necessary to remind her young daughter that sleeping behind the wheel was a bad idea. Allison pulled out of the drive and begin her trip, counting the mile markers, mile 68 only 30 more to go. The scenery started to change and Allison could feel her shoulders relax and her mind clear. Emma and Richard Ruland met their granddaughter at the door, taking her bags and offering her up some much needed kisses and hugs. All was right with the world at Cobblestone Cottage, Allison could forget about her daily life and just let her grandmother fuss over her and spend time painting in the barn with her grandfather. Those visits were her refuge from the sadness she saw streaked across her mother’s lined face and the emptiness she felt inside since her dad had left.
Cobblestone Cottage sat on 5 acres of what Allison liked to call heaven. The house shone with it’s white paint and blue shutters like a beacon on the road. The roses grandpa Richard and Allison had planted when she was a little girl lined the white picket fence. Gram’s bird houses and feeders hung from the large pines lining the front of the property. Emily the cat spent many a lazy day on the padded chairs of the gazebo in the yard. This year the groundhog was especially fat, eating the apples from the tree that sat near the pergola. The yard had 1 acre cleared, the rest had been left woodsy and had served as a place for Allison and Jerry to build forts and skip stones in the stream the meandered through the property. The house was not really a cottage, it had 5 bedrooms and a large kitchen, but Emma had fancied it a cottage in England and named it such. Allison liked the whimsy of the name and always told her friends she was off to the cottage for the weekend. After her father left she spent the entire summer at Cobblestone Cottage playing in the woods, leaving treats out for the deer and forgetting the heartache that faced her at home.
Emma Ruland dried her hands on her apron and urged the girl inside, the smell of apple cinnamon muffins wafted through the house. Grandpa was already buttering the hot muffins and placing a glass of cold milk out for his granddaughter when Allison entered the kitchen. “How was the ride, did your car do alright on this trip?” Richard asked as he passed the warm buttered muffin her way. Taking a bite and letting the butter run down her check Allison assured her grandfather that her car had done just fine. Richard had already decided that he better have a look under the hood of that old clunker to make sure Allison wouldn’t need to call roadside assistance on her ride home Sunday night. Allison knew her grandfather liked to play around with engines so she didn’t tell him she had just had the car in the shop. Emma joined her at the table, “So dear tell me about school, how is that friend of yours Jill doing, still boy crazy?” Allison gagged on her milk as she attempted to find the best way to tell her gram that Jill was indeed more boy crazy than ever, and that she herself might be a little boy crazy, over one boy that is.
The cool night air came rushing into the upstairs bedroom where Allison had spent that glorious summer. She could now lay in the bed and reach her feet up to the slanted roof while lying on her bed, a thing she did often. Emma had recently repainted the room and purchased new linens for the bed, Allison ran her fingers across the duvet. It was light sea foam green with a shell motif on it. The sheets were cold and crisp, not like at home, the sheets there were all stiff and itchy. Cynthia, the stuffed toy rabbit she had slept with since she was 3 sat in her regular spot in the white captains chair. The pine tree that could be seen from the eastern window swayed in the night air, a dove cooed in the distance, sleep came quickly that night, as did the nightmares.
A sweat began to form on Allison’s brow as she slept, she was running again, running away from something. The limbs on the trees were whipping her in the face as she ran through the woods. Jerry was calling her name and urging her to hurry up. She looked down and saw her bleeding feet crunching the leaves beneath them. The voices behind her were getting louder, she tried to run faster but her nightgown kept getting caught on the underbrush. Jerry was so far ahead of her she couldn’t keep up, a scream began to form in her throat. “Allison, honey, wake up.” Gram was standing over her bed gently urging the girl out of her nightmare. “Oh gram, I had the dream again, that horrible dream, running and running, I couldn’t catch Jerry.” Allison was panting as she explained the details of the all too familiar dream to Emma. A cold glass of water had been placed on the bedside table and Emma urged her granddaughter to have a sip. The two sat together for sometime, Emma sweeping the bangs from Allison’s forehead as she had done every other time the dream woke the house up. Sleep swept over Allison once again and Emma quietly crept out of the room leaving the door open a crack allowing Emily the cat to enter and jump up on the bed.
Richard was already in the barn setting up canvas and paints for the two to spend some time painting. Emma was going to the vegetable stand and then off to a woman from the local congregation for lunch. The better part of the day belonged to Richard and his girl. Allison liked that her grandfather in all his stature enjoyed spending time with her painting in the barn. She had received her first brushes from him 10 Christmases ago and the two had shared a love of painting ever since. Today the subject would be a still life, a vase filled with flowers, an orange and a few books had been set up on a nearby table, draped with a Provence table cloth. Allison quickly began to mix her palette, burnt sienna, chocolate brown, red, cerulean blue, daffodil yellow, white and black for shadowing, and paint thinner for diluting. Allison began to set up her canvas, watching as her grandfather’s knowledgeable hand swept across the canvas with such confidence and grace, that Allison wondered if she would ever be as talented an artist as he was.
Richard Ruland was a tall burly man, with a full head of salt and pepper hair that still turned the heads of the ladies in church. Allison would ignore the redness of his checks when the older women would fuss over him during fellowship time after service. Emma Ruland paid no mind to those ‘old crows’ as she called them. “Richard Ruland, don’t you be getting fancy on Pheona McBride you hear me, her raisin bread will break all of your veneers right out of your mouth. Woman can’t bake a decent bread to save her life.” Emma would remind her husband as they left church and headed back to Cobblestone Cottage. Richard liked that his bride of over 40 years still got her back up when another woman set her sights on him or offered him over baked bread with raisins. Allison loved to watch the slow dance of romance that her grandparents had developed, she wondered why marriage was so hard for others and yet so easy for some.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach-waiting for a gift.
I stood at the edge of the world, looking into nothingness. I came to the sea and stood at the edge of the world and looked into everything. My soul was tired, my eyes were blinded by obligation and consternation. I stood looking into the abyss of my days and longed for renewal. Day runs into night, night runs into day, month runs into month, minutes vanish, until you come to the sea. Time stands still and forces you to oblige. You place your watch and worries on the nightstand and let out a long sigh. You have arrived home, back to the place were worry, fatigue and frustration vanish. Thoughts of chores, grocery runs, school schedules and long pointless days that end too late and start too soon are replaced by memories made by the sea. Children fill their buckets with sand and cover your toes with giggles. Brightly colored umbrellas dot the shore with generations safely tucked under their protective hues. The surf beats up against the shore bringing with it a melodic rhythm of nothingness. The soul begins to sing again, a song it remembers with glee.
Our yearly vacations by the sea have become a much needed escape from suburban life. For weeks the children secretly plan what they will pack in their bags, they choose journals to write in and point out recipes they might like to try. Giggles can be heard far past the prescribed bedtime as they recount the stories from the previous trips. Memories have been made that will, hopefully, last a lifetime to remind them of their carefree time as a barefoot child on the sand. Each year I notice an inch or two has been gained and a little more freedom has been granted, widening the circle of our sandy camp. The oldest will soon replace her purple sand bucket for a purple ipod and cell phone, the younger ones will inherit her bucket in stride. I will notice this and quickly burn the picture of my little girl into the recesses of my mind.
We go as individuals needing time to be together, we leave as a family renewed with a greater spirit. The sea has many gifts to offer, but for me the greatest bounty is the common memory each individual of our family holds so dear. We go to bed tonight to wake to our journey home tomorrow, leaving the sea behind. A tear will well in the corner of my eye, the promise of return will quickly dry it.
Sleep tight my little ones, let the sea sing you a lullaby, let mama's love keep you all the night through.
Our yearly vacations by the sea have become a much needed escape from suburban life. For weeks the children secretly plan what they will pack in their bags, they choose journals to write in and point out recipes they might like to try. Giggles can be heard far past the prescribed bedtime as they recount the stories from the previous trips. Memories have been made that will, hopefully, last a lifetime to remind them of their carefree time as a barefoot child on the sand. Each year I notice an inch or two has been gained and a little more freedom has been granted, widening the circle of our sandy camp. The oldest will soon replace her purple sand bucket for a purple ipod and cell phone, the younger ones will inherit her bucket in stride. I will notice this and quickly burn the picture of my little girl into the recesses of my mind.
We go as individuals needing time to be together, we leave as a family renewed with a greater spirit. The sea has many gifts to offer, but for me the greatest bounty is the common memory each individual of our family holds so dear. We go to bed tonight to wake to our journey home tomorrow, leaving the sea behind. A tear will well in the corner of my eye, the promise of return will quickly dry it.
Sleep tight my little ones, let the sea sing you a lullaby, let mama's love keep you all the night through.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Emily had been a contributor to society and to those that knew and loved her....we named a stray cat that found a home with us Emily in honor of her. She has no one to remind her of the memories that elude her now, I keep the memory of a very interesting woman who gave me the key to my new home. We have since moved a mile or so away from that house, the new owners did a complete renovation stripping it down to the studs. We gave our cat Emily to my mom after my dad died to keep her warm at night. Everything that was has been erased, but I will never forget Emily or the day she handed me her memories.