Not knights of old but
new friends sharing
delightful storied histories
deliciously studded with
relocations, careers and families, topped with plans for the future and today.
“Our story begins at home, but it doesn’t have to end there.”
~ Charles F. Glassman, author
striding out or
measured paces,
laughing and talking
grey heads and coloured hair
exciting ABBA music playing
for spin cyclers in one corner
treadmills, ellipticals to one side
in the centre of it all,
great blue drapes topped with netting
lowered to surround tennis courts
an errant tennis ball escaped into our path
scooped up and retrieved with apologies
~ The Fieldhouse: a safe haven from icy winds.
“A bear, however hard he tries, grows tubby without exercise.”
~ A.A.Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh
the heat of my breath
coats my glasses with fog.
“Doubt is a thief of the soul.”
~ Andrew Davenport
Important Women
Seven year old Abby Richardson was not sure where her grandmother was. At home with grandpa James? Getting off the school bus, she decided to go to the Estate kitchen. Maybe she was with Cook. Her mother wouldn’t get home until suppertime. She was going to be at school late for parents’ meetings. A shy, quiet girl, she opened the kitchen door and tiptoed in. “Cook?” Her little voice barely loud enough to be heard, but Cook had expected her. “It’s ok, Abby. Come in and get some cookies. Just baked them this afternoon. What’s that you’ve got there? Did you make this today?” Abby handed her the poster that she had made for her grandmother. “It’s not very good, but teacher wanted us to make a poster about the women we think are important to us.” Cook looked at it for a long time. “That’s a lot of flowers, Abby. I can guess who some of them are but I’m not sure about the other ones.” Abby grinned. “Grandma is one, Mom is one……you guessed those didn’t you.” She was almost jumping up and down. Cook wrinkled her forehead, put her hand on her chin and thought hard. “Miss Em is one……..and….” she looked at the little girl for a sign that she was right. When Abby nodded, her grin getting wider, and her jump a little bigger, Cook knew she was on the right track. “That’s three important women, but there’s still three flowers. Hmmm…..Miss Dez? Can’t be. You don’t see her very often.” Abby giggled. “Not very much, but she’s so much fun! And she lets me help her in the orchard. I get to eat apples and Ben is too busy riding his bike.”
Cook poured herself a cup of tea, got Abby her glass of milk and they sat down to study the poster again. Abby really wanted Cook to guess the last two. “Who else, Cook?” She bit down on her cookie. Taking a quick sip of tea, Cook ticked off the list of women on her fingers. “Your teacher?” Abby squirmed in her seat, laughed and shook her head. “She’s important but not as much as ……..” She stopped and clapped her hand over her mouth. Cook had been teasing Abby, but suddenly realized she was one of the flowers. “Oh, Abby, you don’t mean me do you?” Cook didn’t tear up often, but she reached in her apron for a tissue. Dabbing at her eyes and putting the tissue away, she hugged her friend’s granddaughter. She wanted this child to tell her why she was included, but instead asked about the little blossom sheltered by the bigger flowers. “That’s me Cook! Can’t you tell? Everyone is big people and I’m just little right now. But I want to be like all of you because you are all kind to me and Ben and to everyone.’ She hesitated and took another cookie. “And you’re always here, especially when I need you.” She got up and hugged Cook and whispered “And you make good cookies.”
~~~~~
Abby didn’t know it but in her young life, she had watched and spent time with all of these women. She had experienced life with her mother who taught them at home and then saw her at school in her role as teacher. Most often, calm and smiling, but Abby had seen her vulnerable and crying. She had watched her grandmother, soft and kind and then at work, organized and assertive. Miss Dez and Miss Em, she saw from the distance of a shy child. How they treated each other and the people at the Estate. Always with kindness. Miss Dez was more patient than Miss Em, but Abby let that pass. And Cook. She had a special place in that little girl’s heart. It was like having an aunt or another grandma. When her own grandma wasn’t there, Cook was.
She really did want to be like all of them. Deep inside she knew she also wanted to be herself.
“She does not know what the future holds,
but she is grateful for slow and steady growth.”
~ Morgan Harper Nichols
Kya wasn’t always alone in the marsh. She hadn’t always been called the Marsh Girl. There had been family times, her mother painting, cooking and laughing, her brothers and sisters playing in the surf. One by one they all left her except her father, an abusive man who suffered from war wounds. He drank too much and became violent but did have unpredictable spells of sobriety. Kya started to be completely alone when he disappeared for weeks on end. A little girl, she scrounged in the marsh, dug mussels on the beach and barely survived. But she did.
The first person to leave was her mother. Kya was only six years old. It wasn’t until this child was an adult did she understand. One brother, Jodie, stood by her the longest, teaching her the ways of the marsh and about the birds. On one of his rare times of sobriety, her father taught her more about the marsh. He was even kind, almost good to her. When she was ten years old, he too disappeared. She kept away from town, afraid of people, hiding in the ferns and trees when the truant officer came for her. Desperate for food, she dug mussels and took them to the only man she knew and trusted. Jumpin’ always took whatever she brought, gave her money. He and his wife Mabel cared for her from a distance, knowing that she was as shy as a deer in the marsh.
Kya, at that young age, was curious about Tate, a boy from the town who often fished in the marsh. Their first communication was by bird feathers and tokens. He left her a note one time, but being unable to read, she did speak to him. Tate taught her to read. A relationship began to blossom, until he went to college. He did come to see her as often as possible but slowly he left her too. Growing into womanhood, another boy she had seen since a girl came into her life. But Chase Andrews merely wanted to be ‘the first’. Leading a double life, in town a hero; in the marsh with Kya, a pseudo-gentle lover.
When the book opens, his lifeless body is found at the base of an old fire tower by two boys who recognized him. Speeding to the sheriff, a murder investigation was opened, followed by a trial. The sheriff became suspicious when there were no footprints, no fingerprints and one bit of red fluff on the victims jacket. The remainder of the story is a trial in a town already prejudiced against ‘the Marsh Girl’. No spoiler alert! There are plenty of suspects and few pieces of real evidence. Only one person ever knew the outcome.
Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens brought to mind, the tone and depth of To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. This novel will be a book that I will reread. Probably more than once. I have yet to see the movie, but I will be seeking it out!
“Kya laid her hand upon the breathing, wet earth,
and the marsh became her mother.”
~ Where the Crawdads Sing
Title: Where the Crawdads Sing
Author: Delia Owens
Copyright: 2018
Publisher: G.P.Putnam’s Sons
Type: Novel
Format: Paperback
ISBN-Paperback - 9780735219106m
ISBN-Hardback - 9780735219090
LCCN:2018010775
Sure enough,
I don’t know what to write.
it happens.
out of the blue.
like ghosts into the mist ~
letters dance all around me,
refuse to line up,
no matter my focus…………..
“The wonderful thing about writing is
that there is always a blank page waiting.
The terrifying thing about writing is
that there is always a blank page waiting.
~ J.K.Rowling
Usually when I leave my writing group, I head straight home. Have to pass right by the candy store! My focus went askew. I ‘needed’ more licorice at home. Not everyone favours licorice especially the delicious black licorice but that is their loss. Filled with candies of all sorts, I didn’t know where to start. I found several jars of licorice lining a shelf making it difficult to choose. My favourites are the cigars or pipes of soft black licorice with the little red candies at the end. The soft Australian black licorice is good too, but none were in the store.I did balance all that licorice with two bananas and some chocolate. A store clerk came to my rescue. Describing those favourites of mine she asked if any were sweet or salty. Salty? Never tried it. So she showed me: right there in front of me were these little bags of a mix of different licorices - sweet and salty. I’m willing to be brave!
“What she did have were Bertie Bott’s
Every Flavour Beans, Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum,
Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties,Cauldron Cakes,
Licorice Wands, and a number of other strange
things Harry had never seen in his life.”
~ J.K.Rowling
