Theme Week # 13

Two feet between them should have been a mile for the distance years of silence created.

She pulled at the lint on her skirt, crossed and uncrossed her legs several times, wiped the scuff on her shoe and sighed at the inconvenience of this day.

He sat with his hands in his lap twisting his wedding band, staring at the tan tiles beneathe his feet holding it all in just as she said he'd done the past twelve years.

"Mr and Mrs. Clough. Right this way."

Theme Week # 12 (2)

He walked on the tip of one toe and dragged the other foot behind. He was born with cerebral palsy which challenged his mind, slowed his thoughts and delayed his words; words he found in spite of. Physically, he couldn't run far or fast, but he ran anyway. He'd fall then get up, and fall again. He was born cross eyed. Even after surgery one eye wondered doctors said he would never walk normal or be like other children.
His biggest challenge wasn't the instability of his gait. His biggest challenge were the children who didn't understand why it took him so long to get on the bus, why he couldn't run the bases faster, why he read slow, or wrote messy. This challenge became his families challenge. The challenge to let him hurt, fall, feel sadness, to let him find his way, and he did.
The doctors gave him a 30% chance to survive. He played baseball, football, accepted his diploma to a standing ovation, got a job, moved into his own apartment, and later married. They were wrong and he knew.

Theme Week #12 (1)

"Today, everything will be done opposite of....
Toothpaste squeezed in the middle. Just the beginning.
Legs not shaven. "Laugh while you rub your cold feet on those."
Thong underwear. Never got that. Thong underwear removed.
Husbands toast crumbs left in place. Slight seizure.
Makes his own lunch. Grown men do cry.
Don't kiss husband goodbye. Don't get kissed.
No coffee. Road rage worse?
Suppress road rage. Need coffee.
Drive slow. Go to class late.
Husband home first. Gives her blank stare.
"What's for dinner?" Blank stare back.
Husband makes own dinner. (already covered)
Skip homework. Large seizure.
Don't kiss husband goodnight. Don't get kissed.
Crumbs still on the counter. ZZZZZ

Theme Week # 11

Holding it in my hand, I imagine it on his wrist.

The first thing he did when he came into the kitchen was put that cheap watch on. I tried many times over the years to get him to wear a different one but those "attempts" sat in cases on the shelf below his snack bar.

The cracks of the band are dirty with crumbs.

He sat in his recliner, and I on the fold out couch. I can still see his hand buried in the bottom of that cereal box; tossing back Cinnamon Life and only half making it in his mouth. Loud crunching, Andy Rooney in the background, and the pages of my Readers Digest turning were common sounds of our evenings together.

Sliding the watch over my digits and down to my wrist I remember how strange it was to seem him put it on.

"It fell off from sucking it too much." We believed him until we grew up and discovered his thumb was really shot off in the war.

Familiar as his three piece suit, tilted hat, and London Fog jackets; he was never without his Timex.

It was hard to let him go that day. I stared at him, afraid to blink. People walked around me but I didn't care. I knew when I walked away, he would be gone forever. His hands were crossed just above his waist. The way he held them when he walked to the alter to accept communinion. He was wearing his Timex. Apologizing,I took it from his wrist. The same watch I hated to see him wear was all I had left of him.

I kissed the face of the watch, put it back in the box, and placed it on the shelf just below the island in my kitchen.

Theme Week # 10

What would a small town be without the local mart where old biddies catch up on yesterdays gossip, or the meat market where men talk about their last hunt, and of course the potluck suppers benefiting so and so's "father's third cousin"?

Last night I attended a benefit supper for my brother-in-laws sister Laurel. She suffered a brain aneurysm six weeks ago. Laurel's your typical hearty Maine woman. She lacks a manicure, wears nothing but LL Bean clothes, and cooks a mean pot of fish chowder. She's at every family function but rarely says anything. She darts from room to room wiping crumbs, filling plates, and picking up empty beer bottles. If not for her devilish laugh and big smile, she'd live permanently in the background, and with no complaints.

Over two hundred people attended the supper. My sisters and their friends served spaghetti while I kept track of their children. Laurel's mother walked around showing of the newest great grandchild while the grandsons kept the pasta, and meatballs filled. In the far corner of the hall, wearing dickies and a red and black, checkered, wool coat sat Laurel's 79 year old father. Being a quiet man, it wasn't unusual for him to be hidden from the hustle and bustle. I watched as he looked at the serving line grow and the people buying tickets for the raffle. His eyes began to well with tears. Instinct was to run over and give him a big hug but then I thought of Laurel and how that moment was with her.

There's much to be said about small towns but at the end of the night, $8,000 was raised for a quiet woman with a big smile that few of those people really even knew.