Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day 22

Friday, July 13th

based on the Las Cruces Farmer’s Market

The Market

There was a swarm of people at the market, especially for such an early morning hour. It was hard maneuvering through the crowd, difficult to see the booths, impossible to purchase items. There were a few booths selling fresh fruits and vegetables, one or two selling herbs, and one selling fresh baked bread. But the majority of the booths were handmade crafts items, jewelry and paintings, photography and woodcarving, as well as sculptures and clothing. The most eye catching item in the whole of the market was the young senorita at the SPCA booth; she was with the cats and dogs brought for adoption. Tall, lithe, with the biggest darkest eyes I have ever seen. Her deep dark hair braided loosely down to the middle of her back. I was smitten the moment I laid eyes on her. Granted, she was in her early twenties and I was pushing sixty but the desire was overwhelming. I wandered between the dogs and cats, casually looking at each critter that was in all of the cages. Most of the dogs were quite loud, barking frantically at the owned dogs that passed by the cages. A few were quiet; one was so timid that it pained me to watch the thing. The senorita approached the cage, and me. She looked down at the little tan dog that was visibly shaking, looking down at it with those deep dark eyes and the little dog looking up at her with eyes just as large and dark. “Would you like to see this little girl?” Her voice was soft and gentle but not timid or weak. There was strength in her voice that seemed not to fit her small frame. “Sir,” she questioned. I looked at her full in the face. “Can you tell me more…” I started to say ‘about yourself’ but caught myself, “…about her, yes?” Her face transformed, sorrow filled her eyes. She told me what they knew of her, her rough little life, and how a special home can turn around the life of this little girl. “Yours?” She bent to pick up the little tan dog. I stammered. “My what?” She held the dog in her arms, stroking it absent-mindedly. “Your home?” She held the dog out to me. It visibly shrank from me and tried to crawl deeper into her arms. “Would your home be a good fit for this little guy?” I looked from the dog back into her face. She flashed a big smile that exposed perfectly straight pearly white teeth. She placed the dog into my hands before I had time to object. I looked away from the young senorita to the pup in my arms. I could feel its shaking body lean into my chest. I looked into his eyes, as big and dark as the senorita standing before me. It almost seemed as if tears were rolling away from its eyes. I looked at the young senorita, at her smile, into her eyes, and realized that I was absent-mindedly stroking the dog in my arms. She looked down at the dog, her smile enlarging and her face beaming. I looked into her eyes, the deepest and darkest eyes I have ever seen; embarrassed I looked quickly into the face of the puppy, into the deepest and darkest eyes I have ever seen. I smiled and looked back up at the senorita. “My home,” I finally said, “It is a very special home.” She ducked her chin and giggled, blushing deeply. I smiled warmly at her youthful innocence. She turned from me, speaking of the paper work that would need to be filled out and the cost of adoption. I followed, nodding and inserting an occasional ‘uh huh’ and ‘ok’. She chattered smoothly and rapidly. The paperwork complete, the dog in hand, I turned from the SPCA booth, the senorita, and the Market. I looked down at the pup that remained pressed against my chest, my brown eyed girl. I decided right then upon her name, Van.

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day 21

Thursday, July 12^th

based on a conversation with my Aunt Roberta

Third Time Around

               

They met at the small Baptist church in Fairacres. Both just lost their spouses. She lost her husband of 40+ years to cancer. He spent the last 10 years caring for his wife who had developed Alzheimer’s. They had both been married before that. Both had grown children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren even. He also had step-children. Between the two of them there were eight children, all grown, the youngest in her late thirties. She was nearly eighty-years old. He was already past that by a couple of years. He made her feel beautiful. She made him feel young. The rumors flew around the family; rumors of a new boyfriend, of a new girlfriend, rumors of love that brought them both happiness and security. They were cute together. Her children embraced him and called him Dad. His lived out of the area but gave him their blessings. The wedding was three months later.

They made plans to travel. She owned an RV and they were both excited. They moved the bulk of his stuff into her house and rented a storage room for the remainder. The home instantly became crowded; it looked as if she had been a hoarder. One room was impassible. The garage had a small winding path from the door to the washing machine and dryer but there was no walking through the remaining space that was floor to ceiling with boxes and bags and things. He intended to sell some of his things on Ebay. She tried to sell her very old Avon on Ebay but there wasn’t even a nibble. If the little things won’t sell on Ebay, there is no way the big items will sell, she thought. Craigslist is the way to go he decided. But before he could place the first Craigslist ad he suffered a massive heart attack. He went into the hospital, the team determined that his heart was severely damaged and they used a pacemaker/defibulator to keep his heart functioning. He was placed on oxygen. But he survived it. Three months after they had married, they made their first trip to visit his children. It was a long exhausting drive and they both knew that they wouldn’t be able to travel in the RV again. Christmas came and went and they remained happy together.

Two months later he returned to the hospital, pneumonia. He was weakened because of the heart condition. She fell and broke her hip. He asked to remain in the hospital for an extra week while she was in the hospital recovering from the hip replacement. He needed to; he wasn’t ready to go home, especially when there would be no one at home with him. They left the hospital together. Three weeks later, after a particularly difficult phone call from his youngest daughter, he suffered another massive heart attack. There was no saving him this time. She attended his funeral using her walker, her children by her side and his children, those that were able to make it, supporting her from a distance.

Four months later I sat in her living room. I asked her if she knew he had a weak heart when she met him. She did. She is, after all, a nurse. Her eyes filled with tears. I really loved him, she told me. I knew that. My Uncle, her second husband, scared her, she was never really happy while married to him. And while I had only met her latest husband briefly, at the surprise 75^th birthday party for my own father, she smiled more that day than I ever remembered her smiling while married to my Uncle. She glowed. Now, while she still seemed strong, there was brokenness. She blames his youngest daughter who seemed always to bring stress into his life. But she also realizes that is unrealistic. He was already damaged before she came into his life. The stress he undertook caring for his previous wife was too much for his heart to bear. It was a matter of time and she knew that when they met. His heart was a ticking time bomb and while she knew that it would eventually explode, she had hoped for more time with him.

For now, she continues to work in the hospital. She has finally been cleared to return to the floor, her hip finally strong enough to endure twelve hour shifts caring for patients on the floor. She just turned eighty. She walks through the house, pointing out things that she needs to get rid of, unsure of how to go about it. A ghost, I think, wandering the rooms of her castle. Maybe I should sell this place, she wonders out loud. No, you’ve been here for more than forty-five years. You’ve laid down roots for your kids and grandkids. I am reminiscent as I follow her around the home. This room I shared with my favourite cousin on Saturday nights so I could attend church with them. This room housed my Uncle’s mother in her last years of life. The garage we held a séance in. And the backyard, unchanged over the years, in which my cousins and I played with the four puppies. The memories gave me a sense of security, of home. My own family had move three times, my own grandparents sold their family home and moved into a trailer. This was the only home from my childhood that still is as it was. It was familiar, even in the hoarded crowdedness. She then said that her kids and grandkids seldom come around any longer. I looked at her, truly looked at her. My Aunt, the oldest sister of my father who looked remarkably like my Grandmother, looked rueful and I felt so saddened. At eighty, I think, her kids should be visiting her at her home. Her kids should be bringing the grandkids and great-grandkids around to the house. Do they make her go to them? I wished, right at that moment, that I didn’t live 2,400 miles away from here. At eighty, my Aunt needed to be cared for and nurtured. She had hoped for that when she married just 14 months ago. I hope she finds that again. We are communal creatures, created to be with others. I hope that my Aunt doesn’t become reclusive and lost in this sea of stuff that surrounds her. I hope that she finds another to spend her days with, and maybe even her nights. At eighty who has the right to condemn her for that?       

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day 20
Wednesday, July 11th
based on an experience at lunch


An Idiot!?

       "What are you doing kiddo?" "Putting on my new shirt." "Out here," questioned her brother as he looked around. They were sitting at an outdoor table of a small cafe downtown. She looked at her brother and rolled her eyes. "I have a this on underneath," she said as she lifted her t-shirt and exposed a tank top. "Oh" he sheepishly replied. She slipped off the red and white striped tee and put on the white flouncy blouse. The food arrived at their table and they all began eating.

     "Mom, I need the straps tightened." "Your brother can do it," said her father. "It has special brackets," she replied matter-of-factly. "Mom knows how to do it." Her brother looked at the straps. "Do you think I'm an idiot?!" Their parents burst into a loud raucous laughter at his outburst. "These are exactly like my book bag straps," he continued. She smiled at her brother. "Of course I know how to adjust those," he finished. All four of them were laughing quite loudly now. "I didn't know," she said after a bit of time. They finished their lunch and stood. "Mom...," she said pointing to her straps. Her mother adjusted first one and then the other as her brother rolled his eyes at her and walked away, he and their father laughing anew.

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day 19
Tuesday, July 10th
based on a river experience in


Heart

     She saw it off shore just a bit, nestled between two boulders-the heart shaped rock. She knew the river water would be cold but she just had to have that rock. So, off went her flip flops and into the water she gingerly stepped. She drew a sharp breath..."It's cold!" Her family on shore just laughed and shouted back, "We told you!" she edged deeper into the water and the current. There it was, the prized heart-shaped rock. She picked it up and shouted over the rapids near her, "Can I keep it?" "Sure" replied her Aunt. "I found one three times that size that is in my yard." "Yay." She walked closer to the shore and tossed the rock. Her Aunt picked it up. "This has quite a large amount of quartz in it," she said. "So I can't keep it?" "Oh of course you can take it. Just watch out for Linda, my neighbor three doors down. She thinks every heart shaped rock in the creek belong to her."

     Climbing out of the water, she put her flip flops back on, took her rock, and headed ack to her Aunt's home. 'What a treasure,' she thought. 'A Colorado keepsake that didn't cost me a thing.'

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day 18

Monday, July 9^th

based on the drive on I-80

Change of Scenery

Rolling along the interstate from Missouri and through Nebraska was pretty, oddly not at all what I thought it would be like. Yes Nebraska was flat but there were trees everywhere and the interstate followed the path of the North Platte River. There were little towns off the interstate about every ten to twelve miles. Guess that must have been the distance that the pioneer wagons could travel in one day. Oddly, there were very little services off the interstate exits and once I thought I would nearly run out of gas before finding a town off the interstate that did have gas. These places are small, most with less than two-thousand in population.

After I-80 split from I-70 I found the scenery to be abruptly different. It was extremely odd. The green grasses gave way to browns. The corn fields to grain fields. The trees were sparse, mostly only in the cities off in the distances. And hills and bluffs began sprouting up in the landscape. This was very similar to the high desert of New Mexico and not at all like the bread basket of eastern Nebraska and Missouri and Kansas. It amazes me, landscape I mean. I’m a professional artist by trade and I love to paint landscapes.

I began to drift and realized I needed a break, Cheyenne was still quite a distance off my nose. I also decided that a gas stop would be a good idea. I began looking for exit signs that also reflected gas stations. Finally I found one and headed into a very small town, population 545. Passing the high school, the one church, and quite a few houses I finally found the gas station that was also an auto garage and small convenience store. Gas was cheap enough. I wondered where the folks here went to get basic household supplies and food though since this little shop had nothing like that. I thanked the lady for my soda and bag of chips and then decided to take a quick spin through the town.

About thirty homes or so, most of them mobile homes, the school, the church, right at the train tracks were grain silos and equipment for pouring the grain into train cars for transport across the United States. No movie theater, no bowling alley, no skating rink. Wow, what do these kids do to entertain themselves? I am a city girl, born and raised, with rows of houses stacked upon each other so tight that you could smell the cigar wafting through your neighbor’s window. This, this is absolutely foreign to me.

I contemplated the rural life as I left the small town in my rear view mirror and headed back upon the interstate towards Cheyenne. Then the though struck me. All my life I have painted the city skylines that I have grown up in. I pulled off the interstate again, drove right into the next town that I came across and pulled out my easel and paints. This, this was the purpose of the westward trip; to capture the rural life through the eyes of an urbanite. I set up and began to paint the few structures, the minimal trees, and the vastness of the highlands prairie that stretched before me. It would kill my schedule but right at this moment I didn’t care. Schedules are a thing of the city and this, this is the country. Toss the schedule aside and just be.  

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day 17

Sunday, July 8t^h

Based on the tram at the St. Louis Arch

Claustrophobic

The car was small, very small. 5 adults were supposed to be able to fit inside but if the real tram cars were anything like this 1960’s replica then this was going to be a really tight fit for the four of them. Violet began to feel small sweat beads forming along her spine. She wasn’t too sure she was going to be able to do this. And the other three that were with her were notorious for horseplay. Violet was genuinely worried.

Clark walked up with the four tickets. “We have the 11:05 cue on the southbound,” he said. Norrie looked at her watch, “Let’s walk the museum for an hour then.” The four headed over to the frontier museum. It was really quite impressive as it showcased the Lewis and Clarke expedition and the westward expansion. There were even taxidermed beavers, a lank bull, a bison, and a horse that smelled like a living, sweaty horse eating the grasses of the plains.

At 10:45 they headed for the restrooms, since there were none at the top of the 162 meter structure. Finally the announcement came for the 11:05 tram and they went through the turnstile and down to a cue line that awaited the next set of eight tram cars to arrive. There they watched a brief film and heard about the historical building of the St. Louis Arch and the ingenuity of the tram cars that would keep the passengers upright while the base of the car turned and shifted along a track that rose up to the top of the arch. Violet felt the beads of sweat on her spine again as she heard the interpreter explain that these are the original cars, only the mechanisms have been updated throughout the years.

The door opened and Violet entered, having to duck to fit through the door. She took the fifth seat which was squarely in the center of the back of the car. No windows. Swell. Norrie came in next and sat next to Violet. Then Clarke who sat on the other side of Violet and finally Rick, who pulled out his camera to take a picture of the four of them in the car. He sat on the floor right in front of Violet momentarily to get the picture but just as he was about to snap the picture the door of the car closed and his camera was yanked from his hand and landed on the floor. Clarke and Norrie broke out in laughter as Rick exclaimed, “My camera!” Violet sat quiet, on her hands, tense. He head was at the top of the car and she was merely five foot four inches tall. Clarke and Rick were sitting bent in the chairs as the roofline sloped down towards the chairs they occupied. ‘It’s only four minutes, it’s only four minutes …,’ Violet kept repeating.

The boys were enrapt with what they could see out of the small window on the door. Mostly steel beams and stairs but every once in a while they could catch a glimpse of the mechanisms and the track that the tram cars rode upon. Suddenly the speed reduced. ‘Thank goodness,’ Violet thought. But the cars did not stop. They continued up at the slower pace for fully two more minutes of the four minute ride before sliding into the passenger loading and unloading zone. With a sigh of relief the door opened and the four climbed out and up a few steps to the top of the arch. Violet pulled out her camera and leaned in on the window platforms. She had to admit the view was breathtaking, St. Louis on one side and the river on the other.

For five minutes they remained, going from window to window and side to side taking pictures from different angles. Right at the moment there was no thought about the briefer three minute ride down in the small tram. Violet felt accomplished, however. She had ridden in a small tram car and not panicked. She patted herself on the back as she stood in the cue line for the ride back down to the bottom of the arch. She was really glad that she hadn’t given in to her fear or she would have missed a once in a lifetime experience. She smiled slightly as she boarded the tram a second time, taking the same seat, and once again sitting upon her hands. ‘I did it!’

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day 16

Saturday, July 7^h

Based on an automobile incident on I-64

Fatal

“What is that idiotic driver doing?” Willard slowed to the speed limit as the car in front of in the left hand lane refused to go over the speed limit while passing vehicles on the right. “Now that car is going the speed limit.” His wife of forty years, Willie Mae, soothed. “I don’t care, when in the passing lane you are supposed to pass. And when another vehicle comes up behind you then you need to pick up your speed to get out of their way.” Willard stayed close to the bumper of the car. “Will, don’t be so impatient.” “Well Willie, the rules of the road are the rules of the road.”

Suddenly the car in front of him tapped its brakes. Willard knew this as the frustration of the driver of the other car urging Willard to get off the bumper of their car. He refused. But the car didn’t increase its speed as it passed the semi-truck trailer. “Willie, I’m going to run that car off the road if it doesn’t get up and pass that truck.” “Will”, Willie Mae placed her hand upon his arm, “Slow down and get off that bumper.”

Finally the car passed the semi. Willie stepped on the gas pedal, swung into the right hand lane, even though the car had signaled that it wanted over, and then, out of anger, swung his black Ford pick-up truck tight in the path of the grey Toyota, nearly clipping the front end of the Camry before swinging back into the right hand lane again. He placed a smug smile on his face and looked into the rear view mirror.

The grey Toyota Camry had apparently slammed on the brakes when he swung his truck in tight to the front end of the car. As he watched in horror the Toyota was mid-flip and he counted three more rolls before the car came to a stop on its hood off the right hand shoulder and against the fence along the field. Willard pulled off the road and stopped the truck. Willie, confused, watched Willard leap out of the truck and run back up the interstate to the vehicle that he had just caused to flip. She got out and ran after him.

He approached the driver’s side of the car, a young girl lay unconscious in the seat, the deployed air bag hasn’t prevented serious injury to the child. “Oh God, Willie, she’s just a young girl. She’s probably a pretty inexperienced driver. Oh God Willie, what have I done?”  Willie Mae was already on the cell phone calling for emergency vehicles. Willard looked over to the passenger side of the vehicle. A man whom he presumed to be the girl’s father also lay unconscious. Willie opened the back door and a woman fell out of the car. “The girl’s mother is dead Willard.” Willie Mae gasped as she inspected the woman’s broken neck. Willard opened the back door on the driver’s side. A young man had received life-threatening injuries. He heard the sirens approaching in the distance. “Willie Mae, we have got to get out of here”, he heard himself say. “What? Willard Howard Macinelly what on earth are you talking about?” “I can’t be caught here with one dead and possibly more dying.” “Well you can’t run Willard. That will be far worse. I am not going to let you just leave.”

Willard saw the fire truck coming towards them followed by the police and paramedics. He ran for the truck. “Come on Willie.” She stood but did not follow him. “I will report this Willard.” He climbed in the truck, took one last look, and sped away. “Oh Willard,” Willie said to no one in particular. “See what your anger has gone and done? Now not only is it the death of these innocent folks but it will also be the death of you.”