Remembrance

FIRES, THEN AND NOW…

FIRES, THEN AND NOW…

My husband of 57 years who now resides in Heaven was an expert at fire making. I never asked him if his short stint as a Cub Scout whetted that appetite, or whether six weeks of Pioneer camp when he was a preteen solidified his expertise. I only know he knew how to make a fire that initially flared hot and brilliant. And then, with special tweaking, nuance—a piece of kindling here, a new log there, an added poker proficiency—the fire  smoldered and spit and crackled and hummed, giving off a comforting glow, a steady heat as long as we were able to enjoy it.

OVER THE SUNSET MOUNTAINS: REMEMBERING DADDY...

OVER THE SUNSET MOUNTAINS: REMEMBERING DADDY...

One frosty night this winter hunkered in the folds of flannel sheets and a fur throw I read the above quote in the text of the 1948 novel, Pilgrim’s Inn written by English novelist Elizabeth Goudge. Inadvertently tears fill my eyes. Then follows a longing that mostly rests untouched beneath the surface of my consciousness; the longing for my father who loved me as that father loved his little girl.

WIDOW TALES, ON BEING A WIDOW AT CHRISTMAS, YEAR 4...

WIDOW TALES, ON BEING A WIDOW AT CHRISTMAS, YEAR 4...

Christmas has just past. New Year events lie ahead. I’m listening to George Winston’s album, December that I must have played a hundred times over the years since it first came out. Music can pull me powerfully into another era, draw out memories once buried, cause me to relive the once upon a time, long ago’s of my 57 years of loving Bob.

A LETTER TO MY DEAR ONE IN HEAVEN, WEDDING MEMORIES...

A LETTER TO MY DEAR ONE IN HEAVEN, WEDDING MEMORIES...

Dearest husband of my heart:

I am assuming you are one of the “great cloud of witnesses” written about in the

book of Hebrews. That you were privy to the ins and outs of the weekend our

beautiful granddaughter Tessa married Luke. That you smiled, and even shared

some of this joy with one of your heavenly friends, or Jesus, perhaps? Or even

that a whole contingency of those who have gone before, who loved us on earth

participated in celebration. Though I cannot know for sure I, still earth-bound, can

assume.

SPECIAL JUICE AND OTHER FOOD GROUPS...

SPECIAL JUICE AND OTHER FOOD GROUPS...

I’ve had a yen for “Special Juice” lately. Maybe it’s that summer has never been complete without it. Perhaps it’s that everything glorious about this late July and early August weather has been particularly “special” as well, given the Polar Vortex, the drenching May and the cold gray June we had this year. What’s more likely is that the “Special Juice” person, aka Bob Carlson is residing in heaven and no one on earth has yet been able to duplicate his perfected recipe, least of all me.

"THIN PLACE" REFLECTIONS...

"THIN PLACE" REFLECTIONS...

Today is the third anniversary of my husband’s death. His vital spirit departed his earthly body at 12:10 AM, Monday, March 7, 2016. Three years gone like yesterday or three years gone like a lifetime ago. I see his last breaths, long, slow and then stilled. I watch the color fade, feel the warmth diminish. His spirit taking flight. Despite our agony, our profound sadness, it is a Holy time, a thin place, the diaphanous gauze that separates heaven and earth, life and death nearly indistinct.