This story is one of my absolute favorites. I discover something new each time I read it: “The O’Connors, who had been married EVERY BIT AS LONG AS Ethel and Harry…” Every bit as long. So glad you shared this with us. Happy 2525 to you! Opps! 2025
What a great photo and story! I took me back to my parents kitchen in their humble home where my parents and sisters and I danced often, especially when my father had had a few. Can you imagine serving a gelatin mold with hotdogs in it with a frosting of Miracle Whip and catsup? Thankfully, party food has stepped up And the smell of a mixture of everything in the room. In my home, there would have been a hint of Aqua Velva. And Ethel's girdle! I felt for her except now it's Spanx!! So many concrete details. And what will happen between Imogene and Harry??? Love the ambiguous endings of Flash. Happy Retreat!
Just love everything about this story. I read it this morning and am still thinking about some of the images and lines. Happy New Year, Kathy! Congratulations and enjoy the residency!
Good luck working on your new collection, and happy new year! Loved the story, thank you for sharing. Love peering into the photo: imagining that long ago world, imagining even more stories behind those faces, worlds without end.
I’d like to reply to your prompt with a piece I also wrote some years ago but think appropriate for this. Please tell me how to do this. I have my own Substack page and post there but not sure if I just do that or take another route to respond.
My soul is weeping this morning, but it weeps silently, for there is no one left to hear its lament. Oh, they’ve been other sorrow filled days, but today, it’s a day I knew would come, but irrationally hoped that it would magically disappear like those threatening August thundershowers that roll in over the hills from the West. The radar on the TV always shows them coming but then the high hilltops break them up and magically, the storm is gone. Only the rain is left to green our valley.
Sometimes the storms didn’t breakup and I would lay in bed and count, 1 and 2 and 3, one slow count for every mile the storm is away from us. Mother's words from long ago as she tried to soothed her frightened children, but the storms did come. The tree in the yard was hit and slowly died during the next year. There was sickness and death, troubling times and heartache too over the years, but those storms passed and in the morning the air was so clear and sharp and fresh. One quickly forgot the night storms. People storms don’t pass as easily though.
I hadn’t slept very well last night. Somehow, I wanted to be awake for every last minute of life in this space, and now I watched one more time as the sky turned from ink black to tones of color, the sun inching its way up the back side of the earth. As a child that's what I knew was happening until I learned that this was silly. Science is less romantic. The sky once again blossomed and just to the right of the Maple Tree just like it has done every spring at this time of the year, a globe of golden poked its rim beyond the hills and into the clouds. “Red sky in the morning sailor’s take warning “ mother would always say when the early streaks appeared like crimson brush strokes in the awakening heavens. She was up and active long before sunrise for most of her life. Not those last years though, she slept soundest in the morning hours then spent the rest of the morning chastising herself about having “lost” the best part of the day. I wanted to hold the images in my mind forever.
I cupped a mug of hastily made instant coffee in my hands and stared out the eastern window of the house. The dark shadows scurried about the yard desperately wanting to find their daytime homes, but the kitchen where I stood frozen before the window was still entombed in dark and silence. Somehow the house knew I was dying a slow and painful death. I took a cereal bowl down from the pantry shelf, about all that was left in the dish closet after Thomas’ friends had taken boxes and boxes of household goods away to his garage for storage he said, but I knew I’d never see them again. All that stuff didn’t matter now anyway. All that did matter, really mattered, was safely stored in my heart and mind and no one could rob me of those memories.
I’d made sure there was something left for the morning though, coffee and milk and some dry cereal, a mishmash of two or three kinds, the ends of boxes all mixed together, kind of a sampling of my favorites. I sat and ate alone. Long gone was the morning newspaper and a reason to sip the coffee slowly. Long gone was the stray cat that lapped the “sweet milk” from the bottom of the cereal bowl. I ate alone with my memories.
There’s still a lot of furniture left in this house” I realized as my eyes swept the room. “The family will just have to decide what to do with it all. Maybe they can get someone to come in and stay here, kind of house sit in case I return…Someday. “ The forbidden words crept up from my wrenching soul.
Thomas had wanted me to spend the night at their house, but I said “No”, just let me stay here one more night. I need to say good-bye alone”. Reluctantly he’d agreed.
“ Aunt Kate, you’ll be alright?“ His voice lifted in more a of question than a reassuring statement.
“Of course,” I said, “ I’ve been here almost 80 years, why should it be any different tonight?”, but I knew it was.
I rinsed my cup and habitually turned it upside down in the drainer, reached for the light jacket on the chair and wrapped it around my shoulders. Instinctively I took Ben’s cane, I can still feel his hand on the crook and if I reached deeply into my mind, I could almost smell his presence, his scent lingering in the wood. One more time I needed to touch my flowers; I said aloud to nobody. The yard, almost ready for its first mowing of the season, warmed to patches of spring sunshine. “The best part of the day” mother had said, and she was right.
What a beautifully written story, Dorinda. You made me feel for this woman. I love your details, the descriptions of the oncoming storms. "The dark shadows scurried about the yard desperately wanting to find their daytime homes, but the kitchen where I stood frozen before the window was still entombed in dark and silence. Somehow the house knew I was dying a slow and painful death." Powerful, emotional work.
I'm looking forward to reading about your residence experience. Thanks so much for sharing, and for the prompts. I hoard prompts like gems, and I really appreciate them.
This story is one of my absolute favorites. I discover something new each time I read it: “The O’Connors, who had been married EVERY BIT AS LONG AS Ethel and Harry…” Every bit as long. So glad you shared this with us. Happy 2525 to you! Opps! 2025
Thanks so much, Margo! I’m glad you like the story. Your comment made me think of an old song, “In the Year 2525.” Happy New Year!
“…if man is still alive…”
That’s it!
What a great photo and story! I took me back to my parents kitchen in their humble home where my parents and sisters and I danced often, especially when my father had had a few. Can you imagine serving a gelatin mold with hotdogs in it with a frosting of Miracle Whip and catsup? Thankfully, party food has stepped up And the smell of a mixture of everything in the room. In my home, there would have been a hint of Aqua Velva. And Ethel's girdle! I felt for her except now it's Spanx!! So many concrete details. And what will happen between Imogene and Harry??? Love the ambiguous endings of Flash. Happy Retreat!
Ah, thanks for reading, Jeanette, and the kind words! Your mention of Aqua Velva and I could smell that immediately! ;-)
Fun read! I felt myself right there in the room. Love it.
Aw, thank you!
Just love everything about this story. I read it this morning and am still thinking about some of the images and lines. Happy New Year, Kathy! Congratulations and enjoy the residency!
Thanks so much, Tricia! ❤️
Thanks for the inspiration all best for the new year your residency & collection 😊☮️
Thanks, Deni! 😊
Enjoy your retreat. And thanks for sending that wonderful story. Happy 2025 to you and yours!
Thanks so much for reading! Happy New Year! 🎉
Wonderful!! And yes to the residency!!
Thanks for reading, Melissa! xo
Good luck working on your new collection, and happy new year! Loved the story, thank you for sharing. Love peering into the photo: imagining that long ago world, imagining even more stories behind those faces, worlds without end.
Thanks so much for reading, Pam! xo
Enjoy your residency! Happy New Year!
Thanks so much, Charlotte!
Brilliant story, my friend!
Aw thank you, Tina! Happy New Year! 🎊
I’d like to reply to your prompt with a piece I also wrote some years ago but think appropriate for this. Please tell me how to do this. I have my own Substack page and post there but not sure if I just do that or take another route to respond.
Will do later today.
Hi Dorinda! Just post it here, as a comment. I'd love to read it. Thanks!
Home
My soul is weeping this morning, but it weeps silently, for there is no one left to hear its lament. Oh, they’ve been other sorrow filled days, but today, it’s a day I knew would come, but irrationally hoped that it would magically disappear like those threatening August thundershowers that roll in over the hills from the West. The radar on the TV always shows them coming but then the high hilltops break them up and magically, the storm is gone. Only the rain is left to green our valley.
Sometimes the storms didn’t breakup and I would lay in bed and count, 1 and 2 and 3, one slow count for every mile the storm is away from us. Mother's words from long ago as she tried to soothed her frightened children, but the storms did come. The tree in the yard was hit and slowly died during the next year. There was sickness and death, troubling times and heartache too over the years, but those storms passed and in the morning the air was so clear and sharp and fresh. One quickly forgot the night storms. People storms don’t pass as easily though.
I hadn’t slept very well last night. Somehow, I wanted to be awake for every last minute of life in this space, and now I watched one more time as the sky turned from ink black to tones of color, the sun inching its way up the back side of the earth. As a child that's what I knew was happening until I learned that this was silly. Science is less romantic. The sky once again blossomed and just to the right of the Maple Tree just like it has done every spring at this time of the year, a globe of golden poked its rim beyond the hills and into the clouds. “Red sky in the morning sailor’s take warning “ mother would always say when the early streaks appeared like crimson brush strokes in the awakening heavens. She was up and active long before sunrise for most of her life. Not those last years though, she slept soundest in the morning hours then spent the rest of the morning chastising herself about having “lost” the best part of the day. I wanted to hold the images in my mind forever.
I cupped a mug of hastily made instant coffee in my hands and stared out the eastern window of the house. The dark shadows scurried about the yard desperately wanting to find their daytime homes, but the kitchen where I stood frozen before the window was still entombed in dark and silence. Somehow the house knew I was dying a slow and painful death. I took a cereal bowl down from the pantry shelf, about all that was left in the dish closet after Thomas’ friends had taken boxes and boxes of household goods away to his garage for storage he said, but I knew I’d never see them again. All that stuff didn’t matter now anyway. All that did matter, really mattered, was safely stored in my heart and mind and no one could rob me of those memories.
I’d made sure there was something left for the morning though, coffee and milk and some dry cereal, a mishmash of two or three kinds, the ends of boxes all mixed together, kind of a sampling of my favorites. I sat and ate alone. Long gone was the morning newspaper and a reason to sip the coffee slowly. Long gone was the stray cat that lapped the “sweet milk” from the bottom of the cereal bowl. I ate alone with my memories.
There’s still a lot of furniture left in this house” I realized as my eyes swept the room. “The family will just have to decide what to do with it all. Maybe they can get someone to come in and stay here, kind of house sit in case I return…Someday. “ The forbidden words crept up from my wrenching soul.
Thomas had wanted me to spend the night at their house, but I said “No”, just let me stay here one more night. I need to say good-bye alone”. Reluctantly he’d agreed.
“ Aunt Kate, you’ll be alright?“ His voice lifted in more a of question than a reassuring statement.
“Of course,” I said, “ I’ve been here almost 80 years, why should it be any different tonight?”, but I knew it was.
I rinsed my cup and habitually turned it upside down in the drainer, reached for the light jacket on the chair and wrapped it around my shoulders. Instinctively I took Ben’s cane, I can still feel his hand on the crook and if I reached deeply into my mind, I could almost smell his presence, his scent lingering in the wood. One more time I needed to touch my flowers; I said aloud to nobody. The yard, almost ready for its first mowing of the season, warmed to patches of spring sunshine. “The best part of the day” mother had said, and she was right.
What a beautifully written story, Dorinda. You made me feel for this woman. I love your details, the descriptions of the oncoming storms. "The dark shadows scurried about the yard desperately wanting to find their daytime homes, but the kitchen where I stood frozen before the window was still entombed in dark and silence. Somehow the house knew I was dying a slow and painful death." Powerful, emotional work.
Thank you Kathy. I decided I would post this on my page Turning The Pages Of Time. For me it is a healing piece.
I’ll read this later today, Dorinda! Thanks for posting it!
I'm looking forward to reading about your residence experience. Thanks so much for sharing, and for the prompts. I hoard prompts like gems, and I really appreciate them.
Oh I'm so glad to hear it, Kerry! Thanks for stopping by to read and comment!
Kathy! Super cool that you'll the writer-in-residence at the Kerouac house - I'm excited to read your newsletter from there. Congratulations!
Thanks, Christine! I'm really excited about it. xo