Boat House Cruising
I don't cruise as far as I used to, but my imagination takes me to places and adventures far and wide, and the view from our deck (home windows if weather is bad) of Birch Bay is a story in itself. I hope you will come along with me and hear my narrations during my smooth sailings, stormy seas, and all. See you there friends, Nancy
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Monday, February 27, 2012
THE DAY THE CREEK SANG SOPRANO
By Nancy Boat
What sounds have you forgotten? What songs do you no longer sing along
with while doing everyday chores?
How many friends have felt snubbed because you no longer respond to
their questions?
What? That is the word that became mine forever, or so I
believed. What? What? What? What seemed to be the response
more and more often as my dear husband listened to me? This litany became so
tedious he gave up having intelligent conversations with the woman he had
married twenty years before. What, became the precursor of
tension for us both. Luckily for
me, I have a husband who is patient and kind, one who believes in the Christian
ethic of forgiveness, because during the last number of years he has had to
forgive a lot of what’s, what did you say, what language are they speaking on TV, what, what,
what, and the what’s were becoming louder and
louder?
Did you hear the eagle call, Ron would ask as we sat
having our morning coffee and watching the dawn break over Birch Bay? No, I don’t hear that was my frequent
answer, so more often than not Ron would start to ask a question and then give
up in frustration, he couldn’t share the sound of the rain falling on the roof,
the sound of neighborhood children playing and laughing, he couldn’t share
those wonderful things that make us caring human beings, those things that bring
us to tears of sorrow, or smiles of joy.
We knew I had a hearing problem, the audiologist
believed that the hearing in my left ear was damaged many years before during a
bout with a virus. An aid was
fitted and worked just fine until it died about four years later. Plans were made to replace it but other
things kept getting in the way, a new roof, doctor’s bills, car repairs, of
course there would always be those other things, and the years went by and my
hearing just kept getting worse as frustrations grew.
Conversations during our Wednesday evening Bible
Study became a flashback of old Laurel and Hardy skits. A number of the members of this group
are part of the “baby boomer” generation and we were all but a few in need of
hearing boosters. A frequent
problem with hearing impairment is that consonants are dropped and our brains
pick out new letters to take their place.
A room can become a loon, a cake can be a rake, and so it goes, a
reminder of the old game of “telephone” we used to play as kids.
Two weeks ago we decided enough was enough, I
couldn’t understand conversations that were spoken softly or at lower decibels
anymore, and the “what’s” were annoying everyone including me. We knew it was time to bite the bullet, the emergencies were
always going to happen and my hearing would just keep on getting worse.
After new tests, it was determined that both ears had
a fairly severe hearing loss, so new aids were ordered.
Last Friday, after picking up my new aids at Hearing
Northwest, while driving home I was amazed at the sounds that our turn signal
made, the tires crunching the pebbles on the road. When I finally pulled into our driveway in Birch Bay and
turned around after getting out of the car, I realized for the first time in
years that I could hear the creek behind our house singing it’s lilting soprano
song, fed by the rains we had earlier that week. The eagles were cooing to each other, and my husband’s
breathing soothed me to sleep that night for the first time in years. What a precious joy it is to once again
hear the songs of the world surrounding me.
When asked what she would prefer to have restored,
her eyesight or her hearing Helen Keller said without hesitation, “my hearing”,
sight is wonderful, but hearing is our connection to humanity, without it
communication almost comes to a stand still for the person with this imparity.
It’s wonderful to hear that creek sing it’s soprano
songs again, although my husband may not think my singing while I clean the
house is such a blessing (I still can’t carry the tune I’d like).
Now, what can we do about my aching joints and
wrinkles?
Saturday, January 14, 2012
"The Blind Leading the Blind, or GPS vs Boats"
People who knew Ron and I in the past knew that a trip for us was like going to a candy store for a kid. We couldn't just leave on the set vacation day, we always, always left the night or day before, too excited to wait one minute longer. It's a good thing we had jobs to keep us in one spot or we would have been off on new adventures in a heart beat.
Ron and I don't travel as much or as far as we used to but still make short sojourns into the world to explore and find the unexpected. I actually love maps and was once the navigator when Ron was driving. He was always willing to turn off onto those smaller roads to "see what's over that hill." I'm now the full time driver so using a map doesn't work, and I don't like a GPS telling me where to go. We love meeting new people, finding exciting treasures (not gold and diamonds, but local history , sights, (I'm a sucker for interesting characters), becoming enamored with new places, then finding ourselves happy to be back to our warm little home in Birch Bay after a successful treasure hunting trip.
No meal is as good as that in a small town cafe recommended by a local farmer who you met at a gas station, and oh, the people you would meet and the stories they would tell, these were fantastic treasures to fill our treasure chests.
Ron decided when we were still working that we really needed a GPS, of course he turned it on so we could find our way from our home in Santa Fe to our job in Los Alamos (we'd done this trip hundreds if not thousands of times) but guess what? We never got lost finding our way home, so I guess the GPS worked.
Then there was the time we were traveling to visit Ron's cousin and his wife, Jerry and Jane Kirkpatrick, on their remote ranch overlooking the John Day River in northern Oregon. Okay, I did think, maybe the GPS would come in handy for this one excursion. Off we went, that little (kind of annoying) voice warning us ahead of time to make this turn off of the highway, how many miles to the next exit/turn, when we were near a town, etc. etc. The Kirkpatricks lived off of a rural road they called 7-11 on a lane called Starvation Lane (read her wonderful book called "Homestead" about their life there. Anyway, the name of the lane should say it all.
GPS was telling us how to leave the tiny town where they collected their supplies and told us to head out on the State road, then it told us to turn left on the County maintained dirt road for seven miles, then to turn right on a private dirt road owned by the local ranchers for another eleven miles. All was going well until we came to the turn off for Starvation Lane, suddenly we jumped, the GPS started shouting at us "warning turn around! , warning turn around!" and on and on until we finally turned off that damn voice. Maybe this was a hint of the winding dirt lane that took us down a cliff side showing us vistas of the river and the beautiful valley below where Jerry and Jane had built their homestead.
Yes, we made it safely, had a wonderful visit, but I've never trusted a GPS since.
As for those trips, not so many any more, I'm the full time driver so no navigating, but we do take our day trips and love hearing of our friends adventures all over the world, so those treasures are still abounding in of lifes and we feel very blessed. Oh, I do keep an atlas next to my chair at home, and have an outdated globe to track the world's changes, so yes, maps are important, just not a fast rule for your life.
Oh, "warning turn around!, warning turn around! (you just might miss something or someone wonderful if you don't).
Ron and I don't travel as much or as far as we used to but still make short sojourns into the world to explore and find the unexpected. I actually love maps and was once the navigator when Ron was driving. He was always willing to turn off onto those smaller roads to "see what's over that hill." I'm now the full time driver so using a map doesn't work, and I don't like a GPS telling me where to go. We love meeting new people, finding exciting treasures (not gold and diamonds, but local history , sights, (I'm a sucker for interesting characters), becoming enamored with new places, then finding ourselves happy to be back to our warm little home in Birch Bay after a successful treasure hunting trip.
No meal is as good as that in a small town cafe recommended by a local farmer who you met at a gas station, and oh, the people you would meet and the stories they would tell, these were fantastic treasures to fill our treasure chests.
Ron decided when we were still working that we really needed a GPS, of course he turned it on so we could find our way from our home in Santa Fe to our job in Los Alamos (we'd done this trip hundreds if not thousands of times) but guess what? We never got lost finding our way home, so I guess the GPS worked.
Then there was the time we were traveling to visit Ron's cousin and his wife, Jerry and Jane Kirkpatrick, on their remote ranch overlooking the John Day River in northern Oregon. Okay, I did think, maybe the GPS would come in handy for this one excursion. Off we went, that little (kind of annoying) voice warning us ahead of time to make this turn off of the highway, how many miles to the next exit/turn, when we were near a town, etc. etc. The Kirkpatricks lived off of a rural road they called 7-11 on a lane called Starvation Lane (read her wonderful book called "Homestead" about their life there. Anyway, the name of the lane should say it all.
GPS was telling us how to leave the tiny town where they collected their supplies and told us to head out on the State road, then it told us to turn left on the County maintained dirt road for seven miles, then to turn right on a private dirt road owned by the local ranchers for another eleven miles. All was going well until we came to the turn off for Starvation Lane, suddenly we jumped, the GPS started shouting at us "warning turn around! , warning turn around!" and on and on until we finally turned off that damn voice. Maybe this was a hint of the winding dirt lane that took us down a cliff side showing us vistas of the river and the beautiful valley below where Jerry and Jane had built their homestead.
Yes, we made it safely, had a wonderful visit, but I've never trusted a GPS since.
As for those trips, not so many any more, I'm the full time driver so no navigating, but we do take our day trips and love hearing of our friends adventures all over the world, so those treasures are still abounding in of lifes and we feel very blessed. Oh, I do keep an atlas next to my chair at home, and have an outdated globe to track the world's changes, so yes, maps are important, just not a fast rule for your life.
Oh, "warning turn around!, warning turn around! (you just might miss something or someone wonderful if you don't).
Friday, January 13, 2012
Play It Forward
It's been a very good day, and the day isn't over yet.
During the summer of 2009 Ron found himself more and more unsteady as he tried to transfer himself from his wheelchair to our living room chair. This situation was not only uncomfortable for him but becoming dangerous. At that same time our dear friend Mary's mother was being transferred to a facility where she would get more physical care. All of a sudden a miracle happened, a "lift" chair was made available to us, Mary's mother's chair couldn't go with her and needed a new home.
That autumn and winter preparations were under way for the 2010 Winter Olympics to be held in Whistler, British Columbia, Canada. Excitement was in the air here in the Pacific Northwest. Our neighbors just minutes north of us were gearing up for this momentous occasion. Ron and I watched our television every day enjoying the updates about this wonderful event, wondering about border crossing times, would there be enough snow, how many tourists would come through our area into Canada? Excitement was in the air, and we were ready to enjoy it.
Our daughter Tracy's friend Michelle is a member of the Twawwassen First Persons Reserve which was hosting the "Blessing of the Olympic Torch". Michelle knew we didn't go too far from home any more and felt we might enjoy watching this spectacle with her and her family.
On that sunny, blue day we shared the excitement with her family, elders, olympians, and many spectators. We were invited into their long house for a feast and celebration, watching village children dance, enjoying an event that we would remember forever.
Today that "lift" chair was passed on to Michelle for her mother, who is now finding it harder to transfer herself into her living room chair. Michelle said she wanted to pay us for this chair, but we told her it was our gift and to "Play it forward" when her mother no longer needed it.
I bought Ron a new "lift" chair for our anniversary, one that is heated (he is chilly all of the time)., and one that is more suited for his size. Mary's mother's chair has served us well, but it was time to go to a new home.
Who knows where that chair may go in the future and what stories it will have told, but I do know it's lived a very good life wrapping wonderful people in it's warmth and will continue to do so for a long, long time.
Yes, it's been a very good day, and the day isn't over yet.
Greetings from Nancy at the Boat House
During the summer of 2009 Ron found himself more and more unsteady as he tried to transfer himself from his wheelchair to our living room chair. This situation was not only uncomfortable for him but becoming dangerous. At that same time our dear friend Mary's mother was being transferred to a facility where she would get more physical care. All of a sudden a miracle happened, a "lift" chair was made available to us, Mary's mother's chair couldn't go with her and needed a new home.
That autumn and winter preparations were under way for the 2010 Winter Olympics to be held in Whistler, British Columbia, Canada. Excitement was in the air here in the Pacific Northwest. Our neighbors just minutes north of us were gearing up for this momentous occasion. Ron and I watched our television every day enjoying the updates about this wonderful event, wondering about border crossing times, would there be enough snow, how many tourists would come through our area into Canada? Excitement was in the air, and we were ready to enjoy it.
Our daughter Tracy's friend Michelle is a member of the Twawwassen First Persons Reserve which was hosting the "Blessing of the Olympic Torch". Michelle knew we didn't go too far from home any more and felt we might enjoy watching this spectacle with her and her family.
On that sunny, blue day we shared the excitement with her family, elders, olympians, and many spectators. We were invited into their long house for a feast and celebration, watching village children dance, enjoying an event that we would remember forever.
Today that "lift" chair was passed on to Michelle for her mother, who is now finding it harder to transfer herself into her living room chair. Michelle said she wanted to pay us for this chair, but we told her it was our gift and to "Play it forward" when her mother no longer needed it.
I bought Ron a new "lift" chair for our anniversary, one that is heated (he is chilly all of the time)., and one that is more suited for his size. Mary's mother's chair has served us well, but it was time to go to a new home.
Who knows where that chair may go in the future and what stories it will have told, but I do know it's lived a very good life wrapping wonderful people in it's warmth and will continue to do so for a long, long time.
Yes, it's been a very good day, and the day isn't over yet.
Greetings from Nancy at the Boat House
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Scene from our back deck this morning.
Scene from our front porch this morning.
Hurrah, I was able to have my Ron's wonderful coffee this morning, as we sat at the table playing gin rummy and drinking coffee we could watch Lucy and Desi (our local Bald Eagle pair) checking out the water in Birch Bay (see view from our back deck) for their breakfast, we also watched a large ship moving between the islands through the binoculars we keep at tableside.Since we aren't traveling far any longer (we call our doctor, pharmacy, grocers visits our big date days) we feel we are really blessed to live in such a wonderful part of the Country where we can look out of our windows and see such beauty.
What ever happened to all of those years that have sped by so fast? It seems that just last year we were working at our careers with vacations in between, just a year or so before that we were raising our families and going to sports events, and even walking great distances (ha, not a chance now, my old knees can only take me so far). We have actually lived here in Birch Bay for ten years after retiring, twenty years before that in Santa Fe, New Mexico, working at Los Alamos National Laboratory, St. John's College and the College of Santa Fe, all other working years in California raising our kids.
I must be getting old if I'm starting to reminice about my past. Don't get me wrong, I still look forward to the future, there's just not quite so much of it any longer, more years gone by.
Oh well, the Boat House is still cruising, hope you can all come along for the ride.
Nancy of the Boathouse
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Is Coffee the Cure?
Eyes red and blurry, can't focus, out of sorts, maybe a little shaky. No, I'm not hung over, I just haven't had my hubby Ron's wonderful, freshly roasted, ground and brewed coffee. I'm fasting this morning (5 AM isn't the time to do this, you need your quick start don't you)? Having my first full Medicare physical later this morning. I guess nothing says "welcome to Medicare" like a physical. I should have had this last Oct. when I turned 65, but time just gets away, particularly since I've had this darn flu since Thanksgiving and just now getting over it. To top it all off I need to go in and shave my legs this morning, something I'm remiss in doing as I get older, oh the joys of looking beautiful for the doctor, of course she couldn't care less.
Oh, back to the coffee, Ron really does roast his own coffee beans. We order them from a broker, green beans keep forever if stored correctly, Ron roasts them about two pots worth at a time. (They start to deteriorate as soon as they are roasted) we then grind them and make this wonderful brew when we get up in the morning or when company is here. Yes, we really are coffee snobs, although we only drink an average of two cups in a day.
Freshly roasted coffee beans, freshly made summer sausage (also Ron's creation from meats he's ground, spices added, hung up in our smoker, and a bottle herbed salts [my contribution) were our gift of choice for dear friends this year.
Well, time to go shave my legs, hope I can bend over far enough, maybe I'll have hairy ankles and won't have to wear socks.
Oh, back to the coffee, Ron really does roast his own coffee beans. We order them from a broker, green beans keep forever if stored correctly, Ron roasts them about two pots worth at a time. (They start to deteriorate as soon as they are roasted) we then grind them and make this wonderful brew when we get up in the morning or when company is here. Yes, we really are coffee snobs, although we only drink an average of two cups in a day.
Freshly roasted coffee beans, freshly made summer sausage (also Ron's creation from meats he's ground, spices added, hung up in our smoker, and a bottle herbed salts [my contribution) were our gift of choice for dear friends this year.
Well, time to go shave my legs, hope I can bend over far enough, maybe I'll have hairy ankles and won't have to wear socks.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Soaring Like an Eagle
Haven't posted in a while, working on a short story for a friend. My friend asked me to imagine her childhood friend Clarice and her adventures as a young woman. Clarice is in an elder care facility, but is still of sound mind, but wanted something new to enjoy. So far she's enjoyed the adventures I've created for her, and amazingly many of the memories of her are accurate, although the story I've written is entirely fiction. Hope you enjoy it also!
FLYING LIKE A BIRD By: Nancy Boat
“Lynda, come over here and tell me why you’re
crying?” The old woman called out
in a surprisingly strong voice, for someone who looked every one of the eighty
nine years that she had lived.”
“Oh, Nana, the young girl said between hiccoughs, Jimmy
said no one would ever want to kiss me,” he said my hair is too red, and my
freckles make me look spotty.”
Nana, do you remember the first time you were ever kissed? You told me your hair used to be red
just like mine, I bet no one ever said you were spotty, and I bet you didn’t
have a bratty brother like mine.
The old woman chuckled to herself as she pulled her great,
great grandchild down on the porch swing next to her and gave her a gentle
hug. Looking out over the little
garden in her granddaughter’s back yard Nana sighed as she related the memories
of her first kiss.
“Child, my fondest memories as a young girl were of
running up to the top of the grassy hill behind my folks old farmhouse and
lying on my back, watching the clouds morph into castles, and sailing ships,
watching birds soar overhead, and bees and other insects flit and buzz around
me, easily moving from place to place.
Oh, it would be so wonderful to soar like the hawks, to join those
clouds, or to travel from flower to flower like those bees.
When I was about sixteen
there was a great hubbub in the little town where we traveled to picked up feed
for our livestock and necessities for us.
A crop duster/stunt pilot was coming to town, he was actually called a
barnstormer in those days, and the whole community was invited to the 25 acre
field outside of town to see this amazing flying machine and watch someone who
could actually do what I had only dreamed about.
Wanting to make sure I could
obtain the best spot to observe this fantastic event, I conspired with my best
friend Delores and obtained permission to spend the night with her as long as I
finished my chores around the house first. Our plan was to sneak out without her parent’s knowledge
very early in the morning to beat the other townspeople to the flying field.
We were up and on our way so
early that morning that the roosters hadn’t even begun crowing. One of the neighborhood dogs started
barking and howling as we snuck by, but we soon ran out of his field of vision
and continued running until we reached the old barn at the end of the 25 acre
field. Inside was the most
wonderful sight I had ever beheld.
Before me stood a magnificent airplane, wings, one above the other,
spread out like a bird when he soars, two seats, one in front for a passenger
and one behind for the barnstormer, not enclosed like the airplanes today, and
a propeller in front carved out of the most beautiful wood.
“What are you two doing
here?” boomed a deep male voice, making both of us jump, although I’m proud to
say, only Delores squealed. There
staring at us by the light of his lantern were the bluest eyes I’d ever seen.
“I had to come and see for
myself your wonderful flying machine,” I said. “Soaring like a hawk has always been my most cherished
dream.” Grinning with a smile that would melt butter, the young man said, “then
you’re in luck Red, I’ll take you up with me today.”
“I don’t think you should do
this,” Delores whispered, but I put my arm around her and made her promise she
wouldn’t tell a soul until I was back down on the ground.
It wasn’t easy stuffing my
hair into the leather helmet he made me put on, and then he strapped me into
the front of his amazing machine and off we went.
By that time most of the
townsfolk, and many of the nearby farmers and their families, including my
parents and brothers, had crowded around the rim of the field to watch the
spectacle that was to take place.
After pushing the plane out
of the barn and onto the packed ground of the field, the young man pulled down
on the beautiful wooden propeller until it started spinning at an amazing rate,
he then ran back and jumped into the seat behind me. A boy from town pulled a wooden block out from in front of the wheels, and off we went.
We started rolling faster and
faster and in the blink of an eye we were off of the ground, heading skyward up
over the tops of the trees, soaring like the hawks and crows that took off
around us into the air in noisy surprise.
Up higher and higher, through one of those puffy white clouds that
looked so much like a castle.
After I opened my eyes, which
I’m ashamed to admit I had squeezed shut during our some of our ascent, I
couldn’t believe the wonderful sights above, around, and most of all below
me. There were people waving at us
from the ground, looking much like the tin soldiers that my brothers used to
play with, except these tin soldiers were moving about. The cows in the O’Malley’s field
started running toward their barn, I expect they gave sour milk that evening,
and you could almost imagine the town dogs growling and barking.
We did figure eights in the
sky, and at one point that young man scared me witless, by doing a summersault
right there in the middle of the sky.
Oh, this was such an amazing
day, a day I would never forget, in more ways than one.
After a few bumps and stomach
turning ups and downs, up and down, we headed back to the rutted field and we
were once again on solid ground where we stopped. The young man jumped down out of his seat and reached up to
help me down from the cozy nest I had been strapped into. He reached up and pulled the leather
helmet off of my head, pulling a few hairs out in the process I’m sure. He then looked me square in the face,
said something about my having the greenest eyes he’d ever seen, and kissed me
right on the lips.
That was the day I was able
to soar with the hawks, was kissed by a blue-eyed young man, and was whipped
with a switch when my parents found out what I’d done.
Nana, what became of the
blue-eyed young man?
Oh, he later became your
great grandfather, but that’s another story for another time.
Lynda, you have a few years
yet until you will be kissed, after all you’re only seven, but I can guarantee
the time will come, and your red hair will be like a crown for you, and your
“spots” won’t even be noticed, they just add to your beauty, and oh my, those
green eyes of yours!
Nana, tell me more, when did
you and Oompa get married, did you get switched because he kissed you? Oh no child, I was switched for lying
to my parents, in fact Lynda was in trouble with her parents too. I learned a lesson that day and was
never switched again, although to be fair, I probably should have been.
I didn’t meet with Oompa
again until four years later when I was traveling in Morroco, doing what folks
called a “Grand Tour” after graduating from Normal School with a degree in
teaching. My maiden aunt Minta
(everyone called her Minnie) was traveling with me, we had been in Europe for
most of the summer when an opportunity arose to board a touring ship that
sailed up the Nile River. Oh, the
exotic sights we saw, nomads on camels watching us from the river shore, the
giant pyramids and the Spynx with his nose broken off. We even were able to climb to the top
of one of those pyramids, it took us hours to reach the top, but the view of
Egypt was worth every minute.
Anyway, after a trip to the
Rock of Gibralter we crossed over into Morocco, suddenly we were in a totally
different world. Not at all like
Gibralter where we felt we were setting in a tea room in England. The smell of exotic spices filled our
noses, and colorful bolts of cloth were exhibited at the sides of the
parthways.
The hotel where we stayed for
a month had been a former harem, with clay and rock walls that looked
totally unassuming from the outside but, when you entered by a tall wooden
door, you were suddenly in another world where there were colorful flowers everywhere,
and fountains with water splashing and tinkling a wonderful lilting song, tiles
of blue and green, and windows low enough to see out of if you were on tiptoe,
but high enough so no one could see inside.
One day, Minnie said she just
didn’t feel up to going out to explore, I suspect she had a bug from some of
the spicy food we’d eaten the night before, so she suggested that I should stay
in a rest also. Well, once again I
contrived to sneak out without her knowledge and walked the winding roads into
the Casbah. I had taken a
precaution of putting on a local robe striped red and camel color, oh red is
such a horrible color on redheads, remember that dear, and pulled a cloth over
my face so I wouldn’t be too obviously a white woman alone among all of these
men selling their wares, the native women who were walking around were there in
groups and always seemed to have an escort with them.
As I stopped in shop after
shop to look at the treasures available for sale I realized someone had
followed me along my path, hiding just outside of the open doors of shops,
crouching behind carts loaded with fruits and vegetables. Maybe I should re-consider being here
in the Casbah by myself and return to the harem hotel. As I turned around to retrace my steps
I realized I didn’t know the way back, I had taken too many twists and turns,
and followed too many exotic looking treasures on my little solo adventure.
Spinning around and around I
was suddenly grabbed from behind and pulled roughly into a shadowy alleyway, a
place just wide enough for a man or a donkey to walk down, there was a stream
of who knows what trickliing down what looked like a little culvert in the
middle of the alleyway. I had been
warned many times during my stay here of just this dire problem, young women
who went into the Casbah alone were often abducted and sent away to be a part
of someone’s harem, of course I thought I was immune to this happening to
me. Even though fear flashed
through me all I could think of was how mad Aunt Minnie was going to be at
me. Once again I had gotten myself
into a jam by lying, and I didn’t know if I was going to be able to get out of
it this time.
Trying to kick with the long
robes impeding my legs and feet was useless, I flailed out with my arms, only
to be hit in the side of the head.
Screaming was out of the question as a dirty hand was held over my
mouth, I couldn’t even open my mouth wide enough to bite him. Just as I felt myself going faint from
lack of breath the arms that held me were jerked away. As I fell to the ground I caught a
glimpse of the bluest eyes. No,
this couldn’t be, I thought, here was the same man who took me soaring with the
hawks, only he wasn’t a young man any longer, he was just perfect. At that thought I fainted.
"Red, wake up, you’re safe
now, wake up", a voice that sounded older, yet still sounded the same called out
to me. I was being held in the
arms of the man who had given me my first kiss, and here he was in the Casbah, how could this possibly be?
"I thought I recognized you
and your red hair kept slipping out of your scarf, and I could never forget
those green eyes. I was here buying supplies for my excursion into the
desert. Whatever possessed you to
walk around here alone? If I
hadn’t come along when I did you would be long gone."
"I’m perfectly fine", I huffed,
although truth be told I was anything but fine. I shuddered when I watched the dirty robed man run around a
curve in the alleyway where my rescuer found me.
"You’re a little fibber" he
said, "I’m in a hurry if I’m to meet my caravan into the desert, what am I going
to do with you?"
"Please, just take me back to my
Aunt Minnie" I replied, trying really hard not to show him my fear, although I’m
sure he saw the tears in my eyes.
"I don’t even know your name
even though you were my first kiss, and the only time I ever soared with the eagles,
and now you’ve saved me from heaven know what, you don't have to sound so short with me you know."
"I don’t know your name
either, since we’re on such good terms I suppose you should know I’m called
Jordon, named by my folks after the Jordon River, and I'm not being short with you, you just scared me, and I am in a hurry."
" I’m Clarise" I replied, and by the way thanks for saving
me, I really am thankful."
"You’re quite welcome, now,
let’s get you back to your Aunt Minnie, but first, I need to do this one thing", and he
bent down and kissed me once again, but this time the kiss was magical, I felt
it all the way to my toes.
"Grandma, is that when you and
Oompa got married?"
"No my dear, that story is for yet another time. I’m afraid Jordon
deposited me back at the Harem Hotel into the angry care of my Aunt Minnie,
with a quick whisper in my ear not to get into trouble again, and off he went,
not to be seen for quite a while."
"I think this trip was just
too much for Aunt Minnie, because she never asked me to travel with her again."
"But, Nana, I can’t wait for
another story, I need to know when you were kissed again, and when you met
Oompa again?"
"Well, my child, four years
later I was asked to take a teaching assignment in an old Spanish town called
Santa Fe, in what at that time was the Territory of New Mexico. My folks weren’t too happy to have me
go off to such a “wild” place, but I was certainly excited to be off on another
adventure, my life had been just too tame for my taste in the years after my
Grand Tour."
"Santa Fe looked much like the
small towns in Spain that I had visited with my Aunt Minnie. The houses were built out of a type of
clay called adobe, their roofs were flat, and the only building with a peaked
roof was the Cathedral that the Catholic Bishop Lamy had built just off of the
plaza."
"As I stepped off of the train
into the horse and wagon that was waiting for me, an old gentleman with grizzled hands and wearing
something called a serape told me in broken English that he would take me to
the little schoolhouse and small adobe cabin that would be my home for the next
year. As we road the dirt roads
into my new town I could smell the bonfires of pinion wood burning all over the
area, the fires were called faralitos or (little fires), and around the eaves
of every adobe house were beautiful red garlands made of chiles that hung one
after another, being dried for use in the winter. What an exotic and wonderful sight, Santa Fe was surrounded
by snow topped mountains with bright Aspen trees covering the lower slopes
looking much like golden frosting dripping off of a birthday cake.
I knew I would have a
wonderful adventure and couldn’t wait to start teaching the children of this
amazing part of the country.
To be continued:
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