READING IN MY CHILDREN'S ROOMS

I read in my children's rooms
even though they no longer inhabit
them. Rooms that still contain
books and me.

Listening
I hear the echo of their voices.
"Mom, can you come in here a minute?"

When the lamp is turned
just right, the shadows dance on
the walls, taking the shape of
little children.

I reach out my hands
but grasp only air. My eyes drift
back to the page and I escape
into a world of words
and dreams.

Justus Redfern's Bohemian Home

BACK HOME

We have returned home from Louisville. I loved being in the city, the sounds, the river, the smells, the people, the food, the old buildings. I'm really a Bohemian at heart, I wish I could live in the highest floor above The Spaghetti Factory with my name changed to Justus Redfern.

LOUISVILLE

John Wayne and I are in Louisville. He is here for a waterworks conference. I'm along for the ride. Out our window we can see the Ohio River. Not far up the river is the Falls of the Ohio. I haven't seen the fossil beds. The water is up so no seeing them this trip. Maybe one day soon.

We ate supper with John and Moy at Morton's. The food was wondeful and the company good.

This afternoon we walked down by the river and saw The Belle of Louisville. Several years ago we took the kids for a ride. It was one of the experiences we thought they needed. I wish I had taken them many more places.

Tomorrow Moy and I are going to Whitehall. We will probably hit a bookstore or two. I'm looking forward to a day in the city.

SUSAN CHARRON - GUEST BLOGGER

The following was written by my daughter, Susan.


Window Memories


I start waking the kids up around Ellmitch. And, yes Grandmama, I do know that Ellmitch came from the word Mitchell. One mile or so is usually enough time for them to wake up to walk in the house where they will sleep by the same window I slept by for years. Everyone plops down in the living room to talk, even if we don’t get there until late at night. Eventually, one by one, everyone makes their way to their sleeping spot. Sometimes I get my old room, but more often than not it is the kids. That is fine with me since I am usually in another room alone and get to sleep until my eyes open on their own.

My kids sleep in a bed that is high off the floor and in a room where almost everything remains the same. The bedspread is the same except for the times it is replaced by an old quilt. Old quilts feel better any day of the week though. The carpet is the same and even the wallpaper. Most of the sounds are the same except for the whistling of the flue over the fireplace. A vintage plaque hanging from a little chain bearing the picture of a girl covers the hole and it whistles and flutters when the wind blows. The curtains are the same and they cover the same windows I looked out of for most of my life.

I can’t count the number of times I pulled the curtain back to look out the window. I would imagine the curtain closest to my bedroom door must have a worn place in it where I held the curtain to lift it away from the window so I could see what was outside. Some of my window memories are happy and some are the ones that I want to forget but can’t because they have made me who I am.

Every night I would pull the curtain back before I went to sleep. The unfailing streetlight was always there and I would see the occasional cat walk across the street, probably wanting in to sleep at the feet of someone in our house. I once looked out the window when my sleep was interrupted by a phone call. I watched a car back out of the driveway to speed away to my grandfather who had suffered a heart attack. I had listened to part of the call to tell us he was sick but hung up and only remember pulling the curtain back to watch the car leave. After that I was never able to look out the window to see if Graggy was there to let me practice driving on the roads of our little town.

Over the years, the curtain was held back mostly to watch family members come and go. Grandmama bringing green beans and fried corn from her garden and extended family coming for Christmas and Thanksgiving. I would watch to see if mom was coming because I just liked it better when mom was home. I watched my brother pull in the drive. He was always on time, of course. He was probably never late coming home and he always parked in the same spot. I watched him drive the most awesome car in the driveway. He liked it so much that he wouldn’t let me drive it, even around the block. And I would watch for daddy walking down the street after work. Not many dads walk to and from work but for most of my life daddy was up before the sun, walking up the street in the dark. Not often, but once in a while, I would hear the door close and watch him walk up the street until I lost sight of him behind the leaves of a tree. I mostly just watched for him to come home though. It wasn’t long after he got home that we were all in the house together.

I would pull the curtain back to see if my date was pulling in the driveway. Mostly they were on time but sometimes I would pull that curtain back every thirty seconds until they arrived. For what seemed like forever I would pull the curtain back to see if my ride to school was waiting for me. Sometimes it was the Freer’s car sitting in the drive with all four family members waiting for me to jump in. There were the times I rode with Carrie. I remember seeing her mom pulling in the drive and I hurriedly carried my curling iron with me because I thought it may stay hot long enough for me to finish those last two straight pieces of hair. It didn’t.

Today I look out the same window from behind the same curtain when I sleep there. Only now I notice what my children are doing outside and different people come and go. The curtain stays the same but I look through glass that is broken in one corner and is taped together. Sometimes if the wind blows hard, I can feel a little draft through the window. Maybe those are my window memories blowing in to remind me.

CARDINAL

Friday

Lydia got her stitches taken out today. She was spayed last Friday. She hates traveling, hates her carrier. She cried so much I finally let her out. She had a good time exploring the car, walking in the back window, under the seats, and across my shoulders. Olivia thought it was so funny that she was running all over the car. When we got to the vet's office Lydia was under the seat. I had to coax her out with one of Olivia chicken nuggets. Lydia was a happy kitty to get back home.
The birds were having a feeding frenzy late this afternoon. Sadie would love to catch them. Sometimes she does manage to get one. A cardinal came to sit in the bush by the feeder, he seemed to be waiting for me to leave. I sat very still, the camera on the tripod, the lens zoomed in on him. He never knew he was photographed. I feed the birds all summer, so many varieties and colors.

A Different Trip

Mama and I traveled again today. This was different, Mama didn't really do anything funny. She got tired, much too tired. I kept her out too long. I need to be more careful and take shorter trips. We had a good time, ate Mexican food for lunch, found the things I needed to buy.
I liked seeing the spring flowers beginning to bloom everywhere. They are mostly yellow but the others will soon be on their way. I'm ready to plant flowers and herbs but it is still a bit early. We could still have a cold snap or two. I'll try and be patient.

UPSTAIRS

I sleep around. Around our house, that is. Except for the bathrooms, I've slept in every nook and cranny of this house. I've slept in beds, on pallets, air beds, the floor, the couch, chairs, love seat, stacks of quilts, mattresses, cushions. I have also been awake all night in all these places. Many nights awake, reading, worrying, hurting, thinking, writing, eating, bleeding, coughing, wheezing, holding my breath, pacing, grieving, talking, laughing, crying.
Since we moved a bed downstairs when Mama was here sick, I have slept in her bed most of the time. It is a good place to read, the room is full of books. The heated mattress pad keeps me warm, the fan keeps me cool. I've moved the toddler bed down for Leah or Olivia to use when they are here. I pull it close to my bed and they sleep all night. They both are happy to be with the books too, there are shelves full of children's books. They love to read in the toddler bed while I read in my bed.
John Wayne could always go to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, wanted the room dark and quiet. I am just the opposite. It takes me an eternity to go to sleep, I like music and lighted computer screens. I like to read all night on occasion. So my sleeping around began.
When the children were young I didn't want to be downstairs because I was afraid I wouldn't hear them if they needed me. So I made myself a pallet room in the hall. I had several different kinds of beds there, mattresses, a folding chair, foam. The one consistent thing about my sleeping arrangements in the hall was my feet extending across Susan's door. I didn't plan it that way, it was just the best place for me to sleep. (She might tell it differently.)
I had a nice situation there, a reading light, pencils, paper, books, radio, tape player, phone, a place for my coke and Hershey bar, kleenex, cough medicine, and most importantly, a fan.
There is no telling how many nights I spent in the hall on the floor, how many books I read there, how much worrying I did there.
Some nights I would get in bed with somebody else or they would come and sleep with me for a while. If Susan or John Michael were gone for the night, I might sleep in their bed or sleep with John Wayne if I found myself able to sleep. That was always my best sleep.
Since I've been sleeping downstairs, I've noticed I feel differently about the upstairs. I love being up there but it's almost like I don't live there. The rooms feel strange and mysterious. I know that things have happened to me there but I can't seem to remember what. If I could just think a little more clearly I would know. Yet it doesn't seem to matter. There are old things up there, old beds, old quilts, old books, old clothes, old tables, old pictures, old stories, old ghosts.
I need to be with those old things so I'm going to sleep upstairs tonight. I'll sleep in Susan's bed. The old bed is around 200 years old. I slept in it when I was a little girl. I wrapped my fingers around the spools. I still like to do that. It's such a comfort.
I'm looking forward to reestablishing my relationship with the upstairs. I think it wants me back.

Morning

Early morning into Owensboro to keep Olivia, taking her to day care, then to Friday's to eat with Jeanie. I could have slept all morning but O had other ideas.
It was raing and foggy driving in this morning. I couldn't use my bright lights but couldn't see much with the dim ones either. Actually I didn't see much all the way.
I'm also going to make a Goodwill stop to get some underwear pictures. My battery was down last week so have to go back, they had some good ones.
John Michael is almost finished with school. He has worked hard and it has been a struggle at times but it will all be worth the effort.
I need to sink myself in a novel, just been reading short stories. They are good but I like the long haul. I wish I had a Michener.

DANCING

When Susan was 3 years old, I was driving in Owensboro one day, listening to the radio. I heard an advertisment for Lila Jean School of the Dance. They were having their fall registration that very day. Right that minute I drove to the studio and enrolled Susan. I bought her tights and leotards, tap and ballet shoes. From that day, she had Capizeo dance clothes and shoes. Susan started her classes a couple of weeks and later and from that first class, she could dance. It came natural to her and she loved it. She took a combination class, tap, ballet, tumbling. Her class met once for week for an hour. The year passed quickly and it was time for her first recital. She was in two numbers. The costume for one of her routines was a pink and white bunny outfit, complete with bunny ears. I had no idea how nervous I would be. By the time I got her dressed and left her to go on stage, making my way back to my seat, I was suddenly sick. I rushed to the bathroom and threw up. Then I cried all through her performance, which was flawless. This was to become my dance routine, throwing up and crying with frayed nerves. I don't know why I was so frazzled, she was always on top of the situation and did a great job, whatever dance routine she was performing.
After three years at Lila Jean's, I moved Susan to Joy Johnson's Dance Studio. In no time she was in a performing group, dance classes lasted three and four hours at least one day a week, usually more. We stayed on the road with classes and performances. Not one minute of this time was wasted. I never missed a performance and not many practices.
Susan can always say with meaning that she was a dancer. In her heart, she still is. I guess that makes me a forever stage mom. That's me, still pushing her on, shoveling advice, crying and throwing up. Loving her.

LEAH

Leah was in her first dance recital tonight. She was the cutest dancer on the stage. She had said she wasn't going to do her dance, just going to stand on the stage. But she did her dance and did it very well. Her hair was pulled up in a bun and she had on her make up. She was so sweet. She was proud of herself and couldn't help but grin when we told her how much we liked her dance. She made us all happy.

Stamps

I bought Longfellow stamps today. My earliest memories are of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. My parents read to me from THE SONG OF HIAWATHA almost every night for years. I loved the language of the poem and love it just as much now as I did then. I was entranced with the images of Nokomis teaching Hiawatha and telling him stories. I could hear him talking to his animal friends and learning their secrets. It would be a dull life without Longfellow's poems.

Deed - 1892

Purse, Platter & Hankies

Traveling With Mama

Mama and I went to Hartford today. I had to pick up a deed that I had framed. It has glass on both sides. The deed is an original document from 1892. It records the sale of land to John Hale (my great grandfather) from Daniel and Theodosia Hale (my greatx3 grandparents, and John Hale's parents).
Mama and I had lunch at Little Stevie's Pizza. We ate the buffet, salad bar, pizza, spaghetti, peach and blueberry cobbler. It was actually right good. Next we made the dreaded Walmart trip. Mama didn't buy a thing. I had to have print cartridges and photo paper. Then we went to St. Vincent de Paul so I could make more pictures of underwear. Mama bought a cup for a quarter. I bought some small glasses. Our next stop was the second hand shoe store. I was looking for hiking boots but none to be found. I did buy a really ugly purse. I just love it. Next door to the shoe store is a thrift store where I was able to make a couple more underwear pictures. Up the street we found an antique where I bought some handkerchiefs and a meat platter. All in all it was a fine trip. Except Mama was thirsty the whole time and I kept forgetting to get her anything to drink. I was going to get her a bottle of water at Dundee but she said she would just suffer and drink when she got home. She called later to report that she was no longer thirsty. I told her I was very sorry for keeping her parched all day.

Surrounded

the closet door
stands open
exposing
the remnants
of my daughter's life
shelves and boxes
embracing
the things she left behind
ballet shoes, a doll,
cards and letters,
ribbons,
purple leather coat,
notebooks,
a lingering scent of perfume
waiting for her return
and even for an afternoon
when she is in the house
her things become animated
thriving in her presence,
at night, when she is gone
I take my books to her room
her possessions settle quietly
their hues muted
by shadows
the walls seem to sigh
and I read
surrounded
by her

Peace

The aroma of rising yeast rolls wafts through the rooms of the house that people say looks like a castle. My hand brushes the velvet upholstery on the couch next to the porch that faces the sunset. The house is quiet and has never known haste.
In the kitchen, dust is settling into the kindling box where the wood was stacked earlier. It feels gritty between my teeth.
The dipper hangs beisde the water bucket holding cool water drawn from the cistern in the front yard. My arm feels heavy from cranking the pump handle and I still have leaves in my hair from the low-hanging vines growing through the wire covering the cistern.
The hens are cackling to let us know they are laying fresh eggs for breakfast tomorrow morning. I anticipate putting my hand in the nest to pull out the warm brown eggs. The rooster crows, boasting his superior standing in the chicken yard. I skip across the back field to look down on the cliffs, imaging snakes crawling toward me.
Back in the house, the clock strikes two loud gongs. I nestle myself on the daybed in the side room that looks out over the garden. When the wind is right, I can smell the flowers along the fence. I listen to the bob-white calling from high in the pear tree and I drop off to sleep.
A rustle in the kitchen wakes me, letting me know that Essa is cooking supper. Green beans and potatoes are simmering in the iron pot that sits deep in the eye of the old black cook stove. The corn bread is already in the oven as Essa stirs up a little cake. She keeps the sugar and flour in white metal cans with tight-fitting lids. They sit on the corner shelves beside the door that leads from the kitchen to the dining room. As I wander about the house, I open the closet door behind the claw-footed table that sits in front of the sideboard. My senses are assaulted by the odors of spices and sweets. The closet holds mysterious things and it is too dark for me to enter.
Essa calls me to the kitchen.
Before we eat, we make a trip to the toilet. The grapes droop heavily across the path and we might sample the raspberries if they are ripe.
After our meal, Cova goes about doing the dishes. She heats the water in the white enamel dishpan. The glasses are washed first and they shine as they sit, turned upside down, on a clean white cloth.
At bedtime, I must decide whether to sleep with Essa or Cova. In my mind, I feel my feet slip off the rounded foot board and I float through the air, falling into the feather mattress, engulfing myself in the feathers of Cova's bed. Then I remember nights of climbing the stairs with Essa to sleep in the bed with the spools that fit the shape of my hand. She douses herself with RexRub and we giggle into the night. How can I choose?
Morning comes with the sun filtering through the lace curtains making willowy patches of light on the bed kept warm with quilts made by their mother. Reluctantly, I throw the covers back and hop out of the bed onto the threadbare rug.
Today will be no different from yesterday, yet I'm happy to be in this house with these people who love me without condition. The days blend into one and I feel a peace that I'm too young to know won't last.

Essa

Essa Matthews Sims

March 6, 1873-March 12, 1964

Everybody always said that Essa and I were two peas in pod. She lived in Westview, KY with her sister Cova Smith. Essa's husband, Bro. Sims, also lived there. But Essa and Cova were the heart of the house. For some unknown reason, they liked me a lot. Since before I can remember I stayed with them, sometimes for days at a time. I always felt loved and wanted when I was there and was always sad to leave them. I missed them when I was away from their house and was always anxious to go back. Cova was nice to everybody but Essa was often less than glad to see company coming. If Cova wasn't in the house she would say, "Let's hurry and hide upstairs before they get to the door." So up the stairs we would go where we would stifle our giggles as we listened to the knocking on the door and the hollering, "Miss Essa, Miss Cova." We would peep out the window until we saw our visitors heading back home. Essa and I rarely liked to share our time with others. We just liked each other and Cova. We tolerated Bro. Sims when he came home from preaching revivals. Essa called him "Hon" until she was aggravated with him and then she would yell, "Sims!!"Bro. Sims read and owned many books. Essa and Cova were both readers. Cova had a thirst for knowledge. Essa was the musician. The things I learned from them could fill volumes. Even after all these years I miss them everyday. My mother just said today that she wished we could drop in on them for a little visit. So do I.

Olivia on the playground

Olivia went with me last week when I substituted in first grade. It was warm enough for us to go outside for recess. Olivia had the best time playing with the kids. She has been going with me to the kindergarten classes. She fits right in. Doing crafts is her favorite activity.

Sunday Morning

We had breakfast earlier than usual this morning. The kitty woke me up a little after 7. She needs her toenails clipped. I told he if she didn't watch out I would have her teeth de-sharpened. She doesn't seem to care that my arms are in shreds.