Reflections on the Fifth Week of Fall

 

On a mid 80°, sunny morning, Spence and I took Mom to the beach on Anna Maria Island. We pushed her wheelchair through the parking lot and across the pancake restaurant terrace. Then she held my arm and walked sixty feet across the sand. Spence muscled the empty chair. Mom picked a sunny spot just beyond shade trees. Because of the wind, she tied a headscarf under her chin and draped a sweater over her shoulders. She soaked in the sun, and we walked. Terns scampered in the surf. Gulls stepped aside when folks approached. I waded–waves crashed against my shins. Spence stayed above the water line and looked back to check Mom. He saw a man talking to her so we walked back to check. Mom said she'd had three visitors. A gentleman with an English accent offered to take her closer to the water. Two women just stopped to chat. Mom concluded the sun felt good, people were friendly, and she didn't need the sweater. A couple times on her walk back across the sand, Mom rested in the wheelchair. I admired her fortitude.

Reflections on the Fourth Week of Fall

After a hard frost, ladybugs swarmed doors, windows, and log walls in search of entrances to our warm house. I carefully picked two off the sliding glass door and tossed them outside. Twenty-two zoomed in while the door was open. I gathered them–not caring if a few squished even though squished ladybugs emit an acrid odor. I took photos and found a comma butterfly with its wings closed against the wind. (Its name comes from the white comma on the brown undersides.) When a ladybug crawled over the butterfly's foot, the butterfly fluttered its wings, and I got a glimpse of its orange top. Coming back inside was a problem. To dislodge the ladybugs from the front door, I opened it a crack and slammed hard. Twice. The bugs flew off the door but onto me. I brushed and stomped. Some bugs crawled under my turtleneck and tickled my skin. Spence said, “You'd think the wind would blow these little buggers away.” The buggers landed on George when he took his deck exercise. “Don't eat them,” Spence warned. The invasion continued through the night. As he tried to sleep, ladybugs dive-bombed Spence.

Reflections - Aunt Jane

 

Flowering Marsh Marigold

 

Jane Kressel

March 30, 1922 - February 18, 2014 

Because I had an Aunt Jane, friends in the Jane Austen society considered me lucky. But they didn’t realize how fortunate I was with MY Aunt Jane.

She welcomed me to her house ad introduced me to sunsets on Presque Isle. She kept all the cards and pictures I sent her. She gave Dad directions to the emergency room when I slammed my finger in the car door. And she had a sense of humor with a loving accepting smile that would change a cloudy day to sunshine.

Spence and I planted two marsh marigolds—flowers with sunny yellow blooms—in her memory.

Reflections on the Second Week of Fall

 

Spencer Charles, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and I, in long sleeves, long pants, and the heating pad wrapped around my right arm, gathered around the coffee table for a cooperative, strategy game called Pandemic. We conferred to cure diseases that spread across the world map with each turn. We build research stations, quashed outbreaks, and saved humanity three games in a row. Other games we played were competitive: backgammon that Aunt Marge had taught him; Yatzee that had cats' ears twitching toward rolling dice; Ticket to Ride that placed plastic trains across the continent, and Words with Friends that had us typing scrabble words on electric devises every spare moment. His vacation week brought comfort and memorable moments–a walk under blue skies and yellow leaves, his from-scratch pizza dough, his writing tips for showing emotions in my turkey story, pain management tactics, dish washing help, audio book suggestions, post office chaffering, and always his loving attention. Never underestimate the power of a son's loving attention to calm and delight his mother.