Sunday, March 13, 2011
Main Street
Monday, March 7, 2011
If She Had Died in Her 80's - Addendum
Minnie Remembers
by Donna Swanson
God,
My hands are old.
I’ve never said that out loud before,
but they are.
I was so proud of them once.
They were soft
like the velvet smoothness
of a firm ripe peach.
Now the softness is
like worn-out sheets
or withered leaves.
When did these slender,
graceful hands
become gnarled, shrunken?
When, God?
They lie here in my lap,
naked reminders
of the rest of this old body
that has served me too well.
How long has it been
since someone touched me?
Twenty years?
Twenty years I’ve been a widow.
Respected.
Smiled at.
But never touched.
Never held close to another body.
Never held so close and warm
that loneliness was blotted out.
I remember
how my Mother used to hold me,
God.
When I was hurt in spirit or flesh
she would gather me close,
stroke my silky hair and caress
my back with her warm hands.
Oh, God, I’m so lonely!
I remember the first boy
who ever kissed me.
We were both so new at that.
The taste of young lips
and popcorn,
the feeling deep inside
of mysteries to come.
I remember Hank and the babies.
How can I remember them
put together?
Out of the fumbling,
awkward attempts of new lovers
came the babies.
And as they grew, so did our love.
And, God, Hank didn’t seem to care
if my body thickened
and faded a little.
He still loved it.
And touched it.
And we didn’t mind
if we were no longer
“beautiful.”
And the children hugged me a lot.
Oh, God, I’m lonely!
Why didn’t we raise the kids to be
silly and affectionate
as well as dignified and proper?
You see, they do their duty.
They drive up in their fine cars.
They come to my room
to pay their respects.
They chatter brightly
and reminisce.
But they don’t touch me.
They call me “Mom” or “Mother”
or “Grandma.”
Never Minnie.
My mother called me Minnie.
And my friends.
Hank called me Minnie, too.
But they’re gone.
And so is Minnie.
Only Grandma is here.
And, God! she’s lonely!
Saturday, March 5, 2011
If She Had Died in Her 80's - Chapter 5
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
All I Wanted Was an Ice Cream Cone!
Only 50 miles to go, but I was getting sleepy and needed a break. An ice cream cone and a cup of coffee sounded really good. Taking the first Fort Morgan, CO, exit, I walked into Burger King and asked for my cone. "We don't have ice cream", she said with a deadpan face. What?? Well, I thought I might as well get my coffee there and stop at McDonald's a mile down the road to get the cone. So I ordered my coffee, gave her the money, and waited. She disappeared and I waited. And waited. Finally, after several minutes, she appears, plops the coffee down, and starts to walk away again. "Where can I find some creamer?" I shout after her. She trudges back, reaches for a bucket of creamers, slides it towards me, and disappears again. I open the coffee, see that it is very strong, and add three creamers, noticing a lot of coffee grounds as I stir it in.
Now, off to get my ice cream cone. I take the next exit and drive up to McDonald's. It is closed!! Getting frustrated, I drive through a parking lot full of potholes; then I see a brand new McDonald's right across the street. I just may get my ice cream yet, I thought. Just as I'm driving into the parking lot, I see a sign - new McDonald's opening Wednesday. Well, this was Tuesday. By this time, I was wishing I had stopped at the Dairy Queen back by the Burger King; even if their small cones were more than $1. But after making my way through more construction and back onto I-76, I decided to give up on my little treat. Forty-five minutes later, after I pulled into my driveway, I took that horrible Burger King coffee and dumped the whole thing out.
It was good to finally be home.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Beanie Stein
It was another beautiful fall school day in Churchs Ferry, North Dakota. From time to time one of us grade-schoolers was lucky enough to bring a quarter or two to school. Why? Because during noon hour we would walk down to "Bert's" grocery store and purchase some candy. It was only a short walk, maybe 2-3 blocks. On this particular day, my friend, Lisa, had the money and she asked me to walk with her to Bert's. Enjoying the lovely weather, we skipped and hopped along the broken sidewalk. On an impulse, I hopped up onto the cement stoop of a little house that set right up against the sidewalk. Suddenly, the door flew open and I was confronted with ... a scraggly looking man ... with a shotgun! In shock, for a moment I was unable to move. I gaped at the whiskered man in the flannel shirt. He had his gun pointed at me. Lisa and I heard him say, "You stay off my property or I'll shoot you!" Like a human bullet, I shot off his stoop and Lisa and I ran the rest of the way to Bert's. We were shaking with fear.
My shaking lasted a long time. It may not have been visible on the outside, but it was weeks before my "insides" settled down. And you can be sure I never walked in front of Beanie Stein's house again; and I certainly never placed a foot on his stoop!
What is strange to me now is that we never told our teacher about this experience. No cops were called, the principal never found out. Eventually, I told my mother, but as far as I know, no one ever had a conversation with Beanie Stein about how he shouldn't threaten little girls with a gun. Maybe he was just another harmless old man ... but it sure didn't feel like it to me!
Friday, October 8, 2010
If She Had Died in Her 80's - Chapter 4
There is no other word that can more accurately describe the feelings I had. Why should others receive from my mother what I so strongly desired, yet was denied? I could hear it in the lilt of her voice; I could see it in the softening of her face. And I first noticed it in relation to my sisters-in-law. She seemed to genuinely like them. She said nice things about them and to them. She enjoyed visiting with them. As much as I myself liked these new women in the family, it hurt that they were so quickly able to have an affectionate relationship that was beyond my grasp. I saw the hugs, I heard the words, “I love you, too”. And I was intensely jealous.
Later, it was the children of my brothers. I would hear about how cute they are and how smart they are. I would hear about the nice cards they sent on her birthday and for Mother’s Day and how pleased she was with them. She would brag about their accomplishments and their activities and their dreams. Yes, that, too, made me jealous. I never saw any of that spirit exhibited towards my children, even though they, too, were cute, they were smart, they sent cards, and they had accomplishments and dreams.
Often over the years I would agonize on how to break the silence, the sterility of our relationship. Always the obedient and dutiful daughter, inside I longed for a relationship of love and tenderness, affection and pride. I would see the easy, fun and loving relationship some of my friends had with their mothers and feel … jealous.
If she had died in her 80’s – there is a lesson I would never have learned. I’m glad she didn’t die in her 80’s.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
If She Had Died in Her 80's - Chapter 3
I was only nine when Evie got married. It was so exciting. Evie even bought me a coloring book about a couple who became engaged. Every page to color was about the steps they took preparing for the wedding. I colored each page and dreamed. Finally, the big day arrived. I don't remember a lot about the wedding itself, but I vividly remember the reception line. Standing off to the side, I watched as my mother came through, gave Evie a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. I'm sure my eyes widened in wonder as I witnessed this demonstration of affection. From that moment on, I held it close to my heart - on my wedding day, I would receive a hug and kiss from my mother.
Ten years later, I was the bride. The ceremony went off beautifully and we were introduced as "Mr. and Mrs.". Walking down the aisle, I felt both anticipation and trepidation for the moment I had been awaiting for ten years. There were hugs, kisses and well-wishes from the bridesmaids and groomsmen. Then came my parents. A hug from my father, a perfunctory handshake from my mother. And a sense of something lost forever.
If she had died in her 80's - there is a lesson I would never have learned. I'm glad she didn't die in her 80's.