There we sat, heads bowed over bowls of steaming oatmeal,
While Johnny Ray wailed "Cry" from the Philco in the corner.
A whiff of fragrant nutmeg blended with the balmy scent of liniment
And a pot of lentil soup simmered on the stove.
A typical Sunday morning - the papers all delivered
And a visit with my Gram on the walk home from my route.
She raised a cup of coffee to her cracked and faded lips.
The once strong widow's hands that reared a brood of six amid
The Great Depression. now quivered like tadpoles
Swimming upstream on their journey to adulthood.
“Annie Eaton died this morning,” she said without emotion.
“She was eighty-one on Tuesday."
"I brought her tulips from the garden.”
I whispered my regrets and joined her in a prayer for Annie’s soul.
“I’ll be seventy-four in November,” she suddenly reminded me
In the middle of her prayer, as if the passing of her friend
Lent new meaning to the date. “I know,” I said, and I rose up from
My chair and kissed her dampened cheek. She smiled and looked away.
An early autumn virus morphed into pneumonia, and November never came.
I remembered peaceful mornings and the aromas in her kitchen
As they laid her in the ground. I heard her gentle voice offering me
Encouragement as the tarnished silver spoons scraped the oatmeal from our bowls.
I thought back to all those Sundays filled with laughter and her warmth.
But I was never closer to her than on the day that Annie died.
Edited 7 time(s). Last edit at 02/13/2013 07:48PM by hpesoj.
A stirring vignette, Joseph, nicely done.
Les
Thank you, Les.
wow. Joe I was right there, fabulous writing. Do more!
Thank you, Gwydion. I appreciate your reading and commenting. This has been a work in progress for quite some time, so it is good to know that it did not strike you as being too sentimental or mawkish.
Joe
not sentimental. poignant. we are all in the same boat, as your grandmother knew so well. You know, the thing about 'for whom the bell tolls' I was reminded of that this week when the bus driver would not wait for one of the other crippled, elderly passengers to sit.
What's it they said during the revolution? "We must all hang together or we shall surely hang separately."
We can't do without that sense that we that we are connected in the most profound ways.
Good piece of writing,
Peter
Thank you, Peter. I am glad to see you posting once again. I was concerned that you might be ill since I hadn't seen you post for some time.
As always, I appreciate your comments and observations.
Joe
Nice pic, but I don't get it...must be getting old.
Early Sunday Morning is a 1930 painting by Edward Hopper that portrays the small businesses and shops of Seventh Avenue in New York City shortly after sunrise.
Nice - It did actually remind me of Central Avenue in Jersey City where I had my paper route. I use to enjoy the quiet of those early mornings as I delivered the Hudson Dispatch door-to-door.....at least when it wasn't raining or snowing, anyway. Thanks for the picture.
Joe
This picture was on every NY phone book in 1970 or so
And yet, they went ahead and broke up the Bell System. You just don't get phone books like that anymore.
Very touching Joseph. I particularly like this:
"...as if the passing of her friend
Lent new meaning to the date...."
Rainysunshine:
Thanks for reading and taking the time to comment.
Joe
I just found out that rainysunshine is the new handle for KQ. Welcome back, Khalida!
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 03/17/2013 07:33PM by hpesoj.
Bump...Happy Mother's Day, Gram, wherever you are.
Joey