Bittersweet Saga

      Secrets hide, buried in ancestry archives. Stories from the ages whisper in discovery, tales pieced together like a quilt. Hushed conversations and reminiscences hint at something more. So many women.  Too few men.

     Male heirs must survive to pass prosperity through the ages. Tug-o-war bows to male authority. Strong women are no match for aged tradition.

      Genealogists search family Bibles and attic boxes, taking lunch inside research libraries and beside grave markers. Careful toward accuracy rather than fancy, the storyteller’s pen writes the bittersweet saga. 

Cookie Crumbs

“You are an adult. You cannot have both cookies.”

Life’s dichotomy struggles within paired give and take parentheses.

We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under Thy table, O Lord…”

Fern Michaels’ doormat heroine lived cookieless until she found truth’s broom and her husband's propensity for the entire cookie jar.

A wife offers both cookies, until she awakens to only crumbs in her bed.

White Linen Morning

“Good Morning,” chirps a bird on the wing. The song beacons lazy bones to emerge from her rabbit hole. Pull back the covers and greet the day, for it holds beauty’s daily feast. Stately pines and sturdy oaks shelter lush, fragrant honeysuckle banks that send waves of Estee’ Lauder’s White Linen to sweeten the morning. “Come and enjoy,” they call. Clouds drift, intermittently revealing the sun’s glow. Flirting with rain, sunshine wins the moment as my world springs to life.

What's It All About, Aubrey?

Little Aubrey has been begging to come to her Pawpaw’s house. Yesterday, her parents (who will be driving her) learned they have a free weekend. So, Aubrey’s coming to Rector to see Pawpaw, and her Nana, as a side note. Her parents will accompany her.

“Thrilled,” is how I put it to her mama.  And, we are.  I’m twirling recipes and entertainment in my constantly whirling brain as I make my morning walk of about 1.5 miles through Woodland Heights Cemetery. “I’ll bake a pound cake for the strawberries.” Oblivious, except to my plans.

I’m caught short.  I stop. Teenagers from RHS scatter the cemetery carrying bundles of American flags and a stake for ease in setting.  Each group carries a plot map. Several adults plus the cemetery director, Betty Essman, are with them. They accomplish this honorable task every year and pick up the flags on the following Tuesday.

Memorial Day weekend.  The holiday honoring those who served and have died  is what the preparation is all about. it's also about reverence.

Woodland Heights Cemetery occupies the northwest corner of town, set on multi-acre plots.  It looks like a park.  A lovely park, prettier than most municipal parks, anywhere.

Add to that a sea of small American flags standing at attention at each grave site where a soldier takes his/her final rest. Flying overhead is the ever-present American flag that waves with pride daily.

Along my route, I met a lovely lady, Becky Mount's mother, who told me about her family and where they lie buried. She has made certain the graves are adorned with memorial flowers for the weekend. We visit, just like old friends.

Such honor, love, and beauty you won’t see often, anywhere. My heart is filled.

I wish my parents were buried here, especially this weekend, so that Daddy could receive the honor, love and attention he deserves as a WWII veteran and soldier in the USMC.

Yes, Little Aubrey will be at her Pawpaw’s house this weekend.  We’ll take her to the park by the Community Center and let her swing and slide.  We’ll eat some Bill’s BBQ and strawberries atop pound cake (with a dollop of Cool Whip) and enjoy each other’s company. 

We’ll also make certain that she waves a flag and learns what this holiday represents.