Once upon a time there was a little girl. That would be me. Well, she wasn't that little, maybe ten years old. Her grandfather, who was kind of crazy and a bit mean, was in a nursing home outside of Halstead, Kansas and the little girl's mom (my mom) wanted to go see her father. Well, felt like she HAD to. It had been planned for a few weeks and the mom, Anna, hadn't been to see her own dad for quite a while. The grandpa's name was Henry, and he had been an ornery cuss, according to Anna's husband, Jay (my dad). He could never keep a job when the girl (now the mom), Anna, was a child; came home bruised up after fights, pushed the girls in the family around. Once, when he had lost several jobs, he decided to raise rabbits to sell, and Anna and her sisters had to kill and skin them because that's all they ate for many months (my mother could never bear to even look at rabbits as long as I knew her). When Anna turned 16, she went to work at Kreskies drugstore in Hutch, and her father, Henry, came by every Friday to pick up her check, which he cashed himself and spent. He didn't believe girls should go to high school, and my mom was the only girl out of three sisters who did go. Anna got a job to get out of the house, and was married to my father by the time she was in 12th grade.
So, anyway, back to the other story. Anna had a child, me, and we got in the car, an Oldsmobile Sedan, on that warm, gold, breezy summer day. My grandpa, who used to rub his whiskery face against mine hard until I would cry, was going to be waiting for us.
We got to Halstead around noon. My mom and dad and I walked into the nursing home, which was a single story building out in the smack middle of a million corn fields. We sat on those cold steel backed, vinyl seated chairs while my dad went up to the front desk to check in. Well, my grandpa was gone. He'd gone into town on a bus that morning at 10:00. Wasn't coming back until 3:00. We'd traveled three hours and he'd forgotten about us, or, as my dad figured, knew we were on our way but left anyhow. We were there though, and we were staying.
First, my dad and I wandered around the corn fields. I remember standing inside the field, and listening to the sound of the stalks swaying and brushing against each other. My dad asked me if I heard that sound, and I knew which sound he meant. I said yes and he said, that's the sound of the wind. I got bored out there and we walked back to the building. We sat outside and after a bit, a boy joined us. He was truly just a boy, maybe 25 years old. He lived in that place. He started picking through the ash can, taking cigarette butts out and trying to smoke them. My dad walked over to him and began talking to him to shift his attention. The boy's words came out slow and blurry. He went back inside at one point and my mother answered the question I asked her with my eyes like this; "He was in a tractor accident. He lives here now. That's why he talks funny. His brain was damaged"
He came back out. It was only 1:00. One hour had passed. The boy asked me a question. I could hardly understand him. He knew. He asked again, slower still. "Will you go to the farm with me?" My dad stood near me and heard the boy too. I didn't know what to say. My dad spoke, "No young man, she needs to go home with her mom and dad" The boy looked at me, then me dad. He said "I have something.
I give you a present" He walked off into the yard of the Home. He knelt down and looked at the ground for not more than a minute. He picked something up and came back. He handed me a four leaf clover. Really. I looked down at that clover in my hand. I said thank you. I was kind of sad that I couldn't go to the farm with him, because he had asked and I felt bad that he was in this place filled with old folks and with people like my grandpa. I also remember feeling acutely aware that I wanted to go home with my mom and dad. The boy went back inside. My dad crawled around in that yard for the next hour looking for another four leaf clover, which he never found. My grandpa showed up a little after 3:00 and just laughed, but not the kind of laugh that makes you feel good. I carried that four leaf clover home with me, held in the palm of my hand for five hours. I put it on a piece of lined notebook paper, covered it with plastic wrap, and taped up all four sides. I still have it. I carry it in my wallet. It's pretty battered, and the clover is stuck down in the corner. During those times when I'm sure I've left my wallet at the library or at Target or at some bar, I don't worry about the money. I worry about that piece of notebook paper with the clover sunk down in the corner.
My second story is about a cat and a dog so I must now introduce B. I don't really know how the people in my life feel about being blogged about. I never really mention any of them by name, except Jay, and he doesn't read my blog. And of course, my parents, but they're cool with it. So, I mention B by initial, but I think about him with an exclamation point.
Jay and I are taking care of B's cat, Barney. Barney is named Barney because he was found in a barn. It's not really true that just Jay and I are taking care of Barney (aka Mr Barnes, Barnstormer, Barney Miller, Barnabus Collins, Barnaliscious, Barneyshmarney, etc, etc), B is here quite a bit so we're, in fact, all taking care of Barnes. Well, Stan the dog was here first. He was under the impression that HE was king. But now Barney and Stan share the couch. They share the bed. They eat each other's food and drink each other's water. There was never a hiss or a growl or a nip. They LOVE each other. But when Stan had a bath, courtesy of B, I could see it. Barney was right there, perched on the side of the tub. Looking a tad smug. Dipping his head down occaisionally to lap up a little bath water. And thinking;
WHAAAHAAHA I AM KING NOW!
I'm including the following quote (which I posted on my blog a year ago also) for a couple reasons...
Jay had to pick out a quote for his 5th grade class. I let him peruse my quotes, all 57 pages of them. After looking at quotes for half an hour, this is the quote he chose, with no help from me. It made me proud. Secondly, I should read this quote every day because sometimes I forget to keep doing the things that make me come alive. Instead I find (like everyone, I'm sure) myself doing the things that make money, or are easy, or contain no fear.
F**k that!
"Don't ask yourself what the world needs - ask yourself what makes you
come alive, and then
go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive."
---Harold Whitman
1 comment:
I like how you're still looking over your four leaf clover.
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