Limbo

It is hard living in limbo.  Half of me stays up there in my new house.  The other half lives down here in town, ten miles to the west.  Half of me forgets that I have left half of my stuff up there on the hill.  The other half has a hard time remembering just what I have packed up to move and what still remains in the back of the closet.

One foot in the country.  One foot in town.  The car and the truck run the road from dawn to dark.  Many of my new neighbors can testify to that.  They see us headed out in the morning.  Then they see me heading back fifteen or twenty minutes later to get something I have forgotten.  "Will it ever be so?", I wonder ruefully.

Walking back to my home in town this morning with two bags of groceries in my hands, I happened to think, "Wonder if I'll miss living just a half block from the store  when I live out in the country?"  That almost made me stop in my tracks and laugh and laugh and laugh.  Miss it?  You better believe it!  I will probably end up coming into town several times a week, hopefully not every day, for something I need.  I have lived in town  going on thirty-six years.  I am spoiled rotten.

But in time I will learn how to stock up and make do.  After all, when I was the mother of a six-month old, I moved to a house that was at least fourteen miles from the nearest town.  We had a country store that was three miles away where we could get milk and  bread if we ran out.  But we very rarely had to do that.

Yes, I am in limbo now.  But soon I will be all together in one place.  Hopefully, my car and truck will stay parked up there.  Not running the roads. Just at home.  Not in limbo anymore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

Home

We said good-bye to him the other day.  The services were in his home church.  As I waited, sitting  there, looking out the window at the rows of graves, my mind saw a different picture.  I have visited his birthplace many times.  It is one of my favorite haunts when I hike in the Refuge.  A tall chimney with an open fire place beneath stands guarding the few remaining logs that were the walls of his first home.  There is something intriguing about visiting an old house site.  You can feel the memories crowding around you.  The road that curves around in front of the house seems to echo with sounds of wagon wheels and horses and eager footsteps as the family returned home at the end of the day.

Was there snow on the ground that Christmas Day when he was born?  Did he open his baby eyes and see the fire burning bright in the fireplace?  Did his brothers and sisters get to hold him and welcome him to their already large family?  I am always amazed at how our small Ozark cabins seem to have sheltered and fed and nurtured so many at one time.

His wife left us a few months ago.  It was in the fall.  But still he was able to continue to live in their home, just down the mountain from where he was born. 

And now, here we were, ready to say good-bye again.  It seems only fitting that he lies now near where it all began over 95 years ago.  What a long and fruitful life he led.

I wonder too, how it would be to live my life within a few miles of where I was born.  Even though we yearn to travel and see new places, the siren song of home is strong.  We all want to come home.  And that is where he is. 

Welcome home.

Company

I always loved it when we had company.  Especially if it was my cousins.  And extra special if it was family from far away that I didn't get to see very often.  I can remember hurrying home from church on Sunday mornings.  I would hold my breath as I got closer to my house.  Closing my eyes, I would wish and wish.  Oh, please, please let there be company, a familiar car pulled up in front, with people spilling out, laughing and hugging and talking all at once.

Sometimes my wish came true.

This picture was taken when I was six.  How do I know that?  Because my cousin Danny Stimpert is sitting in my brand-new doll buggy.  And I was gifted with that buggy on my sixth birthday.

There in the very back, standing tall and very pretty in her summer dress, is my cousin Shirley, Danny's oldest sister.  Next to her, with the beautiful long braids and sweet smile is my cousin Ann Willibrand all the way from Norman, Oklahoma.  She is closest in age to Shirley of all the cousins.

Her little sister Mary is sitting on the sidewalk, there to the left of the picture.  Look at her long braids.  I can't imagine how long it took them to  braid their hair in the morning.  I am next to Mary.  And the king of the day must be little Danny.  And,oh my gosh, he has my doll on his lap!  How I ever allowed that I will never know.  Danny was so young then and I'm sure the aunts and my mom said, "Oh Janey, just let him sit there for the picture."  And of course I did.  Next to Danny is my cousin from ElPaso, Illinois, Kaylene Bowman.  And my brother Paul is there in the back.

Pictures were taken in our family on very special occasions.  We didn't have many of those, but when company came, the trusty Kodak box camera came out and we had to stop playing and smile for everyone.

I had such wonderful cousins.  We all got along well and never fought.  And that is the truth.  Our visits were too far apart and we knew we might not get to see each other for months.  Many of my relatives lived a good hour or two away, over narrow Illinois roads and we couldn't just hop in the car and go and see them.

I got to spend time in ElPaso with Kay and her little sisters and my aunt and uncle.  Grandma Stimpert lived there with them and she always took that opportunity to teach Kay and me the finer points of housekeeping and peeling potatoes and washing dishes.  I don't think she trusted her daughters to teach us what we might need to know when we grew up and had a home of our own. 

  I am thinking about cousins and Illinois now because, in a few weeks,  I am going back to my hometown  to visit.  Andy and I will walk  down the familiar streets.  Some things will be the same.  Some will be different.  But when I stop in front of 711 North Center Avenue, I will close my eyes and see my lovely and loving cousins and remember how much fun it was when they came to call.  

July

July lies heavy on my hill.  Cooler nights and warm days have followed a period of humidity and heat.  And now the see-saw of the season is tilting back toward steamy and scalding again. 

I don't mind.  Just the pleasure of sitting here in the shade of my porch gives me such a feeling of peace and well-being.  Working out in the bright sun and then coming in to rest with a cool drink and a nibble of something sweet is enough to revive my sagging spirits.

How could I not love this place of mine?  Shadows fall across the far hills, throwing the valley into deep, dark emerald green.  Then the clouds pass by and suddenly bright light spotlights a single tree, where leaves move in unison with the sighing wind.

Precious time alone with my thoughts.  Far away my mind wanders and I can almost see what lies ahead.  But I do not want to go there.

I am content to sit here with half-closed eyes, savoring the sights and smells of July.  Deepening summer has come to my home.  And it is time to dream.