My nephew was on his way over. I hung up the phone as I sauntered from the kitchen to the living room. Walking had become an issue of late but then at 96 years of age, I guess it’s to be expected. I put the phone on the charger and shuffled, really, to the coat closet for my sweater; summer was just around the corner which made me happy. I was done with the cold. Sweater on, purse in hand, I was at the door when Rob arrived & he held my arm gently as we made our way to his car. It was a comfortable car, low to the ground and easy to get in & out. Much better than that big truck Shannon, my niece, Rob’s sister, drove. One time it took for everyone to realize I wouldn’t be riding in said truck! So Rob was elected as my driver. We were on our way to where I was moving. Not an old school old people home but a beautiful young hip community with lots of promise. I’d taken the tour, met some folk and was sold. Truth be told, however, I was also part of the protest. “Rose Mountain Protest Explodes In New Neighborhood,” read the headline in this morning’s CompuNews. Explodes must be an euphemism for “people move into new community” because that’s about all that had exploded: the population. Well, that and the controversy of the place. And controversial things were! You see back in ‘my day’ as old folk often say, well, back in My Day, Rose Onyx was quarried from one mine in Colorado and used exclusively in the Denver Capitol building. And now, with JD Franklin’s new find, which was another quarry of Rose Onyx, the world stood up & took notice. From greedy cons to what seemed like many different groups protesting, everyone wanted something from his find and he said, “No.” He was a bit greedy and quite the showman, who built his own town using the Rose Onyx like old builders used granite. Apparently the mine was quite a find with at least a few years’ worth of mining left. There was one particular contingency that wanted regulations and nationalization of the mine so that once again the precious rock wouldn’t be quarried away never to be seen again. But here we were, with another mine, lucky us, the World, and not just JD Franklin, who had bought the land, mined it, and discovered the coveted Rose Onyx. No, they believed it belonged to the world.
My protest, moving into Rose Onyx Village, really was only that I loved the place… We pulled into my soon to be new community, drove past the post office, library, shops; all buildings showcasing the Rose Onyx throughout the community. It was exquisite! Brass, glass, and stone. It seemed as if everything was made of this Rose Onyx. We turned off Main Street and drove towards my complex; a one story Rose Onyx fronted cabin in a series of cabins. Smaller than my current home but not so small that I’d be uncomfortable. And I was surrounded by beauty.
She was so happy Three in the house 2 dogs and 6 cats But definitely no mouse.
Smile on our faces As we surveyed our home All moving in happy But who could’ve known.
They moved in before me Got settled in rooms Cats feet were buttered But still they could zoom.
On the day I moved in There was fear in the air K stood in the middle With such a mean stare.
Her anger her wrath Came at us with rage Who the hell was she now What the hell is as her age?
I followed her back Put out my arm With words of console She slapped away at my charm.
Next morning the same Nasty and cold Long story short Her continued actions got old.
Tried not to worry Tried not to engage But I called her a skank (Sent her into a rage.)
It took her a year But she found a new house Took her 2 cats (Wishing her a big mouse!)
After a year in her room Darkness and stank She moved out her furniture No more of the skank.
The twist to the story To make you all laugh I had moved out before her Had enough of her wrath.
If death were a game You’d be the winner
Taking every moment That you have To research death This winter.
From helium to fentanyl Gun shots to rope Only George heard your words All lacking of hope.
If death were a game You’d be the winner For lying down upon the snow And dying this winter.
Everything was gone; even more so than the last time we came here. The 40-foot incense cedar had been taken down; dead from the fire. Oak trees, though hardy through fire, all dead from the hottest fire raging about them. Gone was the ancient apple orchard. Plum trees stood, charred, dead. Last time here, I had retrieved a wind chine from one of them, not burned, still green, now hanging at my new place. The landscape was barren and I noticed the newly planted fruit trees a couple of years ago were now blackened, surrounded by their anti-deer cages. I had picked up all that I had found on the trip here before; right after the fire ripped through the our neighborhood, and off through town, burning almost a million acres of land. Some of the stuff I left, was ok to leave. One piece, was difficult. Most was just metal yard art; some were now melted glass, crumbling rose quartz. But today, getting out of the car and looking over the totally cleared land, dozed and graded, with new dirt, I saw it. I couldn’t believe my eyes! Right there, plain sight and not there when I was here before. Someone had found it and left it for me, placed it specially in that spot. Right there, in front of where the carport was, at the end of the driveway that was more of a memory than existing, right there it was…the metallic Celtic cross, undamaged, cleaned, and placed there; in protection of the land? Or for me and my protection. For whatever reasons, I didn’t decide, but picked the cross up; the cross that had hung on our carport, protecting, witnessing, and lasting in our lives. It’s now wrapped and waiting to be hung on my home; not where I am now, but where I’ll be when this is all over. Until then, I continue to be blessed, protected, and witness to these miracles. Miracles from the fire.
I could hear the rushing, bubbling creek as it passed through the willows on down to the waterfalls & beyond to the river, not far from where they stood. I could smell the fruit blossoms from the old apple orchard not far away. Behind them, a still snow covered mountain towering over the meadow where they now embraced. I closed my eyes remembering you, my dear departed, and closed the book I was reading…one of my favorite authors, who always took me beyond these horrors of grief and into the arms of my lost love…
I have to admit, it’s hard looking at her.
She has such a beautiful smile…the kind that shows her beautiful heart, lights up a room and makes each one want to smile as big as she does, bringing light into the room & into everyone. I met her in writing class. We had a lot in common & spent a couple of years writing together in this class. I guess during those years, I no longer saw what was looking back at me. But I hadn’t seen her in years, when I ran into her at the restaurant. There was her smile; here was the laughter, the reminiscence of years past & the encouragement for our futures…and of course, there it was… Beautiful blue eyes, shining…one looking at me…one looking elsewhere with no direction nor control. I have to admit, it’s hard looking at her…until i realized, I’m not looking at her face, her eyes, her body…I’m looking at her heart and that’s why it really isn’t that hard to look at her…
