On, In, and Around Mondays: When the Compass Tilts
"It's a beautiful place," I told my girls. "Antiques, flowers, classical music. A painted chess board in the sitting room."
They were intrigued.
"The tea is delicious. And the breakfast is simple but elegant."
They were ready to go.
"Because I made the reservations late, they actually threw in a room just for you girls. You'll have your own."
It would be our follow-up vacation to last week's few days in New York City. This time we'd go back to Manhattan, but to a quieter place. A place I love and wanted to share with my girls.
"She's going in for a bypass."
I got the call. We turned our car north, instead of hopping on a train south.
"We'll go to the hotel with the fun breakfast," I told the girls. (Holiday Inn Express!) "It has a pool, remember? We'll be together. You'll see your cousins."
(Bypass, six-way. It was a silent heart attack. She's a good candidate for surgery.)
I canceled the antiques, the tea, the chess table. I embraced the visits, the drive, the thought of being, perhaps, a comfort to my mother.
The girls got an unexpected invitation to my Aunt's house. "You'll love it," I told them. "It's, I don't know how to describe it. It's whimsical. It's eclectic. It's like your own personal art museum."
My Aunt taught the girls a glass-painting and transfer technique. They had cream-cheese and jelly sandwiches together. They explored the gardens and played with the collie dog.
I spent days with my mother. More than I have in years. We began in silence, as she slept and recovered. But soon she regained her color, her voice. We spoke of her growing-up times. How had I missed that she grew up on a farm? We talked about how they ate duck eggs and walked the orchards in spring. "There's nothing like the smell of all those blossoms," she told me.
I felt I'd been propelled back in time. And somehow, forward.
The days passed. We turned our car back to the south. The girls, for the first time in a long time, sang together. A round.
Artwork and Home shots taken at the house of Gail Nadeau, by L.L. Barkat.
On, In and Around Mondays (which partly means you can post any day and still add a link) is an invitation to write from where you are. Tell us what is on, in, around (over, under, near, by...) you. Feel free to write any which way... compose a tight poem or just ramble for a few paragraphs. But we should feel a sense of place. Would you like to try? Write something 'in place' and add your link below.
If you could kindly link back here when you post, it will create a central meeting place. :)
This post is also shared with Laura Boggess, for...