"Who would I wish to talk with that is no longer in my life?" by Aldwyn

        "Who would I wish to talk with that is no longer in my life?"

     That would be an easy question to answer.  Not a day goes by that I don’t have something new to share with my mother.  Many times since her death I find myself thinking that I must call and tell her of an event or happening of the day.  But, mostly I want to have the chance to ask all those little questions I did not think to inquire about when she was alive. 

        Like many others, my life has been profoundly influenced by my mother.  She taught me of one’s need to take advantage of relationships each and every day; especially those nearest and dearest. 

    

        When I first began teaching I lived at home.  I am sure it was a strain to have a grown son hanging around the house.  On weekends, we would hop into the car and drive to the rural areas where she grew up.  Mom would tell me story after story concerning people and their times as we traveled the gravel roads of the past.  We generally finished the tour at the cemetery in a deserted hamlet where my mother and father began their married life.

         First, we would stand in front of Dad’s grave and remember.  Then we would move to my Grandparents' plot and tell their story again.  From there it was a tour from headstone to headstone as she recalled many of the people in her life.  Unfortunately, fool that I was, I did not write them down.  Oh, what I would give to be able to rectify that mistake. 

        Eventually, it dawned upon me that the remainder of those memories needed to be recorded before they were lost.  I may not recall specifics but could bring to mind the ambience of simpler times.

        It is a bit like a response I have to my favorite song, “All the Things You Are.”  For years I have felt a strange, almost spiritual pull when listening to this tune.  It brought a joy of something just beyond my conscious grasp.  My brother recently talked about Mom playing the same song on the piano when we were very, very young.  I wonder?

  

        I cannot think of Mother without the memory of Dad.  She told so many tales that became part of the fabric of our family life.  She made sure he was there for us in memory and story.  In a strange way, they live again as I look into their picture eyes gazing from the frame in the study. 

        I believe that Fanny Flag had it right when she stated, “It’s all about our lives and the power of storytelling. To tell stories about what we have lost and feel the better for it.” 

And so we do.

 

Blessings to You…

Aldwyn

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"Fire in The Sky" by Elder RiverSoul

Elder RiverSoul's reaction to the 2017 eclipse.  Reposted with his permission on April 4, 2024. 

     On Monday, 21 August 2017, I again witnessed one of the ephemeral fireflies of the cosmos: a total solar eclipse.  At my location, 35 crow miles NW of Beatrice, Nebraska, and less than a mile south of the mid-line of the eclipse totality band, the total eclipse would last two minutes and 30-plus seconds, only a few seconds shy of the longest totality anywhere for this eclipse--enough time for development of the side effects I most wanted to experience:  coolness, darkness, quietness of wild creatures, and the diamond ring. 

     Age was my motivation, suggesting that this trip was for me a “last time” concerning this particular event.  A total solar eclipse does occur somewhere across our Earth’s surface every few years, with the next one, on 2 July 2019, beginning out in the South Pacific and slicing across lower South America.  But for us, the next will not occur until 8 April 2024—across northern Mexico and the southern United States.  (ed. note: RiverSoul, at 92, will once again experience a solar eclipse.)

     I didn’t mind the Sunday afternoon effort involved in searching out a prime spot in a very rural setting:   a small parking lot serving a primitive boat ramp along a cattail-lined lake that was the centerpiece of the Swan Lake Wildlife Management Area.  Important were the relative remoteness and that trees, shrubs, or cattails surrounded the site, making it both prime bird habitat and a good place to overnight in my van/camper.

     By late morning on Monday, my chosen spot had begun to experience change.  By show time, eight other cars had found this parking lot.  The moon began cutting into our star.  A deepening mid-day dusk shadowed the cooling air.  Vocal cords revealed an increasing excitement. Red-winged blackbirds and marsh wrens, usually busy in and around the cattails, were becoming less active.  The number of bank swallows slicing air in pursuit of insects was decreasing.  Soon there were none.  

     When the moon snapped shut that last rim of sun, a sharp drop in visibility occurred; I could not read a license plate 30 feet away. The air became cooler, faster. The sun’s corona glowed full around, and a deep, spiritual quietness settled over both people and land.  Our totality gave us sufficient time to absorb a good dose of humility.  But, aware of dire forecasts associated with the approaching storm “Harvey,” I was conflicted.

     As the spheres moved on--the sun’s corona still in view--a piece of sun rim flashed free from behind the moon’s trailing edge, giving us a beautiful, but ephemeral, celestial diamond ring.  While the two spherical bodies moved apart, the insight arose that none of us had the slightest measure of control over any of what we had just seen.

     Then came the realization that that ring stood for us.  For each of the countless thousands of us who watched the shadow of that ephemeral celestial union racing eastward across our great and troubled land.  For each of us, during our own period of darkness, as we symbolically joined hands and hearts to share a moment of wonderment.

                                                                                                            Elder RiverSoul

RIVERSOUL is a native Kansan and retired emeritus professor of biology.  In addition to research on mammals and reptiles, he has published essays on the dangers of pollution. His scientific and creative nonfiction essays have appeared in scientific journals and literary journals.  He will be 93 years old in May 2024 and continues to publish articles. 

first published on 9/13/17; reposted 4/4/24

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