memories of Martin

Person: scientist
Object: A glass
Place: kitchen
Theme: yearning
Memory of goldfish


Martin sat at his kitchen table reviewing his notes for an article he was working on for Scientific American. He sipped from a glass of juice as he read. Occasionally he made notations in the margin of the paper for revisions. This would send the scientific world upside down. He had found the secret they had all hunted for generations. Yes, what they had all yearned for, youth. With this information they would never have to reach old age.
He sighed. If only they would take him seriously.

He set down the papers and walked into his living room. He sure loved this house. It was just the right size for him and his experiments and hobbies. His rock collection was all displayed in there cases in one room. He had been working on his rock collecting since he had been a child. Martin recalled all the trips he had gone on just to locate a special rock. They had been fun trips for him and his wife Margie. He missed her so much. She had been his life.

Martin walked into his fish room and began feeding the fish. He had five tanks of them now. How Margie had loved the colors of the brights. She had always wanted more fish and read extensively about them. Now he only could maintain them.

The first time he had ever seen a goldfish Margie had been with him. Ah for youth! They had been on a field trip in third grade. She had been there all his life and now she was gone. A tear slid down his cheek. How he wished he could have her back. Martin sighed as he sprinkled the food for the last tank.

Too late! It was all too late, he thought as he slowly made his way back into the kitchen. He stood looking at he table with the article on it. Why should he send it now? it was too late. Margie was dead. He didn't want to live without her. Martin walked over to the table.
Why should the world live when Margie didn't? He grabbed the papers and tore them to shreads. Yes, why should they live when he felt so dead?

Martin sat down in his chair and sobbed.

Then and now...Memories

On Tuesday my husband Paul and I took a trip to Oregon to visit my parents.
My sister Mary and my son Tim were to meet us there. It was to be a joyous
occasion.

AS we drove up the valley road to my parents, I remembered the way it used to be. Where the housing is now there used to be pastures and cattle. These fields were full of adventures where we played for hours, heading home as evening lengthened, or my Moms' whistle called us in. She could whistle too, it would echo off the mountains and up the valley telling us it was dinnertime.

Sometimes we would be wandering in the woods back of the house. We would hunt up huckleberries, blackberries, thimble berries, salmon berries, sour grass and licorice root. Deer and Elk would graze in the fields. Salmon would make there way up the streams. All these activities we watched with wonder.

When we go got to my parents home I noticed more changes. My parents were very different from the days of my childhood. My mother was always the stongest woman I had ever met or probably will meet, unless it is my sister. She is much like my mother was at her age. Strong and opinionated.

My Mother now is a frail looking woman, much shorter than I remember, growing up. Pale and weak with breathlessness from lung disease, too many cigarettes and wood smoke. She is still a fighter, fighting for life now.
My Dad is bent and unsteady on his feet using a staff to walk slowly from one room to another with occasional trips out into the yard. My Father was a hard worker, often working 16 hour days to raise 8 children. Now he helps my mom with the dishes and it is hard for him.

Mary is my youngest sister and the closest to me in age. I listen to her coughing as she lights up her cigarettes and know I heard the cough before, but from our Mother. It pains me to know the future for her is going to be wrought with pain and an oxygen tank in tow.

I cry today for what was. I cry for what will be.

Books

Books are wonderful.
When I was 11, I had my tonsels out and while recovering in bed, my sister gave me a book to read so I could pass the time. Well, I was a very poor reader, having never read a book before because I thought I couldn't. My darling sister spent a lot of time telling me what words were and teaching me how to sound out words. Before the summer was over I had read Five Little Peppers and How They Grew 3 times. I was delighted when I was able to go to school in September and visit the library. There I found the rest of the books by Margaret Sidney. I was enormously happy, until I found I had read them all. What was I to do? I asked the librarian for more books like those and she introduced me to the biography of Florence Nightingale. Before the year was out, I had read about Robert E. Lee, made my way through Little Women, An Old fashioned Girl, Jo's Boys, and all the rest of the Louisa May Alcott books in the library.

I do not remember the names of all the books I read but I know I lost my heart that year.

Did I say I love books?

Words From The Hollow

As I have made my way from my small corner of the earth where I was raised, I find I crave the safety and comfort of home. This longing has lead to my naming my place here to correspond to my upbringing.

I was raised in a very quiet valley in Oregon. As a child we had the full range of this valley and wandered at will. Our neighbors never complained, and as long as their things and animals were not touched, we were allowed to do so.

A lot of my writing will reflect my upbringing in the wilds of home.