1/8/27 – 5/18/08
The drive from Austin to Kansas City leaves the mind
enough time for wandering. As I passed through the
Arbuckle mountains of Oklahoma, my thoughts drifted far
back to my childhood, as I attempted to recall the memories
of a time which still remains most unfamiliar to me.
Charlotte graduated from Westport High School at age 16 and
the University of Michigan at 20. Julian, a dashing young
World War II aviator, wooed her in a whirlwind and rather
cinematic style romance. They married in 1947. But,
coming of age during a time when women were still
expected to remain home raising the children, proved the
most implausible box for Charlotte to fit in.
My mom was bestowed with the gift of intellect and starlet beauty,
yet her life was to be ill-fated by a constant stream of emotional
and mental instability.
For better or worse, we are all but a sum of the parts of which we
hail from. It’s how we use the jigsaw puzzle we’re dealt that most
assuredly defines our lives.
When I was a child, we planted a gathering of daffodils around our
young birch tree. As winter’s snow fell, I would wait with quiet
anticipation of what the coming spring would bring.
Inevitably, the months marched forward pulling the sun northward
to work its magic. In time, my youthful anxiousness was aptly
rewarded with a splendid sight of tiny buds struggling to reach out
and breathe in the sky.
Finally, a yellow cloak emerged from its winter hibernation, overtaking
the grassy slope beneath my bedroom window, awakening my
small world with beauty and hope.
As I now recall the distant past, I sense a reassuring voice
echoing in my thoughts…
Man’s imagination, his vision in dreams,
are like quiet flowers growing strong in the spring.
Though death laid quiet a soul, it did not bury a memory.