by Dennis Browne
Funny how a few words
A few objects
Can bring back the past
Memories come into view
As if I can touch them
Throw them up and catch them
In my hands
Some of these memories
The special ones
Have been with me for decades
I have new ones
But a shoebox full of 'em
Are labelled as … the good ones
And when I pull that box down
Open the lid
And peek in I feel close to certain people
Special ones
Such occurred when I read
My weekly writing challenge
From my writing group
The prompt?
Write 2 pages on 3 words
The words instantly landed deep in my soul
"Bird's Nest"
"Green Cup"
… yep it said "Blue", but for me it is Green,
the jade shade of Green
… and then "Wheel Chair"
These three objects, seemingly unrelated
Can be found in my box
My Memory Box
When I pull those memories out
I feel closer to these three
Mom
Grandpa Bader
… and my younger brother, Paul
All having passed much to early decades ago
Mom had this curiosity, this joy
Unique and like no other persons
She explored the nooks and crannies off life
Where ever we went
She was always looking closely
Two layers down in life
For that special beach shell
Odd looking lichen on a tree
The beautiful butterfly stretching its wings
She would bring them home
Always bring them home
Place them on a shelf
For us to examine closer
At a later time
Or she'd bring them to her class
At the local elementary school
My favorites of hers?
The tiny starfish she had found on the Olympic Peninsula in 1968
She still has it.
I now have it.
Tops on my list though
A bird's nest
Dad and my brothers had taken on a project
Dismantling
No, tearing down !!
An old barn down off of Palouse River Road
Way across the wheat field from our place.
Mom helped out
Well really not
She made sure we had sandwiches
and cold drinks
To keep us cool in the summer heat
Mostly she explored though
Finding old nails
Old farm parts from decades back
And her amazing nest
She found in a rafter
About to be demolished
By us boys
She spotted a 4 inch wide
Pile of horse hair
All in a clockwise circular formation
Creating a nest
Eggs shells in there too
Thousands of horse hairs
A blending, swirl of colors
Of the various Appaloosa's at the farm
Identical to the landscape of the Palouse
A wonderful site to this day
Mom kept that nest
I keep that nest
When I pull it out
I am close to her
Coffee in the morning
Hot Cup of Joe
Sign that a new day is beginning
Waking up
Saying hi too the world
Coffee in the morning
Usually spent alone
In the quiet
I like it that way
For me
In the back meadow
Watching the sun rise
My special cup
A cream color
Classic Coffee Mug
I post many photos
Of this mug
This Morning Coffee time
I did not always like coffee
Only when, as a college student, I started working graveyard with my brother Paul,
at the nursing home
Did Coffee and me first meet
But my Grandpa Bader introduced me to
The meaning of Coffee in the Morning
When I would visit him as a little kid
Him in Los Angeles
Me in Idaho
I always thought he never slept
Because when I would get up in the morning
Sometimes early
He would be in the living room
Always
In his pajamas
Me and my brothers would call them Grandpa Jamas
The kind that Santa Clause would wear
Red flannel
And a white tee shirt
Showing his Navy muscles
In his 60+ year-old body
He would be sitting on the floor
By the heater
Knee up to his chin
Newspaper spread open on the floor
Next to the paper
His green coffee mug
Full of dark, steaming java
Smelled good
Me and my brothers would crowd around him.
Sitting as he did
Each with a green coffee mug
Full of milk or hot Ovaltine
Quiet , like Grandpa Bader
Watching him read his news paper
When he was finished, we were finished.
Until that time
We were close to him
His newspaper, pajamas,
And Green Coffee Mug
I have seen a lot of wheel chairs lately
My 90 year old father in law
Donald Lence Veith
Battling Parkinson's
Is recovering from a broken hip
In a convalescent center on Mercer Island
Wheels Chairs abound
When I first entered the building to see him
One of those objects
From my memory box
Came out … so to speak
Wheel Chairs
I had mentioned earlier, my first sip of coffee
Was at a nursing home
Well that place is where I became very aware of wheelchairs
My first week at the nursing home I worked the graveyard shift
Saw nobody awake
Except for the last 30 minutes of my shift
At 6:30 in the morn
But later my brother and I moved to the day shift
A great time, that job was
Not only working with my younger brother, Paul
But spending time with these folks
Of my grandfather's age
Even though he had passed
I saw my grandfather in their eyes
My grandmother in their eyes
All of them in wheel chairs
They would put around
Like tug boats
Slowly but surely
Up and down the hallway
Talking to friends
Talking to themselves.
Two people stood out
Art and Olive
Paul had worked at the nursing home when I came to work
He had started some 6 months earlier
So he knew Olive and Art
Paul introduced me to Art.
Actually Art thought I was Paul
And Paul came over to straighten out the confusion
Art was full of laughter, with his hoarse voice
From years of cigarette smoking
Paul and me became Art's buddy
He being one of only 3 men of 50 some people in the place
He was a logger
Back in Potlatch
Back in the day
When horses were used
No engines
He had logger stories
And loved to tell them
We would go on walks
Him in his wheelchair
His peg leg going clap-clap-clap
On the floor
As his other leg propelled him along
Very prideful he would take no assistance
Olive was the dearest lady in the world
Just like my Grandmother Bader
She was mostly blind'
Her hands withered up
From arthritis
You could not tell from her smile
And her excitement for the day ahead
She would, like Art, move that wheelchair like she had an appointment to keep
Which she did.
She always followed Paul and I
Where ever we went
On breaks , Olive and I would sit in the living area
I would ask, and she would tell, of her wagon train stories
From the Midwest
To Southern Idaho
Being around Art
And Olive
Opened my mind to a whole new world
Of years gone by
But more importantly
Of perseverance
Slowly in that wheel chair
They always went forward
Welcoming each day
As I was close to them
A special treat, Paul and I would have
Not sure if it was for us
Or for Art and Olive
Was when Paul would be pushing Art
And I pushing Olive
Paul and I would pick up the pace
Until we were speeding
Down the hallways
Drag racing, Art called it
His rough voice howling
Olive laughing so hard
In her 95 year old voice
Life stopped for a short moment
Taking in a good wheelchair race
Me close to my brother
Me close to these special people
In Art and Olive
The wheelchair now goes back into my memory box
Along with the green cup
And horse hair birds nest
My Memory Box goes
back on the shelf
To be pulled down
Another day
When I want to be close to those special to me
