Memories

Staying in Focus: Memories of Christmas Past

Christmas memories are some of our most treasured memories because they are reminders of our past, shared experiences of childhood and of family. They speak of a time  when wonder and excitement filled our lives, and we believed anything was possible.

No that I’m older, many of my Christmas memories include loved ones I have lost – my grandparents, my dad, my brother, John, and friends I’ve lost touch with. Within my Christmas memories, however, they walk with me again. I can recall, as if it were yesterday, going to buy our tree on the coldest night of the year. How my dad figured this out remains a mystery, but I can still feel the bite of the cold, our cheeks and noses cherry red, our joy when we knew we had found the perfect tree. The next step was to hang the outside lights on the next coldest night of the year! I remember helping my father string the lights on the bushes in front of our house, the snow coming down and the wind whipping it into drifts. Most of my childhood Christmases were white.

Right before Christmas each year, usually on a Sunday, we would drive up to check on our summer cabin at Lake Wallkill in Sussex County, NJ. We would stop to do a little Christmas shopping in a large department store there. We’d make our purchases as snow began to fall, and once home, rush to hide them from view. I have a clear memory of buying a set of colored pencils there. They were made of clear plastic which made it easy to see what color they were. and by twisting the top of the pencil, the color moved down to keep a point ready to color. Funny, the things you remember.

I recall the smell of the roasting turkey, the tartness of cranberry sauce and the incomparable tasty delight of one of my grandma’s pies. My grandmother had 9 children and she and my aunt lived next door to us, so at Christmas, when her seven sons and their families came to call, they dropped in for a visit with us, too. It took most of the week between Christmas and New Year’s day to visit and be visited by all our relatives and friends.

IMG_0004

The first Christmas I remember was when I was  5, and we traveled to Florida to visit my dad’s uncle. I remember taking a ride in a glass bottom boat in the Everglades. When I was 8, I received a Shirley Temple Treasury.IMG_7847 I still have the book, although I had to make it a new cover for it. When I  was 11, Santa brought me my first camera – a Kodak Brownie. This is the first picture I took with it.

IMG

 

I recall the Christmas  I received a nine transistor radio.  It was bright red, and I could listen to Cousin Brucie on 77 WABC radio from our backyard poolside deck.  What a marvel! My first tape player, also a Christmas gift,was a reel to reel – long before 8 tracks, cassettes and the i Pod. We would tape our favorite TV shows (audio only, of course), then play them over and over.

During high school and college, I was the local TAP/CAP (Teen Action Program/College Action Program) coördinator for the March of Dimes, and each Christmas we would go out caroling and accept donations for the March of Dimes.  What fun we had strolling along under a dark sky spangled with stars, filling the cold night air with song.IMG_0003

Christmas memories grow more precious as the years go by. New traditions eventually replace the old as children grow, friendships fade, families move, and loved ones pass away but those memories of Christmases past stay with us, as clear and crisp as a winter’s day in late December.

Advertisements

Staying in Focus: Daily Prompt: Autumn Blues: A Bittersweet Transition

Daily Prompt:

As a kid, were you happy or anxious about going back to school? Now that you’re older, how has your attitude toward the end of the summer evolved?

A Bittersweet Transition

Photo19

Ah, the end of summer. Always a bittersweet time for me as a child.  Until I was in my teens we spent our summers in a cabin near a lake.  It was the mid  1950s to the  early 1960’s, and those were our halcyon days.

On sunny days we went fishing, swimming and hiking. We took walks in the early evening to the clubhouse to watch movies, play bingo and buy penny candy. On rainy days we would color and draw, or lay on the cots on the porch and read the day away. I read everything from the Five Little Peppers and How They Grew, to the Bobbsey Twins, Nancy Drew, Tom Swift, and the Hardy Boys (the last two compliments of my cousin, Ricky).IMG_3809

We kids, which included me, my sister, Mary Lou, my brother, Steven , and cousins, Ricky and Susan, and our moms stayed at the lake all summer and the dads would come up for their 2 week vacations and every weekend.

Toward the end of August we would make a trip home, to pick up our uniforms, buy our black and white saddle shoes and our school supplies. As much as I loved the easy pace of summer, the warm days, time to just lay in a hammock and rock back and forth, catch fireflies in the evening, and toast marshmallows in the outside fireplace, something inside me would awaken as we walked past aisles full of pencils, erasers, crayons, pencil cases, lunch boxes, and the icon of my school supplies, the black and white composition books. I still have my first three composition books from kindergarten.IMG_3806

To me they epitomize how I felt at the start of a new school year. The  new composition book is fresh and clean, ready and waiting for the school year to begin. On the first day of school, I, too, will be fresh and clean, my black and white saddle shoes shined and my uniform crisp and tidy.  These images spell new beginnings to me, a whole new year of learning and growing, a fresh start, a chance to get off on the right foot and fill that composition book with perfect penmanship.

But not to worry. We would return to the lake for a few precious weeks, which included the celebration of Regatta Days and the Labor Day weekend. Days filled with games, competition and barbeques.  Although at home my uniform hung ready, my books and supplies packed, all I needed was a little more time, time for swimming and fishing and rocking in the hammock, sweet and slow.

Bittersweet, those last precious days of summer, as they marked the end of one thing and heralded the start of another. I miss that transition now, but perhaps I can recapture the feeling with these:

IMG_3808

 

 

(I don’t have a pair of black and white saddle shoes, but guess what? I looked on the internet and they are now designed by Ralph Lauren and sold at Nordstrom’s!) Anyway, back to the black and white composition book. It sits there ready and waiting for me to make that first entry, forge a new beginning, and write….the first lines of a new poem…

September

A month of fresh starts… a new school year… new pencil cases and clean lunch boxes…the smell of chalk …the polished sheen on my new black and white saddle shoes…and the blank pages of a composition book beckoning me to record the endless possibilities that lie ahead with the precise point of a newly sharpened pencil…(more to come)

Staying in Focus: Daily Prompt: Memory on the Menu

Photo39

Daily Prompt:  Which good memories are better – the recent vivid ones or those that time has covered in a sweet haze?

 

I think memories, like fine wine, are better remembered aged and not recently bottled. There is a certain nostalgia to aged memories that brings a poignant element new memories lack. An old memory settles like a warm blanket draped over your shoulders, that warm fuzzy feeling we often yearn for. They whisk us away to  a far off place, at once distant, yet at times seeming like yesterday.

When I look at pictures like these, I am there, growing up in the 1950s and 60s. To paraphrase  a line  from the movie, “While You Were Sleeping,” “I just don’t remember it being that( black and white).”  It does look like the world had discovered color by 1976 , when we got married.

People often groan when someone hauls out the photos of their last cruise, but a conversation beginning with the words “Remember when…” has an entirely different reaction. When we gather together on holidays, we often tell guests the funny stories of our lives, and laughter fills the room.

Our memories define who we were and who we are. The old memories provide a framework and the new experiences, fresh memories, fill in the frame and will  one day be old memories, too. And we will say, “Remember when we took that  cruise…
Photo25
Photo24 Photo23 Photo27 Photo22

Staying in Focus/Daily Prompt: Always Something There to Remind Me

IMGDaily Prompt:  A song comes on the radio and instantly, you’re transported to a different time and place. Which song(s) bring back memories for you and why? Be sure to mention the song, and describe the memory it evokes.

The song that evokes the most emotion for me is the song we chose to dance to at our wedding reception, “Here, There and Everywhere” by the Beatles.  As I mentioned in my last post , neither Bill nor I were comfortable dancing but it was dancing, or rather not dancing, that brought us together. The year before we married, we were both in his sister’s wedding party.  I spent most of the reception hiding from the best man so I would not have to dance. Bill was also disinclined to dance, and so we spent some time getting to know each other in the hallway outside the reception room. We started dating before the newlyweds returned from their honeymoon.

When we arrived at our wedding reception, the band asked us what song we wanted for our first dance as husband and wife.  We didn’t really have a song we called “our song.” We had not really thought about this, having put the dancing part of the festivities to the back of our minds, but Bill suggested “Here, There and Everywhere”. It was appropriate, as he is a big Beatles fan, even if it wasn’t “our song” per se before the wedding reception.

Bill’s dad had given us some quick dance lessons prior to the wedding, and I managed to get through two dances, one with Bill and one with my dad.

IMG_1737

Touring John Lennon’s house , July 2, 2013

This summer we travelled to England and visited the city of Liverpool. We took a Beatles Tour and actually had the opportunity to tour both John Lennon and Paul McCartney’s childhood homes. Of course, the bus driver had Beatle songs playing while we drove about, and “Here, There and Everywhere” was one of them. When it came on, I said, “Hey, they’re playing our song. “

As we drove along listening to the words, the feelings of that special day so long ago came flooding, back – excitement, nerves, anticipation in beginning our life together.  The future was ours, the path ahead open and inviting. All the experiences we would have together, the family we would create, the ups and down’s of life we would face – all ahead of us, all, yet, unwritten.

The words of the song ring true to us now as they did thirty-eight years ago, on September 4 th, 1976:

Here, There and Everywhere

By John Lennon and Paul McCartney

To lead a better life I need my love to be here…

Here, making each day of the year
Changing my life with the wave of her hand
Nobody can deny that there’s something there

1044916_10201236706772461_285093644_n

Bill at Paul McCartney’s house

There, running my hands through her hair
Both of us thinking how good it can be
Someone is speaking but she doesn’t know he’s there

I want her everywhere and if she’s beside me
I know I need never care
But to love her is to need her everywhere
Knowing that love is to share

Each one believing that love never dies
Watching her eyes and hoping I’m always there

I want her everywhere and if she’s beside me
I know I need never care
But to love her is to need her everywhere
Knowing that love is to share

Each one believing that love never dies
Watching her eyes and hoping I’m always there

I will be there and everywhere
Here, there and everywhere

A bi tof trivia about the song:  It was named 4th best song of all time by Mojo in 2000. Paul McCartney has said it is one of his favorites, and John Lennon once commented that he thought it was the best song on the album (Revolver).

Staying in Focus:Daily Prompt: Let’s Dance

Daily Prompt: Let’s Dance:In my earliest memories of dancing, I’m under my auntie Nancy’s dining room table, (which had been pushed off to the side of the room), watching my mom, dad, aunties, and uncles all dancing on the hardwood floor to a never-ending stack of 45 records, dropping one after the other. I remember foot-high stacks of 45s all around the record player. The song that I remember playing most? Twistin’ the Night Away by Sam Cooke. Every time I hear that song, I remember auntie’s spontaneous dance parties. What are your earliest and fondest memories of dance?

Sadly, I have no fond memories of dancing from a personal perspective. I have absolutely no sense of rhythm and my mother’s sincere attempt to help me by enrolling me in dance lessons lasted about one lesson. I suppose my earliest exposure to dance was watching the various animated characters waltz and twirl their way across the movie screen in Disney films.  A little later, I was an avid fan of American Bandstand, enjoying the music and the gyrations of people in tune with it.

I love music in many forms from classical to rock, folk to pop.  I was 7 years old in 1960, 11 when the Beatles made their Ed Sullivan début, a time when music and dance wove their way into the tapestry of our lives.  Everybody wanted to be in a band.  We all had ‘nine transistor’ radios. We all knew the top ten hits and grooved with Cousin Brucie.

However, school dances were fraught with anxiety. I wanted to attend, to hear the music and participate  in high school activities, but the thought of trying to dance in front of others filled me with fear.

I tried dancercise with a friend once. I was going left when they were going right and I never did figure out that grapevine step. I know the instructor was relieved when I failed to return, because I messed up her choreography.

My lack of rhythm with dance and music accompanied my inability to sing, as well.  I attended a Catholic school and every morning before school started, we were required to attend Mass. One day, in fourth grade, I think, we attended Mass in the choir loft with the church choir director playing the organ.  She was on the lookout for new voices for her choir. I employed my usual strategy of just mouthing the words, without sound. She wasn’t fooled, however, and brought me down next to the organ so she could hear me sing.  She asked me if I were an Alto or a Soprano. You tell me, you’re the one with the, organ and sheets of music in front of you, I wanted to say, but I just shrugged my shoulders. She listened to me sing the next song and obviously couldn’t figure out what I was, either, because she promptly returned me to my seat, and never asked me to sing again. I was happy though; relieved I didn’t have to pretend to sing anymore. Instead, the nuns assigned me to leave the choir early and go down to the teacher’s lounge and put on a kettle of water for their morning tea.

It’s just as well I decided early on not to pursue a career in the performing arts.  There’s not a lot of need for a tone-deaf singer/dancer with two left feet and Parkinson’s disease!

I did not despair, however. I can exercise to the “Oldies” with panache, stretch and meditate to new age music as I do my yoga and tai chi practices and pedal my exercise bike to hundreds of songs on my iPod. Music and movement are in my life, just not in the form of dance.

We each have our own special gifts. Some people can dance and sing, some people, like me, enjoy writing and photography.  I am most grateful for my special gifts. Speaking of which, I have finished the manuscript of my book and am getting ready to upload it. (See my Focus on Fiction Blog for the latest updates and a sneak peek at Chapter 2 ). patcoyle76.@wordpress.com

Once I received my Parkinson’s diagnosis, I realized there was no going back for certain things – like dancing, and that there was a time to let go of others like tennis and driving. To every season, there is a purpose and mine now is to enjoy the gifts I’ve been given for as long as I can. Still, one can wish…

Belated Wishes

I wish that I had learned to dance

to glide with grace

my feet in place

I wish that I had learned to dance

(long ago,  I had the chance)

I wish that I could really sing

notes as pure

as birds in spring

to be in tune with everything

(I would have loved to sing)

I wish that I could walk with ease

and go everywhere I please

(and never worry my feet might freeze)

Moving now is a challenge, though

Count your steps

Heel to toe

Moving is a challenge

(though it wasn’t always so)

and when I had the chance

I wish I’d learned to dance.

-pc2009

Staying in Focus:Daily Prompt: Good Time

 Daily Prompt:Imagine that tomorrow, all of your duties and obligations evaporate for the day. You get the day all to yourself, to do anything you please. What types of fun activities would make your day?

IMG_8549 IMG_8563

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/02/21/daily-prompt-good-time/

a path of gold from the sun to me You have to see this place!

IMG_8485 IMG_8578

I awaken just before sunrise, after a good night’s sleep free of the crazy, Technicolor dreams induced by my medications. I get out of bed, quietly tiptoe across the room, and peek out between the drapes. The sun has just cleared the horizon and the beautiful hues of pink and orange sunrise dance across the waters toward my feet. As I take pictures of the beautiful scene, I enjoy total silence – no one would believe thousands of people surround me. As the sunrises, it reveals mountains covered with snow, their lofty peaks shrouded in mists. Small icebergs float by, jewels of aquamarine. Slightly ahead and off to the right, I am treated to the breaching of a humpback whale.

The day that has just begun will be filled with amazing scenery, more whale watching, maybe exploring a coastal town, say Juneau  or Sitka, followed by a delicious dinner, an evening’s entertainment, maybe some trivia in one of lounges. The sun is unwilling to set in this Land of the Midnight Sun and we are reluctant to stop for the day because this is an imaginary day and tomorrow reality returns.

I am reminded of a scene in the movie Groundhog Day, when Bill Murray, trapped in time and made to repeat Groundhog Day again and again recalls a far better day in his past life and says,  “… that was a pretty good day. Why couldn’t I have that day to live over and over…”

I try, on special days like these, to be present, in the moment, but as hard as I try, the day slips away, leaving only memories. I look at the pictures I have taken on such special days, and think to myself, was I really there?  Why didn’t I pay more attention? But I can close my eye and remember all the beautiful places I’ve seen and one of the most beautiful is Alaska. As I hold to the adage, “Think Big!” I could think of nothing bigger or more  beautiful, than spending my imaginary day in Alaska.  The following is  a poem I wrote following my visit to Alaska in 2012.

This one is a sestina.  It has 6 verses and each sentence of each verse must end in one of six words.  I chose; Alaska, glaciers, aquamarine, paradise, mountains, whales.  In each verse these words move around according to a preset form.  It ends with a tercet (3 lines) and in each of those lines are two of the six words. It is a form of poetry that uses repetition.

And Did I Mention the Water is Aquamarine?

a pristine wilderness, wild and untamed,  a place called Alaska

a land of bears and  bald eagles;  graced with icy glaciers

and did I mention the water is aquamarine?

our ship slowly starts passage into the fjord, a slim slice of paradise

we pass the silent sentinels,  the mighty mountains,

a sudden disturbance in the water;  we are in the company of whales

we spy a spout of steam,  a telltale sign, we watch for the whales

in summer, they come to feed on small fish off the coast of Alaska

fresh water runs in rivers from the melting snows of the mountains

slowly they move, ages old, ever changing,  grinding rock and ice, the glaciers

glow on a rare sunny day in July. We are thankful to be here in such a paradise

enchanted,  we watch the sunlight sparkle on waters of aquamarine

this is a color rarely seen – a translucent version of aquamarine

so pretty when it swirls, and suddenly,  there appear two killer whales

azure skies, the brilliant sun, running waters, crystal ice, this is my paradise

and a dream come true – long have I waited to come to Alaska

to see blue ice glowing in the fissures of the glaciers

and marvel at the snow- capped peaks of lofty, rugged  mountains

beaches are fine, but take me to the mountains

especially those that surround waters of aquamarine

crack! the sound echoes, as  ice splits from the glaciers

in the gold of the setting sun, the breach of a whale

I’ll forever remember the unrestrained beauty –Alaska

has all the facets of a true paradise

I walk in the beauty of this wilderness paradise

where wisps of fog conceal the tops of the mountains,

the leaves strung with pearls of morning dew.  Of Alaska,

I’ll always remember that incredible shade of aquamarine

and that sound in the night – the exhaling  breath of a whale

and those blue icebergs sailing by,  spawned by the glaciers

despite their age, there is a fragile beauty in the glaciers,

which is woven in the fabric of this natural paradise

I can hear it calling to me in the singing of the whales

as it  echoes through the canyons of the waiting mountains

and reflects in the waters of aquamarine

it’s a song of the wilderness,  – the song of Alaska

I came in search of whales, and the snow-capped mountains,

which rise in silhouette above the glacier icefields, in a paradise,

a dream taken form in aquamarine – Alaska.

Staying in Focus: Daily Prompt: Memories of Holidays Past

Daily Prompt: What is your very favorite holiday? Recount the specific memory or memories that have made that holiday special to you.

This prompt is quite timely, as  my Christmas card theme this year is “Remember When”. I wrote this poem as the verse on the card:

Remember When

Cherished memories come to mind,

every year at Christmas time

As the year draws to an end,

they invite me to ‘remember when’

Remember when Christmas

was covered with snow,

the flakes would fly

and the cold wind blow?

Remember when we trimmed the tree?

Dad hung the tinsel

as straight as could be

Remember when it didn’t snow,

and we feared Santa wouldn’t show?

Remember when family and friends

dropped by,

for conversation and pumpkin pie?

Remember when we’d go a caroling,

into the frosty night

with hearts full of cheer and spirits bright?

Hold moments like these close in your heart

and when you want to revisit them

sit back and simply ‘remember when’

Christmas is by far my favorite holiday. I love everything about it from the decorations to trimming the tree, finding the perfect gift for someone special, wrapping and hiding presents and baking cookies, and  watching our favorite Christmas movies on TV. We used to attend midnight mass, where candles would fill the church with light, but these days it is too hard to stay up that late, especially after attending my sister’s annual Christmas Eve celebration of food, fun and presents.  So we go to an earlier mass. I love the joyful sound of Christmas carols filling the church, and listening to the children play carols with the bells. Then we drive home through a city aglow with luminaries lining driveways and roads.  At home, mom and I get cozy and I usually buy her a special gift – new pajama, a robe or slippers. This year having been so tough on her, I bought us each a pair of elf slippers, for a little laugh. I will be sure to post some pictures on Christmas Eve. Before bed, Mom and I watch “White Christmas”.

Christmas memories are the best memories. I remember decorating the outside of the house with the snowflakes flying, buying our tree on the coldest  night of the year, making our own decorations, wrapping and hiding presents, teasing each other with hints of what may lie beneath the colorful paper. One of our family traditions was to draw a name and buy a small gift to exchange on Christmas Eve. I don’t know why this memory has stuck in my mind, but I remember my dad giving me  a novel  – a madcap mystery with the Monkees as the main characters, and I see myself sitting by the tree reading my book. An earlier memory is that of receiving a Shirley Temple Treasury – seems most of my favorite memories involve books. I still have that book, 53 Christmases later.

It has long been  a  tradition in our family to exchange handmade gifts. These have ranged, over the years, from Mom’s beautiful cross stitch on pictures, pin cushions, bookmarks, pillows and ornaments, to my nature photography, paintings, poetry and jewelry. My sister has provided many of our treasured decorations –   painted lamps, needlepoint Santa candles,  angels, and  painted bottles, plates, and mugs. My brother is a genius at making things from found objects like driftwood, railroad spikes, odds and ends he turns into art and  treasured memories. My favorite is a carved walking stick. His family, my sister-in law, Elise, and children Sammy and Isaac have added ornaments for our tree. Last year Elise made very clever scarves made from yarn. My niece, Jeanette, also an artist, paints on found objects like a bird’s feather or a seashell. All of these add to the special holiday that is Christmas, because of the thought and time given in their creation.

The promise of Christmas is a message of peace and love, the hope that  one day we will  achieve them, the joy we find  in family and friends, This is what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

Staying in Focus: Daily Prompt: Smell You Later: Grandma’s Lilacs

Daily Prompt: Smell You Later

by michelle w. on August 9, 2013

Humans have very strong scent memory. Tell us about a smell that transports you.

One of the lesser known aspects of Parkinson’s Disease is the loss of smell. I used to have a strong sense of smell, and I don’t know exactly when I actually began to experience a diminishing of this sense, but I do remember one instance that occurred when I was taking morning walks with a friend.  She mentioned that she put gardenia blossoms in a bowl of water and the fragrance filled the house. I tried this and noticed nothing fragrant at all. When I could no longer smell my roses, I knew something was amiss.

However, the greatest blow this loss has dealt me is that I can no longer smell lilacs.  I grew up in the house next door to my grandmother’s. My sister and I loved spending time with her. She baked the best pies in the world, always had time to listen to us, taught us how to sew and quilt, and let us help her turn the handle of the wringer washing machine, which squeezed the clothes through the rollers to press out the water and push out the clothes paper-thin. But best of all, she had a row of dark and light purple lilac bushes in her backyard. My birthday is in May, and every year she would cut me a giant bouquet of the lilacs. The sweet smell of lilacs is one I will always associate with my childhood – of days spent with my wonderful grandmother, of childhood birthday memories, of the anticipation of spring that the blooming lilac bushes represented..

I would give anything to have one more day with my grandmother, one more day to bury my nose in a giant bouquet of lilacs, and breathe in as deeply as I can. Memories are powerful, and fortunately I have wonderful ones of the lilacs to draw on. And if I try really hard, I can visualize my grandmother, and those special birthday lilacs, bury my face in those imagined bouquets and in my mind smell that sweet fragrance once again.

Staying in Focus: Good Times, Good Friends

We had  a wonderful time in Atlanta.  Whenever old friends get together to share new experiences,  memories are made. Despite Atlanta’s best effort to snarl us in its web of  traffic  jams, we managed to tour the Road to Tara Museum, take a bus tour of historic Jonesboro, visit the Atlanta Cyclorama,  attend  a superb Braves game (we won) at Turner Field,  tour the Georgia  Aquarium, master the art of riding the MARTA, learn a card game called Nertz, and visit the Margaret Mitchell house. Not a bad showing for two and  a half days.  Here ‘s the thumbnail photo tour:

IMG_0901 IMG_1042 IMG_1051 IMG_1050 IMG_1053 IMG_0897 IMG_1061 IMG_1040 - Copy IMG_1044 - Copy (2) IMG_0987 - Copy IMG_0977 IMG_0973 - Copy - Copy - Copy IMG_0956 - Copy - Copy IMG_0936 IMG_0909 IMG_0836 IMG_0899 IMG_0995

The important part was that we took the time to get together and share some special memories.  None of us know how much time we have to  spend with  those who have become important to us as we walk this earth.  Family and friends are really the stuff life is made of, everything else pales in comparison to sharing laughter, getting a hug, recognizing a familiar face in a crowd of strangers at the airport. Our family and friends are there to share our ups and downs, support us in time of need, celebrate our moments of joy, and forgive us our transgressions.

This weekend, immersed as we were in Gone  With the Wind, I recall a scene near the end of the book.  Scarlett is running , lost in the mists and fog when she finally realizes it is Rhett she is running to, that it was Rhett all along  who supported her,  loved her , forgave her. But sadly, for Scarlett , the realization came a bit too late.   The tour guide at the Margaret Mitchell house told us that question asked most often of Margaret Mitchell was whether or not Rhett returned to Scarlett.  Her answer was that if you’ve read the book, you knew as much as she did.  However, I believe Margaret imagined them together again.  In the eventual sequel, written by Alexandria Ripley, they do reunite.  Could she  have  written it any other way? No, because the world yearned for them to find their way back to each other. Because  we are all romantics , we all yearn for a happy ending and we know, in our heart of hearts, it is those we love who matter  most.

Daily Prompt: Focus On a Gift in a Child’s Hands

IMG_6717                                                                      

swept by surf upon the sand
now cradled in a child’s hands
there examined thoroughly
then put in place most carefully
into a box of weathered wood
amidst the treasures of childhood