I know the Little Murdo Girl and her brother Billy, really love their Mom. Billy took her to the races for Mother’s Day, but really, what could be better than a heartfelt poem from your daughter?
Hi Mom, I called to…Mary is that you?
Yes Mom, I want to…I called Ella today. I had some “news” to tell. To get a word in edgewise, I really had to yell!
Well, Mom how long…Oh, we talked an hour, and it was on my dime. If she wants to talk again, she’ll have to call next time.
So, Mom…I’d tell you what she said, but it was blah, blah, blah. If you really want the truth, I forgot it, ha, ha, ha.
I only have a minute Mo…I went shopping with my coupons. I thought I’d save a ton. They told me they were all expired, no more two for one. Say, last time I saw you, I was constipated. Did I tell you aloe vera juice is very overrated? I use Metamucil now, two teaspoons to a cup. You should try it dear, you really sound bound up.
I have a question Mo…I have a tickle in my throat. I’m sure that I’ll start coughin. It’s been fun catching up. You should call more often.
I’ve been trying to reach you Mom, but it’s been really hard….
Oh never mind, this Mother’s Day, I’ll just send a card.
I heard her hang the phone up. She was in a tizzy.
I knew, if I called back again, the line would still be busy.
She’d be calling sister Ella, so they can talk in rhymes.
I know for sure that every day, they talk at least 3 times.
It was all a little overwhelming. Aunt Marti had come to me in some sort of dream and informed me that at 3:00 o’clock that afternoon, I would be given a letter explaining why she was leaving her house in Pleasant Run to me.
It was only noon. I had 3 hours before the other cousins would arrive for the reading of the will. It seemed a little strange that all of this was happening so quickly. Aunt Marti had only passed away the evening before and there had been no discussion about anything. I was guessing that the attorney arranging the meeting would also be informing us of Aunt Marti’s wishes regarding her funeral.
Since I had plenty of time before everyone arrived, I wanted to do a little more exploring. I decided to start at the top of the house with the attic. I had remembered seeing what looked like a drop-down ladder in the hallway. I pulled the cord and was excited to see a substantial ladder unfold. Halfway up, I reached the cord to the light and continued to the top. What I saw was typical attic decor. a discarded table and chair set lined one wall and some dressmaker paraphernalia was on another.
In one corner, there was an interesting looking chest. I was excited to find it wasn’t locked. Inside, there were several boxes and a long narrow tin box that had a padlock on it. I opened the largest cardboard box and pulled out a man’s army tunic and trousers. It looked to be from the WWI era. Possibly an English uniform.
There was a manila envelope under the uniform with the words, “From Bernard.” scribbled on the outside. Inside, I found several typewritten pages…
On 12/24, 1914, in the dank, muddy trenches on the Western Front of the first world war, a remarkable thing happened.
It came to be called the Christmas truce. And it remains one of the most storied and strangest moments of the Great War—or of any war in history.
British machine gunner Bruce Bairnsfather, later a prominent cartoonist, wrote about it in his memoirs. Like most of his fellow infantrymen of the 1st Battalion of the Royal Warwickshire Regiment, he was spending the holiday eve shivering in the muck, trying to keep warm. He had spent a good part of the past few months fighting the Germans. And now, in a part of Belgium called Bois de Ploegsteert, he was crouched in a trench that stretched just three feet deep by three feet wide, his days and nights marked by an endless cycle of sleeplessness and fear, stale biscuits and cigarettes too wet to light.
“Here I was, in this horrible clay cavity,” Bairnsfather wrote, “…miles and miles from home. Cold, wet through and covered with mud.” There didn’t “seem the slightest chance of leaving—except in an ambulance.”
At about 10 p.m., Bairnsfather noticed a noise. “I listened,” he recalled. “Away across the field, among the dark shadows beyond, I could hear the murmur of voices.” He turned to a fellow soldier in his trench and said, “Do you hear the Boches [Germans] kicking up that racket over there?”
“Yes,” came the reply. “They’ve been at it some time!”
The Germans were singing carols, as it was Christmas Eve. In the darkness, some of the British soldiers began to sing back. “Suddenly,” Bairnsfather recalled, “we heard a confused shouting from the other side. We all stopped to listen. The shout came again.” The voice was from an enemy soldier, speaking in English with a strong German accent. He was saying, “Come over here.”
One of the British sergeants answered: “You come half-way. I come half-way.”
What happened next would, in the years to come, stun the world and make history. Enemy soldiers began to climb nervously out of their trenches, and to meet in the barbed-wire-filled “No Man’s Land” that separated the armies. Normally, the British and Germans communicated across No Man’s Land with streaking bullets, with only occasional gentlemanly allowances to collect the dead. But now, there were handshakes and words of kindness. The soldiers traded songs, tobacco and wine, joining in a spontaneous holiday party in the cold night.
Bairnsfather could not believe his eyes. “Here they were—the actual, practical soldiers of the German army. There was not an atom of hate on either side.”
And it wasn’t confined to that one battlefield. Starting on Christmas Eve, small pockets of French, German, Belgian and British troops held impromptu cease-fires across the Western Front, with reports of some on the Eastern Front as well. Some accounts suggest a few of these unofficial truces remained in effect for days.
By the time winter approached in 1914, and the chill set in, the Western Front stretched hundreds of miles. Countless soldiers were living in misery in the trenches on the fronts, while tens of thousands had already died.
Then Christmas came.
Descriptions of the Christmas Truce appear in numerous diaries and letters of the time. One British soldier, a rifleman named J. Reading, wrote a letter home to his wife describing his holiday experience in 1914: “My company happened to be in the firing line on Christmas eve, and it was my turn…to go into a ruined house and remain there until 6:30 on Christmas morning. During the early part of the morning the Germans started singing and shouting, all in good English. They shouted out: ‘Are you the Rifle Brigade; have you a spare bottle; if so we will come half way and you come the other half.’”
“Later on in the day they came towards us,” Reading described. “And our chaps went out to meet them…I shook hands with some of them, and they gave us cigarettes and cigars. We did not fire that day, and everything was so quiet it seemed like a dream.”
Another British soldier, named John Ferguson, recalled it this way: “Here we were laughing and chatting to men whom only a few hours before we were trying to kill!”
Other diaries and letters describe German soldiers using candles to light Christmas trees around their trenches. One German infantryman described how a British soldier set up a makeshift barbershop, charging Germans a few cigarettes each for a haircut. Other accounts describe vivid scenes of men helping enemy soldiers collect their dead, of which there was plenty.
Just how many soldiers participated in these informal holiday gatherings has been debated; there is no way to know for sure since the ceasefires were small-scale, haphazard and entirely unauthorized. A Time magazine story on the 100 anniversary claimed that as many as 100,000 people took part.
The sound of the doorbell brought me back to the present. I rushed down the ladder and to the front door. When I open it, I saw Tara standing there. She was holding a leash. At the end of the Leash was a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.
“Mr. Bairnsfather wanted to come home for tea.” Tara said.
I had just asked Aunt Marti if there was a reason, other than the 10 year age difference, that she and my mother had not been close.
“We will talk about all of that in good time,” Aunt Marti said. “But right now, I must tell you a few things concerning what will be taking place here this afternoon. My hope is that all of my nieces and nephews will be present at the meeting that Tara has been good enough to arrange. She was given some directions from my attorney. You will all be given a letter from me and you will be reading my will.”
“According to Tara, all of the cousins will be meeting here at 3:00 pm,” I offered.
“Perfect,” Aunt Marti said with a dramatic flash of her eyes. I had seen that same expression many times on my mother’s face. As if reading my mind, Aunt Marti continued. “Your mother was different from the rest of us and sometimes the things she said and did didn’t set well with me. As the eldest of 4 children, I always felt as though the other girls’ behavior was more or less my responsibility.”
“Speaking from my own experience of living with Mom, I said. “I can understand your comment. Mom’s behavior sometimes pushed the envelope.” (I was secretly amused by my mother’s outlandish ways, but I didn’t share that with my aunt.)
“I must leave you now,” Aunt Marti said as she rose from the chair and picked up the tray with the tea and muffins. “But before I go, I need to tell you that I left you this property. I do hope you will give staying here in Pleasant Run a lot of thought before you get the news formerly at the meeting today. This house has a story to tell, and I believe it will tell you all of its secrets.”
“I don’t know what to say, Aunt Marti. Why would you give me your house?” I was surprised, to say the least.
“It’s all in the letter,” she answered. “And you can say goodbye.”
Cousin Valerie and I are going to be featuring a few different things on the blog. Val and I will still be writing about our daily lives, both factual and fictional, plus I am going to be continuing on with the story about Aunt Marti and her niece, DeeDee.
We love interaction with our readers. Please leave us a comment when you can.
Tea for Two
Aunt Marti had made a delicious breakfast of fried cornmeal mush and bacon. She looked the same as she had twenty years before, which was the last time I saw her. I had come to Pleasant Run hoping to spend time with her before she completely succumbed to the stroke she had suffered. According to my cousin, Tara, Aunt Marti was not expected to recover. The stroke had left her weak and confused, which, considering she was 99 years old, was easily understood.
While I was enjoying my breakfast with Aunt Marti, I answered her house phone, and it was Tara. You can imagine my confusion when Tara told me Aunt Marti had gone home in the night. She had not meant to her house. She had gone to her home in heaven.
Tara was still on the phone waiting for me to respond to the news. “Sorry, Tara I said. “I had a dream about Aunt Marti and it was so real. It was like I got to see her one last time after all. I’m really sorry she is no longer with us, but I must say, in a way, I think she’s still here in her home just waiting to spoil us.”
“That sounds like a great dream, Dee. I also wanted to let you know that our cousin, Drew, is coming in from Montana today. My husband, Tom, will pick him up at the airport. Grayson, and Tonja, who, as you know, are the other 2 cousins who still live here in town, will all join Drew, you, and me at Aunt Marti’s house this afternoon around 3:00 pm. So, you have the morning off. Rest up.
“That all sounds good, Tara. Will Drew be staying here at Aunt Marti’s house?” I asked. There is certainly enough room here.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll shoot him a text and ask him if he’d like to stay there or at the hotel. You know how men are. He might feel more comfortable in a hotel. I don’t know Drew that well, so we’ll wait and see what he says.”
Now that a plan for the day was taking shape, I decided to grab a shower and then explore the house. Even though I hadn’t eaten breakfast at all, because it was a part of a dream, I wasn’t hungry. I did, however, brew a cup of coffee to take upstairs with me.
The first room in the old house that I found myself exploring was the library. Aunt Marti had been quite the reader. The shelves were filled with everything from children’s books to mysteries. Maybe that’s who I inherited my love of reading from. I had started to peruse the children’s section of books to see if I could find any of my old favorites when I heard someone say, “Gulliver’s Travels.”
I swung around to see Aunt Marti standing there. She was holding a tray with a tea service on it and some delicious looking muffins. She was dressed in a peach colored shirtdress and wore an apron. I couldn’t remember Aunt Marti without her apron, except when she hastily tore it off before we all sat down to a meal.
“The few times you visited when you were small, you wanted me to read Gulliver’s Travels to you. It’s there in alphabetical order by the author’s name. You hardly ate a bite of breakfast this morning,” she said. “I thought you might be ready for some tea and my special cranberry-orange muffins. Don’t look so shocked, dear. You are not losing your mind. I wanted to spend a little time with you. My other sisters and I were close, and I saw their children often, but your mother and I were so far apart in age, with her being the youngest and me the oldest. Well, we never spent much time together. Ten years is quite an age difference. Anyway, I’m here in spirit, as they say. You are the only one I’m here to see, and our time together will take its own course.”
I didn’t pretend to understand all of what Aunt Marti was saying, but I did not question whatever phenomenon was occurring. I wanted to spend time with my aunt. I knew she and my mother hadn’t been particularly close. Mother had very seldom spoken about her oldest sister. I had only recently become curious about the whole family dynamics myself. Mom had died two years earlier, and with her death, my whole worldview had begun to change.
“Aunt Marti, I’m not going to question why or how you are here. I’m just happy to be spending some time with you. Is the ten year age difference, the only reason you and my mother weren’t close? I’ve recently become curious about that.
I unpacked all of my things and slipped the suitcases under the bed. When I was growing up, my mother had often chastised me for shoving things beneath the bed. “That’s what God made closets for,” said.
I was tired to the bone. I flopped down on the window seat where I had flung my handbag. The one with the sour cream and cheese chips in it. Surely, they didn’t really mean the bag held 3 1/2 servings. Whatever! I finished them off and ate the little pack of airline peanuts that was in there as well. All that salt made me thirsty, so I made my way downstairs to get a glass of water. Considering how sleepy I felt, I was glad I had declined Tara’s invitation to dinner. I changed into my pjs and crawled into bed. The sheets smelled like they had just been pulled off the closeline after drying in a fresh spring breeze. The down comforter was not too heavy and not too light. Feeling as if I was in heaven, I drifted off to sleep.
I slept soundly. I wasn’t even fully awake, the next morning when I was aroused by the aroma of fresh coffee brewing. Who could possibly be here this early. A quick glance at the clock told me it was 6:00 a.m.
Next, I heard a sweet voice singing a cheerful song. “If I knew you were coming, I’d have baked a cake,”
Was Tara already here? I grabbed my robe and rushed down the stairs, stopping short as I reached the door to the kitchen. I saw a diminuitive figure toiling over the stove as she sang. The little lady was none other than Aunt Marti.
“Oh, come on in, dear,” she said. “Sit down, and I’ll pour you a cup of coffee. I’ll get you some fresh orange juice to drink while I finish making you some bacon and fried cornmeal mush. I remember how you like it… with real butter and lots of Log Cabin syrup on it.
“Aunt Marti!” When did you get here. I thought you were gravely ill. When did you get out of the hospital? Sit down! You shouldn’t be doing all of this.”
“Nonsense, DeeDee,” she said as she poured cream into my coffee, which I would have preferred black. “I’m as right as rain. A cab brought me home from the hospital. I knew it was time to go home, so here I am.
Aunt Marti was in the middle of her explanation when I heard my phone (which I had put in the pocket of my robe), ring. It was Tara.
“Tara! I said without waiting for her to say anything. “Was this the right time for Aunt Marti to go home?”
“Yes,” Tara replied. “She passed away during the night. The nurse said her last words were, “It’s time for me to go home.”
I listened to what Tara said and then turned to look at Aunt Marti. She was gone, and there was no sign of the fried cornmeal mush, bacon, coffee and juice that she had prepared.
“As soon as we hang up, I’ll call and see how soon I can get a flight out. Will you be able to pick me up at the airport, or should I rent a car? I know it’s a long drive.”
I was talking to my cousin, Tara, who had just phoned to tell me our Aunt Marti had suffered a stroke. She was at the ripe old age of 99 and things weren’t looking good.
I knew without a doubt that I wanted to go there. I had to say goodbye to the last of my mother’s siblings.
“What?” Tara sounded incredulous.”I never thought for a moment that you would want to come. You haven’t been home in twenty years!”
“Can you pick me up or not?” I asked, a little too impatiently.
“Of course, Dee. Just let me know when you’ll be arriving. I can’t wait to see you, and the long drive back to Pleasant Run will give me a chance to bring you up to date on everything. Small town or not, you’ve missed a lot.”
“Okay, I’ll make arrangements and call you back either this evening or first thing tomorrow…and Tara, thank you for calling me with the news. Give Aunt Marti my love.
One day later, I was on my way. It wasn’t until I had boarded the plane that I finally asked myself the question that Tara hadn’t asked. Why was I going? It wasn’t as if I had ever been especially close to Aunt Marti or anyone else in that town except for Tara. Still, I knew I wanted to be there.
I had asked Tara to make a reservation for me at the local hotel, but she informed me that I would be staying at Aunt Marti’s rambling old house. “It’s just a few blocks off Main Street and within walking distance from where Tom and I live,” Tara had reminded me. “Aunt Marti very well may not be coming home, but regardless, she has plenty of room.
Commerce City was much larger than Pleasant Run, but the airport was small. I had no problem recognizing my cousin Tara, who was standing inside near the little baggage area. She was a fabulous older version of her fabulous younger self. Suddenly, I felt frumpy, but it was a little late to worry about that. As it was, I was trying to stop thinking about the half-eaten bag of sour cream cheddar cheese chips stuffed away in my handbag.
The years melted away as I returned Tara’s smile. It was hard to believe we were both 70. We had gone through twelve years of school together, and then I left Pleasant Run and Tara stayed. I had been back a few times to attend class or family reunions and my parent’s funerals, but all counted, I hadn’t been there more than 20 days in 50 years. And as Tara had mentioned, it had been twenty years since I had been back to my hometown at all.
“Good grief.” Tara said when she saw my bags. “You must have been rather indecisive when you packed. If I’d have known you were bringing this much stuff, I would have tried harder to get my grandson, Jeremy, to come with me.”
“Oh, come on,” I teased. “We can get it all in one trip. How much time do we have for you to catch me up on things in Pleasant Run.
“It’s a two hour drive,” Tara said as she slipped into the driver’s seat. I’m so glad you’re here, Dee,” Tara said as she drove down the desolate highway toward Pleasant Run.
By the time we pulled into Aunt Marti’s drive, my head was spinning. I probably wouldn’t remember half of what Tara had told me, and in a small town, people expect you to remember names and faces not to mention which gossip was okay to repeat and which was not.
I’ll come in and show you where your room is.” Tara said when we arrived. “This is an old house, but I think you’ll be very comfortable. Remember how we loved coming here when we were little?”
My room was lovely. I took the time to hang up my things in the very generous armoire. I was glad I came. This was exactly where I needed to be. I prayed that Aunt Marti would be able to come home. I needed to spend some time with my mother’s sister.
Today, I am sharing about this and that. I’ve included a little bit about Ben Wheeler, where our wheels are currently parked and an update on Kip’s recovery from back surgery. I am trying to get back into the swing of writing because I really enjoy this blog. I so appreciate that cousin Lav, (Valerie Halla), is now a co-author. I love her style and I love her!
First, I want to let everybody know that I brought Kip home from the hospital today. His back surgery yesterday went well. Now comes the hard part. Rehab and healing. Thanks, everyone, for your thoughtfulness and prayers. Keep them coming.
I made an important life decision. I’m going with my gray. I’ve been gray for decades, but only my hairdresser knew exactly how gray. I’m the old hair color stylist, but I’m done with the dye and down with the gray. I had the color lifted out – thanks Amanda at A Touch of Grace Salon in Ben Wheeler. You are the best. Heather knows her stuff, too. I watched her color and cut a lady’s hair while Amanda worked on me.
I highly recommend A Touch of Grace Salon. It was a fun experience, and I love the results. No more dying my roots every few weeks. I’m very excited about that! Though I tried to only dye the roots, the ends were getting really dark and dry.
I’ve included some before and after pics of my new do as well as some other local Ben Wheeler color.
A while back, a hair stylist told me that if you have dark hair, gray roots make it look as though your hair is thinning.“What about black freckles on your nose…”“The new MG said we will get used to the old MG. I don’t get it!”I love the way Amanda styled my hair. I’m still practicing. One thing I have noticed is that the color lift took some curl out. It will probably return as the new gray grows.MG wants us to get all of our hair on this towel…
By the time you get to be 70ish, you have had a whole lot of life experiences.
A physical, or I guess what some would call a chemical depression, was a new one for me. I sincerely hope the only way most of you will experience this type of anguish is from what you are about to read.
All was well. Kip and I had reached our long awaited goal of selling our house and almost everything in it except for a few treasures we couldn’t part with like the things we need in our day to day lives such as clothes, toothbrushes, toothpaste, towels, our frozen dinners… you know.
We spent the 2 days before we closed on the house cleaning everything. The house, yard, garage, and cottage were spic and span. We drove to the closing with the 2 dogs in the back of the Jeep, collected our check, and drove to where the RV was parked. We then took the scenic route to Ben Wheeler, TX, to the RV park where we intended to stay until we left on our first of what we planned to be many trips across America. Our target date was April 1st.
To make a long story longer, as my mom used to say, things didn’t go as planned. It is now April 15th and we’re still here. Kip is scheduled to have back surgery on Monday. The surgery will be followed by 3 months of rehab before he’s ready to spend long days driving an RV. The good news is he will eventually be able to.
This was not part of the plan. I began to feel what I would call down in the dumps. The situation called for that, but I was not expecting what happened next. I became despondent. I did not want to get up in the morning and I couldn’t wait to take to my bed at night. I closed my eyes with a slight sense of relief that for the next 8 hours, I would not have to face anything. The next morning, I was overcome with dread before I even opened my eyes. I felt no sense of gratitude, compassion, love, hope, or excitement. I only felt fear and a sense of foreboding.
I had so much to be grateful for. I had friends who could tell I wasn’t being myself. They wanted to help, but no one, including me, knew what help would look like. My faith in God and self suffered, which only caused me to become wracked with pain and guilt. Kip tried to make sense of it all, but he could not.
I have a mental illness called bipolar disorder. I was diagnosed almost 20 years ago. I guess I have been in remission because I have been able to handle life’s challenges with some success. About like most people would, I guess. This episode was different. I called and made an appointment with my psychiatrist’s office. I had been seeing one for a while. In fact, she had recently changed my medication due to some side effects I had been experiencing. I have never felt medication made much of a difference. I only complied because I promised my husband and family I would.
When the doctor changed my medication, she intended for me to take 2 new prescriptions. I didn’t remember that, so when I got to the pharmacy, I didn’t question that I only got one. I took the one for six weeks. I have to be honest and say I was at the point of a breakdown when the doctor and I realized what had happened and called in the 2nd prescription. I began to feel better on the 2nd day of taking both prescriptions.
Why am I telling you all of this? It is to make you believe that mental illness is not a choice. No one would want to the feel the way I did…
And no one could be more grateful not to feel that way now…
So, I’m pretty much myself, again. I decided to dye my hair gray, (again…)
You have to wait for the big gray reveal…I found a wonderful hair salon right here in Ben Wheeler, TXWe’re happy Momma is back even if she is gray-headed
