Thursday, December 22, 2016
a Christmas memory..
It was all the brown that brought it back. Sitting on my prayer bench in the woods, beech leaves quaking like palsied hands, everything I see is in shades of brown.Tree trunks, branches, still attached leaves. Dark, light, tan.
I was brought back to the first Christmas in our apartment in Queens. Small , bright, but assaulted every 50 seconds by a screeching jet going over. To us, it was all just part of our heaven. I still worked then and so, in my comings and goings, I noticed the older man across the street as he shuffled along the sidewalk. He lived alone, but the tan and brown puppy on the end of the leash he carried, took him out of his apartment. I wonder what he thought of this bright young couple, bursting with love and ready for an any unknown future.
An old song winds through my mind:"We've only just begun, white lace and promises, a kiss for luck and we're on our way."
Oh, how I loved that small brown puppy. Whenever I saw them, I would dash over for a chat, but truth be told, it was to embrace that puppy.The man was called Charlie and I wish I could recall the little dog's name.
On a cold day near Christmas, when the blowing snow was swirling up the street, my husband called Charlie. We wanted him to come over for some warm homemade cookies and tea. My husband barely got the words out when Charlie mumbled,:"No, no, no." and hung up. He sounded so scared and we were dumbfounded.What had happened? We have laughed about that misadventure over the years.Not long after that, we moved away and left them behind.
And now we are the elders, after what seems like a quick New York minute. Fifty years later, we walk our neighborhood and deliver a few cookies we've made for dear friends.A botched tradition and a mystery has turned into something that gives us pleasure each year.
A prayer for you, Charlie, and your little dog. You were a sweet part of our love story.