Shopping

I went to the mall in search of necessities...but look at what enticed me away from my mission on the coat rack at Macy's! As I slipped it on...I fell in love. I was like a little girl in a candy store who had discovered her favorite candy...in her favorite color!

Check out the chic style...not to mention the fit! I haven't found a coat in years that actually fits comfortably in all the right places!




Of course, my daughter added her perspective...unadulterated preteen viewpoint.



And in the end, I still love it!




Now, I need somewhere to go beyond soccer games, the library, preschool... Though I could step up my bus stop attire...Nawww...I like my rumpled look. It keeps suburbia interesting. They need this country girl in her t-shirt and jeans ready to finish the day's chores. Gasp! I just admitted I do my own cleaning! Yep...and I love to dress up, but not to scrub the bathroom or go to soccer practice sporting my latest desinger trends for assessment of my social status.

Cynical...hhuuuummmmm...perhaps...

However, I must acknowledge the fine photographer who helped me recreate my shopping extravaganza!




Kiahra's spunky style matches her personality. Isn't she beautiful? I love her...and her mommy I will always be!

Breathtaking

From my back deck, I gaze out into my woods, and the majestic beauty of Pennsylvanian autumn takes my breath away. My eyes drink in the diverse color and rich textures of leaves after our first frost. The vibrancy of fall renews my spirit. It flutters in the gentle breeze of the crisp, cool morning. Each day is a surprise.

Autumn is a season of change. Sometimes folks express their discontent with fall as everything begins to die, but I disagree. It is certainly a change, but before those leaves fall they go out in a blaze of glory. I hope I can live life with such vibrancy. After birth and growth, each leaf finds its own personality and transforms itself into bold beauty. Each leaf is unique. As I gaze at them I can see the personalities of my children. I hope they dance with courage on the limb in breathtaking beauty.

Speaking of dancing on the limb, Nikela gracefully navigated her soccer game on Sunday against the autumn backdrop. As I watch her play soccer, I not only see her skill, but the beauty surrounding her...inside and out. We share the magical the moments of love and laughter with her as treasures, drawing them close to our hearts like a blanket on a cool evening. Whether it is a clumsy mishap or mastery of a challenging musical piece, it evokes love and celebration of life.

I love to watch the leaves fall from the limbs into the yard...sometimes creating a circle beneath the tree. As the leaves drift down into the street, I feel like I am in a parade celebrating life lived to the fullest. Kade loves the leaves. He loves to pile them high and jump into them. He buries himself in them. I like to think he is snuggling in surrounded with love. My heart flutters at the sight. I want to hold onto this image forever.

As I gaze out the window,

I reflect on my nostalgia for the season this year, as Ron prepares to celebrate his 40th birthday next month. Just a few years ago we were in our early twenties :) full of life, hope, optomism...and the rashness of youth trying to flutter ahead in the breeze of life. Soon we rolled into thirty and paused a bit more often...and knew less. Now as we gaze at forty, we are humbled by life and enjoy the precious moments with our family realizing that somehow twenty years have escaped us, and while we have trod the path of life with zest and love looking ahead to the future, we now continue down the path more apt to enjoy the scenery and vibrancy of life rather than straining to see down the road.

Note: For visual eye candy double click on the photos.

Renaissance

Ich was in one sumere dale;
In one swithe dighele hale
I-herde ich holde grete tale
An ule and one nightingale.

The poetic debate of The Owl and the Nightingale is my favorite Middle English piece. When I uncovered middle English poetry, I was fulfilling a convenient scheduling credit, but I fell in love. The intellectual renaissance of the twelfth century intrigued me as the owl and nightingale debate their philosophies of life...inconclusively.

Renaissance–noun 1. the activity, spirit, or time of the great revival of art, literature, and learning in Europe beginning in the 14th century and extending to the 17th century, marking the transition from the medieval to the modern world.

Thus, when the local Renaissance Festival came to life, I dragged the kids and husband through the woods and mud to the village.

From the modern world we travelled back...smiling!

The blare of horns heralded our entry into the renaissance era.

Royalty comes and goes, but the kids affectionately tagged this gentleman the "troll," as his character and personality demanded notice in the streets he traversed.


Chayse was grinning as happily as the street performer, as she attempted to learn the art that looked so easy!


Of course, weary travelers must pause in the village square to enjoy authentic cuisine...Chicken on a Stick!

Exploring the fashion for the era with guidance from a Cavalier, I was mindful of my humble place.

Finishing touches!

Just in time for the Queen's arrival...

Setting sail requires some rope work and team work!

Skillful archers prepare to join Robin Hood.

The king rests with his little Princess.


The world of Shakespeare and Chaucer came alive in all the characters we met. The wenches at the well (follow the link) had to be related to the Wife of Bath. Though Kade commented that while all the performers were funny, they were not always appropriate...which led me to explain the humor of the time was often "bawdy," which required additional explanation, and the best I could come up with was humor about the body.

The jester is so familiar in each Shakespearian work, and he was equally important in the village to keep us laughing at ourselves!

Fare thee well.

Playdate

This fall, Chayse enthusiastically hops out of the car to preschool four days a week. Last Friday, her preschool class washed the local fire truck. Parents were invited to meet each other and take photos of the special occasion. I joined the party a bit late, as I had to run an errand.

As I snapped a couple photos of the preschoolers in front of the fire truck, I was surrounded by other parents. I was one of a few that did not have additional children in tow. Chayse greeted me with a hug and immediately introduced me to her friend, Paulina. She was a beautiful little girl with dark hair and eyes just like Chayse. A few minutes later, her parents introduced themselves to me. As we navigated the initial awkward conversation of getting to know each other, gradually our speech became more natural as we followed the kids to the playground to watch. I felt myself smiling and laughing. Despite my reluctance to join the party, I was enjoying myself.

I discovered that my new friend also had a younger son at home. Then she asked, “Do you have other children?”

“Yes.” I responded with caution. I am very aware that I have more children than most mothers here and sometimes the response can be unpredictable.

“How old?” she persists with care.

I like that.

“13, 11, 9, and 8.” I rattle off, as I watch her face. She processes this information slowly as her eyes grow wider.

“Wow. You are a busy Mom.”

Fair answer. Sensing my reservations in discussing the rest of the gang, as I know this will not help us reach a common ground, she did not pressure the topic, and we shifted back to comments about preschool.

Then she proclaimed to a passing mother that her husband had managed to snap 350 photos today. I tried not to smile. Yes, he was the father documenting the journey of his oldest daughter, age 4. Of course, guilt pulsated through my heart as I thought of the five or six shots I had captured; however, at my rate, I won’t need to add memory to my computer anytime soon.

Finally, as the day wrapped up Paulina’s mother suggested a play date. When I inquired about her work schedule, I learned she was working five days a week.

“However, I am home by five, so we could meet before dinner from five to six,” she continued.

My mind scrambles through the afterschool hours. Yesterday afternoon I picked Chayse up from preschool at 3 PM. I arrived back home minutes before Kiahra walked through the door at 3:15. Nikela was already walking to her piano lesson. Kiahra needed her pointe shoe ribbons sewn on before ballet, again, so she grabbed a snack and dressed for dance while I found my needle and thread. Together we rush out the door to dance 30 minutes later. As I drove home, Kade and Ethan were walking home. When I arrive at 4:15 PM, Kade’s guitar teacher is walking through the door. As Kade takes his lesson, Nikela arrived home and I throw dinner on the stove. Reminding Nikela that she has soccer at 6 PM and we need to leave at 5:40 PM, I quickly set the table, minimally. In the meantime, I am calling Ron hoping and praying that he can pick up Kiahra at 6 PM, as it conflicts with soccer delivery…or I will be late picking her up. Then I can turn around and pick Nikela up shortly after 7 PM and be home by 7:30. Did I forget to mention homework?

I didn’t say a word, but evidently the expression on my face showed concern because she continued.

“We could also meet on Saturday morning or Sunday afternoon.”

Kade plays soccer in McCandless tomorrow morning, and Nikela will be playing in Pine Richland Sunday afternoon.

I am speechless. It is hopeless. As I gaze at Chayse, happily playing, the guilt completely engulfs me. I cannot even schedule a playdate.

As I drive home, Chayse animatedly shares the details of her day with me. As she comes up for air, she asks, “Will I be able to play with Paulina someday?”

My heart stops. What do I say? I don’t want to be dishonest. I don’t want to disappoint.

“Perhaps someday…” I hesitantly answer.

“Are Nikela and Kiahra home yet, Mom?”

“No, they won’t be home until this afternoon.”

“Can we go to lunch instead?”

Chayse has moved on. Later, when the kids start coming home and spilling out the doors of the neighborhood houses, she disappears into the cul de sac amidst the voices and activity. I hear her laughter. It rings sweetly through the hills. I smile. She has a playdate everyday. More kids, more fun. It’s my motto.

No scheduled playdate. Just spontaneous fun.

Chayse will survive. She may even conquer, as I watch her boss the neighbor boy into compliance before they roar off on their matching motorcycles.


Hhhhhuuuummmmmm...I can't find the firetruck photos to post. I think I left my memory card in the computer when I grabbed my camera, so no photos. Mom of the year? Perhaps not, but I think someone has one or two to spare.

Happy Big Birthday, Little Sis!

On a crisp fall morning when the leaves crunch like apples, I headed off to school. With the bounce of a nine year old, I traipsed to the bus stop with my brother. But today was different. Mom had said this was the day our baby brother or sister would arrive. When one is nine, the pregnancy seems to last forever and that is a really long time to wonder… Would it be a boy or a girl? What would he or she look like? I thought a sister would be wonderful because I would have someone to play with. I could dress her up and comb her hair. I could play dolls with her instead of the tractors I usually found myself playing with. With stars in my eyes and anticipation in my heart, the school bus screeched to a halt, interrupting my thoughts.

Lurching ahead the bus roared down the gravel road before halting at the next bus stop, my best friend was standing there patiently. I couldn’t even wait until she sat down without blurting out the news that my mom was going to have the baby today. Even she was a bit curious and joined my daydreaming until we reached the familiar brick school.

Once I hit the classroom, my teacher pulled me back to the books, as she wanted my work complete. I did manage to shyly tell her that I was hoping to receive a special message today. However, the day crawled by as I waited and waited for the message to be delivered. Lunch time came and went. Recess came and went…twice! The afternoon sun warmed the second story classroom to unbearable warmth, so it was easier to gaze out the window at the colors of fall and watch the scampering squirrels in the treetops.

Finally recess arrived again, and by this time, I had given up hope of a special message, so I headed out to the softball field and played hard…though I couldn’t resist sneaking a few hopeful thoughts about the new baby. The bell clanged too soon, and we lined up dutifully before heading inside. The only good thing about being an older kid at the country school was I was one of the last groups to go inside, which allowed me to savor a few more moments of fresh air and bask in the sunshine.

As we hit the door, though, we all scrambled up the two flights of stairs as fast as we could go… without breaking the rules…then I heard the Principal’s voice say my name. My heart stopped as his deep voice resonated, knowing that I had been pushing the rules a bit.

As I reluctantly turned around, he looked up at me and announced, “You have a new baby sister!” Then he grinned broadly.

I never thought I would be as happy as I was at that moment. I had evaded trouble, and the sister I had been dreaming about had arrived. I had won the lottery. Of course, if I thought the morning had crawled like a turtle, he came to a complete stop that afternoon. I can still see the big clock ticking slowly in the classroom. The big hand would prepare for the announcement of each minute with a quiver and then jump noisily ahead one space and vibrate slowly into place. 60 minutes…one minute at a time until dismissal.

I flew to the school bus. The big yellow bus parked under the big cottonwoods with matching leaves on a fall afternoon never looked so good. I waited patiently for my brother before sliding into the seat beside him to see if he had heard the delightful news. He was nonchalant about it, of course. Kelly really didn’t get too excited about such things, but he did flash me that charming grin that I have always loved about him, as it was his way of acknowledging my enthusiasm and letting me know he thought it was pretty cool too, as I headed back to my seat.

As I tumbled off the bus and headed to the house at a dead run, I was hoping that Dad would be home, and he was.

My memory skips to the hospital here. Dad walked my brother and me down the hall to look into the nursery window. He told us to be extra quiet because kids weren’t allowed, and generally dad was not one to break rules, but he was making an exception today. Especially since back in those days the hospital stay was longer. I remember gazing through the wire mesh glass, at a tightly wrapped bundle with a pink hat. She had the littlest nose and perfectly curved rose petal pink lips. Her tiny eyelids were shut. I was so enraptured with her that I didn’t notice the arrival of the nurse who wasn’t particularly pleased about our presence. Then I noticed Mom was standing there too in a hospital gown looking tired. I was so happy to see her. We only had a few moments under the nurse’s surveillance and our unauthorized visit was over, but we stopped at the door of Mom’s room as she returned to her bed. I was in awe at how white and boring the room was with a row of single beds. I had never really been to the hospital to visit anyone before, so this image is still welded into my mind.

Dad took us to eat pizza before heading back to the house. For the next few days, Dad was in charge until Mom returned home, bringing our new baby sister.

Then I remember the first time I held Kristi. She was heavier than she looked. Her little body was so warm it was easy to snuggle around her in the green rocking chair. And her toes were fascinating. Who knew toes could be so cute? Those little tiny baby toes would curl tightly if I tickled the bottom of her foot. I also learned quickly that she didn’t always lie there cutely, but she would cry and produce the messiest diapers in the world which had the potential to contaminate me, so I always wanted a blanket.

Slowly, the daydreams were replaced with the reality of a sister, and after a few years another sister arrived. Despite the noisy chaos they added to the household, I loved my sisters.

I loved to read to Kristi when she was small. I remember one of her favorite little golden books was about the cookie monster and the witch with the cookie tree. I personally didn’t like this book much and would try to negotiate another book to no avail. The book merely had too many words and captions, and she wouldn’t let me skip any of them.

Perhaps, I wouldn’t remember this so distinctly, but my youngest daughter recently brought me this tattered book a few nights ago before bedtime. Despite my original dislike of this book, I felt the warmth of the memory creep into my heart as I gazed at the cover. My daughter interrupted my journey down memory lane, as I heard her inquiring what was wrong. As I shook myself out of the reverie, I read the familiar old book lovingly. As I closed the cover and sent my daughter off to bed, I remembered my sister’s curly head bobbing down the hallway to bed. It is utterly unbelievable that I would be curled up with my four year old 30 years later.

Romping through the park, I was grateful I had a younger sister(s) because I could play with her without feeling too old—she let me a kid a bit longer…what a gift! Kelly and I would drag her around the house in a cozy box we had packed tightly with blankets, and she would squeal in delight until Mom thought we were getting too rough. She was fun to have help in the kitchen, too, even if it was a bit messy. She gave great hugs. I liked reading to her using silly voices. In the morning, we sometimes made orange juice together.

Sometimes, I wished I could talk to her and share secrets. Sometimes I wished she was old enough to play the same games. Sometimes I wished she wouldn’t get into my stuff.

Then I went off to college one autumn. And I remember the first birthday I missed. I sent a care package hoping Kristi would like it and remember me. I was watching the clock all day thinking about what she was doing at that time. As evening fell, I missed her birthday dinner, in lieu of cafeteria food. I missed the taste of Mom’s cake. The quiet family birthday gathering. Watching her open her presents. As a matter of fact this was her ninth birthday. Ironic. It was another beautiful autumn day, but this time I was too homesick to appreciate it.



I have missed many birthdays through the years, but I have enjoyed a few too, and I have never taken them for granted. Of course, the years brought me a sister to share secrets with, to laugh with, to cry with, and to share life with. She stood beside me as a bridesmaid at my wedding, she watched me graduate from college, she visited shortly after my firstborn arrived, she spent a couple summers with me, and she even scraped me off the concrete after my roller blade wreck

We may be grown, but we still love to hang out in the kitchen together. In Montana, she would perch on the stool across from me and together we would chat and chop. The laughter rang through my little Tuscan kitchen. Her nieces and nephew would occasionally crawl up on her lap for a hug and a few words. With the warmth of an aunt she would hold them close until they ran off to play again. Our kitchens are not as close anymore, but a couple weeks ago we were in the kitchen together…except it was her kitchen in her new house.

As the aroma of curry filled the air, the laughter rang through the house again. It was just as much fun as ever. My children smile at us now, and sometimes tease me, but I know they miss Aunt Kristi in the kitchen as much as I do. Shortly after we moved, Kade complained that Aunt Kristi and Uncle Kevin weren’t visitors on Friday night anymore. He missed the playing and laughter. The new kitchen was too quiet for him. I agreed.

Today, I will miss another birthday. I like to tease her that she is getting old like me now that she is turning 30. Of course, that makes me 39, so I only have ten months to enjoy my thirties with my sister. But honestly, it is like any other birthday to me…special because she is my sister.

Birthdays merely give us an excuse to eat and celebrate with family and friends. We pause to remember the years and smile…lovingly, of course. If I close my eyes, it was just yesterday I was peering through the glass at that little pink bundle that managed to outgrow me, but I wouldn’t trade the journey. I will always remember the day our journey started, vividly and fondly.

I have always loved autumn, but until yesterday, I had forgotten that September 22 also marks the first day of autumn. I am not sure why I failed to recall that detail, but I guess it doesn't matter. I love autumn, and I have a sneaking suspicion that this memory of the day my sister arrived fosters that love.

Happy Birthday, Kristi! We love you!

Speaking of fingerprints...

Mama's Birthday--Ch. 2

I tiptoe to my room and set my alarm clock before shoving it under my pillow. Tomorrow is mama’s birthday and I want to surprise her. James is going to help me. I shiver as I remember James’ arm brushing mine as we talked quietly on the street tonight. We drifted back in the shadows as the activity increased on the streets. He was subdued tonight talking about his mom and old memories. I asked him if he was scared and he nodded. He doesn’t know what to do. He wants to make it better. He is concerned about disappointing his mother. He hasn’t been doing so well in school since he started hanging out with his girlfriend, and now he is worried that he might not be able to go to college since his grades aren’t very good anymore. He worries about his little sister and brother and knows that their dad won’t be much help. He knows he really needs to go to school to help raise them. I told him I was scared to go to school too, but then unexpectedly, I blurted out that I really want to be a doctor someday.

It was the first time I had shared this secret with anyone. I love science and thought maybe I could work in the lab at first, but now I had shared with him that I really wanted more. James was real sweet. He didn’t laugh, but looked at me with his soft brown eyes and told me he knew that I could do it because I was smart…and compassionate.

He reminded me that when we were kids I was always doctoring his wounds, “Do you remember that bike wreck when I was eight?” he asked.

“Boy! How could I forget? I was so worried you weren’t going to get up again!”

“Really? You were worried? You were so calm that I didn’t even think I was hurt too bad until everything started burning. That was some serious road rash! But, I looked pretty good by the time mama saw me.”

We smiled together at the memory. He had casually put his arm around me and squeezed my shoulder. I knew he felt the way I did tonight, unsure but looking for hope. As we looked across the street at the kids getting high, we were both quiet. Wanting more...but so hard to find the courage. James broke the silence by saying that his girlfriend was running with Joe down the street, or should he say ex? She split when he heard about his mother. It was hard on him to watch her go.

“My mama has cared for me for 17 years, and I want to be here with her now. I owe her that.” Pausing, his voice grew strong again as he continued, “Our junior year is almost over. Can you believe we are almost seniors? Do you remember the first day of kindergarten? I was so scared!”

I could hear the emotion in his voice, and I knew he was scared again in a different way. He made it through kindergarten, and he knew he would make it through again even though it wouldn’t be as easy as just coloring in the lines.

I told James that it was mama’s birthday tomorrow and I wanted to surprise her with fresh flowers in the morning. She loves flowers, but no one ever brings her any. I thought if I headed to the park early I could find the flower cart and pick the prettiest ones. James smiled at me again and suggested he could sneak out with me. I told him that was fine. I had been saving for a while.

I told him that when I was a little girl I sometimes didn’t realize how strong my mama was except when I was misbehaving. I wish I could do something real special for her tomorrow, but she insists that I just need to do my school work and not worry about a job until this summer. As James listened quietly, I knew he understood what I was trying to say.

My thoughts drifted again, as I remember being a young girl and being embarrassed by my mother’s worn clothes for the first time when a classmate pointed it out to me. I feel so guilty now for not wanting my mom to come to school anymore. I can still see the hurt in her eyes when she agreed to let me walk alone. She knew why. All these years later, and it still makes my heart ache. I see now how hard she has worked to raise me.

It was fun to be together tonight like old times. Mama smiled. I love her smile. She always looks deep into my eyes and makes me feel like I am so special when I talk to her. I know when she disapproves, but she seldomly says anything.

Grandma has been so cranky lately. I know she hurts mama’s feelings. Sometimes mama gets impatient and snaps back, but mostly she just cleans the apartment and lets me talk to grandma. She is always nice to me. I think grandma is lonely. I wonder sometimes what grandpa was like. Mama doesn’t talk about him much, and when she does I can see the pain in her eyes. Sometimes, I study the picture of him on the end table. I can see my mama’s eyes. When I was a little girl I would make up stories about him in my head. He died when Mama was young. I think it was just before she was going to leave for college, but then she didn’t know if her mama could manage on her own without work, so she went to work and hasn’t stopped. My dad left when I was just little. He came last night, but I just don’t have much to say to him anymore. He stops by once in a while, and mama is always cordial, but cool. I know he doesn’t help her, but visits in his flashy clothes and big talk before he leaves again. I am not sure where he goes. I know grandpa took care of his little girl…

When I saw the falling star tonight, I wished a special wish for mama on her birthday. I hope she loves her flowers. I saw a pretty gold chain in the window the other day that said “Mama.” She would have loved it against her creamy chocolate neck. She really is a pretty lady. I told grandma about it but she just snorted at the impracticality of it. Practical is for ordinary days. Tomorrow is mama’s birthday, and it should be impractical. I checked my alarm again as I felt my eyes grow heavy and burrowed into my pillow, smiling at my scheme.

I almost didn’t hear my alarm. I rolled over before I realized what was happening. I quickly shut it off and listened for mama’s breathing before moving again. She was still sleeping, so I stealthily pulled on the clothes I had laid out last night and tiptoed out wishing I could brush my teeth, but I couldn’t risk waking mama. James was already on the street waiting for me. We didn’t say anything as we walked away from the apartment. The morning was warm and the night shower was glistening on the grass.

After a couple blocks James broke the silence, “Do you think we should take the short cut or do you want to walk along the park’s edge?”

I hesitated.

He commented that usually my mama slept late on Saturdays, so we had plenty of time if I wanted. I smiled and he took my hand. We walked in silence again, as we watched the birds swooping and chirping their morning greetings. When a cardinal flew so close we both ducked, we broke out laughing. The streets were quiet, so our laughter carried. It felt good to laugh with a friend.

As we approached the cart, I was pleased to see there were lots of flowers. As I walked around looking for the perfect bouquet, the man commented that his flowers were fresh this morning. I couldn’t decide in my first circle, so I started around again. Sensing the importance of my journey, the flower man started talking quietly to James, as I absorbed myself in my decision. Finally I found a brightly colored bouquet. I caught James’ eye and pointed. He nodded approval and pointed it out to the man. He gently removed the flowers and took my money before handing them to me with instructions on how to keep them fresh. I nodded in understanding, as James joined me for the journey home.

We walked back down memory lane, as we remembered how we loved picking dandelions for our moms. We would hold them behind our back before presenting them, but they always knew that we were playing in the dandelions, as we had the tell-tale signs of yellow around our faces. Dandelions can grow anywhere even in the cracks of the sidewalk. The splash of yellow is enchanting to a child.

As we neared home, we silenced our voices, so they didn’t carry to the open windows above. As he opened the door, James plucked a dandelion and wiped it under my chin before dashing mischievously to the safety of his apartment door. I quietly eased the apartment door open. I could hear that mama was not sleeping soundly anymore, so I knew she had heard me. I reached for the special vase above the refrigerator, adding water before arranging the flowers. They smelled so pretty! I carried the bouquet across the room to the table and set them down admiring my work. I saw mama was headed to the shower and heard the door click. I sat down to write her a quick card. When she emerged and saw the flowers her eyes twinkled and then glistened with tears as I hugged her and told her happy birthday before shyly sharing my card. I felt like a little girl again.

Mama asked me to go to breakfast with her at the diner down the street. I agreed. As we headed out the door and down the street, I realized I don’t walk with mama very often anymore. Usually, I sleep late on Saturdays, and she comes alone. As we walked into the familiar room, I smiled as the odor of bacon and eggs filled the air. We sat at a table for two this morning instead of at the counter. The cook smiled and waved, acknowledging she would bring our favorite this morning.

As mama talked I noticed a man near the window studying me with old gentle eyes. I nodded and he looked away. Mama didn’t seem to notice him. Soft lines filled his face and short gray hair framed his face. The sun shone in on him putting him in a glow of light. He ate quietly gazing out the window. Our breakfast arrived and I ate hungrily, but when I looked up I noticed he was gone. I briefly wondered where he had gone before my thoughts were interrupted with the chorus of voices singing happy birthday. Our neighborhood family had not forgotten, as they each shared a special greeting for my mama.

Smiling graciously, she thanked them as we walked towards the door. As we stepped out into the street, I paused and noticed the man again in the shadows of the alley across the street wearing a handsome old hat. He smiled. Mama followed my gaze quizzically. He waved. I lifted my hand and he disappeared.