Weekend Blues

Weekends in Abbeville are full of excitement.

It seems every weekend there is a festival, carnival, bbq or benefit and quite frankly, that is one of the reasons I chose Abbevlle for the backdrop to the Festival Series.

On any given Friday or Saturday night there are bands playing around the square, a movie playing in the park, a gala or dinner in the Livery Stable, and lets not forget the Opera House players; it seems they always have a good show there.

However exciting the weekends are around us, in our little world, in my grandmother’s house, the walls echo the voices of the days long past.  The giggling whisper of children who were told three times to go to sleep, yet couldn’t stop sharing the secrets of the day; the stories told by the elder former soldiers, lingering over the names of the men who were lost out of reverence; and who could forget the women’s light joking and sing-song voices as they prepared the meals, and the scents of the food wafting through the house made your mouth water!

In my grandmother’s living room there are photos around the walls that seem to speak volumes.  The laughter is gone, but for a brief visit from a young relative, but those photos tell a story that is bittersweet.  Every inch there is a carefully hung picture frame, sharing the loved one within the glass and wood to all who enter.

There is a picture of me, with my two oldest children.  I do not recognize myself, but I remember the day it was taken.  There is a small little beach ball sitting in my lap, due to the impending birth of my third child, a baby so comfortable in the womb that his due date of FEBRUARY 14th would come and go til his final arrival, March 13th.  9lbs, 9oz.  I gave birth to a toddler!  But he was bright eyed, with a shock of bright red hair and the cutest little pointed ears you’ve ever seen.  We celebrated his 25th birthday just last week.  Seems like yesterday.1511123_1105804446112017_8471470682490920873_n

I guess that’s why I love the writing life. In. a manner of minutes I can be so far away in the past, re-telling a story, or making up one based loosely on memories, the melancholy tendencies that accompany long term caregiving  are far from this world/  The house is filled with laughter, loved ones are gathered at every area, children run amongst the daffodils and daylilies.  The lovely smells and happy noises make the house smile with pride.  This is my family, it thinks, all who are inside these walls are of my heart

The indulgent smile of my grandmother finds me staring far off and she murmurs, “you okay?”

I return her smile and nod.  When you’re in a house of love, how can you be anything but okay?


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