Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement.
Helen Keller
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Tags: Quoting
The best way to pay for a lovely moment is to enjoy it.
Richard Bach
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Hello, and happy snowy Friday to you! What a beautiful morning it was. We woke early, got our sweat on in the basement, shoveled the walk, and got our girl out before she went mad with anticipation.
She is a sled dogging snow plow in such weather, straining for swiftness and to inhale every scent nestled in the snow: the dead rabbit near the church, every pee laden message at her favorite pine shrub, every footprint and tire track. As ever, it is a joy to witness.
How are you holding up? Since Greg’s been working from home for more than five years, and we are fairly solitary creatures, our routine isn’t much changed. My heart aches for first responders, medical workers, letter carriers and delivery drivers, and grocery store employees and those who crave gatherings and boisterousness and noise, and especially those whose incomes depend upon it. Thankfully, there seems to be quite the upswell in creative ways for touching from a distance to quote a line from a favorite Joy Division song. Parades instead of birthday parties, Zoom meetings of every sort, bathroom concerts streamed live on Facebook. Necessity really is the mother of invention.
I hope you are finding a way to what makes your heart sing. I hope you are staying healthy and safe, too.
Awake the dawn that sleeps in heaven; let light rise from the chambers of the east, and bring the honey’d dew that cometh on waking day. O radiant morning: salute the sun.
William Blake
Tags: Quoting
James Marshall was born a fox. Red-haired and a little wild in the eyes. His Momma’s clever fox, handsome fox. His Pop’s too. His big sister’s best little kit.
Yelp. Yelp. Yelp.
Later, James Marshall became a firefly, gazing out the window at the magical language of his kin. For though he was bright enough to light the Ozarks and for Grandpa Nicolaus to read by, his wings were too small to fly.
Blink. Blink. Blink.
One day James Marshall lost his wings and became a boy. A giddy big brother of a boy, curious and ever so fast to smile. But his body hurt and would not let him out of bed. Not to jump with his Momma, swing with his Pops, romp with his fox family, or flit among the fireflies.
Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.
Momma and Pops took him to the doctor. A long ride in the car. There he became the boy under the lights, warm hands and cold hands. Big voices and small voices. Machines & medicine. Talking fast and slow. So many words.
No. No. No.
Always his Momma. To her, he was still her handsome fox. Always his Pops, who helped him touch the stars. And brother and sister and Grandpa Nicolaus, too.
Love. Love. Love.
Sadly, nothing could make him well. Not the doctors, not the medicines and machines. Not his Momma, nor his Pops. Not the foxes, nor the fireflies. He could not yelp. He could not blink.
Sad. Sad. Sad.
He got so tired, and his wee body could do no more. And then the sky exploded, and James Marshall, the fox, the firefly, the boy, became the 4th of July.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
***
James Marshall was my great uncle, born October 22, 1918. He died on the 4th of July 1921 of a giant cell sarcoma of the right kidney.
Since learning about him in my ancestral research, we’ve spent much time together, both on this plane and in dreamtime. This story is as much his as it is mine. I know he likes it, and I hope you do, too.
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