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Chistina's posts caused me to dig it out --
perhaps it relates to many things
unspoken

faucon
............................................
DAVE


The tinkling of glass chimes were so faint that Anna could not place their location, and in fact, resisted being drawn back from her brief nap. Here heightening awareness combined the scent of honeysuckle, the fluttering of lace at her chin, and a slight press of urgency about the tasks ahead.

“tinkle, ching” –

I hear a chime,
A distant, earthen chime.
It sings to me of
Loving hands,
In angel voice,
And peaceful days.

I hear a chime,

A whisper, stirring chime.
Of fire and stone and
Gleeful shapes,
In quiet breeze
It laughing plays.

I hear a chime,
A lonely, yearning chime.
In dark of night and
Thunderous storms,
Of fearful doubt
It endless prays.

-- awake
“For shame,” she chided herself. “Dosing off at ten-thirty in the morning with Dave and the kids arriving this afternoon.” She checked again the two roasting hens in the ‘fridge', each with a different stuffing. The macaroni salad was partially prepared, awaiting only the mayonnaise and few secret ingredients to make it a family heirloom. No one else would serve these items together, but Anna would broach no argument. Dave loved her chicken and he liked her salad – enough! Dozens of other delights had been prepared as well, of course, and all far in advance, for that was Anna’s way. She fretted over each napkin, candle and spotless fork. Sunday afternoon was more than a tradition and certainly more than the chore others would make of it. Yet the lure of the sunlight on the window chair held its magical allure as well. “Ching –“.”

“What if they arrived and found me curled up here like a Cheshire Cat, all mischief and unpredictability? The kids might think ‘take-out’ a great idea but they get too much of that all ready. No, Dave. I could never do that to you, my love. You deserve so much more.”

The air conditioning came on and Anna reluctantly closed the porch window a little. She had long avowed that many of the world’s problems could be blamed on air conditioning. No pleasant evenings on the front lawn watching the neighbor kids play ‘kick-the-can’. No box dinners with the whole town out to watch the Little League game. Not even lengthy discussions over the coming weather! Who really cared? Of course, her “open window” philosophy downplayed the dreadful experience of Freddie Barns learning to play the trombone, or that Saturday morning laundry often had more “family linen’ involved that many soap operas. Sunday with Anna was an opening of the blinds on a world that most people would never see, nor would care too, filled as they were with pain and anguish and guilt and regret. Thus, these would miss out on the joy and rapture and passion. Air conditioned minds perhaps deserve only a 78 degree share of life! In Anna’s world dishes got broken, kids got splinters and a new war was just around the corner to fill a Presidential void. But Anna was the first on the block to welcome “that family” to the neighborhood, and always had a new stray cat, and had flowers blooming everywhere, even in a drought. She gave plants away to any that asked, and they never died either. Didn’t dare!

“Mary-Mary, quite contrary. How does you garden grow?” mused Anna as she slipped again into a muzziness, measured by the rhythmic creak of the cane in the rocking chair. She had used many garden analogies in the classroom to inspire decades of reluctant seventh-graders. “How would they view her now? A withered weed who had stood too long in the hail of time? A rock garden in which low maintenance wins out over grooming and care? Had any ever thought of using her as garden in which to plant a seed of an idea and then return generations later to see how it had developed? “ Goosebumps rippled on the back of her arms at the sexual implications of the thought and she sat up, fully awake, at her own laughter. She resisted the temptation to recheck the preparations and attempted to simply enjoy the small sensations of the moment. “What adventures will the children have to share,” she thought. “Can I force another smile?” Can I endure another miss-written assignment awarded with an ‘A’?” Then someone will say, ‘Now leave Anna alone.’ Then, then will I have to suffer the loneliness of being present but ignored. Ah, but they like the chicken! Regardless, Dave and the kids will soon be here.”

The tinkling chimes were easier to ignore this time, and the honeysuckle won out over the thermostat. Sunlight filtered through the damask curtains and set fire to golden curled memories hidden in the long white braids. Then she remembered falling – falling, and Dave trying to catch her.

“Not your fault,” she cried. Her ten year old tears were partially absorbed by “old bear,” a rag-tag, eyeless companion. But she wanted Dave. “Today he will come. It is nice to have an older brother. Run – run – run to me.”

The nurse closed the window for the umpteenth time, partially amused, partially in distress. She swept the wisps of snow from the lap shawl and wheelchair arms. “All the other patients get sad as Thanksgiving approaches,” she thought. “But our Anna here just smiles the day through. I wonder what it’s like to be 108 and to have outlived all of your relatives? I’d be sad! I wish, and pray you could share your secret with me.”