Pondering the good, bad, and well....
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| New mug rug. Fabrics are those I'm considering for the quilt explained below.... |
At times, this life feels, seems, looks UNFATHOMABLE. Regardless of how faithful we are to a creed, how at peace hearts remain in abject misery, how unshakeable love dwells within us, and despite the FULL SUN we're seeing here on the North Coast, the tyranny and horror and anguish and death suffered by others hits our chest muscles like we are right in the thick of all that darkness. I'm not merely thinking of what's happening in America, or the oncoming winter storm that will cause severe distress for millions in my home nation. There's Gaza, Ukraine, Sudan, Iran.... Massacres in Iran have quelled the protests for now. Yet thousands, perhaps upwards of thirty-three thousand, have died in one government's attempt to throttle democracy. Scores more have perished in other places, I don't wish to diminish those atrocities. But this uprising in Iran is a month old, or it was. And other than prayer, there's not much I can do about it or all the rest of the injustice that lately has felt...hard to swallow.
Maybe we need moments like this to keep us aware of what truly matters: LOVE, MERCY, JUSTICE. We straddle a thin line of keeping our hearts compassionate and our minds on THE PRIZE while not toppling into the abyss of all that wishes to destroy us. Most times my faith in Jesus Christ maintains my equilibrium. This morning, my heart aches for so much suffering.
Immediately I'm reminded of, "Rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn." Romans 12.15. Empathy seems in short supply in our world, what my husband and I briefly discussed forty or so minutes ago when he asked how I was. I couldn't lie to him, because all is not well within me, even if I hold to Christ's call that in him all is indeed very well. My concern for others percolates inside me, spurring me to act in various small ways for the greater good. I do not fear, yet I am...at one with who loves in a manner I cannot comprehend. I don't consider that enough. That for as much as my heart breaks over these injustices and terrors, how much God feel?
Some would say, "Well, if God cared so much, why is there all this shite in the world?" Which at first glance is an acceptable response. But more deeply exists the fact that God doesn't foist himself upon us; he stands near, knocking on our hearts. If we hear him, hallelujah! If we turn away.... Then the better angels of our natures are left in tears at the gift we deny to ourselves and to one who only wishes the best for us. I don't mean for this post to wander into Christian apologetics. I merely wish to note that I am not alone in my meh mood. God is right alongside me.
I want to make a quilt to work out this sense of loss, failure, a notion of why can't we learn our lesson that every person on this planet MATTERS EQUALLY. I have some fabrics in mind, not sure where they will take me. I was less aggrieved after reading aloud a chapter of Nothing More Complicated, which waits below. Yet I needed to write this post, maybe only for my own edification. If you take anything from it that helps, awesome! If you find it trite, that's fine too. Just having my say, one post at a time....
Chapter 102
On Sunday afternoon, a great peace filled Eric’s heart. His stomach was just as full, for Agatha, her sister Belle, and Lynne had prepared a meal Eric felt would never be beaten within his lifetime. Not even Sam at the top of his game could have out-cooked these women, each with specialties that wove harmoniously as though proclaiming the entry to heaven waited in one New York borough.
Agatha had been in charge of the meats while Belle provided the side dishes. Lynne baked pies, but not only apple, peach, and pumpkin. In that week, she had recreated several favorites from Agatha and Belle’s childhood, pecan and sweet potato, blackberry cobbler and a banana pudding dish that Jane loved. Eric’s trousers were a little tight, even with all neighborhood excursions they had enjoyed. He would watch what he ate for the next couple of weeks, yet there was still the visit to Laurie’s Aunt Wilma to consider, not to mention all that Agatha would prepare when the Snyders returned to Manhattan. Eric wondered if the week Agatha spoiled his family was indeed an extension of her life working for Stanford. This was supposed to be Agatha’s vacation, however she seemed to have spent much of it in her own kitchen. Yet, she never seemed unhappy; Eric had a bulging sketchbook as proof that Agatha Morris was most content within the confines of domesticity.
Her sister Belle seemed a similar sort, yet she also liked being outdoors; the women lived a few blocks apart, much like Rose Abrams and Wilma Gordon. And like Laurie’s family, it was women in charge in Queens, though Agatha and Belle weren’t widows. Their husbands were quiet men who allowed their wives to cluck and banter, yet Donald Morris and Al Washington brought essential strength to their families. At times that power seemed invisible, when it was the sisters to round up their children for various tasks. Then those men would stand at their wives’ sides, their silent yet present personas firmly upholding familial law.
Eric, Lynne, and Jane had been welcomed into Agatha and Donald’s family like long lost relatives. The Snyders were also now a part of the Washington clan, or maybe Eric had adopted all of them, for a series awaited once he finished Sam’s portrait. Or maybe, Eric considered, sitting in Agatha’s small backyard, Sam’s picture might be postponed. Depending on how Sam was recovering, Eric might start reducing the girth within his sketchbook, a host of drawings waiting to come to life.
There had been a multitude created while Agatha, Belle, and Lynne cooked together, Lynne sharing her pie crust recipe with women who claimed it was almost exactly the same ratio of ingredients used by their late mother. While Jane rested in the arms of Agatha’s eldest daughter, Eric deftly recreated the scene, then another, followed by more sketches. He wouldn’t paint all of them, but after two weeks away from his craft, he had reveled in this time with pencil and paper. And immersing himself within this new world had given novel spark to the drawings, for Queens was nothing like Manhattan or the Snyders’ life back home. Not even around Sam and Renee’s large families had Eric encountered this slice of the American experience. It hummed with ties to The South as though this wasn’t New York State but Mississippi, Georgia, or Alabama. The sense of propriety and manners was very old fashioned, but so inclusive that Eric couldn’t wait to translate that warmth and rich history, feeling blessed such an opportunity had been cast in his direction.
He had sought permission of all his subjects and no one had turned down the chance to be captured by who Agatha claimed was the finest painter of his generation. To Eric’s surprise, many of her relatives had seen his exhibit last fall, some of the younger family members speaking in a tone of near duress, which had made him smile. Those older had lavished praise upon his paintings, the blue barn garnering much of the attention, but other pictures were noted, especially The Pastor and His Charge. Jane was loved by all and the Snyders’ pastor was also admired; Belle’s mother-in-law had quietly expressed to Eric how that man had suffered a great trial, but seemed to have made his peace with it. Eric had nodded, wondering how much this woman had endured within her life, some of it spent there in Queens, but much had been lived in the Mississippi Delta under great hardship. Eric had heard similar sentiments from the elders of Agatha’s family, though none of them mentioned the nudes, nor had Lynne heard any remarks concerning those paintings. It was as though Eric’s work didn’t tarry from family portraits and landscapes.
What Eric wanted to convey, when he began this series, wasn’t how he’d felt when he had painted the Ahern and Nolan clans. Life in Queens, as he thought of it, would be similar to how he’d initially captured his wife amid her hobbies. Yet how much deeper would these canvases display somewhat ordinary tasks, from kitchen duties to youngsters skipping rope to men smoking cigarettes while chatting about baseball. Eric had heard nothing about Sam’s beloved Red Sox; in Queens all the talk was about the Dodgers and Giants, even if those teams no longer resided in New York.
Eric felt this series would surpass those he painted of Lynne for a couple of reasons; his skills were sharper and there was nothing to hide. He wanted complete openness to be experienced within these paintings, similar to the nudes he had created of his wife, who would appear in only of a couple of the canvases. Agatha had purposely asked Eric to keep Lynne within a few pieces, ones she wanted to display within her home. Eric understood the meaning, which wasn’t merely about who stood within the paintings, but that now the Snyders were members of Agatha’s family. Belle had said much the same, warming Eric’s heart, and making him chuckle; just how many relatives had he, Lynne, and Jane inherited upon this trip east?
They had been made just as welcome in their brief visit to Brooklyn, Lynne collecting a bevy of addresses for future correspondence. Yet not all would receive the same sorts of greetings; those in Queens would be put on the Snyders’ Christmas card list while Lynne would send different notes to the Abrams and Gordon women. Did Jews send Hanukkah cards, Eric wondered, as his wife and daughter approached. Jane’s face was smeared with what looked to be remnants of blackberry cobbler and Lynne’s smile was…. Eric’s pulsed raced. The last two mornings Lynne hadn’t felt well, and while the couple had passed it off as travel weariness, Eric thought something far better was the cause for his wife’s fatigue and slight nausea. Yet he only grinned back at the two females while standing from his chair as Jane reached out, calling for him.
He laughed as Lynne handed over the squealing baby, who immediately nuzzled against her father’s shirt, leaving traces of cobbler. “Well hello there,” Eric said to his daughter, kissing her face. Then he gazed at his wife, Lynne’s eyes almost teary. “Everything okay?” he asked.
She nodded emphatically, but didn’t speak. If she did, a dam would burst, and Eric’s heart pounded, but not in fear. He reached out for her with his free arm and Lynne stepped to his side. If they had been alone, she would have buried her face against him, but instead she kissed his cheek, then glanced at those gathered. In that moment, Eric realized Lynne felt as he did, that these people were now their family. And from how closely she stood beside him, Eric had to wonder if their family would soon be comprised of another member.
He laughed; how ironic that with Jane it took weeks for the couple to comprehend they were expecting a baby. This time an addition was already known, if only just conceived. Eric wasn’t certain how he deduced his wife was pregnant, other than Lynne felt the same, her gentle whisper of I love you like she had just seen Dr. Salters. It was Lynne’s tender tone, her needy grip, and a fragrance in the air that had nothing to do with the sumptuous feast yards away. The scent was of their home, and of church, a healing aroma Eric had only encountered a few times in his life. He studied his wife, who now sported tears along her cheeks as well as a radiant beauty worn when she had carried their daughter. Eric trembled, then laughed out loud. Orthodox manners of sharing such news weren’t for them, but then nothing about their lives could be deemed conventional.
Yet turning into a hawk didn’t enter Eric’s consciousness; it was due to this family among whom they stood, it was his gift to translate feelings into images, it was in how long they had waited for children, and now Lynne was again…. Eric kissed her, perhaps more intimately than was proper for such a setting, yet he couldn’t stop, not even with Jane clamoring in his grasp. When Lynne ended the kiss, blushing as she did so, Eric again broke into laughter. When they told their most loved, and now there were plenty to inform, it would be humorous that their second child found its start on the East Coast. Eric had no inkling if Jane would receive a sister or brother, but he was absolutely certain a sibling was coming sometime in early 1964.
Then Eric’s heart skipped a beat; how would they tell the Aherns? For all these newfound relatives, those closest to their hearts would be the hardest with whom to share this news. Perhaps it would drive Renee further away and would it be even more difficult for Sam to pose? Eric closed his eyes, praying for…. He blinked, then gazed at Lynne, her somewhat subdued countenance as though in agreement. She nodded, then gripped his hand, then reached for their daughter. Jane happily went to her mother’s embrace, where she leaned her head on Lynne’s shoulder. Eric stroked his wife’s face, then smiled. This news was too good to be clouded with what if’s. Then he chuckled; if Lynne began to suffer from full blown morning sickness in Manhattan, how would they hide it?
“Agatha asked if I was feeling all right.” Lynne’s tone was like an answer to Eric’s unspoken query. Then she smiled. “I said yes, but she frowned at me. I didn’t actually come out and say anything but….”
“But she assumed something.” Eric smiled, shaking his head. “What’d you tell her?”
“I said we were trying to add to the family,” Lynne giggled.
“I think we have.” Eric wanted to place his hand on her belly, but he refrained. He did stroke his wife’s cheek, then caressed Jane’s head. “How do you feel?”
“Okay right now. Well, tired.” Then Lynne laughed. “Oh Eric, do you really think we’re….”
He nodded, then pulled her close. Jane protested the group hug, but parents ignored her wailing. When Eric released his wife, Jane wore a grimace, which made them laugh out loud. Yet they kept the reason for that mirth to themselves as Agatha joined them, taking Jane in her arms, consoling the child that she would always be the oldest.
That evening, the Snyders packed up their room; they would return to Manhattan tomorrow by taxi, Agatha with them. She wondered how long that commute would take, but Eric said they were happy to leave as early as was necessary for Agatha to reach work by seven a.m. She had scoffed at that, noting Laurie could make the coffee. Eric teased it wouldn’t be as good as what he’d enjoyed all week, rousing Agatha’s smile. Her husband Donald added that she made two pots every morning, one for them, and one for her employers. No one in Queens spoke of Stanford and Laurie by name, but Agatha had worked for Stanford for over ten years and was well compensated. The nature of his relationship with Laurie didn’t seem to cause offense among Agatha’s family.
It was as though Agatha never left this neighborhood, yet she worked a long day every Monday through Friday. Eric hadn’t inquired as to how often she received vacations, then he suddenly wished they were going back via the subway. It would make for a prolonged journey, yet it was how Agatha traveled from this world to one so different. Eric wanted to broach the possibility, but wasn’t sure how. Then he glanced at Lynne, who looked ready for bed. Taking a cab would be far easier on her too and he smiled at himself. If she was ill at Stanford and Laurie’s, the news would have to be shared, which would cause some awkwardness for Eric’s dealer. But another week of their vacation remained and if how Lynne had felt when first pregnant with Jane was any indicator…. Then Eric sighed. For the first several weeks, Lynne had seemed just fine. By the time Eric realized she was expecting, Lynne was probably seven weeks pregnant. He counted back, finding she was maybe four weeks along; was she carrying twins? He shuddered, then set it from his mind. Perhaps it was a boy this time, which also gave him pause. Or maybe now that Lynne knew the symptoms, it was harder to ignore them. Eric settled on that, then counted their many suitcases; a vacation with two children might be a long time in coming.
He chuckled, then sat on the edge of the bed. He patted the space beside him and Lynne sat down. “We won’t be back here for a good while,” he said, putting his arm around her.
“Agatha said the same when she asked how I was.” Lynne sighed, then smiled. “Oh Eric, do you really think I’m….” Her voice grew teary and she leaned against him.
“I do, and honey, I love you so much.” He kissed her head, then set his hand on her flat belly. “What a good place to make a baby,” he then whispered.
Lynne stared at him, then smiled. “What, New York?”
“Sure. And who knows where we’ll make number three.”
Now Lynne gaped at her husband. “Oh my goodness.”
“Well, we still don’t know where we made Jane. Now we’ll just have to assume this one was conceived in Manhattan.” Then Eric broke into a belly laugh. “Laurie will never let Stan forget a child was conceived in their apartment.”
Lynne’s eyes went wide, then she shook her head. “Hopefully he’ll have the good sense to only tease when they’re alone.”
“I agree.” Eric stroked Lynne’s abdomen, then cleared his throat. “Do you want them to know?”
“I’m not sure. Actually, maybe we can hold off telling them till we get home. Unless, I mean….”
“If you get too sick.” Eric nodded. “That’s probably best, or at least the best for Stanford.”
“Uh-huh. But Eric, how’re we gonna tell….”
Lynne’s voice trailed off, then she nestled against her husband’s shoulder. Eric wasn’t sure how they would inform the Aherns, or more rightly Sam. Eric looked forward to telling Marek, Mrs. Kenny, and others at St. Matthew’s. He knew Fran and Louie would be happy, but their dearest friends? It seemed like rubbing salt in very deep wounds, for both Aherns. “I dunno honey. That one I’m leaving up to God.”
“Me too.” Lynne sighed, then brushed tears from her eyes. “Eric, I do wanna tell Marek, I mean, once we’re home and I’ve seen Dr. Salters. And I know Fran’ll be pleased for us. But maybe we’ll have this baby at the hospital. I don’t think Dr. Salters would wanna deliver without another qualified person present and there just isn’t anyone else I’d trust, I mean, another nurse. Or doctor,” Lynne added.
“Honey, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Eric felt the same, but wouldn’t add to his wife’s slight anxiety. Nor would he consider whether or not he might be among those missing from the list. “Let’s just enjoy our last week of vacation and deal with the rest of it when we get home.”
Lynne nodded, then smiled. “If I thought I’d be feeling fine in the morning, I’d be tempted to ask Agatha if we could take the subway. I’ll probably never get the chance again.”
Now Eric laughed. “I thought the same. But I think she’s looking forward to not using that method of transportation. And what you wanna bet in several hours you might change your mind?”
Lynne chuckled. “Maybe so, well, for me. Agatha seemed pretty excited about not having to use the train. Eric, I know we won’t be coming out here again for a while, but when we do, if they’ll have us, I wanna stay here. I’ve never felt so, so….”
Lynne burst into tears and Eric pulled her close to muffle the sound. Their door was partially closed, and while Eric didn’t think Lynne’s mood would be easily discerned, he wanted to shield her. Even if she wasn’t pregnant, this sort of outburst could be expected; they had been away from home for three weeks and while both had enjoyed every minute of the break, it was stressful to go from one place to another. But Lynne wept hard, though not from sorrow. It was due to hormones, Eric smiled, and knowledge; for years and years the Snyders’ world had consisted of themselves. Very slowly others had been gathered into their tiny circle, yet now walls had been torn down, not painfully, but the abundance of love did feel somewhat altering. Eric had never collected so many sketches within such a short time; initially his right arm had ached from disuse. And to his chagrin, none of those drawings were of one couple who still avoided his gift. Would Eric get a chance to put Stanford and Laurie onto paper? Maybe he would record their reactions to the Snyders’ good news, if that news was shared.
As Lynne moved away, wiping her face, Eric saw many feelings coursing through her. She appeared so altered and he smiled at himself, how had he missed this that morning or yesterday or…. But a baby’s beginnings occurred far from what even his remarkable eyes could envision. And while this child had probably been conceived at Stanford and Laurie’s, Eric would always carry the memory of this place where that baby had been realized, not by a doctor’s proclamation, but the simple awareness of one human’s love for another. And it wasn’t merely Eric’s affections for his wife; Agatha had brought it to Lynne’s attention before Eric said a single word.
Agatha coughed just beyond the guest room door and Eric smiled. “Come on in.”
Jane’s babbles were detected as Agatha entered the room. “Just wanted to give you back your child.” Then Agatha smiled. “I think she needs a new diaper.”
Eric inhaled, then laughed. “Indeed she does. Here, I’ll take her.” He stood, collecting Jane from Agatha’s grasp, then Jane drooped against her father’s shoulder. As soon as he changed her, Jane would be ready for bed. And Eric wouldn’t need to make excuses for himself and Lynne to swiftly follow.
“Change her in my room,” Agatha said. “I had Don fix a place in there.”
Eric stepped to the door. “Are you sure?”
Agatha nodded. “I want a minute with Lynne.”
Eric smiled, then left the bedroom, wondering how often Agatha used that firm but loving tone with Stanford Taylor. Probably more than Eric might imagine, he assumed, telling his daughter it was nearly time for sleep.
