Publisher's note: Please join me in welcoming Author Michele Rhem, who presents us with her poignant memoirs of the Rabbit Patch, where her diaries weave tales of a simpler, expressive life lost to many, but gathered together in her most familiar environs - the Rabbit Patch.
The last few days have flown by like a "whirlwind". When "the dust settled", children had graduated and a closing ceremony concluded the school year. I headed straight away to Elizabeth City, for Jenny has a lot more on her plate than usual. . .besides, I never turn down a chance, to see my children and grandchildren and will traipse headlong , at the drop of a hat. But, Jenny has two appointments this week and has to pack for a week at the beach. She must bring linens, towels, kitchen necessities and toys, besides clothes and toiletries, for their week by the sea.
The weather feels like September! The humidity is so low, that a neighbor informed us the records have been broken. This allows the "laughing river" to turn that beautiful shade of indigo. With the lawns being an emerald green just now, the village, is a lovely sight altogether. One day, I took Lyla and Brynn on a long stroll in a double stroller. Brynn sat up and took note of everything. It was a windy day, and we all loved it. Everything is blooming. We stopped under a magnolia tree, just to drink in the scent of the saucer size blossoms. Not long after we stopped again, in our tracks, on the sidewalk, for the wind was filled with the smell of the Cape Jasmine . We stood there and let the wind blow around us, til we had the notion to move on. Lyla learned about hydrangeas, this day, for most every yard has one. A kind lady was working in her yard and gave us several for a bouquet. What a lovely day!
Baby Brynn had a doctors' appointment one day. While she and Jenny attended that, Lyla and I went to "The Recycled Reader" which was just a few shoppes down. Book stores are one place I like to shop. Now, regular readers know, that I am on a mission, to live with less . . .still I bought THIRTEEN books, this day. Most were for others. I found a "Black Beauty" book, for young children actually using Sewells' original words and illustrated beautifully. I am quite a snob when it comes to books for my grandchildren. I just will not tolerate poor quality in books, and most especially for children. I shutter at the watered down version of the classics and the cartoonish quality of many. I also found two for my future grandson-also well written . I found a book for Jenny and one for Will and several for me from the "Covington Series". What a jackpot for me, as these books are hard to find. Lyla enjoyed herself as much as I did. I have a feeling, we will go again, shortly. . .and carry a bigger bag!
Friday was Brants' birthday. Brant is my oldest child and he is the one expecting his own first child. . .my first grandson. He and Sydney are in the mountains, on vacation, so we had to make due with a phone call. Brant is a beautiful human inside and out. He is far from shallow and is as compassionate a soul as I know of. If this sounds like bragging . . it is because I am. He has never lived anywhere, that his neighbors (especially the seniors), did not love him. Children too - and dogs. There is just something about Brant. Of course, I adore my children, but I have valid reasons to do so. . .and Brant is one of them.
Friday was the day of packing. The car was cleaned out and strollers were scrubbed down. It was a full days' work. Lyla and I did manage to get in a visit with Miss Thelma. We carried flowers and cookies and Lyla recited her poems. Miss Thelma just lost her husband, last week, whom she refers to, "as her best friend for eighty years". Her only son passed a few years back, so how tragic. I hope to spend many hours with her this summer, for I have come to love Miss Thelma, and am quite distressed about her situation.
Lately, it seems a lot of sadness has plagued our family. I can scarce recover from one thing, til it seems another has sprang up. What a toll it takes. Sometimes, I feel like I have been in a perpetual state of mourning, for quite a spell. My grandmama used to say, "There is ALWAYS something to worry you . .if you let it ." (My elders used the word "worry" when they meant "bother".) She was right.
One of the truest test, life offers, is what to do with "bother". It is a skill that will be required by all of us and I am convinced, may be one of our most significant factors, in our overall happiness . . .and our health. I sat on the porch swing, Friday night and wondered about all of it. I admit, that life had been going smoothly, for me for a long stretch and I grew accustomed to that. The next thing I know, is that one thing after another unfolded, resulting in loss of loved ones, doors slamming on hopes and threatening circumstances, for several of my dearest ones. I am not at liberty to "tell all" just now, but rest assured, I am not exaggerating. I am in the proverbial "rough patch" and "things could always get worse" does not comfort me one iota, for yes, I believe it! . . .and meanwhile, the eyes of my children are upon me- and I realise, that I am still "teaching them" - about what to do with "bother".
I sat on the swing, when the village was quiet, and there was no sign "of man", for a while, sorting out each care - as if I would come up with solutions. I found myself to be quite dull, at such a task and decided to just "Be still" -as it is written. This is much easier, said, than done.
Saturday morning dawned cool and bright. The very first thought, that I had was "to just love everybody". How odd, I thought, for such a thing to pop in your head upon awakening! I could not recall a single dream, but somehow, the idea rang true and I felt it deeply stirring within my heart. I had no explanation for it, for I doubted any conditions had changed over night, but I could not deny feeling more peaceful, than I had in a fortnight. . .that had changed. My concerns were still intact, but I felt more able to bear them. Love seemed especially powerful -and enough.
I gently got out of bed, so as not to wake Lyla. I sat on the front porch again - and listened to the robins chattering, as they fed their young. Somewhere a mimosa bloomed, for it made its' presence known in the morning breeze. The willow swayed gracefully, giving in to the desire of the wind. It was like watching poetry. . . a natural choreography . . as is so often found in nature.
When I grow up, I want to be like that willow.
