I COULD HAVE LOVED YOU MORE...

 

A series of essays....

I REGRET NOT HAVING MY OWN NOVEL INCLUDED
IN MY OWN LIBRARY AFTER ALL THIS TIME!
TO BE CONTINUED...

....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

Honestly, is there a day when you wake-up without a single regret to have to think about or dissect; you loved too much or you didn’t love enough—you never loved at all?

It may be something as simple as you wish you hadn’t snatched that second cookie because now your walk or workout needs to be extended a wee bit. It could be that you’d like the opportunity to take back spoken words that may have hurt someone you love very much. Perhaps you wake-up each day with the honest belief that you could have loved someone even more then you did over one lifetime.

Regret is an intense, little word that is often responsible for robbing souls of their right to move forward by allowing them to free fall into shaded pasts and memories. The pang of regret can be as sharp as a knife thrust into the heart—the after effects pushing us down into prolonged wretchedness and misery.

The feeling of regret can cloak you within its heaviness of sorrow and distress as you feel remorse about something you fervently wish could be different, changed, or rectified. One ends up bemoaning a missed or lost opportunity in love, work, or pleasure and suffers with saline tears seeping through closed eyelids—the subtle drip, drip, drip of liquid grief.

We should not forget that it’s not only possible to learn from our regrets but that some of our proudest moments may have risen from the depths of our sorrow like some phoenix from the ashes of despair! For this reason alone, our regrets must be neatly collated, stapled, and boxed as charmingly as a loved one’s birthday present. Remembering that it is a gift from us and given back to us, we must treat it with care and believe that it is possible to make positive, long-term life decisions from distant memories and regret.

Yes, I could have loved you more in this lifetime; I could have made the days shorter, sweeter for us both. Our lives are open to interpretation making each movement and conscious decision eminently important as we follow the elegant rhythm of the life we’ve been given—this time around. And, if we have the time and wherewithal to proceed forward, to gently unwrap that gift to ourselves with the knowledge that with each regret there is time to rectify its existence and make changes. It can be done if we desire to make the effort.

“When I fall, let me fall without regret like a leaf from a tree.”  —Wendell Berry

WENDELL BERRY: POET, FARMER, WRITER, ACTIVIST, ACADEMIC.
HE COINED THE CONCEPT OF “SOLVING FOR PATTERN” WHICH IS THE 
PROCESS OF FINDING SOLUTIONS THAT SOLVE MULTIPLE
PROBLEMS, WHILE MINIMIZING THE CREATION OF NEW PROBLEMS.

We have only ourselves to rely upon in this particular lifetime. Providentially, we are surrounded by the wonders of nature that guide us down gentle paths of hopefulness and beauty. Observing nature’s bounty, we revel in the motions of a single leaf that detaches itself from a tree to randomly drift down to the moss covered ground below. Feeling free, no strings attached, its journey is unencumbered by its past, enthusiastic about its future—with no regrets to pass along to another living thing. We do envy such an honest and forthright solution to a happy, fulfilled life!

Regrets—well, I’ve have a few...

Copyright © 2021 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

ARE WE UP FOR A THOROUGH DEATH CLEANING?

 

A series of essays....

AS WE AGE, WE SHOULD CONSIDER PARTING 
WITH ANYTHING THAT DOESN’T SPARK
JOY WITHIN US WHEN WE SEE OR TOUCH IT.

....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

A young woman cries tears of guilt and regret in a courtroom telling how she spends restless nights apologizing to a black man she has seen made breathless by a policeman’s knee. She is paying a price for recording the truth. Her personal sacrifice is far beyond her few years on earth. We can’t thank her enough for her courage.

Medical staff and volunteers prepare themselves for another day of serving up syringe-filled hope and encouragement to end a pandemic that has taken so many loved ones from us this past year. What an honor to have received the benefit of their selfless attempt at righting a world that is spinning out of control.

Within an effort to soothe a ravaged soul, limiting the use of social media has become a necessary salve applied as often as possible. The manipulative control of the media is very unnerving. Why should we allow it to control our lives when it should only be serving to inform us of the truth? But, this is another story for another time.

Will we ever be able to presume that life is equitable when applied to ordinary, less than perfect, human behavior?

So, I’m wondering if this is a good time to talk about a concept I’ve been reading about called ‘Swedish death cleaning.’ Please be patient with me because it’s really not as morbid as it sounds. 

We may eat more healthily and exercise more frequently than ever before, but we can’t ignore the fact that many of us have logged-in close to seventy years on earth by now and that amount of time comes with lots of baggage, memories, and memorabilia. 

Two recent events changed my life forever. In a matter of a few weeks time, we sold our home in Florida and then moved to Michigan. These experiences taught me a lot about myself; opened my eyes to new and potentially emotional possibilities that have reshaped my life in many interesting ways.

Without knowing anything about this existing phenomenon called death cleaning, it seems that Dan and I encouraged it by downsizing from twenty-four hundred square feet of living space to around fifteen hundred with our move. Not only did we have over twenty years of Floridian accumulation of stuff to consider now, but there was plenty of stuff brought down to Orlando in 1998 after raising two children and celebrating twenty-three years of marriage in Michigan!

This is where I have to ask if life is fair; what pulls at the heartstrings more than years and years of memories?

On the practical side, who do you think is going to take care of all your things when you’re no longer here? This is a question proposed by the author, Margareta Magnusson, who wrote about death cleansing several years ago. She realized that with many of us clinging to so many tangible items we treasured along life’s journey, there will be a time when nobody else cares about them. Actually, we may even enjoy our mature lives much better without all of the mess and clutter to deal with.

Since minimalism seems to be the flavor of the day, is this merely a trend or a practical solution to giving us a sense of having more power and control over our lives? Magnusson, born in Sweden, says, “You could look at this type of cleaning as being a dietetic regimen for the home.”

If you happen to have children or other relatives who will be responsible for looking after your estate after you’ve gone, is it fair to them to have to deal with your things? Frankly, I believe that some people just don’t care what happens to their belongings once all is said and done and live happy, fulfilled lives among the treasures they have accumulated for years. That, of course, is their choice to make.

So, even after knowing that our life in Orlando was coming to an end, we failed to weed-out, sell, or give away so many small treasures and proceeded to pack them all up for the trip up north. It’s so easy to hide or spread things out in a larger home and quite terrifying to try and fit them into a small, yellow cottage in Kalamazoo. Trust me—we know firsthand!

JOY IS EMPTYING TWO LARGE STORAGE UNITS, 
SAVING MONEY, AND FINDING A HOME FOR
ALL OF OUR UNNECESSARY THINGS.

Two years after our move we’ve emptied two ten-by-ten storage units that had been filled with items that did not fit into our new house or lifestyle. By purging and rearranging our things we’ve been called to live with a much lighter footprint on the planet while being happy, dealing with less stress, and being able to talk about death without the strain of divesting a majority of our possessions.

Magnusson claims that, “The argument for doing something like death cleaning is that it makes you more nimble for all of the changes in your life.” I have come to realize how true this concept has become in my own life and encourage others, at any age, to try something different, create good habits, and feel in control of your own destiny.

The young lady who recorded George Floyd’s death on her cell phone will always feel that she could have done more to assist in saving his life. She will have to come to terms with the fact that what she did do was important in its own right. She took control of her life by possessing the tenacity to keep the video running over nine minutes in order to capture the faces of hatred and bigotry. 

The officer’s face should have represented the kindness within, especially while holding a position designed to protect and help everyone feel safe and secure. Instead, it showed how superior he felt his race was over a person of color as he proceeded to take that life away from us as easily as stamping out a lit cigarette tossed aside on the dirty, concrete road.

If you don’t see this skewed vision of life as a problem, it may be time to do a bit of thorough death cleaning. It may be time to decide what truly matters in your life and be prepared to throw-out the archaic representations of what others think serves and benefits the majority of us. 

Are you up for it?

It’s laborious to make good changes happen. It’s physical and cognitive work. It’s emotional work. But, as we must talk about the inevitability of our death, we must see our way to finding happiness and identifying the pleasure of positive change in our lives through hope, diversity, and love.

Copyright © 2021 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

STORIES WORTH REMEMBERING

 

A series of essays....

TYPICAL FARE FOR A PERFECT FRENCH PICNIC FEAST

Courtesy of  Fat Tire Tours

....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

The stories in my head take me back to a time when dreams came true. A time when lifelong plans became a reality. A time when the excitement of world travel blossomed like snowdrops in the springtime, fresh and new following winter’s frigid cold.

Set me down at a picnic table right in the heart of Champagne with the sun shining down on the simple luncheon feast spread across the wooden planks and a slight breath of air curling the edges of the colorful scarf used to anchor the edible feast.

The refreshing, mid-August breeze caressed my smiling face as I slipped into the memory of how my husband, daughter, and I arrived at this petite picnic spot in the first place. 

We had recently left Paris after three full days of walking, observing, and listening to the locals sing their beautiful words and watch their melodies float along the air like rows of multi-colored gems. I was pleased to know that many of these gems I could identify and even piece together again in translation understanding that the years of high school and college French classes were paying off.

The last evening spent in the City of Light found us squeezing into a small sweet shop in the Marais and ordering glace à la fraise (strawberry ice cream) with tiny, dark pearls of tart, red current berries topping the frozen creation. We discussed our next night’s stay in the center of Strasbourg (centreville), due east of Paris and nestled along the Rhine River that separates France from Germany. So much history to take in from one picturesque city following the thread to another.

To arrive in Strasbourg by early evening, we decided to travel the Champagne Route and meander through the row upon row of vineyards comprising this beautiful area. Dan drove through the heart of Reims, the unofficial capital of the region, with its many champagne houses headquartered there offering tastings and cellar tours.

WEAVING OUR WAY BETWEEN FORESTS, VINES AND HILLSIDES
DOTTED WITH PICTURESQUE VILLAGES 

Opting out of a tour this time around, we stopped at a marché or French market on the outskirts of Reims in order to purchase luncheon fare for our picnic between the vines and hillsides along the Champagne Route.

We asked Dan to wait in the car while my daughter and I played like the locals and did our shopping. Our plan was to speak only French—and, giggling mercilessly, we succeeded in making that happen! Our eleven-year-old understood the language well enough to make selections and even speak with several people in the store. She proved to be brave and inquisitive. It was quite an adventure for both of us!

Yes, a baguette and creamy butter (a meal in itself), served with a side of ham slices and local cheese (jambon et fromage). There were French radishes, carrots, and celery to add more color and local freshness to our humble meal. Soon, we’d be pouring inexpensive red wine into paper cups. Our daughter chose a carton of fresh juice for herself.

 

We were very proud of ourselves as we hopped back into the car after stashing our armful of goodies in the trunk. All French markets back in 1990 had you pay a few cents extra for a plastic bag for your groceries. Or, you could bring your own bags to be filled. Our outstretched arms served us well for the few purchases we made that day.

Following the Champagne Route out of Reims and heading south towards the town of Epernay, we were seriously looking for the perfect spot to enjoy our meal. Right on cue, under a fluttering green canopy of summer leaves with sunbeams filtering through pointing out the spot, we found our wooden picnic table nestled along a small hillside embankment just off of the narrow road.

We floated in this protective bubble, grape vines encircling us and luxuriating in our heady triumph, for as long as possible. How could this not be the best meal, by far, we had eaten while in France? And, for dessert, we had framboises juteuses (juicy raspberries) purchased at a Paris open market the night before and gently rinsed in the bathroom sink of our hotel room. Their sweetness ran down our throats like liquid candy from the garden and was the perfect ending to our perfect feast.

Feeling energized from the consumption of food, fresh air, and glorious sunshine, it was time to pack-up the small cooler and erase all remnants of our stay in this glorious spot, leaving it as pristine as possible for the next family to visit. We had the hillsides and small villages of Champagne yet to discover with our small hotel near the Cathedral in Strasbourg waiting for us at the end of this particular rainbow.

WHOSE WEDDING, NEW YEAR’S PARTY, GRADUATION,
RETIREMENT, OR BIRTHDAY HAS BEEN 
CELEBRATED WITH THE PRODUCT OF THESE GRAPES?

Riding in the backseat of our rental car, sunroof gaping wide open with the heat of the early afternoon sun settling nicely on the top of our heads, our daughter begs her father to stop and pull over. As she opens the trunk and lifts a bright yellow package from our bag, I take advantage of the opportunity to take several pictures of the clusters of green, unripened grapes clinging to the vines. I can’t help but wonder who’ll be drinking their golden, bubbly nectar, known as the king of wines, in the future. I have captured a moment suspended in time that will keep me speculating for years to come.

I remember now that I spotted LU Petit Beurre emblazoned on the package she held in her hands, eyes begging me to let her open it. Mais bien sûr. This simple, golden butter biscuit is a French classic. It would not be an exaggeration to say that France would not be the same without Petit Beurre! 

MONSIEUR LEFEBVRE, A BAKER, AND MADEMOISELLE UTILE
MARRIED IN 1850 AND BEGAN BAKING BISCUITS
AND LABELED EACH PACKAGE WITH THEIR INITIALS, LU.

Passing the package back and forth, devouring the seemingly burnt cookies while weaving our way between forests, vines, and hillsides dotted with picturesque villages sparkling with charm, we happily polished off the Petit Beurre. There was joy within those golden crumbs swirling around us and clinging to the smiles on our sun kissed faces. 

The Champagne Route was more than a gateway into the world of wine. It was an opportunity to discover the happiness within ourselves. It was our way of enjoying the simplest things this spectacular country had to offer while eating Petit Beurre along the way! It was truly—unforgettable.

Copyright © 2021 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

ALONE

 

A series of essays....

“WE ENTER THE WORLD ALONE, WE LEAVE THE WORLD ALONE.”

....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

"We enter the world alone, we leave the world alone," a quote by the English writer and historian, James Anthony Froude, in the mid 1800's. Orson Welles added his own spin when he said, "We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone."

Variations on a theme. 

With eyelids carrying the day’s exhaustion, I tuck my pillow beneath my neck and slowly curl into a fetal position, my future dreams taking me down the haunted path of aloneness.

What is the reasoning behind this dour feeling?

I spend hours inspiriting a sensation of acceptance knowing that this vast, natural world is cradling me within its arms even when people fail to do so. Surely, I cannot be alone when I hear the joyful birdsong drifting among the tree branches, piercing the morning haze as I listen from my cozy bed.

I am not alone when I open my eyes and Nature’s concert carries me through simple morning routines: making coffee and relishing the first sip, brushing my hair and deciding what to wear, and drifting to my desk to begin my workday with a second cup of steaming coffee poured from the carafe on the kitchen counter.

Certainly, I could not be alone when the lively conversation between husband and wife of a gentle, spring evening clings to me like a second skin. Sitting side-by-side while plotting, planning, and dreaming of a time with mixed desires of future travel and moving back up north near family and friends. Life will never slow down if we do not allow it to slow down.

Can we be alone with others so nearby?

The realization hits me as if it were a hammer striking truth deep inside my brain—I am successfully 'creating the illusion' that best fits within my life's mold. I see the fine line between actual and contrived. It divides my thoughts like a gossamer web stretching between two solid objects.  

"Only through our love and friendship...." 

How much control do we truly have? The pieces float along the gentle breeze and match one shape into another adapted for accuracy and exactness like the pieces of a machine-cut puzzle. We are instruments of the grand illusion—living in the moment.

We are on the outside looking in.

Within the span of time we become thinkers, dreamers, artists and imagineers. A puppetmaster of our own world. Alone, I see the color blue. Alone, you see the color gold. Alone, I am bombarded and assailed by words and phrases. Alone, you create beauty from stone and mortar.

As we differentiate between fantasy and reality, we decide

when to choose love over hatred, or when to stand alone or follow the masses, or the right time to employ common sense or become a loose cannon—potentially causing damage to this beautiful planet and the people we share it with.

Do we believe in the rights of women worldwide or do we crush equality between men and women like so many generations of organized religions and cultures have done before us? 

Will honest souls prevail and black-hearted souls be crushed by their own cowardly deeds?

I sit upon the edge of my bed in the shadows of the early morning and chant "Thank You, Thank You, Thank You to my personal deity. I do so in appreciation of my life and the well-being of those I love. My prayer is carried out into the ethos on the wings of angels.

James and Orson, I remain grateful to both of you for your insight.

Vironika Tugaleva, an inspirational speaker and healing coach from the Ukraine, explains that, "The greatest tool of self-love is self-awareness. Once you truly know yourself, love is the only option."

Self-Love.

If love and friendship creates the illusion, for the moment, that we are not alone, then we must learn to be our own best friend and love ourselves with the passion and grace that we would afford to every other living soul around us.

In summary: We are alone with our thoughts and ideas. We create a glass-domed world around us in order to protect these thoughts and ideas. However, we must constantly watch our own beliefs because they will become the words of the people we draw into our inner sanctum.

Live—Laugh—Love for today! Tomorrow we will leave this world, all alone. May we make the best choices for ourselves and everyone around us in the meantime.

Copyright © 2021 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

Photo Copyright © 2021 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

HERE COMES THE SUN

 

A series of essays....

DOWNTOWN KALAMAZOO, MICHIGAN:
THE NEW ARCHITECTURE COMPLIMENTS THE OLD.

....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

I find myself having trouble putting down my thoughts and describing my recent actions that would make this story particularly interesting for all of you today. I do apologize. But, I am finding my thoughts all scattered and incoherent and if I could corral them all in one spot, I might be able to put the various pieces together and make something out of them. 

For now, I will try as best I can. Here goes!

Dan and I got our second dose of the Pfizer vaccine this week and all went as smoothly as the first time around. We were fortunate to have for each round the beautifully orchestrated and highly organized people working at the Kalamazoo County Health & Community Services Department taking care of us. The sparkle in their eyes reflected the genuine smiles they had behind their masks at each station and with every poke in the arm they administered.

LIKE THE LINES AT DISNEY WORLD
ONLY WITH MUCH MORE SIGNIFICANCE

WAITING TO GO IN FOR SHOT NO. 2

DAN’S EYES SAY IT ALL!

I wasn’t as giddy feeling this time around, though. I had heard from several sources quite close to me that the second shot would/could do me in for, at least, a day or so with possible unfavorable reactions to the vaccine. But, not to worry, it just means it’s working and my body is reacting to it as it should, or something like that. I admit it, I psyched myself up for the worst-case scenario and was pleasantly surprised to have proved them wrong. Now, I’m not discounting the fact that my current fogginess doesn’t have something to do with it all but, at least, there’s been no hard side-effects such as having a temperature, dizziness, or headaches to deal with!

With the bright, sunny day ahead of us and second shot in our arms, we left The Expo for downtown Kalamazoo to a shop whose motto is, “Your best choice for all things in print! More than a store—an enlightened community!” How could you go wrong by visiting the Michigan News Agency on W. Michigan Avenue? This independent bookstore has been around since 1947 when Dean Hauck’s father established it and then Dean took it over in 1988. During the pandemic, Dean vowed to remain open to the public with her day beginning at 7 am, sharp, seven days a week, because she knows how many people depend on her to begin their day.

DEAN HAUCK STANDING AMONG HER
THOUSANDS OF PRINTED ITEMS

Courtesy of Joel Bissell

This outgoing, amazing woman has spent her entire career cultivating a community atmosphere and the pleasure was all ours as we opened the front door and happily stepped inside. My mission was to find two books by the author, Jacqueline Woodson and it didn’t take me long to find Woodson’s novels neatly displayed at the front of the store. As we continued to walk around the bookstore, many individuals dropped in to purchase their morning paper, slide their change across the counter, and say good morning to Dean as she replied to them on a first name basis, eyes sparkling.

I purchased my books and took my time as Dean, Dan, and I chatted together for a few minutes at the glass case counter near the front door.  Hauck, a high school English teacher has a master’s degree in English Literature and is dedicated to the promotion of local writers and poets and offers live readings by many of them in the very back of her cozy establishment. As we bade our good-byes, I couldn’t help but think how fortunate we all are for the existence, enthusiasm, and dedication of Dean Hauck and for the opportunity to know her and to have, right downtown, one of the last remaining newsstands in the Midwest!

Dean Hauck lovingly goes on my list of important women meant to be celebrated year round and highlighted in March during Women’s History Month here in the U.S.A.

The morning sunshine continued to break over the tops of the taller buildings in Downtown Kalamazoo and splash its warmth on our upturned faces. I was very happy to have only taken a half hour out of this spectacular morning to get our vaccine shots. More time for play and discovery as we decided to leave the car and walk to the other end of town to yet another well established local business and promoter of the arts, Sarkozy Bakery and Café, who has been “Proudly baking for Kalamazoo since 1978!” 

JUDY SARKOZY WELCOMES 
ALL WITH OPEN ARMS

Courtesy of sarkozybakery.com

Judy Sarkozy has been baking up a storm for over forty years and nothing expresses community vibes like fresh baked goods and a hot mug of coffee or tea! As with Dean, Judy has not closed her doors due to the pandemic and has offered curb side pickup and take-out throughout this past year. When you’ve been a large part of a community for so long, you accept the fact that so many people depend on and feel comforted by your services no matter what. Judy, her huge smile covered by a black face mask, came up to the counter to bid us a good morning before shuffling back to the belly of the bakery and her home away from home where she has felt comfortable and productive for so many years. 

Okay, as I add Judy Sarkozy to my list, along with Dean Hauck, of local women who have kept this community growing and strong year after year, I marvel at their strength and long term dedication. It is obvious to me that there is great respect and love for each and every one of us who, also, take pride in living in Kalamazoo, Michigan.

Grabbing our crisp, white bag of freshly baked goodies, including a loaf of warm, French bread, we walked back outside and followed the long shadows on the south side of town leading us back to our car. Along the way, I have to stop at each business entrance, open or closed, to take pictures of the dated terrazzo tiles that remain and have welcomed customers into these shops since 1915 and before. Towns like Kalamazoo are simple treasures of architecture, history, and the people who lure us into the heart and soul of a community and always keep us wanting for more.

Finally, back at the car, we decided to make a beeline for home with breakfast in hand. I will make two large mugs of Irish Breakfast tea and slightly warm-up the pastries with a touch of Irish butter on top. The anticipation is mounting.

Seems like hours ago that we left the Kalamazoo County Expo Center for a visit with Dean and Judy downtown. I know we all have our favorite women with whom we identify during this special month of honoring the history of women and they may include anyone from Harriet Tubman to a favorite teacher to our own Mothers who have greatly influenced us along the way. Today I was happy to put two more women on my list and thank them for all of their hard work; thank them for helping to knit the lives of people in our community together in so many educated and delicious ways—for decades.

I encourage you to take a walk around your own town sometime soon and make a list of the women who help make it a better place in which to live, raise children, and work in. Have fun watching that list grow!

PURE DELIGHT!!!

Copyright © 2021 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

Photo Copyright © 2021 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

THE PIECES OF LIFE’S PUZZLE: SO MANY SOUVENIRS

 

A series of essays....

MEMORIES CREATED ON A BEACH IN CONNEMARA, IRELAND~
SAND~ROCK~BRIGHT GREEN MOSS WITH THE SOUND
OF THE WAVES CRASHING AROUND US!

....as seen through my eyes!

“A friend once told me that when someone we know dies, we're actually mourning the death of the part of ourselves that only they knew.”

Ryan Prior—Screenwriter

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

Aunt Maxine had no children of her own. She seemed to have lived a rather full and exciting life with her husband, Orris. I remember the first time Dan and I went to visit them in their cozy stone house near the edge of town where they had lived throughout Dan’s memories of them while growing-up. It was like entering a small museum with closed, glass cases filled with exotic memorabilia of their time spent traveling around the world together. Every object I observed had an amazing story surrounding it and, if you asked Aunt Maxine to talk about a particular item, you would be fascinated and entertained for hours on end.

Now that I am older and have logged my own adventures in such exotic places as France, Germany, Ireland, the UK, and Italy, with Dan and our girls, I recognize that personal trend of wanting to bring even a small portion of these places home in order to relive our experiences there. Whereas Aunt Maxine’s treasures were mainly museum pieces kept under glass, box upon box of colored slides, a pink conch shell from their honeymoon in Florida filled with sandy beach memories of love and romance, mine consist of photos, lasting friendships, and lots and lots of rocks!

I’ve been writing about my adventures since September of 2013 at my Blog site, Moving On..., and have over 350 essays and poems to show for it.  My Blogs are dotted with a picture or two or three expressing the visual portion of each trip. For me, it’s a wonderful way of reliving every precious moment spent somewhere else in this grand world we live in. 

 

With a cocktail in hand, I envision Aunt Maxine explaining away each slide picture to their various dinner guests while softened versions of the Ponte Vecchio, Duomo, and cobblestoned streets of Florence clicked on-off-on again across the virgin white surface of the pull-up screen. Uncle Orris is making sure that the circular projector stays filled with new slide cartridges and gently laughs each time a person, building, sculpture, or street scene is projected upside down. He immediately corrects its position by deftly flipping the slide over. The dust particles living in the cone of light projected from machine to screen subtly adjust to the corrected version.

Maxine was very proud of her self-acquired knowledge of travel expertise. And, considering not many people were fortunate enough to take yearly trips somewhere in the world, I knew that she and Orris used their time together traveling—wisely. I was certain that the many stories Orris brought back regarding his military service while stationed in Europe  during WWII provided the niggling itch and grand passion that she needed to pack her suitcases and go abroad herself. Armed with beautiful slides and detailed stories, they could have held amazing travelogues for various groups after each trip taken.

When Dan and I were young, newly married, and packing for our honeymoon in Aruba, I asked Aunt Maxine for some packing advice.  She was my shining example of all things worldly and was always there for anyone wishing to tap into the life she and Orris forged from various connections on planes, trains, ships, and automobiles while moving around the globe. She was delighted to give me a little travel tutelage and lots of worthwhile advice.

I learned how to expertly pack a man’s sport coat keeping it unwrinkled and pristine until it could be hung-up at our destination. The trick of stuffing shoes with rolled socks or small objects would save needed room for other items. She instructed me as to the importance of maintaining a color theme with my clothes: I should choose either black, navy blue, or brown so that I would pack less by incorporating mix-and-match articles and be able to create more outfits for the trip. Maxine introduced me to the art of rolling clothes which is quite popular among travelers, today. She had perfected this technique long ago and I was the lucky recipient of her expert style and practical knowledge.

Along with packing clothes, I was instructed as to the best way to bring precious souvenirs back home with little to no damage. As mentioned before, her mementos of intricate glass and hand-painted  porcelain figurines, clay pipes, and bronze statues all required unique handling. Just like the photo slides, each piece brought back home represented a personal memory of a time and place that brushed their lives with its own unique colors and flavors. 

Dan and I rarely take the fancy route when it comes to bringing home mementoes from the places we visit, unless you count the allotted amount of unopened bottles of wine we bring back in our checked baggage. Always a bit dangerous but, so far, so good! For me, bringing home a geological specimen of the landscape specific to an area means that rock or stone has the ability to channel the vibrations of its origins through me as it’s being pressed into the palm of my hand. The rock may represent climbing up to the peak of a mountain in Connemara; walking along the shores of the Mediterranean Sea or the Côte d'Azur in France; pocketing a small, jagged piece of black rock high in the Pyrenees to a smooth, age-worn stone found along the dangerously narrow roads of the Italian Alps; and back down to sea level with a gray and white beauty found in the shallow shoreline of Loch Lomond in the Scottish Highlands.

When Aunt Maxine passed away in 2009, at the age of ninety-one, nine years after Uncle Orris, it was knowing what a full life they had together that made her passing more tolerable. Their memories served as brilliant souvenirs that documented a great love story. With each picture taken or hand-painted figurine purchased, these pieces fit together within the grand puzzle and help to breathe more life into our precious recollections. 

You see, sometimes we do get to choose our own paths in life. When one flame flickers and fizzles out, we pick up the pieces left behind from this giant puzzle of life and clutch them to our hearts like vibrant souvenirs, poignant memories of the people and places we will cherish many lifetimes over.

It’s easy to see how, “...when someone we know dies, we’re actually mourning the death of the part of ourselves that only they knew.” I do mourn the passing of that part of my life that only Maxine shared and grieve its earthly passing. But, I knew that I would always retain the souvenirs of our unique relationship!

Copyright © 2021 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved