FROM CARDBOARD FORTS TO LOCKED DOORS AND FEAR....THE NEW GENERATION!

A series of essays....

THE AGE OF INNOCENCE,  A CHARACTER STUDY BY THE ENGLISHMAN,
JOSHUA REYNOLDS, WAS COMPLETED AROUND 1786

 Courtesy of: en.m.wikipedia.org

....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

The Age of Innocence, as my generation perceived it growing up in the 1950’s, is rapidly changing! The simplicity of being a child, free to roam and discover the small world around them, is being exchanged for real fears that stifle the purity of their daily lives.  I believe that The Age of Innocence is the struggle to reconcile the old with the new.... But, at what cost to all of the innocent children?

Can we any longer.....

Leave the doors to our house and automobile unlocked just because we live in a small town or community?

Knock on a stranger’s door to ask for directions or help and not expect to have someone accost us with a firearm?

Pack school lunches for our children without wondering if something bad could happen to them during the day at school; when they come home from school?

Watch our teenage daughter go out for a run with earbuds on, innocently listening to her favorite tunes, and not be concerned about her safety....even in broad daylight?

Not worry about our elementary school child walking home a block or two alone after being let off from the bus?

Be a child of African American decent and not require to learn specific rules and regulations in order to coexist among White children and adults?

Leave for our place of employment and not have to wonder if a disgruntled employee (current or past) will be stalking the premises with the intent to cause harm to those who work there?

I am old enough to know that many to all of the above examples could have and, most likely, did occur years ago, as well. The consistency by which they occur today is what concerns most of us.....especially regarding the mass school shootings that have taken so many young, innocent lives! They have robbed us of so much intelligence and potential towards making our world a better, more productive place to live and have inflicted incredible, lasting pain among the families and friends that survive after such an egregious event.

And, yes, having the broad spectrum of the media today reach out to us in so many different ways has a lot to do with allowing us to instantly feel the impact of such horrific acts of hatred and disregard for human life itself. What glory such a deranged mind seeks and is gifted with when they know that their ‘dirty’ deed reaches such notoriety so quickly and in real time. Lives touting such obscene ‘legends’ have become prolific in this time of instant media coverage.

Am I kidding myself here? Was there ever such a thing as living in jubilant innocence in the first place? Or, did we convince ourselves that living in a small town guaranteed that you knew all of your neighbors well enough and offered a comfort that stemmed from your parents and grandparents who lived there before you? Generations ago it was more likely that you remained in the same town that you grew-up in rather than fly-off into the great unknown following your dreams. We would be safer if we just stayed put. Or, so we believed.

With changing times, we have become travelers of the entire world and often decide to visit and live in places that our grandparents had never even heard of or read about. The earth has become a smaller place in this regard, however, our knowledge of different people, their culture and traditions, has grown immensely and we are learning how to comfortably commingle with all the people of the world. 

Sadly, continuing to follow along our current path, the legacy we pass down to our children and grandchildren will be of students crouching down beneath their desks as they are drilled to react to a shooter within their school. Or, to fear the color of someone’s skin for they may want to cause you physical harm. Understanding that if you speak-up and say what you feel deep inside, you could be taken away and locked-up. And, to love freely the person of your choice could be against the law of the land. 

Unfortunately, the legacy we pass down to the children would be their lack of freedom; the same freedoms we knew and cherished as a child growing-up in America! The innocence we luxuriated in and may have taken for granted, has disintegrated into the dust particles of fear, hatred, and isolation which has contributed to anxiety about future uncertainties or how we stack-up among the different levels of society as we know it.

Can we turn the tables? I will always believe that we can. Eliminating the source of such fear and hatred by those who exasperate us by promoting negativity and friction between various groups would be a huge start! If you are eighteen or older, making your vote count this November would be a giant step towards turning our topsy-turvy world in a slightly more upright position. 

Ultimately, we need the United States government to be on our side again, we the people, and fighting for the ‘little person’ who happens to make-up the vast majority of this great nation; the people who work hard for a living and strive every day to make this country stronger and better from the bottom....up. Not the other way around! Our neighbors whom we trusted with our unlocked homes and vehicles are, once again, those we would do anything for as we assume they would do for us.

All children deserve the right to feel free of guilt through lack of knowledge of evil. He or she should be protected from cunning or deceit for as long as humanly possible. Childhood is living in a fairytale world without structure or worldliness and where the imagination can run rampant. Our children are entitled to enjoy this inherent freedom, this privilege of living, even for a little while, within a world that is charmed and innocent....

Every child deserves the right to have time to explore and time to waste. These are the little things that help to make this country the best it can be right now; the best it can be in the future! 

Please exercise your right to vote on November 6! Allow the innocent children of America to enjoy the freedom and joy of living a childhood that enriches their imaginations instead of harboring their fears. I thank all of you in advance. Vote!

Copyright © 2018 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved

A TALE OF LIFE, GUINNESS, AND DIRTY LAUNDRY

A series of essays....

WHETHER IT'S A PINT OR A HALF PINT OF GUINNESS,
IT ALWAYS TASTES SO MUCH BETTER IN IRELAND!!!

....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

Stealing a few moments down in my daughter’s comfy basement, I am sitting on their bright red sectional, resting my bone-weary legs and listening to the soothing sounds of both washer and dryer creating their magic as our traveling clothes tumble and roll inside. Hopefully, our machines will be hooked-up and operable by the end of this week. The plumber is at our little yellow cottage working on that right now. In the meantime, this basement solitude suits me just fine!

MICHAEL, MARSHA, DAN, AND ME!

Dan and I returned from our trip to Scotland, Wales, and Ireland on Monday having shared amazing experiences with our traveling companions and good friends, Marsha and Michael. Unlocking the front door at eleven o’clock at night prompted us to forget about everything else but sleep after a long day of travel. It always amazes me that you can wake-up in, let’s say, Quin, Ireland, and be in your own bed later that same day (night)! 

Within life’s consistent identification of ‘first times’ and ‘last times,’ spanning the few, short years between birth and old age, we spend precious little time reconnecting with what makes us happy, comfortable, and rich with emotion and memories. I find that returning to a place where all of the elements involved make you feel hopeful and alive works wonders for my weary soul and peace of mind. Returning to Ireland is a prime example.

Some world travelers add-up on their ‘travel size’ abacus how many places they’ve visited; how many countries they’ve stepped foot upon. And, I see nothing wrong with this from an aesthetic point of view. I have chosen to be less concerned with compiling numbers and more excited about remembering meaningful experiences. Returning to a place I enjoyed so much the first time brings me back home to the land, places, memories, and (most importantly) the people I’ve come to call my friends! With each return visit, new friends are made, as well, and are neatly tucked into our hearts as we promise to keep in touch via the Internet in one way or another; assuring each other that our door would always be open for possible future visits.

I began my Blogging experience five years ago and entitled it ‘Moving On: 2013’ for many good reasons. I was moving on with my life’s journey and I wanted to share my adventures with others. I called myself ‘The Traveling Keyboard’ because my i-Pad was (is) my friend and faithful companion. Having solidified the fifth year of publishing my stories this past September, I am celebrating the occasion by reminiscing about the gentleman and his lady who were the subjects of my maiden essay. I am proud of the 235 posted stories I’ve composed since then!

Dan and I met Adrian and Bev in Doolin, County Clare, in September of 2006. And then, dropped by to speak with Adrian again in the autumn of 2013 before flying home from Shannon Airport.

CRAGGY ISLAND B&B

Well, my story goes something like this....

“Hello there. I’m Adrian. My wife, Bev, should be around shortly,” said the man with the engaging smile and an Irish lilt that bespoke of his rich Irish ancestry. “Come in. Come in and I’ll show you around the house before taking you up to your room to settle in.”

It was the final two nights of this particular Ireland visit as we followed along the Wild Atlantic Way in constant pursuit of lively pubs and Traditional Irish Music. We soon discovered that both were to be found in this colorful, little village that hugged the Atlantic Ocean. Doolin is embraced by the popular Cliffs of Moher to the south and the quaint Aran Islands further out to the west that dreamily drift near the horizon and stand guard to the entrance of Galway Bay.

THE CLIFFS OF MOHER RESIDE IN
THE BACKGROUND

After being warmly introduced to Bev and told that she would be making us a traditional Irish breakfast in the morning, Adrian preceded us up to the second floor to our comfortable room. Adrian and Bev were the proud owners of Craggy Island Bed & Breakfast, a peaceful place in a  scenic location with sea views and close to Ballyvaughan, Lisdoonvarna  (Matchmaker Festival), The Burren, and home to Traditional Irish Music. My research showed that Adrian held deep roots within the Trad Music scene and often played his guitar in local jam sessions at Gus O’Connors Pub in the village. Gus O’Connors is a Traditional tavern that originally opened in 1832 and offers delicious Irish food and nightly live music. Definitely a place after my own heart!

I’d read that Adrian O’Connor, our host, had released one CD, Often I Think About Doolin, and soon learned that he had arranged each song himself and was considered a local hero of sorts because of his talent and major contribution to the Doolin Trad Music lifestyle. Both he and Bev were certainly enthusiastic enough and very generous with their time and we were offered a private guitar session in their parlor at Craggy Island by Adrian himself. Explaining each song with his generous heart, we were overwhelmed by his personal sharing of history and music and candid talks about his family’s involvement concerning the Irish War Of Independence. 

Saying good-bye was very difficult for me. It was as though we’d been taken in by an Irish family who had allowed us into their inner circle with open arms and I found that relinquishing that new found joy, even after only two days, required much effort on my part.

THE CHEERFUL PARLOR AT
CRAGGY ISLAND B&B

“You’ll be back once again,” their kind voices chimed in agreement. Their words floated around us like the myriad of local musical instruments that collected and vibrated our very beings for the last two evenings: the bodhran (drum), fiddle, flutes, tin whistle, banjo, spoons, uilleann pipes, mandolin, guitar, and button accordion, to name a few. Our lower thighs were sore from the constant tapping on them in order to keep up with the exotic rhythms surrounding us for hours on end. “Yes, we will be back...soon,” was all we could reply. I waited to be seated in the car before the tears welled up in my eyes  obscuring my vision for miles.

BEV, ADRIAN, AND MYSELF IN
GUS O'CONNORS PUB

We tried to make reservations at Craggy Island seven years later. I was informed that it was no longer a Bed & Breakfast and that the owners had given up the business of welcoming strangers and long lost friends into their home due to family illness. 

Exactly how I found out eludes me at the moment. However, where there is a will...there is a way and I discovered that Adrian had been diagnosed with cancer not too long after we had left seven years earlier and had spent quite some time in treatment. With all of this going on in their lives, they decided to close up shop and concentrate on Adrian’s health.

Falling in love with Doolin, County Clare, and Adrian and Bev was the easiest thing we would ever do. Craggy Island drew us back again after seven, long years and we found ourselves navigating the hillsides of Doolin searching for the past we missed and desired so much. Memory led us back to the labyrinth of small, country lanes where the beautiful white, two-story house stood guard at the top of a hill.

ADRIAN PLAYING THE
PIPES EXPRESSLY FOR US...

Slowly driving by in order to soak in the feeling of coming home, we noticed a slight looking figure sitting on the wall at the side of the house and decided to pull in and inquire, just on the off chance, if either Adrian or Bev were at home. 

Suddenly, we found ourselves face to face with Adrian himself looking frail and quite surprised by our presence. Reintroducing ourselves while apologizing profusely for interrupting him, we could see in his eyes that he remembered our faces and gradually felt more comfortable with us. Being Adrian and the lovely man that once told us we’d be back to Doolin once again, he offered us a cuppa, which we kindly refused. Forever the gracious host! 

HAPPINESS!

As if looking directly into my soul, he told me to stand there and don’t move and that he’d be right back. Moments later Adrian returned with his small bagpipes in hand and gingerly reseated himself on the stone wall and asked, “I told you last time that I’d play the bagpipes for you, didn’t I?” “Yes, yes you did,” I, briskly, replied. 

Even the sharp, autumn wind could not wipe the smile off of our faces as Dan and I were treated to three Irish songs accompanied by bagpipes, pure enthusiasm, and the keen musical talent of Adrian O’Connor!

STANDING ALONG DOOLIN PIER,
THE SPUME BLOWING INTO OUR FACES

It is now early evening as I stand, reflectively, at Doolin Pier braving the sturdy wind and admiring the sun peeking through the steely clouds. The spume (foam) created by the agitation of the mighty Atlantic seawater slaps at my face reminding me of silly games played as a child. Holding my smartphone as tightly as possible, I attempt to capture the beauty and power that I am privileged to witness at this exact moment. I understand how fortunate I am to be alive!

We just left Gus O’Connors Pub not far up the narrow road to Doolin. Seeking the beauty of the mighty Cliffs of Moher and the distant formations of the protective Aran Islands out at sea, one last time, Doolin Pier is the place to be. My shots look good and I’m happy to be taking them back home with me.

LOCAL MUSICIANS HONORING JOHN JOE

DANCING A TRADITIONAL
SOLO IRISH DANCE WITH
JOHN JOE IN THE BACKGROUND

A few moments ago, the four of us helped to celebrate the birthday of John Joe, a local gentleman, at O’Connors Pub along with his friends, fellow Doolin residents, and musicians who honored him with music and song. A young lady danced a traditional solo Irish dance in his honor while another older gentleman told us humorous stories (craic) about John Joe’s  interesting personal experiences. We all raised our pints of Guinness and laughed and cheered for several hours.

RELATING HUMOROUS STORIES ABOUT
THEIR MUTUAL FRIEND, JOHN JOE

MY FACE SAYS IT ALL.....

CATCHING UP ON THE PAST SEVERAL YEARS

Oh, did I happen to mention that two very special birthday guests, and our friends, Adrian and Bev O’Connor, met us at the Pub early in the afternoon? Yes, seated at two of the small, round pub tables and tucked-in a corner opposite the long bar, we all cheered on John Joe, caught up with the last five years of our lives in the short amount of time we had, and raised a glass (or two!) to one another in celebration of simply being together once again. Life is very, very good!

WHO COULD RESIST
THIS BEAUTIFUL SMILE?

Now, back to my laundry. It’s nice to know that no matter what life throws your way, you will always have dirty laundry to ground you and keep it all real.

Slainte....! Good health to all!

Copyright © 2018 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2018 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All photo rights reserved

WHY DO BUTTERFLIES STAND ON THEIR FOOD?

 A series of essays....

A VARIETY OF PEPPERS....
PART OF NATURES COLOR PALETTE

....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

“Welcome to PFC Markets: Connecting customers and market businesses through honest relationships and supporting community and local economies through a thriving market culture.”  —-Michigan Farmers Market Association

A GENTLEMAN WITH A SONG

The Kalamazoo Farmers Market, a PFC (People’s Food Co-op) market, was quite an unexpected surprise when good friends asked if we’d like to join them at the local Farmers Market a couple of weeks ago. We were thrilled to do so considering that one of our greatest adventures while in Europe and, especially, France, is spending hours at the local village markets. Not only is this a great way to explore what the area has to offer in fresh produce, spices, local cheeses, sausage and other high quality meats but, these open markets introduce you to the area, the land, the local people and their language, and so much more! 

MAKING A DIFFICULT DECISION!

THE SHEER BEAUTY OF NATURE

We were excited to take this special opportunity to meet and rub elbows (literally) with the locals and carry-on conversations about the town and surrounding area. Immersing oneself into the community truly requires getting to know the local farmers, bakers, florists, honey suppliers, and artisans of many beautiful and practical items for yourself and your home.

The Kalamazoo Farmers Market did not disappoint us. The day began cloudy and overcast. Then, the sun showered us with its brilliance and Floridian-like heat as we parked our car and walked into the bustling crowd of shoppers. People were clutching their market baskets filled with a delightful conglomeration of locally grown produce with carrot tops, a variety of fresh lettuces, and vividly colored peppers dripping over the sides like dense clusters of colorful phlox over the rim of an ancient stone wall.

COLOR AND TEXTURE....
TEMPTING THE TASTE BUDS.

One does not proceed meekly as you make your way forward among your fellow shoppers within the large aisle separating the vendors on the left and vendors to the right. You must employ a calm, positive demeanor as you find yourself bobbing this way and that, head turned towards the left and body aiming to the right in ‘pretzel’ position, never missing a deal or an opportunity. And, politeness being a virtue as you excuse yourself for the hundredth time after, unfortunately, stabbing someone with your elbow. Farmers markets can be considered a contact sport in many ways!

And, that’s always good because the genuine enthusiasm for the chance to mingle with your neighbors while shopping in a healthy, sustainable manner with the benefit of being a part of the greater community....is never to be turned away from. 

JUICY GOODNESS RIGHT FROM THE FIELD!

Where else can you find a local bakery that employs people who have difficulty working in traditional work environments and give them a chance to have a purpose, be productive, and achieve a goal? —-Bova Bakery does just that!

When you shop at the farmers market you support your neighbors; you give true meaning to the phrase ‘know your farmer, know your food’ because you have the opportunity to speak directly with them, ask questions, and learn their stories and practices first hand. At the same time, a large portion of your dollar will stay in the community as you are directly helping local families survive economically. 

FARMERS MARKET CHEESES,
THE BEST YOU CAN BUY!

After walking along the stalls of over one hundred vendors, some supplying the people of Kalamazoo with their particular wares for many decades, and weaving through the crowd of determined yet smiling faces for over an hour, I was quite satisfied with the items chosen to fill my wicker market basket with. Unlike shopping at the market in Bédoin, France, as we do each time we visit Provençal, we are not disguising ourselves as locals for the week....now, we are the locals and we could not be more proud! 

CAPTURING THE BEAUTY
AND INTRICACY IN NATURE...

I’ve been reading extensively about the rich history of The City of Kalamazoo’s Farmers Market which extends back into the mid 1800’s. Incredible for so many reasons, the market has woven its way through major wars, relocation, economic upheaval, local politics, and has grown stronger and stronger as the years progress.

Gone is the belief that similar European markets can only hold the exclusive keys to the four categories requested by every market business in order to self-identify their role in a Farmers’ Market as a retailer, grower, producer, and artisan. And, we should all be fairly impressed by the longevity and constant growth that the Kalamazoo Farmers Market has enjoyed and delightedly shared with the people of this community. 

MY FAVORITE ARTISAN CHOICE FOR OUR TRIP:
HAND-KNIT, FINGERLESS GLOVES.  PERFECT
FOR PHOTOGRAPHY! 

Dan and I are slowly becoming a part of this incredible community with the help of good neighbors and friends. We’re looking forward to many, many years of giving, sharing, and participating in local places and events. Our formal introduction to the local Farmers Market has been one huge building block helping to form a foundation of unity and belonging to something far greater and, often, wiser than ourselves.

Answer to: Why do butterflies stand on their food? Because they taste with their feet. All creatures have one thing in common....they all must eat!

Copyright © 2018 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2018 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All photo rights reserved

FIRST INSTALLMENT: MOVING: INCREDIBLE PAIN; HEAVENLY JOY!

A series of essays....

BREAKING DOWN THE LIBRARY....
MY FAVORITE ROOM!

....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

I walked away hoping to find a tiny slice of solace, a brief respite from a very long and arduous day. Our car had been parked in front of the neighbor’s house since seven o’clock in the morning. That’s about the time the large vehicle loomed from the morning shadows and engulfed the front of the house blocking out the rising sun. That was the beginning of one of the longest days of my life.

Seeking air conditioning and solitude within the confines of my KIA, I had a moment to breathe. I created an interval of time that allowed myself to reflect on the progression of my day. Pent-up emotions broke through like an impending storm and I allowed myself time to open the flood gates and have a good cry. I deserved a good cry. I craved a quiet moment to reflect on the day and cry long enough to breach the reservoir of accumulated years, friendships, and stored memories with family and friends.

BOXES OF BOOKS AND EACH BOOK
IS A DELIGHTFUL, COMFORTING FRIEND!
 

Admitting this fact to only a few before now, my spirit, my soul, has been haunted by two precious people in my life; two people whom I would never expect would make their parents feel unloved or inadequate in any way. Even though we question their motives, constantly, we accept and respect their own spaces, always. Will our daughters understand why we are making this major change in our lives? Will the precious bonds we’ve shared together since their birth remain alive and well? Do they understand that our grandchildren, all five of these amazing ‘little people,’ hold our hearts in their small hands and are the reason for Dan and I to continue to complete our journey of the circle of life...? 

Life is a circle of birth, maturity, decay, and death. All living things follow this circle in the same cycle or path. From birth, each of us begins our journey along this path. 

The circle of life is, truly, nature's way of taking and giving back life to earth. It symbolizes the universe being sacred and divine. It represents the infinite nature of energy, which  means, if something dies it gives new life to another. 'God is a circle whose centre is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere' ....Hermes Trismegistus.  I respect this definition. Will our daughters understand and accept it’s significance, as well?

Before the feet went numb from standing far too long, Dan brought in steaming cups of Dunkin’ and placed them on the counter top. I would call this my one and only meal of the day, that is until we solemnly ate pasta together later that night around eight-thirty. 

Sometimes you do what you have to do in order to get things done and our mission was quite clear to us ever since dragging our weary bones and my broken soul out of bed around sunrise. Small, medium, large, extra large, wardrobe, ‘dish,’ and heavy duty....cardboard boxes of all shapes were slated to be filled, taped, marked, and set aside in impromptu stacks destined for ‘Home or Storage?’ I will forever associate these two words or ‘categories’ with discomfort and disdain for prolonged manual labor.

I had been filling boxes for what seemed like weeks, but we were down to the wire that morning in an attempt to stay ahead of the good men who would soon be hauling them out of our home and into the 53’ long, rolling storage space they would reside in for up to a week. By the end of the twelfth hour that day, my body needed a break; my spirit required room to breathe. 

Dave, the driver and ‘keeper of the numbers’, the man who itemized each box, stick of furniture and rolled-up carpet we own and slapped a bar code on them, came up to me around the eighth hour to say, “I am amazed that you were able to keep up with us but, you did a great job! Given what you had left to pack, you always stayed ahead of us and things went smoothly. I really appreciate that and thank you for it.”

As he stared at my determined face, I know he looked deeply into my glazed-over, weary eyes. And, even though I wore long, soft pants, my swollen right leg, acerbated by three spider bites a week earlier, was made more obvious by the clumsy, hobbling gait I employed for most of the day. In his own, humble manner...Dave knew I needed cheering up. God bless him for that!

While I worked on the rest of the kitchen paraphernalia, my poor husband was methodically doing his own ‘pack-and-go’ choreography between the last bedroom and my office space. He’d peek his head out, occasionally, to see how I was doing and inquire if I needed another empty box, then proceeded to tape one up for me. That helped tremendously!

Eventually, the time came when I hit the proverbial ‘brick wall!’ I remember clasping the top back on the Sharpie after printing the word ‘HOME’ for the final time. I found Dan and asked for his car keys because finding my purse would have required too much effort; too much energy. Because all of the doors had been wide open all day long and the ninety-five degree heat with high humidity had seeped into every nook, crevice, and cranny long, long ago...it was time to stop the madness!!

I remember sinking into the KIA’s front passenger seat and starting the engine. Setting the A.C. at its highest capacity, I closed my eyes and that’s when the tears began to flow freely, non-stop, releasing the built-up pressure that had been stored up for hours, days, weeks, months, and longer.

WOULD NEVER IMAGINE IT WAS
POSSIBLE TO FILL (ALMOST)
THIS ENTIRE TRUCK WITH 'STUFF!'

Time passed, maybe thirty minutes or more, when I heard a tap on the window. Dave was announcing his imminent departure and wanted to thank me for all of the cold water and ice we provided for him and the crew and to let me know that we’d see one another once again up in Kalamazoo in a few days time. They were done. Our ‘stuff’ was on the truck. Our house was empty. Our lives were changing and a new life in the ‘little yellow cottage’ on Hazel Avenue awaited our arrival.

Dan slid next to me gulping down the frozen air while reminding me that our good friend and neighbor, Janice, would be coming over to say good-bye after the moving van was on its way. She told us later that she stayed in her back room sewing her beautiful quilts all day because she didn't want to acknowledge the moving van across the street. 

Later, we would walk back through the house one final time. We would say to one another that it was to make certain everything was packed-up and not forgotten. I knew better. We both needed to take one final walk through the time and space that echoed the news of first pregnancies and later, infant grandchildren’s giggles; the spirit of family and friends sharing homemade cuisine and sipping a glass of wine (or three); the joys and occasional failures of various employment opportunities along the way; keeping us safe and sound through numerous hurricanes and lightening storms while protecting us from the penetrating heat of the Floridian sun, and laughing, crying and living life to its fullest capacity as time left its subtle hints by way of the growing number of picture-framed, angelic faces that began to grace the walls in every room.

SAYING GOOD-BYE TO BEAUTIFUL MEMORIES
AND A HOUSE FILLED WITH BABY GIGGLES...

When we realized that the framed faces of our grandchildren would never compare to seeing and kissing the genuine articles....Dan’s retirement opened the door to new possibilities and the knowledge that the sale of our home in Orlando would help supply the means by which to achieve them. 

Dan and I opened the car doors and stepped out onto Morgan’s Mill Circle one last time before walking back into the empty house. For some reason we both looked up into the early evening sky in unison only to look back at one another with smiles as wide as the van that recently occupied the space behind my car. We had been blessed by the sight of a magical rainbow, its colorful arch seemingly hovering over our heads.

Holding hands, we walked towards the house knowing that as protected as we’d felt here for the past twenty years, our future looked as bright as the rainbow’s colors that arched above us and held us in awe of its enchanting and heavenly presence.

...A HOUSE FILLED WITH GOOD
FRIENDS AND LAUGHTER!

Copyright © 2018 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved