COMING HOME
I brought my mother home from the recovery hospital. Checking out is like taking gold from Fort Knox, they don't want you to leave right away.
They have more papers for her to sign than Carter has little liver pills. But finally they did release her and I drove my mother home. She sat in the car, gazing around at a world she had not seen nor been a part of for a long solitary week. She had been like an underground people, finally seeing the blinding light of day. She just looked around. This world had been her home, but she had existed in that hospital, in that bed, in her own place.
This episode told me how much we are but a slender beat of the heart from an ending. Not much of tissue, not much of nerve endings, not much of electrical impulses from the mind to the heart. This had been a glimpse of returning from the dead. Not entirely dead, but much like it. As much like it as sleep is like extinction, a forgetting, a not knowing, a pause in place.
When we came to her apartment, she then had to struggle with her own legs covered by wrinkled old skin, stiffened by age and use. She had to struggle with the coping of age, the slowness she had never known before.
Now the mountain of mail awaited her in the mailbox. Stacked together in my hand, they were like a book of appointments she will never keep. Some of them seemed trivial--coupons for diet coke, advertisings, bills for electricity which she didn't use, travel folders.
All of these were temporary weights from this world, anvils of the ankle, paths which lead nowhere now. So much of life is just entertainment, an ending where it does not matter what you do.
But it was a routine which reminded my mother of what people do, of what they are like when they don't come from a hospital. They were the tasks of the normal life to which she now returned.
This is coming home.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
COMING TOGETHER
I am starting a new blog about the last years of my mother. I hope I can say what everyone going through this experiences, I hope to make this blog common to many of us.
My mother now is 92 years old. As my father was wealthy, my mother has spent a great deal of money to stay alive. With Medicare, prescriptions and operations, she has outlived her own body.
She is the first person in our family to do this. My parents and grandparents were the offspring of the Depression and the 19th century. For them, death came to the home. You went home to be there when God came for you. If there was pain, so be it. One didn't rail against death, one went gently into that good night. So those of my parents' generation didn't have operations to keep parts of the body alive, to live longer.
A friend of mine says, Life is a social disease, the fortunate ones die young.
I can't say I agree with every part of that expression but it is a viewpoint today. My mother was born in 1920. She has seen a great century go by. She has seen buggy coaches to airplanes, from big bands to rock groups, from chilly winters to checkers in the park.
She has done a great many things. She has been an Air Force wife, a mother, a world traveler and homemaker. Now she is at the end. This means every day is the same to her. Feeding, a bath, trying to find something to occupy time, and then sleeping wondering if she will wake up.
It's drudgery but when you have outlived your own natural body, this is what you get. I have to wonder about her will to live. Having friends and visitors can disguise what she's really feeling and that is a concern of mine.
That's all I will say for now. Many more posts to come about the lowering of the Final Curtain.
I am starting a new blog about the last years of my mother. I hope I can say what everyone going through this experiences, I hope to make this blog common to many of us.
My mother now is 92 years old. As my father was wealthy, my mother has spent a great deal of money to stay alive. With Medicare, prescriptions and operations, she has outlived her own body.
She is the first person in our family to do this. My parents and grandparents were the offspring of the Depression and the 19th century. For them, death came to the home. You went home to be there when God came for you. If there was pain, so be it. One didn't rail against death, one went gently into that good night. So those of my parents' generation didn't have operations to keep parts of the body alive, to live longer.
A friend of mine says, Life is a social disease, the fortunate ones die young.
I can't say I agree with every part of that expression but it is a viewpoint today. My mother was born in 1920. She has seen a great century go by. She has seen buggy coaches to airplanes, from big bands to rock groups, from chilly winters to checkers in the park.
She has done a great many things. She has been an Air Force wife, a mother, a world traveler and homemaker. Now she is at the end. This means every day is the same to her. Feeding, a bath, trying to find something to occupy time, and then sleeping wondering if she will wake up.
It's drudgery but when you have outlived your own natural body, this is what you get. I have to wonder about her will to live. Having friends and visitors can disguise what she's really feeling and that is a concern of mine.
That's all I will say for now. Many more posts to come about the lowering of the Final Curtain.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
RICHES
Catherine had a reservation at the Tuscany Cafe as usual, now that the summer had lifted for a comfortable fall season. New clothes, new arts and entertainment and a new menu from the chef.
When she arrived in her wispy blue suit, hat with scarf and gloves, her table was not there. She then proceeded to march up to the concierge desk to demand of LeMont Garcon where her favorite table was--he apologized.
'Oh Miss Catherine, we are so sorry but your table has been chipped at the edge, we had to replace it,' Garcon said, with such regret in his voice.
Catherine was not used to such disappointment. She thrust her fists on her hips in protest. Several eyes in the cafe waited to see what she would demand.
'Well, I...' she heaved, looking around in exasperation.
Just then an older man, a bit bent, silver haired with thin-veined hands stood from his table, coming to her.
'Young lady, you can have my table. I have to be going, anyway,' he said softly.
A certain pause fell between these two, as others watched.
Catherine thought he looked pathetic, in his old age. 'I wouldn't take your table, sir, though the gesture is appreciated.'
He did not answer her, he simply walked out of the cafe, to the applause of a few.
Garcon then said, 'His table is vacant, Miss Catherine.'
At this time Ralston strode into the Tuscany to join Catherine. She didn't want to have him see her without a table, it would not be the thing to do here at the Tuscany. So she sat at the old man's table. Ralston did not see her at her usual spot--he stopped. He looked around, finally spying her out in the corner where she hid beneath her hat.
Coming to her, he quipped, 'Have you been bad? Are you being punished here in this corner? He joked mischievously.
'Now you just sit down,' she told him with some hurt indignation. She took her hat off. 'My table has a chip on it, so I was given this one.'
Ralston sat. He gazed around at the close walls, the new views, the guests arrayed around them. 'It's different, I'll say that,' he said still in a sarcastic mode.
'I was given this table by an old man who was leaving.'
Ralston's eyes perked up. 'You mean Hugh Fortress, the silver haired old man with the soft voice?'
'How did you know? Do you know him?'
'I know who he is. Gave a few million to the symphony last year when they couldn't make payroll. Blessed are the merciful, as they say.'
'Where did you get that?'
'Oh I don't know, I heard it somewhere, that's all.'
Catherine said, 'It was a simple thing. He was leaving, anyway.' She wondered when a waiter would arrive.
'Of course he was. That's the way he is, the soul of generosity.'
'Ralston, what makes people like him that way?'
'In his case, he lost a son in the war. What he lost resculptured his own soul. It was what he gave up that made him the may he is.'
'I see. I've never heard anything like that,' she said looking down at herself.
'I once attended a talk he gave about life and values. He told about how his only son ran away from him, joined the military but was lost in battle. They never said goodbye so everyone he sees is to him a son. He has spent his life thanking everyone he meets.'
'That's amazing.'
'And so it is. Have you ordered, yet?'
'I don't want to, till I've understood what you just said.'
'Then I will,' Ralston said, and then waived for Garcon, who finally came.
Catherine had a reservation at the Tuscany Cafe as usual, now that the summer had lifted for a comfortable fall season. New clothes, new arts and entertainment and a new menu from the chef.
When she arrived in her wispy blue suit, hat with scarf and gloves, her table was not there. She then proceeded to march up to the concierge desk to demand of LeMont Garcon where her favorite table was--he apologized.
'Oh Miss Catherine, we are so sorry but your table has been chipped at the edge, we had to replace it,' Garcon said, with such regret in his voice.
Catherine was not used to such disappointment. She thrust her fists on her hips in protest. Several eyes in the cafe waited to see what she would demand.
'Well, I...' she heaved, looking around in exasperation.
Just then an older man, a bit bent, silver haired with thin-veined hands stood from his table, coming to her.
'Young lady, you can have my table. I have to be going, anyway,' he said softly.
A certain pause fell between these two, as others watched.
Catherine thought he looked pathetic, in his old age. 'I wouldn't take your table, sir, though the gesture is appreciated.'
He did not answer her, he simply walked out of the cafe, to the applause of a few.
Garcon then said, 'His table is vacant, Miss Catherine.'
At this time Ralston strode into the Tuscany to join Catherine. She didn't want to have him see her without a table, it would not be the thing to do here at the Tuscany. So she sat at the old man's table. Ralston did not see her at her usual spot--he stopped. He looked around, finally spying her out in the corner where she hid beneath her hat.
Coming to her, he quipped, 'Have you been bad? Are you being punished here in this corner? He joked mischievously.
'Now you just sit down,' she told him with some hurt indignation. She took her hat off. 'My table has a chip on it, so I was given this one.'
Ralston sat. He gazed around at the close walls, the new views, the guests arrayed around them. 'It's different, I'll say that,' he said still in a sarcastic mode.
'I was given this table by an old man who was leaving.'
Ralston's eyes perked up. 'You mean Hugh Fortress, the silver haired old man with the soft voice?'
'How did you know? Do you know him?'
'I know who he is. Gave a few million to the symphony last year when they couldn't make payroll. Blessed are the merciful, as they say.'
'Where did you get that?'
'Oh I don't know, I heard it somewhere, that's all.'
Catherine said, 'It was a simple thing. He was leaving, anyway.' She wondered when a waiter would arrive.
'Of course he was. That's the way he is, the soul of generosity.'
'Ralston, what makes people like him that way?'
'In his case, he lost a son in the war. What he lost resculptured his own soul. It was what he gave up that made him the may he is.'
'I see. I've never heard anything like that,' she said looking down at herself.
'I once attended a talk he gave about life and values. He told about how his only son ran away from him, joined the military but was lost in battle. They never said goodbye so everyone he sees is to him a son. He has spent his life thanking everyone he meets.'
'That's amazing.'
'And so it is. Have you ordered, yet?'
'I don't want to, till I've understood what you just said.'
'Then I will,' Ralston said, and then waived for Garcon, who finally came.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
RISING UP
Ralston and Catherine took lunch on the redwood patio of the Tuscany Cafe, their favorite lunch and conversation spot in the Village. Their table was surrounded by Italian vines, the scent of roses, and lattice work overhead. The time was cool, comfortable and easy idle.
'I love this place in the spring, darling,' Catherine said between sips of a red Dordogne wine.
'You appear to love the wine more so,' Ralston quipped between tastes of beef.
'This could be true, I won't deny I love red wine from Italy.'
'You love everything from Italy. If we were in Rome, you'd say beggars are cute,' he went on smirking.
'Now hush. I do love Italy, some time we should go, in the Fall.'
'Look, Cathy, overhead, an airplane pulling one of those banners,' he said pointing to the bright sky.
She looked up. 'What does it say?'
'It says, Never go to Italy.'
'It does not. You're just making that up. Now what does it really say?'
'It says, You pay the bill.'
'No it doesn't. Do you even know what it says, at all?'
'It's an announcement that says, 'Greatest Man of the Year' dinner is at the Waldorf Hotel.'
'Oh, is that all?' Catherine was not impressed with men today.
'Is that all? You mean you haven't voted for me as Man of the Year?'
Catherine laughed, which she rarely does. She says it gives her wrinkles.
Ralston went on. 'Look, who is more deserving than me? Or at least who do you know who is more deserving?'
'Well now, honey, I can't say I know that many men, but Man of the Year should be very gifted and confident.'
'I disagree. I say Man of the Year should be humbled by his giftedness. To make room for others in your life, to learn to receive and not just take.'
'Well now, listen to you with your platitudes. Have you been reading those magazines again, Psychology and Self, and the like?'
'As a matter of fact, I was reading Great Quotations in History. One of them was, I must decrease so that he can increase.' I liked that one most of all.'
'Hmm, I see,' she said putting her wine glass down.
'To empty yourself to be filled with blessing and giftedness, to put that down for the sake of others, now that's my ticket.'
'I see,' she said contemplating what he had said.
'By the way, do you want your potatoes?'
'Oh go on, darling, you can have them if your paying for all this.'
'You're being difficult.'
'And you like me this way, now don't you?' She had that sly tilt of her eyes, which he loved.
'I think I rather do,' he said, clipping the bill and his money together as they left with each other.
Ralston and Catherine took lunch on the redwood patio of the Tuscany Cafe, their favorite lunch and conversation spot in the Village. Their table was surrounded by Italian vines, the scent of roses, and lattice work overhead. The time was cool, comfortable and easy idle.
'I love this place in the spring, darling,' Catherine said between sips of a red Dordogne wine.
'You appear to love the wine more so,' Ralston quipped between tastes of beef.
'This could be true, I won't deny I love red wine from Italy.'
'You love everything from Italy. If we were in Rome, you'd say beggars are cute,' he went on smirking.
'Now hush. I do love Italy, some time we should go, in the Fall.'
'Look, Cathy, overhead, an airplane pulling one of those banners,' he said pointing to the bright sky.
She looked up. 'What does it say?'
'It says, Never go to Italy.'
'It does not. You're just making that up. Now what does it really say?'
'It says, You pay the bill.'
'No it doesn't. Do you even know what it says, at all?'
'It's an announcement that says, 'Greatest Man of the Year' dinner is at the Waldorf Hotel.'
'Oh, is that all?' Catherine was not impressed with men today.
'Is that all? You mean you haven't voted for me as Man of the Year?'
Catherine laughed, which she rarely does. She says it gives her wrinkles.
Ralston went on. 'Look, who is more deserving than me? Or at least who do you know who is more deserving?'
'Well now, honey, I can't say I know that many men, but Man of the Year should be very gifted and confident.'
'I disagree. I say Man of the Year should be humbled by his giftedness. To make room for others in your life, to learn to receive and not just take.'
'Well now, listen to you with your platitudes. Have you been reading those magazines again, Psychology and Self, and the like?'
'As a matter of fact, I was reading Great Quotations in History. One of them was, I must decrease so that he can increase.' I liked that one most of all.'
'Hmm, I see,' she said putting her wine glass down.
'To empty yourself to be filled with blessing and giftedness, to put that down for the sake of others, now that's my ticket.'
'I see,' she said contemplating what he had said.
'By the way, do you want your potatoes?'
'Oh go on, darling, you can have them if your paying for all this.'
'You're being difficult.'
'And you like me this way, now don't you?' She had that sly tilt of her eyes, which he loved.
'I think I rather do,' he said, clipping the bill and his money together as they left with each other.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
BEAUTY AND HEART
Ralston drove by the Fashion Hall to pick up Catherine. She was one of the few who attended the new show of clothes by Armand deLour, the designer who just moved to the Park where Catherine lived.
Only a few ladies and gentlemen were allowed to see the preview of deLour's Fall Collection. They certainly were expected to provide orders for his new line, which he named Coming Out. Chiffon, silk, brocade, evening gowns, dramatic hats and gloves, everything was shown before them.
As the show concluded, some of the Park ladies remained to surround deLour himself, not wishing the show would ever end. But when the models left and the clothes were taken away, he had to make his retreat, so the show ended.
Catherine, steeped in a long narrow dress, pearls and a wide hat, looked for Ralston's car, seeing it from a distance. He pulled up, as the valet opened the car door and they drove off.
'Suzanne said to say hello,' Ralston said, driving through the Park neighborhood toward Catherine's mansion.
'Oh, what a dear,' she said, looking out the window at the homes. 'A marvelous girl but unfortunate.'
'Whatever do you mean?'
'She, a former model in Germany, a classic beauty and yet no one will date her.' Catherine adjusted her dress.
'Why is that?'
'Do men shy away from great beauties, like Suzanne, do you think?' She had a sly look across her eyes.
Ralston thought, trying not to be sarcastic. 'Some might, some might not.'
'Oh Rally, are you in one of your say-nothing moods?'
'I was trying to think of someone I know who would avoid a woman like Suzanne. She would be quite a trophy for our crowd, but no one comes to mind.'
'Then why is she not married, after all her career is over, she's so available she burns.'
'I think she's one of those beauties who is afraid to let anyone know her. She's afraid if you find out what she is, you won't like her.'
'You mean because she isn't overly intellectual or talented in any way?'
'Yes. She's afraid if you get to know her, you'll walk away Sometimes privilege narrows the field.'
'But, dear,' Catherine nearly interrupting him, 'as you know the only way to have any relationship is to let our crowd know what you're really like. How will we like her if we can't know her?'
'We know that, but does she? If she isn't a lawyer or a doctor or designer, surely there will be a circle of friends who are just like her. As you know, the Park is not overcrowded with intellectuals.'
Catherine laughed. 'I suppose so. Wait a minute...are you referring to me? She leaned over at him, her eyebrows diving together.
'Of course not,' he said dripping with sarcasm, 'but we both know what our friends are like.'
Catherine said, 'I was at her condominium the other day, Rallie. She doesn't dress up around the house. Not that I mind, you understand, but it's an interesting contrast. I suppose with Suzanne there's less there than meets the eye, still I like her. She's never been critical of anyone, she always contributes to charities and she has no facial flaws.'
'She has more teeth than anyone I know. Maybe she could do dentists' ads.'
By now Ralston had brought the car to Catherine's oval gravel driveway, under the golden lamps.
'Well, I still feel sorry for her, not having a husband.'
'I'll volunteer.'
'You will not, not on your life,' Catherine said with a cute possessiveness.
Ralston smiled. 'If she'll just let us know what she's like, she'll have friends. Maybe someday...'
'Always believe for the best, that's what I say.'
'You do not say that. Now are you going to invite me in for a drink?'
'Is that the kind of woman you think I am?'
'I do and you are,' he said smiling and knowing as they walked up the steps to her door.
Ralston drove by the Fashion Hall to pick up Catherine. She was one of the few who attended the new show of clothes by Armand deLour, the designer who just moved to the Park where Catherine lived.
Only a few ladies and gentlemen were allowed to see the preview of deLour's Fall Collection. They certainly were expected to provide orders for his new line, which he named Coming Out. Chiffon, silk, brocade, evening gowns, dramatic hats and gloves, everything was shown before them.
As the show concluded, some of the Park ladies remained to surround deLour himself, not wishing the show would ever end. But when the models left and the clothes were taken away, he had to make his retreat, so the show ended.
Catherine, steeped in a long narrow dress, pearls and a wide hat, looked for Ralston's car, seeing it from a distance. He pulled up, as the valet opened the car door and they drove off.
'Suzanne said to say hello,' Ralston said, driving through the Park neighborhood toward Catherine's mansion.
'Oh, what a dear,' she said, looking out the window at the homes. 'A marvelous girl but unfortunate.'
'Whatever do you mean?'
'She, a former model in Germany, a classic beauty and yet no one will date her.' Catherine adjusted her dress.
'Why is that?'
'Do men shy away from great beauties, like Suzanne, do you think?' She had a sly look across her eyes.
Ralston thought, trying not to be sarcastic. 'Some might, some might not.'
'Oh Rally, are you in one of your say-nothing moods?'
'I was trying to think of someone I know who would avoid a woman like Suzanne. She would be quite a trophy for our crowd, but no one comes to mind.'
'Then why is she not married, after all her career is over, she's so available she burns.'
'I think she's one of those beauties who is afraid to let anyone know her. She's afraid if you find out what she is, you won't like her.'
'You mean because she isn't overly intellectual or talented in any way?'
'Yes. She's afraid if you get to know her, you'll walk away Sometimes privilege narrows the field.'
'But, dear,' Catherine nearly interrupting him, 'as you know the only way to have any relationship is to let our crowd know what you're really like. How will we like her if we can't know her?'
'We know that, but does she? If she isn't a lawyer or a doctor or designer, surely there will be a circle of friends who are just like her. As you know, the Park is not overcrowded with intellectuals.'
Catherine laughed. 'I suppose so. Wait a minute...are you referring to me? She leaned over at him, her eyebrows diving together.
'Of course not,' he said dripping with sarcasm, 'but we both know what our friends are like.'
Catherine said, 'I was at her condominium the other day, Rallie. She doesn't dress up around the house. Not that I mind, you understand, but it's an interesting contrast. I suppose with Suzanne there's less there than meets the eye, still I like her. She's never been critical of anyone, she always contributes to charities and she has no facial flaws.'
'She has more teeth than anyone I know. Maybe she could do dentists' ads.'
By now Ralston had brought the car to Catherine's oval gravel driveway, under the golden lamps.
'Well, I still feel sorry for her, not having a husband.'
'I'll volunteer.'
'You will not, not on your life,' Catherine said with a cute possessiveness.
Ralston smiled. 'If she'll just let us know what she's like, she'll have friends. Maybe someday...'
'Always believe for the best, that's what I say.'
'You do not say that. Now are you going to invite me in for a drink?'
'Is that the kind of woman you think I am?'
'I do and you are,' he said smiling and knowing as they walked up the steps to her door.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
ACROSS THE WAY
Ralston and Catherine strolled around the Village Square, watching shop windows of jewelry, clothes, accessories and suits. The morning was comfortably cool, a fine breeze fanned Catherine's chin while Ralston kept an attentive hand on his straw hat.
It was a grand morning to be easily idle, entertaining yourself with thoughts which never return. It was a day of everything fine. They strolled along the sidewalk toward the Blue Goose Sandwich Shop, an intimate gathering of chairs and a few tables. To sit at a table was the privilege for the few.
Across the cobblestone street the building opened up with an arch through which everyone walked from the parking lot to the Village. As Ralston and Catherine ambled on by, she observed a man in tattered clothes, rummaging through a garbage can. Both Ralston and Catherine knew the Village Shop Association would see the man and call the police. Catherine halted, holding Ralston's hand so he would also pause.
'What are we to do, Rally? He's not really doing any harm.'
'No, but the shops won't like him being here at all. Image is everything. The Police will have to find him a place to stay.'
'That's unfortunate. He seems more lost than dangerous. Maybe I'm wrong--am I?'
'Possibly not, but if the Shop Association does not complain, one of the patrons will.'
'I'd like to help him,' she said watching him almost fondly. 'What can we do?'
'We personally can't really do anything to change his life, but we might be the ones to speak to the policeman before they cart him away.'
Ralston then left Catherine standing there while he walked up to the man, bent over a garbage can, unshaven, smelling, with teeth missing. Just then Charles Point of the Association came through the archway, a dark figure outlined in the shadow. Catherine saw Ralston speak with Charles...they were negotiating over something. Then Charles and the man walked away, in the other direction. They came back with the same man carrying a guitar.
Ralston by now was back with Catherine.
'Well?' she asked, anxious.
'Not to worry, Miss C. The man is a musician down on his luck, been unemployed for some time. He plays flamenco guitar once in a while at restaurants. So Charles is going to hire him for the Village, every Saturday until the fall.'
Catherine smiled. 'Oh my, this is so good. Music outside here in the Village, what a wonderful idea.'
'There is something you should know, my dear.'
'Yes?' she asked, holding his hand warmly, smiling widely.
'I told Charles you would pick up the tab for him.'
'You what?'
'That's your good deed for the season, Cathy. You are so generous to support the arts here in our community.'
'I am?'
'Why yes, and he's going to play at your next social gathering, imagine that.'
'Why do I even put up with you, darling?'
'Because you are a Good Samaritan.'
Ralston and Catherine strolled around the Village Square, watching shop windows of jewelry, clothes, accessories and suits. The morning was comfortably cool, a fine breeze fanned Catherine's chin while Ralston kept an attentive hand on his straw hat.
It was a grand morning to be easily idle, entertaining yourself with thoughts which never return. It was a day of everything fine. They strolled along the sidewalk toward the Blue Goose Sandwich Shop, an intimate gathering of chairs and a few tables. To sit at a table was the privilege for the few.
Across the cobblestone street the building opened up with an arch through which everyone walked from the parking lot to the Village. As Ralston and Catherine ambled on by, she observed a man in tattered clothes, rummaging through a garbage can. Both Ralston and Catherine knew the Village Shop Association would see the man and call the police. Catherine halted, holding Ralston's hand so he would also pause.
'What are we to do, Rally? He's not really doing any harm.'
'No, but the shops won't like him being here at all. Image is everything. The Police will have to find him a place to stay.'
'That's unfortunate. He seems more lost than dangerous. Maybe I'm wrong--am I?'
'Possibly not, but if the Shop Association does not complain, one of the patrons will.'
'I'd like to help him,' she said watching him almost fondly. 'What can we do?'
'We personally can't really do anything to change his life, but we might be the ones to speak to the policeman before they cart him away.'
Ralston then left Catherine standing there while he walked up to the man, bent over a garbage can, unshaven, smelling, with teeth missing. Just then Charles Point of the Association came through the archway, a dark figure outlined in the shadow. Catherine saw Ralston speak with Charles...they were negotiating over something. Then Charles and the man walked away, in the other direction. They came back with the same man carrying a guitar.
Ralston by now was back with Catherine.
'Well?' she asked, anxious.
'Not to worry, Miss C. The man is a musician down on his luck, been unemployed for some time. He plays flamenco guitar once in a while at restaurants. So Charles is going to hire him for the Village, every Saturday until the fall.'
Catherine smiled. 'Oh my, this is so good. Music outside here in the Village, what a wonderful idea.'
'There is something you should know, my dear.'
'Yes?' she asked, holding his hand warmly, smiling widely.
'I told Charles you would pick up the tab for him.'
'You what?'
'That's your good deed for the season, Cathy. You are so generous to support the arts here in our community.'
'I am?'
'Why yes, and he's going to play at your next social gathering, imagine that.'
'Why do I even put up with you, darling?'
'Because you are a Good Samaritan.'
Thursday, October 18, 2012
THE REAL DEAL
Ralston drove up to Catherine's estate, to escort her to the charity function at the Davis Mansion by the Creek. When he tolled her doorbell, she appeared in one of her simply silver dresses and long gloves. She was incandescent in the purple night. Ralston was in his white dinner jacket with red tie and black trousers, also looking quite the part.
They made their appearance at the mansion, contributing to several funds for those with difficult lives. This Catherine loved to do and Ralston thought it was a fine way to give back to the community the blessings he had received.
They had a grand time, waltzing to music by Strauss, mingling with old friends and those giving to such honorable work.
The orchestra took a break, so Ralston found two vacant glasses and one bottle of a red Bordeaux wine for himself and Catherine. They stood outside on the wide patio, near the fountain and pool. Golden lights glowed upon the patio, a garden surrounded them with the sounds of birds and a breeze. Ralston was perfectly content with the evening, but Catherine was not.
'Do you know my friend, Leslie?'
'Is that the Leslie married to Bernard who is in the oil business?'
'The very one. Such a charming young girl, sweet and decent, However...'
'Yes?'
'However, her husband left he for another woman, a young woman.'
'Tragic things happen these days, even among our friends.'
'It's not right, Rally, it's just not right for something like this to happen to Leslie.'
'Not right? Whatever do you mean? People get divorced over matters more trivial than that.'
'I don't mean exactly that. I mean, such a decent woman, bad things shouldn't happen to people like her. What did she ever do to anyone?'
'Why is he leaving her? Any particular reason?'
'For medical reasons she cannot have children. It's unfortunate but there it is. And over this he leaves. Whatever did she do to deserve this?' Catherine exclaimed nearly loud enough for the guests inside to hear.
Ralston put his arm around her. 'Now, Catherine, no need to broadcast it to the social world in which we live. Evidently it has happened, so we can only apply ourselves to helping her go on tomorrow and the next day and the next.'
'Good people need protection from life,' Catherine said.
Ralston said, 'Being good does not protect anyone from life. We are all human and Leslie is, too. It's not about avoiding trouble, or being above it all, it's about helping each other get through life. That's what we're all here for, dear.'
'You make it sound so easy, like it was just filling out a form, but Ralston, Leslie is inside, in one of the anterooms, crying. She'd waited so long to marry the right man, and he turns out to be the wrong man.' Catherine put her cheek on his shoulder.
'Sometimes, love, it isn't about getting what you want but about wanting what you are given.'
She turned away, gazing toward the French windows where she knew Leslie was with her friends.
She said, 'Leslie has been given so much. She's attractive, she has money now, and she has his house but she doesn't have the one thing she coveted most of all.'
'Go on...'
'She doesn't have herself anymore. Her life is not her own. Now she has to go to court, file papers, hire lawyers, avoid his friends and the Country Club where they were members. It's all so tragic.'
'Someday you might realize and she might realize now that her illusion of goodness is gone, what she has is the truth about herself. You can live on truth, but not on illusions,' Ralston said as he escorted Catherine back inside, where the evening faded into darkness.
Ralston drove up to Catherine's estate, to escort her to the charity function at the Davis Mansion by the Creek. When he tolled her doorbell, she appeared in one of her simply silver dresses and long gloves. She was incandescent in the purple night. Ralston was in his white dinner jacket with red tie and black trousers, also looking quite the part.
They made their appearance at the mansion, contributing to several funds for those with difficult lives. This Catherine loved to do and Ralston thought it was a fine way to give back to the community the blessings he had received.
They had a grand time, waltzing to music by Strauss, mingling with old friends and those giving to such honorable work.
The orchestra took a break, so Ralston found two vacant glasses and one bottle of a red Bordeaux wine for himself and Catherine. They stood outside on the wide patio, near the fountain and pool. Golden lights glowed upon the patio, a garden surrounded them with the sounds of birds and a breeze. Ralston was perfectly content with the evening, but Catherine was not.
'Do you know my friend, Leslie?'
'Is that the Leslie married to Bernard who is in the oil business?'
'The very one. Such a charming young girl, sweet and decent, However...'
'Yes?'
'However, her husband left he for another woman, a young woman.'
'Tragic things happen these days, even among our friends.'
'It's not right, Rally, it's just not right for something like this to happen to Leslie.'
'Not right? Whatever do you mean? People get divorced over matters more trivial than that.'
'I don't mean exactly that. I mean, such a decent woman, bad things shouldn't happen to people like her. What did she ever do to anyone?'
'Why is he leaving her? Any particular reason?'
'For medical reasons she cannot have children. It's unfortunate but there it is. And over this he leaves. Whatever did she do to deserve this?' Catherine exclaimed nearly loud enough for the guests inside to hear.
Ralston put his arm around her. 'Now, Catherine, no need to broadcast it to the social world in which we live. Evidently it has happened, so we can only apply ourselves to helping her go on tomorrow and the next day and the next.'
'Good people need protection from life,' Catherine said.
Ralston said, 'Being good does not protect anyone from life. We are all human and Leslie is, too. It's not about avoiding trouble, or being above it all, it's about helping each other get through life. That's what we're all here for, dear.'
'You make it sound so easy, like it was just filling out a form, but Ralston, Leslie is inside, in one of the anterooms, crying. She'd waited so long to marry the right man, and he turns out to be the wrong man.' Catherine put her cheek on his shoulder.
'Sometimes, love, it isn't about getting what you want but about wanting what you are given.'
She turned away, gazing toward the French windows where she knew Leslie was with her friends.
She said, 'Leslie has been given so much. She's attractive, she has money now, and she has his house but she doesn't have the one thing she coveted most of all.'
'Go on...'
'She doesn't have herself anymore. Her life is not her own. Now she has to go to court, file papers, hire lawyers, avoid his friends and the Country Club where they were members. It's all so tragic.'
'Someday you might realize and she might realize now that her illusion of goodness is gone, what she has is the truth about herself. You can live on truth, but not on illusions,' Ralston said as he escorted Catherine back inside, where the evening faded into darkness.
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