We didn't want to notice that ugly "For Sale" in the front yard. We didn't want to notice all those boxes piled here and there, or the sheets of that ugly brown paper laying .... just waiting to wrap up all their plates, glasses, little nick knacks. We didn't want to notice the empty walls.
No we didn't want to notice but we wanted to help so we went over and helped them go through the little building setting east of the house. We helped in the big house that to us had become home. We helped go through all those things putting some in piles to be sold and some in piles to be taken to their new home. There were old trunks, Roy's old service uniforms, old magazines, old papers, dolls and so many things. The auctioneer came with trailers and hauled away what was to be sold and the rest was loaded on a truck and taken to their new home.
On a sad fall day, Harold locked the back door of that square farm house standing tall there on the hill. He locked it for the last time, He slid into the drivers seat of their black Buick, beside his little sad wife, drove out of the drive way, and down McReynolds Road, back to his little family who so graciously let us borrow him for eighteen and a half years.
Late that same afternoon a heavy hearted little grandma made her way up those back steps. unlocked the back door, and walked into a still, quiet, mostly empty house. Her footsteps echoed off the walls as she walked through room after room remembering. Remembering that day so many years age ... a tall, gentle, gray haired man came to their little "motel". Remembering the smile he put on the face of that little widow woman. Remembering that little boy and girl who sat on his knees with a piece of paper and pencil in their hand. Remembering all the times she flew up those back steps only to have the door fly open and a big welcome written all over their faces.
She found herself upstairs in the southwest room standing there looking out the window. She stood there for a long time as the sun sat and darkness fell around her.
Harold had found a beautiful little apartment where he took his little wife. Their life was much easier there, plus his sister and husband lived just down the road. His brother was close plus his daughter and son and families. Jeannie's dear sister lived in the same town. So as much as I didn't want to admit it....I was happy for them.
The good old telephone got used a lot. We would call up and talk a lot, and it seemed just like old times, except there were miles of phone line between us now. We would stop by to see them when our travels took us through their town. From their parking lot we would call up to them: "We're here" Harold would hurry down the steps and unlock the door, fling it open and say "You get in here." We would set in their sunny living room and talk about life on the farm, or eat a snack around the table.
There were visits to our house also. Sometimes it was just the two of them coming to drive around the section of the square old farm house and stopping at our farm to say a fast hello. Sometimes it was all six of those smiling faces that would hop out of the car. Jeannie would tell us that she names the street in front of their little apartment "McReynolds Road" Letters would fly to their mailbox signed "Your Country Kids".
It was in June of 2009, when I got a very sad phone call. My dear old dad had passed away. We were driving up to be with my dear mom, sisters, and brother. I said to my husband "I want to call Jeannie." I dialed her number. I told her my dad had passed away and we were on our way home. She sent me many hugs over that old phone line. That is when she told me. "We would come to the funeral. but I haven't been feeling so well." I didn't know then that my friend would soon leave me just like my dad had. It was in that late summer when Jeannie learned she had cancer.
For five months phone calls would pass between us. We would go see them but they quite coming here. Jeannie just couldn't. Those were the months I learned a lot of serious lessons about life...about death. My friend stayed so cheerful. She made death look so beautiful. She seemed so accepting of it. Her spirit made it easier for me, but I just could hardly believe it all.
One day I called her and asked "What have you two been doing today?" She sighed and said "Oh we have been setting here together, holding hands, talking about what my new home will be like. Doing a little crying, doing a little hugging. There is only one thing I'm worried about." "What's that?" I whispered into the phone, wiping at my eyes. "Who will take care of my hubby?" I heard Harold in the background say "Now don't go worrying about me."
On November 8th 2009 we got the call. I lost my beautiful "second mother" I lost someone who had taught me many special lessons about life. Her funeral was beautiful, just like her memories. It was in the early evening. A beautiful part of the day. When the light softens into twilight. Harold stood at the door with his bear hug for everyone. The next day they brought Jeannie back home...to a little cemetery on the hill beside our dear Roy. My daughter and I wanted to do something special for Jeannie, so we had a little something to eat at the Gypsum Community Room. Carolyn decorated it up so dainty just like Jeannie would of liked. She did it all just for her.
Harold would drive up sometimes alone...sometimes with his brother and wife and sister and husband. They would come by for a short chat on their way to visit Jeannie. Sometimes he would surprise us with a visit on Sunday For some time phone calls passed over those line, or letters would pass from our box to his always signed "Your Country Kids". We would visit him in his apartment until one day his sweet daughter and husband asked him to move in with them. He had a wonderful home there. Jeannie would of been so happy.
Life was happy, shared by our old friend. We loved his bear hugs and seeing his mischievous grin. We loved that big heart of his and even if he was in amazing good shape for a 96 year old man, we knew his heart wouldn't last forever.
On November 24th 2014 we got the call. "Harold was gone." That day we lost that man who had come to us when we needed him the most. That day our hearts were as heavy as lead balls. That day our Harold wasn't lonesome anymore----just the rest of us.
As we walked away from his grave, his daughter handed me a single red rose. I remembered that first bouquet of red roses that sat on Jeannie's kitchen table, there in that square house on the hill....that first bouquet her "hubby" gave to her.
Well....I will leave you now. Thank you so much for listening to me as I told the beautiful story of those three wonderful people who did so much for my well being. They touched so many with their beautiful spirit. People will come and people will go ... in that little square house there on the hill. The one with the little board sign at the end of the drive way. The one with the little yellow flag that popped up when the mailman came. People will come and people will go....but to me it will always be Harold and Jeannie's little "Ponderosa".
Happy Holidays to all of you. I'll see you here on the dusty roads in January.
No we didn't want to notice but we wanted to help so we went over and helped them go through the little building setting east of the house. We helped in the big house that to us had become home. We helped go through all those things putting some in piles to be sold and some in piles to be taken to their new home. There were old trunks, Roy's old service uniforms, old magazines, old papers, dolls and so many things. The auctioneer came with trailers and hauled away what was to be sold and the rest was loaded on a truck and taken to their new home.
On a sad fall day, Harold locked the back door of that square farm house standing tall there on the hill. He locked it for the last time, He slid into the drivers seat of their black Buick, beside his little sad wife, drove out of the drive way, and down McReynolds Road, back to his little family who so graciously let us borrow him for eighteen and a half years.
Late that same afternoon a heavy hearted little grandma made her way up those back steps. unlocked the back door, and walked into a still, quiet, mostly empty house. Her footsteps echoed off the walls as she walked through room after room remembering. Remembering that day so many years age ... a tall, gentle, gray haired man came to their little "motel". Remembering the smile he put on the face of that little widow woman. Remembering that little boy and girl who sat on his knees with a piece of paper and pencil in their hand. Remembering all the times she flew up those back steps only to have the door fly open and a big welcome written all over their faces.
She found herself upstairs in the southwest room standing there looking out the window. She stood there for a long time as the sun sat and darkness fell around her.
Harold had found a beautiful little apartment where he took his little wife. Their life was much easier there, plus his sister and husband lived just down the road. His brother was close plus his daughter and son and families. Jeannie's dear sister lived in the same town. So as much as I didn't want to admit it....I was happy for them.
The good old telephone got used a lot. We would call up and talk a lot, and it seemed just like old times, except there were miles of phone line between us now. We would stop by to see them when our travels took us through their town. From their parking lot we would call up to them: "We're here" Harold would hurry down the steps and unlock the door, fling it open and say "You get in here." We would set in their sunny living room and talk about life on the farm, or eat a snack around the table.
There were visits to our house also. Sometimes it was just the two of them coming to drive around the section of the square old farm house and stopping at our farm to say a fast hello. Sometimes it was all six of those smiling faces that would hop out of the car. Jeannie would tell us that she names the street in front of their little apartment "McReynolds Road" Letters would fly to their mailbox signed "Your Country Kids".
It was in June of 2009, when I got a very sad phone call. My dear old dad had passed away. We were driving up to be with my dear mom, sisters, and brother. I said to my husband "I want to call Jeannie." I dialed her number. I told her my dad had passed away and we were on our way home. She sent me many hugs over that old phone line. That is when she told me. "We would come to the funeral. but I haven't been feeling so well." I didn't know then that my friend would soon leave me just like my dad had. It was in that late summer when Jeannie learned she had cancer.
For five months phone calls would pass between us. We would go see them but they quite coming here. Jeannie just couldn't. Those were the months I learned a lot of serious lessons about life...about death. My friend stayed so cheerful. She made death look so beautiful. She seemed so accepting of it. Her spirit made it easier for me, but I just could hardly believe it all.
One day I called her and asked "What have you two been doing today?" She sighed and said "Oh we have been setting here together, holding hands, talking about what my new home will be like. Doing a little crying, doing a little hugging. There is only one thing I'm worried about." "What's that?" I whispered into the phone, wiping at my eyes. "Who will take care of my hubby?" I heard Harold in the background say "Now don't go worrying about me."
On November 8th 2009 we got the call. I lost my beautiful "second mother" I lost someone who had taught me many special lessons about life. Her funeral was beautiful, just like her memories. It was in the early evening. A beautiful part of the day. When the light softens into twilight. Harold stood at the door with his bear hug for everyone. The next day they brought Jeannie back home...to a little cemetery on the hill beside our dear Roy. My daughter and I wanted to do something special for Jeannie, so we had a little something to eat at the Gypsum Community Room. Carolyn decorated it up so dainty just like Jeannie would of liked. She did it all just for her.
Harold would drive up sometimes alone...sometimes with his brother and wife and sister and husband. They would come by for a short chat on their way to visit Jeannie. Sometimes he would surprise us with a visit on Sunday For some time phone calls passed over those line, or letters would pass from our box to his always signed "Your Country Kids". We would visit him in his apartment until one day his sweet daughter and husband asked him to move in with them. He had a wonderful home there. Jeannie would of been so happy.
Life was happy, shared by our old friend. We loved his bear hugs and seeing his mischievous grin. We loved that big heart of his and even if he was in amazing good shape for a 96 year old man, we knew his heart wouldn't last forever.
On November 24th 2014 we got the call. "Harold was gone." That day we lost that man who had come to us when we needed him the most. That day our hearts were as heavy as lead balls. That day our Harold wasn't lonesome anymore----just the rest of us.
As we walked away from his grave, his daughter handed me a single red rose. I remembered that first bouquet of red roses that sat on Jeannie's kitchen table, there in that square house on the hill....that first bouquet her "hubby" gave to her.
Well....I will leave you now. Thank you so much for listening to me as I told the beautiful story of those three wonderful people who did so much for my well being. They touched so many with their beautiful spirit. People will come and people will go ... in that little square house there on the hill. The one with the little board sign at the end of the drive way. The one with the little yellow flag that popped up when the mailman came. People will come and people will go....but to me it will always be Harold and Jeannie's little "Ponderosa".
Happy Holidays to all of you. I'll see you here on the dusty roads in January.
Helen, so beautiful!
ReplyDeleteA beautiful tribute to a very special couple!!!
ReplyDelete