Scenes From My Life

When people ask me what I do in my spare time, one of my answers is almost always “reading.”  Now, I know that does not sound like the most exciting answer.  It may not seem thrilling or especially active.  To me, though, reading is just as exciting as almost any other hobby.  For me, reading is a source of memories, a reminder of a part of my life. I vividly recall, on sunny days, sitting on a blanket in my front yard, a book in my hands.  The sun at my back, I practically inhaled the stories.  On summer road trips, I whiled away the trip by reading.  It was not unusual for me to finish a book over the course of a trip. When I had read all of the books I had, we would go to the library to find new options.  Some of my most constant childhood memories involve trips to the library.  During the summer, especially, my mother would take my brothers and me to the library.  We would walk through the doors and split up, my brothers and I heading in one direction, toward

I was in New York for a long weekend - my first time in Manhattan in more than one decade.  A friend met me in the City that weekend and we were determined to see a show.  We bought last minute seats to a popular revival and made our way to the theater.  We crossed the cavernous lobby and handed our tickets to the usher, who showed us to our seats.  As the curtain rose, we found ourselves a mere twelve rows from the classic musical unfolding onstage.  For the next two hours, I sat, trying to take in the scene, the music, the crowd, the experience.  This, after all, was my first Broadway show.

Last year, my parents sold their home of thirty years.  They moved from a two story, four bedroom house into a two bedroom townhouse.  In the span of a few weeks, they unloaded decades of furniture, photos...and countless boxes from the house.  Of course, all of these things could not fit in the townhouse.  But, they had to go somewhere. They took the basics to the townhouse... Beds, office furniture, a few kitchen items.  Just the necessities.  Most of the outside things...tools, plants, the lawn mower ... were stored at a neighbor's house.  A few relatives ... in neighboring states ... took some of the other items.  Most of the things, though ... childhood games, large furniture, holiday decorations ... went into storage.  Not just one storage unit, but three separate spaces, each one bigger than the last. From one two-story house to six places over 200 miles.  That's downsizing.

The noise sounded like people whispering.  But, there should not have been anyone else there.  My mother, father, and I had just gone to dinner and returned to what we thought would be an empty house.  But, the sound of whispers coming from the living room was, to my parents, oddly unsettling, and my father began to walk towards the noise. I was not surprised at all by the whispers.  I knew exactly what they were...and I wanted to see my father’s face when he discovered it, too.  As he walked towards the front of the living room, I rushed through the foyer and into the back of the living room.  I stepped into the room just as my father turned and saw, sitting in two armchairs, my brother and sister-in-law. My father said nothing for a moment, just stared wide-eyed at the two people sitting in the living room.  After a few seconds, he asked my mother to come into the room.  My mother had barely set foot in the room before joyfully screaming and hugging the two. It was my pa

I was not supposed to be there.  This place, with its canopied beds and winding staircases, seemed very grown up.  But, I was only nine years old.  I was supposed to be at least ten before I stayed there.  Then, why was I there, at the most unusual hotel I had ever seen - until then?  The answer, actually, was simple.  I was there because of Marguerite. Marguerite was my great aunt, my grandfather’s sister.  She lived in Natchez, Mississippi, and worked as a hostess at Monmouth Plantation.  Monmouth was a beautiful antebellum home situated on a hill.  Once owned by an American general, the house had many lives.  More than one century after it was built, Monmouth became a bed and breakfast and Marguerite became its greatest ambassador. Marguerite was one of those people who seemed to never meet a stranger.  Even in a large group, she could make you feel like the most important person in the room.  Marguerite also was a great storyteller.  On any given afternoon, she could be fo

I ran across the dusty, gravel-covered yard towards the house, my long strides hastening the approach.  I grabbed the old, wooden banister and hopped up onto the first of three narrow steps.  The boards creaked, weary from the countless feet that have trod over them before me.  I bounded across the weather-worn porch, hesitating only briefly to peer through the screened door, at the activity inside the house.  Crossing the porch, I dropped with a sigh onto the wooden swing.  Suspended from the roof by two rusting metal chains, the swing swayed from side to side as I relaxed against it.  Almost without thinking, I began to push my feet ahead along the porch, then skip them back, righting the swing’s drift.  After a few minutes, I lifted my feet onto the swing as the motion continued.  I gazed aimlessly before me.  This is happiness.  This is summer.

As a volunteer for the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta, I was able to visit some sites not open to other event attendees.  One of these sites was the reception rooms for the cities vying for the 2004 Games.  One afternoon, I went with a friend who was also working during the Games, to check out the rooms.  At each stop, we were given souvenirs from each city.  Usually these tchotchkes were tee shirts or bumper stickers emblazoned with the city’s logo.  One city just handed out press releases.  But, a few locales got a bit more creative with their giveaways. San Juan, Puerto Rico was undoubtedly the most interesting.  After listening to a lengthy presentation on the city’s highlights, my friend and I each received a small canvas bag.  San Juan was our last stop that day so we had accrued a number of items already.  But, we were unprepared for what we would find in this nondescript tote.  There was another t-shirt, postcards, and a small sample of Puerto Rican coffee.  But, buried in the b