Widow's Walk: The Quiet Night

The other day I overheard a woman complaining about her husband's snoring. "He shakes the rafters," she said and all her friends laughed commiserating with her.

I want to tell her, enjoy this. You may miss it one day.

I did not realize how precious that last night was at the time. I did not know it was the last night. And even though it was not Mike's typical snore - it was light and raspy, I sat by his bed, our fingers barely touching, listening and watching him sleep. I would doze some, but then I would wake seeking comfort and finding it in the rhythm of his breathing.

For several days after, our house was full. It was noisy.

And then, everyone left. I was home alone, well except for Bob the cat, who did not like me before and really did not like me then. He thought I was to blame for Mike's absence.

I sat in my spot on the couch. Mike's chair was empty. I did not have to take a shower to cry (before it had been the only place I could let my emotions go when I needed to). I could let go right then, but I was afraid. What if I couldn't stop?

I could eat anything I wanted. Cook anything I wanted. The smell of food would not bother him now. Mike once called me a loud eater - croutons in a salad would send him into a frenzy. The cancer amplified his hearing.

Sleep finally came that night, but it was fitful. The quiet was too much, the only noise was the occasional meanderings of the cat. There was no snoring, the sound I listened for in the night, my assurance that everything was fine. It would never be the same, this was my new normal.

It took me a while to adjust. I did leave the television on quite a bit, the noise helped me. If you are recently widowed, nobody can tell you what will work for you — people can only make suggestions. Keep an open mind, but do what is right for you.

And sometimes you just have to let yourself cry. I had trouble doing this. I had two methods. I would watch a movie that I knew would make me cry, but also give me a little hope in the end. Or I would set the kitchen timer for 5 minutes, my allotted time to let it all out. I would tell myself that when 5 minutes was up, the tears must stop. I rarely ever made it to 5.

Sunday Dinner: Orange Supreme Cake

Is there a taste that just calls to you from childhood?

Randall's Favorite Orange Cake

For my brother that would be an orange cake with orange icing. At least a couple of times a year our Grandmother would make an orange cake with orange icing. It wasn't anything exceptional, just a box cake and commercial frosting, but it was my brother, Randall's favorite.

Sometime in the 80s, they discontinued the icing. You can still find the orange cake, now labeled as Duncan Hines Orange Supreme, but you could not find the icing. My brother Dennis worked for a grocery store for many years and even tried to see if maybe it was offered in other parts of the U.S., but nobody could find it.

Until this weekend in Publix, I spotted it, Orange Crème Frosting. It does not come in the traditional tub, you buy that separately. The Orange Crème is a powder that you add and stir. I just about did a happy dance in the store. We've been looking for this frosting for thirty years.

Last year I found an orange frosting, but it was just colored for Halloween, it was not the true orange taste and color.

I almost called my brother yesterday to tell him, but I thought I would let the surprise speak for itself.

"Is that an orange cake, the real orange cake?" he said.

"Yes, it is." I tried to make my own orange icing last year for his birthday. He appreciated the effort, but we both knew it just wasn't the same thing then.

He sat at the table, the cake was in front of him. He held on to that plastic cake keeper like someone was going to make a mad dash out the door with it.

For dessert, I cut small pieces for everyone so that he would have some cake to take home with him. And I'm sure tonight he'll have a tall class of milk and a large piece of orange cake.

I plan on going back to Publix and buying several to keep in reserve just in case they decide to discontinue them again.

Last week, people were amazed at how many we had for dinner. This week I had 13 people for Sunday dinner.

Write Now: Thomas Kennedy, A Girl And A Fish

A writer must draw the reader in, encouraging the reader to momentarily suspend reality and step into the story. A great way to do this is through the five senses: sight, taste, smell, touch, and sound. It is the small details that bring a reader in . . . coffee and bacon on his breath — two aromatic smells.

The Hub City Writers Project offers several writing workshops throughout the year and Thomas Kennedy was the first this fall. He taught about the five senses of fiction. He gave us some wonderful examples, some of his own as well as other authors. 

He gave us the opportunity to write. He gave us a prompt. Pens scrawled across paper, not a single laptop was there among the students, most of us well over 30. We shared our work, some was not bad, but some was pretty extraordinary for a ten minute writing session. He did not critique our work. He praised and encouraged each student pointing to a particular detail or passage he liked.

He shared with us the first writing prompt he was ever given, two words: girl, fish. He gave us five minutes to write. 

For me it invoked images of my granddaddy. He always took my brothers fishing, but he rarely allowed my sister and me to come along — mostly because then he would have to find a bathroom for us, and my sister always had to go. But this made me remember the feel of a fishing rod between my fingers, the line twinges, and the cork bobs beneath the surface. "Snap it, snap it," he said, but I was too late. The hook emerged from the water, worm less, glistening silver in the sun.

This just might turn into a short story or it may make an appearance in my novel. I'm not sure, but I know someday I will use it.

I have heard about Thomas Kennedy for the last several years. He is the mentor of my mentor, Susan Tekulve, who is a professor at Converse College and her novel, In the Garden of Stone won the South Carolina First Novel Prize this year and will be published in May of 2013.

The Hub City Writers Project offers workshops, conferences, and many other opportunities for writers.

Widow'sWalk: Mourning Dawn

As my husband Mike's life came to an end, I watched his parents. How do you say good-bye to your child? His parents are strong in their faith, they believe in God, they believe in Heaven. They know they will see their son again, but they miss him. No matter how old your child is, they will always be your baby. I had lost a husband, but my in-laws had lost a son.

My grandmother lost three children. They were all adults when they passed. "You're not supposed to bury your child," she said.

We lost my sister when she was 19. She was in an car accident. Her boyfriend had been drinking. He was goofing around racing against a friend on a narrow, winding road. And he had travelled this road many times, they were only about a mile away from home.

As we sat in the surgery waiting room, hoping and praying for my sister to live, my mother changed. The doctors had offered little hope when they talked to us in the ER. Mama just sat there, staring off. My brothers and I sat together. I don't know how to explain it, but we knew. My brothers were only 17 and 15.

The rest of the time is blurry images. As my sister remained on life support, a SC requirement before officially pronouncing her brain dead, my father did not want to leave her side. My parents had been through a horrible divorce. They could not be in the same room together, mostly because my mother swore she would never forgive my dad. A chaplain asked if she could do something. I told her about my parents and how my mom needed some time alone with my sister. The chaplain went in and got my dad to come out — she needed him to answer questions or something. Mom went in.

I could not go in. I had already seen how much she loved us. I was overwhelmed and I thought of my own son, not even 2 yet. And I was so afraid of losing him. It was something I had never considered before.

My Mom was never the same again. She was sad for a long time. She cried so much. She looked at pictures often. I once caught her standing in the rain, alone. In a poetry workshop last year, I thought of that moment. This is what came from it.

Mourning Dawn
By Connie Thompson Kuhn

As rain falls

On this grey morning

My mother leans

Against the peeling paint,

Her body wedged

Between two blue hydrangeas,

The only landscaping

In our bleak yard.

Her face is wet with tears

And rain,

Mourning her daughter,

Dawn

Mom eventually came back to us, but there was always that void. When she found out she was dying, she was upset about all she would miss. She was only 60. "If I can't be with the three of you, at least I can be with Dawn," Mom said.

Blackberry Winter by Sarah Jio is October's She Reads Selection

Blackberry Winter by Sarah Jio is the October selection for She Reads. You should pop over and join their online book club and join in the discussion. There are several giveaways slated for the month of October. The first is a box of blackberry bliss: blackberry tea, blackberry honey, a signed copy of Blackberry Winter, and note from the author and recipes for blackberry scones. Just comment on today's post, that is all you have to do to enter.

Give away at She Reads

Blackberry Winter is the story of two women. Vera Ray's story takes place in 1933 and Claire Aldridge's is in 2010. A May 2 snowstorm, 77 years apart links to the two stories together.

Claire is a newspaper reporter and her editor wants her to write a story about the two snowstorms, 77 years apart to the day. After all, snow in May? Even in Seattle, this is unusual.

Claire is still recovering from an accident the previous year. Although she and her husband, Ethan are still living together, they are like roommates, and maybe that is giving their relationship too much credit. They barely speak — each is hurting, grieving, and they don't know what to say to one another. Claire is also overwhelmed with guilt.

It doesn't help that Ethan's former girlfriend is often inviting him to lunch. She's the food reporter for the paper and often asks Ethan to accompany her to special events. Something he rarely if ever did before the accident.

And then there is Dominic, the sweet good-looking owner of Café Lavanto. He understands Claire's penchant for hot chocolate, which annoys Ethan. How can she not love coffee when they live in Seattle? Claire and Dominic begin to form a friendship, which is quickly leading to more.

The only close relationship Claire has inside of Ethan's family is with his beloved grandfather, Warren who is in a nursing home and his health is not well. Ethan's mother has asked Claire to curtail her weekly visits. She feels the visits acerbate his condition.

As Claire searches for a link to the two snowstorms, she uncovers the disappearance of 3 year old Daniel Ray. His mother, Vera returned home from work early that morning to find the boy missing. The police dismiss him as a runaway.

Thorough the alternate story line, the reader gets a chance to know Vera, a wonderful mother, who is caught in the clutches of poverty. She tried taking the boy with her to work, but was told she would be fired if she did. All of her friends must work too. There is no one to care for the boy. Surely, he will be fine, alone at home through night. It is her only option.


Intrigued, I know I was and I was not disappointed. The mysterious disappearance of a child, murder, hope, healing, and love fill the pages of Blackberry Winter, the perfect book to enjoy on a rainy fall day.

Don't forget to pop over to She Reads and join the discussion. Be sure to leave a comment today for the chance to win the blackberry bliss gift box.