Memorably Fall

I'd so enjoy hearing from you today, good friends. Think back. What is something memorable that happened to you in the fall? Mine will be in the comments.

(Can you believe....a short post from me!)

The Art of Sleep

There are nights when I have difficulty getting enough sleep. I'm not feeling unduly stressed about anything in particular, but my mind is so revved from the day's activities and what I want to accomplish the next day and the next... that sleep becomes the bashful child who can't be coaxed out of her hiding place.

During summers or on long weekends when I was a kid, my intrepid grandmother would gather as many of her grandchildren as she could fit into her car and trek us to her family's uninhabited heritage ranch, short on modern amenities but teeming with the spacious peace born of sheer isolation.

After a full day riding horses, exploring far flung pastures, fishing, and poking around in old barns, my cousins, siblings, and I scouted for a place to bunk down for the night.

My favorite was the sleeping porch, set off to the east side of the house and adjacent to a large white cistern, full of the rainwater funneled in from the tin roof. If I was quick, I got dibs on the porch swing and would carefully spread my blanket and pillow on it.

My cousins and siblings might take one of the hammocks that used to languidly swing there, not even needing a blanket in the cocoon of the form fitting fabric. The ones slower to stake out their claim ended up on a quilt on the floor, still comfortable in the way they are before age demands the comfort of a supportive mattress.

The littlest one or two slept with my grandma in her designated bed, the one that had belonged to her grandparents.

The lack of air conditioning did not bother anyone, even in the blazing evenings of summer. The window at the foot of her bed stayed open, cajoling a sweet coolness from the delicate night breeze.

Once settled in, the ballad of the night owls began in a velvety chorus as they set off on their nocturnal search for food. The cicadas and crickets chirred their way deep into the night, singing their hymn of thanks at the disappearance of the sun.

The horses, pastured just 20 feet from the porch, nickered their throaty refrains. The coyotes' howl picked up the tempo but was not frightening. On the contrary, it was a reassuring underlay to the symphony that surrounded us.

The jasmine and the honeysuckle intertwined and released their gifts into the night, caressing away any lingering nettles from the day.

The body slowly relaxed and stretched out, muscle fiber by muscle fiber, nerve by nerve; lengthening, loosening, and unkinking. The mind followed the lead of the body, until sleep sang her grand aria behind closed eyelids.

I don't need an Ambien. Just give me a pillow and an old porch swing.

The Shopping Trip

The newspaper article was just a notice of a building being razed in a nearby city, but it instantly threw me back into another era in the late 1960's, holding hands with my grandmother on one side and my great-grandmother on the other.

I was no more than four years old, but the memory is still fragrant to me. That building housed a women's wear store. In its heyday in the 40's, 50's, and 60's, that store drew shoppers from all over South Texas with fine fashion, a view that overlooked the Gulf of Mexico, and personal service that has become as extinct as the dinosaurs.

The women in my family were champion shoppers (still are) and loved beautiful clothing (still do).  Both my grandmothers and most of my great-grandmothers made trips to this store to find frocks for special occasions, to save big at the semi-annual sales, and to enjoy being cosseted in the on site beauty shop.

This was a time when women dressed nicely to go clothes shopping. That included me on this trip. I wore a Sunday dress and Sunday shoes. I can recall not being entirely sure we weren't going to church with the way I was dressed, but I reveled in being with Grandma and GiGi (great grandma) for the whole day. My brother had just been born, so they took me for a day on the town. (I wrote about GiGi in her younger days and the time she stared down Pancho Villa in this post: The Day Pancho Villa Came to Town)

I can still close my eyes and retrieve the sweet aromas of the perfume and and lotion they wore.

When we left the car and walked across the parking lot, each squeezed one of my hands, walking at my pace.  That feeling of security is part of my foundation still.

The entryway of the store was fronted with floor to ceiling windows, showcasing the glory of the bayfront. A saleswoman greeted us and told us in a melodious voice what each department was featuring. The bottom floor displayed accessories: gloves, hats, and jewelry. The shininess of that jewelry made me catch my breath. It seemed to me more dazzling than even the sun bouncing off the waves in the bay just across the street from us.

We rode an escalator to the second floor, where dresses of every color, size, and style imaginable took residence. I had never seen so many. As Grandma and GiGi carefully looked at selections brought to them by attentive sales ladies, I pushed myself through racks of dresses, enjoying the feel of the fabric rushing past my face as I journeyed deeper. Gigi's hand touched my arm and I swam my way back to the open.

We climbed a spiral staircase that looked to me like it would be an ideal piece of playground equipment to jump on and slide down. We cleared the final step and into the third floor, awash in yellow. The yellow walls safeguarded tables of a gentle brown, which were covered in pale yellow tablecloths and set with delicate lemon colored lace napkins. The chairs were cloaked in coordinating covers of the softest yellow.

I was glad when Grandma asked me if I wanted a Coke. We didn't have soda often, so I felt especially privileged to have this time with these women I loved AND get to enjoy a Coke. They laughed and joked as we seated ourselves. A waitress dressed in a crisp white dress and little cap came to take our order. A small, raised stage in the center of the room made me wonder if someone was going to sing to us.

Instead, models wearing the newest styles entered singly, holding out their arms and turning at the end of the stage so we could get a full view. At the end, everyone clapped as the young women exited the room. Salesladies came table to table to take orders for any of the dresses. I do not remember if either Grandma or Gigi ordered anything, but I did feel like such a grown-up when the saleslady asked  me with a smile, "And you, young lady? Did you see anything you'd like to order?"

They took me on a foray through the girls' department, rooting through layers of dresses to find just the ones for me to try on. I felt like royalty as I tried each one on and twirled in front of the three-fronted mirrors. The one we all agreed on together and that they then bought for me that day is one I kept for years, even when my closet was well filled with teenager clothes.

The hats, gloves, and styles in that store are relics of the past, living on only in memories or perhaps in an odd closet or two. Likewise, Grandma and Gigi are gone now, though still vibrant in my heart.

I'd like to step inside that building one more time, climb up to the third floor and maybe do a twirl on that little stage. Its demolition will wipe out all possibilities of that,  but the important things that building housed are dynamically alive still.