The Widow, Mother of the Bride.

Home from PA last night, midnight. A long and fairly miserable flight. But here I am and fine.

Thursday night, when I arrived at Philadelphia airport, I took the Thrifty car rental shuttle, got my car, and drove to Millersville that night, in the dark, in a rented car the likes of which I'll never rent again--PT Cruiser. The drive was nearly two hours, quite complicated, challenging, but I had wonderful directions from Alyce and Ben, which I pulled over to read from time to time. I said complicated didn't I? I said dark, too, didn't I?

I stayed in Ben's Hampton Inn, the one he's general manager of, as his guest. A good room, a dandy bed, and I felt comfortable in that place. Ben, my son-in-law, he's pretty much a good guy, and so said everyone I met at the PA reception Friday night.

Sacrament meeting Sunday with Alyce, and then I took the return drive to PHL. All went well until I tried to find the Thrifty car rental place--it's not at the airport--which cost me a good bit of frustration and little little bit of fear (white knuckle driving) because I followed the Thrifty help person's directions and found myself on that enormous bridge which leads into downtown Philly. (I absolutely hate driving on those huge bridges.) She had told me to turn left where I should have turned right. That's for starters. This small adventure also cost me an extra half hour. Good I left early.

A few miles from the Susquehanna River, Millersville is in Lancaster County, PA, home of the Amish, of beautiful rolling farmland and big expanses of sky, home of trees and a lush green look. Home of old houses built flush on the street. Home of new houses, like A&B's. I like it there, in Lancaster County, home of Ben and Alyce. Now that I have seen where they live I can picture it. That helps me. Doesn't mean I won't miss Alyce, though.

Ben drove us around Saturday night and showed me where he grew up and where he went to school, showed me the railroad museum, showed me downtown Lancaster, including the Lancaster County prison, which is smack in the middle of downtown.

Their marriage, something I have great hopes for, a good happy life together. They are now a new family. Two very good people who will figure out how to be married. I think it takes figuring.

I think of them today because they both have a day off, and I wonder how they'll spend it, if they'll go someplace or open gifts or put together the last two drawers of that furniture piece.

And I thought of them today as I went to the cemetery--of their beginning and of endings, too, which is what cemeteries seem to mean.

I do not like to go to the cemetery. I've written that before. But today I wanted to go. The grave is still there, but today a lovely little bouquet brightened the place. White and orange carnations flanked the one red carnation. Mums, orchids, daisies, and this and that in colors of purple and white and yellow filled out the bouquet. No one in my family put it there. I am curious, a bit perplexed that I cannot know who did put it there, but I am not dismayed. It is a sweet touch and speaks someone's love for Wayne. I like that.

Wayne is not a war veteran--it's Memorial Day--but many of us visit our deceased loved ones on this day anyway. Usually when I go to the cemetery I'm the only one in the whole place. Not today, and today I watched the people. They stand or kneel or sit on the lawn. Some cry, some talk, some sit a while in silence. Some, I'm guessing, don't know exactly what to do. Some come alone, like me. Others come in groups and hold hands. All look down on what covers the person they wish they could see again. That last part I'm sure of.

May 18 + 1

It's the wee hours of the morning, and I'm up. It's hot, hard to sleep, and my dreams have troubled me. I went to bed hoping to dream of Wayne. Seems a desirable thing on his birthday. I can't have him here; at least I can dream about him. But no. Just stuff that makes no sense to me about people not close to me.

Can't a person dream what she wants? Apparently not.

The frogs sing their loud croaking song every night. And I mean loud--I wonder how big they are. They stopped singing for a while but have started up again. Perhaps my falling asleep to their croaks determined the theme of my dreaming. But I think refried beans were part of my dream, and I can't figure out what they have to do with frogs or anything else that was on my mind. See what I mean? Makes no sense.

I had to go down and wake Lola because the light was on inside her car and all the doors locked. Didn't want the battery to die. She has come up and seen to it, and the car still starts.

Perhaps that is all I need to record. Need being the questionable word.

A Few Words On My Husband's Birthday

Wouldn't it be nice if a person could say just the right words on such an occasion? I have come to believe no such words exist, but I want to say something, so here are my few words.

He would be 70. I dislike writing it in the conditional tense, but there we are.

He was a man who liked to be home, which was sometimes frustrating for a woman who liked to go places, but mostly it was a good thing.

That guy who put up the "chicken manure as cure for chapped lips and so on" website stole the idea from Wayne. I mean, really, because Wayne said it decades ago.

He could be a clown or an intelligent contributor to conversation. He could entertain a room with jokes and physical antics, but he could also hold forth on many subjects because he read a lot.

He knew sports statistics, including high school sports.

He sought my approval. That's nice.

He was not a natural born hugger.

He was a natural born cornball, quipster, and word manipulator. I like that about him. Here's a story to the point.

Once, many years ago, when we were in the check-out line at the Caldwell Albertsons, we saw a small display of books for parents to read to their children. The featured book was about how children come into existence, and its title was, You Were Once A Dot. Wayne said, "Yes, but Anwar Sadat right now."

Top that.

Quieting Down

Things are. Only a few bills remain. All the flowers are gone from the house, vases in the dishwasher. This and that. Richard and Penelope had an event-free trip home, where a happy Sarah was reading a book to the Peanut as Richard made his telephone report at 11:15 PM. Lola and Clayton have their belongings in the downstairs room, which will be their home, so to speak, for the rest of May.

Thank goodness Ann has done a brief chronicle of the A + B wedding, and with pictures. I seem to be spent.

Time will tell, as they say, whether or not I ever have something to say again. The birthday of my husband approaches, yes, as it does every year about now. But I don't want to slide into something sorry and sad about that. I'll work on happy.

In a couple of weeks I'll be off to Pennsylvania for the A + B reception there. Or perhaps, given the venue, I should put B + A.