One Bird

I saw a western tanager today as I turned onto Greenwood Circle. He flew into the big evergreen—or maybe the old apple tree—around the corner, where the guy with the big mouth bass mail box used to live. A male bird, wearing his summer colors: bright red head, yellow breast, and black wings with two white bars. I looked him up and learned that towards autumn, he won’t appear quite so vivid, head and breast fading some, which is like what we all do with the movement of time.

One year, I remember, not long after we moved here, I saw a whole flock of tanagers in that very same part of the neighborhood, a quick blur of yellow sweeping across the street right in front of me—they were in the air, of course—and I have been watching for them ever since. So today was good. I saw only this one bird, but he was enough to make me smile and say out loud, “Oh, how beautiful. Thank you.”

My neighbors told me that while I was gone on my cruise a big wind blew the crow’s nest out of the cedar tree. Hooray, I said. Then they told me the babies didn’t survive. That did make me feel bad, but not bad enough to wish them back.

Happily, the crows have not rebuilt in the cedar, choosing instead a large ash tree in front of my neighbor’s house on the east side of my property. That is farther away, and the tree does not hang over my fence, is nowhere near my fence. But it is close enough, and they can still be heard, you know, their loud warnings.

Who invited them here anyway? I do not know if they will come back next year. I hope not. I do not know if I can hope they are far enough away from my yard so that the other birds will come back this year, if I can expect the return of the robins and quail and sparrows and finches this year, but maybe next year. Who knows? Maybe next year will bring a flock of tanagers. Yes, there is always next year.

This day

The day Wayne and I married 46 years ago. A good day, you know.

In Dreams

I fell asleep on the family room couch this morning, a wakeful nap, and dreamed about Alyce, her accident, her teeth, her sometime dismay. In the dream I became aware that Wayne was not here; he was away and had been for a while. It seemed he didn't like me anymore and had not given me a way to contact him. Again, dismay, this time mine.

I wanted him here, of course, needed him here for Alyce's comfort and for mine. He would put his arms around her and tell her it will be all right. He was good at that. And for me, if I could see him, then I would know--something anyway. Sometimes a dream of him can be so real that I wake in great sadness to find he is not really here. This time waking brought relief of sorts. It troubles me to think he does not like me. I suppose such thoughts are not uncommon among widows.

Happy Birthday, sort of

May 18 approaches. Wayne’s birthday. He would be 69.

When Wayne and I were brand new together and I learned that his birthday was May 18, I likely thought he and I were meant to be together. May 18 is also my brother Sterling’s birthday, the brother I idolized in my childhood. After Wayne and I married and attended BYU, my sister Lucile, also there with us, met and married Eric Eastman, whose birthday is May 18. I have always liked that. I don’t know if she idolized Sterling; I don’t know if Eric’s birthday being the same as Sterling’s and Wayne's pleased her as it did me; I don't know if it mattered at all.

Whatever.

The day approaches, next Sunday, in fact, and I shall spend it in church. Perhaps in the early morning, if my allergies are controlled, I’ll go to the cemetery. Not really a place of celebration for us Schiess people, but I can check on things, see that the grave is still cared for, the stone clean. There isn't much more I can do. Going to the cemetery is not something I do for him, not something I do for me. No doubt that is why I don't go often. I don't need to be there to think of him. Know what I mean?

For instance, yesterday, as I was blowing my nose . . . again, I remembered that Wayne used to say there ought to be some way to use all the mucus my body produces, some way to make a profit from it, plentiful as it was. Maybe mortar for bricks. I told him I didn't think it would sell.

Something About Love

Lola and I went to the cemetery on that January day a couple of years ago. We took yellow roses and a jar of water to be the vase. She cut the roses while I tied on Alyce’s Sorel boots to tramp through the frozen snow to his grave. The stone had been cleared of snow, and we found a small snowman in the upper left hand corner. He had melted some, but clearly he was there by intention. Then Lola saw the writing in the snow, I LOVE YOU DAD. We knew right away it was Andrew, and when we got back to the car I called him. Yes, he had been there a few days earlier. “I didn’t have flowers,” he said, “and I thought dad would like a snowman.”

Back Then

Today I was in the Caldwell area--long story--and drove out Cleveland Blvd (Nampa/Caldwell highway) towards Nampa. When I passed Midway Lunch I slowed a bit. It is still Midway Lunch, although the building looks newly painted. I figure the interior is much the same as it used to be. I let my mind go back and saw us sitting in that second room at a big table or in two booths. I don't suppose the woman who always asked us, "You likey fly lice?" is still there. After we figured out what she was saying, we always did likey. I loved their pork and seeds. I remember a hamburger or two served up, Richard. I also remember their restroom. How about you, Ann?
Midway Lunch. I think it's where we learned to like Chinese food. I know Dad always thought Chinese food fixed him after he'd been sick.

A Notepad

In my church bag I carry a small green notepad. It was Wayne’s. In it he worked out ideas for talks and teaching, kept notes from meetings, commented on scriptures and other reading he was doing. He even has a note to me about something I should teach to my Sunday School class. One page is a list of physical problems in the various buildings in the Boise East Stake—that was his High Council assignment, Stake PFR. The lights in the stake building’s scoreboard needed replacing, Broadway Ward’s noisy foyer heater needed attention and that building also had a door handle with a problem and two stoves that did not work.

Another page is titled, Lake Powell To Do and Take.

Renew prescriptions [with a red check]
Medication from Wagnild
Airline ticket. Money [red check]
Razor. Sport shoes
Deodorant. Pencils
Liquid soap. This notebook
Toilet paper. Toilet paper [really, that’s what he wrote]
Panty liners.* Wallet
Solarcaine.* Questran*
Hygiene cleanser pads*
Cases of water. Cipro*
Pajamas. Lomotil*
Pillow. Hat (2)
Blanket. Sun Screen
Long sleeve blue shirt
Tee shirts. Tithing [red check]
Underwear
Scriptures & markers
Toothpaste
2 books

*The asterisks are mine. I use them to indicate items related to his colostomy, and he didn’t list the adhesive, scissors, bags, rings, etc. Travel, let alone a week on a houseboat, had become very complicated for him.

Wayne did not often write in cursive. He printed in upper case, and that is what he did in this green notepad. It is the last of his writing that I have, reason enough to keep it.
Here’s his last page:

What does it mean to be a
‘True’ Disciple
True Carpenter
“ Mechanic
“

He didn’t finish