Hot Flash Annie's, by Donna Ciappina

August 2001: It had been one year since my mother’s death. The year was complicated by family conflicts over her estate, and I was still emotionally raw from the losses.

My husband and I were vacationing at our favorite vacation spot, Acadia National Park. I was shopping at some of the gift shops in South West Harbor. Specifically, I was in a little shop called “Hot Flash Annie’s”. How could I not go in/!

I picked up a little glass stone with the word JOY written on it. It reminded me of a

stone I had given my mother years ago that sat on her kitchen table for the rest of her life next to her bills, newspaper articles, and ashtray. When she died I took it back even

though it was covered in nicotine. I was wondering how I would find joy again.

When I got to the register to pay for the stone, I began to tell the owner/cashier about my mother and the stone. I stood there sobbing, she came around from behind the register and hugged me and said, “I know.” I was comforted by her hug. I pulled myself together, thanked her, and left the shop.

When I returned home from vacation, there was a box from Hot Flash Annie’s. I opened it to find a small glass “angel” with a note. I wish I could find the note, but it is tucked away somewhere, I imagine the note wished me well. I keep both stones and the angel where I can see them. The stones remind me of the love and joy I had with my mother and family. I hold those memories close to my heart and try to be open to those feelings in my present life. The angel reminds me of all the support I had in the very difficult few years after my mother’s death from my husband, friends, and strangers who gave me what I needed. A hug and a listening ear.

In the next 4 years, my husband and I would marry and adopt our daughter, Rebecca, then another cat, and our family dog…it was a joyful time yet often bittersweet.

Comments

A Comforting Reunion with a Spirit, by David Moore

It was the end a of cool spring day and my wife and I were looking for an escape from our regular route to walk our dogs. We chose to visit an old cemetery just outside the center of town. The sky was becoming clouded over with rays of sunshine peeking through. It was marked with shades of dark blue clouds mixed with patches of blue sky. The air had turned crisp with sunset approaching, as we got out of our car. Our dogs we oblivious of the natural beauty around us, they were just interested in the new smells. The stark grey leafless trees, inside of the granite fence posts with their rusted red iron rails marked ancient family plots. An occasional evergreen and a few lonesome daffodils added a little color to the scene. The grass is still brown with patches of green and a few tattered flags, that had made it through the winter. Walking along the paths of the aging roadway I notice names of folks once prominent in the town. Among them are not only names from history but as time g

Libraries and Dumps, By Steve Donovan

I don’t remember at what age Mom introduced me to Weymouth Landing’s old Tufts Library southeast of Boston, Massachusetts. What I remember perfectly about that wonderful day was her hand holding mine as we walked into Weymouth’s huge library to experience the absolute wonder of seeing all those warmly glowing wooden shelves filled with books! My two brothers and I had grown up with books around; our mother had turned two rooms of our home into a children’s kindergarten in the forties making more books handy to us than most other kids’ neighborhood homes. The words ‘more books’ on that amazing day became a relative term however because Weymouth Landing’s wonderful Tufts Library seemed to have millions! I stood inside the huge double door entrance gaping until Mom led me into the stacks on a quick tour explaining where each type of book was kept and which sections I’d probably be most interested in. Then we tiptoed to the librarian’s desk where, speaking in hushed tones and then signin

Remembering Kathryn Mary, by Kathleen Capraro

I never met anyone as loyal to her family as Kathryn. She always said that everything that had happened to her was her own doing. She never blamed anyone else but herself. We met her at two months old when my sister and her husband took into their home their foster baby. She was adopted one and one-half years later. My husband, Paul, and I were thrilled to be the Godparents to our dear Kathryn Mary. I always called her Kathryn but my husband always called her "Mia Bella Bambino." Kathryn took up all the space in any room -- especially learning to walk, which she did by running and crashing into walls. Never was a baby sweeter or friendlier than Kathryn. She loved to eat, and she ate anything you put in front of her. The first sign of trouble arose for her in school when she encountered math, and that was her downfall. She struggled all through school, which made school years all the more difficult. She was never accepted there. Once she was a teenager, more trouble aro

Telling Our Stories

Search This Blog