As I sit down to write this, there are 5 electric service trucks outside on my street and in my neighbor’s driveway. Hurricane Barry powered through over the weekend and took out a few branches. Nature’s way of tree trimming, but unfortunately, one of those limbs took out a transformer. We were only without power for 24 hours and thanks to a trusty, industrial generator, we didn’t suffer much. The guys working on the poles, clearing out the downed wires, and restoring electricity are heroes in my book. Many are not even from our area. They made the sacrifice to travel here in the wake of a major storm. We are grateful.
This summer my life has been busy in a different way from previous summers, no teacher workshops, no writing retreats, no foreign travel. I have not sliced in weeks because the topic feels too big for a small slice.
My parents moved to a retirement home. This is good news for many reasons. They made the decision on their own, and they are now in a place that feeds them good meals with a built in social life.
What needed to be addressed was the house they lived in for 29 years. This was not the home of my childhood, but it is the home of my children’s childhood. It was a place I took them to be loved. The house was on a lake where sunsets were glorious. My brother took my girls fishing on the dock. I watched herons and egrets and white pelicans. Sitting on the swing on the back porch was a favorite spot. Many family photos were staged there.
I’ve visited my parents every summer, so I looked back to blog posts written there. Here is a poem I wrote the summer of 2015.
Sometimes on the lake in June
white pelicans fly in together
and I get out the camera.
Then they turn as a drum line in step,
swim away swiftly in a cloud.Sometimes on the lake in June
a lone blue heron fishes.
Sly step, long beak held high,
drinking in the sunlight.
A small boat passes by
lines thrown out,
catching nothing.Sometimes on the lake in June,
(c) Margaret Simon
I wake before dawn,
put the coffee on,
Sometimes Dad will join me
silent, reading the daily news.
Mom comes in pleased to have fresh coffee.
We sit on the porch, quiet
content to be together
on the lake in June.
Sifting through the stuff of a house, the history of a life, is bittersweet. There were treasures to find, memories to share, and things to keep. My daughters and I have all taken things with us, but we will all miss the peacefulness and joy of the house on the lake.
Reflections on the Teche 
I feel your pain. At the end of this week, I will be able to drive slowly past the house where I grew up. I can walk down every hallway and into every room in my memories, but that particular house no longer exists. I am excited/apprehensive to see what kind of a home the new family has made in it.
Perhaps it feels like too much for a slice, but you’ve captured so much in this one. It’s rich with emotion. Your poem, in particular, is a beautiful keepsake of your family and the lake, a treasure for all of you. Thanks for sharing it with us.
We just sold the house where we brought our kids home from the hospital so I can kind of relate to what you and your daughters are going through with the sale of your parents home. Onto the next chapter of life, yes… but that doesn’t mean it’s an easy chapter to close.
Thankful you had a generator to keep you cool while the transformer was repaired.
So much happening, Margaret.
Any kind of move is hard. Thanks for your caring words.
Ah, Margaret. Glad you didn’t have extended power outages, and sending deep breaths for the bittersweet experiences surrounding your parents’ move. Hugs to you, my friend!
I feel very moved by your post and your poem and this moment of change.
Margaret, I have wandered through your lakeside retreat with you many times in the past. I am feeling a slight sense of your loss and understand that this summer has been an unusual one for you. Amidst all the turmoil and changes, I am happy that you and your family are safe and that your parents are being cared as they enter a new phase of their lives. Thank you for sharing your poem again. It has centered me.
Thanks, Carol. Your support and love mean a lot to me.
Changes. Sorting. Changes.
Life
Memories
Changes
It doesn’t always fit in a slice. So appropos!
From the physical strong winds and downed limbs of the storm to the metaphorical winds of change – no wonder it hasn’t fit into a slice. I’m realizing how hard it can be to write in the moment. I need a step back before I can write. Your poem provides that step – it captures the peace that you felt in that house, the way that nature and family intertwine to form a whole. I’m glad that Barry didn’t do too much damage and that your parents made this decision on their own. I’m glad that you have beautiful pictures and poetry to share. Here’s to a little less wind for the rest of July.
Such a heartfelt response. Thanks for the virtual hug.
This is beautiful and also hard Margaret. I can feel the bigness of this moment and time about the house and your parents and memories and new chapters in your writing.
I’ve done the leaving myself from my home and said goodbye to so many others. When I go back to Missouri, sometimes we still drive by our grandparents’ home we remember when we were young. Memories help. I remember your loving posts visiting your parents and their beautiful lake, Margaret. Hugs to you during this new journey. And, so glad you are okay from the storm.
I know your feelings – we had to close down my Mothers home years ago and I still remember how hard it was. It was my childhood home. It is always a mixed blessing. Good to have your parents in a safe and caring location but so hard to see them age and to leave a lovely place of memories. A nice post to share those feelings.
A very poignant slice of life – the poem is beautiful, laced and tied together with love between generations, but the line which struck me most was this house being the place you took your children to be loved. Arrow to the heart, especially remembering the place “to be loved” in my own childhood, my grandparents’ house. Granddaddy died there peacefully at 92 but I accompanied Grandma to the nursing home … then suddenly every memory was worth more gold than can even be found in this world. There is nothing like place to bring it all into hallowed perspective.
I was wondering how you were faring in Barry! Glad to know all is essentially well, minus the branches and transformer. Praying safety, restoration, and well-being to all.
Hallowed perspective, love that. Thanks.
For all the beauty that exists in the passing of time, there is also an equal measure of the bittersweet. Your post captures that beautifully. It is wonderful that you were able to capture so many memories in writing.
I was frightened that you had suffered the loss of your own home when I saw the line you shared on SOL for this post. Love the Sometimes… poem you shared. If I remember correctly, that was a prompt one summer for the Teacher’s Write. I think I wrote one of my own and actually used it for a prompt with a group of ladies from our church. Hugs as you face the changes and challenges of this summer.
[…] I wrote about the sadness over leaving the home that has been a summer sanctuary for me in a slice a few weeks […]