last summer
whenever possible
my visiting granddaughter Cara
would worm
her tiny hand into mine
and like Hansel and Gretel
we’d strike out from the house
up the “barking dog trail”
to the “creaky swings”
don’t you love the labels
little children put on things?
and after a few “Sky flying”
“watch me Grandpa’s”
it was on to the “sneaky table”
where hidden in the shade
beneath a giant live oak tree
we would split
the forbidden can of Coke I brought—
damn it, Dad, her teeth will rot!
Rested and refreshed
we then ascend
the “slide steep”
to check the water level
in the “water keep”
to lift the lid and take a peek
then down the trail
single file we go
through the “witchy woods”
to Arizona
which is what my spouse
calls the shack she uses
as her dream shop and studio
Grandma it seems also
has a knack for naming things—
if anyone calls
tell them I’m in Arizona
next stop—
the family memorial garden
where we solemnly commune
with the trees
Kim and Emil have become,
chanting softly as we pass—
from ashes to ashes
to flowering plum
then wending our way
along a stretch of “dusty dirt”
we search for yesterday’s
footprints
covering them with today’s
“backward walking” sometimes—
to fool our enemies
and friends
and always
during the final leg
of this backyard expedition
my companion lags behind
little Miss Slowpoke
gathering specimens—
repeating after me the name
of every trailside
shrub and tree
eucalyptus sticky monkey
lilac sage madrone
and don’t touch that
it’s poison oak
then suddenly—
we’re home!
last summer
Cara and I collected
and polished these moments
leaving them along the path
like pebbles
to be used
in the distant future
the way
a whiff of cigar smoke
brings my grandfather back
to poke about in the garden
with his walking stick
the way
my grandmother’s face
magically appears
at the taste of peppermint
her watchful presence
close at hand
whenever I shake sand
from something
that has been to the beach
I know
on some far away tomorrow
a sip of Cola on a hot day—
a pinch of sage—
the creaking sound
a rope swing makes
these things, with Cara’s help,
can bring me back
to life again
and thankful as I am
for such life-extending crumbs
sadly I also know
that the cigar smoke
and peppermint trick
can only be done by me—
in a couple of generations
it all becomes
a banquet for the crows
The Rev. Ric Masten (1929-2008) was a Unitarian Universalist “troubadour minister,” and the author of 23 books, 12 song albums, and the popular hymn “Let it Be a Dance.”
“Pebbles and Crumbs” was originally published in June 2008 by Skinner House in Masten’s book, Going Out Dancing. This book is available from the CLF Library or the UUA bookstore.
For the months of July and August, receive a 20% discount on this featured book. At the UUA Bookstore enter discount code CLF0709 on checkout or call 800-215-9076 and give the code.
(Remember to add your friend's email in the "To:" line)
