For this author, creative endeavors have been sorely tested by motherhood. But also transformed, and in ways she wouldn’t have imagined – couldn’t have, without her life “rewritten” as it has been, by her children. So linger here, to read all things weaverly, writerly and motherly.

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Monday, May 14, 2012

Tale Tuesday: Moon Trees

"But it got you out of the house," her daughter said.

Marge had just told she'd quit her volunteer position as a "tree" at the arboretum. She felt encased in glass as she sat alone at her table with an empty coffee cup. "Yes. That's what trees do."

Her daughter was running water in her sink. This seemed always the time when Karen called, when she was doing stuff; clatter of silverware into the dishwasher, mad bristly scrubbing of some pot. Marge's grandson fussing in the background, in his highchair with some shaky toy.

Her daughter's obsession with getting Marge out of the house started after Marge made the mistake of confiding to her about how her dead husband had come to her in on a full moon night and stood beside her bed.

"You were dreaming, Mom," Karen had said, in her squeaky-clean brand new perfunctory tone. As when she would tell Marge how she should toss out catalogues piling up in her house.

"I couldn't really see his face but it was really him. And he was angry."

"Daddy had no reason to be angry. You should be angry with him, for never listening."

Really, if anyone was angry, it was her daughter. 'What was he thinking?" she'd wailed, when Marge had to call and tell her that he'd keeled over from a massive heart attack one too-hot summer day while mowing the lawn.

For some reason, he had refused to acknowledge his heart condition, and that steamy morning, she'd watched as he'd hauled the push mower out from the garage. She'd even once suggested investing in a ride-on mower. "Why don't ya just get me a motorized wheelchair?"

Too damn hot to argue. She'd just wanted to get into her air-conditioned car, to get a couple of cans of tunafish for a tuna salad lunch. If she had protested, he would only have pretended not to hear: "Say what?" he'd yell, over the roar of the old gassy lawn mower.

This was all some years ago now, but she would think back to that, when she was a tree, when she'd quit, and when her daughter began telling her what to do. When their roles seemed to be reversing which left a metal taste in her mouth every time they hung up their phones.

What she'd never told her daughter was about her falling into the web of children at the arboretum, the real reason she'd finally quit; that back then, her balance was already deteriorating. When her grandson, the one fussing in the highchair at the other end of the phone, was still a toddler.

Now he was seven. She hadn't thought about the tree thing until this spring when she'd found herself telling him about it.

"You were a tree?"

"A maple. Just like that one," she'd said, pointing to the big one in her backyard. They'd been visiting for Easter. New leaves were just beginning to sprout.

"Wow. That's kind a cool. . ." He was scraping at the ground with a stick. "Do you believe in moon trees?"

"Moon trees?"

"We have some. In our yard. At least I think they're moon trees...the way they look when the moon is out. Anyway, I hope that's what they are. Because I promised this kid at school I would trade him moon tree seeds for seeds he has from this cool really rare tree, I guess, in his own yard."

"What kind of tree does he have?"

"Not sure. But it's supposed to be the only one on earth..." He shrugged. "He has a chicken coop too. When we had chicks in school, he took them home to their coop." He finished his drawing. It was a dragon. With two heads and breathing fire.

"Anyway, yes," Marge said.

"Yes, what..." He was distracted now, crouched over his dirt drawing, adding tiny clawed feet.

"I think there is such a thing," she said, vaguely remembering something about seeds being taken into orbit and then brought back to be planted on earth. Whether or not she learned that at the arboretum or just had it stored up with other odd bits which come with age, that she didn't know. Or remember.

"I do believe. In moon trees," she said, with a surety that she didn't necessarily have about much else.









 

12 comments:

Barbra said...

If there are moon shadows there have to be moon tress,no?!

Sandra Tyler said...

Right!

Libby said...

I like that we are getting to know Marge better. She is a likable character, and I sense that the grandson is an ally. I hope to hear more about moon trees in the future!

Word Nerd said...

I think it's really going to bug her daughter that she and her grandson see so eye to eye.

Abracadebra Designs said...

Sounds like Grandma and Grandson are also good buddies who both have a lot to teach the other about life.
-Debbie

Kathy said...

You always write the most fascinating stories.

Kathy
http://gigglingtruckerswife.blogspot.com

Jenn said...

I loved this-- and I loved how Grandma believes in her Grandson--ooooh I see a bond forming ;)

Cheers, Jenn

Gene Pool Diva said...

Swept along in a few sentences. I like that sensation.

Amy Morgan said...

Beautifully written - I liked the continuing stories and oh, those moon tree seeds have me so intrigued. Wouldn't it be wonderful to have one of those trees to sit under on a cool fall evening?

pammustard said...

I seem to have come into the story a bit late but Marge is a likeable character and easy to relate to. Will look forward to more about her!

Sandie lee said...

I wish I would have found you sooner...great story and awesome blog!

I'm a new follower :)

Sandie lee
http://knowonderblog.blogspot.com

Eveli Acosta said...

New follower, thank you for joining my blog hop!
I take it by the comments that this is an ongoing story, I really liked what I read so far...hope to read more of it soon! :)

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