Ms Rosebud, our church friend was on Facebook just when I was finishing a post. Since she was on the site when my link came up, she knew we were home. We live a mile from each other, and she is so impressive with her social connections on the web.
Her daughter lives next door to her but the husband answered the phone. “I am going to see LEE and the URN for the CATS” she reported to him so they would know where she was. What? It made no sense. When she had to repeat the message to her daughter, two of the three main words were beyond understanding (Lee always sounds like “me”. “Who is me”?, people would say on the other end of the phone).
She got her message across and rode over. We walked around the acreage, slowly. She is 82. “I see your tree-pees, your blue bottles, and there are your new kittens (all talked about on the blog)! I wish you had known that Ms Modele had kittens just a while ago!” “You are supposed to put that stuff on Facebook”, I said, having had found out the fact about the kittens from Ms Modele herself just days ago.
Ms Modele is my oldest and for a long time, only local girlfriend. She is 96, and for a while last year she had us all scared, but she is great now. Her friend Barbara drove her out here the other brilliant day. We sat outside and talked. We met 27 years ago when she took a class I offered at the arts center. Daughter Brady was an infant then, stayed on a blanket in the middle of the room as we all made quilts.
When Garrett said he wanted to go to church, it was Modele’s church we chose. Because of her. Modele and Barbara came by after they had gone picking pears. They gave us some. There is a tree near here, somebody owns that land, but for sure I do not know who. A long bamboo cane is left in the tree for all who come by to knock down some pears. You put it back, and it is there for the next guy. These pears taste like something you never found in a can. They are huge and irregular, and do not last long.
But I digress. We finally made it out to the urn in the barn, still on the workbench, ready to be shipped. “It looks just like it did on Facebook”, Ms Rosebud said. We talked about the woman who commissioned it, who is also from around here. And then cancer. We agreed: everybody has a cancer chapter in their lives. Up to you how you deal with it. Making an urn for yourself is one tool.
We showed her the outdoor shower, on the bedroom side of the house towards where our preacher lives. You can’t really see his house; we are protected. So is he. Ms. Rosebud said about our old farmhouse then, “We used to work in the field across from where this house used to be, where the pine trees are now. Back when you moved the house to here, I could not imagine what in the world happened to this house”! “How did you find out about the house?”, I said. “Modele told me”, she said. Modele had an uncle who lived in this house for a time, and Ms. Rosebud knew others. I met one couple after the house was just moved. They were in their nineties, and their daughter brought them here. Good thing we only moved it three miles. It belongs in this community, named Pine Hill.
Ms Rosebud is interested in all the creative stuff we do around here. I was thrilled when she told me that she found some blue beer bottles and started her own bottle tree.
If you want to read about the urn and the cats, click on the words below, A TALE OF TWO KITTIES.