The Car Confusion

 Embarrassed

Have you ever embarrassed yourself in such a way?
That you wanted to crawl under a big rock and stay?
When the humiliation is more than you can take,
But then you realize: it was just a mistake,
I can’t believe I’m even documenting this story,
I am recording my blunder, in all its glory!
I parked my car in the parking lot,
In the middle of August, while it was blazing hot,
I browsed a few stores, and then went back to the first,
To make a purchase, and the check-out line was the worst!
Suffice it to say, considerable time had passed,
Since I had seen my parked-car last,
As I approached my car, the fob was apparently dead,
The door would not unlock, no matter what I did,
I sat in the shade, in the grass, by my car,
But my daughter-in-law was at Target, which wasn’t far,
She bought new batteries for me, to solve the issue,
But before she arrived, a lady had interesting news,
“That’s my car you are sitting next to”, she said,
My hot face turned a deeper shade of red,
“YOUR car?”, I said, in a state of confusion,
Well, that led me to a quick conclusion,
This was not even my car I was trying to take,
Oh boy! What a big, blundering mistake!
I said, “I’m sorry, I thought it was mine”,
“It looks just like it; we have the same kind!”
She didn’t seem amused at all,
In fact, she was a bit appalled,
I guess she thought I was a lunatic,
I politely got out of her way, really quick!
MY car was parked one aisle away,
Go ahead and laugh is all I can say!

Tammy Harvey
Written: 8/24/2021

My Lucky Number

 

Thirty-Three

After being born at 3:33pm, I am convinced,

That a number is more than a mere coincidence,

Let’s revisit how the number 3 has affected my life,

For 33 years, I was a wife,

Yes, married to my husband until death we did part,

Now I’m faced with a surprising new start,

When I was 33, I was pregnant with my 3^rd son,

We had three sons; all were 3 years apart,

They are the 3 joys of my heart,

My dear husband was employed 33 years with IBM,

We were always so very proud of him,

Then his dream job he had for all of 3 years,

With FedEx, which made his beautiful smile reappear,

He loved to work, and work he did,

With his thumbs-up attitude and the excitement of a kid,

June of 2021, marked 3 years since he passed,

My, how time has gone by fast,

The illness was short, but the memories are many,

The heartache is real, but the blessings are plenty,

I often receive #33 when I order a meal,

No one really knows how that makes me feel,

It is a gift to have 3 be my magical number,

Believe me, this number does not encumber,

My new street address is 1333, on lot 73,

As you can see, it was meant to be!

Tammy Harvey

8/22/2021

The House Atop the Hill

Guest Essay by my son, Thomas, 33 years young today.  Happy Birthday!

 There’s a 'FOR SALE' sign just steps away from where my dad fingered our family surname in the wet concrete below the curb when it was poured three decades ago. Burnished by Fran and Floyd, two feet of snow in Y2K and thirty years of seasons, the letters once etched deep are now well-worn hieroglyphs, faded like the memories made in my boyhood home.

Its occupants, once five, vacated in a slow but natural forward march until only the matriarch came to hold the fort. Her three boys became men, fledged and left her an empty nester before cancer left her a widow. Alone with her thoughts in a place once so full of life, the stark emptiness only served to amplify her losses. A home without family turns back to a house, the studs a skeleton of what once was.
But despite its hollowness, the house does have solid bones - besides the metatarsal (mine) and ulna (my brother’s) fractured sometime in the early 2000s. Perched atop a slope, the steep driveway will likely frighten potential buyers who simply lack imagination and vision. If they were to ask, I would tell them that the driveway is the ideal runway for crude wooden ramps hobbled together by small hands from scrap plywood, two-by-fours and remnant bricks. And that not too long ago wheels, in pairs of twos and fours, rolled from the top of the incline, their riders descending with the reckless abandon and ignorance afforded only by youthful naivety. Speed led to blood, scabs and scars in a time well before helmets and pads softened our spirit.
Once concealed by towering evergreen trees that finally succumbed to disease, the train track that borders the property’s rear is sure to be another red flag to interested parties. However, had they only experienced the thrill – half fear, half frenzy – of running down and stealing the red safety flag that once flew from the caboose of the slow moving CSX freight train on its daily run like a western outlaw maybe they would think different. Or had they placed a penny on the flat rail and cheered as the locomotive pancaked the soft zinc coated copper into collectable oval trinkets. Or if they would have learned to decipher curse words from the vivid graffiti on the rail cars or convinced the conductor to sound the horn simply by motioning their right arm… then, maybe they would realize they were on the right side of the tracks.

The house, like the flawed family that lived in it for so many years, is not perfect. The new owners will find the need to update and upgrade cosmetic or otherwise. While doing so they will surely stumble upon my father’s signature and a date written carefully on the nearest piece of drywall, stud or flat surface; the hidden graphite autograph a time capsule to the bygone days I now cherish. It is my hope the new owners will appreciate the pride my father took in maintaining his home; blood, sweat and tears – the home has them all and all for different reasons.
It is my hope that the new owners of my childhood home will see it for what it is, what our family made it. A place for discovery, growth and maturity. A safe haven for imagination and make-believe. A shelter with a foundation strong enough to withstand the storms of hurricanes, three adolescent boys and the stresses of life and death. Mostly, I hope when the new owners get their mail, they’ll notice the faint lettering in the concrete just beneath the box and remember the folk that left the roots of their family tree tangled amidst the front yard’s towering oaks, buried deep in the red Carolina clay.

written by:  Thomas Harvey

9/13/2021

A Senior Moment

 Downsizing

Downsizing is harder than trying to lose weight,
Well, maybe not, but the hardship is just as great,
Mountains of things have accumulated over the past 30 years,
What to keep? What to dispose of? Brings trepidation and fears,
You must take 30 years of collection in a 4-bedroom home,
Where you’ve raised 3 children, who are now fully grown,
And condense it into a 2-bedroom ranch just for you,
It’s an exciting transition, and the ranch is brand new,
But there are repairs to do and decisions to be made,
It is a lot of sorting and touching items you haven’t seen in a decade,
The attic is full, and each closet is brimming,
The walls need new paint, and the bushes need trimming,
Getting a house ready to sell is no small task,
It is the decluttering that makes you ask…
Why did I store all this stuff for so many years?
Parting is sweet sorrow, but you’re not shedding tears,
You have come to find out what is important to you,
And it is not the materialistic items; they can be few,
You can do without a lot of things, if you must,
Minimalism is freeing; and there are less things to dust!
You rejoice that you have been given a life,
Where you were a mother and a wife,
Now the children are on their own, and your husband has passed,
And you wonder why time went by so fast,
But you look ahead at a new horizon, with a different perspective,
And dream of the future while still being reflective,
It’s a new day. It’s a new beginning. It’s time to downsize,
To live in a 55+ community, with other old gals and guys!

Tammy Harvey
Written: 8/18/2021

It's becoming real...

Verbal Expression

 

What Will I Say?

I don’t know about you,

But I get nervous when meeting someone new,

They introduce themselves and I do the same,

Then 10 seconds later, I can’t even remember their name,

I want to, but my mind is preoccupied, don’t you see?

With what they are saying, and what my next response should be,

I’m challenged when it comes to verbal expression,

And there is only one chance to make a first impression,

My words come out all awkward and jumbled,

Like a football play when the ball is being fumbled,

Maybe my dry wit will get me a pass,

Or will it cause them to think I’m a smart-ass?

A bit of humor always breaks the ice, right?

That and the ability to be a positive light,

Nice and personable; wish me luck, I’ll need it, today,

I’m attending a social tonight, and what will I say?

Tammy Harvey

Written:  8/11/2021