The Crab Chronicles

One Day Soon

My mom passed away almost exactly five months ago, on June 28, 2020. I miss her every day, but as I bustled around the kitchen this morning making pecan pie and trying to get everything straight and the table set, I was fine. My son and his friend came over and helped me with cleanup. We have friends coming by to eat with us later today.

I took a quick break to watch a few minutes of the dog show.

As I was watching the dog show it occurred to me that Mom loved to watch those type shows and took great delight in knowing the names of most dog breeds and learning about them. She loved dogs. When she talked to my father about getting married she said "I plan to have at least two or three children and we will have a dog, or I won't marry you." Kids and dogs were part of the deal. Dad was smart enough to agree to all of it.

Mom treated her dogs like family, and she made no bones about how important dogs were to her life. I thought about that as I watched the dog show, then --

I just burst into tears.

That's the way I grieve, slowly this time. With my father, in 1996, I cried a lot but mostly right afterwards. Then I just felt sad for months, wishing I could pick up the phone and call him. The passing of my mom, who I had in my life for 58 years, has been a different kind of grief. The grief is bigger, and it hurts much more, so I have to process it more slowly. About once a day I want to tell her something, and I remember she is gone and I just stop what I'm doing and cry for a few minutes. I have boxes of kleenex stashed all over the house.

I know many of us are mourning loved ones lost to Covid-19. There will be empty places at the table for years to come, as we grapple with the terrible losses of 2020. Loved ones gone, jobs gone, many in the country hungry. It's a long national nightmare.

A little while ago, I was looking at a quilt made by my grandmother and my great grandmother in 1933, when Memaw was pregnant with my mom. [See photo at left]

Memaw was big pregnant in 1933, during the worst part of the Great Depression, and her husband was out of work and there was no money. Granny Butler and Grandaddy couldn't help because they had lost all their money in the Depression. Papa's parents were struggling. Everyone was struggling. Yet Memaw and Granny Butler made a pink and blue double wedding ring quilt for the new baby, not knowing if it was a boy or a girl.

They pieced together the top, but then somehow it never got finished. A few years ago I told Mom I wanted to see it finished. Neither one of us are quilters. Luckily, one of my Thompson cousins is a very skilled quilter, and she finished the quilt for us, which was really kind.

I have decided to keep the beautiful quilt in the living room, a reminder of three incredible ladies. They got through hard times, and the hard times didn't defeat them.

I can too.

One day the tears will be done, and I will smile when I think of Mom.

One day we will all be vaccinated against this terrible plague, and there will be some positives to come of this, I know -- people will be more aware of germ transmission, will wash hands more often, and I think will be aware of the importance of sticking together as a family, and as a nation.

Despite the pandemic, I have friends and family members who have gotten married, who have had babies, who have homeschooled their children, and kept right on going.

One day soon, we will look back on this year and feel pride because we survived, and we still love each other, and America is still strong.

One day.

In the meantime, we will be strong, and we will keep the faith. We will get through this.

Amen.

Have a blessed Thanksgiving, everyone!!

 

Heart of My Own Heart, a novel

In the summer of 2019 I started my third novel, working title The Scarlet Tribe. Terrible title, I know. I had to call it something. I quickly began to realize my ambitions for this book were entirely different than those for any other book.

I have never written an epic novel of Time History, Magic and Love before, but I knew I wanted to write about a time traveling witch, and the new book evolved slowly. Lots of research went into it.

I love history, and I read several books about colonial America and 19th century America. I wanted to get details right. My main character, Sarah Walker, travels through time to guide and nurture her descendants who have magical powers, to help them understand their gifts and how to use them. Just FYI, I don't believe in "witchcraft" or magic. I was just fascinated by the idea that if I traveled back in time a hundred years and showed someone my Android smartphone they might think I was a witch. Yesterday's witchcraft is today's technological achievement.

Although Heart of My Own Heart is very different from my first two book, all but the first section of this book is set in the south -- South Carolina and Georgia. I always feel more comfortable writing about my region.

Despite the rather romantic title, it's not a romance in the traditional sense. It has several love stories in it, though..

I found the cover image on Pexels. It's perfect. The photographer is Matheus Bertelli.

The title comes from the Irish hymn, Be Thou My Vision -- one of my fave hymns.

Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art
Thou my best Thought, by day or by night
Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light

 

Be Thou my Wisdom, and Thou my true Word
I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord
Thou my great Father, I Thy true son
Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one

 

Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise
Thou mine Inheritance, now and always
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart
High King of Heaven, my Treasure Thou art

 

High King of Heaven, my victory won
May I reach Heaven's joys, O bright Heav'n's Sun
Heart of my own heart, whate'er befall
Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all

 

If you like hybrid time travel/adventure/paranormal/romance books [like Outlander] check out Heart of My Own Heart. It's available only on Amazon, in Kindle or paper formats.

Just in case there are any movie producers reading this: if this book were to be made into a movie or TV series, Amy Adams would make a terrific Sarah, and Jon Hamm would be an awesome Azor...

 

Happy Birthday Dad

My dad carried a handkerchief. I never once saw him use a Kleenex, ever. Many years after he died my mom explained it. She said he carried two handkerchiefs everywhere. One was for himself to use. The other was always clean and pressed and it was to offer to a lady who was crying, or a child perhaps – the always clean “company” handkerchief.

My father was born in 1930. He was old school, 100%. I loved that.

I remember years ago a younger lady I worked with telling me how her father styled his hair with products and used hairspray every morning. I almost laughed. My dad took a small black pocket comb, wet it in the sink, and combed his hair straight back from his face, every morning. That was his version of “hairstyling.”

I am pretty sure I am the last generation of folks who saw their dad carry a handkerchief.

Dad always smelled like Brut aftershave in the morning, when he got in the car to go to work. He also shaved every day, except perhaps when he was on vacation. One summer I worked at the bank where he worked and I caught a ride into town with him every morning. I loved to see him in his nice suits, smelling wonderful.

Dad would rescue people he loved. When I started college I couldn’t balance a checkbook. For months, I would call him in tears and he would talk me through it, over the phone. My uncle called him once and said he was in Europe and couldn’t get a traveler’s check cashed (or there was some money issue) and he was broke. Dad wired him a thousand dollars an hour or two later – back when that was a lot of money. It helped that Dad worked in a bank, of course.

When my best friend moved to New York, she couldn’t open a bank account for some reason. She called Dad and he got it worked out for her, the same day.

I called him the day I was due to come home from college and said I had a terrible ear infection and I was running fever. I was in so much pain. I couldn’t finish loading up a u-haul and drive 5+ hours home by myself. Dad got a ride to Athens with one of his officers who happened to be going to Atlanta the same day, and loaded up the u-haul and drove me home to Knoxville, with me huddled in the passenger seat crying. To distract me from my utter misery, he told me stories. For hours, in the heat, he told me stories as we crept along in my old car, never able to go more than 50 mph. My favorite one was very short. I asked him how he decided to marry Mom. He said the first time he met her he looked at her and knew he would marry her.

Love at first sight.

How often do you hear that, nowadays?!

Dad was raised Baptist but became Episcopalian after he and Mom had been married a short time. He always went to church, and worked hard to support and help the church – teaching Sunday School, raising money, volunteering to help in many different ways. He wasn’t a big bible reader, but he believed in God, and he would tell you he had a solid faith. I know he did.

The day my dad found out he had cancer was a really difficult day for us all, a heartbreaking day. Mom called me, and I got in the car and drove home. By then I lived in Atlanta and Mom and Dad were in Augusta. When I got there, Dad had already made his peace with the diagnosis. He had told Mom, “I’ll get to meet our son in heaven.” Shortly after Mom and Dad married in 1957 Mom got pregnant, carried the baby 5 months, and miscarried. It was a boy. Dad was devastated. The prospect of meeting his son got him through those weeks between diagnosis and death. I’m sure it was a joyful reunion, when Dad was reunited with his parents, beloved aunts and uncles, and his oldest son.

Today is Dad’s 90^th birthday. I know he and Mom and his brothers, son, parents – they are all celebrating.

Anthony H. Thompson 1930-1996.

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