Before I dressed for church and doing my usual early morning walk with June Cleaver, I found myself weaving slightly - I partially blamed it on jet lag, but mostly it was because I was still caught up in Prague mode.
Now, that’s not the name of a disease, but of a foreign city. My Mississippi friends Edrie Royals, Margaret Vise, Carol Kirkland, Ann Barksdale and I had returned from Prague, Czech Republic around midnight on Friday, and I was in a twilight border between being on Jackson and Prague time.
My cell phone began ringing while I slow strolled The Cleave; calls from my scattered family and friends, wishing me a happy Mother’s Day. Pleased with the attention, I had almost forgotten what day this was.
After many hours of flying, and time changes I was pretty worn out. But dogs and time wait for no man so after I waltzed with June Cleaver, I fed short-legged Petey-Poo, did a quick step with Roo-Roo and then dressed for church.
Still somewhat wobbly, after church I met friends at the Jackson Country Club for Sunday brunch. When we were done, I yearned to crawl into bed, but there was to be no rest for the weary; I had an agenda for this afternoon.
The day before, Saturday, while I was in the throes of unpacking and washing clothes, the doorbell rang; a lovely bouquet of flowers was at my front door. I was very touched when I read the names on the card:
Barry and Theresa Morrison.
With that, I’m going to throw out a few names from the past that may be fading, and then mention one that won’t fade. Barry was one of my son Bob’s best friends; his father and mother were Bill and Ann Morrison.
Ann was very close to Charlotte Capers, who wrote “The Caper’s Papers” and was a good friend of Eudora Welty. As a young man, Barry often escorted Miss Eudora to different functions around Jackson. I had called Barry and told him what I planned to do on Mother’s Day, so after I left the club I carried flowers from the bouquet he and his wife had sent, and yours truly went for a short visit with my beloved.
Once there, although I had just journeyed the Danube, I left the car door open and played not the Danube waltz, but an old Irish melody on a disc as I knelt and spread flowers in an urn. “I’m back home now, and ‘summer’s almost in the meadow,’ “I whispered, my heart dancing a little jig at the memories.
The day almost over, it was time to go home, regroup and catch up on some sleep; it would be after one in the morning in Prague.
A short while later, once the dogs were fed and in place for the night, I heated a Skinny Shape meal, then downed a little toddy and allowed myself to catch my breath and reminisce for a moment.
If I were younger, and if only I could remember how, I’d pick up an old accordion I had in the top of my closet and play the Danube waltz, a song from the olden times. But that wasn’t a happening, so even now, just listening to that almost forgotten tune in my head would be a good place to begin with my memories. I had been to places I had never dreamed of visiting before, and toured another world, one with a rich, troubled history and filled with the unknown, with wonder, and magic.
My eyes heavy, my body confused and worn out, it was for sure I was not a hardened jetsetter, retracing my steps would have to be another day. I soon gratefully crawled into bed and with June Cleaver nestled close by, I turned on my side.
Drifting into dreamland, I soon began hearing the sound of churning waters. ‘Here pours a full chest.’
Lord have mercy! Was I still on the Danube?
I jumped awake then gave a sigh of relief. The toilet handle in my bathroom had stuck.
I did a jive step to the bathroom and jiggled the handle, relieved that my eyes would close tonight in Mississippi, not the Czech Republic.
