Through my youth, teen years, and early marriage, when life grew tedious there was always a trek out over the long, then winding, prairie roads to the forever there, ranch home which no longer functioned as a ranch at all. That didn’t matter. It was a retreat, a return to a gentler life, when times were simple and easy to live through.
The beds were always made up with fresh linens, flour and dry goods in the pantry, and a refrigerator stocked with things that would keep, such as bacon, frozen meats, juices, so on and so forth. The television set was hooked up to an antenna with a rotor on top the roof to be turned to a station simply by pressing on a gadget there above the t.v. Large cushions off the sofa let us rest on the rugs to watch late into the night. My new husband and I spent much time at the place always under the watchful eye of my uncle as if we were kids in need of supervision. His guardian ways we didn’t mind a bit. He was the provider and that made us the guest, not him.
In a psychological kind of escape throughout the difficult times my mind always takes me back in my dreams, when things get really dreadfully heavy here. I think it is because we always meant to return after all the doctors and medical world for Rhonda Lou, but never did. By the time we could have gone back the house had been vandalized and wasted so that all I can have now are the wonderful dreams that come to me. The Osages in a very kind gesture offered me the home where we live now. So then, I have tried to make it a place like my old ranch home full of art, the history of family and lots of family gatherings along with invitations to extended family and friends.
My last dream a week ago was of us cleaning out the rubble off the floors. In my dream a visitor asked, "Why are you bothering with this old house?
"Oh, it’s no bother." I answered. "I just wish Dad’s old stone steps had not been torn up. Sure makes it hard to get in and out of the house."
The old song, "Where have all the green fields gone?" kept running through my mind as I tried to remember the words.
"It’s this awful heat of the summer of 2011. Tomorrow it is supposed to be 108 degrees." I mutter as I awake from my dream.
Comment