An Irish Blessing

mcherkezian — Thu, 12 Mar 2009 16:22:08 -0500

Saint Patrick’s Day had been my mother’s favorite holiday. It meant more than parades and parties; it was a celebration of her heritage. Like any Irish mother, she was fiercely proud of her roots. She kept a neat home, a beautiful garden, and took care of the birds in her yard. Her death a year earlier, though not unexpected, had left me grief-stricken, and I dreaded my first March 17 without her.

Black Ice

jbloustein — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 13:53:26 -0600

That spring break, Mickey and I had arranged a ride from Chapel Hill, North Carolina, where we were graduate students at UNC, to Mickey’s parents’ home in Michigan.

Two guys in our class, Tom and Mike, were driving to Ann Arbor. Our route would take us through the mountains in Pennsylvania where there had recently been ice storms. Mickey and I were both worried about the drive.

“Relax,” the boys said. “What could happen?”

Ready to Go

jbloustein — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 13:42:49 -0600

I've always been a bit forgetful.

My mom created a mantra to recite whenever I left home to go back to school: "Keys? Wallet? Watch?"

Usually, I'd run back into the house to retrieve what I'd left behind. But now that I'm an adult, I can't still rely on Mom.

Disney World or Bust

jbloustein — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 13:49:05 -0600

For years my husband, John, and I had dreamed of taking our three kids to Disney World.

We’d planned our trip down to the last detail and dollar. But in Georgia, halfway there, our car died.

At a garage, the mechanic promised our Mercury Sable would be repaired by the next week, when we would be heading home. Meanwhile, John tried to find us a rental car. There was nothing for me to do but pray. Lord, please get us to Disney World.

A Place for Me

mcherkezian — Mon, 02 Mar 2009 12:52:43 -0600

I grew up in rural New Hampshire, eldest daughter in a family of six children. In our chaotic household I found refuge in make-believe, often pretending that I was a beautiful girl named "Joan Bishop" (Joan from Joan of Arc and Bishop from the English translation of my French last name). I never told anyone else about Joan Bishop. It was a secret between God and me.

Pulled from the Flames

jbloustein — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 08:11:18 -0600

The night before Gary and I flew back to Talkeetna, Alaska, from a hunting trip, my mother had a disturbing dream. Had I known about her dream I, never would have gotten into Gary’s two-seater Arctic Tern the next morning.

Gary and I worked as aircraft mechanics at Kulis Air National Guard Base. We had taken a few days off to go hunting up the Talkeetna River, in the remote interior of Alaska, where I had use of a friend’s cabin.

Quenched!

jbloustein — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 14:41:17 -0600

After dinner I read the paper until I began to nod off, then climbed the stairs to bed. I set my alarm to go off early to give myself a few extra precious minutes in bed in the morning. I have a hard time waking up and I’m well acquainted with the snooze button.

That night, I fell quickly into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When I woke, though, it wasn’t to the buzz of my alarm, but to an extraordinary thirst. I felt as if my throat were burning. All I could think about was getting to the jug of ice water in my refrigerator.

A Signature Weekend

jbloustein — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 14:31:05 -0600

I parked outside the grocery store that weekend, still wound up after another stressful week of work. I’m an accountant, and it was the middle of busy season, which meant tight deadlines and crazy hours. A long weekend was coming up, and a friend suggested that I relax at a nearby retreat center. But I didn’t see how that would help. Spending time in a strange place? How would that calm anyone down? I wove through the aisles with my shopping cart, hurrying to beat out a few others who were heading for the already long checkout line.

The Master Electrician

jbloustein — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 14:23:09 -0600

Something was wrong with our basement light. I had to wiggle the switch repeatedly to get it to work, and even then, more often than not, the light didn’t come on at all. "Don’t worry," my husband, Dan, said, "I’ll take care of it." I believed him. Dan built that house—put up the walls and roof, did most of the wiring and plumbing himself.

My Amoosing Encounter

mcherkezian — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 15:44:54 -0600

The sky was blue and the air crisp and clean as we loaded up the car for the drive to the Adirondack Mountains in upstate New York. Our destination was Whiteface Mountain where my husband and older son were looking forward to a full day of skiing. My younger son, 14-year-old Rodrigo, and I planned on hiking to High Falls Gorge. I’d heard it was beautiful, but what I wanted to see most of all was a moose in the wild. As much as I’d traveled through the Adirondacks and the Berkshire Mountains over the years, the sight of one had always eluded me.