A Blustery Day @Solsticepublish

I watch a recycling bin slowly tumble down the hill on which I live.  The stop sign across from my house is shaking back and forth as remnants of long fallen leaves chase one another down the street.  It is a blustery day here in Nebraska.  That is hardly uncommon but it is always noteworthy.  The weather man says the winds are gusting to 50 miles per hour.  While no hurricane, it gets light objects moving.  I stand by my window on my day off and watch the spectacle unfold.  When a particularly strong gust rattles the windows I take increased notice.  They shake for a few moments and then the wind dissipates.  Up the hill a trash can just blew over and is lying in the street.  A plastic bag rolls for a time and then stops.  Then the wind pushes it on once again and sends it frolicking along down the hill.  It pleases me that the temperature is 44 degrees and there is no snow being driven by the wind.  All at once I am reminded of my childhood.  One of my favorite books from the time I could remember was “Winnie-The–Pooh and the Blustery Day.”  If you are not familiar with the story, it revolves around a stuffed teddy bear named Winnie –The-Pooh and his friends in a magical place called the Hundred Acre Wood where they come to life. (In England, where it was written, that must be a big stand of trees)  To sum up the story, a wind and rain storm comes along and raises havoc with Pooh and his friends.  Their good friend and creator, Christopher Robin, comes along and helps save everyone in the end.  I never grew tired of hearing that story.  It was especially good when I would cuddle by my mother and listen to her read the various parts with different tones of voice.  Everywhere we went, that book came with us.  My oldest brother and sister would go to high school on the other end of a long, grand bridge.  After they were dropped off in the morning my mother would take the off-ramp from the bridge on the way back and take me to a park by the river.  In the days before car seats I sat on my metal lunchbox and was belted in.  We would often go sit under a tree and would unpack out breakfast snack from the lunchbox.  There were sandwiches and a thermos full of milk.  They were wonderful picnics.  Afterward she would take me over to the swings and push me.  There was no one else around except for a stray fisherman.  It was just Mom and I and I could not imagine a more wonderful time.  If it was windy, raining or snowy we had our picnic in the car and she would read Winnie-The-Pooh to me.  Even though I could not read, I would say the words along with her from memory.  She would laugh as I pretended to read the story to her.  My mother had the most beautiful laugh.  When we were done we would go home and go on about our day.  But for that brief time, it was just the two of us and she was giving me her full attention without anyone else to disturb us.  Years ago I drove across that same bridge and saw they had built a casino where the park used to be.  I was sad.  The park was gone.  My mother was gone.  Now only the book remains.  And so I watch the wind blow from my window.  I think of my mother and all that she gave me.