The Tapestry Of Adam’s Race

Goodnight Irene

In a tattered little upstairs apartment somewhere on the east coast there sits a little old woman turning through the yellowed pages of a well worn scrapbook. There is a half empty bottle of wine on the coffee table and a dirty glass, red around the rim with lipstick. The furniture is cheap and well worn. The smell of stale cigarettes permeates the air. There is a cigarette lit in the old woman's hand as she leans back on the ragged and faded green sofa and closes her eyes..."Just for a moment." she thinks. But in mear seconds her thoughts fade into the troubled repose of a thousand unmade dreams that never would come true. Disconnected thoughts of husbands that control, hit hard and vanish. Not enough food for the children, working long hours for never enough money and many other clouded worries of a life passed in struggle and sadness. In the same moment the cigarette falls from her fingers a moonbeam cuts across the front room of the tattered little apartment. The light and almost silent feet of the Elves Gayland and Renardine pad down onto the floor. Gayland takes up a watchful position in the shadows that now wash the room while his brother catches the smoldering cigarette as it falls from the old woman's fingers and before it hits the floor. They two will guard the dreams of the old woman this night. Renardine of The Guardians of DreamLand and of the Elves is tall with long flowing dark hair. He is smooth swift and graceful with eyes of starlight and moonless midnight. He sets his armament by and takes up a position on the sofa lowering the head of the sleeping old woman into his lap. His tunic, softer than silk is soothing to her careworn face. His fragrance of the woods and waters of the dreamland wild eclipses the smell of stale cigarettes in the disconnected thoughts of her slumber. He begins to stroke her hair very gently. The cloud of sadness stress and tension of past troubles and present emptiness fades from the women’s brow. Her furrowed forehead becomes smooth. Renardine begins to sing ever so softly in the language of the elves as thoughts of joy, peace and contentment... Yes and of love as well replace those of fear, regret and sadness. As her dreams go sweet Renardine continues his serenade. By and by the old woman who's name is Irene drifts into a deep untroubled sleep the like of which she has not known since childhood. The guardian of her dreams continues his melody so soft and so low that it can only be heard by Irene herself deep within her dreams. As night drifts into the wee small hours the Guardian gives some small attention to the old scrapbook. Turning the pages with just a touch of Elfin charm Renardine sees faded pictures of a 4 year old Irene. A pretty, perky, bright eyed blonde child in the uniform of a drum majorette. Next, a yellowed newspaper clipping with another picture of little Irene, Baton in hand, strutting back and forth in front of and Army Engineer's Band In which her father and uncle played. They were marching up Tremont St in Boston in the Memorial Day Parade in the Spring of 1941. After that there is a letter to the parents of this child from then Governor Saltenstal inviting them to bring the little band leader to a dinner party in June of that same year. There are quite a few letters from a Hollywood movie producer who saw the parade and wanted to put the child into movies. In one letter Mr. Goldwyn said, "Even with spectacular entries right in front of them every head in the crowd had turned. They were all looking at something I could not yet see coming up the street. Just another band I thought and then I saw this Magical Little Girl Drum Majorette leading all these Soldiers and everyone was transfixed on her.... Signed Mr S. Goldwyn, MGM Studios. The year was 1941. The war broke out. Little Irene's dad and uncle went over seas with the other soldiers. She never got to go to Hollywood and be in pictures. As he looked through the pages of her life in that old scrapbook he saw few happy times and many sad ones. Now here cradled in his arms dreaming to his song lay a careworn old woman with unmade dreams of almost being a movie star, regretting now for 60 years the time , the place and the war that took her chance away. But this moment she does have the tender and abundant strength of Gayland and Renardine of The Elves and of The Guardians of DreamLand watching over what remains of her dreams.... "Goodnight Irene. We all wish you the happiest of dreams."

Small Patches...

The Tapestry Of Adam’s Race

Small Patches...

Don:

His name was Adoniram. Folks just called him Don. He was a male certified Nurses assistant. The Job was low pay. The Administration as terse as old school Nuns. Oh he had done a tour in the Army and had been to college but this was where Don was supposed to be. He liked the customers and he was good and the folks who lived in the nursing home liked him. Though he was young he had a quantity of silver in his dark brown hair and the old men easily took him as a contemporary. Don was a hard worker but always seemed to find the time to sing a song or tell a story, or play a hand or two of cards with the ladies at the game table. He enjoyed their music and knew the words to their songs. Music is such a very personal thing. If somebody hates your music it seems there is an important part of you that they are not fond of as well. Don knew Everybody’s favorite song whether it was religious, or tin pan alley or silly or just plain old, Don knew it. Waldo liked ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’. Hilda, who had been in down town Milwaukee shopping when The Surrender of Japan was announced over the radio on V.J. Day, Liked ‘A Bicycle Built for Two’. You see Don also listened to their stories. Otherwise how would he know where Hilda was on V.J. Day. He found that people Love to have someone care enough to listen to who they are or were. We would all like to think that our own story is important and Don helped them to understand that it was indeed.
As a nursing assistant and a man. It can be an awkward thing to enter a bedroom where three ladies are sleeping at 2:00 a.m. and clean them and change their dities . Don would call each one by name and say, Martha, I’m taking requests tonight . What would you like to hear? And the other women could hear him sing softly, ‘Meet Me in St. Louie Louie. Meet me at the fair. Don’t tell me the lights are shining anywhere but there...’ as they waited for Don to tend to their care as well. Martha would say, “We used to sing that at the football games.” Was that College Martha? “Oh no. Melrose High. Class of 26.” and she would tell of her older brother who played on the team and Don could see the light in her eyes as they looked to an empty patch on the ceiling where, in her mind’s eye she could see it all, Her brother on the field in a leather helmet with no face mask, her friends as they were then, even the sounds of their voices... And by the time she had told her story she was clean and dry and tucked in for the night. Beatrice, now her song was ‘Shall We Gather At The River’. Carl was a Red Sox Fan, He liked ‘Take me Out To the Ball Game.’ For Victoria it was ‘In The Garden’. Everybody had their song or Favorite story. The Ladies at the card table Loved to Laugh out loud as Don would regale them with stories of Uncle Kurt by Captain Kendal Morse or Bert and I as learned from Marshal Dodge. The game at the card table was Wist, although not by any rules you would recognize. Effie and Helga were always partners. Winning was a little more important to them. Don would sit down and partner with Molly who had sweet conversation and angry outburst alternately at a whim. She just enjoyed playing cards with the other ladies and being included. Nobody had any money but pink packets of Sweet-n-Low were the currency of the day. Effie used to stare the dots off her cards for 5-7 minutes every hand and then say, “I can’t bid no more than 4. 4, Same bid Every hand, Same 5-7 minutes to make the choice. Helga would look at Don and Laugh. “4 she says. 4!”
There came a time when Molly who worked in crafts form time to time on her better days especially ceramics, wanted to make for Don, a Piggy Bank. “What color do you want your pig Don?” she would ask him 4 times a week because it made her feel good to be making something for somebody. You see, when you got nothing you got nothing to give. This was Molly’s best and it put her at her best. ‘Pink. Molly. I would like a Pink Pig.’ “Pink, That’s right. I’ll have to remember that. Well This went on for four months and then the day came when The pig was done. It was a shiny Olive Drab Green! “Is this the color you wanted dear?” She was so proud of that pig. ‘Molly that is Just the color I wanted! Thank you. Said Don and he slipped her a $5 bill. Now the workers were not to have financial dealings with the folks that lived there and Molly knew this. Nobody ever knew how Molly came across a $5 bill when she hadn’t had folding money since Harry S. Truman was President but Every evening when they settled in to play cards she would pull it out of her purse along with the Sweet-n-Low and after she stacked her sweet-n-low and she knew the ladies had seen her folding money, back into her purse it went. Sometimes Little is much.
Lillian who had been a Boston Madam was nearly deaf. One day Don had an Idea as he was taking blood pressures. He took his stethoscope and put it in Lillian’s Ears and began to sing softly in the diaphragm. ‘I’m for ever blowing bubbles, Pretty bubbles in the air...’ “Ohh! Said Lillian, I hear you perfectly!" And she began to sing along.
Donald had been blind since birth. He was raised by his grandmother and when she passed on he was brought to the home. His Grandmother was a church going woman and in that little church in Salisbury they may not have had hymn books. The staff at the rest home thought old Donald was about half a bubble off of plumb. He would sit in his easy chair and say “I’m living on a mountain!” and they would always remind Donald where he was which was called Reality Orientation. Donald knew perfectly well where he was. The first time Adoniram heard Donald do this he was reminded of a practice used back in the day in some churches in the south that either could not afford hymn books or had folks that could not read. It was called Lining. The song leader would speak the line of a hymn and then the congregation would sing the line back to him and line by line they would go through each song. The Next time Donald said “I’m Living on a Mountain!” Adoniram said ‘Underneath’? To which Donald answered “A Cloudless Sky.” ‘I’m drinking?’ “At a fountain that never shall run dry.” Donald, who never sang in the rest home’s church service, had more than 100 old hymns in his head and could recite them all but only if someone would do the Lining with him. The Threads of Donald and Adoniram were woven together here.
Gertrude and Bernice were sisters and as different as Day and night Bernice was outgoing and sure of herself and could laugh and harp with the best of them. Gertrude was quiet, self contained and insecure. Don would sit with her sometimes and just talk about ordinary stuff. Her favorite color was green. She like all the songs Don sang but loved ‘A Daisy A Day.’ one Christmas Gertrude, shy as a mouse (with help from another nurses aid) presented Don with a stein she had made in ceramics. He had a scented candle, Cranberry I think it was, that nobody seemed to want. So they exchanged gifts. And Don gave Gertrude a real hug and she hugged back. Living in her sister’s shadow for many years she had never been comfortable enough with a man to hug. Gertrude smiled for 6 months and Don kept the stein as a keepsake for a very long time.
There are many many more threads woven into the Tapestry here and the closer you look the more intricate the stitching and the more wonderful. This all happened many years ago in a place lost now to time. What do you do when you get old and you have spent your best years looking after old people? Well, You write about it. They have given you all their stories. One day you look over your shoulder and see your threads woven intricately into their little patches of this Grand Tapestry, and you know it was a good part of your Journey. It was a good weave.
Remember to do your weaving with care. It is important to all those who cross threads with you in this work for the ages as it is also important to all those who come after this time and labor on this self same Tapestry.
~~~~
Weave well and
Hear’s to What If?
Edward
Master, Servant and Bard of
The House of Fideles

The Tapestry Of Adam's Race

The Tapestry of Adam’s Race

Every Soul Who Has Ever lived,
Has Added to The Tapestry.

Waft threads Warped threads, Threads of many colors and plain old burlap, Fine needle stitching and imperfect weave all have there part in the Tapestry of Adam’s Race. The Tapestry starts narrow, from a single pair of Weavers. It grows wide and then Narrow again, down to just 4 pair of weavers, then wide it grows again. It narrows some and then widens from time to time. This Tapestry is Beautiful in part, Terrible in part. In part well crafted (Even some of the terrible parts for they are sometimes intentional) often the craftsmanship seems unremarkable at a glance but there are secrets that are hidden therein. There is a place in this tapestry where enters one bright white shimmering thread, fairly short. It disappears and comes right back then goes again. Then you see echoes of this same bright white shimmering thread in places throughout the rest of the Tapestry subtly woven and wound inside other threads, sometimes more, sometimes less, always there somewhere and sometimes in dark and unlikely places within this woven work that is The Tapestry of Adam’s Race.
A Tapestry tells a story, a whole story, the good, sweet and pleasant along with the Painful, terrible and reprobate. The wolves in sheep’s clothing, along with the kind and brave and lots of seemingly ordinary weavers who have many parts to the tale they weave. Herein we will look in and closely at little and individual parts of this, The Tapestry of Adam’s Race. Is it possible we will find you there? Feel free to pull up a chair by the fire and we will hear in part or in full, some of the many stories that make up this wonderful and dreadful Tapestry. My name is Edward and I am your Bard. Come and go as you like. We are glad for your company. Mary will bring us a hot beverage er long and we will commence. Depart when you need to and return when er you can. There may well be something new, something you have not seen before in this Grand and awful Tapestry. As you weave your own part, Though it may seem small and of little import if you look around to where it is woven in you will notice that other parts would be incomplete without your own...so Weave well and carefully. Find that shiny white thread and add it to your weave and it will hang in the Great Hall of For Ever. But for now, feel free to step away from the loom if but for the evening and lose yourself in the stories of others as we look at their part of this work of darkness, light and colors of bright, bland, and shades of pastel. Here is Mary with mugs of Steaming Vanilla froth. Let us therefore, begin. The fire is on the hearth and our mugs in hand. I bid you Welcome to my home and hall, here at The House of Fideles. Take your ease and enjoy. When you need, Go in peace but come again when you are able. Your place by the fire will be waiting for you. For us all then....Here’s to “What If?”
~~~~~~
Edward
Master, Servant and Bard of
The House of Fideles