It's Her Life

Dear Irma

I am writing to invite you and Sammie to our wedding. It will be held at Hirsh Wood Baptist Church, on October 6th at 4pm. We will serve dinner. Hope to see you

Joe

Dear Joe

I am sorry to say that Sammie and I won’t be able to make it to your wedding. Our best wishes are with you. I am sure she is a great lady and you will have many years of happiness.

Best wishes

Irma

Irma, head in hand, curled up in her sweats on the couch in her large silent house. We feel, we feel. These words resonated with her thoughts. She wondered, when would those words apply to her life again? She could see herself saying to her daughter. We feel it would be better if you. We feel it would be good to raise your allowance. But now she addressed her daughter with “I feel”. There was no team, no other parent.

She and Joe had always planned on raising Sammie together. Her Joe, well Annie’s Joe. It had gotten so confusing. Well, really it was simple. Annie was Joe’s new wife. He had a new life. Annie lived a life of luxury. She, Irma, lived a life of heartache and hard work. She had thought that Joe enjoyed the struggle, the hard work, and the teamwork that it took to forge their way thru life together. But somehow Annie’s lifestyle had won him over. Annie’s lifestyle would have won her over too. How had he even met her Irma wondered?

Irma gazed down at her book and coffee, as the whipped cream slowly melted in the steaming drink. It caught her attention. It had been her and Joe’s treat. They would sip the coffee forming a mustache over their lips and then slowly lick the whipped cream off of each other. Now she quickly grabbed a napkin and wiped it off; a brave attempt to erase the memories.

He had left nine months ago and married Annie three months later. He had walked into the kitchen, taken her hands, looked into her eyes, and said I’m leaving. Irma in the middle of preparing breakfast did not quite grasp his meaning.

She looked into his eyes and said, “ Well, have a nice day. I’ll miss you. I’ll see you when you get home tonight.” She kissed him and returned to the eggs on the black iron stove.

He grabbed her shoulders and continued talking. “ Irma not for the day, but for life.” She still remembered the shock. The eggs had shrunk and swelled before her eyes.

“What?” she stammered.

Looking at the wall over her head he told her “ I have found somebody new.” She could barely see the eggs her eyes were so full of invisible tears. He walked out of the kitchen, out of the front door, and out of her life.

She had collapsed on a kitchen chair. She had so many questions. How would she be able to afford the home, Her life was her husband her daughter, and her house. How could he leave? He was part of her. She had always thought that they thought the same way, that their values were the same. They were the rugged team that could make it through anything.

Now nine months later she still craved that team but had learned how to be a single parent. Joe was more than generous. In fact, financially her life, although taxing had turned out better than it had a right to be. Annie appeared to love anybody that Joe had loved. She claimed to love Sammie and wanted her to have everything she would have had if Irma and Joe had stayed together. So far Annie had only seen Sammie twice. Irma knew that soon her family would be further shattered. Soon Sammie would be visiting Joe and Annie. Irma was worried about how could she compete. She loved her daughter but she had to be so frugal. Hopefully, love would be stronger than money.

For their honeymoon, Joe and Annie had gone to Paris. A month in Paris, and now they were in the Bahamas. Nine months and two major trips; to Irma that sounded extravagant. Were they without daily responsibilities? She wondered if it was Annie who had his heart or the lifestyle, in which he now lounged. Irma‘s concentration faltered as she drained the last drop of coffee from the mug. Time to chop wood for her fire. The stone fireplace in the living room had a crackling fire blazing. It would soon need wood. Jim had cut large logs, but Irma usually cut them into smaller pieces. Sammie was sleeping. She would probably be up in an hour. Saturdays she usually slept until about ten.

Irma looked back at her book returning to the line that had caused her so much discontent. We feel. The book had nothing to do with relationships, but that line had hurt her heart and now she was having trouble concentrating. Her inner struggles had replaced the fantasy of the book. She took a few deep breaths and slowly floated out from her world and back to her present reality. Grabbing her coat she went outside to cut the wood.

Snow covered the tall lean trees. She glanced around, so grateful to live in a house surrounded by acres of beauty. Her driveway would take days to shovel. Hopefully, Jim could fit her in. He was the town handyman, but since she was husbandless she was sure he would put her on the top of his list. Not that he was chasing after her. He was in his early twenties and Irma was in her forties. She was too old for this prince of a young man. He had never finished college despite an active mind and a fierce curiosity. He was a country boy at heart and wanted to be outside instead of cooped up in the library or classroom. His homework hadn’t been a problem. He would sit out on the mountainside and read. But just sitting for an hour and listening to the lecturing of the teacher, wasn’t where he wanted to be.

Irma gazed out at the land before her. A few squirrel tracks were etched in the gleaming snow. Otherwise, the white smooth surface shone. She thought of Joe lazing in the Bahamas. This, she thought, was as good as the Bahamas or better. But he had no desire to be a part of it. Two days ago, right before the snow started she had received the new deed. The property was all hers. Joe no longer wanted it. Just like he no longer wanted her. Eighteen years down the drain, eighteen years of companionship and joint pleasure. What she had always assumed had been joint pleasure. Eighteen years of paying their mortgage. Seventeen years of raising their daughter. That was including the time Sammie was in Irma’s stomach. They had waited to have sex until the night they were married. And the night that the marriage was consummated Sammie was created. Magic, she had been so sure that the marriage was blessed. The consummation had brought them their daughter. The perfect piece of land had also been available. Everything had fallen right into place.

Over the years they had added to the property. They were liked in Conway and when neighbors had sought to sell their land they had contacted Joe and Irma first. Her eyes proudly gazed over the land. It was all hers now. The cool crisp air was invigorating, She wished she could stay out here forever but it was almost lunchtime and Sammie would not go for a picnic outside. She would not even settle for dinner on the porch. Though Irma thought she might be able to talk her into a picnic in front of the fire,

Sammie with her long curly blond hair flowing behind her came bopping down the steps. She was starving. Her eyes quickly scanned the room, looking for her mother. Seeing Irma out in the yard, Sammie decided to start lunch. She pulled off her Lavender sweater. The fireplace was blazing. Even standing in the kitchen she could feel the heat. She opened the door of one of the wood cabinets. There was plenty of food, but she was not sure what to fix. She wasn’t sure if Irma had already planned a specific meal. She decided to go in and sit by the fire. Her mind floated off to her father and Annie. She loved the beauty of the snow, and the days off that it would bring from school, but unlike her mother, she would prefer the warmth of the Bahamas. For now, the warmth of the fire was fine and she would prefer to be with Irma than Annie. She liked Annie, but Annie’s world was not Sammie’s world. Her mother’s world was not Sammie’s world either. The snow was pretty but Sammie had no desire to stand outside for two hours and admire it. Sammie preferred to be inside sitting in front of the fire. This was the only place in the house, during the winter you didn’t need to be dressed in layers. Sitting there waiting for her ma she shed her turtleneck leaving her in a light blue tee shirt. Sammie let her mind wander to her best friend Jill and the joke they had played on Billie in school the other day. A cold snoot poking her in the side interrupted her thoughts. She giggled with delight, “Hi Poppy” she said while grabbing the black and tan dog that now sat beside her. Poppy named after a poppy seed bagel was a new addition to the house. Her mother had surprised her with the young puppy two months ago on Sammie’s birthday.

Poppy grabbed his play towel and darted around the room. Sammie raced after him trying to grab the towel, which hung from his mouth. Minutes later they were engaged in a tug of war. Poppy as usual lost. He all of a sudden let go of the towel sending Sammie sprawling backwards onto the floor. Sammie’s flight was stopped by the presence of Irma’s legs. Sammie quickly got up. Now it was time to prepare lunch.

“ I’ll fix some lunch if you’d like” Sammie offered. “I was going to do it, but I wasn’t sure if you had anything planned. There is some thawed hamburger meat. I was thinking that Tacos would be nice. In front of the fireplace of course.”

“That sounds great. Why don’t I help you cut up the tomatoes?” They worked quietly and quickly while a CD played. Irma sang to the Trisha Yearwood songs as she worked. Sammie sometimes sang the songs with her, but tonight she was silent. Jointly they carried the food over in front of the fireplace. Poppy eager to get his share of the food trailed behind them. But Sammie was one step ahead of him, and after placing the food on the coffee table she grabbed his collar and dragged him to her mother’s bedroom. They both could hear the dog whimpering, but they were eating on the floor and he would be a nuisance. Sammie pouted and cast her eyes down looking at her mother. “I feel sort of mean,” she said. Irma tried not to laugh at the pathetic look on her daughter’s face. “ Your not mean” Irma assured her.

And within minutes Poppy quieted down and they enjoyed their meal. After the meal Irma offered to do the dishes. She put the hamburger in Poppy’s bowl and put the rest down the disposer. The dishwasher was empty so the rest of the job was easy. She loaded the washer and then went to her room to get Poppy. The happy dog jumped on her with his tail wagging madly. He seemed to have forgotten the food and she had to lead him over to his bowl, to give him his portion.

Sammie returned to her room. Irma could hear the strumming of her daughter’s guitar. Irma felt overwhelmed. She needed to find something to do with her life. She pulled out her journal; and read her last few weeks’ entries; too much self-reflection and very little action. She grabbed a bottle of beer and wrote a short poem about the beauty of the snow. Was it the beer or did she really feel peaceful and content with no goals. She would have never let Sammie stay at home, drinking beer, sleeping and isolating herself from others. Irma often spent the afternoon reading and writing in her journal. It made her feel at peace

Later that evening Irma lay snuggled up in the bed with Poppy. She was technically Sammie’s dog but she slept every night with Irma. Irma felt that it was God’s way of replacing Joe. Not that a dog could ever replace a man, but she did feel less lonely. She pet Poppy’s soft fur, tickling him under the chin and thinking about how hard life had been a year ago. She hugged Poppy; now life seemed okay. She was blindly slowly finding her own way. She was learning to make the rules on her own and Sammie seemed to respect her authority. Joe was no longer part of her routine. And the dog – Joe had never wanted a dog, but now. Irma was in charge. She was not all queen of the castle. She consulted with Sammie, but Irma knew that she had the upper hand in this team. A guy, a guy seemed to be the only thing missing. Even though she missed the romance of a man she did not want to share her house and possessions with one. She wanted to talk until all hours of the night, go for walks through the snow, but basically in her house she wanted to keep control. She was the queen of this house. She smiled visualizing herself sitting on a tractor wearing a crown. Control, how important was it? With Joe – they had always compromised.

Irma continued petting Poppy. Cuddling up with the dog she felt in control of her life but not a queen. Both Sammie and Poppy had choices and made decisions that Irma had no say in. For example, Sammie picked her own friends, the clothes she wore, the music she liked and played. She had to make 30 or 40 decisions a day in order to live through one day of her life.

Irma lay back in her bed on the soft fluffy feather pillows unsure what to do. Was there a man other than Joe, who she could work with as a team, or would he always want to be in control too. She thought about her friends who had called and called after Joe left. Did she have enough control to socialize with them as a single? It was time. Time to push herself past the pain and into the real, not fabricated world. Going out to eat with any of her married friends without a companion of her own would be venturing into strange unfamiliar territory. Her friends that were couples would probably feel uncomfortable with her, too. Single people usually hang out with other single people.

Well, there was a single person right next to her; tomorrow she would go introduce herself to her new neighbor. He was divorced. He had moved in four months ago. She should have introduced herself months ago. She looked down at Poppy. Tomorrow she would go introduce herself to a single man – who did not know Joe – and did not see her as part of a couple. It seemed too good to be true. She closed her eyes feeling a little nervous about her venture, but also secure. Maybe she should cook him something. That was the polite move she reasoned. She did not want him to think she was chasing him. It would be better not to bring him food. Probably every single woman in the county had brought him food. Maybe he was a nice guy who was lonely and desired someone to talk with too.

Sleep came quickly. Excited about her planned excursion tomorrow.

A new day, it was sunny. a good day to be outside. She was nervous; she looked down at her clothes. Hiking boots to help her make it through the snow and jeans with a flannel shirt. Her long brown hair was in a ponytail. In her mind she kept telling herself. “ it isn’t a date, it isn’t a date. Remember you are just a neighbor welcoming him to the neighborhood”. The hike to his house actually seemed strenuous. Half an hour later she rang the doorbell. She was covered with sweat. She did not look the best she found herself wishing she’d brought something to break the ice.

A well-built muscular man answered the door. He had short brown hair. He said, “Hi”. in a soft deep voice. She introduced herself explaining that she had come over to welcome him to the neighborhood. He opened the door wider and asked her if she would like to come in.

The house smelled of freshly baked bread. She quickly asked if she was interrupting. He said no, he was just baking bread. She stepped into the strange but familiar house. Her eyes glanced around the house at the decorated wood walls. Joe and she had been to the house before but it had looked so different. The Nashes, the previous owners, had had a family of four. Their walls had been decorated with family photos and children’s drawings. Now the walls were decorated with large Matisse- like prints. She was in awe.

“ These prints are gorgeous,” she said.

He meekly thanked her, “They’re mine – I mean I made them. If you know someone who would like to buy one.”

“ Unless you exhibit in one of the local galleries there isn’t much of a market for artwork here,” she answered. And then added as an afterthought, “Although it is a good spot to find inspiration. I paint abstract landscapes and take photos. Although I have to admit that since my divorce I’ve been having trouble with inspiration.” She blushed, feeling slightly awkward.

He seemed unphased. He turned to her and asked, “Would you like to have some coffee and some freshly baked bread?”

Glad to change the topic, she jumped at the opportunity. “Oh I would love some.”

He sliced her two pieces of bread and poured them both some coffee. He then addressed her original train of thought. “ A divorce can really drain your inspiration.” She said nothing and listened as he continued with his train of thought. “My wife and I divorced 5 months ago. With her gone I felt lost. I always wanted to live out in the country, so I moved here. My wife, ex-wife loved the city; she loved the convenience of having the laundry and grocery store right next door. But I love this, I feel more inspired than I ever did listening to the cars honk and the neighborhood kids shouting. I like kids but here the noise is either nature’s noise or my noise. And there are more periods of silence here. One doesn’t have to wait until early in the morning or late at night for solitude and quiet. Would you like to see my studio?” He continued with his train of thought before Irma could reply. “Thank you for dropping by. I find that my only real obstacle to inspiration here is the lack of adult conversation.”

Irma wondered if that might be the same problem she was having- adult conversation. “Conversation,” she said, “ I wonder if that is why I’ve become less productive. I have a daughter but with my husband gone I do miss adult conversation.” She all of a sudden, despite the company, felt lonely. Reaching emotionally out to him she said, “I would love to see your studio.” He led her into what had once been the Nashs' master bedroom. It was on the south side of the house and had huge windows. The glistening snow added brightness to the room. He had taken down the flowery wallpaper and had painted the walls a light blue. The once carpeted floor was now wood with a huge drop cloth covering it.

Her eyes gazed around the room. Suddenly they froze in awe. Her eyes caught a glimpse of three huge pieces of carved wood on the floor. “Oh they’re block prints,” she exclaimed. Each wood block was at least three feet by three feet. One, in particular, grabbed her attention. The image was of a naked woman combing her hair with a brush and looking into a mirror. If she could afford it she would have bought the wood block as a piece of art in itself. “Have you made any prints of this?” she asked.

He walked over to his horizontal file and opened the top drawer. On top lay a brown and gold print. He had spot-painted the block. Some blotches of the paint were brown and some were gold. It made the very realistic carving appear a little abstract.

She was not lying or just being polite when she said, “ Your work just blows me away. It is magnificent.” She was in awe of his pieces in the front hall, but seeing the carved wood blocks she felt a deep respect for this man. All of a sudden she had to know who this man was, what made him tick. She became caught up in her enthusiasm, she needed to know his name. “Have I heard of you? – what is your name?” she asked.

He seemed a little embarrassed. “ Oh, I’m sorry we never introduced ourselves. I was so excited to have company that I forgot. My name is Jack Mannon”

“ My name is Irma,” she answered not quite sure if she should use Joe’s last name or her maiden name. She opened her mouth to say her married name, but instead found herself saying McPherson. It had been eighteen years. She felt like a teenager again – using her parent’s name.“I don’t want to intrude,” she said. “ but I would love to see you make one of your prints.”

He smiled at her, “ It’s not as difficult as it looks. I usually use a press but I haven’t gotten it set up yet”

Irma wanted to stay but she felt she had overstayed her welcome. They had talked and roamed around the house for an hour and a half. “Well” she said, “ I should be going. Maybe you can come over for dinner sometime and meet my daughter. I could show you our house. Do you have kids? If they come to visit, I’m sure my daughter Sammie would enjoy hanging out with them.”

“I would love to come over for dinner. My son, Ian, stays with my wife. He might come but with school and work…. Well I’m hoping he can come – we’ll see.”

“Well we would love to have you or both of you whatever happens. But don’t feel you need a formal invitation to drop in. I’ll leave my number if you would like to call us.” It’s hard to move into a new area.” She said grasping her coat and moving towards the door. “I’ve had fun.”

“ So have I?” he said as she handed him the business card and walked out the door.

His work was beautiful. Maybe he was right maybe all she needed was stimulating adult conversation to get her motivation back. Or maybe what she needed was to see inspiring artwork, because she definitely felt inspired. So inspired that when she reached home she ran up the stairs and grabbed her two cameras.; one camera was desinated for black and white, and one for color.

Most of the snow was still undisturbed. Years ago when she was a teen she had seen a photo of white snow lying on a bush of red berries. She had loved the red, white and green contrast. When she had moved here she had planted several Holly bushes with red berries with the hope that she could reproduce the picture. So today that was her first project. One idea quickly led to another. The trees and their white branches, the white field with the house in the background, and the whitish grayish sky. The cold of the snow air, and her involvement in her work, left her amazed at how happy she was. Two hours had passed in what seemed like minutes. There was no Joe to inspire her, yet she felt the inner glow of her work and the snow. She looked down at her cameras. A flock of birds looking for a spot to perch settled a few feet ahead of her on the crisp snow. Carefully but craftily she photographed them .