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Just before the storm hit, the ocean turned gray, cold and angry. Nana's newly hung wash began to blow violently and wrap itself around the clothes line in tightly twisted knots and the dogs, roused by the sudden upsurge of wind, whined pitifully at the back door. Once inside, they curled up next to each other by the old cast iron stove and slept restlessly. My grandmother added wood to the fire and began to methodically check the windows, keeping one cautious eye on the sky and listening for the sure-to-come rain. The mid-morning darkness enveloped us slowly but surely, shutting out the sun and with one crack of lightning, the lights went out and the house sunk into eerie shadows. There was a sudden, explosive crash of thunder - the dogs began to pace and howl - and then the rain came, sideways and furious. It shook the windows and pounded on the roof with the force of hail.
It's just noise, my grandmother told me with a serene smile, Can't get in, can't hurt you and it'll blow itself out, wait and see.
Wait and see. It was one of her most often used phrases, easily adapted and applied to most any situation from What's for supper to Can Ruthie spend the night to Can we stop for ice cream. She was trying to teach me about patience, I suppose, about not being afraid of the dark, about not losing the ability to be surprised and, long before Mick Jagger thought of it, the simple truth that you don't always get what you want. She was a fairly new widow then, still getting used to the label and the reality of life without my grandfather. If she missed him, she never said and sometimes I would remember his funeral, the church packed to capacity and the women all in black. Never one to pass up an opportunity for attention, my mother had broken down and sobbed uncontrollably during the service while Nana had sat, dry eyed and stoic, almost unmoved. I was too young to fully comprehend death and I'd never cared for the man anyway but I did sense he'd had an undeniable impact on the family and the community. Now, waiting out the storm in my grandmother's lap and not feeling in the slightest bit brave, I was glad he was gone. I had the not very clear idea that he'd have thought she was coddling me and would've put a stop to it.
Come, Nana said cheerfully, we'll light candles and scare off the ghosts.
The dogs trailed after us, panting nervously, their nails tapping on the linoleum floor and their tails tucked in.
We lit candles, melted little pools of wax in flat dishes to hold them straight and secure, set them about the house.
What you need to remember, my grandmother told me as the rain sheeted down the windows and the candles burned small but bright, is ain't nothing there in the dark that ain't there in the light.
By morning, the storm had moved on, the skies cleared and the sea calmed. There was some damage to the wharf and the drying tables in Aunt Lizzie's field had been blown away. Several boats had come loose from their moorings and had to be retrieved and a light pole at the ferry slip had crashed through the roof of John Sullivan's bait shack. Old Hat's fences had been beaten down and there were goats randomly wandering all the way to The Old Road but no one was hurt and none of the damage was severe enough to worry anyone.
I waited, I saw, and everything was all right.
Wait and see. It was one of her most often used phrases, easily adapted and applied to most any situation from What's for supper to Can Ruthie spend the night to Can we stop for ice cream. She was trying to teach me about patience, I suppose, about not being afraid of the dark, about not losing the ability to be surprised and, long before Mick Jagger thought of it, the simple truth that you don't always get what you want. She was a fairly new widow then, still getting used to the label and the reality of life without my grandfather. If she missed him, she never said and sometimes I would remember his funeral, the church packed to capacity and the women all in black. Never one to pass up an opportunity for attention, my mother had broken down and sobbed uncontrollably during the service while Nana had sat, dry eyed and stoic, almost unmoved. I was too young to fully comprehend death and I'd never cared for the man anyway but I did sense he'd had an undeniable impact on the family and the community. Now, waiting out the storm in my grandmother's lap and not feeling in the slightest bit brave, I was glad he was gone. I had the not very clear idea that he'd have thought she was coddling me and would've put a stop to it.
Come, Nana said cheerfully, we'll light candles and scare off the ghosts.
The dogs trailed after us, panting nervously, their nails tapping on the linoleum floor and their tails tucked in.
We lit candles, melted little pools of wax in flat dishes to hold them straight and secure, set them about the house.
What you need to remember, my grandmother told me as the rain sheeted down the windows and the candles burned small but bright, is ain't nothing there in the dark that ain't there in the light.
By morning, the storm had moved on, the skies cleared and the sea calmed. There was some damage to the wharf and the drying tables in Aunt Lizzie's field had been blown away. Several boats had come loose from their moorings and had to be retrieved and a light pole at the ferry slip had crashed through the roof of John Sullivan's bait shack. Old Hat's fences had been beaten down and there were goats randomly wandering all the way to The Old Road but no one was hurt and none of the damage was severe enough to worry anyone.
I waited, I saw, and everything was all right.
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