Peonies, a memoir
Artwork: Larry D’Amico
April 25, 2008
by Edith Ann Glass
My favorite flower is the peony. It became my favorite flower when I was ten years old. It happened on a summer weekend in early July 1945.
Early one Saturday morning my parents decided to spend the day at Rudd Pond. The weatherman predicted that it was going to be a wonderful, sunny weekend. We left Manhattan early and arrived at Rudd Pond about eleven o’clock in the morning. It was a wonderful day filled with plenty of time for swimming in the pond, walking through the adjacent forest and eating the delicious picnic meal that my mother had prepared. It was so wonderful that my parents decided not to go home. They would find a place to stay overnight and the next day we would visit my brother Jerry at camp.
Rudd Pond was in Millerton, New York. It was very near the state border with Connecticut. The nearest town to Millerton was Lakeville, Connecticut. My parents probably asked some people in Lakeville where they might rent a room for the night. They directed us to a lovely, neat, yellow and white small Cape Cod home. It was owned by an elderly lady with white hair. She was very pleasant and must have liked the looks of my parents. She showed my parents two bedrooms and my mother must have liked them, since my mother was always very particular where she stayed. I helped my father take our luggage out of the car and carried them up the stairs to the two bedrooms. It cost my father three dollars for us to spend the night.
I was in seventh heaven. I was to have my own room. I didn’t have my own room at home and this was a real treat for me. I remember how pretty the room was. It was very small and it was painted white, with pretty yellow flowered wallpaper. One part of the ceiling sloped down. The furniture was simple, but early American in style. The bed was covered with a pretty yellow bedspread. There was a lovely glass lamp that had flowers painted on it. The curtains were made of a white organdy, and they looked like they had been ironed and starched. I have always loved this kind of curtain. When I looked out of the room’s window, I saw a garden that was full of bright colorful flowers. The floor had a small rag rug placed on it. This room, like the rest of the house, was neat and tidy. I loved this room. I could have stayed there forever.
When night came, I fell into a deep sleep and awoke the next morning feeling as “fresh as a daisy.” I didn’t know what time it was. I knew that my parents were still sleeping. I never disturbed them when they were sleeping unless I didn’t feel well or had a nightmare. I got myself washed and dressed and very quietly went down the stairs to the garden. I was extra quiet, for I didn’t know if the old lady was still asleep.
I decided to walk outside and explore her garden, which was absolutely the most beautiful garden I had ever seen. The garden was well cared for, as if the person who owned it really loved it. It had the look of an English country garden. The white morning glories were wide open, as if they were saying good morning to me. There were fox-tails, white daisies, and climbing red roses. There were also primroses, tiger lilies and orange marigolds as well as some flowers whose names I didn’t know. It didn’t matter what their names were, I smelled them all.
When I came to one flower that was a beautiful pink color, I smelled it deeply. It was the most wonderful smell in the world. The beauty of its fragrance permeated my entire body. I couldn’t get enough of the smell. There were similar flowers near this one, but some were white and others were purple. The smell of these flowers was just as wonderful as the pink one. I stayed in the garden for what seemed to be a long time. Then I decided to go back to my beautiful room and pack my things.
When I went inside, the old lady was up. She offered me some toast and milk. She sat at the table with me. She was very nice and caring, and I wasn’t the least bit afraid of her. I asked her the name of the pink, white and purple flowers that smelled so good. She told me that the flowers were called peonies. She said that they originally came from China. As I ate my toast I thought how beautifully China must smell.
Soon my parents were up and packed and ready to go. I was sorry to leave this pretty place. I loved my room and the gentleness of the woman who owned it. To this day, I can still see her neat and tidy garden, and smell her flowers. The peony is the flower I love the most in the world. Whenever I go past a flower shop during the springtime, I must stop in and smell the peonies. I tell the shop owner that these are the flowers of my childhood. They are always understanding and let me stay, allowing me to fill my soul with the memories of that wonderful garden and the happy weekend I spent with my beloved parents.
Second Annual Memoir Gathering
For the past three years the Memoir Writing group has been meeting monthly on Thursday mornings in the Chappaqua Library. We meet to listen to the interesting events, what we call “Kodak” moments, of each other’s lives. Each meeting is two hours long and is conducted in a non-critical manner.
Our ages range from the early forties to mid-eighties. While most of us live in Chappaqua and the surrounding neighborhoods, we are a varied group. Some of us were born in the United States; others come from far away places like India, Israel and North Korea.
We all realize that if our life experiences are not recorded for our descendants, they will be lost forever. As it is written in the Old Testament (Joel 1:3), Tell ye your children of it, and let your children tell their children, and their children another generation.
We invite you to attend our Second Annual Memoir Gathering on Saturday, April 26, 2008. The program will begin promptly at 4 p.m. in the Chappaqua Library auditorium. Refreshments will be served after the program.
We hope that after you listen to our memoirs, you will begin to write your own. The Memoir Writing class is free to all participants. If you wish to join, please pick up a flyer at the library for the specific dates that we meet. You may join at any time. If you decide to participate, please come prepared to read a memoir about an event in your life.
Edith Glass is the founder and director of the Memoir Writing Group.
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