Winter Memory

                                 “Wheel spinning,

                                  Much noise accomplishing nothing,

                                  At first,

                                  Sludge spit backward,

                                  Then just tremendous tire rotation.

                                  They seemed bald,

                                  Slick, shiny,

                                  Wet with the water of what was ice and snow.

                                  Traction hindered,

                                  Fancy sunny-day vehicle,

                                  And determined driver,

                                  Went nowhere.”

                                                                               -- M.L.Stith

Another Quilt Story

Early morning, making my bed, the thought I surely could crawl back in bed and watch movies all day attempted to override productive plans. 

I had things to do.  I was able, so I must.  Others counted on me.

Tossing that quilt, arranging it on the bed resurrected the usual, good memories, made me melancholy, happy too.

The quilt takes me back to the day I bought it.

My sister Sharon with husband Pete was driving out from Ohio to spend a long weekend with us.  My ‘us', two small children and a wonderful dog.  My ‘us’ once included a husband/father, who, half a decade before left 'us' for another love.  So welcoming Aunt Sharon and Uncle Pete was a fantastically happy diversion in our one-dimensional household.

It was already late Saturday morning.  I was rushing about transforming home into loving, visitors-coming comfortable. 

Pete and Sharon would get my room.  Everything was ready except I wanted to run to Sears for a new quilt.  For some time, I intended to improve my bed linen.  Their visit would be the catalyst ending my procrastination. 

Gathering my bag, heading to the back door, I heard a car come into the driveway.  They were out there! 

We ran to greet the broadly smiling, travel-tired couple unfolding themselves from their car.  They had left Ohio before sun up! 

Getting them inside, I casually let Sharon know I had to dash out for a bit, “I’ll be right back.”  She had to know what I was up to and, just as controlling, insisted on coming along when I told her I needed something from Sears.

She didn’t know the objective of my shopping; had no idea until I actually began considering which quilt to purchase.  Of course, she insisted I shouldn’t do that - just for them.  Then I saw it; the choice was an unwavering decision.

I adored Sharon and Pete’s loving relationship. Additionally, though, I’d always been a romantic.  The design was beautiful and comforting to my senses.

In 2003, Sharon died, suddenly.  She suffered a brain aneurysm.  It was many years after our hasty trip to Sears.  She and Pete were married until death parted them.

When the heart adorned quilt is part of my bed making, those memories flood my mind.                                     _____________________________

In the interest of transparency, I’ll tell you I did not do the tasks I felt I must get done as I began making my bed that morning.  The memories inspired me to sit down and write.  So I did.

Branch Rickey, Jackie Robinson, and My Dad

Yours truly was 9 years old, going on 10 when Branch Rickey’s stock with my father went through the roof.

Spring 1947 Branch Rickey, owner of the Brooklyn Dodgers signed Jackie Roosevelt Robinson to a contract with the Brooklyn Dodgers.   Daddy was overjoyed; calm and thoughtful, but thrilled.

It was happening.  My father’s upbeat perception of the future for black people in America was coming true.  Branch Rickey brought integration to Major League Baseball.  Things were changing just as my dad said they would.

Daddy, a prolific reader, thinker, and commentator to his family, if to no one else, couldn’t exalt Mr. Rickey’s humanity enough.  

And if I had any lingering doubts, I now accepted the premise my brothers, John Wesley Woods III (Johnny) and James Franklin Woods (Jim) could be the professional baseball players daddy had said would be possible.

 I remember growing up black in America in the 40’s and 50’s dreaming of a good future, or melancholy because it would be tough since I was black.  Success could easily be mine if I had talent.  But I didn’t.   So thank heaven I loved school.  College was always my father’s plan for me.  My academic credentials could open the doors to a prosperous happy future. 

I remember Branch Richey’s bold, aggressive approach, putting Jackie Robinson on his baseball team, as the first of the doors opening to improve opportunities for black Americans.  Every boy did have a chance.

 In the tight grip of struggling with America’s widely accepted discriminatory practices and laws that supported injustice based upon the color of ones skin, thank God this black child was blessed with intelligent, optimistic parents.  I would be qualified to become whatever I chose to be.  And I was. 

This book first belonged to Johnny.  Jim inherited it from him.  I received it when my twin brother died.  

                                            My brothers loved baseball their entire lives. 
                                      After school days, the game was not a career option.