Close My Eyes

My family, Christmas Day 1958

             

Close my eyes,

Please,

Close them,

Have peaceful dark

For a little while.

Light blinds me

And hurts me,

Forces me to look away.

Dark is velvet and smooth.

Silent and soft,

My head quiets in darkness.

Can you not understand?

The Light! Have you ever gazed into the light

And found pain instead?

Don't you know by now?

Please,
Run your fingers down my brow,
Let my eyes find soft blackness,

Discover a deep rest.

In Memory of my Father, Louis "Bud" Peck
1922-2005 

Things Are Not Always as They Seem

Sunday dinner

My father was a storyteller, as I once wrote.

He had one particular story that he told whenever he sat at the table with someone other than my mother.  Mom had heard the story so many times.  She usually went to the bathroom when he started:

Now, I wanta tell you that the moral of this story is ‘Things are not always as they seem’.

Old church revivals held here!

Well, I tell you.  We been havin’ revival for a few days.  Good preacher, good one.  We had ‘im out for dinner once, and decided to invite ‘im back.  Good preacher—what was his name, Irma?  Irma? 

Well, anyway.  I called Irma and told her and Mary to get the table set ‘cause I was bringin’ the preacher home for dinner.  She said we’d better get home, dinner’s almost done.

So we got there as quick as we could.  The table was set, and oh! was it a sight!  Irma and Mary, well they’d gotten out some cloth napkins, the good ones from my grandma.  Don’t use them much, Irma says she’s not going to iron those old things anymore.  But, there those nice soft cloth napkins were, folded with the forks and such on top.

Fine dining!

Irma and Mary used paper towels, and I thought that showed true humility.  It was generous of them to give the cloth napkins to us.  So, we set down to eat. 

Well, I tell you.  Irma had outdone herself.  

Oh, the fried chicken was crispy, and the milk gravy was just right!   

The preacher and me, why, we wiped our hands and faces with those soft cloth napkins.  Take a bite, and then wipe off the chicken grease off our faces.  It was a luxury, I tell you.

Irma brought out the pie and coffee.  We spread the napkins across our chests, and dug into that pie.  Those napkins were fit for kings, which we felt like we were.

After I took the preacher home and came back, I thanked Irma and Mary for their generous spirit and the cloth napkins. 

The mice that came for dinner...

Mary looked at me, and she said, “Why, Dad.  After we shook the mouse turds out of those two napkins you used, Mom and I decided we made do with paper towels.”

So that goes to show you:  Things are not what they always seem.

The storyteller, Dad with my oldest daughter Erin and his dog Cindy