Yesterday as I was driving down into town I noticed the lovely reflections on Monksville Reservoir. I quickly turned the car around and went straight back to get my camera. I didn’t follow the normal rules of composition because I was going for more of a “split reflection” effect.

I took a closer look at the “graveyard” trees against the red bushes. It created a dizzying effect! Which way is up?

So take a good look at my face
You see my smile looks out of place
If you look closer it’s easy to trace
The tracks of my tears*

Warm, salty, tears slid down my cheeks and blurred my vision as I pulled out of the driveway at my Mom’s house. Several miles down the Northway I had to remove my sunglasses because my wet lashes were fogging up the lenses. The tears stopped, only to begin again of their own accord over and over again until I reached Albany. After that I put myself on auto-pilot and concentrated instead on the vehicle in front of me: our Suburban pulling a small U-Haul trailer with my Mom’s belongings. My Mom finally rested on the seat beside me making the journey to Jersey like she should have done in August.

My sister and I had a very busy and emotionally charged week. We sorted. We packed. We donated things. We gave things away. We laughed. We cried. We shared family secrets. We swapped old boyfriend stories. We found a few things we had forgotten about. We found some things we never knew existed. We bartered with each other for items we both wanted. By the time our husbands got there on Friday we had made a great deal of progress in clearing out the house. I can’t say I enjoyed the week but I did enjoy getting to know my sister on a different level.

Looking around my Mom’s house just before we left my sister and I noticed how sad and lonely it looked. We had removed everything that had made that house Mom & Dad’s. Gone were the family photographs and my Dad’s paintings that used to hang on the walls; gone were all the knick-knacks collected over the years; gone were her crossword puzzle books and in-progress crochet projects. All gone—it was just a house now and not my Mom’s home. But Mom is gone now too, so I guess that is fitting.

On that last night in her house I couldn’t sleep so I crept outside to the porch. It was crisp and cold. The sky was filled with crystalline stars and even the Milky Way was visible; it was a beautiful night. Not a sound could I hear. I talked to Mom and told her I hoped we were doing the right thing by selling the house. I told her lots of other things too. I hope she heard me because it made me feel better.

It was all so final. It hurts. It’s all about letting go ...

*—THE TRACKS OF MY TEARS (W. Robinson / M. Tarplin / W. Moore)

I’m back. Maybe not so much in mind, but my body is now here in New Jersey instead of the Adirondack Mountains of New York.

My husband just left in a stretch limo bound for Newark airport. Normally his limo service arrives in a battered car which we are never sure is going to reach our destination. When we came back from Las Vegas the limo driver explained to us that one windshield wiper was not working and it was raining heavily on his drive down. Great. I think maybe Rick is really being spirited away to the next Bachelorette interviews without my knowledge. A stretch limo to the airport? Really, come on.

Looking back on the past week, everything about it has been a stretch which I will write more in depth on when my brain decides to let my words wrap around it enough to write. It was wrought with memories, regrets, emotions and so much more. Like I said; I am here in body but my brain is in another place. I feel so strange right now and Rick will gone for a week. Not the best of timing, but it has to be.

While we were gone we had our first snow fall of the season: one inch. We didn’t even have that in upstate New York; just a few brief flurry showers. Last year our first sign of snow was well into the second week of January. What’s to come?

Just a note to the few who comment: I had to turn on the approval feature for comments since the spammers have been hitting my blog really hard over the past week and leaving junk for comments. So sorry, but your comment won’t appear until I approve it. I am tired of 15 or more junk comments. Hey, at least they are comments!

Look for more from me in the next few days.

Okay, I admit I’m stretching the words a bit, but truly, isn’t orange beautiful?

My sister arrived yesterday to join me this week in going up to my Mom’s house (which has recently been sold) to sort and pack her belongings. Not a fun task to be sure. One filled with all kinds of memories, regrets and so much more.

Today we took her on what will probably be our last canoe trip around Green Turtle Pond before Winter arrives.

My sister was very skeptical because she doesn’t like “boats,” but she was a good sport about it as she sat in the middle like Cleopatra as Rick and I paddled her around. I think even she will admit that she enjoyed it a great deal. The wind kicked up midway around and we had a pretty good workout just paddling back. A beautiful day though!

I won’t be blogging until next week since I don’t have access to a computer at my Mom’s house. Until then, I wish you all a great week!

When we stayed at Andy and Linda’s cabin on Lake Wallenpaupack, PA we did a little antique shopping in nearby Hawley. That was when I saw them. The Indian mugs of my childhood. Memories of sipping sweet, hot cocoa topped with a dollop of Marshmallow Fluff™  drifted up from my subconscious to tickle my brain. I hadn’t thought of those mugs in forever, yet here they were in all their kitschy glory.

The price was a little steep and with much regret I passed them up. After I got home I could not stop thinking about them. They brought back such wonderful memories of my Mom. She always served us hot chocolate in them, and nothing else. I decided I had to have them.

So, I emailed the antique shop and started inquiries with Thom into purchasing them, hopefully at a reduced price. I explained in my email that I had had them as a child and how my Mother (that I had recently lost) always served us hot chocolate in them. That was when I learned they were from the Hazel Atlas Glass Company, a now defunct glass manufacturer in West Virginia, and highly collectible. This particular full set of six were in pristine condition and had hardly, if ever, been used. I didn’t get my hoped-for price reduction, but I did get my mugs.

This past weekend we finally drove back over to Hawley to pick them up. When Thom handed me the box with my mugs he also gave me a small gift bag, saying that it was a little something extra. When I opened the bag I saw six packets of Ghirardelli Double Chocolate Hot Cocoa Mix inside. The tag on the gift bag read: “With my compliments: I hope it’s just like Mom used to make.”

How sweet was that? I have to admit that I could feel the tears welling up and threatening to spill over right there and then, but I managed to check them—only just. Thanks, Thom.  He told me that it meant a lot to him that his things went to people who would care about them. No worries there. Here they are at home:

My sister arrives tomorrow to join me next week in the arduous and nostalgia-filled task of sorting through and packing up our Mom's belongings. I'm sure we will share a cup of cocoa or two as the memories overwhelm us.

For more interesting and detailed information on the Hazel Atlas Glass Company, follow this link.