Ramblings

By Vicki Diane Westling

Funny how things are remembered differently by persons who share the same space, the same air and even the same pillows and blankets that are tangled and wrapped around legs, arms and bodies; my memories, like fine wine, have been sweetened with time enjoy

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546239451

Vicki Diane Westling

Vicki Diane Westling lives with her dog Sam in Dunkirk, New York a city of less than 12,000 population. She is the widow of Richard who was the love of her life, and her always Number One fan.

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© 2018 Vicki Diane Westling. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 05/08/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-3946-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-3944-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-3945-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018905047

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

King James Version (KJV)

Scriptures were taken from The King James Version for The Bible - Public Domain.

Contents

PART I: On the Road to There

The Highway

Harrison 4-4344 or was it Harrison 4-3073?

Change

From Monticello and the Sangamon River to the Gulf of Mexico

Arizona and Beyond

No Walls on Nashville Road

PART II: Families! Even the Dysfunctional Ones

Mother

Daddy

Mother’s Sleigh Bells

We’re a Carload

Sisters

Sister Love

When I Was Young

Bread and Water

Gingham and Flannel

Opposites – Oh Really?

Roy Douglas

PART III: Shared Journeys

The Porch

Welcome Home

His

My truck and you

Guilt

You’re my Everything

A Day Not Unlike the Others

Did you Whisper?

A Self Portrait

Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow

PART IV: The Faces of Learning

Anywhere but Here!

So … I Teach!

Young Love, so Perplexing!

Teenagers Today

A Caravan … of Sorts

Believe in You

A Rite of Passage

As I’ve Grown Older

PART V: Loving, Longing and Loss

I thought of you today

Two Ships

The Cost of it All

She’s Not 59

His Suitcase

I’m Washing My Hair

You Walk In

What is There?

Chocolate Eyes

Hello to the Dog

It is only through Others

I never hit her… too hard

This Minute

You are Gone

Fix This

The Skylight

PART VI : Dogs and Potpourri

My Visit with Mr. Kolmes

Sam the Dog

Rudie

It Ain’t No Fun Living in the Basement

Vision, Courage, Tenacity

LIFE!

Talk About Love!

The Four Seasons

What Has Happened to Our World?

Mothballs and Cobwebs

Thomasena

Please Stay Out of My Kitchen

First Kiss

Chocolate Cake and Potato Chips

Happiness Is

PART VII: To There …Maybe

Mothers and Sons, and Oh Yeah, Daughters

My Window

Wow!

Dedication

This book and all of its contents is the result of my life spanning some six decades. I have been fortunate to share forty plus years filled with fun, laughter, love and happiness with my one true love and soul mate, my husband Richard; he was truly the love of my life and my number fan; he made me who I am today.

Special thanks and recognition must also go to my brother, Curtis David Vick; he was more than a brother to me. He was a teacher, a confidant, a friend and someone I miss daily. Without his generosity of effort, time and his editing, this book could never have been published.

I will be forever grateful to these two exceptional men for having loved me; it is to them that this book is dedicated, this little book, this book of Ramblings.

Author’s Note: Any similarity between characters in this book and any person living or dead is merely a coincidence. The stories, poems, prose and vignettes written herein are written for the sole purpose of entertainment and not to be construed as factual representations of any time, place or person.

FOREWORD

I can’t say when I actually started writing, but it was a very long time ago. As with anything, time moves on while I sometimes think I am standing still. When I was a child I enjoyed listening to my father as he read something he had just written. I marveled at his ability to put such fancy words on paper and then make them sound as if they should be etched in stone in the town square as he read them aloud to my sisters and me.

In a family of seven children, there was always someone reading or writing something. While my father encouraged each of us to write, my mother was the reader, and it was she who encouraged us to read. She would read every book she came across and made sure that we loved them as much as she did. She would speak to us of the importance of turning the pages carefully so as not to tear them, and never to fold them over. She spoke of books and the characters within as if they were her very best friends, and indeed in many cases they became just that. The words were important to her, and she ran her fingers over them as if caressing every vowel, consonant and syllable as though she could feel their meaning somewhere deep inside her very core.

Mother, a daughter of a farmer growing up in the hills of Kentucky, spoke frequently of her dream to become a school teacher, something that five of her seven children managed to achieve. She was a dreamer, a hardy soul, and one who would sit with a good book for hours whenever she had the chance. But it was Daddy who would put pen to paper and the one most able to hold our attention in the palm of his hands as he read the melodic, and seemingly sophisticated, words to us that he had written.

The many poems, prose, vignettes, short stories and just stuff that make up this book of Ramblings is like a kaleidoscope of my life. In this book you will see glimpses of the many colors, rhymes, tears, and laughter that have all helped me to be who I am today. These things I share with you with the hope that you will understand they are things that I have seen, some I have experienced, some I wish I had, some I wish I hadn’t, and some are just plain old memories – my memories! These are my memories and recollections, fantasies and dreams that have escaped from both deep and shallow parts of my inner self. Much of what is written here has been faded, jaded, and embellished with the good parts made better and the not so good parts left out, for that is what happens to our memories as they are allowed to mellow with age and sweeten with time.

I hope you enjoy this little book – this little book of just little stories, interludes and non-essential things, this little book of Ramblings.

Part I – On the Road to There

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The Highway

Funny how things are remembered differently by persons who share the same space, the same air and even the same pillows and blankets that are tangled and wrapped around legs, arms and bodies. I can’t attest to the memories of others, but as for me I can see it as clearly today as if I were right back there again – living in that moment.

We were a family of nine moving along the highway with but one purpose, just to get There. Wherever There was. I was in the back seat with four of my sisters all twisted and curled about one another as we sat and lay in the back of the big old car. My father drove with his elbow out the window and a cigarette between his fingers; he was like a god to me in those days. Mother sat in the middle of the front seat holding the baby, and my brother sat on the other side of her clutching the door as if he might jump out at any minute. And, on we went. No grumbling, crying or whining allowed.

Mother, always worried that we might make too much noise and upset Daddy, would periodically call back to us, You babies start reading those signs, see who can read them first. This was her way of trying to keep our minds occupied and off of the knots in our stomachs due to hunger and thirst. We would stop now and then along the highway when she would commence to nag Daddy to the point of near anger.

Daddy, it seemed, could drive for hours and never need to stop, but little girls needed to get out now and then. Once the nagging by mother would commence, one could see the muscles begin to work in Daddy’s temples just above the arm of his dark glasses. He would toss the cigarette butt out of the window and begin to slow the vehicle. Giving Mother a quick look of dissatisfaction, he would mutter, "Aw right, then, we’ll pull over up here as soon as I see a place to pull off. I don’t want to have to try and back up