Sassea Sails



December 2018

A Single Day, A Single Life

The misty, snowy day faded into dusk. It was a subtle transition as yesterday’s clouds dulled the colors of the tall pine and juniper trees. In contrast to the darkened tree trunks, the snow’s whitest white presented a Norman Rockwell painting. 

The slightest amount of sunshine hid behind wispy clouds. This caused the snow to dissipate into the ground. There were no puddles of slushy snow. From inside our house I could see the ground cropping up from beneath the snow. The brown dirt and low lying bush-like plants emerged as if pushing themselves up through the moisture filled snow. 

With nightfall approaching I turned on the living room light. It cast a soft romantic glow. The wood burning in the stove allowed another log to join its glowing coals. I turned on the stove’s fan and opened its door an inch or two. This expelled the heat into our living room. It got so hot I moved further away from the crackling fire. Outside the birds were off to their nightly retreat. Darkness fell. Upstairs the loft was quite warm. Yet, my preference to watch the fire’s glow kept me on the ground floor. 

Tears filled my eyes for the loved ones who died: my dad, my brother Harry, my husband Danny, my friend’s daughter Nicole, and more recently my life mate Ron. Thoughts of these people moved me from the Costa Rican rocking chair, that my sister gave me, to the soft cuddly couch that came with the purchase of our house. As I folded a blanket so its double layer stretched from under my chin to the bottom of my feet, an unwelcome pity party showed up. 

To thwart the self-indulgence I listened to a podcast sponsored by TED TALKS. It was an uplifting tale told by a lady who praised her single life style. At age 63 she never married. Me, well, I wouldn’t trade a single day of my married life with Dan, or a single moment living with Ron during his life’s last chapter. This morning when the sun cast its light onto my awakening eyes, I felt the embrace of a challenging life ahead.

Uh-oh, I Hit My Teacher, , ,

      In the middle row, in the front seat of our sixth-grade classroom sat Eddie, the class clown.  About three seats back and in the row to the left, sat I. Our teacher, Mr. Matthews, sat behind his desk which was placed front and center facing the class. At the beginning of each day when Mr. Matthews stood up we knew it was time to say the Pledge of Allegiance. He followed the pledge by reading a passage from the bible. Then, the class sang the first verse of My Country tis of Thee. On this particular day, our usual English lesson was postponed.  Rather, Mr. Matthews told us to clean out our desks. 

            One by one I took a book out and placed it on my seat. I was kneeling in order to get eye level with the inside of a dark mish-mosh of school related stuff. Spelling papers, with 100% printed in red at the top, along with unfinished math worksheets were pulled from the rubble. Notices that I was supposed to have taken home appeared. An overdue library book, with its cover now bent, slid out. After indistinguishable papers, broken pencils and crayons were retrieved, I reached my arm into the recesses of the dark corners of my desk. 

            “EWWW,” I felt something squishy. I wriggled my nose and with trepidation I used the ends of my fingers to maneuver whatever lurked inside. I knew I had to get it out. When it was almost outside of my desk I squirmed. It was a scrunched up brown paper lunch bag. Despite my hesitation, my curiosity got the best of me. I opened it. “Phew,” it was a moldy peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Instinctively I squashed the mushed bag shut. Hoping no one saw it, I shoved it under the books and papers already surrounding me on the floor. 

            Suddenly, I heard Eddie shout, “Here, take mine too!” As I looked up a pile of papers hit me. Gravity fell them to my feet. Angrily I waded up some paper and made a really tight ball. Then, I mustered up as much strength as I could. I pitched the best pitch of my life. The ball was streaming right toward Eddie.

            Eddie ducked. My perfect pitch hit Mr. Matthews right between his eyes. No one was more stunned than I. In a soft voice, barely above a whisper, Mr. Matthews enunciated these words, “Go  to  the  Office.” 

            Sheepishly my head hung down. I stared at the floor that led me out of the classroom, down the hall and into the Principal’s Office. I was scared. Next, I remember dad escorting me to the car. He muttered something about having to leave work to come and get me. I didn’t know what to say. The indignation of it all silenced me.

       A few months later I became the only one in our class who Mr. Matthews did not pick to sing in the Christmas. Was the teacher getting revenge? I’ll save story for another blog. 

Sassea’s Home

Home, Home on the Range 12/5/18

             It was 5:30 am when I was overwhelmed by the sight of the snow-capped Spanish Peak Mountain outside my driver’s side window. With Orion in the western sky surrounded by a display of sparkling stars I pulled over to catch my breath. Here it was on this year’s 4thday of Chanakah when little old me was surrounded with such beauty. I was so blessed to have the sweet side of our bittersweet world embrace me. There wasn’t a single other car, truck or van on the road. I took a few deep breaths before easing my mini home back onto the road.

            Being awake during my favorite time of day I vowed to enter our driveway at first light. I turned up the volume on the radio. ZZ Top was blasting out their hit song proclaiming what I have a propensity for, ‘A Sharp Dressed Man.’ After all it was Ron wearing his baggy tan pants and Dan wearing his surfer digs when each of these fine gents stole my heart (years apart of course).

            This morning’s joy was such a contrast from yesterday’s doldrums when I eased along Highway 82 between Amarillo, Texas and Raton, New Mexico. I was thankful to be off the interstate system on which I had been driving on since leaving Jacksonville, Florida. The hilly stretch of a backroad boasting a 75 mile an hour speed limit surrounded by miles and miles of pastureland and cotton fields was delightful. There is something about wide open spaces. Despite my complaint about maintaining our home so far from the sea, it was a peaceful end to my 65 days on the road visiting friendsamily* and boat shopping.

            To those folks who I did not see, I apologize. Everyone who I have ever met during my short lifetime, has a place in my heart. To all who I had a chance to spend time with, know that it was quality time at its best.

            My inherited mini home, Ron’s van, became the perfect vehicle. I can back that sucker into the tightest spaces, change lanes without flaw, and cook up gourmet meals. The onlytime I slept in someone’s house was Thanksgiving night when I was at the home of my neice. The onlytime I paid to stay at a camp ground was during my four days in Cedar Key. The only regret I have is referring to the van as the consolation prize. Indeed, it is the most cherished possession of all Ron and I embraced. On equal footing, is the precious money Danny and I accumulated.. There better be a heaven for these handsome wonderful men. 

            Now, sitting before the fire anticipating fun times with my Coloradofriendsamily I feel good. Got the wood stove stoking, brand new electric blanket warming, and a cup of the coffee that, as always, is good to the last drop.     

*friendsamily = friends +family when individually these fine folks becoone in the same..

Blog at

Up ↑