Ashtrays and Love

This is in response to a prompt on The Red Dress Club....it was a photo prompt. The photo showed an ashtray.
Read on to see why I posted my photo.

It was a small little place, holding too many hands and feet within. But I was grateful for a roof, and my mom who opened this space to us, our family of four. At the time, I referred to him as her husband, not my dad. Rough around the edges, as kind, as he was mean. The home was a cacophony of sounds.  Screaming children, television blaring, neighbors in and out, dog barking, leading to conversations loud with Long Island accents.

Always something special being prepared in the kitchen. Onions,garlic, peppers, tomatoes spreading from the frying pan....or bananas, chocolate, and peanut butter rising from the oven.  We were surrounded by each other, and how J, our little explorer on wheels, ever got away from us, I couldn't tell you.

But she would scoot away in her little walker. Pony tail bobbing on top of her head, right arm swinging like a baby gorilla. She had a mission. Her wheels would spin against the hardwood floor...

The rest of us lost in the noise and odors, wouldn't notice her absence immediately. Her older brother was always in the midst of us. Curled up on the belly of his favorite dog. Or sitting at the heels of one of the adults, lost in their conversations.

But not J. She was always on the move. So off to find her I would go. Many times I would find her in the kitchen with Grandma. Banana in her mouth, pasted on her cheeks, sliding down her chin, or wedged in between  her fingers. But Grandma was close by with the cloth to clean her. Other times I would find her stuck in a corner unable to turn herself around. Those times were easiest to locate her, her scream of frustration rang through the house. Followed by, "Would you shut that kid up!" from the head of the household.
I'd spin her around and off she'd go again, as happy as could be.

I wish I could say it only happened once...but I fear it was more. I would search and find her out of everyone's sight. Face black, and tobacco hanging from her lips. Fingers happily digging into one of his ashtrays. She had a look of pleasure and mine was of disgust. No matter how many times I asked and pleaded, he wouldn't keep them out of reach. It was his home and he would live in it as he pleased.

I never understood why she was attracted to those nasty things. But now years later it is one of those stories we share of her childhood with laughter. The image is one we would not forget.

As for my mother's husband, the head of the household. I grew to love that man and I miss him dearly. He never quite smoothed his edges, but I learned to love the roughness that edged his heart that could not have been bigger. There were days that left a bad taste just like his ashtrays...but many more days that I look back at with laughter and of love.


A note from the author: my first few comments I received mentioned this as my childhood memory, and of my sister. This is a story about me as a mom. Do you think I need to do any more revision to make that clear, or do you even think it needs to be clear? Thanks for leaving feedback, I really appreciate it.

Tossed About

The air was hanging over me, humidity high. I was always excited when we planned our trips to the beach, it is the trip I home I hate. Sunburnt, sandy and tired. But at that moment when my feet touched the hot sand, I breathe in deep and take in the salt air. Sea gulls calling from above...a smiling-sunny-giggling kind of day ahead.
Bundles, towels, blankets, buckets, shovels, coolers and beach bags tossed around after we found the perfect spot. Off they go, and I sit back and enjoy.
Echoes of laughter fill the air, the pound of the surf. Keeping watch with occasional glances to my right and left, somehow the air at the beach keeps them playing together, no fights. I wonder if I could bottle some and bring it home.
Up to the blanket scoots my brown eyed baby. I still call him baby at seven. Not to his approval of course.
"Ready, mom?"
"For what?"
"You promised...this is the year we ride the waves."
And so it is. Another milestone to conquer. I kick off the flops and follow him to the shore. He looks anxious and ready for the adventure...but I have to give some instruction first.
I guide him in watching the waves...explaining timing is the crucial aspect. You have to be aware of the pattern. You also have to know when to stay...and when to go.
I do not think he listens to a word I say. His eyes are watching the waves, but I can tell his mind is already riding them up and over, around and about.
So, I give up and we hit it. The chill of the water makes me jump back, and I see the look of worry. I let him know without words, this is his day, it is going to happen.
I dive under and get it over with. We get out to where we can actually ride a wave. His first time this far, I can almost hear his heart beating.
"You ok?"
"Oh yeah!"
So we begin...I watch and and I give the direction....get ready, get ready....go.
Up atop the wave his smile lights up giving the sunshine competition for its glare. Over and over we ride the wave, return and swim. He never tires...but I do.
"I'm going into shore...almost lunch time. Maybe more later?"
But he begs for a few more. So I head in a little and turn to watch, not quite ready to leave him on his own.
I watch with mixed emotions....milestones move us forward. My baby growing up. The last of the bunch.
He is finally tired and heading in. He begins walking my way, and I realize he isn't watching..a direction I didn't give him, how to head in.
Sure enough, the next thing I see are arms, then legs flapping and flaring up and down from the water. I can taste the salt water in my throat knowing what he is going through. I feel the sand beating him up from below as I know the wave is pushing and pulling him out of control.
I reach and pull him to safety. His eyes show the fear of that experience I know too well...the out of control spinning,  where you can't gain control. A little coughing, some spitting and the emptying of sand from his suit. I wrap my arm around him, and we head back for lunch.
A moment for him to still be my baby as I wrap him in the towel and share my stories of the same uninvited adventure. I let him know we learn to be alert and to watch...
"I still need you to watch for me mom"
I hold him tight. He has no idea how much those words meant. Time will move fast...each milestone coming quicker. Soon he will be out in the waves of life...ready to swallow him, spin him out of control. For now I can still watch and shelter him from the world. Or at least be close enough...to pull him from its grasp. I have time to teach him, how to be alert and to watch.