Ancestry

Write at the Merge, Week 16The song is “Tiny Dancer” from Elton John, and you can use the lyrics, the music or anything about the video that inspires you.
Trifecta: Week Seventy-Three
On to the one-word weekly challenge where we ask for a 33-333 word response to the third definition of a given word.  If you need a refresher, click here for more information on how to play.  Be sure to check that you've used the correct definition this week!

color (noun)

3: complexion tint:

  a : the tint characteristic of good health

  b : blush

Anne Marie sat away from the crowd.  She settled in the shade and shadow of an old oak, well removed from the lake's sandy beach.  

Children ran amok, parents yelled warnings about swimming too soon after eating, young couples sat staring dreamily into each other's eyes.

Anne Marie's eyes were fixed a little girl with dark curls and an infectious smile.  She was accompanied by her mother and grandmother. The girl was spinning in circles on the sand as the women talked. 

A small smile bloomed on Anne Marie's lips as she followed the girl's dance.  Memories surfaced in wisps of foggy images.  Of a beautiful man with dark curls and perfect smile.  Of a young girl with flame red hair and cheeks that glowed with the color of impending motherhood.

Unbidden tears flowed down those same cheeks centuries after her world was changed.  Her young man's life ended before his daughter was born.  Her daughter stolen from her at birth.

Her daughter, seen only once from a distance all those long years ago.  She'd kept track of the bloodline, knew of all the daughters born after.  Had watched from a distance the two older women when they were but toddlers.  Had known of the birth of this one.  

This one, this tiny dancer that so resembled the child she never held.  This one, that stopped spinning to look across the space between them.

With head cocked to one side, that perfect smile lit the girl's face.  She raised one chubby hand and waved merrily at Anne Marie. 

Just as she began to lift her hand to wave in return, the women took notice, "Katie Crowe!  What were you told about strangers!" Her mother gave the girl an exasperated look.  "I've told you, Mom, she never pays attention."

Caroline Crowe followed her granddaughter's gaze, caught the eyes of the woman under the tree.  A feeling of recognition washed through her.  "She pays more attention than you know, Natalie.  More than you know." 


Anne Marie has been a recurring character in many of my stories.  Katie Crowe is part of the "novel" I've been... ahem... working on.  Somewhere along the way, they became part of a bigger story that links them together.  Most of the bits I've shared here are under the labels at the top of the blog.  Annag of Clan MacClarren/Anne Marie MacClarren and Renewal; A Tale of Katrina's Kitchen.  This is the first time I've put them in the same post.





  

Leftovers

Holidays.  Or is holi-daze?

Just barely are the Thanksgiving leftovers cleared out, then comes the company Christmas party.  The hostess armed with Ziplocs and enough food to feed a small town, insisting, "Take this home, I'll never eat all that.  This will just go to waste.  Take some home."

So I do.  A plate of deviled eggs. Half a lemon chiffon cake that she knows my husband loves.  Crackers and salami and ham and dip and...   Leftovers.

The day before Christmas Eve, I'm at the store.  Buying food for the relatives that will be over.  Crackers and little smokies and carrots and cookies and dip...  Leftovers

New Year's Day, a stop at my Uncle's for a family gathering to greet the new year.  With food.  Ham and crackers and, well, yeah, you get it.  Leftovers, sigh.

But, there was one more thing.  An old box.  Filled with old papers.  A picture of my great, great grandparents.  Copies of birth and death certificates for relatives I've only found while researching our ancestry.  Names I'd not been able to find.

A guest register from a funeral seventy some years ago.  A wedding registry from as long ago.  Newspaper articles, copies from one hundred year old archives, telling of the death of my great grandfather.  He owned a tavern, among other businesses.

An envelope full of birth congratulations, with the sympathy cards that came less than a year later when the infant that would have been my aunt died.

Bits and pieces of lives begun and ended.  Bits and pieces of lives remembered.  Leftovers.




Well, the new year is here and the holidays are behind us. Speaking of “behinds”—how about those holiday leftovers? The food, the sweets, the bills-to-come… it’s that time of year where we all try to set a plan in motion to “toss out” all of those leftovers.