Blog: Country Gal/City Woman, 'Once in a Blue Moon ... Part IV'

"On the clock" suddenly took on a whole new meaning as our mid-August 2010 vacation days "dwindled down to a precious few."  Nothing like the gruff recorded voice of Willie Nelson singing "September Song" to bring a sobering sense of reality to the fact that Mary and I were nearing the end of an unforgettable emotional exercise, the likes of which I had first felt when leaving behind the town of my childhood for a new landscape in California in 1948.  It wasn't going to be any easier 62 years later. 

This trip had begun taking shape around the 2009 Thanksgiving dinner table at my son's home in Brea.  It was with a note of nostalgia and a bit of whimsy in Mary's voice that she mentioned she'd like to visit Iowa one more time.  My ears perked up as that same thought had been percolating in my head as of late. I took as a "good omen" sign the happenstance of a 3.6 earthquake that caused the fully-laden table to slightly shake and silverware to bounce off the dinner plates.

Nine months later found us cruising down some of Iowa's highways and byways in Peggy's Little Red Saturn, checking off that "Bucket List" a tad quicker than any of us wanted, but it had to be done:  we were on a mission, our individual sentimental journeys. 

Helping us navigate our way around town and the countryside were the adult children of siblings Perle, Addie and Ben, all living close-by and at our disposal for three days of reminiscing, humming show tunes, exchanging recipes and a few times of nose-blowing when the tears would flow unexpectedly.  Nothing dearer than to see a middle-aged niece or nephew giggling and "blubbering" at the same time. 

For three mornings of that last week, the Ladies Four would gather up The Travelers Three, load us into their motorized "steeds" and gallivant across the gently rolling hills surrounding Atlantic, much like our forefathers in bonnie Scotland did as they plundered and pillaged that countryside, to be reckoned with as fearsome Reivers.  I'll not admit to being fearsome, but we did "plunder" a couple of antique stores in Omaha and Atlantic and have the receipts to prove it.

That "Bucket List" turned out to be a winning idea...nothing at all to compare to those two more adventurous men in the movie by the same name, of course, but more than enough to warm our hearts as we crossed off the "items" one by one.  In no particular order we revisited childhood haunts and old friends, and, for the first time, took in events I had skipped over in the previous three score plus two years.

For instance:  (9) on the "Bucket List"...a Thursday night at the Auction in Atlantic proved to be a "bargain" night for Mary.  A longtime collector of Norman Rockwell plates, it didn't take long for her to spot four Rockwell plates, in boxed mint condition, about ready to be put on the "block".  With Sherry Cranston and Mary Ray's professional help, my "Nervous Nellie" (it seems she gets that way at Auctions, too) purchased the set of four for $15.00, an unheard of price anywhere in Southern California.  Try $45.00-$75.00 for one in any Antique store or thrift shop.  We literally cheered when the Auctioneer called out "Sold!  $15.00, cash only please!"  It was then that we discovered there is a certain etiquette one observes at Auctions...one does not "cheer" like in "CHEER!", not "couth" at all!  Not even "Eureka!"  A quick smile and a brief handshake, however, are looked upon kindly by friendly losers and friendlier winners all around the building; thereafter, we smiled and shook hands with those who taught us Auction "crashers" yet another facet of an Auction:  Be nimble, be quick, and, please, the "jack"....

It was on to Audubon (10) and an elegant noon luncheon of assorted dainty sandwiches, scones, a lovely mix of desserts and tea, always an anytime excuse for the country gals and city women of the surrounding areas to dress up in their "Sunday ribbons and bows" as they observed the custom of some of their ancestors, High Tea.  Nick, Liz's handsome fiance, was the only male present in the room of some 50 women.  Yes, he loved it!

(11) found us on the road again to Walnut, the Antique Capitol of the whole Midwest community, where every store is an Antique store except for the few cafes and bakery loaded with sustaining food required while shopping.  The buildings are old, the merchandise is old, a true Antique lover's paradise.  Losing Mary once or twice in "The Barn" proved exciting but it did slow our traveling pace.  Losing her in an Antique store is a sure thing in case you are a betting person, trust me!

(12) was a day trip to Omaha and a Tattoo Parlor where niece Mary Ray had an appointment for a Celtic-design Tattoo ordered and received, after suffering a few vanity-driven needle marks, within the hour...followed by lunch, and a bit of gambling on Harrah's Riverboat Casino permanently dry-docked on the Council Bluffs' side of the very muddy Missouri.  The winnings at Harrah's covered the losses at Prairie Meadow.   As we returned to Atlantic, leaving the driving to my niece, I leaned back into my seat, closed my eyes, and breathed deeply the sweet scents of my childhood all over again.

"BUTTERFLY, BUTTERFLY, COME FLUTTER BY ME"... (13)

For whatever psychological reasons, I have never really felt a "pull" to revisit the grave-sites of family members on any of the previous trips, as cherished as these kinfolk were. 

Why was it then, on this trip, so terribly important that most, if not all, of our plans were made around visiting the six cemeteries, doing the odd jobs that other family members had faithfully done for years prior to holidays and special occasions...pull weeds away from the headstones and markers, a tidy final dusting, place fresh flowers and, of course, take pictures?

On August  16th, I had no answer.  On August 30th, I did, delivered on the wings of two very large, very black with a dainty light-colored design on the edges of those wings, very beautiful butterflies, identical in every way. 

It was an early rise that morn, the day of our visitations.  Buckets of flowers had been purchased from Hy-Vee to place upon each and every grave-site.  With Sherry behind the wheel of her Dodge Grand Caravan (the Cranston Tour Bus), Mary Ray riding shotgun, Randi and Liz (Sherry's cutie-pie daughters) and the Travelers Three sitting where flowers were not, we headed out from our Super Eight  lodging to Marne, Lewis, Griswold (2), back to Atlantic and our final stop, Wiota.  Oh, yes, and a box of Twinkies was on hand.

Brother Kenny had always had a "thing" for Twinkies (my son, Dennis, and I do too!) and it has become tradition to place flowers and Twinkies at Kenny's grave-site (in the Atlantic Cemetery) as well as at Betty's, his wife.  I could handle that.  Came that time after the housekeeping chores, and as I lovingly smoothed the longish grass over the package of Twinkies, I heard Peggy exclaim with just a wee bit of Irish exasperation in her voice.."It's for the birds, dummy!" ...and proceeded to show me how to unwrap Twinkies, as if I was born yesterday.  (I was "new" at this, remember?)

Ordinarily, she refers to me as her "Favorite Pest" (and I have equally adoring words for her when I am safely ensconced in California at the other end of the telephone line) so I had to come up with something to be restored to that preferred position.  "Ohhhh, I thought that the birds might think this was a Scavenger Hunt, of sorts."  I know, utterly "lame," and if I knew then that this conversation would be captured in a Blog someday, I would have put more creative thought to it. 

In defense of my inane words, that bit of levity parlayed into one of the most joyously delightful times of being with "those who had loved all of us" in that small party of seven, "so well!"

Del, Dana and I had just returned from Atlantic when we received the news of his Mother's passing.  School was ready to open that Fall of 1975 with Dana set to enroll in First Grade.  Mary quickly packed her bags and accompanied her Dad to Atlantic to complete arrangements, a stressful situation for our then 21-year-old daughter suffering the loss of her beloved Grandmother Alcesta, now 35 years later unable to recall needed and exact details, nor was I of much help, not having been there in 1975.

It comes to mind now that "Grams" would have been more than amused that we could not readily remember her grave-site.  She had made it plainly known she wanted no tombstone nor marker and that is the way it was....the quandary for us was, which burial ground?  Being unfamiliar (then and now) with all the cemeteries in the area, Mary suggested we start our search for Grams and Gramps in the record books at the closest one, the Atlantic Cemetery.  Nothing. 

It was with the help of Linda and microfilm at the Carnegie Library that we found their sites in the Wiota Cemetery.  That made complete sense.  The small cemetery was close to the Derry acreage they farmed as a young married couple with one small child, Mary's Dad.   Off we went, as the afternoon grew longer, with general directions from Linda:  "Go to the East fence, walk down 21 rows."  That's it?  Turn right, turn left...what?

Not so easy when the rather dry grass is ankle-high and scratchy, the uneven rows of headstones and markers worn and weathered with age.  And did I mention, possibly stepping on a slumbering snake?  We were on uncharted ground.  Were Linda's instructions wrong?  Picture seven "lost" females  branching out in every direction, peering at every tombstone, timidly determined to complete this mission. And where are those three Guardian Angels when you need 'em?  It isn't as if they would be out of their "natural element"...for heaven's sake!

We had pretty much covered every inch of the grounds when I heard Mary Ray cry out, "Here it is!"  "It" being Grandpa Harvey Derry's 1934 headstone, small, tilted and not too easily seen because of a hanging bush that covered it in part.  But, where was Grams?  (After all these years, I still found myself wanting to call out, "Mom! Where are you!"  Now, let some psychologist explain that to me!)

Out of nowhere, probably just waiting for some "lame" human to shout out for clear directions, came the first simply huge black butterfly, flying into a very brisk headwind that had suddenly picked up, hovering over the space to the left of Grandpa Harvey's stone.  Why had this most logical of reasoning not come to our minds?  Perhaps for this reason...

Not believing what we were seeing, marveling at the sheer strength it must have taken that lovely creature to hover in spite of the strong summer breeze, we stood there in amazement, awestruck as that butterfly determined to settle itself upon this sacred ground.  By this time, Mary had managed to snap more than a dozen pictures to back up this tale for the retelling of it to her ladies at the beauty salon...they love her renditions of her trips to Iowa, but they do demand proof!

End of story...by no means.  There is that second butterfly!

On our way out to dinner with Alan and Molly upon day's end, we Travelers Three headed for the L.R.S. in the parking lot of Super Eight.  As I opened the passenger door, I heard a soft "thump," looked down and beheld the second most simply huge, black butterfly with the familiar white markings on its delicate wings.  This one was in distress, a sticky mass attached to its body here and there.  Its struggle to flutter those damaged wings and fly away was sorrowful to watch.

In haste, Mary hid the butterfly under a small nearby bush for its own safety before we headed for Pizza Ranch.  Still there and alive upon our return, she gathered it up with tender, loving care and brought it into the room with us.  Offering a sip of water was the most, and the least, Mary could do. 

Sadly, the butterfly did expire during the night and, yes, it is now safely resting on a glass shelf in Mary's curio cabinet that contains her treasures, a constant reminder of the mysterious and the "unknowns" that surround us.

It is now one year later, and I am still pondering about the incidents of these two butterflies.  Think about this, as I have:  if this second butterfly was also the first butterfly, remembering we are talking two completely different makes of cars involved, and we had just left the first butterfly in the Wiota Cemetery, and we are now in Atlantic, several miles and more than a few minutes away...what are the chances of that happening, slim to none?

OR...supposing this is a case of "two distinct and separate" butterflies, what force of nature led this second butterfly to become attached to the L.R.S., sitting in the far end of the parking lot, for us to discover?  Furthermore, the parking lot was fast filling up with every make of automobile at that time of the evening as weary travelers stopped for the night.  See where I am going with this?

Was this second butterfly a confirmation of what had just happened in Wiota?  I am quietly satisfied that some things are not meant for us to understand but to accept in Faith...and that is good enough for me.

Time to reveal and thank the Cast of The Atlantic Players: Relatives Sherry, Randi and Liz Cranston with Nick Kern (soon to be added to the Clan); Mary Barnholdt Ray, Mary Cranston, Alan and Molly Cranston and Gilbert, the Cat; Wendell and Shirley Weideman. 

Lifelong Friends Clifford and Leah May Berry, Johnie and Nelda Ruhr, Bob and Janice Williams, Howard and Janet Paulson, Wayne and Greta Ullerich, Merle Turner, Bill Auerbach, "Shorty" Parrott, Ethel Sorensen.  Facebook Friend Jennie Schwartz.  Del's cousin "Doc" Derry and his lovely friend, Jeri; 175 graduates of Atlantic High School attending the All-Class Reunion that final week-end, our "extended family" at Hitchcock House and, always, the Three Guardian Angels, weary but pleased as punch their work had turned out so well, poised for action, always alert.

Reluctantly, we knew it had to end, this "Once in a Blue Moon" time spent with the best of people for the best of times.  Having flunked "Farewell-101" for all the many years of returning home to one of the more colorful towns in Iowa (well, Cass County, anyway), the final test of saying "Goodbye" to the Cranston Clan in Atlantic and Des Moines was one I held few hopes of "passing" this time.

Knowing tears would flow if everybody had not "rehearsed" their supportive roles to perfection, our last farewells were, once again, "run through" over final meals at Perkin's Restaurant and the Machine Shed before that "cut and print" trip to the airport...stellar performers, all!

What is there about a little old lady in Kohl's tennis shoes from Arcadia that fairly shouts out to Security Guards between home and Des Moines..."Search me!  Search me!"  I have seen the most scurrilous of people amble through security lines without a second glance.  The atmosphere becomes charged, I swear, the minute I hand over my shoes, magnetic wraps, organizer purse, cosmetic bag and concealed-in-the-bra traveling money. 

After the most thorough search ever of my flying experiences, I jokingly made an aside to a fellow passenger that I had just "had everything done" except a massage at which time my new Best Friend casually walked over and gently rubbed my right shoulder.  A bit taken aback that I had been overheard by this young lady, I smiled and said, "Thank you!' and exited laughing....   I passed!

The End

In loving memory of Leah May Berry, the dearest of friends, July 5, 2011.