the 21st century. It prospered well with decorated pony rides and a petting zoo. I parked the car and stared transfixed in awe, my mind drifting back to my childhood. The Sunday afternoon family trip to the cider mill and the old bulky family sedan with its rusty floorboards and monster sized back seats.
The new interstate put the aging mill within a twenty-minute ride from home; however, the longer scenic route was much more to our liking. The mill stood on the outskirts of a sloping and wooded state park that was empty of summer picnickers by this time each year.
I remember the sky as blue as a robin's egg with swirls of puffy white clouds painting a perfect backdrop for the turning leaves of nugget gold and crimson red. The honking of the wild geese with their shrill cries in their migrating "V" formation heard in the cool, crisp air. The thick layer of fallen leaves from the semi-nude trees presented a delight for the children's play fights. In the midst of the park, children would search for the fallen pinecones like hidden treasures. An occasional shutterbug would capture forever the picturesque setting. Young couples walked hand-in-hand shutting out the rest of the world while back packers would find strength in soaking up the tranquility of the earth's magnetic attraction.
Our family parked and walked the winding and deserted train tracks that pierced the park's beauty and led directly to the cider mill. The trip down the tracks seemed like miles for us children, but finally the mill appeared in the distance. The waiting crowd resembled miniature dots stretching as far as the eye could see. The dots became visible as people the closer the mill became. All the dots were waiting in line for that sweet tasting freshly milled cider and fresh baked donuts that melted in your mouth.
The closer to the mill the sweeter the air became. An aged converted barn, with the ear deafening squeal of motors and the turning of gears inside it's' walls meant that fresh cider was soon to be our justified reward. The owners of the mill knowing delights like these were impossible for the waiting crowd to ignore offered samples to the waiting crowd. The children pulled and tugged at their parents until most of the unsuspecting bought more than they planned.
Picnic tables around the exterior of the time worn barn provided a place for the consumption of the tasty treats. Parents with bag of donuts stuck under their arms and jugs of cider leaving the barn as they sipped paper cups of cider that was so seasonal that within weeks would be just another yearly memory. My mind snapped back to the present and I knew I had to relive the memory one last time and indulge my senses.
I sought the shortest line and waited my turn. A dozen donuts and a quart of cider later I reversed direction in my rented sedan and headed back to the hotel. Neither of which made it back in one piece. I gave new meaning to the phrase "pig out" but it was worth it. Can't say it did much for my case of mild depression. I'm not even sure that all those memories I evoked were beneficial. It certainly was making me take an in-depth look at my life
Now I can tolerate the unpleasant task that lay ahead of me.
The Green Eyed Monster Strikes Again
Shelby planned to tell her husband Donald their marriage was over. The jealous rages and alcoholic accusations Donald brought to the marriage had her at the lowest depressive state conceivable. When they met, she was thrilled with the attention. She mistook his constant and devoted behavior as endearing. It was a new experience for her. Not ready for a commitment, he wore her down until she agreed to marry him. That was eighteen months ago.
Her eyes opened to the constant drinking after the short courtship and civil ceremony. There were sly comments made about her flirting with other men. On numerous evenings, he passed out on the couch from his drinking. Shelby, a gregarious person by nature was also a free spirit. Donald pushed these attributes inward there they stayed buried.
Running late, twenty-two year old Shelby glanced at her watch. She was meeting her husband for dinner at the Bull and Bear Sports Bar on Canal Street. The Bull and Bear was a favorite drinking establishment for the white-collar offices of local attorneys, stockbrokers and insurance executives. The patrons of the bar all knew Donald by sight. He arrived daily from his job as chief mechanical engineer for the local high-rise office building. Donald was out of place among the tailored suits and manicured nails in his maintenance uniform but he didn't seem to notice.
She hesitated as she entered the bar and heaved a heavy sigh. Donald was talking loudly and expressing himself with his hands to the others at the bar. His speech was slurred, and being his usual boisterous self, he spotted her entrance and staggered over to greet her.
"Hi, beautiful. You're still the most beautiful girl in the world." He grabbed her and planted a passionate beer infused kiss on her mouth.
"Donald, please, do you have to do that? Everybody is watching." It appeared the patrons shared her embarrassment.
"Awe, they think it's cute." He turned to the bartender, "Right Al?"
Al smiled, nodded and continued wiping the bar.
"Well, I don't think so. Can't it wait until we get home?" They sat at a table near the rear and ordered dinner and drinks. Shelby had learned early in their relationship that it was better to drink with Donald than to deal with him sober. Tonight was no exception.
"Do I embarrass you?" Donald slurred as he brought his beer to his lips.
"In fact, yes."
"Yeah, I see you eyeing that suit at the next table." He turned to face the table in question. "Maybe you would rather be with him."
The couple at the next table was entrenched in their own conversation. Their only indiscretion being that the man sat in direct eye contact with Shelby and therefore became an object of Donald's jealousy. Donald believed she and he were carrying out a secret signal through eye contact that never existed.
"You're crazy." Donald became more raucous and obnoxious. "You think I don't know what you're doing." The bar patrons hushed and stared. "I know when you left me last month that you had another man waiting for you. Well you can just go back to him, if I'm not man enough for you." The irony in that statement rebounded. Shelby did not have another man, nor did she want one. She left Donald, without warning after a major fight for a period of 48 hours. He called her at work, pleading with her to come back, promising to quit drinking. He did quit, for three days.
Shelby picked up her purse walking out of the bar without a backwards glance. She caught the next city bus home and waited for the fight to continue after Donald's arrival. Instead, they both played the silent treatment. The next morning Donald acted as if nothing happened. She knew it was not over. The conversation she wanted to have the night before never took place.
"Are you going to ride in to town with me this morning, sweetie?" Donald asked, as he made ready for work.
"No, you go ahead. I have a violent headache this morning. I think I'll call in and take the day off. I have some sick time coming." Shelby was already plotting her next move.
"Okay honey. I'll check on you later. Hugs and kisses." He gave her a kiss and left.
She waited until Donald would be at work and could not double-back and check on her, then picked up the phone and called her boss.
‘Beth, I hate to do this to you and I'm not going to lie. I have to quit my job and disappear."
Beth knew about Shelby's abusive husband. "Shelby, I am so sorry. I will not even try to talk you out of it. When you are settled, let me know. You know I will give you a good recommendation."
"Thank you, Beth that means the world to me."
Knowing this day would come, Shelby tucked away a little money in an old purse, forgotten in the back of their closet. She packed her canvas duffle bag also laying neglected in the closet, took only what she needed and walked out the door of their sparsely decorated apartment for the last time.
Waiting...
I am the happiest woman alive, or so it seems most days. The rest of the world doesn't matter, at least not to me. My name is Mary Jane White and I reached my fifth birthday last month. I'
ve heard about people, especially woman who lament this milestone. I however, have a wonderful husband, three lovely grandchildren, live by the sea and deliver mail to the seaport town of Pelican's Bluff, a community of 2,000 where time has stood still.
Most of the town was born here and probably will die here. My husband and I are the exceptions. My husband Gary found me on a business trip and brought me to this lovely village and here we chose to stay. He is a writer and I design greeting cards. We've made a modest living over the years and have few regrets.
There is one black cloud over my utopia. Her name is Muriel Potter. Muriel is 92 going on ancient. I deliver her mail at 23 Alabaster Lane. She is the thorn in my side. However, truthfully, I could remove the thorn if I really wanted to.
Muriel is a roadmap of deep lines throughout her visible anatomy. Her snarled hands resembled an old oak tree. She has a hunch almost to a 90-degree angle from age. She doesn't bathe or change clothes as often as she should. Her little aging cottage sits on the edge of the sea where she can see everything and anything that goes on. She doesn't miss much even with her diminished vision.
Muriel's home is dark and musty. It has a permanent odor of cabbage soup due to windows rarely being open. Her furnishings looked as if they hadn't been moved or cleaned since WWII. The