I think I’m in love – with Avoca, Nebraska! Returning from Wisconsin where I saw my youngest Grand graduate from high school, we had reserved rooms at the Motel 6. Motel 6 often gets a bad rap; the one in Avoca is quite satisfactory – and allows pets with no added fee.
There was a time when most clothing hung in closets on wire hangers. Suits. Blouses. Skirts. Pants. Sweaters with pokey nobs on the shoulders caused by the wire hanger. I think the wire hangers usually arrived with dry cleaning. At least, that’s the way it seemed to me. Well, actually, the first five of the wire hangers usually came home with the dry cleaning. A week later, so it seemed, there were ten wire hangers. And, then, there were twenty. And MORE and MORE.
As Daughter #1 and I drove into the city from our Wisconsin trip, we chose to go through town using streets and not highways. Arriving at the edge of the city about 3 pm, we thought the highways would be clogged with home bound workers. They were. We also encountered detours that sent us onto streets we hadn’t planned to traverse.
Ribbons By The Highway
When I climb out of the Mississippi River valley at Dubuque, Iowa, either east or west on Highway 151, the cliffs always intrigue me. I must have photographed them dozens of times. Traveling to Wisconsin with Daughter #1, this year, was no different. So, I photographed them, again.
We were going to see Grand #2 graduate from high school. And, to help with her celebration party on the next Sunday. It’s hard to believe that she will be going to college in the fall. Still age seventeen, she won’t be eighteen until August. A young college freshman, I think. Then, I remember that I was only two months older than she when I started my college freshman year. And, I survived, met the man I would marry a year later, and start my next life as college student, wife, and educator.
As you know, I am a poet, and I write a poem every month for the Denver Gem and Mineral Guild’s newsletter, Tips and Chips. The poem below appeared in this year’s July edition of that newsletter.
Ribbons
A Haibun
by
Marj Becker
Climbing out of the town of Dubuque, Iowa, into the State of Wisconsin, I’m always struck by the beauty of the road side decorations. Miles and miles of stone ribbons line Highway 151. Browns. Yellows. Reds. And, black. Layer upon layer of these stones. As if someone has taken mayonnaise and ketsup and mustard and smoothed these sandwich decorations between two pieces of bread.
Red and yellow. Black.
Stone layered between the grass.
Meal for a giant.
The highways from Wisconsin to home stretch out in front of us. Ribbons of highways in front of us and in back of us. Sometimes, straight. Sometimes, curly. Sometimes, four lanes across. Sometimes, only two.
This is where we’ll go.
Over hill and over dale.
Ribbons take us home.
As little girls, we had long hair in braids. And, always had ribbons at the ends of the braids. Dresses were frilled with ribbons at the neck and sleeves and around the waist. Sometimes, curled. Sometimes, sewed on straight. But, always ribbons to adorn the plainest of dresses. Occasionally, around the hem.
A new dress for me.
Mom made one for each of us.
Mom knew what to do.
Be Safe and Be Well.
The Cranky Crone
Thoughtful comments are appreciated.