Waiting and Hiding in Grandma Klimek's Dining Room

Inside Grandma's Dining Room

Last time I talked with Sandy she mentioned the stained glass in Grandma Klimek's Dining Room. Where in the world could it be? How awful if it were broken. Better had it been stolen. Hopefully someone, somewhere still enjoyed it--but most likely it had been stored underneath a cabin, or in the big garage, or even under the lodge itself before the wrecking crew came in to tear the old building apart. Probably it had been there, dirty, unrecognizable, and ground to bits under the treads of the bulldozer or the heavy boots of men. Things get lost when taken from their proper place, even precious things.

There were two windows, with a clock between--remember? Where Mary Jane sat waiting for her mama to return from town. The clock ticked and tocked the minutes by like heartbeats that became more lonesome as time passed. She couldn't move, that little girl, so bound as she was to the waiting, as though she could work magic by her stillness and the listening to the heartbeats of the clock and of the rain, and gazing through the window down the road. But I've told you that before. Writing it didn't take it from me, though, and here it is again. Seventy years have passed, and here it still exists. The child cannot rise from her little chair underneath the clock and walk into the living room. Even more could she not take herself outside. Something that makes the magic of return might snap. Some silver cord. Might. Snap.

The Clock, Grandma, and Some Mid-day Guests

The clock is clear, but I can't see Grandma Klimek's face because of the blur. She must have turned her head, and back then in the time of analog and shutters and film, nothing moved so very fast. She managed to hide whatever might otherwise be clear about her. I've found no pictures taken in the kitchen. Maybe she could be more clear there. It's odd, though, because I think she enjoyed being noticed. But that doesn't mean something isn't also hidden, does it? I warm to her when I imagine she is hiding something so important to herself she would quickly turn her head to blur our seeing it.

Mary Jane was a silver cord, a circle 8 in and out of this room. (Maybe this room is a metaphor--I hadn't thought of that)  Maybe the child both kept and broke the spell, the way she brought the outside in and kept the inside out.

Outside

See the sign "REFRESHMENTS"? That's the outside of where you were a moment ago. From outside you cannot see the little girl underneath the clock, nor the woman who turned her face, nor the light through the stained glass, nor the linen-covered tables and chairs. You cannot see the buffet that held the ice-cream wafers with their soft cream filling. You cannot see the big Lake of the Woods Muskie on the wall, nor the elegant but unfortunate deer. You cannot see the fishermen. You cannot see the flowers. You cannot see the ice in the water glasses--ice that the winter before was taken from the lake and stored in the ice-house. You cannot hear the waitress argue with the cook behind the door to the kitchen. You cannot know about the hiding nor the waiting nor the little chair nor the magical spells.

Does it amaze you how different outside is from in? When you think about the flowers, does it amaze you that the geraniums in the window boxes outside look tattered? When you think about the linen covered tables and chairs, do you wonder about the rutted road and the weeds in the grass? Are you even sure that I'm telling you the truth, and that you've seen the in and out of the very same place?

I don't remember if all this amazed Mary Jane, though I am quite sure she felt and obeyed the magic of it. The be-still-and-wait wound the magic cord around the ticking of the clock, the dripping of the rain, the vision of an old, old car twisting down the gravel road and taking time with it--taking Mama out. The child held that place inside, underneath the ticking clock, keeping the magic cord, watching the raindrops on the gravel road. Splashing. (I've told you this before. Remember. But it doesn't disappear. And it is different this time. Do you see?) She stayed in. She held the cord. She kept the outside in. The rain slowed and ceased. The car twisted up the road. It parked underneath the stained glass windows. And the spell did not break.