Tales of Storms which Rainbows Ride
by Susan Haley
Probably next to our faith, whatever that may be, our inspirations and our personal passions, humor and the ability to laugh, especially at ourselves, feeds the soul as much as anything. I don’t know of a person who, deep down, doesn’t love to laugh and I admire those whose sense of humor is a paramount quality. I hold compassion for anyone lacking the will to search for the humorous facet of every seeming calamity. Even if it’s a delayed reaction realized in afterthought.
The lauding of ‘rainbows’ has become my ‘signature’ of sorts. Most who are familiar with my ramblings expect ample, if not voluminous, displays of poetry or prose imploring an appreciation and caring for Nature and all of Its critters, or weathering the storms of life with a good raincoat and sunglasses in their pocket. Those who’ve read Rainy Day People, know that although the fruit inside is of a serious fare, ‘Amber’, the protaganist, is a bit of a quirky nut with a tendency toward mishap in which to embroil herself. Most, too, know that ‘Amber’ is none other than this writer.
The recent gathering of Infinity Authors at Valley Forge and my subsequent jaunt to New York City provided many opportunities to attract trouble, as well as a lot of searching for the rainbows riding storms. I should’ve gotten my first clue when the week prior to my departure, my MS Word program, somehow knowing that it held all the preparatory documents needed for my big debut as an Author Panelist, decided to malfunction. Luckily, I’d duplicated much of the needed materials to PDF so was able to muddle through. Without further worry, I packed and loaded the silver Spirit car with everything but gasoline. At 6AM, I attempted to convince my two cats that I wasn’t abandoning them to a neighbor forever, and embarked on my three week, 4,000 mile trek north via the gas station where the price had risen eight cents overnight.
After a couple of days of wandering around forests and cow pastures at the farm in North Carolina, reuniting with old friends and memories, spirit rejuvenated, I shed a temporary lapse into a southern drawl, donned my ‘Author button’, and headed north for Pennsylvania and points beyond. Eleven hours later, I arrived at the home of my son in Harrisburg without incident. For ‘Amber’, a feat in itself.
Lounging, sight-seeing, and driving my daughter-in-law looney practicing my speech, filled the next four days and soon I was merging onto the Pennsylvania Turnpike headed for Valley Forge. Having viewed the Liberty Bell on a previous trip, when I discovered I was headed toward Philadelphia thanks to a wrong turn after exiting the turnpike, I drug out the infernal cell phone and called my son for a course adjustment. He knows to stay close to the device when mother is loose on the highways. Another subtle hint of what lie ahead?
That evening following more reunions with friends, Lois Stern, Donna Jaske, and I had the good fortune of a ‘run through’ of our Panel presentation with dear Jerry Simmons offering his guidance. I quickly learned that for one who becomes paralyzed with fear at the very thought of public speaking, I’d driven my daughter-in-law looney for nothing. Michael Kleiner was spared this display by arriving Friday morning. The time frame was reiterated and, no, I wouldn’t be granted extra time to have a heart attack. But, Jerry, ‘rainbow’ that he is, took me under his arc, and I’m proud to announce that Friday afternoon, I recited my part in just under the five minute mark which was being carefully guarded by another dear, our moderator, Melanie Rigney.
Sunday brought an end to another incredible Infinity Conference, and me again heading west to Harrisburg to regroup for the long awaited ‘event’ in New York City the following Saturday. The book signing in East Village had been promoted and excitedly anticipated for months! My son was to accompany me and the necessary reservations and itineraries were in place so nothing could go awry? Right? Wrong.
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An urgent cell phone call announced that due to an emergency, New Voices bookstore had to close and my signing was canceled. What?! You’re not serious! They were. Instant despair invaded my being. Disappointment threatened to render me ill. I wouldn’t even get the chance to fail! But, here we were, the car again headed north and its occupants determined to go on a rainbow hunt in the midst of the storm. Author button secured on lapel, bookbag and flyers ready, I’d make sure New York knew of my existence. Somehow.
We purchased a three day tour bus pass and began our conquering of the Big Apple. Every notable landmark was visited and on the Saturday Night Light tour, the tour guide, always looking for a comic gimic to liven the crowd, fixed his eyes on my Author button. Suffice it to say here, the rainbow appeared big time. I now know why Brian Judd touts “Beyond the Bookstore”.
Exiting the bus at Central Park and 58th, we prepared to walk back to 34th and 7th Ave - Times Square. I then learned why there’s a drug store on every corner in the city. They’re first aid stations. A row of horse drawn carriages along the perimeter of the park drew me like a magnet. To hug a horse after being surrounded by humanity for two days would be the ultimate end of a wonderful day. Wouldn’t it? No. The horse decided my finger resembled a carrot and seconds later my son was furiously attempting to halt the flow of blood exiting my body through a severed artery. Not the way I intended leaving my ‘mark’ on New York, but refusing assistance from New York’s finest, minor surgery was performed outside the corner drugstore and we started on the 24 block hike south.
Hobbling into the throngs on the Square, my ankle was immediately stomped on by someone weighing at least a thousand pounds and staring up. Now, injured in two extremities, my son decided the casualties were again mounting against us and it was time to get mother off the streets.
The next morning we headed back to Harrisburg as my walking tours were over. Upon arrival in the garage and exiting the vehicle, I was immediately struck on the forehead by a piece of lumber rebelling at the vibration of the garage door opener and breaking free of its perch in the rafters. Once more, I was seeing lights rivaling Times Square, and blood was again exiting my body out of a lump that would balloon to the size of a golf ball. Son, Bill, is totally convinced his mother is an accident in search of a place to occur, and worrying about her 1500 mile return trip that was to commence the following morning. I told him not to fear, I had a couple of really good co-pilots. He smiled, knowing I was referring to his dad and my own.
I arrived home three days later, horse bitten finger encased in bandages, a black eye, an ankle with a striking resemblance to a football, and a grateful heart. My neighbor looked at me aghast and inquired if I’d been in an accident. “Nah”, I answered, “just a few battle scars from my latest rainbow hunt. The last 600 miles were the hardest. How’s my cats?”
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Susan Haley is the author of the highly acclaimed, "Rainy Day People" This is a story of struggle and resilience. It’s rooted in truth and woven into a fresh fictional tapestry that embraces all the ageless qualities and maladies innate in the human psyche. |
Susan resides and works in Sarasota on the Gulf Coast of Florida. She is a speaker and represents writer's interests at conferences. She is a poet and an animal lover. Please visit her website at www.sucarha.com.
Thanks Susan for the article... John Wolf
