Hometown Brandon - Winter 2015

Camille Anding
The Time Coin
It was with reluctance and a heavy dose
of nostalgia that Maria turned the
calendar page from December to
January of a new year. She regretted leaving
all the joys that spilled over the month of
December. She wasn’t ready physically or
mentally to leave the celebration and
return to schedules and neat, uncluttered
bedrooms – to meals that didn’t end in chocolate – to a pantry and
cabinets void of grandchildren delights – to workdays that would
replace lazy mornings of flannel pajamas and flavored coffees.
Maria smiled as she remembered her pajama-clad family rushing
into the frosty backyard to “ooh” and “aww” over the trophy buck
draped over her grandson’s four-wheeler. She would want to remember
the tastes of her mother’s ambrosia and grandmother’s tomato gravy
brought to the table via their original recipes.
Her December sound bank was packed with harmonious blending
of grandchildren’s voices from the fireside carols and the squeals of
grandchildren running down the hall Christmas morning. Reading
books to her toddler grandchild still carried a warmth that blankets and
thermostats couldn’t duplicate.
Suddenly a regret from one of those December nights settled over
Maria in a nostalgic cloud. The entire family had just finished another
meal. The men had retreated to a lounging
position near the den fire and the females were
intent on making dessert and coffee last a few
minutes longer. Virginia, her five-year-old
grand, leaned into Maria’s ear and whispered,
“Nana, let’s go snuggle in your bed and watch a
Christmas movie.”
Maria gave her a typical “just a minute”
reply as the dirty dishes and clean-up took priority. In what seemed like
a short time, Maria went to join her little bedfellow. She was under the
covers but already in a deep sleep. Maria’s heart sank. She whispered her
name, but Virginia’s childhood energy mode had switched to “recharge”
and her day was ended.
Maria had missed the special invitation and the calendar wouldn’t
offer another like it in December. To most, it might appear a small thing
among so many joys, but it continued to leave Maria with regret. Some
joys, some invitations have expiration dates.
The New Year begins with a new resolve for Maria. She’s acutely
aware that the year will hold opportunities to respond immediately to
life’s invitations and promptings. She could fall victim to busy-ness and
forfeit blessings or indulge in treasured memory-making. It would be
her choice. She had grown wiser. She knows from experience that regret
is a heartless thief. ■
82 • Winter 2015