The brass angels holding their tall candles aloft are standing vigil in my entryway these days. The angels were a gift from my daughter Jean more than 20 years ago, and I’ve kept them close at hand ever since. As you can see in the above photo, one angel is taller than the other, reminding me of a mother and daughter.
Ever since I received the brass angels, they’ve appeared from time to time in my dreams, sometimes floating in mid-air in the living room and occasionally standing above the foot of my bed watching over me.
The angels were an appropriate gift from Jean who worried about me because I seldom paid attention to weather reports and was frequently oblivious to tornado alerts and warnings of other potentially catastrophic conditions.
In the early 90s, I left Minnesota to sojourn briefly in the foothills of the Allegheny Mountains in western Pennsylvania. When I picked up the phone that Friday evening, Jean said, “Mom, do you know what’s coming your way?”
“It’s supposed to snow, isn’t it?”
“Put the phone down, Mom, and go out in the kitchen and check your food supply. Then come back and tell me what you have on hand.”
“I have some oranges, carrots, a loaf of bread and some coffee,” I reported.
Back in St. Paul, Jean had been listening to the national weather news: the blizzard of the century was headed toward the hamlet where I lived. Following my daughter’s advice, I rushed out to stock up with groceries and other supplies.
By morning, the snow had drifted as high as the roof of my back porch, and my driveway wasn’t plowed until the following Tuesday. It was probably my imagination, but when I glanced at the brass angels on my way out that afternoon, I could have sworn the little one winked at me.
Regardless, I’d learned my lesson. By the time the snow started falling in St. Paul last Saturday morning, I had a good supply of groceries and a couple of library books to read in case I couldn’t get out for a day or two.
I got to church and back on Sunday without mishap and made a run to the supermarket to restock before the second major snowfall of the season struck yesterday.
Dodging snowstorms this first week in December has lured me away from the ups and downs of Campaign 2008 and other compelling current events to holiday preparations. My son and his wife will be here on Sunday afternoon to bake Christmas cookies and once I get this posted, I plan to do a little cleaning – very little - and decorate my apartment.
Despite our fondest hopes, my daughter Jean may not be here in person this weekend, but we hold her always in our hearts, and the treasured gift of the brass angel candleholders continuously assures us of her presence in our lives.
Ever since I received the brass angels, they’ve appeared from time to time in my dreams, sometimes floating in mid-air in the living room and occasionally standing above the foot of my bed watching over me.
The angels were an appropriate gift from Jean who worried about me because I seldom paid attention to weather reports and was frequently oblivious to tornado alerts and warnings of other potentially catastrophic conditions.
In the early 90s, I left Minnesota to sojourn briefly in the foothills of the Allegheny Mountains in western Pennsylvania. When I picked up the phone that Friday evening, Jean said, “Mom, do you know what’s coming your way?”
“It’s supposed to snow, isn’t it?”
“Put the phone down, Mom, and go out in the kitchen and check your food supply. Then come back and tell me what you have on hand.”
“I have some oranges, carrots, a loaf of bread and some coffee,” I reported.
Back in St. Paul, Jean had been listening to the national weather news: the blizzard of the century was headed toward the hamlet where I lived. Following my daughter’s advice, I rushed out to stock up with groceries and other supplies.
By morning, the snow had drifted as high as the roof of my back porch, and my driveway wasn’t plowed until the following Tuesday. It was probably my imagination, but when I glanced at the brass angels on my way out that afternoon, I could have sworn the little one winked at me.
Regardless, I’d learned my lesson. By the time the snow started falling in St. Paul last Saturday morning, I had a good supply of groceries and a couple of library books to read in case I couldn’t get out for a day or two.
I got to church and back on Sunday without mishap and made a run to the supermarket to restock before the second major snowfall of the season struck yesterday.
Dodging snowstorms this first week in December has lured me away from the ups and downs of Campaign 2008 and other compelling current events to holiday preparations. My son and his wife will be here on Sunday afternoon to bake Christmas cookies and once I get this posted, I plan to do a little cleaning – very little - and decorate my apartment.
Despite our fondest hopes, my daughter Jean may not be here in person this weekend, but we hold her always in our hearts, and the treasured gift of the brass angel candleholders continuously assures us of her presence in our lives.
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