May all your lights be green

It was a quiet ride home from The Frog Pond Restaurant. Mary’s morning sickness had brought a quick end to their first anniversary dinner. She was leaning toward me, but not on me, like she would have back in 50’s and 60’s, when bench seats in the front of most cars, afforded a green light for passion to continue, even while driving. She held my arm and closed her eyes, as it began to rain, and I was annoyed, not distracted by the trinket swinging from the rearview mirror. It was a mini replica of a hanging traffic light, yellow in color and only different by the fact that all three lights were green, a little tag read, “May all your lights be green”. Each time a car would come toward us, their headlights would illuminate the green light, and reflect on my beautiful wife’s face.

I turned the radio on, found an “oldies” station and tried to become one with it for the next hour or so, while Sally rested, moving only when I came to a stop sign or signal light. I remembered my granddad talking about his old Chevy, and how he and his friends would drive around on Friday nights, cruising he called it, specifically cruising the drag. In those days, there was one light in the center of town and it was usually, blinking yellow. If you followed route 28 out of the center toward Brockton and right up Main Street, you could rev your engine, wave at girls and look cool. At the top of Main Street, a section named Montello, there was a large clock in the middle of the street and you could circle around to the left and go right back where you started from, as hundreds did on a nice warm Friday night. Granddad, enjoyed the carefree days when gasoline was always around .19 cents per gallon at Tri-S or Travelers gas stations, and a few quarters from all riders, kept the cycle going. Easier times, he called them, they held their best girl close as they rode around to dances or parties during school, and pool parties or the beach in summer. Grabbing several .15 cent Henri’s burgers or pulling in to Dog n Suds for a root beer and to talk to a roller-skating girl that would one day be his wife, continuing the lifestyle of the earlier generation, that went to Bob & Kens Restaurant, or the Knotty Pine for pizza. In common for all generations, to this very day, was Cape Cod Pizza in Campello on Brockton’s south side.

A pothole, jerked me back to current day, and a commercial about a local furniture company and its indoor roller coaster, was just ending. Mary woke and I asked how she was feeling, and she offered that she felt like she might have the flu. She felt fevered, and was shivering a bit as I switched the heat up, so she’d be comfortable. I told her we’d be back to granddads house in 20 minutes, and she could get a nice refreshing shower and a cozy bed, and as a very special bonus, me to keep her warm. She looked over and smiled as she squeezed my arm.

Next song, ( https://youtu.be/ZRfRITVdz4k ) Poison Ivy by The Coasters, “Late at night, while your sleepin’, Poison Ivy comes creapin’ around” I sung low, so as not to disturb Mary, but she knew I couldn’t resist belting the chorus out each time it came around, and soon, I was. Who could forget those unforgettable lines “measles make you mumpy and mumps will make you lumby, and Chicken Pox will make you jump and twitch, the common cold will fool you, and Whooping Cough will cool you, but Poison Ivy Lord will make you itch” and under your breath you say “what a bitch”, Mary reached up and pretended to slap me just as we made the right into the driveway at 361 Spring Street, careful to not hit the Lilac Tree, threatening to take over the entire town.

Granddad was waiting up for us, but grandma had gone to bed early. I explained that Mary was feeling ill, and could use a quick shower and a cozy bed, to let the medicinal properties of sleep do their healing. He put the tea kettle on, and prepared a cup, so that when Mary was ready to get in bed, she could go down with a cup of chamomile tea, to help her sleep, and grandma swore was the only medicine needed by humanity.

In the background, I could hear big band music, I guessed Glenn Miller, but granddad said it was Tommy Dorsey and related that his dear wife (my grandma) and her sister once sang with The Tommy Dorsey Band in Portland, Maine, during World War II. I felt an awesome sense of connection to that era, and felt grateful for being brought up with all kinds of music, including Rap music from its beginnings back in the 70’ and 80’s to the current iteration. Granddad had the right idea, he just imagined dancing with my mother cheek to cheek, if the music didn’t match the dancing, he had no use for it. It made sense to me.

I woke first and could hear cardinals making their tunes outside in the giant pine trees, planted by the next-door neighbors when Granddad was a teenager. I slipped out of bed and into some jean shorts and went for a walk before everyone was up, it was quiet, and dewy, perfect for those moments when your alone with your thoughts and can commune with nature, the cosmos and in my case, God. “Please heal Mary, Lord; and care for the child she carries, I love them and You, I know You are in charge, and I thank You in advance, in Jesus’ name, Amen.” Twenty minutes into the walk, it was time to turn around and walk back up the same street granddad and grandma use to take every school day. It wasn’t the typical 20 miles in snow up to your hips kind of hill, but definitely an upward slope and certainly, as many through the years could attest was a character builder. Getting back to the house, there was a big “Favorite Granddad” coffee mug full of hot steaming freshly brewed Ethiopian Yirgacheffe coffee, I had been smelling it from North Elm Street. Granddad and I talked about the Red Sox and their ups and downs, and I asked questions like why no one had thought to put the name of town on the water towers, or a picture of a Wildcat, the high school mascot that granddads class of 1965 had voted into existence. Granddad came back with a question, why do mail boxes never have the name of the people who own it on it? When he was a boy, that’s how you knew who lived there. I don’t know, was my answer. Grandma appeared and joined us at the kitchen table blowing slowly over her hot cup of medicinal tea of the week, and taking a small sip. She said she had looked in on Mary and she’s still sleeping. Kissing granddad affectionately, she sat in a bench seat where the sun was shining through brightly, “this is my favorite place for my morning tea”, she said.

Their kitchen was different from when granddad had moved in there in 1957. He recalled on the right as you entered the kitchen form the side porch, there was an old black wood burning stove; he said it took four men to remove it from the house, even after taking the doors off and all the iron parts, they just don’t make them like that anymore, was a unanimous thought for all involved in moving it out, and moving a newer one into the house. Rooms were painted, or wallpapered, and a green wall to wall carpet was installed. Each window shade on the first floor had little miniature traffic lights hanging from them, one of them was hanging from my rearview mirror today, and I noticed that granddad still had his in his old Chevy. Grandma had made changes to the house to brighten it everywhere, it reflected her personality and her always positive outlook on life. She talked about my dad, her oldest son, and stories of he and his brother, uncle Chris. They were tasked to mow the lawn, hang laundry and taking it down in the winter, because grandma, loved fresh smelling clothes and sheets in the summer. She especially remembered in winter how the sheets would freeze solid and look like large sails, getting ready to fly off to Timbuktu, which would have thawed them out in a hurry, I thought.

Mary came down, finally. She looked refreshed, and even more beautiful than I could ever remember, hugging and kissing her, I handed her off to my grandparents for some more lovin’, and made her a cup of tea. She said she was feeling much better, no upset belly, and her headache and fever were gone. She said they needed to go out to lunch because she was starving, “I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning”. She would order a cheeseburger and fries for sure and said “I need a nice vanilla milkshake, maybe two, because, after all, I am eating for two, and milk is good for you, right?” Mary was excited to finish lunch and drive to her grandparent’s house on the other side of town, unlike mine, they did not know they were about to become great grandparents. They would be over the moon thrilled, and her granny would squeeze the burger and fries out of her granddaughter, in a good way. Laughing and smiling, we drove the two miles, going through the only traffic signal which, just for us, was a green light.