Cathy C. Hall Writes

Mom and Dad in the kitchen

When my father died last year, the house at the beach was passed on to me and my brothers. At first, we planned to sell the house. But the more I thought of that house and all the happy memories I had there, the more I wanted to keep the house.

Fortunately, my oldest brother who lives in Savannah wanted to keep the house as well. So we did, and this past weekend, I met with my brother and sister-in-law to talk about the house. What we needed to fix, needed to replace, that sort of thing.

Now, left up to me, because as I may have mentioned before I’m a kind of laissez-faire person (which sounds ever so much better than lazy), everything looked just fine and dandy to me. Mom and Dad’s furniture, Mom and Dad’s colors, Mom and Dad’s style. But it became apparent that my sister-in-law wanted to make a lot of changes. New furniture, new colors, new style.

I think she was a little nervous, too, trying to be sensitive–or maybe respectful–of my feelings. But here’s the thing: I understood her need to make the house a home for her and her family, so that she didn’t feel like she was living in some sort of shrine to my parents. And of course, she wanted me to be happy with the changes as well; mostly, she didn’t want to tread on my memories.

It’s a fact, I miss my mom and dad. But no amount of paint, or new appliances, or beachy style would make me forget my parents. They’ll always be with me in that house because they’re always in my heart.

My hairdresser–isn’t it weird how we tell our hairdressers everything?–said my attitude was unusual, that most people would have difficulty letting go. Maybe that’s so, but I was raised by a woman who was constantly throwing out or giving away my stuff. Sometimes, while I was still using it.

So maybe I learned a long time ago that things are not memories, or that letting go–whether it’s people I love, or stuff I love, or even words I love in a manuscript–helps me move on to joy rather than sadness.

What about you? Do you agree with my hairdresser? Or are you more like me? (Um….I did keep a few things, like my dad’s desk, and my mom’s secretary; I’m not a barbarian. And a few books and some pictures. Little things. A note on the fridge in my mom’s handwriting…

Okay. Well. I kept a lot of writing-related stuff. I think that’s perfectly okay, don’t you?)

Today is World Read Aloud Day–wheeee! wrad2017spotfinal

I might be a little Cathy-Come-Lately to all the fun activities that you can participate in (and the registration). But there’s still time to read aloud, even if it means grabbing a grown-up Junior Hall and reading his favorite book from long, long ago.

Reading aloud was one of my all-time favoritest activities with my kidders. “Read me a story, Mommy!” was music to my ears! And now that I think about it, each kid enjoyed reading aloud in his or her own unique way.

Oldest Junior Hall LOVED for me to read aloud! From the time he was an itty-bitty till…well, gosh, it must’ve been right before he started middle school because his little brother was in first grade then. If he heard me reading in Youngest Junior Hall’s room, he’d make a mad dash to sit on the end of the bed, just to listen. (I’m not gonna lie. I was a very entertaining reader.)

He loved funny books best of all, and though he had favorites, he craved variety. And so we’d head home from the library, arms aching from as many books as we could carry.

Juniorette Hall, now, she was independent from the get-go. She’d listen to Mom read aloud but as soon as she could read–and really, even before she could actually read, she memorized the text of her favorites and would insist on “reading”–she’d rather do it herself.

She loved ballerina books and mermaid books, and not surprisingly, she grew up to be a dancer. She still dances, and it’s very possible she thinks she’s a mermaid, too.

Youngest Junior Hall. Whew. He was a challenge. Getting that boy to sit still and listen to a story was not easy. He’d rather play baseball or build a fort or explore the woods or dig a hole. You get the picture. Fortunately, though, he LOVED dogs. And so once I found dog books–very short dog books–he’d allow a bit of reading aloud at the end of the day.

Eventually, he settled on one dog book. Every. Single. Day. I read the same book, something about counting dogs. You’d think I could remember the title, wouldn’t you? I guarantee that child remembers the title. Could probably recite the book by heart.

He’s coming by today so I’ll ask him. Maybe I’ll even find the book and we’ll read it aloud together. And I hope you’ll join me in celebrating World Read Aloud Day, maybe share one of your favorite read-aloud books or stories.

Oh, yes, please! I’d love to hear all about your read-aloud adventures. Tell me a story, friends!