I wonder if trees ever want to run. Are they discontent with staying put? A nice gentle breeze that rustles through their leaves feels good. But does it bother them when fierce winds buffet and they can’t duck?

A gentle rain is refreshing but are they frightened for life and limb during perilous lightning striking downpours? Do you think they’re sad that children don’t climb, swing and giggle in them because they’ve been replaced by video games?

People flock, phones and cameras in hand, to marvel at them in the Fall. Yes, when they are shedding their coats of many colors before standing exposed and abandoned in the cold. Would they want to hide their nakedness?

Do they know how important they are? How beautiful? Even the twisted ones?  Maybe especially the twisted ones. They are life givers and friends. They are oxygen, fruit, flowers, medicine, shelter, and shade. 

Some do travel:

Trees are primped and trimmed and cared for before being cut down to be magically transformed with lights, bangles, and garlands, bringing joy to families everywhere.

They are homes to birds and squirrels before becoming homes for people. Shady places to sit under before becoming tables and chairs. They traverse lakes, streams and oceans as boats. And as crates, they see the world.

If they knew their fates, would they choose to stay rooted – content in their healthy, health-giving small worlds? I wonder.

My mother and sister paid for a cruise to Hawaii. The two of them, me, and my niece. We thoroughly enjoyed one another’s company. But the cruise?

I felt like I was trapped in a hotel/mall. There was a lot of water, a ton of mediocre food, and plenty of schnorrers. 

At our first island stop, the barn doors opened, and all the “cruisers” trampled out. A well-fed joyful family pushed past us. One of them yelled, “C’mon, I know where there’s a Walmart!”

I checked the list in my head. Beach, snorkeling, restaurant, shopping, scenery….No Walmart? One of Hawaii’s can’t miss sites? It was my first cruise. I was such a novice.

When we walked away from the ship, we hopped on a tourist trap bus that went around in a big circle. We stopped at a shop, an aquarium, and a waterfall. All in all, it wasn’t bad.

My sister made plans during the trip for a helicopter flight over an active volcano. To my mother’s over obvious relief, the weather was not cooperative. The flight was cancelled. 

When the ship was at sea, there were crafts. We made necklaces out of some kind of big black seeds called Kakui nuts.  The instructor told some story of them being good luck as she gave very slow, detailed step by step directions that boiled down to string the seeds together and tie the string. I took the best picture of my niece’s “please just shoot me” face. Unfortunately, I lost all the pictures from that trip – deleted by accident – pre cloud.

I never planned to go on another cruise, but I have to admit to a few highlights.

One was Fanning Island. There was some sort of tax savings, making the trip more affordable if the ship made the excursion to this tiny, sparsely inhabited, tropical island. We were greeted by musicians and vendors. We bought hats made out of palm fronds and walked away from the hubbub. We only walked a short distance and found ourselves on a white sand, pristine, undisturbed beach.  Palm trees bowed toward the ocean and flowering shrubs poked out of the ground. We found a log to sit on. It was dreamlike for about ten minutes. Then other cruisers started to appear, breaking the spell.  My mom and I sat there but my sister and niece kept walking and met a very interesting woman. She was a professor who imparted some local lore as well as a bit of her own history and connection to the island.

Another highlight was a stop at the big Island where my sister wanted to snorkel. She found a rental shack where the proprietor advised her to forego renting snorkels and masks. He said there had been a storm the day before and the surf was murky. She wouldn’t see much and was probably wasting her time and money.  She said, “Okay, good, I’d like two snorkels and two masks, please.”

I sat on the beach and watched the purses, clothes and towels, as she and her daughter headed for the water. There was a mound of sand, a small dune, that obstructed my view of them. A few minutes after I lost sight of them, my sister appeared, smiling like she had just found a pirate’s hidden treasure. She yelled to me, “There’s a sea turtle!” I gathered all the stuff in my arms and ran down. Everyone within hearing distance of my sister also came running. There she was – a giant sea turtle, in full view, blissfully unaware of her stardom, gracefully skirting along the edge of the surf, close to the beach.  It seems that this rare sighting was the result of the storm and murky water.  

And one more highlight I have to mention. There was “entertainment” on the cruise. My mom wanted to go see a comedian. I don’t remember his name. I don’t remember one joke. I didn’t even remember his name or jokes the next day.

This is what I remember. My mother wanted to get there early for a good seat. My sister and niece said they’d meet us there. We were early and had a choice of all the good first row seats. We took a four-person semi-circle padded sofa right up front.  The theatre started to fill up. Many people asked if they could sit there. “Are these seats taken?”  “Could we sit here?” were politely asked, and immediately shot down. “No, I’m sorry,” my mom replied over and over. “They’re taken.” She shooed people away, guarding those seats like a pitbull. A few minutes after the show started and my sister and niece still hadn’t arrived, a familiar old time comedian and his beautiful young date showed up and he asked, “Is this seat taken?” I had to stifle a laugh when my mother, recognizing him, immediately replied, “No, it’s not!”

They were nice, introduced themselves, and told us they promised the comedian they would catch his show.  I don’t know what they thought about him. He did seem to be working a little too hard, and sadly garnered few laughs from the audience.

As it turned out, my sister and niece never made it to the show, so it was nice that the seats did end up being occupied. And my mom enjoyed meeting Marty Allen and his wife.

Watching a rerun of Monk. It’s August so naturally, a Christmas episode is on.  It starts out with an office party at the precinct. I’ve been to a few office parties. They weren’t as good as the ones on tv. They were mostly boring.  Not much fun and no murders.

But then I thought of my mom – as I often do. There were times she pulled Christmas out of thin air. 

One year my mother had been in the hospital. When it got close to Christmas, she told us she had no money and couldn’t afford to buy gifts.  We didn’t care.  We were happy she was home and that we were all together.  So, on Christmas morning we weren’t expecting anything.  We were shocked to wake up to lots of presents under the tree.  I always liked games and there were at least a dozen games for me.  They were used.  All the gifts under the tree were gently loved. She said she went to an auction. 

She didn’t just whip up Christmases for us. There were Christmas parties she organized for the VFW. And the shows and skits she produced and directed for her senior center.  She entertained at a nursing home one year. She plays Christmas carols on the piano for us and others.  But watching Monk, one particular Christmas memory surfaced.

At one point my mom worked in an office and got laid off in the Fall. She found another job right away, but it only lasted about six months because in the Spring, the company that laid her off asked her to come back.

When December rolled around, she got a phone call from someone she’d worked with for those six months. She invited my mom to their annual Christmas party, saying, “Last year when you were here, it was the best party we ever had!”

My mother has a knack for whipping up a bit of magic now and then. Or is it a bit of whimsy?

When I was young, most people in our town were doing well financially and many had pets – pedigree pets. We and some others had mutts and whatever the equivalent of that is in the feline genus.

Zorro was one of our more memorable pups. He was the most spirited dog we ever had. If you put him on a leash, he’d break it even though he wasn’t very big. He was strong, wiry, and fast. He had short, coarse, shimmery, jet-black fur. Except on his back. He had a skin problem and had no fur on his back.

That didn’t stop my mom from entering him into a best of show contest. Fortunately, costumes were encouraged. With her usual magic, she whipped one up with stuff on hand. Nothing elaborate. She made a cape that covered his embarrassing condition with short ties to attach around his neck. Then a tiny mask for his eyes. And finally, she fashioned a sword out of cardboard and aluminum foil and attached it to his collar. We laughed because, well, he was Zorro. We loved him but he was not a good looking dog even without his malady.  He won – blue ribbon – first prize. 

My grandmother died when my mother was very young. I’m not sure what her diet was like when her mother was alive, but it took a varied, erratic, turn afterward as her father took over.

Sometimes my mother would be in charge of breakfast for herself and younger brother. One favorite creation de jour was crushed saltines in coffee. Other times, her dad would make oatmeal. She described it as so thick you could put your spoon into it, turn the bowl upside down and it wouldn’t move. She and her brother tried to “fix” it by adding canned milk and sugar. They didn’t have fresh milk. 

My grandfather baked his own bread. Who doesn’t love the aroma of fresh baked bread? I’m not sure what the aroma was like, but the finished product was described as concrete. Peanut butter and jelly or just jelly were the usual school lunches but even those soft spreadables didn’t affect the rock texture of his unique loaves.

My mother said he did his best but just overcooked everything, like the time he made huckleberry jam. Often my grandfather would ask a lady relative or friend how to cook something. Huckleberries grew wild in the mountains near their home and someone gave him a recipe. The result? Huckleberry tar. Nothing whets an appetite like tar on concrete.

He really did try his best to take care of the two of them. I remember overhearing my mother and her brother reminiscing. “Remember the vitamins?” he asked. And they both broke out in laughter. Apparently, a traveling salesman convinced my grandfather that his kids needed liquid vitamins. My uncle swore they were just dirt mixed with water. To add credence to this theory, he mentioned my grandfather wouldn’t try them.

When my mother turned sixteen she got a job after school and on Saturdays. Each Friday, she looked forward to a 20 cent school lunch splurge – tuna fish on soft white bread and a chocolate milk. 

I’ve never seen my mother drink chocolate milk. Not sure if it was the canned milk she had as a kid but with the exceptions of grilled cheese and pizza, my mother is anti-dairy. She still likes tuna and insists on soft white bread. Many other “health” foods like hot dogs, cold cuts, chocolate, and corn chips are part of her regular diet. She likes sugary cereals, sans milk, of course. She eats cereal dry with a cup of black coffee. For a while she was eating the magically delicious one with marshmallow shapes. Apparently, there weren’t enough marshmallows, so she bought a bag of extras to throw in. Did you know they sold those? 

My mom has an upside down food pyramid. The tiny point on the top is for fruit and vegetables. An occasional banana is the only fruit she eats and vegetables are scant unless you count sauerkraut, mustard and relish. 

There are many conflicting diets purported to restore a person’s health, or lose weight safely, or make you beautiful from the inside out, or even better, add years to your life.

My mother is 94. And there you have it. The longevity diet is pretty simple. As you mature, discard those childhood staples like tar, concrete, and dirt water vitamins and eat what you like.