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No matter how hard she tried, Callie couldn’t get those lines out of her mind. That refrain just kept playing through her head, no matter how busy she’d been preparing and pulling off another Thanksgiving at the Harold’s house, another filled with family laughs, left over turkey sitting on the counter, and dishes filling the table, sink, and the dishwasher.

She was just simply exhausted from the whole ordeal. Tomorrow she’d laugh at it and put it all in her memory where it would stay, and through the years the good things would be the survivors, and the dirty dishes just a forgotten inconvenience in an otherwise good day. But those darn lines just wouldn’t go away, and here it was the end of the day, and she was still remembering those poetry lines from somewhere, she didn’t even know where. . .

Make a wish on the haze of the moon,

And that wish will come true soon.

A hazy moon, here at the end of November? Didn’t that have something to do with the harvest, with October? Where did that silly verse come from, and why the heck couldn’t she forget the darned thing?

But something just kept drawing Callie to the back door, which she opened, and stepped out into the cool of this Thanksgiving evening. Dare she look up? She did, but had to stop a moment and think about just where she’d find a moon in the night sky. Had it been that long since she’d gazed at the moon in the sky?

There it was, sitting just above the neighbor’s tall pines. And by golly, it was enveloped in haze, yet still shining through it all. It looked to her like it was wrapped up in gauze, this full moon on a Thanksgiving evening. The sight made her smile, and the smile felt good on her face. Now what? What did that inane verse say to do?? Oh yeah, make a wish on the haze of the moon. . . and that wish should come true soon. Sure it would, but it sounded like fun, but what to wish for?

Something unusual seemed to be called for here, something out of the ordinary in an ordinary world? What was something her imagination had spoken to her about? What could make her smile, bring her a laugh maybe, put a pretty ending onto this rather ordinary Thanksgiving?

She laughed in spite of herself at the thought that came to mind here in the late November moonlight. Watching that grown up boy of hers at dinner this evening she had thought what a shame it was he could never know her grandfather. Her son had always reminded her so much of her grandfather, that tall, straight man with his head full of sandy red hair. Her son had even had that red hair himself when a child, but it had turned dark like hers as he grew up. But through the years watching him from baby to boy to man, she’d always found so many similarities, especially that quick wit and sense of humor of his.

Those two would have made great friends, her son and her grandfather, so there’s a wish not likely to be granted, but a wish none the less. “I wish my grandfather and my son could meet and get to know one another.” She spoke it aloud outside in the hazy moonlight.

Well if nothing else, the wish did make her smile, and that smile felt right, here standing in the moonlight.

Time to get myself inside and tackle those dishes, she thought to herself. So back inside she went, resolute in her good intentions. But before she could even start running clean water into the sink, the front door bell rang.

Somebody must have left a mitten, she thought as she made her way to the door. She looked through the glass on that door at the back of a tall man standing there looking off into the fields. Oh now there’s no way this could be happening???

She swung the door open, and looked into the blue eyes of her Grandpa standing there smiling. “You gonna just stand there wondering how this can be, or you gonna invite me in for some turkey and dressing? And some of that pie your daddy always said tasted like his mama’s?”

Gasping a little, she opened the door wide and set the wondering aside for the moment. She opened her arms wide to this man she hadn’t seen in more years than she wanted to count up, and just let herself be held by this memory of so many long ago times past. It didn’t matter, because this was now, and he was here. It didn’t matter how it had come to be, it just was.

“Hey there, Mama, I just felt I had to be back here tonight, so here I am,” said her son now standing just inside the door taking in the picture before him. “You going to introduce me?”

Just keep it together, Callie, she said to herself. This is not the time to be asking questions that can’t be answered.

“Well, Mitch, you remember how I used to tell you how much you reminded me of my own grandfather, and how very much I’d always wished the two of you could somehow meet? Well, I made a wish on that hazy moon tonight, and it does seem to have come true.”

A broad smile covered Mitch’s face as he extended his hand across to the tall man before him, “Hey, man, I learned many years ago not to ask too many questions. I’m Mitch, and can I assume you’re my maternal great grandfather?”

“That I am, and I am so pleased to make your acquaintance on this November night.”

Callie thought her heart was going to beat right out of her chest as she guided these two important men in her life to the dining table she expected would still be cluttered with the remains of their Thanksgiving dinner. Instead they walked into a room that seemed set up out of some November issue of a magazine, a table set for three, a golden turkey in its center with carving tools waiting. Surrounding it were all those delicious dishes she could remember from her own childhood, and those that were now Mitch’s favorites too.

Grandfather picked up the tools and gave Mitch instructions on the way to correctly carve a bird. Mitch stood up at his side and took the utensils from his great grandfather’s hands, and between the two of them, they soon had the bird neatly carved and ready for serving.

Callie handed her plate over and let Grandfather put on some slices of the bird. How could she possibly be hungry after that large meal she’d just eaten? But she found she was, and as the other dishes were passed around the table, she filled her plate. And the filled plate looked just as a plate should on Thanksgiving. The two men, both such important parts of her from totally different generations, also loaded man-size portions of all that was there onto their plates. All three ate and talked between the bites.

They talked of little unimportant things. . . of crops and the prices they were bringing now days, of farms from the past and farms now ongoing. Comparing notes on feeding cattle and getting in the corn, of silos now and then, all the little things that farmers talk about when they sit down to a meal on Thanksgiving day.

Callie didn’t join in, just listened, just let the wish magic work its way between these two sitting here with her. She tried to memorize the conversation word for word, thought for thought, heart to heart between these two so long separated by the generations, never having known each other before.

Callie looked at the two in profile noting how alike they were, even without the shared red heads, making pictures in her mind to remain there forever with her. The profiles were so similar, the curve of the chins, the slope of the noses, the arch of the foreheads, the hairlines. Callie sat there perpetually smiling at these two loves in her life.

After they’d eaten their pie and the men had complimented her on her own special pumpkin recipe, she had gone into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. To her amazement the pot was full, and the piping hot aroma of freshly ground and brewed coffee greeted her at the doorway. She inhaled the fresh aroma and held it in her lungs as long as it allowed. She held it as she wanted to hold this whole night, close to her heart and there for as long as it would stay.

She arrived back at the table with that full pot still steaming, and three cups with saucers. She was glad they had been left out for her at the edge of the counter because she didn’t think she would be able to find them in the clutter of her cabinets. She’d given over to big mugs without saucers years ago. But she could remember how Grandpa had enjoyed his coffee cup in its saucer, and how he’d taught her to drink it when she was just a little bit of a girl.

He met her with a smile when she entered the dining room, and stood to take the tray from her hands, and placed it on the table. He was drawing in large breaths of the smell as she poured the three cups full to the rims and handed them to both Mitch and Grandpa. Mitch looked a little perplexed, but did take his cup. He’d never been a coffee drinker, but didn’t object to taking this cup from his mother.

“Here you are, Mitch, here’s the way to drink coffee.” He sipped away the top of his cup and watched as Mitch did the same. “How, set down your cup and let me put the cream in it. . . now I take three teaspoons of sugar in mine, but you can have as many as it takes to make a big strapper like you a sweetheart.”

The two sat and stirred their cups, Callie taking in the sound of those spoons hitting the sides of the cups.

“Now here’s the real over the topper, Mitch, you gotta pour a little into the saucer and drink it from there. That’s when you know you’re drinking a fine cup of coffee.” He tipped the cup and let a little flow into the saucer, set the cup onto the table and raised the saucer to his mouth. He stopped then, waiting for Mitch to follow his lead.

“Well Mom, guess you won’t fuss at me not to?” he laughingly said as he got his coffee into his saucer all nice and neat.

Together they raised the saucers to their lips and took in the sweet mix as it flowed into their mouths. They continued till every drop was gone from their cups, and then from the pot. Callie just let them drink their fill knowing she could have her coffee anytime she wanted. Smiles spread across both their faces as they sat back in the chairs and smiled at each other, then at her.

“One more thing I just need to ask,” said Mitch from his seat. “I need to know about that story Mom always told of you at the dinner table at her house when she was a little girl. The one where you told about how you shouldn’t tell your troubles? Mom always swore by that one, and I’d like to hear it from its source.”

“I remember it well,” he replied. “I was invited to Sunday dinner, as I had been ever since Mary died, and the conversation was just what it always was. Your Grandpa would tell about how hard his week had been, then your Grandma would tell about how hard her week had been. They told the stories in great detail, stories of people and places I’d never see, and that your Mama had no interest in at all. Callie and I’d just sit there and pretend to listen each week, glancing at each other and winking across the table ever now and again. Well this one Sunday there was actually a lull in the complaining, so I thought I’d take a chance and speak my mind.”

“What did you say, Grandpa?” Mitch asked.

“Don’t be telling your troubles to everybody,” I told those two. “You know why? Cause half of them don’t give a damn, the other half’s glad to hear it.”

“Yep, that’s the one my Mom would tell,” Mitch laughed, and the three of them enjoyed a good laugh with one another right there at the table.

That evening wore into night, and night into the wee hours of the morning. Callie started to dread the moment when the magic would end, for she knew it would have to sometime. They made their way into the living room and lounged around talking on the comfortable overstuffed pieces Callie so loved in this room, never dreaming her dear Grandpa would ever be here in this room to rest himself on it. She lit the candles on the mantle, set the fire to burning and just settled herself in to enjoy the two men getting to know one another in her living room.

As the hours ticked away, the three of them grew sleepy, and one after another they fell asleep in the flickering firelight as the candles burned down. As the night turned to day, the rays of sunlight started to penetrate the curtains on the front windows till Callie’s eyes opened on a sunny new day. She looked across the room and saw the sunshine had also awakened Mitch, who was stretching the kinks out of his arms and legs.

“Where’s Grandpa, Mitch?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, making his way out of the room and into the hallway for a look around.

Callie didn’t get up. She knew the magic wouldn’t last into the light of a new day, there’s no way it could hold up under the rays of a new sun. So when Mitch came back into the room visibly shaken by it all, she patted the cushion on the sofa next to her and held his hand, trying to explain what couldn’t possibly be explained.

He looked older and wiser, this grown up boy of hers, and she saw afresh the resemblance he had to his great-grandfather. How glad she was to have had this priceless opportunity to see the two of them together! This was the wonderful doings of such an unlikely verse, and such an unlikely event, a hazy full moon on Thanksgiving. But she was not going to question any of it, just file it away with other precious memories to be enjoyed over and over again.

“Thank you, Mom. Thanks for sharing your wish with me. I don’t understand any of it, but what an experience you’ve shared with me!”

The two of them sat there and chatted the day away, talking about all the little things the night before had revealed, all the little lessons learned, the bits of wisdom shared. Callie wasn’t surprised to see the dining room and kitchen cleaned and shining, but what did surprise her was what was left on the dining room table.

There all by itself on the shining wood of the dining room table stood a single coffee cup in a saucer, a teaspoon beside it. In the bottom of the cup was the dried ring of the tiny bit of coffee left inside it.

“Here son, this is for you,” and Callie smiled as she handed the little piece of a memory over to her son.

Reach Car by email to comment: carreynolds0291@sbcglobal.net

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