Midnight Lullaby: A Tender Tribute to a Woman

By Allen R. Remaley

In his reflection back over the years of his marriage, a man discovers the inner beauty of the woman who shared his life for over fifty years. Retracing the steps taken on a path which carried him and his wife through high school, military service, Pacific crossings, higher education, raising a family and into the final stages of life, the man realizes that skin-surface beauty is not the only thing which captures a mans heart and holds it in a gentle firmness over the years. A womans self-effacing support and steadfast strength inspires her husband to capture her essence in a poetic-like proseduring what could be the final hours of his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496904034

Allen R. Remaley

Allen R. Remaley has written fifteen novels, collections of short stories, letters and professional articles. While most of his novels are categorized as fiction, some are bathed in actual experience. He is a four-year veteran of the United States Marine Corps, a thirty-seven -year teacher at the elementary, secondary and graduate-school levels of education. He holds a doctorate in French and in the Teaching of Foreign Languages. Dr. Remaley no longer skydives, but he does play pickle ball and strums the banjo. He lives with his wife in Saratoga Springs, NY and in Scottsdale, AZ.

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© 2014 Allen R. Remaley. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   04/08/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-0404-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-0403-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014906725

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Contents

Dedication

Prolog

First Meeting

Juncture, February 15, 2014

Departure

Back Home on Leave

Overseas Duty

Sacrifice and First Flight

Living with a Marine

Last Months in Paradise

Back Across the Pacific and to the East Coast

College Days

Reflection

Zippo Lighters, Case Knives and Kendall Oil

Nittany Lion Presumptuousness

Saratoga Trunk

Proving a Point

A Social Reluctance

Go Tell it on the Mountain

Field of Dreams

Your Home in Transition

Bella Vista

Envoi

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Other Publications of

Allen R. Remaley

The Hunter Model and its Application to the Teaching of Foreign Languages

A Hint of Jasmine and Lavender: An Erotic Romance

Susquehanna Odyssey

The Teacher’s Playbook: A Guide to Success in the Classroom

In the Shadow of Allah

The Awakening of Annie Hill

Letters Late: Things Left Unsaid

Dedication

To: Brooks and Janine, my favorite son and daughter, so that they will have a better insight into the woman whose blood and history run through their veins.

Midnight Lullaby:

A Tender Tribute to a Woman

Prolog

There are no multi-credit courses in college physics which enable me to understand that my life, like the planet which carries me across space, is moving toward darkness. Bathroom mirrors, visits to health clinics, and reading the obituaries of childhood friends who were steadfast companions make for a harsh announcement of things to come. Such observations affirm the inevitable—the blood running through my veins is getting thinner, and time on this Earth allotted to me is vanishing like the snows of yesteryear. But, in that realization lies opportunity.

Knowing that, while time in this life is short, there are still moments when we are able to admire an unforgettable sunset, watch small and innocent children react in amazement at the sight of butterflies floating effortlessly on a summer’s air, enjoy the happiness of our own children who achieve goals in life, and yes, we can discover and savor the taste of a good wine and bask in the thrill of reading a good book or both. But, while doing such things, most of the time allotted to me will be devoted to this, a love poem in prose celebrating the essence of the woman who has remained at my side as both a companion and wife for over fifty years.

In referencing someone, there is nothing quite so intimate as is the use of the second person singular pronoun, you. That little word, often used in biblical dissertations, will be my choice of usage in this last refrain to my wife. In what will most probably be my last effort of recorded thought, this text is dedicated to the woman who captured my heart and has held it as tenderly as she would when showing a dying butterfly to one of her grandchildren.

First Meeting

I n our lives, special moments are registered in our brain’s bank of memories. These cherished and recorded encounters are shelved and preserved for later use as if they were precious commodities meant to sustain us in times of need. One of my special memory caches has to do with the first time I saw you.

My last year in high school was coming to a close. Members of my high school football team were very much like me. None of us could afford a college education, and all young men our age were obligated to sign up for the military draft. Disadvantaged white boys growing up in rural Pennsylvania had few options in the 50’s. Most of us decided to complete our military obligation by signing up to become United States Marines, and we were proud to claim that title before we earned the right to do so in Parris Island Marine Recruit Depot. As cloudy as was our future, either working in the mines or in a tannery, a ray of sunshine broke through the haze covering my world when you came to our school as a transfer student.

You came to my little river town because your father, a clay miner, was seeking a better way of life for his family. Instead of mining the clay to form bricks for the steel mills in Pittsburgh, he would now be working in the brick factory, a stable industry in the