Elephant Love Story - Introduction

It was said I was the greatest elephant who ever lived, well at least my little girl thought so.  In 1940 New Your City she and I were unexpected stars in a nation-building circus in a land just crawling out of the Great Depression and the accompanying darkness.

From the moment we met I knew our friendship would be different than any friend I had ever imagined.  We had come through so much since leaving home in Europe when she was a newborn in her mother's arms and I was doing little insignificant tricks to help pay the family's way in the world.  Then I got an opportunity to travel to India and take training from one of the legendary Mahouts. 

Now as we both seemed to be aging, it was our memories we kept dear as we walked down the laneway, her hand on my side so familiar and comforting.  Like the day, when she was just about six human years old.  We sat side-by-side.  She had a tall stool and I my sturdy metal one.  I was in awe of her.  Truth be told I still am so in awe of her. 

That day she seemed so little.  Her eyes loved me! 

She reached over and patted my side.  I know had I not been so enormous compared to her, she would surely have hugged me round.  Tears formed in my eyes and I had to work hard to not let her see my sentimental side. 

Our friendship had lasted over half a century and still I could sense her every wish and thought.  I wondered often if our relationship, if I dare call it that, meant she abandoned hope of love in her own world.  Yet she always seemed happiest when we were together.  I do wish I was able to read her thoughts. 

story of Dad's chair

Pop was buried over six years ago. I found myself in his woods one more time. The house where we had all grown up was now just rubble and the overgrown remnants of the basement. I searched for the chair and smiled as I saw it in the clearing.

I remember the day my brother and I took possession of the green Naugahyde recliner. It had been his throne for three quarters of his last years.

We were so miserable on that day. We cried a lot - I suppose it was a kind of catharsis -- as we struggled to drag it out of the living room where it had stood for all our shared memories.

We pulled the heavy, awkward thing out the back door trying to keep our fingers from being pinched by all the folding parts of the recliner.

We pulled it down the four rickety steps of the back porch.

We pulled it slowly, as if to the dirge playing within our hearts through the back yard until we located his favourite spot in the woods behind our house.

When he could breathe enough to walk this was where he would come. We installed the chair beside the huge, old hickory nut tree where he had taught us the names of the brightly coloured birds who sang so mysteriously, hidden in the trees above.

Then my brother and I took turns ceremoniously sitting in and christening this quiet, bittersweet spot in his memory. We stood together, holding hands and called out to the birds and trees to cover it with their everlasting love....