THE OLD ROCKING CHAIR

             THE OLD ROCKING CHAIR


                                            KENNETH E. HALL           OCTOBER 22, 1998           HOUSTON

*MY GRANDFATHER - CHARLES ALFRED HULLINGHORST

                                                                                          SITTING IN MY GRANDMOTHER'S BERCEUSE.


As one grows older, memories of childhood and adolescence fade like old photographs. Yet, it's funny how something can sometimes bring back an image from the dusty recesses of the brain, and, like an old picture just discovered in an attic trunk, it comes to light clear as if it were taken only yesterday.

Today as my wife and I went about our errands, we came across a rocking chair at a furniture store. It was a solid wood chair, honest as the time period which invented it. It is rare to see a rocker in these days of LaZBoy recliners, PC's, and wide flat-screen TV's.

She remarked to me that she recalled how my grandmother used to rock in her chair, and how it used to creak as she did so. My mind raced back to several pleasant visions of times gone by, when the old folks used to sit and talk, and rock on those old rocking chairs! Between the banter of happy voices and the creaking of wood, the humming of a tune from a by-gone era, and the occasional tapping in time of a foot on the floor, this blend of sounds made for quite a different "rock" music. 

I recall my great-grandmother's mother sitting in her huge, stuffed rocker, and I sat in a much smaller one next to it. I would look over at her like a youth in a fast sports car would look at an old-timer in a flivver while sitting at a signal light, not resisting the urge to rev the engine in challenge to a drag race!

Some of my most pleasant evenings of my early youth were spent at my grandmother's and great-grandmother's. Like her mother, she, too, had a few of rockers, and her favorite was a flimsy affair, painted yellow, with pillows and cushions aplenty. It creaked more than any rocker I ever saw, but was very comfortable indeed. Her mother, Victorine, who was born down in Buras, grew up only speaking French, and she called it a rocker a berceuse.

On those sultry summer New Orleans nights, just before going to bed, I would have a demitasse of hot tea with milk, and share a plate of sliced fruit with my grandmother. In my mind, I can hear her rocking and humming a song, while pealing a Buras naval orange, a grapefruit, and an apple, and in my mind I can still taste it!

It was a simpler time; it always is when you're a kid.

There are many things I love about the Turn-of-the Millennium, and I know that there is nothing constant but change. It is a trade-off: something is lost, yet something is gained each day of living. But I will, from time-to-time, recall those pleasant days gone by, and remember those warm evenings, the chirping of crickets, the twinkilng of stars overhead, that kind, loving face of a loved one, the sweet aroma of fruit, a happy tune hummed - and the creaking of that old rocking chair!

"Wood - weathered by years of use,

                                     Seat - tattered and worn with wear;
                                     But lean back in those aging arms,
                                     And no place can compare -
                                    Yes, lean back in those aging arms,
                                     And no place can compare!" 

                                                                                                                  - from "OLD ROCKING CHAIR" - HAP PALMER

*When talking to someone about old age and growing old, my mother's father would always advise: "The key to living longer is - DON'T LET THAT ROCKING CHAIR GET YOU!"