Night of Miracles ~ musing about old folks

Night of Miracles ~ by Elizabeth Berg, 2018, fiction (Missouri), 9/10

Lucille Howard is getting on in years, but she stays busy.  Thanks to the inspiration of her dearly departed friend Arthur Truluv, she has begun to teach baking classes, sharing the secrets to her delicious classic Southern yellow cake, the perfect pinwheel cookies, and other sweet essentials.  Her classes have become so popular that she’s hired Iris, a new resident of Mason, Missouri, as an assistant.  Iris doesn’t know how to bake but she needs to keep her mind off a big decision she sorely regrets.

When a new family moves in next door and tragedy strikes, Lucille begins to look out for Lincoln, their son.  Lincoln’s parents aren’t the only ones in town facing hard choices and uncertain futures.  In these difficult times, the residents of Mason come together and find the true power of community — just when they need it the most.

Arthur Truluv is present all through this book, even though he died and isn't physically present.  I read The Story of Arthur Truluv last year.  Others from that first book, Maddy and Lucille, play major roles in this story.  Arthur's old house is the setting.  When I finished the last page earlier today, all I wanted to do was ponder some passages from the book.  The first place I marked has Lucille thinking about Arthur.

My fur baby, Clawdia

"She hopes Arthur is with Nola, the wife he loved so dearly.  Lucille does believe people see one another again, and she believes that pets will be reunited with their owners, too, though this is mostly acquiescence to those who cannot for one minute stop yammering on about their little fur babies, as they call them.  Even if it turns out not to be true, what's the harm in believing it?  It can bring some comfort" (p. 178).

Living in a retirement center means we face the death of friends and acquaintances rather often, it seems.  When a character dies toward the end of this book, another character muses that she could...

"understand, in a way she never had before, that death was
a natural part of life, just like the seasons in nature.  And
everybody's job was to love life while you had it and never
to take anything for granted" (p. 239).

Yesterday, I complimented Betty on the capri pants she was wearing.  She looked down and said, "They used to be Pat Tracy's.  Do you remember Pat?"  I smiled and touched the handle of my cart as I responded, "Yes, this was Pat's, too."  Around here, we share with each other what we no longer want or need and, sometimes, we end up with something that once belonged to a friend who died.  This novel has something similar:

"Lucille's alarm clock, stationed now at Iris's bedside, glows in the relative darkness, but soon the moving hands will be clearly seen and there will be no need for artificial light" (p. 261).

I didn't know there would be so much about death in this novel when I checked it out of the little Crown Center library (where my cart was parked in that photo).  But the subject is on my mind since I recently ran across a blog post about my demise posted in February 2012.  Look at the date on this tombstone.

And how do I plan to spend the next couple of days?  Well, first I'm going to do a load of laundry when I get up from this chair.  While waiting in the laundry room, I'll start reading my next book.