{"version":"1.0","provider_name":"postcard blogja","provider_url":"https:\/\/postcard.cafeblog.hu","author_name":"postcard","author_url":"https:\/\/postcard.cafeblog.hu\/author\/postcard\/","title":"The Driftwood Queen","html":"

\u3000\u3000The ocean is\uff0c was and always will be a big part of my life. My parents were ocean aficionados\uff0c and I was introduced to its beauty and serenity at an early age. I learned to swim before I walked\uff0c had a fishing pole placed in my hands at age two and was taught how to pilot a small boating craft by age five-thanks to my father\uff0c who allowed me to \"assist\" in rowing home. \u3000\u3000My fascination with the ocean escalated as the family spent the summer on the eastern end of Long Island\uff0c on the shore of the Atlantic Ocean. I was an early riser\uff0c and by age ten I was permitted to go down to the beach in the morning to collect shells on my own. Every day I would dress quickly\uff0c grab my bucket and head for the beach. I would climb the sand dunes that hid the ocean from view and sit quietly at the top and watch the waves roll into shore as I ate my breakfast roll. \u3000\u3000One morning I noticed an older\uff0c shabbily dressed woman walking along the beach pulling\uff0c of all things\uff0c a sled. Now and then\uff0c she would stop\uff0c pick up a piece of driftwood\uff0c examine it carefully and either discard it or place it on her sled. \u3000\u3000I called out to her. \u3000\u3000\"Hello\uff0c\" I said. \u3000\u3000She didn't acknowledge me. As only a child can\uff0c I took this as an open invitation to join the search. I looked for any driftwood that she had missed and retrieved it for her inspection. She said nothing\uff0c but seemed pleased with my company hk company registry<\/a>. \u3000\u3000After a half-hour\uff0c I tapped her on the shoulder\uff0c said good-bye and started for home. \u3000\u3000After telling my parents about my new acquaintance\uff0c my mother explained that I had met\uff0c as the town folk called her\uff0c The Driftwood Queen\uff0c or \"Queenie\" for short. \u3000\u3000Dad said she was a poor soul who lived in a rundown cottage near the Bay. The community left food packages on her doorstep once a week\uff0c and the church collected clothing on her behalf. No one knew her real name\uff0c and many stories had circulated about where she had come from and why she collected the driftwood. Everyone had a different slant on the story\uff0c but the exact truth had never surfaced. \u3000\u3000She had become the town enigma\uff0c known only by her nickname. \u3000\u3000My parents were kind and loving people and saw no problem with my association with Queenie. So each morning I would wait for her to appear and was always delighted at the smile on her face when she spotted me. I now carried an extra breakfast roll with me\uff0c and Queenie devoured it with gusto. \u3000\u3000We scoured the beach\uff0c enjoying the cool ocean breeze and the feel of the ocean mist on our bodies hong kong business registration<\/a>. Although we still exchanged no words\uff0c we became friends through our daily enterprise. \u3000\u3000One morning I saw a large piece of driftwood floating close to shore and retrieved it before it could be carried out to sea. Queenie was elated. We put the piece on her sled\uff0c which was now full\uff0c and usually that meant the end of our day together. But Queenie tugged at my sleeve and motioned for me to follow her. Before long we stood in front of a small house that had fallen into disrepair. \u3000\u3000Remembering how my father had described Queenie's home\uff0c I knew where I was. She deposited the large piece of wood that we had found earlier next to the house\uff0c then beckoned me to follow her inside. I couldn't believe what I saw. All the furniture\uff0c the cabinets\uff0c the pictures on the wall and the many exquisite-looking sculptures-all were made from driftwood. \u3000\u3000\"Queenie\uff0c did you make all these things?\" I exclaimed. She nodded her head\uff0c smiled a toothless grin and gestured for me to sit down. She left for a second. When she returned\uff0c she placed some cookies in front of me and scribbled on a large note pad. Her message said\uff0c \"Hello Anne\uff0c my name is Erma. Welcome to my home.\" \u3000\u3000I smiled and answered\uff0c \"Hi Erma\uff0c these cookies are great\uff0c and your house is beautiful Hong Kong apartment<\/a>.\" \u3000\u3000She reached over and patted my hands with great affection and then began to write again. \"I don't talk very well\uff0c but I want you to know that I love your company.\" \u3000\u3000\"Me\uff0c too\uff0c Erma.\" \u3000\u3000We continued our daily quests until it was time for the family to return to the city. Summer was almost over\uff0c and school beckoned. I saw tears in my friend's eyes as I said good-bye\uff0c and I assured her that I would see her next summer. She placed a small package wrapped in newspaper in my hands and kissed me on the cheek. I ran home\uff0c not turning to wave\uff0c as I knew I would cry. Inside the package was a seagull carved from driftwood. Today\uff0c some forty-eight years later\uff0c it still stands in my curio cabinet. \u3000\u3000Sadly\uff0c I never saw Erma again. My parents sat me down after school one day to say a letter had arrived from the chaplain at the hospital on Long Island.<\/p>","type":"rich"}