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Every Life is a Story
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Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Blueberries

My father served in Vietnam. He and my mother were married for three years before he was sent overseas, and she was left back in the states. She got together with a friend of hers from college whose husband was also sent to Vietnam. Together they rented a house, and my mother helped take care of her friend's baby.

Together they would look for things to send their husbands to make serving out in Vietnam easier. It was on a trip up the Mckenzie river in Oregon, that Mom found a great deal on some amazing blueberries. They were as big as her thumbnail, and the most beautiful things she had ever seen. She purchased 20 pounds of them, thinking of how wonderful it would be for her husband to come home and have all of these amazing blueberries. She washed them, put them in individual bags, and froze them, imagining blueberry pancakes, blueberry muffins, blueberry cobblers, all of the great things she would serve my Dad when he came home.

That's when she got the call from my Dad. He was in Guam, and on his way to Hawaii on leave, and she needed to meet him there. She had finished the blueberries, but wasn't prepared to leave suddenly on a trip. There was a frantic race to find and pay for the first flight out to Hawaii she could get, then pack everything she needed and get to the airport. She hadn't done her hair, or her makeup or anything. After nearly missing the flight, she managed to get on her way to Hawaii, and the two of them were reunited. After their first kiss in ages, my Mom excitedly told my Dad about the amazing blueberries she had purchased, and how she'd just gotten them frozen, and couldn't wait to give him some.

My Dad looked at her, and said, "Bernie, I hate blueberries."

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