October 27

The trip to Wilmington was not just about the deVane gathering. It just happened to coincide with what is becoming my annual pilgrimage to the Motherland, the place that feels more like home to me than any other place on Planet Earth. Sixty-six years ago today, two other young lovers married, the auburn haired beauty generations down the deVane bloodline was my mother. She always loved October and described it gloriously in her dramatic style, the rich colors, the crispness in the air. Through the years she claimed it never really got cold until after their anniversary. I took notice and agree. Yesterday we drove down to Wrightsville Beach via the lovely Airlie Road and hung out near where the old Lumina once loomed over the ocean, the place where the tall good looking Bob, newly arrived from the midwest, broke in on the Southern girl that June night on the dance floor. It was love at first sight, and four months later the handsome couple married, the day before my daddy went off to war. "No two people ever loved each other the way we did," Mother avowed forever. Two years ago on an October night, my mother died, her love for my daddy intact throughout their turbulent times. I think she would have liked it that her earthly life ended in her favorite month. Now we can trek to Wilmington and to her beloved Wrightsville Beach in remembrance. My mother would have loved the beach yesterday, the shimmering hues of blue in the ocean, the tans and grays of the sand, the soft breeze, and the parade of beautiful people passing by. It was at its best.