This all I Ask

In 1958 Gordon Jenkins wrote, “This Is All I Ask,” which he considered his finest composition. Various recording artist at the time included it in their albums: Nat King Cole, Anita Bryant, Frank Sinatra and my favorite, Perry Como. Recently I heard a beautiful rendition of it by Josh Groban and Tony Bennett. The lyrics, requesting the pleasures of life to slow down and stay longer enough to build a memory, are touching.

As I approach the prime of my life
I find I have the time of my life
Learning to enjoy at my leisure
All the simple pleasures
And so I happily concede
This is all I ask
This is all I need.

Beautiful girl walk a little slower when you walk by me.

Now in my later years the lyrics feel all too poignant. We could not have know then that these carefree days of our childhood as we played on the shores of Bogue Sound in the Promise Land, were quickly slipping away.

If I could relive my years growing up in the Promise Land, like Gordon Jenkins, I’d ask each joy to stay a little longer. Those October sunsets over Bogue Sound streaking the sky with autumn colors, stay a little longer at the close of day. Children’s happy cries at the shore, please stay until laughter echos up and down the alleys. As the rain moves across the sound, please rainbows, won’t you stay and paint the sky with soft hues to last all through the day? North star, hang longer in the velvet night to remind us of your infinite guidance as our forefathers’ sailed the seas.

Seasons shuffle along earth’s oval path, and I remember the Promise Land by seasons. Summer began barefooted for Promise Land children. Sand spurs challenged our daily treks to the shore. Miss Maybell’s frozen drinks were so messy, but oh, so good!. The south wind floating curtains across our beds at night, delivered relief from the scorching heat of day. We played hide and seek in the evenings until we heard our mothers voices’ calling us home. The droning locust in the yaupon trees sang us to sleep at bedtime, our heavy eyelids rising and falling with each crescendo. Our summers were magic, we lived in our own fairy tale.

Autumn began a new school year and new blistering shoes. After school we made a detour to Kib’s Store for Mary Janes and dill pickles from an enormous jar. Kib placed our candies in a small brown paper bag, just the right size to fit in our hands. We twisted the top of the bag tightly to ensure our after school treats were not lost before we arrived home. Even in cooler weather we played most of our games outside: jump board, jump rope, and hop scotch. Bicycles transported us to other blocks outside the Promise Land. Red sunsets, clouds, wind, birds and tides, tutored us. As children, the creator granted us the same status as nature.

Soon, the days grew shorter, and yaupon branches with red berries appeared on the mantels and window sills. Winter solace arrived and preparations began for Christmas. The Sears catalog became dog eared and in the evenings we decorated cedar cut trees placed in a bucket of sand. The raw north wind whistled through the back door as stories of our grandparents life on the banks were relived again, when days were measured on a string of cork. The saga of the Crissie Wright repeated its yearly yarn.

Spring! Daffodils and green grass! New Easter dresses and bonnets. We kept precise tract of the days until the end of school. Our shoes became a burden to our winter weary tender toes, and they were removed as soon as we arrived home,(sometimes before). Bogue Sound sparkled like diamonds as we walked down the alleyways to home. How eager we were to await the coming seasons, growing taller and wiser as the earth continued its journey around the sun.

"This is my prayer, Please, southwest winds, keep singing our memories of the Promise Land as long as there is wind on the earth, and we'll keep your songs in our hearts forever.

To our Raven who left us too soon, we wish you could have stayed a little longer.

The author with her longtime friend Deanie Adams