Friday

Being home feels good--except that we're still in triple-digits in the afternoons. 

Carlene's 100th birthday was exactly what she wanted, twelve of us family there to celebrate with lunch and a cake, card, and present party afterwards.  My gift to her was a book of excerpts from her own writing over the years, and she read the entire book aloud to family,

Bob spoke about those who weren't there; Jocelyn beautifully decorated the dining room and activities room with balloons, flowers and two cakes; Andrew read aloud a poem he'd written; and many of the staff members showed up to hug Carlene.  By bedtime, she'd gotten about 200 cards from family members,  lifetime friends (including many of mine), and the new friends she's made since moving into Assisted Living in Athens a little over a year ago. 

On the day after her birthday we went to Best Buy to purchase a new laptop--because she wants to write about what it's like After A Hundred! 

We're all thankful for her great health and the fact that she's loving where she's living.  

I'll write more as I get settled back in.  

Travel Update

Freda recently reminded me that I once said, "Please remind me if I forget--never take a road trip in August!"  I was glad I asked for that reminder. 

So I have postponed my road trip with Luci until the fall and will be flying to celebrate my mother's 100th birthday instead.  As the ad for Viking River Cruises says so memorably,  "Spend less time getting there and more time being there." 

This advertising meme doesn't usually fit my traveling style, but in August it does.  

Storytelling

The Moth is one of my favorite programs on NPR, featuring storytellers from all over. Their website and podcasts contain all their past episodes, short personal stories that are great road trip company.  

As a narrative lover all my life, I can get lost in a story.  But I can also find myself in them.  

Finding ourselves in a story is one of the reasons we read. 

From the epic tales of myths to the personal anecdotes we tell each other, great storytellers have a way of honing in on the details that make a story so real that, years later, we think it actually happened to us.  We remember it as if it did. 

I actually remember being on the back of a horse with my daddy when I was about two years old.  Suddenly the horse started running for his life, leaving little tiny petrified me holding on to my dad's back with all my strength as we raced across a field.

I remember us finally coming to a halt, dismounting, and discovering that what had set off that old horse was an accidental burn from the tip of my dad's cigar!  

Turns out, a few details had transported themselves from my dad's memories to my mind: the sudden run-away of the horse (though it wasn't a horse, it was a mule); the accidental burn that set it all off; my daddy pulling on the reins with all his might to stop the wild animal. 

But when all that happened, I (the girl on the back) was not even born!

He told me this after years of my believing I was there: "No, Sugar, that was back before you were born." 

I've been thinking a lot lately about stories and why certain ones have staying power, why some are buried so deep in us that they only come to the surface when we need them.  About a certain story that I heard in college that impacted me for years to come. 

I've been wondering why certain stories capture the imaginations of generations of people, why others are maybe just as good but soon forgotten.   Thinking about the ways we literally hold our breaths a minute waiting to find out how a story turns out. 

Maybe that's what I'm going to write about for a few posts coming up. 

I'm not exactly apologizing for yesterday's angry post (already deleted), just saying that angry posts should be tamped down just a bit--even if that post was tamped way down from what I really wanted to say!

But overall, when I recovered, I re-thought putting it out there.  Our screens need more kindness and peace.  

Where do I find those on my screen?

Numero Uno: any videos by Jon Batiste, the most charismatic human I can name at the moment.

Numero Dos: videos of dogs being dogs, responding to humans but also giving humans a joy that can't be found many places.

And of course, videos of people making beautiful things, following the arc of their own unique passions and playfulness.

So today I just wish anyone reading this all the joy and goodness you can find, and anything we can do to inject peace into this broken world. 

Another scam out there

 A month ago I got a letter from the Department of the Treasury saying that my social security benefits would be cut if I don't settle a medical debt before August 1st.  I figured it was not legit, so I threw it away.

This month, they persisted, another letter.  An itemized bill that included three different providers, but strangely 25 sessions with Joe, the physical therapist, all in the month of September 2022.

I called to check on it.  (Jan said never call these people!)

They wanted my social security number and a credit and my $955 payment immediately so as not so interrupt my social security benefits.  "I'll call my insurance company and check it out," I said--and she said, "no, don't call them.  They can't handle this kind of issue after 3 years." 

Jan has been researching scams and she assured me this fit the bill.  Blue Cross agreed.  

Just wanted to warn you.  

As Jan said, these scammers are getting more and more sophisticated and they have a lot of our data.  The three providers on their list are actual doctors of mine.And their letterhead and pages of legal words looked official.  

Suggested Reading if you're in the "second half of life."

Just back from the airport--delivered the Pritchetts to begin their two week summer trip to Greece and Italy, Nathan's graduation present.  He's always been interested in Greek and Roman history, and in particular the mythology and warfare of antiquity.  

I'm reading two  books this week:

The Fifth Season: Creativity in the Second Half of Life by Mark Nepo

Hagitude: Reimagining the Second Half of Life by Sharon Blackie

The subtitles and content of these two are almost identical.  Both well written. 

Earlier I included a third book with a promising title (The Creative Act), but it's going back.  

Making As Meditation (even, sometimes, medication!)

Decided last night to upgrade my world--by paying for ad-free You Tube.  What a difference--to watch tutorials without having to stop and watch AI-generated commercials for a salt-cure that will melt pounds away, presented by the magic of AI by a young Oprah.  Or so-called doctors advising you on gut health and gadgets galore.

Even if you never plan to bind a book, if you want a meditative experience right in your own bedroom, with or without a dog to cuddle, check out Mr. Agassi binding books.  In a beautiful Italian-looking book-bindery, this man--who grew up binding books with his father--has no frills, no music, no mass-produced tools.  His tools are as authentic as his teaching style: brass bars for weights (I use large soup cans); simple knives, and a genuine antique book press any book binder would almost-die for.

He takes his time.  No rushing, no speed-ups.  It's all done in real time.  You simple sit back and watch his hands do magic while he explains what he's doing.  A true master of book-craft, Ido Agassi is precise in every move, a generous teacher.

Sea Lemon is one of several Asian book-makers.  Their hands move like dancers.  They are not forever dropping the needle on the floor, as I am.  With soft music in the background, no words are necessary as you just watch the smooth movements of needles moving through beautiful paper until, voila!, a book is complete.

If you're feeling stressed or exhausted by news and noise and traffic, watching book-makers make books is great medicine!

Monday Night

I should go to bed.  It's almost midnight. 

But there is so much to do still!  It's been one of those happy place days.

Charlotte and Kate and I had a little potluck brunch at Janet's to have one more chance to be together before Janet gets the call that her first grand baby is here, to welcome her into the club of grandmothers.  I would post a picture, but my blog is still not posting pictures for some reason.  

Day will fix it when she gets time.

I've been struggling with a tech problem for weeks--not knowing how to put printed words in a handmade book.  I emailed the heads of the Handmade Book Club and they didn't know how either.  Just when I was about to give up, Day called and made me a template on Google Docs (don't know what that is) and sent me instructions and templates in five minutes!

My brilliant daughter can fix anything!  

She's going back to teaching this year, so excited to be back with students after being an academic coach.  Soaking up every minute of making things before school starts, she's made a model of her glass shack, an actual architectural model!  I couldn't do that for any price.  

She's also into painting shoes and adding embroidery to an old chair. Here I really wish I could send you pictures--two pair of tennis shoes transformed into delightful colorful shoes!

So I went to the quilt shop and got some Pellon to make some more book cloth, then came home and made some book covers out of a plaid skirt I'd bought at Boysville.  I'll send you a picture when Day fixes the bug in my blog.

Then we joined Jan and Carma for our nightly walk.  I'm over-the-moon grateful that I can walk without pain.  It's changed my life!

So closing in on sleep, of course, I watched reel after reel of Dachshund and Corgi videos--while my actual Dachshund-Corgi-whatever burrowed under the covers.  I added a new reel category, one called The Asher House, a series of films about a man who adopts hopeless dogs and turns them into healthy animals again, the kind of stories you cannot possibly watch without tears. 

When Luci saw me get up to write this, she asked if she could go outside. 

"Sweet Darkness"--a poem by David Whyte--came to mind.  How this girl loves going outside in the dark, fearless and brave, being a wild thing!   The night is her time to run and pounce and growl at imagined trespassers.  The night is her time to return to her roots, to do the things of her unknown ancestors, not governed by rules or domestication, out of sight of all humans.

When she comes back in, hoping with all her heart for a slice of turkey, I can tell she wants to tell me what she met out there. 

Nothing can lighten the load of the world's unspeakably grim news than the company of a little dog who lives entirely in the moment.  To watch an animal being its pure self, never holding a grudge against its people, or to watch a good man love one back to life no matter how long it takes--these are  reminders of the goodness we have to do everything in our power to be sure comes out on top. 

Playing School

A sandbox could be a house, roots on the dirt, a sheet draped over chairs or a table.  Any enclosure.  

Populated by dolls, a house could be a family. 

If playing house with a friend, we might say, "You be the daddy, I'll be the mommy."  

I've never quit playing house.  I love cleaning it, organizing it, changing the arrangement and decor.  

The very shapes of houses intrigue me.  I have quite a collection of miniature houses found on road trips and craft shows and flea markets, even one small pink house I found in Venice. 

After and while playing house, we played school.  "You be the teacher, I'll be the student." If you were lucky enough to be the teacher, you got to tell the student what to do. You were lucky if your student happened to be a younger brother who thought you were smart. 

I loved school.  Organizing school supplies and taking notes.  Learning for the sake of learning. Making good grades. 

In second grade--because my mind wandered during arithmetic, my teacher told my parents I'd grow up to be a writer.  It gave me a goal.  It set me on a course of reading, keeping a diary,  and making up stories.   

"When the student is ready, the teacher will appear." 

I've had mediocre teachers, a few terrible ones, and too many excellent ones to count--sometimes in school. 

Life is a teacher; mistakes are teachers; accomplishment and mastery are teachers.  

My best classroom teachers were professors in graduate school--in part because they were exceptional, in part because at 32,  I was a sponge hungry for learning. 

Today, I play school.  After making a career of schooling (teaching sixth grade to college) and then leading writing groups for years, I'm now taking a class in making blank books.  The variety of types of books!  I never knew there were so many ways to fold and stitch and glue papers.  

I turn off my phone most mornings.  I need focus and quiet to concentrate on the plan for the day.  It's so satisfying to set my own goals and find exactly the teachers I'm looking for.  

It's a bit like kindergarten, too--as naps are factored in as needed! 

The beauty of septuagenarian school is that you get to be both teacher and student, and nothing is more fun than homework--which is quite a lot like continual recess with no bells. 

Love my neighborhood!

After another almost all-nighter as a rookie book-maker, Luci and I got a late start walking.  On our walk, we met potential friends and one dog even smaller than Luci. 

I love my neighborhood!  

No matter what our yard signs may have said during voting season, we are all united around the death of little Kellyanne.  

Eva and George have spent the week doing recovery at the Guadalupe.

Tyler and his girlfriend moved into a corner house two days ago, catty-cornered across from Kellyanne's family.

Phil and Patty have an adorable little silky terrier named Lily.   

Another Phil, an immigration lawyer, with a dog named Marfa.  

Also ran into Nathan who works for ESPN--and who communicates regularly with my Marcus for whom that is a dream career.  One of his daughters was in third grade with Kellyanne. 

When I first met Nathan two years ago, and when I learned that he works for ESPN, I asked him for a favor--to reach out to Marcus and talk sports.  He did and they do!

Best of all, of course, Jan next door and her family visiting from Austin. Last night I was the lucky recipient of the best chalupa ever made by Jan and a watermelon pizza slice made by Makken--a triangular slice of melon topped with green yogurt with blueberry eyes on its face. 

Good people all around!

When I come home, I write down their names and addresses to help me remember.