Feeding Seagulls

When we left Slidell this morning, we drove the coastal Highway 90 through 20 miles of fog.  We'd thought we might ferry over to Dauphin Island near Mobile so we could look at the colorful houses there, but the fog was too thick to have seen them.

So we got out at a beach in Long Island, Mississippi, where a nice woman offered to take our pictures together.  The beach was covered with seagulls.  When Mike went to the car, they seemed to know he was going for food.  The crackle of the wrapper got their attention and they hovered near the truck waiting.

A few bold ones took the chips out his hand; most waited for crumbled chips and caught them mid-air.  One ill-tempered one just walked around barking at the others.  "There's one in every crowd," Mike said.

Not far from where our gulls were feasting on HEB tostado chips, another bunch of gulls went about their business, never horning in on the action--as if they had agreed before our arrival which bird-village would get the new guys and their stale chips.

Dancing

Traveling solo, I haven't had a dance partner in--well, seven years.
Besides, I'm not a natural as a dancer.

Mike is. It was his moves on the dance floor (aka parking lot in Memphis) that sealed the deal our first time around.

And so, this morning, after the seven-year hiatus, I decided to interview Mike on the subject of dancing.

"Dancing is two hearts and souls moving together," he said.  "The more you practice together, the more natural it gets."

"What kinds of dances do you do?" I  asked him.

Knowing that he has a beginner here as a dance partner, he's keeping it simple.  He tells me he used to do the Texas Swing and the Shag, but right now let's concentrate on the Two Step and Variations.  One One Two.  That's it.

"One" is always the right foot for me; "two" is always the left foot.  Easy.  But when the boy swings the girl, it can get confusing.

When, on occasion, I get it right, he says, "Perfect!" When I don't get it right, he says, "Let's do that one again, we messed up a little bit."  We.  I love that.

Sleeping in Slidell, Mississippi

A jam session at Joie De Vivre, Breaux Bridge

I so enjoyed meeting John, a writer, who sent me a link to his blog:
http://blindtravel.net

Today was a beautiful day, foggy mostly.  We love fog.  I love the calligraphy of trees in the fog.

We spent the morning dancing in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana--at the Cafe Des Amis zydeco breakfast, then at Joie De Vivre.  I think I'm finally getting the hang of two-stepping, though I'm not quite ready for Mike's variations.

We had planned to stay in the Cajun Cottages where we'd stayed seven years ago, but decided to drive on to Slidell and have dinner at Buster's Place in Covington--delicious seafood, a place I'd eaten two months ago when I traveled this same road west in October.

When I was there before, I'd talked to Mike on the phone shortly after seeing each other again in Georgia.  We'd playfully talked about taking a trip to Louisiana together, but it seemed then like just an idea--now here we are, doing it!

Mike at Franks in Schulenberg

Zydeco band at Cafe Des Amis

Dancing at Cafe Des Amis

This is a special place--a place I've visited on former  road trips--
with Deb, with Kate, and with Mike in a former incarnation--
famous for its white chocolate bread pudding, Cajun food and music

 

Blue jeans

The only hitch in this week with Mike was a trip to buy jeans.

I tried on several pair, nothing fitting--and he proceeded to bring me jeans in a size 14.  "I don't wear 14!" I insisted vehemently.  "I've never worn a size 14."

But much to my dismay, the jeans he brought me fit--and I wound up buying three pair in the "wrong" size.  When I got home, I took a sneak peak at the only jeans I'd had until that purchase--and much to my surprise, the number on the tag said 14.

When I told Kate about my size struggle, she said, "Oh, you should have called me!  I knew you were a size 14.  You've never been a 12~"

Sometimes your closest friends know the truth about you-- long before you're ready to admit it.

Merry Christmas!

To all my friends and family--from Cape Cod to Virginia, from California to Florida and Georgia-- and all over Texas!

I hope that wherever you are, with whomever, your day has been a merry one!

Here's what Christmas looked like in Helotes:

Elena and I in the castle

Yenna and Nathan

Elena and Veronica

Princess dress and purple bike helmet

Mike (who never met a dog he doesn't like)
and Skippy

Me in the sweater and felt scarf Day gave me

Nathan and his robot puppy

Will and me

Nathan and Elena

Nathan walking Elena's new goat, Scratchy

Red cowboy boots and princess dress

Uncle Richard and Mike

Tonight, after getting home from a party at Will's, Mike and I were talking about some of the places he's lived and worked.  When he mentioned Ft. Valley,  Georgia, I asked if he happened to know my Uncle Richard who died two days ago.

"Oh yeah!" he said.  "I love that guy.  He used to own the best hardware store in town and I went in there all the time and we talked.  He was a great friend of mine!"

Mike has lived in seven states.  How likely is it that he would know my uncle and be friends with him before we ever met?

Over and over, Mike and I discover coincidences--but this one tops them all!  How strange the turns of the road: Mike and I met in Hope, Arkansas; we lived together for a while in Georgia where I grew up;  he lived in Memphis where my parents married; and he happens to be at my house in Texas when we learn that Richard has died, Richard my mother's little brother and Mike's good friend.

Travel Plans

Due to the deaths in my family and wanting to spend some time with Carlene, I'll be leaving on Christmas day with Mike, traveling to Georgia in his truck, then flying back on January 8th.

We're spending this afternoon and evening at Will's and opening presents there, then will go back out there on Christmas morning to see what Santa Claus brings.

A story I got in a text from Veronica this morning:

Elena was in the bathtub and Nathan walked in.

"My fishy hit my boobie," Elena said.

"What boobie?" Nathan asked.  "Show me."

"Right here," she said, pointing at her nipples.

"Those are not boobies!" Nathan said.   "They are not big like mommy's."

"What are they then?" Elena asked.

"I don't know," Nathan said.  "There are some things I just don't know."

Two Family Losses This Week

My Uncle Richard died last night.  He had been ill for two years and had gotten so sick that his leaving was exactly what he wanted.

We expected his death, but still, as Carlene said, "He was my little brother."  Now both of the surviving brothers (the oldest died at the age of ten) have died within two months of each other.

My Aunt Betty--my daddy's sister--died a day after her 90th birthday.  A week ago, she was surrounded by family for her 90th birthday party.

Betty June Harris Cambron at her 90th birthday party last Sunday

Surrounded by her four sons who adored her!

Carlene said that the party turned out to be Betty's "Going Away Party"--though at the time nobody had any idea that she would be leaving.

She was like a sister to Carlene--and this is a heavy-hearted holiday for her and all who loved Richard and Betty.

"Twas the week before Christmas...."

A happy week!

Mike left Georgia around noon on Sunday, stopped to visit a friend in Birmingham, then drove all night, arriving in San Antonio on Monday afternoon--about 48 hours before I expected him to arrive..

On Tuesday night, I went to a Blind Boys of Alabama concert with Freda, Bonnie and Grant. It was a rousing, upbeat concert of gospel music.  I bought Mike a CD of their music and we've been dancing to gospel music in the kitchen!

Ricky of the Blind Boys signing Mike's CD

 Yesterday we drove Highway 90 to Castroville, on to Hondo to visit Linda Quintero, then stopped at Sabinal to look at old wood for a project we're working on, winding up in Utopia for dinner at the cafe.

Clint and Jen (from North Carolina) at the wood shop.
"Nobody else wants us but each other and we don't want each other half the time."
Clint builds cedar furniture and Jen is a waitress.

Utopia Cafe

I love this crazy man! 

Deepest Selves

This morning I was thinking about what makes each of us who we are, why we're drawn to certain people and things.  Just then, Carlene sent me this post from one of her favorite writers, Fredrick Buechner:


The Deepest Self

Life batters and shapes us in all sorts of ways before it's done, but those original selves which we were born with and which I believe we continue in some measure to be no matter what are selves which still echo with the holiness of their origin. I believe that what Genesis suggests is that this original self, with the print of God's thumb still upon it, is the most essential part of who we are and is buried deep in all of us as a source of wisdom and strength and healing which we can draw upon or, with our terrible freedom, not draw upon as we choose. I think that among other things all real art comes from that deepest self — painting, writing music, dance, all of it that in some way nourishes the spirit and enriches the understanding. I think that our truest prayers come from there too, the often unspoken, unbidden prayers that can rise out of the lives of unbelievers as well as believers whether they recognize them as prayers or not. And I think that from there also come our best dreams and our times of gladdest playing and taking it easy and all those moments when we find ourselves being better or stronger or braver or wiser than we are.

White Truck on Highway 79

Mike decided to drive straight through, and he's wending his way right now south on Highway 79.  A roast is in the crock pot and I'm about to make him a birthday cake--which I'll share with my writing group tonight.

Tomorrow night, I'm going with Freda and Bonnie and Grant to hear The Blind Boys of Alabama concert.

Mike and I will be spending Christmas with Will and Veronica and the kids.

Christmas is going to be wonderful at my house--and I hope it is at all of yours!  Carlene, Bob and Jocelyn are spending the week of Christmas in a beautiful North Georgia mountain cabin, and Day's dad is driving to Virginia this year.

On the other hand, there are losses that we feel during the holidays.  I'm thinking of the deaths of Uncle David and my good friend Julianne.  And two good men in their eighties who are in the process of leaving--Bill Jenkins (a neighbor who has like a brother to my dad) and Uncle Richard.

We keep driving our trucks down the road and celebrating every minute of life we have--but it's sad to think about the holes in all our lives of the people who've left!

My friend Gerlinde told us at salon about a German practice to honor the dead on Christmas.  Everyone takes lights and stands at the graves of the people they've lost.  I wish we had that tradition-- a way to keep the lights going for those we love who can't be here for the holidays!

Super Soul Pancake

Now that I have AT&T TV instead of Time Warner, I have the OWN channel, which heretofore I've only gotten to see at Joy's house.

This morning there was a short segment on Super Soul Pancake in which  two booths were set up for people to give compliments to each other, taking turns.  A mother told her daughter how easy it was being her mother.  A young wife told her husband that she often forgets to tell him how awesome he is.  Best friends thanked each other for years of friendship.

Watching it, I noticed that everyone was smiling and I was smiling, too.

The power of words to change a person's day or name qualities that are endearing in that person is an awesome thing!

Here's to everybody making soul pancakes!

A Far Other Butterfly

Certain stories stick in the mind forever.  One of my favorite short stories from college days is "The Artist of the Beautiful" by Nathaniel Hawthorne--which, if you like, you can read online.

So many times in my life I've heard the echo of "a far other butterfly"--a phrase in the last paragraph of Hawthorne's story.  I think of the Zen monks who make intricate sand mandalas, then when they are finished, they let them blow away into the wind, sand scattering.

The Hawthorne story is about a man whose art-making is the real treasure--more so than the thing he spent months laboring to make.  It's a story about making what is the artist's vision to make, not letting the voices of other people pull us into their vision of what our work or life should look like.

In the end, many of the things we make may not survive or be appreciated, but the process of making them transforms us, the makers, the writers, the artists.

A question I'm asking in my Saturday writing group this afternoon is: What and who inspires you?

What kind of people or words can temporarily diminish your desire to create?

Inspired by an activity on a recent retreat, I've asked each person to bring six things that evoke memories or represent some aspect of themselves.  We're going to talk about each and write fuller pieces related to our things for the January meeting.

What are the things that inspire you to be your most creative, juicy, alive self?  How can you do more of those things in the New Year?

Friday in San Antonio

I love this city!

Elena and I spent the morning at Brackenridge Park and rode the train, then met three friends at La Madeleine's for lunch.

Then Sandy picked up Kate and me and drove us downtown for a holiday walk topside and down below, on the Riverwalk.  We had dinner at Thai Orchard, the best Thai food in the city we all think.

Wonderful meal, the city all lit up, the Riverwalk crowded with people and alive with music--it was a beautiful night.

For those who haven't seen it, the art installation at the San Fernando Cathedral is not to be missed.  The history of San Antonio is rendered in a 30-minute laser show with pictures flashed onto the exterior of the cathedral--a breathtaking show with music and light.

Mike and Me at YeYa's Junk Shop Thanksgiving Week

Words from Rumi, the 13th-century Persian poet

“This being human is a guest house. Every morning is a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor...Welcome and entertain them all. Treat each guest honorably. The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in. Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.”
― Rumi

From the Same Planet

Sometimes you see someone and feel you know each other instantly.

A friend said last week that sometimes she sees a baby in a store and "feels seen" by that baby.  Since she said that, I find myself noticing babies more, and she's right: some look away, some look back with knowing eyes.

Another friend said yesterday that what we all want deep down is "to be seen" for who we are.  Maybe that's what drives us to write blog posts, e-mails, and books, to tell each other things we don't tell everyone we know.

A young gay man at a drive-through window always greets me on the speaker with a hearty voice: "Hello, my friend!"  Instead of giving me the Senior Diet Coke I order, he gives me a huge one, no charge.

When it's early morning (after I get up the first time and before I go back to bed) and if the line isn't too long, Tony and I chat a bit.  He's always incredibly cheerful even at the end of his graveyard shift. We part with his words, "Have a good day, Sweetheart."  I may only drink ten sips of my giant drink, but I carry his sweetness throughout the day.  He has the soul of a grandmother.

Yesterday at the grocery store, I saw a young family--a grandfather, two parents and a little girl--hugging the checker ("Aunt Brenda") and the grocery bagger. They were obviously not related by blood, but seemed to have known each other a long time, and their faces glowed when they spoke to each other. Brenda was black, the family was white, and the bagger was Middle Eastern.

Mike has a theory that we are "from the same planet"--meaning that we recognize and see each other in ways that other people might not see, that we knew each other long before we met.

Whether it's true or not, it's a great image that reflects the connection we have with certain people--on the road, in classrooms, at parties, in stores. Random connections. Instant recognition.  We know each other from somewhere outside of ordinary time.

I had a great phone conversation yesterday with my friend Deb.  We rarely see each other; she's busy completing her Ph.D. But every time we speak, I feel that amazing, energizing connection we've had since we first me--when she was a student from Georgia in a freshman comp class I was teaching.

Another friend and I share the same first name.  She's young enough to be my daughter.  We met on the floor in Border's seven years ago.  She calls me Peach, and I call her Wildflower.  Linda and I are definitely from the same planet.

I could name many people here, but the blog post would be too long.  I come from a large unruly planet.

Sometimes, we can go years without seeing the people who come from our planet, but when we re-connect, it's as if no time has passed.  We pick up right where we left off, or better. When we're together--whether for a minute or a month--it's like Being Home.

Merry Christmas from Nellie!

When I got this delightful photograph from Nellie, I wrote to ask her if I could share it.  Here's what her fifteen-year-old grandson said about it:

"Have a great Christmas yourself!....Those Christmas decorations look great. I like the addition of dinosaurs to the group of animals, just because they're extinct is no reason to exclude them!"

Which reminds me of a conversation between Marcus and his dad earlier today:

Marcus was in charge of the nativity scene and he set the animals up in a way that struck Tom as odd.  "What's going on with the nativity scene, Buddy?"

"They're just like real animals, smelling each other's butts," Marcus said.

Ham and Egg Pie

My top favorite comfort food is probably Carlene's ham and egg pie--which was also Mimi's.  With some leftover ham from Thanksgiving and some boiled eggs, it's a snap to make.  Crust  on top and bottom, chipped ham and sliced eggs in a white sauce in the middle, it's as easy as proverbial pie.  (Carlene and Mimi made their crusts from scratch; I buy mine; there's a definite difference.)

Elena and I were watching Charlotte's Web on the laptop in bed.  I'd forgotten how sad it might be for a little girl, so I tried distracting her with pie making, but she wanted to watch to the end.

Then we made the pie and took a bath together while it cooled--though I didn't mention the origin of the ham part after an afternoon with Wilbur and Charlotte.

In the bath, she likes to tell me what her body parts are called in Spanish.  "In Spanish, we say....so-and so."

"Does your daddy speak Spanish, too?" I asked, knowing he speaks a passable Spanish.

"Yes, but not very well yet.  I am learning him.  After I learn you."

Then we joined Will to pick up Nathan at Helotes Elementary--always deja vu for me since both my kids went there. After a week at his other daddy's house and a new baby sister there, Nathan and Elena were so excited to get back together again they couldn't stop hugging each other.  (Nathan now has four sisters, but he told Will he's "ready for a brother at this house.")

Back at the Pritchett house, before we watched Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Will made rib-eyes on the grill, Elena pranced around the yard swinging her right arm, feeding her horses and playing with the hens.  Addison is her favorite of the chickens.

Elena and Addison

Putting hay in the horse's mouth

Feeding Yancey and Cinco

My little farm girl going back for another handful of hay

Fearless.  Never met an animal she didn't love

Just as I was about to leave, Nathan asked if I could stay just two more minutes, which turned into an hour of making a Lego kit on his bed.

What it feels like to know you're special

Elena was playing with two friends the other day, and in the scuffling, she got knocked down.

"Be careful!" she said,  (rather indignantly, I was told). "I'm special!  Jesus made me."

Today is going to be a good day.  I'll pick up Elena at seven at her mommy's school, then we'll play and do crafts at my house, then pick up her equally special big brother after school.

"Who's your favorite person?" she recently asked Nathan who, without missing a beat, said, "You!"

Advanced Style

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jb6GklRnS7g

Nellie sent me this delightful link yesterday: it's about an artist in her seventies who dresses and lives exuberantly!

Then, at lunch today, Kate gave me the name of a movie on Netflix, which I've just watched and love: Advanced Style.  It's a documentary about women--aged 60 to 95--whose artistic venue is clothes and jewelry.

I feel I'm seeing my daughter when she grows old--a girl who's always loved to dress up in unique ways.  She loves to go to thrift shops and buy clothes-with-possibilities, then appliqué designs on them or add ruffles.  Or she'll buy chenille bedspreads or tablecloths and cut them up and make something wearable out of them. Even as a little girl, Day liked making costumes out of rags, painting her shoes, even making a pair of green felt elfin shoes.  She makes magic out of the ordinary, and she shines!

These elder women remind me of little girls who like dressing up every day, riding down the streets of New York on bicycles, or walking, strutting and sashaying and doing exactly what they want to do.  There's such a vibrancy in these women, their zest for life, their insatiable appetites for traveling and learning.

If you want to watch a charming parade of women who live to the fullest every day, each in her own way, don't miss Advanced Style!

What archetype is this one?

Mike drove to Texas and spent nine days with me.  Except for a couple of brief visits, we'd not seen each other in seven years, but I knew that we'd have a great time together.

We painted my bathroom yellow, orange and turquoise.  We spent two afternoons at YaYe's on Commerce Street, poking around through rusted things we both like.  I took pictures. He trimmed bushes.  We made pies for Thanksgiving and discovered a little hole-in-the-wall Mexican cafe.

He brought a box of photographs and letters from our months together in 2007-2008.  We looked at those pictures and re-read the cards, reminiscing about how we met on a road neither of us had ever traveled before.

He tells about looking at me through his rear-view mirror and seeing a stranger in a Mini in his glass, thinking Ugh Oh!  I tell him that I'd never done such an outrageous thing, but in my altered state of solo traveling mind, I'd thrown caution out the window miles before Hope.

We've both changed some in the past seven years.  He--who's gotten mellower--says I've turned into a smart ass, a moniker I rather enjoy playing out. 

My friend Janet P. asked me something a couple of weeks ago that has stayed with me throughout this adventure: What aspect of yourself does Mike bring out?  Free spiritedness? Having a playmate?  Does Mike bring out the playful child archetype? she wondered.

The answer to that question is still percolating in my mind, but here's a line from Anais Nin that speaks to the question:

"Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive.  And it is only by this meeting that a new world is born."

We are all galaxies of planets within ourselves.  Each friend takes us to his or her world for a visit, and when in Rome (by any other name) you get to speak Italian.