Pam just sent me this post by Danny Gregory. Before you read his list, make your own: who are ten living people with whom you'd like to share dinner?
https://dannygregorysblog.com/2016/11/29/ten-living-people-id-like-to-have-dinner-with/
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
Sunday, November 27, 2016
Bird by Bird by Bird by Bird
"I started writing when I was seven or eight. I was very shy and strange-looking, loved reading above everything else, weighed about forty pounds at the time, and was so tense that I walked around with my shoulders up to my ears, like Richard Nixon. I saw a home movie once of a birthday party I went to in the first grade, with all these cute little boys and girls playing together like puppies, and all of a sudden I scuttled across the screen like Prufrock’s crab. I was very clearly the one who was going to grow up to be a serial killer, or keep dozens of cats. Instead I got funny…."
from Bird By Bird, the Introduction
Anne Lamott is the funniest person on paper I know. She has the kind of voice that if you should hear it on a radio interview from the next room (which I did once twenty years ago), you'll know it's Anne's voice (as I did when I followed the voice into the kitchen that day to make sure.) She writes exactly like she talks.
She's not funny all the way through, though, one funny line after the other. She can have you laughing, then bring you in for a tearful landing in the very next paragraph. She makes the reader feel like she's right there, your best friend, just telling stories and throwing in some good advice along the way.
Bird By Bird is subtitled "Some Instructions on Writing and Life."
I have many books that instruct me on the craft of writing. I've read all (or parts of all) of them. Some are written in a humorless authoritarian voice that sounds like it came down from On High along with the Ten Commandments. Some provide a seemingly workable map to fame and fortune in the business of writing or to popularity and universal acclaim in the business of life.
Some give the reader lists of things to write about, which I never feel compelled to do since the writer of the advice book thought of them first. Several of these books give good solid advice by well-known writers and reading them is like attending a writing conference.
Though I've never met Anne personally, even when I hung out in the bookstore in Marin County three years ago hoping she'd show up, she's great company, whether you want to write or not. About every page or two, I look up from the page and look out the window to the bird feeders on my happy deck and notice that I'm smiling.
Just now, when I did that, I noticed that when we decorated the happy deck, I'd hung a yellow and green cartoony iguana on the wall, and it seems fitting that she's out there the day after I bought a Tiguan (tiger/iguana) car. It's like a little jokey sign telling me which car to pick, and it's been there all the time.
from Bird By Bird, the Introduction
Anne Lamott is the funniest person on paper I know. She has the kind of voice that if you should hear it on a radio interview from the next room (which I did once twenty years ago), you'll know it's Anne's voice (as I did when I followed the voice into the kitchen that day to make sure.) She writes exactly like she talks.
She's not funny all the way through, though, one funny line after the other. She can have you laughing, then bring you in for a tearful landing in the very next paragraph. She makes the reader feel like she's right there, your best friend, just telling stories and throwing in some good advice along the way.
Bird By Bird is subtitled "Some Instructions on Writing and Life."
I have many books that instruct me on the craft of writing. I've read all (or parts of all) of them. Some are written in a humorless authoritarian voice that sounds like it came down from On High along with the Ten Commandments. Some provide a seemingly workable map to fame and fortune in the business of writing or to popularity and universal acclaim in the business of life.
Some give the reader lists of things to write about, which I never feel compelled to do since the writer of the advice book thought of them first. Several of these books give good solid advice by well-known writers and reading them is like attending a writing conference.
Though I've never met Anne personally, even when I hung out in the bookstore in Marin County three years ago hoping she'd show up, she's great company, whether you want to write or not. About every page or two, I look up from the page and look out the window to the bird feeders on my happy deck and notice that I'm smiling.
Just now, when I did that, I noticed that when we decorated the happy deck, I'd hung a yellow and green cartoony iguana on the wall, and it seems fitting that she's out there the day after I bought a Tiguan (tiger/iguana) car. It's like a little jokey sign telling me which car to pick, and it's been there all the time.
A Taking It Easy Day
Almost two years ago, I met an interesting woman at an antique shop in Georgia owned by a friend of Mike's. We sat in old chairs and talked. We had that mutual conversational spark that lets you know you've found a kindred soul.
We exchanged email addresses and planned to stay in touch, but I never heard from her again.
Yesterday, she called from Stone Mountain. She'd sent me an email and never gotten a response. I'd done the same. Who knows where lost letters go in cyberspace?
Since we met, she's decided to leave a corporate job and take it easy for a while, and I told her that Mike and I had broken up. Neither of us went into detail, but it felt like we were both crossing into new territories. Both of us had experienced some physical and emotional complications before deciding to call it quits.
"Work and relationships shouldn't be hard," she said. "They should be easy. We're so programmed to stick with things, make them work...."
"What are you doing now?" I asked.
"Nothing!" she said with great joy. "I'm just taking it easy and doing whatever I feel like."
It was wonderful to hear from her just at that moment. I got in my new Tiguan and went for a ride to the grocery store for weekend provisions to celebrate.
Today I'm going to do exactly what I did yesterday--read a little of The Nightingale (an excellent novel by Kristin Hannah set in World War II), then a little Bird by Bird, by Anne Lamott, then back to Nightingale, etc. all day long. Back and forth, a page here, a page there, falling asleep when I get sleepy, waking up when I feel like it. I love days like this!
We exchanged email addresses and planned to stay in touch, but I never heard from her again.
Yesterday, she called from Stone Mountain. She'd sent me an email and never gotten a response. I'd done the same. Who knows where lost letters go in cyberspace?
Since we met, she's decided to leave a corporate job and take it easy for a while, and I told her that Mike and I had broken up. Neither of us went into detail, but it felt like we were both crossing into new territories. Both of us had experienced some physical and emotional complications before deciding to call it quits.
"Work and relationships shouldn't be hard," she said. "They should be easy. We're so programmed to stick with things, make them work...."
"What are you doing now?" I asked.
"Nothing!" she said with great joy. "I'm just taking it easy and doing whatever I feel like."
It was wonderful to hear from her just at that moment. I got in my new Tiguan and went for a ride to the grocery store for weekend provisions to celebrate.
Today I'm going to do exactly what I did yesterday--read a little of The Nightingale (an excellent novel by Kristin Hannah set in World War II), then a little Bird by Bird, by Anne Lamott, then back to Nightingale, etc. all day long. Back and forth, a page here, a page there, falling asleep when I get sleepy, waking up when I feel like it. I love days like this!
Friday, November 25, 2016
We did it!
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| My first passenger in the Tiguan |
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| Elena kissing the Mini good-bye |
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| Elena taking a picture of Yenna hugging her last Mini |
On our first drive--to my house after three hours at Ancira--Elena said, "This car is so.....so peaceful."
Black and White Friday
My first computer was someone else's used Apple, $100, a funky little gray machine with a screen about the size of an iPad, but all black and white. Before buying it, I talked to everyone I knew who had a computer: Apple or Dell? and wound up joining the Apple club for life.
My first car-of-my-own (not counting a '55 Oldsmobile I drove senior year that soon became my daddy's fishing car) was a beautiful turquoise 1990 Acura Integra, $14,000. (Actually, it was a gift from my parents, so it only cost me gas and insurance!) I loved that little car and it was my vehicle (literally and figuratively) into Singledom.
Married, we'd had a '67 Volkswagen, two Volvos, a Dodge van, and a Suburban, but those had been chosen by the man. (My only contribution to the choice of Volvo #2 was blue.)
Betty's often said I make decisions by consensus, and she's right. Until I got my Choosing Muscle built up, it took many phone calls and interviews with owners to make a decision.
I drove that pretty Acura for ten years, then got a white Camry which I drove for seven. In 2005, I only asked Mini people for advice and put my fingers in my ear when I got unsolicited advice from anyone else. It was exactly what I hoped it would be and I've been a Mini Girl for a decade.
Now the Mini decade is coming to an end. Driving without a spare tire on long road trips is a factor (again!), the ride on Mini tires is hard and noisy, and there's no back-up camera. The seats are so-so comfortable. So after trying out three sedans and a Kia Soul, I'm buying a Tiguan today, Black Friday. Elena will be my first passenger--as her daddy was in former Minis.
Victor let me bring it home a couple of days ago--and I'm smitten. Falling in love with a car or a person is a very individual decision and this one feels so right. It's a quiet, comfortable ride and I love the look of it.
If all goes as planned with Victor, I'll be driving a white Volkswagen Tiguan (the word comes from tiger and iguana so Elena will love it) home from the Black Friday sale.
My first car-of-my-own (not counting a '55 Oldsmobile I drove senior year that soon became my daddy's fishing car) was a beautiful turquoise 1990 Acura Integra, $14,000. (Actually, it was a gift from my parents, so it only cost me gas and insurance!) I loved that little car and it was my vehicle (literally and figuratively) into Singledom.
Married, we'd had a '67 Volkswagen, two Volvos, a Dodge van, and a Suburban, but those had been chosen by the man. (My only contribution to the choice of Volvo #2 was blue.)
Betty's often said I make decisions by consensus, and she's right. Until I got my Choosing Muscle built up, it took many phone calls and interviews with owners to make a decision.
I drove that pretty Acura for ten years, then got a white Camry which I drove for seven. In 2005, I only asked Mini people for advice and put my fingers in my ear when I got unsolicited advice from anyone else. It was exactly what I hoped it would be and I've been a Mini Girl for a decade.
Now the Mini decade is coming to an end. Driving without a spare tire on long road trips is a factor (again!), the ride on Mini tires is hard and noisy, and there's no back-up camera. The seats are so-so comfortable. So after trying out three sedans and a Kia Soul, I'm buying a Tiguan today, Black Friday. Elena will be my first passenger--as her daddy was in former Minis.
Victor let me bring it home a couple of days ago--and I'm smitten. Falling in love with a car or a person is a very individual decision and this one feels so right. It's a quiet, comfortable ride and I love the look of it.
If all goes as planned with Victor, I'll be driving a white Volkswagen Tiguan (the word comes from tiger and iguana so Elena will love it) home from the Black Friday sale.
Thursday, November 24, 2016
Thanksgiving, San Antonio
Here's Thanksgiving on a beautiful Texas afternoon at Kate's....
And here's Jackson on his way to New Jersey to have Thanksgiving with his Leary family:
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| Kate and her daughter and cooking partner, Lisa |
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| Lisa's son Michael with his wife, Molly, and precious Baby Owen |
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| La-La with her grandson, Owen |
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| I stayed for the Bloody Mary's and a delicious meal, then left when football started. |
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| Kate and Me Sisters for nearly 20 years! |
Happy Thanksgiving, Everybody!
I celebrated Thanksgiving with Will and family on Tuesday. Pam went with me to their early dinner and we had--among other things--the juiciest bird, basted with herbs and cooked in a bag. That's the way I'm going to cook it if I ever cook one again.
Elena and seven other little girls were drawing in her room and Nathan and a boy cousin were playing. Two baby boys (one Vicky's, the other Brenda's) were parked in little carriers, side by side, cousins who look like twins. The girls had a sign on the door saying "Girls Only Club" (written by Elena) but they let these two grandmothers in.
I'm wide awake at 4:13 in the morning--trying to sleep, then getting up and cleaning, then reading. Just took a Benadryl, a glass of milk, and a slice of Veronica's zucchini bread. That should do the trick. The movie I watched at midnight was "A Sea of Trees."
Later today, I'll have another delicious meal with Kate and family--and she really knows how to put on a party!
Wherever you are, and with whomever, I hope each of you will have a wonderful Thanksgiving!
Elena and seven other little girls were drawing in her room and Nathan and a boy cousin were playing. Two baby boys (one Vicky's, the other Brenda's) were parked in little carriers, side by side, cousins who look like twins. The girls had a sign on the door saying "Girls Only Club" (written by Elena) but they let these two grandmothers in.
I'm wide awake at 4:13 in the morning--trying to sleep, then getting up and cleaning, then reading. Just took a Benadryl, a glass of milk, and a slice of Veronica's zucchini bread. That should do the trick. The movie I watched at midnight was "A Sea of Trees."
Later today, I'll have another delicious meal with Kate and family--and she really knows how to put on a party!
Wherever you are, and with whomever, I hope each of you will have a wonderful Thanksgiving!
Tuesday, November 22, 2016
When the milk goes sour...
This week I talked to several neighbors and friends I hadn't seen in while, so we had a lot to catching up to do.
First, we talked about You-Know-Who and the election results, then we moved closer-to-home-- grandchildren, travel tales, and building projects. When three people in one day asked me the dreaded question (Is Mike coming for the holidays?) I thought Ugh Oh, I have to say it again.
"We broke up, we're going our separate ways," I said.
There are about 43 ways to tell a story. I can look all sad and gloomy, or I can recount every unnerving detail. What I say to two neighbors on the street-- "Long distance relationships are hard to sustain."
When people break up, they've been breaking up slowly for a while, but patching it together with plaster, hoping for the best. And even while they're patching, good things happen, too--as I wrote about earlier on the blog from New England.
Breaking up involves a series of falls. Like children's building blocks precariously stacked on top of each other, the falls finally add up to that last big one that brings the tower of love crashing down.
I remember back when we could tell each other everything, no secrets. The first months of loving someone is full of telling everything, everything, everything. Then distance creeps in. Gazes turn to glances and, and you know it's dissolving.
So I tell the story, in abbreviated versions mostly, and each person gives me a new block for my new tower, whatever that is.
One neighbor who asked that question yesterday said she was sad to hear the news, but then said, "When the milk goes sour, there's no reason to drink it anymore."
First, we talked about You-Know-Who and the election results, then we moved closer-to-home-- grandchildren, travel tales, and building projects. When three people in one day asked me the dreaded question (Is Mike coming for the holidays?) I thought Ugh Oh, I have to say it again.
"We broke up, we're going our separate ways," I said.
There are about 43 ways to tell a story. I can look all sad and gloomy, or I can recount every unnerving detail. What I say to two neighbors on the street-- "Long distance relationships are hard to sustain."
When people break up, they've been breaking up slowly for a while, but patching it together with plaster, hoping for the best. And even while they're patching, good things happen, too--as I wrote about earlier on the blog from New England.
Breaking up involves a series of falls. Like children's building blocks precariously stacked on top of each other, the falls finally add up to that last big one that brings the tower of love crashing down.
I remember back when we could tell each other everything, no secrets. The first months of loving someone is full of telling everything, everything, everything. Then distance creeps in. Gazes turn to glances and, and you know it's dissolving.
So I tell the story, in abbreviated versions mostly, and each person gives me a new block for my new tower, whatever that is.
One neighbor who asked that question yesterday said she was sad to hear the news, but then said, "When the milk goes sour, there's no reason to drink it anymore."
Monday, November 21, 2016
Sunday, November 20, 2016
Girls in Revolt
"Spirit in the Sky...."
Marilyn singing "Happy Birthday, Mr. President...."
Panty hose and girdles, high heels and pearls....
Nora Ephron, young....
"A pretty girl like you--you should have a ring on that finger by now!"
Women in offices being called "girls" by the men....
Everybody smoking in the office....
Black rotary dial phones....
The Sensuous Woman....
Typewriters and Charm Bracelets....
If you want a trip back in time, just for ten episodes, and if you remember those days, you gotta watch Girls in Revolt on Amazon. Freda told me about it this afternoon as we were driving to a blues concert, and it's my Sunday night watch. I'm three episodes in. It's uncovering memories of those years when feminism was a baby and men got all the "important" jobs, even when their underlings were as smart as they were.
Marilyn singing "Happy Birthday, Mr. President...."
Panty hose and girdles, high heels and pearls....
Nora Ephron, young....
"A pretty girl like you--you should have a ring on that finger by now!"
Women in offices being called "girls" by the men....
Everybody smoking in the office....
Black rotary dial phones....
The Sensuous Woman....
Typewriters and Charm Bracelets....
If you want a trip back in time, just for ten episodes, and if you remember those days, you gotta watch Girls in Revolt on Amazon. Freda told me about it this afternoon as we were driving to a blues concert, and it's my Sunday night watch. I'm three episodes in. It's uncovering memories of those years when feminism was a baby and men got all the "important" jobs, even when their underlings were as smart as they were.
Good Words from Anne Lamott
I have passed through the initial five stages of grief: Denial anger bargaining depression and acceptance. Now I am in fascination--cobra hypnosis, newly apoplectic every day by the latest. I believe I have actually keened within recent memory. At this rate, I may have a flickering tic in my eye by sundown. Also, I am doing the unconscious eating that everyone I know is doing, whole packages of Oreos for us sugar freaks, whole bags of chips for the salty-fats crowd, oat-bags of dip, whole sides of beef: no little dog is safe in the midst of our voracious appetite for numbness. I absolve everyone: It's okay for now. We need ballast.
Because we're all doomed. It's hopeless.
Oh, wait, never mind.
But what do we do, what do we do? We have to figure this out--oh wait, never mind. Figure out is not a good slogan (altho certain very tall people in your household and classrooms always insisted that this was the golden path to glory.) (I will not name names.)
Where do we start?
Well, that one I can answer. We start here, where our butts are. We get up and feed the dogs--I said feed them, not eat them.
We can say a little prayer even if we are not believers: "Help" is a great prayer. "Help me, help me, I am a completely doomed human" is even better. When my then six-year-old son got his head stuck in the bars of a chair at the dining table of some friends we were visiting, he went unnoticed for a time, and then a tiny voice piped up and said, "I need help with me." The friends had this calligraphied and framed for us. I say it at least once a month.
I'll tell you a great praise prayer for the believers, and then one for the Nons.
I have a friend who is a hopeless alcoholic of the worst sort, like me, who somehow like me has put a few years between those cool refreshing beers we had with breakfast, just to get all the flies going in one direction. She went to some sort of "meeting," and met up with a woman who had had most of her tongue removed during surgery for an aggressive oral cancer. She shared during the meeting that the cancer had returned and she needed another round of chemo. Everyone looked on in dismay, but she flipped her wrist dismissively. "Oh, I'm not worried," she said. "God's got it."
God's got it. This is so not me. I'm more of a Rube Goldberg machine of herky jerky attempts at control, domination, and, most importantly, assigning blame. But then the pain and isolation of feeling like the wizard of Oz gets my attention and eventually, I give up. I surrender. I lay down my weapons, and breathe, maybe not like the Dalai Lama, but less like a sturgeon on a dock
And for the Nons: a dear friend once got a call from a world-famous screenwriter, who, in the throes of grandiosity, had lost or was losing almost everything precious to him. He recounted a litany of troubles and obsessions, from the distant wife to the scary child to the lack of prospects, and then demanded that my friend gave him one good reason to stay here on this vale of tears.
My friend listened attentively, which is pretty much all we have to offer, and then said, "Mornings are nice."
That's a gorgeous prayer.
"i thank You God for most this amazing day:" cummings wrote, "for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes."
So that's where we start--here, now, damaged, scared, grateful, surrounded by our beloved, by sad strangers, with lots of poor people to care for, a world to save, a bracing cup of coffee, walks begging to be taken, lonely people to check in with, Oreos and Cheetos to get through, (someone's got to do it,) a whole new day before us, that we can screw up or not. Sigh. Here we go.
A Commencement Address by Toni Morrison
https://www.brainpickings.org/2015/07/21/toni-morrison-wellesley-commencement/
I've loved Toni Morrison since reading The Bluest Eye and then all her other novels. She's brilliant and wonderfully wise.
This speech was delivered in 2004, but it's perfect for today.
I've loved Toni Morrison since reading The Bluest Eye and then all her other novels. She's brilliant and wonderfully wise.
This speech was delivered in 2004, but it's perfect for today.
What now?
In the past couple of weeks, I've had countless conversations with friends (face to face, in email, and on the phone) who are despondent about the election.
My Blue Friends and I have eaten more candy, watched more movies than news, cleaned out our closets, and spent a fair amount of time under the covers, unable to find the energy to move forward. We've been gripped in paralysis.
When I feel hopeless, I look to writers who have wiser things to say about it than I do. This morning's Brainpickings includes Toni Morrison's response:
http://us2.campaign-archive1.com/?u=13eb080d8a315477042e0d5b1&id=70016c55ba&e=7940cd5ca2
For a few days, I deactivated my account on Facebook, only to reactivate it to read something Kate asked me to read. I'm tired of politics. I'm tired of people passing on "fake news" stories without checking the veracity of the stories. I'm tired of being pulled into (and contributing to) the maelstrom of fear and anger.
My Blue Friends and I have eaten more candy, watched more movies than news, cleaned out our closets, and spent a fair amount of time under the covers, unable to find the energy to move forward. We've been gripped in paralysis.
When I feel hopeless, I look to writers who have wiser things to say about it than I do. This morning's Brainpickings includes Toni Morrison's response:
http://us2.campaign-archive1.com/?u=13eb080d8a315477042e0d5b1&id=70016c55ba&e=7940cd5ca2
For a few days, I deactivated my account on Facebook, only to reactivate it to read something Kate asked me to read. I'm tired of politics. I'm tired of people passing on "fake news" stories without checking the veracity of the stories. I'm tired of being pulled into (and contributing to) the maelstrom of fear and anger.
Saturday, November 19, 2016
Ragged Dolls
On my recent trip, I took many photographs of doll faces. Then I ran them through the cheater watercolor app on my phone, Waterlogue.
When I showed them to Elena, she said, "I don't like ragged dolls." Then she shot me a sort of warning look: "If anybody gives me one, I won't play with it."
Okay. That's settled then. No Raggedy Ann or Andy dolls for Elena.
When I showed them to Elena, she said, "I don't like ragged dolls." Then she shot me a sort of warning look: "If anybody gives me one, I won't play with it."
Okay. That's settled then. No Raggedy Ann or Andy dolls for Elena.
Sunday, November 6, 2016
Believing
We can learn a lot from children, believers in stories.
Yesterday, I was doing the voices of the pink elephant (Stompy), the raccoon (Racoony) and the kitty (Liddy.)
Elena was the only shopper in my pet shop.
The elephant spoke in a creaky old lady voice; Racoony spoke in a husky voice; and Liddy spoke in a baby voice.
"Will I be happy in your house?" Stompy asked.
"Yes, we will all love you and I will have you all my life," Elena said. "I will always be with you."
Earlier, Elena had needed a Band-Aid. When she noticed a slight stitching defect in the trunk of the pink elephant, Stompy said, "Maybe I need a Band-Aid."
Elena turned to me and whispered--whispered! so Stompy wouldn't hear--"Let's don't tell her about Band-Aids."
Yesterday, I was doing the voices of the pink elephant (Stompy), the raccoon (Racoony) and the kitty (Liddy.)
Elena was the only shopper in my pet shop.
The elephant spoke in a creaky old lady voice; Racoony spoke in a husky voice; and Liddy spoke in a baby voice.
"Will I be happy in your house?" Stompy asked.
"Yes, we will all love you and I will have you all my life," Elena said. "I will always be with you."
Earlier, Elena had needed a Band-Aid. When she noticed a slight stitching defect in the trunk of the pink elephant, Stompy said, "Maybe I need a Band-Aid."
Elena turned to me and whispered--whispered! so Stompy wouldn't hear--"Let's don't tell her about Band-Aids."
Teaching herself to read....
As we were riding from place to place today, Elena kept spelling words in the backseat: Mommy, Elena, Daddy, Nathan, zoo, zebra. Later, she read several words to me from new books I'd bought her.
"How did you learn to spell and read?" I asked her.
"I taught myself," she said. "Easy."
Her mother confirmed that fact. All she needed to know, she said, were the sounds of the letters. Putting them together into words came easy after that.
Saturday, November 5, 2016
A bonus day with my love bug
Hopefully, today will make Elena a lifelong lover of art shows. We so enjoyed the Uptown Stroll today, especially at Alison's booth of fabric and whimsy and hats. Elena picked a pink bubble hat for cold mornings, if we ever have any:
She also chose Christmas presents for her family. I won't say what in case her parents read this, but they are her choice entirely and she's so excited about them. If you're in San Antonio, the Uptown Stroll continues on Sunday on and around Thorain and Mandalay.
Then we pushed it--me with my back ache and Elena with her allergies acting up--and spent the rest of the day at the zoo, riding the train and picking out a pink elephant. Pink was the color of the day.
We're both rather lethargic now, so we're going to finish the day with a movie on Netflix.
She also chose Christmas presents for her family. I won't say what in case her parents read this, but they are her choice entirely and she's so excited about them. If you're in San Antonio, the Uptown Stroll continues on Sunday on and around Thorain and Mandalay.
Then we pushed it--me with my back ache and Elena with her allergies acting up--and spent the rest of the day at the zoo, riding the train and picking out a pink elephant. Pink was the color of the day.
We're both rather lethargic now, so we're going to finish the day with a movie on Netflix.
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| I don't see the likeness, but it's a caricature after all. |
Love Bug
That's what I call her, Love Bug.
When I picked her up from school, she ran into my arms with pure glee.
Who even uses that word anymore, glee?
She hugs with her whole heart for a long time, nothing tepid or half-hearted.
Elena has always cried in a grown-up way. Her eyes fill up with tears but there's no sound.
She had her bags for overnight but she had the sniffles and a cold coming on. "I want to come over til night, but then I want to go home with my Mommy and Daddy."
We went to a couple of shops in old town Helotes while waiting for her parents' to get my text. One of the shops used to be a Mexican restaurant where went on Friday nights when Day and Will were little.
She chose a plastic horse and an old ceramic cow creamer, but wanted to be sure we went to the
"Sewing store" where they have the big-eyed stuffed animals she likes.
I'd forgotten that last time we went to Jo Ann's she'd spent half an hour choosing just the right one and I'd promised we'd get another one next time.
"Grownups sure do have a lot of work to do," she said as we were driving.
"Like what?" I asked.
"Making rules for their children, going to their jobs, making the food, fixing things when they break."
"Children don't have to do anything but what they want," she said.
"What kind of rules do your parents make?" I asked.
"Like not being rude to your brother and making good choices," she said.
"Sometimes I am rude to my brother because he doesn't let me play with his Legos."
When one driver honked at another, she said, "One time someone even honked at my parents!
That is so rude! Other people are not the boss of us!"
"Who is the boss of us?" I asked.
"Jesus and God," she said. "But they don't talk so you can't ever really hear them."
At eleven when her parents came to pick her up, she said,
"But now I wish I said I would spend the night! I'm not sick anymore."
We'd started watching Tarzan but had to stop because 'it got sad."
"Let's just sit on the floor and make art things."
So we did, me and Love Bug and Racoony and Liddy, the stuffed animals."
"Sometimes I donate my toys," she said, "But never my stuffed animals. They need me."
When I picked her up from school, she ran into my arms with pure glee.
Who even uses that word anymore, glee?
She hugs with her whole heart for a long time, nothing tepid or half-hearted.
Elena has always cried in a grown-up way. Her eyes fill up with tears but there's no sound.
She had her bags for overnight but she had the sniffles and a cold coming on. "I want to come over til night, but then I want to go home with my Mommy and Daddy."
We went to a couple of shops in old town Helotes while waiting for her parents' to get my text. One of the shops used to be a Mexican restaurant where went on Friday nights when Day and Will were little.
She chose a plastic horse and an old ceramic cow creamer, but wanted to be sure we went to the
"Sewing store" where they have the big-eyed stuffed animals she likes.
I'd forgotten that last time we went to Jo Ann's she'd spent half an hour choosing just the right one and I'd promised we'd get another one next time.
"Grownups sure do have a lot of work to do," she said as we were driving.
"Like what?" I asked.
"Making rules for their children, going to their jobs, making the food, fixing things when they break."
"Children don't have to do anything but what they want," she said.
"What kind of rules do your parents make?" I asked.
"Like not being rude to your brother and making good choices," she said.
"Sometimes I am rude to my brother because he doesn't let me play with his Legos."
When one driver honked at another, she said, "One time someone even honked at my parents!
That is so rude! Other people are not the boss of us!"
"Who is the boss of us?" I asked.
"Jesus and God," she said. "But they don't talk so you can't ever really hear them."
At eleven when her parents came to pick her up, she said,
"But now I wish I said I would spend the night! I'm not sick anymore."
We'd started watching Tarzan but had to stop because 'it got sad."
"Let's just sit on the floor and make art things."
So we did, me and Love Bug and Racoony and Liddy, the stuffed animals."
"Sometimes I donate my toys," she said, "But never my stuffed animals. They need me."
Tuesday, November 1, 2016
Halloween Party on Ogden Lane
This is my party of the year. My little house is filled with thirty-plus people who gather to eat hot dogs and veggies and cookies, then head over to Argo and Abiso to Trick-Or-Treat.
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| Cousins, Audrey, Elena and Preston |
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| Cowboy Preston |
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| Vicky and Preston's little brother, Sage |
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| Elena, Nathan, Veronica, Will along with Skippy and Conway Twitty |
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| Preston, Nathan, Audrey and Elena |
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| Charlotte, Elena and Kate Breaking in the new sofa |
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| Kate, Sebastien and Makken |
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| The unicorn and the princess |
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| Nathan and Will |
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| Ninja Nathan |
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| Audrey's new little brother, Christian |
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| Eric, Brenda (Audrey's parents) and Nando, Granddaddy |
Telling The Truth
Without secrets, we'd have no literature. Readers and movie-goers are willing to spend hours to follow the skein of deception to get to the core of truth in the end.
As a card-carrying narrative addict, I enjoy the pleasure of the journey to truth as much as the final destination, as if believing that the "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth" is possible, Perry Mason notwithstanding.
Along the way, there are ambiguities, different perceptions and outright blindnesses, just as in real life. It's fascinating to observe the ways we humans cover up or hide from the light of truth as much as the ways we try hard to be truthful.
I've never seen a political campaign so fraught with fact-checking and revelations of outright lies. I learned a new word that applies: Truthiness: a quality characterizing a "truth" that a person making an argument or assertion claims to know intuitively "from the gut" or because it "feels right" without regard to evidence, logic, intellectual examination, or facts.
There's literal truth-telling: the facts as best we know them. But there are also plenty of ways we mostly-honest people lie to ourselves and each other, often unintentionally. We tell half-truths, we keep secrets, we gloss over details that matter, we finesse, we exaggerate.
When friends intentionally keep secrets from each other, the arteries of the heart of friendship get clogged. When friends trust each other to tell the truth as we know it, it's like rough-drafting a story: this may not be the version I want to share with the world just yet, but here it is, the embryo of a story that wants a second set of ears and eyes.
What a relief it is to tell the truth, the partial truth, and skewed perceptions of the truth! What a freedom it is to have a friend listen as the truth evolves.
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