Sunday, April 30, 2017
Beekeeping
Nathan and his Aunt Day are becoming beekeepers! Apparently, with bees on the decline, lots of urban dwellers and country dwellers are starting to keep hives.
Here's Nathan at Gretchen's Bee Farm in Sequin yesterday trying on a beekeeper suit, his sister sampling the honey. They won't get their first batch of bees until next spring, but the set up will be ready when they arrive.
Here's Nathan at Gretchen's Bee Farm in Sequin yesterday trying on a beekeeper suit, his sister sampling the honey. They won't get their first batch of bees until next spring, but the set up will be ready when they arrive.
The Kots and Carlene
Back when we were still in our thirties, camping at Molas Lake, I met my dear friends Linda and Steve Kot from Cape Cod. Linda and I were both on the same page of Prince of Tides, and we were both reading the same book to our little boys, Ribsy. Our parents had the same wedding anniversary, September 16th, and we'd both had flower girls in our wedding named Tammy. Coincidences abounded on that camping trip.
Several times we have visited back and forth, and several times Carlene and I have been there--and they to Georgia and Texas. When my daddy died, they drove to his funeral, all the way from Massachusetts to our sad grieving place. When Day and Tom married, they came to the wedding in Washington. They are like family!
Cape Cod is one of our favorite places and one of Day's and Tom's too--where they went for their honeymoon twenty years ago and where Day visited me when I was housesitting for the Kots the summer before she married. We love Cape Cod, the beaches and grasses and lighthouses and quiet curvy streets and cranberry bogs!
Today they are at Carlene's house and I just got these pictures snapped on Carlene's porch. I'd like to be a fly on that screen today, where words are flying and stories told and plans being made for a fall trip to see their first grandchild.
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Several times we have visited back and forth, and several times Carlene and I have been there--and they to Georgia and Texas. When my daddy died, they drove to his funeral, all the way from Massachusetts to our sad grieving place. When Day and Tom married, they came to the wedding in Washington. They are like family!
Cape Cod is one of our favorite places and one of Day's and Tom's too--where they went for their honeymoon twenty years ago and where Day visited me when I was housesitting for the Kots the summer before she married. We love Cape Cod, the beaches and grasses and lighthouses and quiet curvy streets and cranberry bogs!
Today they are at Carlene's house and I just got these pictures snapped on Carlene's porch. I'd like to be a fly on that screen today, where words are flying and stories told and plans being made for a fall trip to see their first grandchild.
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Science and Poetry
This morning's Brainpickings, my Sunday morning first-read every week, is particularly heartening--in that it shares excerpts from a meeting of science and poetry. In a time when the arts are at serious risk of being defunding and science is being "silenced" in favor of half-baked opinions about climate change and protection of our one and only planet, this meeting of minds must have been spectacular.
Fortunately, for those of us unable to attend or watch the livestream, Maria Popova does what her blog does better than any other--it leads us from one conversation to another and connects them brilliantly at one big table of ideas.
https://www.brainpickings.org/2017/04/26/the-mushroom-hunters-neil-gaiman/?utm_source=Brain+Pickings&utm_campaign=85b5344a4e-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2017_04_28&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_179ffa2629-85b5344a4e-235042797&mc_cid=85b5344a4e&mc_eid=7940cd5ca2
Listen to Amanda Palmer reading her husband Neil Gaiman's poem, "The Mushroom Hunters." This reading concluded the gathering described by Maria Popova this way:
To our astonishment, eight hundred people poured into Brooklyn’s Pioneer Works and thousands watched the livestream of the sold-out show — a heartening testament to this seemingly unsuspected yet immensely fertile meeting point of science, poetry, and protest, featuring poems about Marie Curie, Jane Goodall, Oliver Sacks, Caroline Herschel, Euclid, neutrinos, and the number pi, by poets like Adrienne Rich, John Updike, Edna St. Vincent Millay, and Wisława Szymborska, read by beloved artists and writers, including Rosanne Cash, Diane Ackerman, Ann Hamilton, Brandon Stanton, Jad Abumrad, and Elizabeth Alexander.
Fortunately, for those of us unable to attend or watch the livestream, Maria Popova does what her blog does better than any other--it leads us from one conversation to another and connects them brilliantly at one big table of ideas.
https://www.brainpickings.org/2017/04/26/the-mushroom-hunters-neil-gaiman/?utm_source=Brain+Pickings&utm_campaign=85b5344a4e-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2017_04_28&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_179ffa2629-85b5344a4e-235042797&mc_cid=85b5344a4e&mc_eid=7940cd5ca2
Listen to Amanda Palmer reading her husband Neil Gaiman's poem, "The Mushroom Hunters." This reading concluded the gathering described by Maria Popova this way:
To our astonishment, eight hundred people poured into Brooklyn’s Pioneer Works and thousands watched the livestream of the sold-out show — a heartening testament to this seemingly unsuspected yet immensely fertile meeting point of science, poetry, and protest, featuring poems about Marie Curie, Jane Goodall, Oliver Sacks, Caroline Herschel, Euclid, neutrinos, and the number pi, by poets like Adrienne Rich, John Updike, Edna St. Vincent Millay, and Wisława Szymborska, read by beloved artists and writers, including Rosanne Cash, Diane Ackerman, Ann Hamilton, Brandon Stanton, Jad Abumrad, and Elizabeth Alexander.
Saturday, April 29, 2017
Just home from the Learys
I expected to fall asleep right away, but with the sound of wind and hail stirring outside, it took until midnight. I wrote a LONG blog post (which I'm abbreviating this morning), watched the John-Stewart-replacement John Oliver (to whom the Learys introduced me) to catch up on the news of the week, and sorted the mail. Clothes are still all over the dining table.
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| Day and Tom Celebrating their 20th anniversary in June |
Jackson, my oldest grandson, has a learner's permit to drive and will be sixteen in October. His favorite class is music theory and he showed me on the computer how he builds music--which I found fascinating. His career plan at the moment is to be an entrepreneur.
Even though he has many friends his own age, he and Marcus are "best friends" and he's an extraordinary big brother. After Marcus' first practice as goalie, he called to tell Jackson all about it, and I could hear Jackson saying, "Awesome, Buddy!" and giving him pointers for the next day's game.
Marcus (an affectionate Little Tom) likes video games, saxophone, movies (usually about aliens and superheroes), and making things--including word play jokes. This visit, I loved watching him taking lots of cool photos with my camera. Both boys won their final lacrosse games of the week.
Here's my own little girl, their mom, 45 years ago:
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| Daisy at one |
Day grew up to be an English teacher and artist. The senior class voted this week for Teacher Superlatives and she was the female part of the duo chosen as "Most like A Mom and Dad." Before and after school, Jackson is now one of the ninth graders who hang out in her classroom!
One of my favorite times of the Virginia days was after-school when Day told me about the challenges of being department chair and about what she's teaching her ninth grade honors classes. Students now write their essays and turn them in on the computer, and she does all her grading online. As a former English teacher who lugged heavy bags of essays-on-paper to and from my car on school days, I'd have a HUGE learning curve if I returned to high school teaching in the 21st century!
I was fascinated to look at the names on her class rosters: Bao, Baboo, Nesey, Akira, Parris, Raheel, Drateek, Nayeli, Zaurie, Yasmine, and Jelitza, just to name a few.
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| April 2017 almost always with a quilting project in her lap |
Tom is one of the kindest and most patient men I know. Here he is with his mom, Kathy, with whom I got to share three fun days grandmothering. Kathy is a New Jersey mother of seven and grandmother to 18, and we'd not had a chance to visit since Paul's death four years ago.
On Thursday, Tom took a day off (he's president of HMSS and works with computerized medical records) and took Kathy and me to the African American museum in D.C. He coaches Marcus' lacrosse team and attends all the games of both boys. Up early to swim, up late to work, he has incredible energy and strikes me as an old-soul daddy!
Friday, April 28, 2017
Leaving tomorrow
Uber will pick me up and take me to National Airport, and I'll fly through Tampa and arrive in SA late tomorrow afternoon.
This has been such a good trip in every way--except that my fibro-condition has been fierce the last three days. It's time to get back to yoga, NIA, and avoiding sugar again.
We went out to eat a lot and watched the boys play--except I had to miss the last game, Jackson's winning game, because I was too stiff to walk last night.
But what a sweet time it's been! Kathy, Tom's mother, and I have overlapped for three days. Tom took off yesterday and the three of us went to the African American Museum, then we had a grand finale at a cool diner at Mosaic tonight.
This has been such a good trip in every way--except that my fibro-condition has been fierce the last three days. It's time to get back to yoga, NIA, and avoiding sugar again.
We went out to eat a lot and watched the boys play--except I had to miss the last game, Jackson's winning game, because I was too stiff to walk last night.
But what a sweet time it's been! Kathy, Tom's mother, and I have overlapped for three days. Tom took off yesterday and the three of us went to the African American Museum, then we had a grand finale at a cool diner at Mosaic tonight.
Monday, April 24, 2017
The Leary House in the Month of Dogwoods
Take away the cars and dust this neighborhood in snow, and the year could be 1954. These streets of two-story brick Cape Cod style houses between Highway 29 and Arlington Blvd. remind me of the iconic all-American, all-white neighborhoods in my first grade reading books.
Yesterday, riding through the neighborhood to Marcus's lacrosse game, azaleas and dogwoods in profuse bloom, I found myself humming "Happy Days...."
In 2017, this is a multi-racial, multi-ethnic neighborhood, a sweet blending of nationalities. I look at the houses and wonder, what would they might say "if these walls could talk" about all the changes since they were built in 1948.
Day and Tom bought this house nineteen years ago, the house where both Jackson and Marcus were brought home to right after they were born. The nursery has since become a library and is now Marcus' bedroom; Day and Tom's former bedroom is now Jackson's; the upstairs (formerly the boys' rooms and the guest room) has been remodeled to include Day and Tom's bedroom and Day's quilting studio.
This incarnation of the house is more muted in colors than in former years. They've gone for a more Zen palette of greys and neutral with pops of colors from quilts and photographs. They've built a beautiful screened-in porch that stretches along the back of the house.
Inside this house, there's a climate of such ease and peacefulness! At night, the four of them sit together in the living room, listening to each other talk like best friends, all four interested in the happenings of everyone else's days, all contributing to problem-solving and decision-making. There's a lot of laughter.
If anyone has a concert or a game, everyone goes. They sit in the freezing rain or muggy heat to watch lacrosse. They make costumes together, practice instruments in the kitchen, and all pitch in to make dinner and clean up afterwards. Yesterday Day wanted to run to the fabric store and all five us hopped in the car to go with her. That's the way this family rolls!
Yesterday, riding through the neighborhood to Marcus's lacrosse game, azaleas and dogwoods in profuse bloom, I found myself humming "Happy Days...."
In 2017, this is a multi-racial, multi-ethnic neighborhood, a sweet blending of nationalities. I look at the houses and wonder, what would they might say "if these walls could talk" about all the changes since they were built in 1948.
Day and Tom bought this house nineteen years ago, the house where both Jackson and Marcus were brought home to right after they were born. The nursery has since become a library and is now Marcus' bedroom; Day and Tom's former bedroom is now Jackson's; the upstairs (formerly the boys' rooms and the guest room) has been remodeled to include Day and Tom's bedroom and Day's quilting studio.
This incarnation of the house is more muted in colors than in former years. They've gone for a more Zen palette of greys and neutral with pops of colors from quilts and photographs. They've built a beautiful screened-in porch that stretches along the back of the house.
Inside this house, there's a climate of such ease and peacefulness! At night, the four of them sit together in the living room, listening to each other talk like best friends, all four interested in the happenings of everyone else's days, all contributing to problem-solving and decision-making. There's a lot of laughter.
If anyone has a concert or a game, everyone goes. They sit in the freezing rain or muggy heat to watch lacrosse. They make costumes together, practice instruments in the kitchen, and all pitch in to make dinner and clean up afterwards. Yesterday Day wanted to run to the fabric store and all five us hopped in the car to go with her. That's the way this family rolls!
Sunday, April 23, 2017
Cheers to the chief in our family!
A promotion from captain to chief of a particular section of the fire department involves a competitive series of tests and interviews. The written test is similar in form to every previous promotional test, but this one involves three days of interviews with a panel of officers from other cities.
Will has passed all previous tests with flying colors, but he always stresses over test-taking, and this time was no exception. He scored in the top four. Then there were the three weeks of waiting for the interviews. Fourteen testers qualified for the chief interviews and that made it even more competitive.
After the total scores were tallied, only the top two or three would be guaranteed chief promotions. You could be a lower number and have to do it all over again next year because there are fewer slots to fill than candidates.
We were expecting news on Monday morning, but last night, we got the call. First, of course, he teased us that he "didn't make it to the top four," then he shed that somber voice and said, "I got number one!"
From this house in Virginia to Texas to Georgia, there was much cheering and congratulating! We're so happy to know that it's all done and he's on his way to chief, probably in May, the month of his 39th birthday!
Will has passed all previous tests with flying colors, but he always stresses over test-taking, and this time was no exception. He scored in the top four. Then there were the three weeks of waiting for the interviews. Fourteen testers qualified for the chief interviews and that made it even more competitive.
After the total scores were tallied, only the top two or three would be guaranteed chief promotions. You could be a lower number and have to do it all over again next year because there are fewer slots to fill than candidates.
We were expecting news on Monday morning, but last night, we got the call. First, of course, he teased us that he "didn't make it to the top four," then he shed that somber voice and said, "I got number one!"
From this house in Virginia to Texas to Georgia, there was much cheering and congratulating! We're so happy to know that it's all done and he's on his way to chief, probably in May, the month of his 39th birthday!
Sunday in Georgetown
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| The Leary House |
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| Tom, Day, Marcus, and Jackson |
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| Day and I, trying on the coolest shoes |
Friday, April 21, 2017
Friday with my talking and napping friend
Day is taking off work today, and we've had a beautiful morning on her porch in pajamas talking! We went out for tortilla soup and talked nonstop some more--such a happy way to spend a morning.
To top it all off, we get sleepy at the same time, after lunch. "Before we go to the quilt shop," she said, "let's go home and take a nap."
Yippee! (I didn't want to be the one who asked for a nap; she said just what I was thinking.)
But here we are, she with her books, I with my computer, ready to fall asleep, she in her big comfy bed upstairs, me down in the basement guest room.
To top it all off, we get sleepy at the same time, after lunch. "Before we go to the quilt shop," she said, "let's go home and take a nap."
Yippee! (I didn't want to be the one who asked for a nap; she said just what I was thinking.)
But here we are, she with her books, I with my computer, ready to fall asleep, she in her big comfy bed upstairs, me down in the basement guest room.
Thursday, April 20, 2017
Thursday in Falls Church
Here's a self-portrait Marcus did in his 6th grade art class.
And here he is at the lacrosse game, just before a thunderstorm sent us running to the car.
Jackson #5 is the tallest member of the lacrosse team:
At the gourmet sandwich shop on the way to the game:
Daisy in her Texas cap from the SA airport:
Day's most recent quilt in progress
Nose Spray in the Classroom
Today I have the house all to myself, doors open, birds everywhere, temperature perfect. Just got this email from Day--who teaches ninth grade English:
Today I was doing writing conferences with my freshpeople. After I answered one of their very specific questions, the girl got up smiling and said, “I feel so much clearer! You’re like the nasal spray to my decongestion.”
Never forget why we do this job… so we can be nasal spray!
Today I was doing writing conferences with my freshpeople. After I answered one of their very specific questions, the girl got up smiling and said, “I feel so much clearer! You’re like the nasal spray to my decongestion.”
Never forget why we do this job… so we can be nasal spray!
Manglehorn
Freda recommended this movie on Netflix--I'd never heard of it--and I just watched it in the middle of the night.
Starring Al Pacino as a gritty, eccentric Texas locksmith and former coach, Manglehorn is more like a visual poem or collage, intriguing enough I already want to watch it again. An old man still in love with a woman named Clara, he writes letters to her every day for years, letters that always come back marked "Return to Sender."
He has a cat he loves, a friend at the bank (Holly Hunter) who'd like more than friendship, a wealthy commodities-trader son, a granddaughter, and some story-swapping guys at the Legion. To his son, he says, "You piss me off but I love ya."
Mostly, his life revolves around checking the mail, storing hundreds of returned letters in a file cabinet, and talking to the long-absent and mysterious Clara more than to the people around him. Dialogue weaves around the voices and memories in his head, and not all questions get answered.
Starring Al Pacino as a gritty, eccentric Texas locksmith and former coach, Manglehorn is more like a visual poem or collage, intriguing enough I already want to watch it again. An old man still in love with a woman named Clara, he writes letters to her every day for years, letters that always come back marked "Return to Sender."
He has a cat he loves, a friend at the bank (Holly Hunter) who'd like more than friendship, a wealthy commodities-trader son, a granddaughter, and some story-swapping guys at the Legion. To his son, he says, "You piss me off but I love ya."
Mostly, his life revolves around checking the mail, storing hundreds of returned letters in a file cabinet, and talking to the long-absent and mysterious Clara more than to the people around him. Dialogue weaves around the voices and memories in his head, and not all questions get answered.
Wednesday, April 19, 2017
Arrival in Northern Virginia
I had a smooth flight with nice people, and arrived to a terrific welcoming committee.
Tom is on a business trip and won't be home until tomorrow, but I'm now in my cozy downstairs bedroom writing and reading, jazzed.
We had delicious Indian food--Pam, I thought of you with saag paneer!--and then came home and I opened my welcome present (a basket of Reese's and Burt's Bees and a satin pillow case) and gave them theirs and we're all happy as can be.
Tom is on a business trip and won't be home until tomorrow, but I'm now in my cozy downstairs bedroom writing and reading, jazzed.
We had delicious Indian food--Pam, I thought of you with saag paneer!--and then came home and I opened my welcome present (a basket of Reese's and Burt's Bees and a satin pillow case) and gave them theirs and we're all happy as can be.
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| Jackson is on a lower step so you can't tell-- he's 6'3"! |
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| And Marcus is almost as tall as I am! |
Tuesday, April 18, 2017
The Shuck Shack on Grayson
Charlotte and Kate caught me just in time--after pedicure and haircut--that I got in on their plan to have lunch at the Shuck Shack. Charlotte introduced Kate and me to this Jason Dady place and it's yummy, the lobster rolls better than the ones I had in Maine. Really! Right here in SA!
Go toward town on Broadway, take a left on Grayson, and you'll see it on your right (corner of Grayson and Austin streets)
I want to get the word out and make sure this place stays. It's terrific.
As are my two crazy Frankie and Frankie braided-haired bejeweled free-spirited friends:
I keep hearing echoes of "Leaving on a Jet Plane" running through my mind--as tomorrow is departure day, heading to Virginia.....
Go toward town on Broadway, take a left on Grayson, and you'll see it on your right (corner of Grayson and Austin streets)
I want to get the word out and make sure this place stays. It's terrific.
As are my two crazy Frankie and Frankie braided-haired bejeweled free-spirited friends:
I keep hearing echoes of "Leaving on a Jet Plane" running through my mind--as tomorrow is departure day, heading to Virginia.....
Sunday, April 16, 2017
Easter Clothes
Well, I didn't get dressed all day--had a lazy day at home, reading, writing, and catching up on emails.
But I got pictures of folks all dressed up for Easter:
But I got pictures of folks all dressed up for Easter:
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| Elena at church |
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| Elena and Nathan with their Easter baskets |
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| Jackson (who got his learner's permit to drive yesterday) And Little Brother Marcus |
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| Lola-Bunny in Georgia my cousin's granddaughter |
Saturday, April 15, 2017
Lethargy
It's not just me, but it's several people I know: fatigue, lethargy, lacking in luster. Those who say it's Mercury in Retrograde may be right--but that ends today, so maybe I'll perk up. Those who say it's the barometric pressure or pollen may be right, too.
I mostly want to nap all day, but I'm going to rouse myself and do noon yoga, get some green juice, see if that perks up my energy and puts the wind back in my flagging sails.
At any rate, I'm excited about a geographical change mid-week, and seeing my Leary family, and watching Jackson and Marcus play lacrosse.
Part 2:
Yoga was canceled, so I spent the entire day doing what we're often advised to do in yoga and other exercise classes: Listen to your body. Mine said stay in bed all day, eat popcorn, watch Netflix, and sleep.
Maybe that's the remedy. I'll know in the morning....
I mostly want to nap all day, but I'm going to rouse myself and do noon yoga, get some green juice, see if that perks up my energy and puts the wind back in my flagging sails.
At any rate, I'm excited about a geographical change mid-week, and seeing my Leary family, and watching Jackson and Marcus play lacrosse.
Part 2:
Yoga was canceled, so I spent the entire day doing what we're often advised to do in yoga and other exercise classes: Listen to your body. Mine said stay in bed all day, eat popcorn, watch Netflix, and sleep.
Maybe that's the remedy. I'll know in the morning....
Friday, April 14, 2017
Imagining What Could Be
In some cultures there are no words to describe what could be, could have been, or might have been. Something just is or isn't. I heard about that on NPR and I'm going to try to track it down.
One man (first generation American, I believe) asked his father, "What if you'd followed your dream and been a doctor?" And the man simply replied, "Well, I didn't. That's that."
But in English, we explore possible other actions: "If he had lived longer, he would have...." or "If I had gone to a different college...." or "If I had married a different person...." "If Bernie had been elected President...."
Native English speakers learn this early. Elena is the only little person I've observed every week of her life since my own children were little, so I'll use one of our conversations last night as an example:
Last night she said she would one day have a baby, but only if she meets a husband just like her daddy. Then her face darkened as she imagined a possible scenario going on down that road. Tears welled up in her eyes as the picture materialized in her mind. "But then my daddy would be a grandpa and he might be in a wheelchair."
Our language allows us to go there. We can imagine all kinds of things to scare us or reassure us.
On a recent visit to a nursing home, I later found out, she had met old men in wheelchairs--and was able to project way into the future and see her young, strong daddy like those old men.
"Not all old men are in wheel chairs." That's all I could think to say--but it seemed to make the image fade from her mind.
"Now that my parents see that I can spend the night, we can go to the beach trip," she said.
One man (first generation American, I believe) asked his father, "What if you'd followed your dream and been a doctor?" And the man simply replied, "Well, I didn't. That's that."
But in English, we explore possible other actions: "If he had lived longer, he would have...." or "If I had gone to a different college...." or "If I had married a different person...." "If Bernie had been elected President...."
Native English speakers learn this early. Elena is the only little person I've observed every week of her life since my own children were little, so I'll use one of our conversations last night as an example:
Last night she said she would one day have a baby, but only if she meets a husband just like her daddy. Then her face darkened as she imagined a possible scenario going on down that road. Tears welled up in her eyes as the picture materialized in her mind. "But then my daddy would be a grandpa and he might be in a wheelchair."
Our language allows us to go there. We can imagine all kinds of things to scare us or reassure us.
On a recent visit to a nursing home, I later found out, she had met old men in wheelchairs--and was able to project way into the future and see her young, strong daddy like those old men.
"Not all old men are in wheel chairs." That's all I could think to say--but it seemed to make the image fade from her mind.
"Now that my parents see that I can spend the night, we can go to the beach trip," she said.
The Park
All the kids around here think of the Cambridge Elementary School playground as "the park." I've had precious times with my four grandchildren there, especially when they were pre-schoolers.
When you take one child at a time, they are instantly attracted to other kids their age, and they start up games without even knowing each other's names.
Yesterday, Elena found a little girl named Kemp, and the job of Yenna and Kemp's daddy was to call out animals and they became those animals, moving toward the butterfly jumping like a frog, then a rabbit, then walking like a penguin, all the way to the butterfly.
The butterfly is a memorial to a Cambridge student who died a few years ago. There's no telling how many living children have sat on that butterfly-wing bench without even knowing its story.
In a year, the playground is being demolished for parking spaces, a smaller playground to be built on the grounds of the school. For so many years, the school-children have crossed the street in colorful rows from the school to the playground and I love to stop in my car and watch them skipping and dancing across the street in lines with their teachers. Now, crossing the street has been deemed a safety violation and the powers that be want the playground and the school on one side of the street.
But for one more year, we get to enjoy the big sprawling playground where the bigger boys play basketball and the little kids crawl, balance, slide down poles, swing, build rock volcanos, and feed the birds leftover pizza.
Kemp's daddy and I watched as two little girls moved nonstop for an hour. If we only had that energy! we said.
Little people are like little butterflies, moving in streaks, landing on one thing, then another, soaring, this minute, this day, everything.
When you take one child at a time, they are instantly attracted to other kids their age, and they start up games without even knowing each other's names.
Yesterday, Elena found a little girl named Kemp, and the job of Yenna and Kemp's daddy was to call out animals and they became those animals, moving toward the butterfly jumping like a frog, then a rabbit, then walking like a penguin, all the way to the butterfly.
The butterfly is a memorial to a Cambridge student who died a few years ago. There's no telling how many living children have sat on that butterfly-wing bench without even knowing its story.
In a year, the playground is being demolished for parking spaces, a smaller playground to be built on the grounds of the school. For so many years, the school-children have crossed the street in colorful rows from the school to the playground and I love to stop in my car and watch them skipping and dancing across the street in lines with their teachers. Now, crossing the street has been deemed a safety violation and the powers that be want the playground and the school on one side of the street.
But for one more year, we get to enjoy the big sprawling playground where the bigger boys play basketball and the little kids crawl, balance, slide down poles, swing, build rock volcanos, and feed the birds leftover pizza.
Kemp's daddy and I watched as two little girls moved nonstop for an hour. If we only had that energy! we said.
Little people are like little butterflies, moving in streaks, landing on one thing, then another, soaring, this minute, this day, everything.
A variation on the serenity prayer
Betty Ann Cody, one of the women in WOW and one of the speakers at the library event, is moving out of her house and into the Forum this month--and she was very upbeat about her move. She's giving a lot of her things that won't fit into her new apartment to her family members and thinks it's really fun to see what they choose.
Among her quips and jokes and wise sayings, she gave us this version of the serenity prayer:
God grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked anyway, the good fortune to run into the ones I do, and the eyesight to tell the difference.
Elena spent her first night with me last night! It's a big milestone--and an unexpected one. She's showing her parents that she "can do it" so we can plan a beach trip together in May. We're off this morning to meet her family for breakfast.
Among her quips and jokes and wise sayings, she gave us this version of the serenity prayer:
God grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked anyway, the good fortune to run into the ones I do, and the eyesight to tell the difference.
Elena spent her first night with me last night! It's a big milestone--and an unexpected one. She's showing her parents that she "can do it" so we can plan a beach trip together in May. We're off this morning to meet her family for breakfast.
Thursday, April 13, 2017
Wednesday, April 12, 2017
A Conversation About Immortality
Goops they lick their fingers,
Goops they like their knives,
They spill their broth
on the tablecloth,
And lead disgusting lives.
This little "poem" came up yesterday when a voice from the back seat announced that a little bit of ice cream had spilled on her clothes.
My daddy used to say it whenever the subject of spilling and table manners came up, a jokey little poem he probably learned from his parents.
"That is so disgusting!" Elena said. "I like it."
Then this:
"I wish I had met my great-grandfather, your daddy."
"I do, too,"I said. "He would have adored you and you'd have loved him. He was funny, like you and like your daddy."
"I already do love him. He's in my heart. He watches over me. He is always welcome in my heart."
She paused and couldn't see my eyes teary.
"When you die, Yenna, you will be in my heart too. I will always remember our trip to the beach and all the fun things we do together."
We haven't actually been to the beach, but we're planning a trip soon, so I hope it's worthy of immortal memories!
Goops they like their knives,
They spill their broth
on the tablecloth,
And lead disgusting lives.
This little "poem" came up yesterday when a voice from the back seat announced that a little bit of ice cream had spilled on her clothes.
My daddy used to say it whenever the subject of spilling and table manners came up, a jokey little poem he probably learned from his parents.
"That is so disgusting!" Elena said. "I like it."
Then this:
"I wish I had met my great-grandfather, your daddy."
"I do, too,"I said. "He would have adored you and you'd have loved him. He was funny, like you and like your daddy."
"I already do love him. He's in my heart. He watches over me. He is always welcome in my heart."
She paused and couldn't see my eyes teary.
"When you die, Yenna, you will be in my heart too. I will always remember our trip to the beach and all the fun things we do together."
We haven't actually been to the beach, but we're planning a trip soon, so I hope it's worthy of immortal memories!
Tuesday, April 11, 2017
The clerk and the buyer
On the way to my house from school today, Elena said, "I have my eye on a little stuffed tiger at Cracker Barrel. Maybe we could stop and look at it?"
Of course, we did. At Cracker Barrel, however, she changed her mind. The tiger that she had her eye on was replaced with a zebra. We also bought a little plastic calculator, which she was intent on learning to use in the car. Since she was then fairly proficient in adding, she decided that we would play store when we got home.
Here is how a five-year-old plays store.
First, you draw and paint all the items you will sell--grapes, apples, oranges, milk and horse feed.
Then, while your grandmother is making dinner, you invite Makken and Sebastien over to help in the designing and drawing of supplies.
Finally, you sit at your calculator and your grandmother (the boys already gone home) comes to shop. Items are added up and the prices are improvised: $14 for a sip straw. $4 for horse feed with a free wagon thrown in, $3 for grapes, and $8 for a single strawberry.
Of course, we did. At Cracker Barrel, however, she changed her mind. The tiger that she had her eye on was replaced with a zebra. We also bought a little plastic calculator, which she was intent on learning to use in the car. Since she was then fairly proficient in adding, she decided that we would play store when we got home.
Here is how a five-year-old plays store.
First, you draw and paint all the items you will sell--grapes, apples, oranges, milk and horse feed.
Then, while your grandmother is making dinner, you invite Makken and Sebastien over to help in the designing and drawing of supplies.
Finally, you sit at your calculator and your grandmother (the boys already gone home) comes to shop. Items are added up and the prices are improvised: $14 for a sip straw. $4 for horse feed with a free wagon thrown in, $3 for grapes, and $8 for a single strawberry.
Monday, April 10, 2017
Victoria and Cindy
Victoria Scuscum is a San Antonio artist whose work you can see this Friday night at the Guadalupe Cultural Arts Center. We met for dinner tonight and I bought a deck of the Tarot cards she made from her paintings--so excited to have little miniature paintings all in one deck!
At the opening of her retrospective, there will be three readers of Tarot, so you can get a reading while eating lovely fun foods and buying or just enjoying her paintings! Tarot cards and paintings will be for sale on Friday night.
Here we are tonight enjoying good Italian food at Julian's with Cindy. (I'm the invisible one behind the camera.)
For years, Cindy and Victoria have been in my Saturday writing group--both terrific writers! When we lost members and our group was in jeopardy of folding, Victoria (whose middle name is Enthusiasm) said, "No no, we're not going to fold! We're going to bring in new members and be great!"
So she suggested I post it on Facebook, and wow! We got a group together in two days that's going to be really special. I know because I know everyone in it. More about that in May....
At the opening of her retrospective, there will be three readers of Tarot, so you can get a reading while eating lovely fun foods and buying or just enjoying her paintings! Tarot cards and paintings will be for sale on Friday night.
Here we are tonight enjoying good Italian food at Julian's with Cindy. (I'm the invisible one behind the camera.)
 |
| Cindy and Victoria |
So she suggested I post it on Facebook, and wow! We got a group together in two days that's going to be really special. I know because I know everyone in it. More about that in May....
A Manual for Cleaning Women
I'm a lapsed member of a book group that's been going strong for at least forty years. I love them and their longevity, even though I pretty much quit going when I started writing groups. It's an amazing thing--to have a group of women who read a book together each month (and often even talk about it) and keep doing that into their eighties and nineties.
Last month, they read A Manual for Cleaning Women by the late Lucia Berlin, so I (still on the mailing list in spite of my several years of absence) ordered a copy.
I'm not far in, but I love it so much I can't seem to pull myself away to shop for rugs and birdseeds.
Books are treasures--we all know that. But some are way harder to put down than others, funnier, fuller of surprise and texture. The characters sort of move off the page and into your heart, unforgettable. The voice of the teller feels like your own, or someone you know really well from back home, wherever that it.
Among other jobs, this writer worked as a cleaning woman to support her four sons--thus, the title of the book.
Lucia Berlin--I'm already sorry she's not alive to write more!--is the kind of funny people can be when they are just talking to their people, letting you listen in. In places, I'm reminded of the mind of Flannery O'Connor. These stories are fiction, but close to autobiographical we're told in the introduction.
We don't read just to discover "what happens" in the plot. We read--I do--for the delicious turns of phrases and unexpected humor, dark or light, that pops off the pages. Like these:
B.F. was gasping and coughing after he climbed the three steps. He was an enormous man, tall, very fat and very old. Even when he was still outside catching his breath, I could smell him. Tobacco and dirty wool. rank alcoholic sweat. He had bloodshot baby-blue eyes that smiled. I liked him right away.
or:
People in cars around us were eating sloppy things. Watermelons, pomegranates, bruised bananas. Bottles of beer spurted on ceilings, suds cascaded on the sides of cars...I'm hungry, I whined. Mrs. Snowden had foreseen that. Her gloved hands paced me fig newtons wrapped in talcum Kleenex. The cookie expanded in my mouth like Japanese flowers.
or:
"Mama, you saw ugliness and evil everywhere, in every one, in every place. Were you crazy or a seer?"
I'm not far in, but I love it so much I can't seem to pull myself away to shop for rugs and birdseeds.
Books are treasures--we all know that. But some are way harder to put down than others, funnier, fuller of surprise and texture. The characters sort of move off the page and into your heart, unforgettable. The voice of the teller feels like your own, or someone you know really well from back home, wherever that it.
Among other jobs, this writer worked as a cleaning woman to support her four sons--thus, the title of the book.
Lucia Berlin--I'm already sorry she's not alive to write more!--is the kind of funny people can be when they are just talking to their people, letting you listen in. In places, I'm reminded of the mind of Flannery O'Connor. These stories are fiction, but close to autobiographical we're told in the introduction.
We don't read just to discover "what happens" in the plot. We read--I do--for the delicious turns of phrases and unexpected humor, dark or light, that pops off the pages. Like these:
B.F. was gasping and coughing after he climbed the three steps. He was an enormous man, tall, very fat and very old. Even when he was still outside catching his breath, I could smell him. Tobacco and dirty wool. rank alcoholic sweat. He had bloodshot baby-blue eyes that smiled. I liked him right away.
or:
People in cars around us were eating sloppy things. Watermelons, pomegranates, bruised bananas. Bottles of beer spurted on ceilings, suds cascaded on the sides of cars...I'm hungry, I whined. Mrs. Snowden had foreseen that. Her gloved hands paced me fig newtons wrapped in talcum Kleenex. The cookie expanded in my mouth like Japanese flowers.
or:
"Mama, you saw ugliness and evil everywhere, in every one, in every place. Were you crazy or a seer?"
Two Dolls
My aunt, Dot, has four daughters, all a little younger than me: Karen, Sharon, Beth, and Tammy. We grew up together, cousins, and Tammy, the youngest, was the flower girl in my wedding.
Now Sharon and Beth are grandmothers; each has a daughter who has a daughter.
Last week, they went to Cleveland, Georgia, where the original Cabbage Patch dolls are made. (At some point, Mattel mass-produced plastic versions, but these are the handstitched originals--the ones the child "adopts" at the Babyland General Hospital.)
These are my cousins' granddaughters, each with a doll chosen to match her skin tone.
Now Sharon and Beth are grandmothers; each has a daughter who has a daughter.
Last week, they went to Cleveland, Georgia, where the original Cabbage Patch dolls are made. (At some point, Mattel mass-produced plastic versions, but these are the handstitched originals--the ones the child "adopts" at the Babyland General Hospital.)
These are my cousins' granddaughters, each with a doll chosen to match her skin tone.
House, the Morning After
Houses, however, like people, rarely reach their final incarnations and stay there. (Although I do know a few people who get it right and leave it.) If you are a tinkerer and endless tweaker like me, you know that it's much like writing: once you have the bones in place, you move things around until you hear the click, you take things away, you add whole chunks.
I woke up this morning, all the punctuation in place, the margins free and even, and the house making a fairly coherent point: It's happy.
That's the mood my house aspires to, just as its only inhabitant does--but I'm also a rather slipshod and sloppy sort of person by nature. The furniture in the living room right now needs a rug to anchor it--just as sometimes a piece of writing needs an anchor to pull the elements together.
Birds on the deck outside are clambering for seeds and the feeders are empty. So today, after my nap, I'm going to look for a rug and seeds. I had a good workout at the gym, bought groceries and hardware, and that's the end of Part 1 of the day.
The pecan tree has finally decided to release its green shoots, but the stubborn pomegranate is saying, "Not this year, no blooms for you."
Our one day of hard freeze killed most of my plants, so the pots outside are mostly empty, all but a wagon full of succulents, survivors and thrivers no matter what.
The house and I putter along, putting out rough drafts as we go, then tweaking as the seasons and the stuff inside dictate. Whatever its state at any given moment, it's a great place to take a nap!
I woke up this morning, all the punctuation in place, the margins free and even, and the house making a fairly coherent point: It's happy.
That's the mood my house aspires to, just as its only inhabitant does--but I'm also a rather slipshod and sloppy sort of person by nature. The furniture in the living room right now needs a rug to anchor it--just as sometimes a piece of writing needs an anchor to pull the elements together.
Birds on the deck outside are clambering for seeds and the feeders are empty. So today, after my nap, I'm going to look for a rug and seeds. I had a good workout at the gym, bought groceries and hardware, and that's the end of Part 1 of the day.
The pecan tree has finally decided to release its green shoots, but the stubborn pomegranate is saying, "Not this year, no blooms for you."
Our one day of hard freeze killed most of my plants, so the pots outside are mostly empty, all but a wagon full of succulents, survivors and thrivers no matter what.
The house and I putter along, putting out rough drafts as we go, then tweaking as the seasons and the stuff inside dictate. Whatever its state at any given moment, it's a great place to take a nap!
Editing the House
Having a house cleaned by someone else is not in my family culture. I've had mine cleaned half a dozen times, but Carlene just had her house professionally cleaned for the first time last month.
After getting a substantial speeding ticket, and after my recent theft, I decided to restore my financial equilibrium by doing what I've always done--clean it myself, from top to bottom--instead of looking for an expert to do it.
"Cleaning" means rearranging, for one thing. Trying different lamps in different places. Throwing out half the stuff in the junk drawers. Moving pictures and mirrors. Then I polish the floors and glue the handle back on the microwave and wet the wrinkled blouses and put them in the dryer so I don't have to iron. I do not iron.
Carlene used to iron all our clothes at a big ironing machine when I was four or five. Each piece went into the crack between two circular barrels, then came out smooth, then back in with the sleeves and collars. When she started using a regular iron and ironing board, she sprinkled each piece with water in a coke bottle with holes poked in the top, then balled them up until she was ready to press them.
When I move a lamp into a different room, it literally puts a whole new light on everything. Then I see the cobwebs that I hadn't noticed and the hairs growing under the tables. So I get down on the floor and wash them all away.
I consider painting a few things, but decide that since my back's already too tight to start another project, I watch a Swedish movie called "A Man Called Ove," then go to Earl's and eat a breakfast supper of eggs and pancakes.
After getting a substantial speeding ticket, and after my recent theft, I decided to restore my financial equilibrium by doing what I've always done--clean it myself, from top to bottom--instead of looking for an expert to do it.
"Cleaning" means rearranging, for one thing. Trying different lamps in different places. Throwing out half the stuff in the junk drawers. Moving pictures and mirrors. Then I polish the floors and glue the handle back on the microwave and wet the wrinkled blouses and put them in the dryer so I don't have to iron. I do not iron.
Carlene used to iron all our clothes at a big ironing machine when I was four or five. Each piece went into the crack between two circular barrels, then came out smooth, then back in with the sleeves and collars. When she started using a regular iron and ironing board, she sprinkled each piece with water in a coke bottle with holes poked in the top, then balled them up until she was ready to press them.
When I move a lamp into a different room, it literally puts a whole new light on everything. Then I see the cobwebs that I hadn't noticed and the hairs growing under the tables. So I get down on the floor and wash them all away.
I consider painting a few things, but decide that since my back's already too tight to start another project, I watch a Swedish movie called "A Man Called Ove," then go to Earl's and eat a breakfast supper of eggs and pancakes.
Saturday, April 8, 2017
Cornbread and Elephants
If you do venture over to Periphery for dinner one night, be sure and order the cast-iron-skillet cornbread served with herb butter.
It's the old-fashioned Southern recipe, no flour, all meal--and it's second-only to Carlene's cornbread that she sometimes cooks in corn-stick cast-iron pans, sometimes in one big cast-iron skillet. There's no actual recipe--just some self-rising corn meal, some buttermilk, an egg and some oil.
Or Jan's blue-corn cornbread--really delicious and unusual.
Or Helen's corn pone (Helen was my mother-in-law) made with cornmeal, salt and water and fried fast in hot oil so that it was almost paper-thin and brown on the edges.
When you leave Periphery, ask for an order of cornbread to take home. It will be dinner for two nights even though the skillet is tiny.
If you go to Comfort, just north of Boerne, try the hot dawgs at the Comfort Commons on Main Street on Saturday. There's nothing like a real hot dog to take you back to summer camping trips and back yard parties. Remember hot dogs?
Comfort is a quaint little town with a few nice stores, including several antique stores, a clothing shop for women and babies, a gallery of local crafts, and an Elephant Story store in which the proceeds from home decor and clothing (all from countries where the Asian elephants are endangered) go to save Asian elephants.
There isn't much for these elephants to do anymore, the clerk told us, but they are smart animals, smarter than horses, and they play elephant polo.
Comfort is less tourist-oriented than Fredricksburg, and a fun place to spend a spring day.
It's the old-fashioned Southern recipe, no flour, all meal--and it's second-only to Carlene's cornbread that she sometimes cooks in corn-stick cast-iron pans, sometimes in one big cast-iron skillet. There's no actual recipe--just some self-rising corn meal, some buttermilk, an egg and some oil.
Or Jan's blue-corn cornbread--really delicious and unusual.
Or Helen's corn pone (Helen was my mother-in-law) made with cornmeal, salt and water and fried fast in hot oil so that it was almost paper-thin and brown on the edges.
When you leave Periphery, ask for an order of cornbread to take home. It will be dinner for two nights even though the skillet is tiny.
If you go to Comfort, just north of Boerne, try the hot dawgs at the Comfort Commons on Main Street on Saturday. There's nothing like a real hot dog to take you back to summer camping trips and back yard parties. Remember hot dogs?
Comfort is a quaint little town with a few nice stores, including several antique stores, a clothing shop for women and babies, a gallery of local crafts, and an Elephant Story store in which the proceeds from home decor and clothing (all from countries where the Asian elephants are endangered) go to save Asian elephants.
There isn't much for these elephants to do anymore, the clerk told us, but they are smart animals, smarter than horses, and they play elephant polo.
Comfort is less tourist-oriented than Fredricksburg, and a fun place to spend a spring day.
Anne Lamott
Anne Lamott ("Think" 4/4/17) told a story about re-tweeting a rude comment about a public figure, the "only transgendered person she doesn't like." Her son was furious at her for being so snarky, and he was cool and distant toward her for a while.
One of the things I love about Anne Lamott is her ability to take responsibility for her own judgments and actions. She doesn't hide from her mistakes; she owns them and admits it when she's wrong. She says things like "I was a shit," or "What I did was horrible," or "I'm so sorry."
That story alone made me buy the book, Hallelujah Anyway, subtitled "Rediscovering Mercy." As she explains, the original meaning of the word, mercy, is heart-for--as in having a heart for ourselves snd other people.
Lamott is Christian, but she is inclusive in her stories and language, extending the word "mercy" to mean "radical kindness" in any or no religious tradition. By the time I finished the book, I wanted to run out and buy copies for every reader I know--Christians, Jews, Buddhists, agnostics, and atheists, I even considered buying copies and leaving them in shelters, under bridges where people sleep, and on bus stop benches.
Being radically kind, she says, means speaking the truth--to and about ourselves, as well as to the people who care to hear it. Being radically kind means growing up, getting smarter, and more tolerant of the undesirable qualities in ourselves and other people. Being radically kind means apologizing when we've wronged other people instead of blaming our meds, the weather, our moods, or anything else besides our own sometimes-thoughtless selves.
"We get to do that because we're human," she said. "And we also get to clean it up."
I had a really good day in the quaint little town of Comfort, Texas. On the way home, I was listening to jazz on the radio and feeling happy when suddenly (On Olmos Drive, the speed trap that requires drivers to hold it to 25) I saw lights flashing. Ugh Oh. I was cruising at 39 in a 25 which means I'll have to pay over $200 for the effects of my happy heart.
I never get speeding tickets! I'm probably the pokiest driver you know, but there you have it. For the first time ever in my short list of ticket-getting, I took it in stride and kept listening to my jazz all the way across the dam and into my driveway.
I guess that speeding ticket is just an opportunity to practice a little heart-for-myself?
One of the things I love about Anne Lamott is her ability to take responsibility for her own judgments and actions. She doesn't hide from her mistakes; she owns them and admits it when she's wrong. She says things like "I was a shit," or "What I did was horrible," or "I'm so sorry."
That story alone made me buy the book, Hallelujah Anyway, subtitled "Rediscovering Mercy." As she explains, the original meaning of the word, mercy, is heart-for--as in having a heart for ourselves snd other people.
Lamott is Christian, but she is inclusive in her stories and language, extending the word "mercy" to mean "radical kindness" in any or no religious tradition. By the time I finished the book, I wanted to run out and buy copies for every reader I know--Christians, Jews, Buddhists, agnostics, and atheists, I even considered buying copies and leaving them in shelters, under bridges where people sleep, and on bus stop benches.
Being radically kind, she says, means speaking the truth--to and about ourselves, as well as to the people who care to hear it. Being radically kind means growing up, getting smarter, and more tolerant of the undesirable qualities in ourselves and other people. Being radically kind means apologizing when we've wronged other people instead of blaming our meds, the weather, our moods, or anything else besides our own sometimes-thoughtless selves.
"We get to do that because we're human," she said. "And we also get to clean it up."
I had a really good day in the quaint little town of Comfort, Texas. On the way home, I was listening to jazz on the radio and feeling happy when suddenly (On Olmos Drive, the speed trap that requires drivers to hold it to 25) I saw lights flashing. Ugh Oh. I was cruising at 39 in a 25 which means I'll have to pay over $200 for the effects of my happy heart.
I never get speeding tickets! I'm probably the pokiest driver you know, but there you have it. For the first time ever in my short list of ticket-getting, I took it in stride and kept listening to my jazz all the way across the dam and into my driveway.
I guess that speeding ticket is just an opportunity to practice a little heart-for-myself?
Jewelry
1.
In last week's "Call The Midwife," (PBS) a young vicar proposed to one of the midwives. He couldn't afford a ring, so he wrapped a circle of grass around her finger. "I love it more than anything you could have bought me," she said.
Women love jewelry given to them by their men. Carlene has recently spent more to re-string a seventy-year-old string of pearls than they probably cost her sweetheart when he bought them for her in the Forties.
"They may not even be real, I don't know, but he gave them to me!"
2.
To be walking through a craft fair or antique store and have a man buy a piece of jewelry for you, to have someone you love choose a piece that "looks like you" for no particular reason--that's a gift that is a forever memory of the day, a treasure.
Joy makes jewelry out of clay--beautiful renditions of insects and flowers and angels. Last week she gave me two daisy pins, one for me, one for Daisy. I keep my collection of colorful Joy Jewelry in a drawer all by itself.
3,
Pam and I were shopping one day this week and I tried on a silver bracelet with elephants engraved on it. "I wish they were donkeys!" I said.
She and Marcos, the clerk, began talking about the power of elephants, never mind their being co-opted as political-party symbols.
"You have to buy it!" she said--and I almost did. But then it hit me--I rarely wear the jewelry I already have. So I decided, instead, to go home and put my jewelry out in an obvious place--Pam's idea--and start wearing it more often.
Going through my jewelry drawer was like a trip into friendship and family, finding gifts of bracelets and earrings and necklaces that I hadn't worn in a while. Some pieces were souvenirs of Taos, North Georgia, Vermont, and other places I've traveled.
4.
Jan and I have been friends and next door neighbors for years, but she told me a story last night I'd never heard.
Jan wears pretty jewelry every day. "Every day I wear something of my mother's and something Gene gave me." She showed me a bracelet Gene gave her (her late husband--a sweeter man you've never met) and a piece from Lira--who would have been 103 this year.
Then she told me the story: The morning after her brother Bill died, she was walking down Greely, one street over, and she found a handcrafted silver bracelet on the street. "He loved handmade silver jewelry," she said, "And he and Bob [her other brother] always brought me silver jewelry from their travels."
She has worn that Greely bracelet all these years. "Thank you, Jesus, Thank you, Bill!" she said when that bracelet showed up for her out of the blue on the day she was grieving his death.
"I used to wonder why old women sometimes wear so much jewelry," she said. "Our hands aren't pretty anymore and who wants to call attention to crepe-y necks and arms?"
"But I've decided now that it's not about glamour. It's about wearing memories of people we love."
In last week's "Call The Midwife," (PBS) a young vicar proposed to one of the midwives. He couldn't afford a ring, so he wrapped a circle of grass around her finger. "I love it more than anything you could have bought me," she said.
Women love jewelry given to them by their men. Carlene has recently spent more to re-string a seventy-year-old string of pearls than they probably cost her sweetheart when he bought them for her in the Forties.
"They may not even be real, I don't know, but he gave them to me!"
2.
To be walking through a craft fair or antique store and have a man buy a piece of jewelry for you, to have someone you love choose a piece that "looks like you" for no particular reason--that's a gift that is a forever memory of the day, a treasure.
Joy makes jewelry out of clay--beautiful renditions of insects and flowers and angels. Last week she gave me two daisy pins, one for me, one for Daisy. I keep my collection of colorful Joy Jewelry in a drawer all by itself.
3,
Pam and I were shopping one day this week and I tried on a silver bracelet with elephants engraved on it. "I wish they were donkeys!" I said.
She and Marcos, the clerk, began talking about the power of elephants, never mind their being co-opted as political-party symbols.
"You have to buy it!" she said--and I almost did. But then it hit me--I rarely wear the jewelry I already have. So I decided, instead, to go home and put my jewelry out in an obvious place--Pam's idea--and start wearing it more often.
Going through my jewelry drawer was like a trip into friendship and family, finding gifts of bracelets and earrings and necklaces that I hadn't worn in a while. Some pieces were souvenirs of Taos, North Georgia, Vermont, and other places I've traveled.
4.
Jan and I have been friends and next door neighbors for years, but she told me a story last night I'd never heard.
Jan wears pretty jewelry every day. "Every day I wear something of my mother's and something Gene gave me." She showed me a bracelet Gene gave her (her late husband--a sweeter man you've never met) and a piece from Lira--who would have been 103 this year.
Then she told me the story: The morning after her brother Bill died, she was walking down Greely, one street over, and she found a handcrafted silver bracelet on the street. "He loved handmade silver jewelry," she said, "And he and Bob [her other brother] always brought me silver jewelry from their travels."
She has worn that Greely bracelet all these years. "Thank you, Jesus, Thank you, Bill!" she said when that bracelet showed up for her out of the blue on the day she was grieving his death.
"I used to wonder why old women sometimes wear so much jewelry," she said. "Our hands aren't pretty anymore and who wants to call attention to crepe-y necks and arms?"
"But I've decided now that it's not about glamour. It's about wearing memories of people we love."
Friday, April 7, 2017
Happy Birthday at Periphery
Periphery on Main delivered again--delicious food on the patio, we four celebrating the birthday of our youngest....
We four go back a long way--and hopefully forward even longer. Happy Birthday, Lorraine!
We four go back a long way--and hopefully forward even longer. Happy Birthday, Lorraine!
 |
| Me, Jan, Linda K and Lorraine |
Thursday, April 6, 2017
South Texas in April.
Today is one of those days you know for sure that South Texas is its own paradise--at least for the month of April. The roadsides are palettes of color--blues, corals, yellows, purple, red, gold.
If you don't live in Texas and are considering it, come in April if you want the needle to move toward yes. Or July and August if you want the needle to move no.
We Texans rarely leave in April. Thanks to Lady Bird and the bees and "the birds that poop seeds" (to use Elena's scientific explantation), we have a breathtaking profusion of roadside flowers.
Tomorrow is yoga, plumber, picking up tax forms; today was the pleasure of being with three beautiful friends and soaking up the most amazing day, eating olive bread and tapenade and cheeses, smelling soaps made of olive oil, listening to Joy call the flowers by their true names. Some days are prose days; today was a poetry day.
Saturday will be another--driving to Fredricksburg and maybe doing the wildflower loop north of here to see what's blooming.
My pomegranate tree is going for Year Three with no blooms, no fruit, the sole empty pomegranate tree on the street. The pecan tree is a late bloomer this year, but today it announced that it's going to leaf out after all.
If you don't live in Texas and are considering it, come in April if you want the needle to move toward yes. Or July and August if you want the needle to move no.
We Texans rarely leave in April. Thanks to Lady Bird and the bees and "the birds that poop seeds" (to use Elena's scientific explantation), we have a breathtaking profusion of roadside flowers.
Tomorrow is yoga, plumber, picking up tax forms; today was the pleasure of being with three beautiful friends and soaking up the most amazing day, eating olive bread and tapenade and cheeses, smelling soaps made of olive oil, listening to Joy call the flowers by their true names. Some days are prose days; today was a poetry day.
Saturday will be another--driving to Fredricksburg and maybe doing the wildflower loop north of here to see what's blooming.
My pomegranate tree is going for Year Three with no blooms, no fruit, the sole empty pomegranate tree on the street. The pecan tree is a late bloomer this year, but today it announced that it's going to leaf out after all.
Wednesday, April 5, 2017
Sandy Oaks Olive Orchard
We celebrated Freda's birthday today with a road trip to Elmendorf--35 minutes away--and had lunch at the Sandy Oaks Olive Orchard.
This is definitely a good trip for this week, as the wildflowers are in profuse bloom. Afterwards, we drove to Pleasanton and Floresville-- a great drive for this week if you want to see the wildflowers.
Joy knows the names of every wildflower known to Texas.
At one point, she said, "There's the Blue Curl." (I thought she was talking about a beauty shop for blue-haired women!
This is definitely a good trip for this week, as the wildflowers are in profuse bloom. Afterwards, we drove to Pleasanton and Floresville-- a great drive for this week if you want to see the wildflowers.
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| Freda |
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| Freda, Bonnie and Joy |
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| prickly pear |
At one point, she said, "There's the Blue Curl." (I thought she was talking about a beauty shop for blue-haired women!
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