Crazy Has Places To Hide In....

Sacred texts and teachings include parables and questions that tease at the mind.

Koans in Zen Buddhism are stories and riddles that "demonstrate the inadequacy of logical reasoning to provoke enlightenment."

Here's one:

1.   A Cup of Tea Nan-in, a Japanese master during the Meiji era (1868-1912), received a university professor who came to inquire about Zen. Nan-in served tea. He poured his visitor's cup full, and then kept on pouring. The professor watched the overflow until he no longer could restrain himself. "It is overfull. No more will go in!" "Like this cup," Nan-in said, "you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?"

I discovered an American koan this morning, set to music, and I think it may carry seeds of true enlightenment.  It starts like this: "I had to be crazy to love you...."

Delivered in the voice of the late- and always living in my car, Leonard Cohen, it's pure gold:

Sometimes I'd head for the highway
I'm old and the mirrors don't lie
But crazy has places to hide in
That are deeper than any goodbye.

pumpkins and persimmons

Just before entering the Natchez Trace Parkway at mile marker 160, I visited several people in the town of Kosciusko, Mississippi.

Leonard was singing "Hallejuia" at top volume when I pulled into the farm stand of Kenny and Anita Horne.  I bought some squash and tomatoes for Carlene and spent about half an hour looking at their exotic pumpkins, 15 varieties, including:

Fairy Tale
One Too Many
Speckled Hound
Blue Moon
Peanut
White Cinderella
Porcelain Doll
Knucklehead
Jack O'Lantern

Kenny was arranging them by type in little piles by the side of the road and they were beautiful!

"You need to meet you a rich man on your trip,
 but all the good ones are taken," he said--
pointing to himself! 

"Oprah Winfrey's from here," he told me.  "But we don't claim her no more.  She's done turned liberal on us."

I didn't go there.

"You know it's gonna be a cold winter," he said.  "The persimmons told me so."

Then Anita told me about the legend of the persimmons, how you can crack them open and tell by the shape of their seeds what kind of winter to expect.  "Works right every time."

I looked it up on the Farmer's Almanac and here it is:

https://www.almanac.com/content/predicting-weather-using-persimmon-seed

One Too Many is so named
Because they look like bloodshot eyes
after one too many drinks!

Birmingham 1034 miles from San Antonio

After a day of listening to the hearings, after moving up to Interstate 20, I woke up feeling tired and funky.  (There was no cold water in the shower in the new room!)

So when I got to Jackson, I decided to get my happy back again and re-routed to travel on the beautiful Natchez Trace Parkway to Tupelo.  A hundred miles of trees did the trick--no news, just music and silence and me.

This trail is 440 miles long, but I picked it up north of Jackson and enjoyed every mile.

It got dark and I got sleepy, and Carlene said, "Get you a GOOD room tonight and a good night's rest."

So I did and I am about to proceed to the good night's rest.

No problem???

Last night, driving over the Mississippi Bridge into Vicksburg, I took the first motel I saw--one with a view of the Mississippi River Bridge.   I was feeling out of sorts for breaking my own rule of listening to news in the car on long trips.  I was also feeling sort of Hank Williams lonesome. I had stayed in the same motel years ago; how bad could it be?

No lights worked in my room but the bathroom, neither did the land line phone or the internet.  I was so sleepy and could read on my Kindle, so the lack of light didn't bother me--until it did.

 I asked the office to give me a new room, and the manager said, "If you move more far down, the internet really won't work."

"But it already doesn't work," I said, questioning the logic of it not-working less.

Sure enough, the lights in 202 worked--but I had forgotten to ask for a key.  When I walked back to the front desk, I noted that the doorbell was broken.  I called and woke the boy on duty on my cell phone and he gave me a key.

"Thank you," I said.

"No problem," he said.

Nacogdoches Morning

I found this painting by Julie Crews on a Shreveport art website.  It looks so much like the roads I expect to travel today.

Instead of Shreveport, I've set my GPS to Jana, then to Jackson, wanting to stay on lovely backroads for as long as possible.

When I travel, I travel with so many bags--camera bags, computer bag, clothes bags, books and crafts bags.

Last night I left room 131 to get a coke.  Two young women from room 133 were outside their open door and I could hear men's voices inside.  The women were tattooed and wearing bandanas and we chatted a little.  They work at Pilgrim's Pride, a chicken-packing plant.

This morning I saw one of them again and she smiled at me, revealing that she had few front teeth and sparkling eyes.

"You sure have a bunch of pretty pocket books," she said.  "I bet when you were a young girl my age you wore big sunshades."

I told her I had a thing for bags and that my mama calls me a bag lady!

I told her I was going to see my mama in Georgia.

"I went to California once," she said. "I always wanted to see California because they say I was born there."

"Oh," I said, "What a beautiful coast!"

"I should have went to the coast," she said.  "But I didn't know where to go so I just went out  40 and didn't see nothing but deserts."

"That's ok.  Next time you'll go to the coast, I'm sure," I said.

She's young.  I hope she finds the Pacific coast next time.

Highway 7 East from Luling to Nacogdoches, Texas

300 miles from San Antonio

Today, Leonard and I traveled east on Highway 7.  We left Luling, drove through Bastrop, then through miles and miles of rural Texas, the windshield wipers and music summoning memories and evoking nostalgia.

Leonard Cohen's deep and gravely voice is one that never grows old. Each time I listen to his lyrics, I hear something I haven't heard before.  He goes with me on every trip and reminds me of former trips so much so that I can hear one phrase from a song and remember where I heard it before.

300 miles

Stopped for the night in Nacogdoches, Texas--though I was hoping to make it to Shreveport.  It got dark and rainy and photo ops quickly disappear in the dark.

I got off to a late start this morning, then had a wonderful lunch and visit with Beverly in Luling at the City Market--three happy hours!

Atypical

Atypical, on Netflix, is adorable.

It's a series about a family in which everyone is a little bit weird sometimes....

Sam, who has autism and is obsessed with Antartica and penguins, his track star sister, his hair stylist mom, and his EMT dad.

It's a really good show to watch when it's a full moon and you can't fall asleep.

Speaking of atypical, I hired two guys this weekend to patch my roof and driveway and give me a bid on my casita roof.

They arrived in a Mercedes, no truck, and we all hopped in my car, including Elena, and went to Home Depot to buy stuff for the project.

This is not the typical way to get things done, I know, but by the end of Day One I really liked them.

On the second day, they were late.  Mercedes got a flat and no rim could be found that fit.  One of them had to walk here because his truck's brakes were broken.  He started working anyway, smiling all the time.  Then he stopped and told me twenty minutes of his life story and he started crying and I almost did, too.

They were sweet and messy and smart and broke.  I started not to like them on Day 2 because they were late and disorganized.

Today they came back and did every single thing on the letter I left on the porch to explain that people need contracts and clear expectations and punctuality.  At 6, they texted me to come see all the cool stuff they'd done, and I did and I liked them all over again.

While I'm not sure I'd hire them for a roofing job--at least not until they get a truck that works so they can buy shingles and tar--I'm glad I hired them for the preliminaries and got to know them.

When we parted, the brakes were entirely goners on the old green truck, and I started to say weird mama things like "Bless your heart" (I meant it in a good way, but it sounded pretty insipid) and if I'd have been there one more minute I might have told them I loved them a little bit because I did.

I was talking to Kate about that time (she knows one of them), and together we decided that everybody's heart should be blessed, in spite of everything.

My snuggle-toothed  sleepover companion this weekend started by making a portrait of me:

Men were working here, so we had to play around their activity and pounding on the roof--but this girl hasn't met a day she doesn't like.

I was having one of my pain days yesterday and was unable to get down on the floor and wrap an 8 foot round rug I'd ordered.  So she--a six year old--did it for me, reminding me so much of her Aunt Day who never met a job she wouldn't tackle.

We stopped by Target to get her a pair of sunglasses and a brain teaser game that she loved:

Here she's wearing my sunglasses--before she got her own super cool ones. 

About one of her friend's brothers, she said:

"He fights, he kicks, he hits us with sticks."--to which I said, "You just made a rhyming poem."

She grinned.  "I figured you'd catch that!"

Between the Poses

Kathy Dinatale:

I did my second shoot the other day. There were certain poses mom wanted and they turned out well, but the best shots happened in the moments after and between poses. Natural and spontaneous seems to work better.

I got this photo on one of the photography sites I follow this morning.

I love what Kathy, the photographer said: "The best shots happen in the moments after and between poses."

Isn't that true of life itself? 

Kate and....

Easy Peasy Healing Lunch

This morning, I wasn't feeling well, so I decided to make a variation of chicken soup.

Just like Kate told me: I boiled the leftover rotisserie chicken with onion, celery and carrots.

When it was ready, I strained it and put it in my favorite cookery toy: a $15 Black and Decker rice cooker--two cups brother, some kosher salt, and 3/4 cup rice.

In the little basket that comes with the cookery toy I put the chicken that I pulled off the bone along with the vegetables and added some leftover butterbeans.

This is the easiest delicious meal I've made in ages--AND I feel better!

That and the final episodes on Britbox of The Bletchley Circle in San Francisco, and I'm already feeling much better.

Paper Mosaic

My first paper mosaic project was years ago.  Day was in college and I did paper designs on the fan blades in her room.

At the time, I didn't know what to call it--I just cut out and glued pieces of colorful paper onto the fan blades so that it looked like tile chips.

When I first moved into this house twenty years ago, I bought a little antique oak armoire and spent many hours cutting and tearing and gluing little pieces of wrapping paper onto the front of it.

Last week, I decoupaged paper tiles onto an old desk--leaving the drawers pine and painting the body of the desk red.  After my trip, I may do some more mosaic on some of the red parts, too.

Tonight, I made a big round tray for part of Day's birthday present.  The glue hasn't even dried yet, but here's where it stands as I head for bed.  When the glue dries and when I do the outside and spray it with clear acrylic, it will be finished and I'll post a better photo.

In this one, I cut all the paper into circles with a I-inch circle hole puncher and affixed them to the tray with Elmer's glue.

Abstract: The Art of Design

"Es is the most driven person I know.  In fact, she's so driven that her imagination needs its own chauffeur...."

A must-see: the first episode of Abstract (Netflix)....

The artist, Es Devlin, is brilliant, turning stages for concerts and plays into amazing canvases of light and music and color.

To be inside the mind of one passionate artist is its own museum exhibit in this documentary! I'm fascinated by the breadth of her knowledge of her own and others' art forms and the skill with which she builds mesmerizing spaces for "ten thousand people to watch one human" on a stage.

What she designs and builds isn't going to last forever--one day, four days, four years: "In the end, everything's going to exist only in the memories of people."

Building a cardboard stage set with children and recalling her love of making as a child: "If I made a beautiful object, it was the most important use of my time."

                                               Es Devlin

Where Things Used to Be

When my kids were little, we kept our vacuum cleaner in a lower kitchen cabinet, the one and only vacuum cleaner we ever owned. It was a Kenmore, turquoise canister model with attachments.

I can't recall how it died, but it did, as machines do.  Its storage cabinet became a catch-all where one might find an odd shoe or a week-old newspaper or a box of cereal.

For  the majority of years  in that house, we called that cabinet "Where the Vacuum Cleaner Used to Be." If we couldn't find something, one of us would say, "Try looking Where The Vacuum Cleaner Used to Be." Anything lost might be found where the ghost Kenmore used to be.  One of my children informed me that they still call it that when they visit their dad's house.

I wonder if my old dining chair is called "Where Mama used to sit."

Having lived in San Antonio since 1967,  I know most streets and highways here like old friends. Whenever I drive past places that used to be something else, I think, "That's where the pediatrician's office used to be" or "That burger place used to be a dress shop."  The San Pedro Piggy Wiggly was the record shop I was in the day Elvis died.

Today I was feeling much better and a friend invited me over for a visit.  On the way home, I stopped by the burger place that used to be a dress shop and got a bun-less burger for supper.  The kitchen used to be the dressing room. The owner came out and sat at my table and talked to me while I ate my burger right where racks of dresses used to stand.

Maria Kalman's book,  My Favorite Things, makes me want to make a list of my own before reading hers, but I did peek into the opening chapter:

Asked to curate an exhibit at the Cooper-Hewitt National Design Museum in New York City, she browsed their archives for a year or so.

"The pieces that I chose were based on one thing only--a gasp of delight."

"Isn't that the only way to curate a life?  To live among things that make you gasp with delight?"

Yes yes yes!

In chapter one, she enumerates a few things that make her gasp with delight, including:

Picnics, sandwiches with hard-boiled eggs and cucumbers, flip-flops, sheets and pillowcases drying on the clothesline, books and chairs, violins and pianos, hairspray, cigarettes, pens, love letters, poems, paint rags, useless and precious objects....

What things make you gasp with delight?

The Florence of bodily aches has hit landfall in my hands and arms and back and shoulders and I have absolutely nothing to do for a full week, so I plan to retire to my bed for as long as it takes to get all better.

This condition, when it lands, gives me a lot more  compassion for people who live with chronic pain.  Fortunately for me, mine is not chronic.  In fact, three friends have asked if it might be set off by mold allergies--and indeed it's been raining a lot lately, so it could be. Kate just gave me a week's worth of Zirtech and homemade beans and cornbread, so I'm settling in for a day of rest and deliciousness.

Elena asked yesterday, "Can kids get that?" when she saw me walking around like a crab.

"No," I said.

"Well," she said hopefully--with her best six-year-old's empathy.  "Sometimes at gymnastics, my hands do hurt a little bit when I'm trying something new.  Let's watch something funny and see if that helps."

So we watched something funny.

Frank's Oliver

"Is it a bear, a yeti, or Chewbacca?"  Joy

Joy and I had a yummy lunch today in Helotes at my favorite Mexican restaurant, El Chapparal's--the best fajitas and spinach enchiladas and guacamole in town!

We had a wonderful early birthday party of two, then picked up Elena who stayed until just now....

I was enchanted with these photos of Frank's 100-pound puppy, Oliver--a Goldendoodle with numerous talents--juggling, catching, dancing, and flying!  He looks like a great big teddy bear.

One of life's greatest joys is having a friend like JOY--for 45 years!

John O'Donahue

https://www.improvisedlife.com/2018/09/13/benediction-ordinary-day/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+improvisedlife+%28Improvised+Life%29

Here is another giant of wisdom and light--the late John O'Donahue.  He was a dear friend of my friend Sylvia and he died way too young a few years ago.  I heard him speak in person twice at large gatherings but never talked to him personally.  John O'Donahue's audio books (and his wonderful Irish voice)  always go with me on road trips.

A synchronicity: Just as I was listening to Maira Kalman (interview "ON Being") one of her books fell through the mail slot of my front door onto the floor!

I save podcasts for road trips like a big box of chocolates--and On Being is always a favorite.  As the landscape changes and my mind wanders down its own back roads in silence, a podcast featuring a wise or funny or provocative mind is like good music: you can dip in and out, in and out, letting lines fall into the net as they will.

News is different, especially on television. Political news is like a train wreck and I can't help myself: I check in at least once every night just to see the most recent disasters so I'll know what to expect.  Kavenaugh.  Trump.  Roe vs. Wade likely to be overturned.  Men saying what women should do with their bodies and the President arrogantly saying "If you're famous, they let you do anything."

But the news pulls me in and silences everything else, so I try to limit it to one hour a day.

Podcasts, on the other hand, the ones I save in my chocolate box, are expansive, mind-opening, beyond whatever what's-his-name is stepping into or blurting out or who he's offending.  Maybe that's the secret: ignore him and he'll go away?  At least, he'll go away from my mind?

https://onbeing.org/programs/maira-kalman-the-normal-daily-things-we-fall-in-love-with-sep2017/

Snooze

I like everything about the word, snooze.  Like doing it immensely!

And today Becky and I had the most delicious breakfast at a place called Snooze: Blueberry gluten-free pancakes that were divine, and a salmon Benedict, also GF, that was amazing.

It was a tiny bit noisy for my taste--and people say weekend lines can last two hours--but there is outdoor dining for those of us who prefer quieter places to visit after the rain.  They close at 2:30 every day.

Snapshots of Elena's favorites in first grade

Two Note Band

Last night, Nathan had a big cheering section for his first night of band...

He began middle school two weeks ago and was happy to show us his new drum set.

The middle school band demonstrated its highest note and its lowest note, and while it wasn't music yet, we parents and grandparents snapped pictures and commemorated our budding little musicians on opening night.

My birthday road trip is shaping up--just hoping that Florence doesn't do as much damage as predicted in the Carolinas and Virginia!

I am delaying leaving until next Saturday or Sunday and have the good fortune to have someone renting the casita and watching out for my house and yard while I'm away, thanks to Freda!

Betty and I will leave Georgia on October 3rd for New England, and Carlene and I will have about a week together before we depart, then I'll return to Georgia and Carlene will come home with me.

I'm excited about every bit of this trip, just getting everything settled at home before leaving.

The 3 a.m. phone call

Maybe, on further reflection, the 3 a.m. phone call is a litmus test--for something.  It's what I miss most about being in love...

Last night in writing group, something remarkable happened--as often does with writers.  The word that triggered it was "alien."

At some times in our lives, we've all felt weird, misunderstood, left out, uninvited, or "like an alien."

Toko-pa Turner, the author of Belonging, writes about "false belonging"--cutting off or hiding aspects of ourselves to avoid that awful feeling and conform to what other people think we should do or be.

We dis-member the parts that other don't like, chop them right off so well that we can't even find them ourselves.  We re-member, when we take ourselves back--which is where we find true belonging.

We can un-hide, write the truth in a poem, draw it, paint it or sing it out loud. Last night, word by word, one person's memories sparked another's.  Among former aliens, we are welcomed for the very oddnesses that got us in trouble in former times and places.

The first man I loved was angry when his sleep was interrupted for any reason, especially for such a trivial thing as talking.  Since he was the first, the pattern was set--don't wake up The Man, no matter what! 

When I discovered that not all men were like my first, I thought I'd struck gold!  At any hour, one man always answered,  "Hey, Lovey!"--with genuine delight.  Another said, "Hey, Baby!" as if he'd been up all night waiting for my call.

Other people can rarely see the tiny precious hidden moments that make two  people love each other. It's hard to explain the shape of the ragged hole in the heart that shows up when that love ends or the loved one dies, leaves, or changes.

Writing is what I do now--where the 3 a.m. phone calls used to be. This is me, calling myself.








.

Just ordered a couple of books by Maria Kaplan, stopped by the Democratic headquarters to get an absentee ballot just in case, bought groceries--and am now "assuming the position" (to borrow Betty's phrase) in case the rain brings on a nap, which I already feel coming on.

Speaking of expressions, Betty hates "gone missing"--and I think of her every time I hear it now.

My new least-favorite expressions are "takes to Twitter" and "passing the time"--as if time is something to endure and get over with....

And now this--inspiration for any day!

https://www.improvisedlife.com/2014/07/30/maira-kalman-daydreaming-eccentricity-knowing-going/

Same artist as previous post, same blog--Improvised Life--this little video makes me want to spend a few days in Central Park and read every book with Maria Kalman's name on it!

How is it that I've never met her before?

"We see trees; what more do we need?"

What a good post to wake up to this morning from Improvised Life!

https://www.improvisedlife.com/2018/09/10/words-to-begin-or-end-the-week-maira-kalman/

Like a lot of you probably do, I wake up on Monday mornings tracking out my week--what bills need paying, what errands need running....

But in the car I felt like I was floating in a soft blanket of rain!  We here in South Texas love the rain. We love the way the air feels, the way our plants perk up and get greener, the smiles in the branches of too-long-thirsty trees.  We feel prosperous when it rains.

I couldn't turn on the news this morning, not wanting the beauty of the day disturbed by the political machine and opinions.

The math of inflammatory days

Just last week, I bravely (and falsely)  announced that I don't have the fibro-thing anymore.  In spite of eating lasagne and bread and a piece of cake, I hadn't had one of those days of all-over pain in a long time.

But yesterday, it returned with a vengeance--all the lasagne and bread of the previous two weeks adding up to pain plus fatigue plus irritability. The good thing is that the body gives its own signals for each particular body, but the not so fun thing is listening and doing better, eschewing yummy for easy walking.

The walk through the Botanical Gardens was painful enough to get my attention.  Then, when the Kosper door to door campaigner wanted to chat while I was already chatting with Edward about paint, Elena wanting to sew a monkey dress, and the yard man showing up simultaneously, I assured her I'd vote for Kosper but couldn't talk right then.  It felt rude, but in the particular mathematics of that kind of day, the number of people I could talk to had shrunk to nil, and I wanted to preserve whatever patience and normalcy I could for Elena who had gotten into my lipstick and needed a quick repair.

Anyway, it's less intense today and I'm back on the wagon. To aid in the re-set, I got a Chinese massage this afternoon from a man whose English name is Paul.  He has strong hands and good techniques and I left feeling invigorated.  Of all the therapists I've visited there, Paul is hands down the best.

Friendship and Loneliness

How often have we heard this litmus test for friendship:   "Who would you call at 3 a.m. if you felt lonely or afraid, or just needed to talk?"

Short of an actual emergency, my answer has always been, "Nobody"--with the exception of a couple of former men-friends who were nighttime roamers like me and happy to talk at any hour.

I mean, really--would you want your phone to ring at three in the morning in the middle of a good dream to hear me say, "Hi, it's me....I think I hear something rat-like in the house"?

For one thing, I don't want to disturb anyone's sleep; for another, I've rarely been so desperately afraid or lonely that I needed to talk at that hour.  Middle-of-the-night hours are precious times for driving Austin Highway or reading or moving things around in my house, especially when it's raining, as it was this morning.

On this morning's drive at 4 a.m. I heard a program on NPR I'd not heard before: Hidden Brain.

https://www.npr.org/2018/03/19/594719471/guys-we-have-a-problem-how-american-masculinity-creates-lonely-men How American Masculinity Creates Lonely Men.

The portion I heard was applicable to everyone.  How do our ideas about ourselves create loneliness?   Where is the line between solitude and loneliness?  People who have caring and supportive people are much less likely to experience certain illnesses common in middle age and old age.   This podcast, which I'll hear in its entirety when I hit the road, talks about why.






I

Botanical Gardens

The San Antonio Botanical Garden has been greatly expanded since my last visit--and it's truly beautiful.

Through December, the Gardens will display animals and flowers made of Legos--which Elena and I enjoyed seeing this morning with Jan and Sebastien.

Look what a person can do with Legos--even the deer and the peacock are made of plastic bricks!

Sweet Potato and Macy

Here's Elena with her new monkey, Lacy--after publishing her story last night.

Some of the best pictures--I've always noticed--are often the ones that don't get taken.

Like Elena and Makken and Sebastien last night--petting the cats one street over.  These two cats wait every night for Makken and Sebastien to visit, and Elena loved getting in on that party--and picking up the giant acorn from a burr oak tree.

Like Elena leaning over the keyboard for an hour to tap out her first story, her eyes on fire, remembering every letter and command: return, ok, space, okay, shift, okay, quotation mark, okay.  I didn't want to break the spell with picture taking.

"We are having our own writing group!" she said---she who only a week ago asked me if only grownups could come to writing group.

Liz The Dog

Elena wrote her first story on the keyboard--and all I did was spell out words for her.

"I like to put two spaces between each word," she said.

"You're the writer, you can put as many spaces as you like," I said.

"Why do they put a red line under cousin?"

"Because you accidentally pressed Y instead of U," I said.

It was fascinating to watch the process of writing: Is it capital or lower case?  Do I write this on the same line as the one before or make a new line?  Do I put a dot at the end now?  I want to use an exclamation mark to say it like this: She heard a HOWL!

When she was finished, she was so excited she screeched!  "I did it, I did it, I made a story!"

Then: "I wish my daddy could see this!"

So we emailed it to Daddy.

Then: "Now let's send it to Mommy!"

So we emailed it to Mommy.

"You want to print it now so we can see it on paper?"

When it came out of the printer, she was thrilled!

"Tomorrow can we make a whole book of stories?"

About that time we heard the sound of an incoming message from Daddy:

Tell her we love Liz the dog, but not nearly as much as we love Elena the girl. Thank you Sweet Potato!!!

When I picked up Elena from her second day of first grade, she showed me her library books: One was all about poisonous snakes, the other  about prehistoric animals!

Elena's Elena-ness is such an spectacular thing to observe.  As similar as we are in some ways, the differences fascinate me even more:

She chooses books on animals over storybooks every time; I would never have picked either of those books but would have filled my book satchel with as many books of fiction as it would hold.

As we were walking to the car holding hands, I recalled my own first week of first grade and told her this story:

After school, the teacher led us from the classroom to the bus stop at the corner.  All the girls wore skirts and saddle oxfords--no light up shoes, no tights.  

Just when we passed the marble Confederate monument in the school yard,   I remembered that I had one of those fat pencils in my hand that the teacher had cautioned us not to take out of the room, ever ever, for any reason.  

For the entire distance from the marble Confederate monument to the corner, I squat-walked to hide the pencil under my skirt! 

"What are you doing, Linda?" the teacher asked.

"Just playing like I'm a duck," I said.

Elena looked amused and confused.

"Why didn't you just tell her you took the pencil by mistake or run in and put it back on your desk?"

That option, I told Elena, had never occurred to me at the time.

"Were kids like more dumb back then?"

"Not exactly dumb.  I was just the kind of kid who was afraid of doing the wrong thing or getting into trouble.  You're not that kind of girl,  are you?"

"No way!" she said.

Colorful-est

I picked up Elena from school today and took her to gymnastics.  This girl loves gymnastics and she seems quite good at it for a beginner.

When her parents told her I'd be picking her up from school, she said, "I always spot Yenna right away in the parent pick up line because she's the colorful-est one there!"

She said to me, "I always love your blouses!"

I said, "Thank you, Ladybug.  Now  I guess I need to work now on my pants!"

"You sure do!" she said.  "They need work!"

Belonging: Remembering Ourselves Home

I love the title of this book by Toko-pa Turner. "Belonging" is a word I've mostly encountered in the writings of John O'Donahue and David Whyte--and it's like a magnet every time. It's not a word that comes up a lot over coffee or wine; nobody ever talks about it on the news.

Belonging, she says, is one of the most important underlying conversations of our time, but we rarely actually talk about it directly.  Who wants to admit to feeling like an outsider?   When we feel shunned, excluded, judged, or estranged from the "in group"--it's best to keep that to ourselves and just rock on along, "acting as if." we feel a certain way, smiling through the private heartbreaks.

Every tribe values certain personality traits and beliefs and actions over others.  We learn fast, as children, what they are and try to conform to them--knowing that the alternative is being left out in the cold, not invited in.

"Act like a lady."
"Be a real man."
"Stop being so dramatic...."  or sensitive, or loud, or moody, or whatever

Conforming may buy us temporary approval and acceptance, but it's based on a false version of who we really are, the one we've made up so we can stay at the party.  We may even choose partners or professions based on what "they" approve of and like.

How we stop cutting off or warping parts of ourselves so other people will like us better is the subject of this book.  The writer's perspective is that dreams and art-making are among the ways we re-member, (as it take back the cut off members of ourselves) to feel at home in the world being exactly who we are.

The Glass Castle

Based on the memoir, The Glass Castle is now a movie--and it's playing on Amazon.  Woody Harrelson plays the complicated father--a charming talker, but all-talk, an alcoholic, capable of affection and rage, full of plans never realized.

The daughter who writes the book, Jeannette, is his favorite child and her love for him as a child is, in part, sustained by his elaborate plans to build a glass castle for the family, with a spiral staircase to her room.  

Double Feature

Just four days ago, Freda and Charlotte and Kate and I were raving about Matinee. the cafe.  We liked it so much Freda and I wrote positive reviews on Next Door.

Tonight, Pam and Jan and I returned to celebrate Jan's birthday.  Freda was there with her friend, Helene.

Long story short, I will forthwith refrain from raving until Visit #3--as tonight's food was nothing like what we'd had on Tuesday night.

We had a good time anyway, but the meal was very disappointing, and I'm calling it a dress rehearsal for another birthday celebration.  The owner said he was training a different cook on Saturday nights, and he comped our meal after I complained about the quality of the food.  The chicken in the parmesan was so tough that Pam (more gracefully than I'd have done) asked the waiter to cut hers up for her!