I should know this by now: rushing around is counterproductive! I am now taking a deep breath--inhaling--relaxing--reminding myself to slo-o-o-w down!
The traffic was heavy as I drove toward Pipe Creek at rush hour--where I'd planned to watch the rodeo practice. It's a long way from here to there, north to Pipe Creek, twenty miles past Helotes, about 50 or 60 miles from here.
In Helotes, I stopped at El Chaparral's, intent on getting a spinach enchilada--but they were out of spinach. Realizing I was late, I left the restaurant without my cell phone, which I didn't notice until I arrived at the rodeo gate. I turned right around and raced back to Helotes--where, thankfully, my server had found and held the phone for me!
Earlier, I'd gone to Steinmart to look for sheets--and I thought all the way home that I must have left my sunglasses there. Fortunately, I just found them in the back seat of the car.
It's been a frenetic evening--but the good thing is that just as I walked into the house, a pounding rain started--for which all our crunchy lawns are grateful. Thunder and lightning and rain--what a wonderful sound and light show right now!
I hope it rains all night!
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
At Home, At School
I dreamed I was teaching at U.T.S.A., standing in front of a class wearing blue jeans, a T-shirt and Birkenstocks. I was in my element--including the most elemental attire. In the dream, I was about the age my daughter is now--early forties, with two children.
Teaching was, and always has been, one of my Happy Places.
When my students turned in papers to be graded, I took them home and read them and wrote encouraging personal notes along with suggestions for their writing. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say I probably spent more time on their papers than they did. I used the usual English teacher shorthand: CS for comma splice, MM for misplaced modifier, FRAG for fragment, etc.
One of my students, now a friend, later told me that she thought all those MMs meant Umm--as in yummy! She is now a teacher at U.T.S.A. as I was then, and she's almost completed her Ph.D. We always laugh at the memories of those MMs.
Teaching in those years was a bit like being on stage. I might have a script of sorts to get me started, but I improvised according to the mood of the audience. I walked into the rows of desks, or I pulled the desks into a circle and sat with them. At the end of the day, I was spent, having put every teaching trick I knew into my ninety-minute gigs.
At the end of the month, my paychecks were probably less than theirs--waiting tables and working at electronics stores. As very few of them chose teaching careers, I'd wager that they all earned more on the job the first year out of the hatch than I did, but I'll never regret choosing work I loved.
After retiring from teaching, I launched a second career--leading writing groups in the little apartment behind my house. I saved the best for last!
Members of writing groups become friends--mine and each other's. We recommend books we love to each other.
Here are some of the books recommended by the members of two groups this week alone:
Journal of Best Practice
The Center Can Not Hold
The Fault in our Stars
Mad Adam--and the other books in the trilogy by Margaret Atwood
The Round House
Saving Fish From Drowning
The Dog Stars
Room
The Enchanted
The Painted House
Where else can I go where people love reading and writing as much as I do? Where people bring food and drinks and pretty party plates whenever they feel like it?
Diana brought me the most delicious lasagne on Sunday, my lunch on Monday--which I ate with gusto beside a little pot of yellow roses Sharon brought. I'm going to try my hand at this yummy veggie lasagne for my contribution to salon tomorrow night.
All this--and in my own back yard! I feel rich in spades today thinking of how lucky I am to do "work" that leads to play and friendship, a place where we are all students, all teachers!
Teaching was, and always has been, one of my Happy Places.
When my students turned in papers to be graded, I took them home and read them and wrote encouraging personal notes along with suggestions for their writing. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say I probably spent more time on their papers than they did. I used the usual English teacher shorthand: CS for comma splice, MM for misplaced modifier, FRAG for fragment, etc.
One of my students, now a friend, later told me that she thought all those MMs meant Umm--as in yummy! She is now a teacher at U.T.S.A. as I was then, and she's almost completed her Ph.D. We always laugh at the memories of those MMs.
Teaching in those years was a bit like being on stage. I might have a script of sorts to get me started, but I improvised according to the mood of the audience. I walked into the rows of desks, or I pulled the desks into a circle and sat with them. At the end of the day, I was spent, having put every teaching trick I knew into my ninety-minute gigs.
At the end of the month, my paychecks were probably less than theirs--waiting tables and working at electronics stores. As very few of them chose teaching careers, I'd wager that they all earned more on the job the first year out of the hatch than I did, but I'll never regret choosing work I loved.
After retiring from teaching, I launched a second career--leading writing groups in the little apartment behind my house. I saved the best for last!
Members of writing groups become friends--mine and each other's. We recommend books we love to each other.
Here are some of the books recommended by the members of two groups this week alone:
Journal of Best Practice
The Center Can Not Hold
The Fault in our Stars
Mad Adam--and the other books in the trilogy by Margaret Atwood
The Round House
Saving Fish From Drowning
The Dog Stars
Room
The Enchanted
The Painted House
Where else can I go where people love reading and writing as much as I do? Where people bring food and drinks and pretty party plates whenever they feel like it?
Diana brought me the most delicious lasagne on Sunday, my lunch on Monday--which I ate with gusto beside a little pot of yellow roses Sharon brought. I'm going to try my hand at this yummy veggie lasagne for my contribution to salon tomorrow night.
Monday, August 11, 2014
Minis Take the States
Starting on July 26th and continuing through today's finale, thousands of Minis have been on the road in a motoring adventure--from San Francisco to Boston. It's called Mini Takes the States.
I wonder what it would be like to drive those thousands of miles with all these Mini Cooper fanatics, but I hope to find out next summer, for all or part of the trip.
Check out their great mosaic map: http://www.minitakesthestates.com/visuals/mosaic
Day just texted me from Boston--where they are spending their vacation--that the Minis are about to cross the finish line of this event and arrive in Boston any minute. I'd love to be there!
I wonder what it would be like to drive those thousands of miles with all these Mini Cooper fanatics, but I hope to find out next summer, for all or part of the trip.
Check out their great mosaic map: http://www.minitakesthestates.com/visuals/mosaic
Day just texted me from Boston--where they are spending their vacation--that the Minis are about to cross the finish line of this event and arrive in Boston any minute. I'd love to be there!
Friday, August 8, 2014
I love this photograph!
My friend Suzanne Ohlmann has a blog called The Daily Chalupa. (Check it out: thedailychalupa.com)
She posted this photograph of Fu last week and I asked if I could snag and share it on this blog.
Here's what she wrote under his picture:
"I want to see the world the way Fu does in this picture. Though his likeness reaches out to him through the window, he looks past himself to the world outside."
Today and Yesterday
Today I painted Elena's fingernails and toenails with the only nail polish in the house--Sinful Blue. For her tiny fingers and toes, I probably could have done a better job with a toothpick.
Today, when I put on my swim suit (or as Elena calls it, a "swim soup"), Nathan told me my arms were jiggly at the top. He was right.
After our swim, Nathan asked me, "Do you know how to make chocolate milk really good?" and I said I'd give it a try. I mixed cocoa and sugar and hot water, then poured in what little milk was left, then added ice and put it in the blender to make enough to fill the glass. He drank it politely but said it was a little too puffy.
Today Elena was playing with letter stickers and found a "W." "Hey, Yenna, Will Pritchett!" she said. "This says Will Pritchett!"
Today Nathan said he didn't want to go to the pool, but I told him we'd already promised Elena and she was all dressed in her suit. "I guess I'll take my swim suit in case I change my mind," he said, emptying the swim bag on the floor to find his googles and his water toys. "But the only condition is I'm not wearing sun screen and we can only stay 39 minutes."
Not only did he change his mind, it was as hard to get him out of the pool (after two hours) as it had been to convince him to go.
Today, Elena wanted to punch holes with my hole punchers--fancy ones I bought years ago when I was making collages. Some of them were hard to press into the paper, even for me. "They aren't hard for me!" she insisted. "I will show you, Yenna."
As she put her whole body weight on the fancy hole punchers, I heard echoes of yesterday: a day 34 years ago when her daddy was the age she is now, playing under the bed:
"Come under here, Mommy!" he said.
"I can't," I said. "I'm too big."
"I will show you, Mommy," he said.
Today, when I put on my swim suit (or as Elena calls it, a "swim soup"), Nathan told me my arms were jiggly at the top. He was right.
After our swim, Nathan asked me, "Do you know how to make chocolate milk really good?" and I said I'd give it a try. I mixed cocoa and sugar and hot water, then poured in what little milk was left, then added ice and put it in the blender to make enough to fill the glass. He drank it politely but said it was a little too puffy.
Today Elena was playing with letter stickers and found a "W." "Hey, Yenna, Will Pritchett!" she said. "This says Will Pritchett!"
Today Nathan said he didn't want to go to the pool, but I told him we'd already promised Elena and she was all dressed in her suit. "I guess I'll take my swim suit in case I change my mind," he said, emptying the swim bag on the floor to find his googles and his water toys. "But the only condition is I'm not wearing sun screen and we can only stay 39 minutes."
Not only did he change his mind, it was as hard to get him out of the pool (after two hours) as it had been to convince him to go.
Today, Elena wanted to punch holes with my hole punchers--fancy ones I bought years ago when I was making collages. Some of them were hard to press into the paper, even for me. "They aren't hard for me!" she insisted. "I will show you, Yenna."
As she put her whole body weight on the fancy hole punchers, I heard echoes of yesterday: a day 34 years ago when her daddy was the age she is now, playing under the bed:
"Come under here, Mommy!" he said.
"I can't," I said. "I'm too big."
"I will show you, Mommy," he said.
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
The Circle of Life
In 1988, my family was camping at Molas Lake in Colorado--between Durango and Silverton. This is still one of my favorite spots on earth--a beautiful mountain lake where we parked our pop up camper and ate fried fish for dinner right out of the lake.
Up came another camper and parked right next to us--and it was Linda and Steve Kot and their children Lauren and Dan, traveling cross-country from Cape Cod.
One day it rained and I had a sprained ankle and stayed in the pop up while Linda and Steve took all the kids on a hike. Will had a little puppy named Spike that year and he wiggled out of the pop up during the night and trotted over to the Kot's pop up where any dog would be sure to find love.
The first year after we met, Linda flew to Texas (Day's senior year of high school) and went with me to the Miss Helotes pageant where Day got first or second runner up.
Ten years later, Day and Tom married in Washington, D.C., and the Kots came to their wedding. Several times I have visited them on the Cape and "got the sand in my shoes."
Day and Tom honeymooned in Cape Cod 17 years ago, and here they all are this week on their vacation in Cape Cod: Steve, Linda, Jackson, Tom, Day, and Marcus in front in yellow and orange.
This picture makes me smile--thinking what a serendipitous thing it is to meet friends at a campsite and stay friends all these years; thinking about how they introduced Day to Cape Cod and what a special place it now is for her whole family.
The summer we met, our children (all but Day) were younger than my grandsons are now. On the way to Molas Lake, Linda was reading a book called RIBSY to her children--which is exactly the book I had just read to Will the night before.
As we shared a fish dinner at the picnic table one night, Linda and I both had paperback books we were reading. Turned out we were both reading Prince of Tides! Not only that--we were both on the same page!
Up came another camper and parked right next to us--and it was Linda and Steve Kot and their children Lauren and Dan, traveling cross-country from Cape Cod.
One day it rained and I had a sprained ankle and stayed in the pop up while Linda and Steve took all the kids on a hike. Will had a little puppy named Spike that year and he wiggled out of the pop up during the night and trotted over to the Kot's pop up where any dog would be sure to find love.
Ten years later, Day and Tom married in Washington, D.C., and the Kots came to their wedding. Several times I have visited them on the Cape and "got the sand in my shoes."
Day and Tom honeymooned in Cape Cod 17 years ago, and here they all are this week on their vacation in Cape Cod: Steve, Linda, Jackson, Tom, Day, and Marcus in front in yellow and orange.
This picture makes me smile--thinking what a serendipitous thing it is to meet friends at a campsite and stay friends all these years; thinking about how they introduced Day to Cape Cod and what a special place it now is for her whole family.
The summer we met, our children (all but Day) were younger than my grandsons are now. On the way to Molas Lake, Linda was reading a book called RIBSY to her children--which is exactly the book I had just read to Will the night before.
As we shared a fish dinner at the picnic table one night, Linda and I both had paperback books we were reading. Turned out we were both reading Prince of Tides! Not only that--we were both on the same page!
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Traveling Light and Heavy
"Traveling solo" is a misnomer for this blog/open diary/letter to friends. Every trip is a mix of solitude and conversation with other people.
When I need time alone, it's usually when I sense a crossroad coming up and need time to discover which way to go. Or after a time of Too-Much, when I need to just be with a fresh, quiet new canvas. I call that kind of travel a journey.
Other times, like this last trip, I prefer being with a great road trip companion so that we can share the scenic views and sleep in the same room and make happy memories together.
Nothing is more refreshing than travel--even though it takes a while to settle back in after a trip. The first night after air travel, I feel wilted, weary from a day of lugging baggage through trains and terminals, saying good-byes, being careful not to lose balance on escalators.
It would be a good idea to keep a small suitcase packed at all times, just in case a journey calls. If flying, the suitcase should be large enough to hold the minimum needs for being away from home and battered enough that you don't mind checking it. I always have this fantasy of walking around the airport unencumbered and free--though in reality I feel more like a carrier of stuff, intent on getting to my destination.
Carlene drove me to the Chamblee Marta station yesterday morning--the easiest way to get to the Atlanta airport. While waiting for the train, I stood with dozens of people dressed up, all wearing badges that announced in Spanish that they were Jehova's Witnesses attending a conference: Testigos de Jehová.
Even the smallest boys of two and three were wearing suits, as were the men and older boys. The women and girls were dressed up in their church clothes, lacy skirts and shiny shoes, the girls with bright bows in their hair. As we traveled south, others got on at every stop, all wearing the same badges, and I enjoyed watching them--gentle, friendly people--all the way to mid-town where they all got off the train. I took a seat and balanced my three bags, feeling frumpy among these fresh-faced and cheerful people.
When I got on the plane, I made a list of things to take Next Time I Fly--including advice to myself to mail home anything heavier than a post card should I be tempted to buy souvenirs. I reminded my future traveling self to take minimum toiletries and no real books, to leave the laptop and extra camera at home and take the iPad and E-books instead. "Travel lighter next time!" I wrote in my new sketch book.
When the hundreds of convention-goers got off at mid-town, I missed them. I sat beside a young African-American boy jamming to the rap from his earphones and across from a young girl with braids and swollen eyes who made eye contact with no one.
At the airport, starting on the escalator and continuing on the train to the terminals, I talked to a young man who's just finished a nine-month tour in Afghanistan. He started the conversation by telling me he'd missed the plane he was supposed to be on because he'd left his debit card in the car and was having to take a later flight.
"Do you have family here?" I asked. "Or are you on your way home?"
Between Terminals A and D, he told me his whole life story, details in rapid fire succession, without emotion.
"I ain't got no family," he said. "They all deceased."
His mother died when he was in high school, then his grandparents and two uncles. After his step-father abused his sister, she committed suicide. One brother died "over there," and another from a drug overdose.
I can't stop thinking about that boy with large eyes who'd seen more tragedies and deaths in his twenty years than I'd ever known anyone to have in my whole long life. Talk about a different kind of baggage! I got the feeling he'd told the facts so often that he'd memorized them, almost as if they belonged to somebody else.
When we parted, he said, "Talking to you made my day, Mam"--though I'd barely said ten words. Maybe all it takes is asking one right question of each other to lighten our loads--if only for one day.
When I need time alone, it's usually when I sense a crossroad coming up and need time to discover which way to go. Or after a time of Too-Much, when I need to just be with a fresh, quiet new canvas. I call that kind of travel a journey.
Other times, like this last trip, I prefer being with a great road trip companion so that we can share the scenic views and sleep in the same room and make happy memories together.
Nothing is more refreshing than travel--even though it takes a while to settle back in after a trip. The first night after air travel, I feel wilted, weary from a day of lugging baggage through trains and terminals, saying good-byes, being careful not to lose balance on escalators.
It would be a good idea to keep a small suitcase packed at all times, just in case a journey calls. If flying, the suitcase should be large enough to hold the minimum needs for being away from home and battered enough that you don't mind checking it. I always have this fantasy of walking around the airport unencumbered and free--though in reality I feel more like a carrier of stuff, intent on getting to my destination.
Carlene drove me to the Chamblee Marta station yesterday morning--the easiest way to get to the Atlanta airport. While waiting for the train, I stood with dozens of people dressed up, all wearing badges that announced in Spanish that they were Jehova's Witnesses attending a conference: Testigos de Jehová.
Even the smallest boys of two and three were wearing suits, as were the men and older boys. The women and girls were dressed up in their church clothes, lacy skirts and shiny shoes, the girls with bright bows in their hair. As we traveled south, others got on at every stop, all wearing the same badges, and I enjoyed watching them--gentle, friendly people--all the way to mid-town where they all got off the train. I took a seat and balanced my three bags, feeling frumpy among these fresh-faced and cheerful people.
When I got on the plane, I made a list of things to take Next Time I Fly--including advice to myself to mail home anything heavier than a post card should I be tempted to buy souvenirs. I reminded my future traveling self to take minimum toiletries and no real books, to leave the laptop and extra camera at home and take the iPad and E-books instead. "Travel lighter next time!" I wrote in my new sketch book.
When the hundreds of convention-goers got off at mid-town, I missed them. I sat beside a young African-American boy jamming to the rap from his earphones and across from a young girl with braids and swollen eyes who made eye contact with no one.
At the airport, starting on the escalator and continuing on the train to the terminals, I talked to a young man who's just finished a nine-month tour in Afghanistan. He started the conversation by telling me he'd missed the plane he was supposed to be on because he'd left his debit card in the car and was having to take a later flight.
"Do you have family here?" I asked. "Or are you on your way home?"
Between Terminals A and D, he told me his whole life story, details in rapid fire succession, without emotion.
"I ain't got no family," he said. "They all deceased."
His mother died when he was in high school, then his grandparents and two uncles. After his step-father abused his sister, she committed suicide. One brother died "over there," and another from a drug overdose.
I can't stop thinking about that boy with large eyes who'd seen more tragedies and deaths in his twenty years than I'd ever known anyone to have in my whole long life. Talk about a different kind of baggage! I got the feeling he'd told the facts so often that he'd memorized them, almost as if they belonged to somebody else.
When we parted, he said, "Talking to you made my day, Mam"--though I'd barely said ten words. Maybe all it takes is asking one right question of each other to lighten our loads--if only for one day.
Back in San Antonio
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| Arrived home today--and Kate picked me up from the airport and visited on my bed while I unpacked |
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| North Georgia Mountains near Clayton. I'll be going back in October to see the fall foliage at its peak. |
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| At a Scenic overlook, I snapped this picture of Betty. "I love you, Betty!" I said to my friend who hates picture-taking. "At the moment, that feeling is not reciprocal," she said. |
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| Marcus, like his mom, is always making things. Here he is painting his cap. |
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| Here it is all finished! |
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| Jackson looking spooky |
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| Day making headbands |
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| Carlene--back home in Georgia--trying on her new earrings and liking them |
Friday, August 1, 2014
My Georgia family
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| Bob and Jocelyn Harris |
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| Jocelyn and Bob and Carlene |
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| Jocelyn, Bob and Me In Carlene's Yard |
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