The crafts fair is Saturday and Sunday--the only official Fiesta event I usually do. I'm also going to a friend's Fiesta party on Saturday night and a block party Thursday night.
Wednesday, April 18, 2018
FIESTA WEEK IN SAN ANTONIO!
Our city is celebrating its 300th birthday this year and we're rocking and rolling all over town. Even school buses are dressed in paper flowers and sombreros!
The crafts fair is Saturday and Sunday--the only official Fiesta event I usually do. I'm also going to a friend's Fiesta party on Saturday night and a block party Thursday night.
The crafts fair is Saturday and Sunday--the only official Fiesta event I usually do. I'm also going to a friend's Fiesta party on Saturday night and a block party Thursday night.
Shahrazad and Stories
Writing group Monday night was a full house of writing and conversation! Trina shared with us highlights of her class at Gemini by Andre Dubus, Pulitzer Prize author of House of Sand and Fog (novel and movie), Townie, his memoir, and other fiction.
In writing groups, we tell and listen to stories. We start with seven-minute timed stories and reflections, then read pieces worked on for critique and feedback. The connection among storytellers is always powerful--especially among women who write together for years.
Tonight is the second night of a class I'm taking at the Sol Center: Ancient Wisdom taught by Marga Speicher. Her first lecture underscored the power of storytelling through interpretation of the ancient story of Shahrazad of The Thousand and One Nights.
The story is about a king who--spurned by love--decided never to love again. So he decides to have a different consort every night, not to get attached, and then to kill her the next morning! While the kingdom's population of young women is fast shrinking, Shahrazad volunteers to be his consort--but she has a plan.
Every night, for 1001 nights, she tells a different story. He is so engrossed in her stories that he decides not to kill her--and doesn't even notice that she gives birth to three children during these 1001 days and nights.
One takeaway from this ancient story is that stories have power to heal. Shahrazad taps into the king's curiosity and tells stories that access something deep inside him. He begins to change--too late for all the murdered consorts--and he falls in love with Shahrazad.
The stories we tell each other and ourselves are pathways into the inner world and have a real impact on human life, as does all art.
In writing groups, we tell and listen to stories. We start with seven-minute timed stories and reflections, then read pieces worked on for critique and feedback. The connection among storytellers is always powerful--especially among women who write together for years.
Tonight is the second night of a class I'm taking at the Sol Center: Ancient Wisdom taught by Marga Speicher. Her first lecture underscored the power of storytelling through interpretation of the ancient story of Shahrazad of The Thousand and One Nights.
The story is about a king who--spurned by love--decided never to love again. So he decides to have a different consort every night, not to get attached, and then to kill her the next morning! While the kingdom's population of young women is fast shrinking, Shahrazad volunteers to be his consort--but she has a plan.
Every night, for 1001 nights, she tells a different story. He is so engrossed in her stories that he decides not to kill her--and doesn't even notice that she gives birth to three children during these 1001 days and nights.
One takeaway from this ancient story is that stories have power to heal. Shahrazad taps into the king's curiosity and tells stories that access something deep inside him. He begins to change--too late for all the murdered consorts--and he falls in love with Shahrazad.
The stories we tell each other and ourselves are pathways into the inner world and have a real impact on human life, as does all art.
Tuesday, April 17, 2018
I had appointments to see two of my three Stone Oak doctors today and left early to be there in time for the pulmonology appointment, made it on time, got excellent results from all the tests, and then used the time between to shop and check things off my list.
I made it to the second one early, sat in the waiting room over an hour talking to a man about moles in Panama, and then discovered that I was in the wrong doctor's office!
So I go back to that one on Thursday and had to schedule the other one for June. This is what happens when I try to multi-task, I guess!
Last night's writing group was terrific and I felt really good. Then today, shortly after telling the pulmonologist how good I felt, my fingers started to swell like sausages and the pain returned full force for the rest of the day.
CREST is also called limited scleroderma--and requires annual heart and lung tests to make sure it's not turning into full-fledged systemic scleroderma. So far so good--as my breathing tests and lung scan showed no damage.
But the pain--when it hits--is pretty bad. I have to gauge everything I do around how I feel on a particular day. Today, as it happens, is a not-doing-much kind of day.
I made it to the second one early, sat in the waiting room over an hour talking to a man about moles in Panama, and then discovered that I was in the wrong doctor's office!
So I go back to that one on Thursday and had to schedule the other one for June. This is what happens when I try to multi-task, I guess!
Last night's writing group was terrific and I felt really good. Then today, shortly after telling the pulmonologist how good I felt, my fingers started to swell like sausages and the pain returned full force for the rest of the day.
CREST is also called limited scleroderma--and requires annual heart and lung tests to make sure it's not turning into full-fledged systemic scleroderma. So far so good--as my breathing tests and lung scan showed no damage.
But the pain--when it hits--is pretty bad. I have to gauge everything I do around how I feel on a particular day. Today, as it happens, is a not-doing-much kind of day.
Monday, April 16, 2018
In my last post, I referred to Elena as "the perfect houseguest."
This phrase, not a phrase I remember writing before, is part of my DNA. Have you ever noticed how words will pop up from somewhere in your deep brain and you think, "That's so-and-so talking!"?
In this case, it was reminiscent of something my own grandmother might have said: "Linda was a perfect guest" or something like that.
I used to spend a week with Mimi and Papa every summer and I remember so much about them and things they said to and about me, all good and kind, as they were.
When I was three, it was reported to me later, I had a hard time not talking in church, and Mimi suggested we leave. "No," I said. "I stay to church with Papa."
Elena is a different kind of perfect, braver and more raucous than I was, way funnier. She loves to wash dishes and gets water all over herself and the floor. I imagine Mimi might have said, "Honey, I'll wash those, you can go and play with Papa."
When I said, "Elena, you are getting water all over my clean floor!" (as if I cared), she said, "I don't care!" really loudly, in a joking way. She knows she's funny. I can't help laughing at her, which makes me more of another kid sometime that a grown up.
She put her foot up to her ear like a telephone and said, "Hello!" and that brought about my best laugh of the weekend.
She fixes up her bed in the guest room, then sleeps with me--in the middle of the bed, legs spread from one side to the other. She wakes up and tells me her dreams--always funny--dreams, which I've not quite slept soundly enough to have.
Though I'd just gotten the house cleaned the day before she came, she managed to move stuff around so that there was barely a spot left the way it was when she arrived. We had two forts in two different rooms and quilts borrowed from both beds to make roofs. On the porch, we had building blocks, a big bottle of glue for our glue party, two hula hoops, and a big basket of markers.
There is horse food in a bowl on the floor still filled with plastic beads. And a bowl of water on the floor--where her imaginary dog drank real water. Half-drunk glasses of milk and cookie crumbs are everywhere.
I'm keeping them there for one more day--reminders of a girl who brings this house to life in a whole new way. I miss her when she leaves!
This phrase, not a phrase I remember writing before, is part of my DNA. Have you ever noticed how words will pop up from somewhere in your deep brain and you think, "That's so-and-so talking!"?
In this case, it was reminiscent of something my own grandmother might have said: "Linda was a perfect guest" or something like that.
I used to spend a week with Mimi and Papa every summer and I remember so much about them and things they said to and about me, all good and kind, as they were.
When I was three, it was reported to me later, I had a hard time not talking in church, and Mimi suggested we leave. "No," I said. "I stay to church with Papa."
Elena is a different kind of perfect, braver and more raucous than I was, way funnier. She loves to wash dishes and gets water all over herself and the floor. I imagine Mimi might have said, "Honey, I'll wash those, you can go and play with Papa."
When I said, "Elena, you are getting water all over my clean floor!" (as if I cared), she said, "I don't care!" really loudly, in a joking way. She knows she's funny. I can't help laughing at her, which makes me more of another kid sometime that a grown up.
She put her foot up to her ear like a telephone and said, "Hello!" and that brought about my best laugh of the weekend.
She fixes up her bed in the guest room, then sleeps with me--in the middle of the bed, legs spread from one side to the other. She wakes up and tells me her dreams--always funny--dreams, which I've not quite slept soundly enough to have.
Though I'd just gotten the house cleaned the day before she came, she managed to move stuff around so that there was barely a spot left the way it was when she arrived. We had two forts in two different rooms and quilts borrowed from both beds to make roofs. On the porch, we had building blocks, a big bottle of glue for our glue party, two hula hoops, and a big basket of markers.
There is horse food in a bowl on the floor still filled with plastic beads. And a bowl of water on the floor--where her imaginary dog drank real water. Half-drunk glasses of milk and cookie crumbs are everywhere.
I'm keeping them there for one more day--reminders of a girl who brings this house to life in a whole new way. I miss her when she leaves!
When I learn all these new things a camera or phone or computer can do (which it's been able to do all along without my knowledge), I think of something I heard once--that we only use about 10% of our brains' capacity. We have come to rely on these expensive brains in our hands so much that we may often wonder what we'd do without them, yet they can do so much more than most of us even realize.
Every time I watch Elena, I'm reminded of the openness and enthusiasm in children's sponge-like brains as they are learning to be in the world. At six, the brain is such a wonderfully agile thing! If you say a word to a six-year-old once, it's absorbed immediately--and used soon afterwards with confidence. If you tell her a story, she might remind you of the story in great detail a year or two later. If she picks up your iPhone, she can figure out how to use it even without knowing how to read. Often, just by sheer instinct, she can take really good photographs, too.
Elena was, as we adults were, totally engaged and fascinated with Kwasi yesterday. When he tells a story, he acts it out--including falling on the ground to demonstrate the lion or tiger who's sedated and caught in a net to become somebody's pet.
"In America I don't see any tigers or lions as pets," he said. "Only dogs and cats."
Elena's eyes widened at the possibility of having a cute and playful tiger cub in her yard. To a six-year-old, anything is possible. Even stuffed tigers and lions are real and need attention and food and love--so why not have a real one too?
When she pretends to be a horse or a dog or a cheetah, she knows it's pretend but that doesn't impair the joy of pretending. She might whisper to me, "This is pretend"--then proceed as if neither of us knows that! I'm still expected to provide a tasty meal for said horse--and plastic beads work very well for this purpose.
At 28, Kwasi speaks three languages fluently and wants to learn Spanish. He taught us several words and expressions in his native language (Ashanti)--and I'm pretty sure Elena will remember them this morning. Then he taught her some conversational French. I hope his linguistic skills will make her value even more that she's bilingual. How I wish I had two or more languages embedded in my brain and could switch back and forth with ease!
"Here we have to use telephones to call and tell people when we are coming. In my country, we walk to their houses [he acts it all out] and knock on the door and call out like this: 'Madame Linda this is Kwasi come to see you!' Nobody ever says no, you can't come in."
When for a brief moment, he thought my lawnmower wasn't working properly, he said, "I will just go across the street and ask to borrow Curran and Harvey's." He had just met them yet was ready to borrow--which he did, successfully, which I never would have considered doing!
"In my home country, we borrow things from our neighbors and they borrow things from us. It's how neighbors are supposed to be," he said.
It is refreshing to meet people of different cultures who do things differently and who open our minds to new possibilities. It's exciting to take a class and learn that that little symbol we've never noticed before can do magical things.
When I can open even a little tiny chamber of my mind, I feel like Elena who learns new things all day long and is open to trying anything: "Look, Yenna, I can do the splits!" or "I love washing dishes!" or (when I want to pull over and take photographs in culverts:) "Okay! Let's do it!"
Every time I watch Elena, I'm reminded of the openness and enthusiasm in children's sponge-like brains as they are learning to be in the world. At six, the brain is such a wonderfully agile thing! If you say a word to a six-year-old once, it's absorbed immediately--and used soon afterwards with confidence. If you tell her a story, she might remind you of the story in great detail a year or two later. If she picks up your iPhone, she can figure out how to use it even without knowing how to read. Often, just by sheer instinct, she can take really good photographs, too.
Elena was, as we adults were, totally engaged and fascinated with Kwasi yesterday. When he tells a story, he acts it out--including falling on the ground to demonstrate the lion or tiger who's sedated and caught in a net to become somebody's pet.
"In America I don't see any tigers or lions as pets," he said. "Only dogs and cats."
Elena's eyes widened at the possibility of having a cute and playful tiger cub in her yard. To a six-year-old, anything is possible. Even stuffed tigers and lions are real and need attention and food and love--so why not have a real one too?
When she pretends to be a horse or a dog or a cheetah, she knows it's pretend but that doesn't impair the joy of pretending. She might whisper to me, "This is pretend"--then proceed as if neither of us knows that! I'm still expected to provide a tasty meal for said horse--and plastic beads work very well for this purpose.
At 28, Kwasi speaks three languages fluently and wants to learn Spanish. He taught us several words and expressions in his native language (Ashanti)--and I'm pretty sure Elena will remember them this morning. Then he taught her some conversational French. I hope his linguistic skills will make her value even more that she's bilingual. How I wish I had two or more languages embedded in my brain and could switch back and forth with ease!
"Here we have to use telephones to call and tell people when we are coming. In my country, we walk to their houses [he acts it all out] and knock on the door and call out like this: 'Madame Linda this is Kwasi come to see you!' Nobody ever says no, you can't come in."
When for a brief moment, he thought my lawnmower wasn't working properly, he said, "I will just go across the street and ask to borrow Curran and Harvey's." He had just met them yet was ready to borrow--which he did, successfully, which I never would have considered doing!
"In my home country, we borrow things from our neighbors and they borrow things from us. It's how neighbors are supposed to be," he said.
It is refreshing to meet people of different cultures who do things differently and who open our minds to new possibilities. It's exciting to take a class and learn that that little symbol we've never noticed before can do magical things.
When I can open even a little tiny chamber of my mind, I feel like Elena who learns new things all day long and is open to trying anything: "Look, Yenna, I can do the splits!" or "I love washing dishes!" or (when I want to pull over and take photographs in culverts:) "Okay! Let's do it!"
Saturday, April 14, 2018
Saturday
Elena knows where just about everything can be found in my house. Last night we were making a fort, aka new home for today's Build A Bear rabbit, and she stood over the whole operation calling out things we needed: "You know those big black and white checked pillows in the closet? You know that blanket....?" etc. By midnight, we had a well-designed and colorful home for Swirly, though we didn't know Swirly until we had her built.
We made a deal: she'd go with me to look at new iPhones and I'd let her get one animal at her favorite store.
Yesterday we sang along to Keb Mo's "Old Me Better" about ten times in the car--we love that song. It gave me a chance to tell her about Cajun people. It also gave me a chance to sing loud--something I only do with people under seven.
On the way out of Castroville I saw a big yard filled with concrete pipes, round and rectangular. Nobody was there, so I did a U-Turn. "I see a good place to do some pictures!" I said.
Whatever harebrained idea either of us has, the other loves it! With Elena, I get to be a kid again!
She woke me up at 2:00 to tell me, "Yenna! I've decided I really love sleepovers!"
We went back to bed for a few hours, then she woke me at 8:00 to show me a bruise on her leg, one she got when a wooden swing hit her.
"Daddy says you must be having a really good time if you get a bruise," she said. "I bet he got that from you."
"Why's that?" I asked.
"Cause you both say things fancy. Like if there are a lot of words for one thing, like blue and sad, you always say it a cool way. You're like Fancy Nancy in the book."
So here we are, Elena with her stuffed rabbit and me with my new iPhone, she watching a movie about mermaids and princesses, me waking up from a nap.
We made a deal: she'd go with me to look at new iPhones and I'd let her get one animal at her favorite store.
Yesterday we sang along to Keb Mo's "Old Me Better" about ten times in the car--we love that song. It gave me a chance to tell her about Cajun people. It also gave me a chance to sing loud--something I only do with people under seven.
On the way out of Castroville I saw a big yard filled with concrete pipes, round and rectangular. Nobody was there, so I did a U-Turn. "I see a good place to do some pictures!" I said.
Whatever harebrained idea either of us has, the other loves it! With Elena, I get to be a kid again!
She woke me up at 2:00 to tell me, "Yenna! I've decided I really love sleepovers!"
We went back to bed for a few hours, then she woke me at 8:00 to show me a bruise on her leg, one she got when a wooden swing hit her.
"Daddy says you must be having a really good time if you get a bruise," she said. "I bet he got that from you."
"Why's that?" I asked.
"Cause you both say things fancy. Like if there are a lot of words for one thing, like blue and sad, you always say it a cool way. You're like Fancy Nancy in the book."
So here we are, Elena with her stuffed rabbit and me with my new iPhone, she watching a movie about mermaids and princesses, me waking up from a nap.
Friday, April 13, 2018
Friday the 13th
 |
| Portrait of Yenna by Elena |
 |
| "That's enough pictures, Yenna!" |
 |
| If you sniff in real hard, the poppy petals will stick to your nose! |
 |
| My new bird house posing in the few remaining poppies |
 |
| My favorite photo of the day |
Poppies in Castroville, not so much
FYI: If you missed them today, wait until next year. The Visitors Center had said they were in full bloom, but they were on their last stalks, I'd say.
Nevertheless, we had a great day and ended with dinner at the Castroville Cafe, listening to music next door--and Elena found the few remaining poppies delightful. She wasn't counting.
All the way home, she gave me a quiz she'd probably learned in school: Would you call 911 if....
your friend pulled your hair, the house was burning down, somebody was driving crazy, you lost your dog....?
Nevertheless, we had a great day and ended with dinner at the Castroville Cafe, listening to music next door--and Elena found the few remaining poppies delightful. She wasn't counting.
All the way home, she gave me a quiz she'd probably learned in school: Would you call 911 if....
your friend pulled your hair, the house was burning down, somebody was driving crazy, you lost your dog....?
Poppies in Castroville
Just leaving to meet Jan for yoga, then to Helotes to pick up my playmate for the entire weekend.
Will called to say she was "emotional" and clingy this morning, so I told him she was just trying to make them feel good saying she didn't want to spend the night:) This is her first two-nighter, so she had to protest--it's what six-year-olds do, right?
Anyway, FYI: I called Castroville and found out the poppies are in full bloom all over town and I'm taking Elena for a look-see after school.
If you've never seen them, the full-bloom isn't going to last long and it's really something to see! I'm hoping she gets a nap on the way there and loves seeing them as much as I do.
There's also a walking tour, I think--but I forgot to ask about that. So if you're interested, call Castroville Visitor's Center and they will tell you all about it.
Will called to say she was "emotional" and clingy this morning, so I told him she was just trying to make them feel good saying she didn't want to spend the night:) This is her first two-nighter, so she had to protest--it's what six-year-olds do, right?
Anyway, FYI: I called Castroville and found out the poppies are in full bloom all over town and I'm taking Elena for a look-see after school.
If you've never seen them, the full-bloom isn't going to last long and it's really something to see! I'm hoping she gets a nap on the way there and loves seeing them as much as I do.
There's also a walking tour, I think--but I forgot to ask about that. So if you're interested, call Castroville Visitor's Center and they will tell you all about it.
Enchanted Evening Barbie and The Second Coming
For people who love to travel, and people who love to read, it's always a great delight to encounter places in books that you know, even if only a little bit.
For several years, ever since Bob--my old boyfriend--introduced me to Southern Louisiana, that part of the world has been magical and mysterious for me. In St. Francisville, I bought a book by the former Atlanta Journal Constitution journalist, Rheta Grimsley Johnson, and I'm now reading three by her, simultaneously, overlappingly:
Hank Hung the Moon
Poor Man's Provence
Enchanted Evening Barbie and the Second Coming.
I love this writer! She feels like someone I know personally. She's about my age, calls Georgia her home state, and she brilliantly describes the quirks of people and places.
Henderson, Louisiana, is the town in the Atchafalaya Swamp where she and her second husband Don bought a houseboat and called their playground and their "poor man's Provence." They'd often traveled to France together and both loved the French-speaking Cajun Country of Southwest Louisiana.
Rheta, a lifelong Francophile, felt it was as close as she could get to returning to France. Don loved it because it reminded him of his hometown, Moss Point, near Pascagoula. It felt familiar to him--all the duck hunting and just hanging out with people who were never in a hurry.
"Get down," the Cajun folks call out if you drive up to their house. It means "Get out of the car, come inside, sit for a spell. Don't be in such an all-fired hurry!"
Once Rheta gave her niece some advice that the niece thanked her for as "the best advice ever."
"Always have a trip planned. You'll then have something to look forward to, a big crisp carrot to trot behind on drab or downright bad days, powerful incentive to finish any task at hand."
Rheta Johnson took the place of Lewis Grizzard (who died in the 90s) on the staff of the Atlanta Journal Constitution. For seven years, she got hate mail because of her liberal politics. But she stayed on, writing mostly personal interest stories and traveling around the South to snag them.
She was asked to take Celestine Sibley's place on the AJC staff when she died, but decided it was time to retire before attempting to replace another Georgia journalistic icon.
For several years, ever since Bob--my old boyfriend--introduced me to Southern Louisiana, that part of the world has been magical and mysterious for me. In St. Francisville, I bought a book by the former Atlanta Journal Constitution journalist, Rheta Grimsley Johnson, and I'm now reading three by her, simultaneously, overlappingly:
Hank Hung the Moon
Poor Man's Provence
Enchanted Evening Barbie and the Second Coming.
I love this writer! She feels like someone I know personally. She's about my age, calls Georgia her home state, and she brilliantly describes the quirks of people and places.
Henderson, Louisiana, is the town in the Atchafalaya Swamp where she and her second husband Don bought a houseboat and called their playground and their "poor man's Provence." They'd often traveled to France together and both loved the French-speaking Cajun Country of Southwest Louisiana.
Rheta, a lifelong Francophile, felt it was as close as she could get to returning to France. Don loved it because it reminded him of his hometown, Moss Point, near Pascagoula. It felt familiar to him--all the duck hunting and just hanging out with people who were never in a hurry.
"Get down," the Cajun folks call out if you drive up to their house. It means "Get out of the car, come inside, sit for a spell. Don't be in such an all-fired hurry!"
Once Rheta gave her niece some advice that the niece thanked her for as "the best advice ever."
"Always have a trip planned. You'll then have something to look forward to, a big crisp carrot to trot behind on drab or downright bad days, powerful incentive to finish any task at hand."
Rheta Johnson took the place of Lewis Grizzard (who died in the 90s) on the staff of the Atlanta Journal Constitution. For seven years, she got hate mail because of her liberal politics. But she stayed on, writing mostly personal interest stories and traveling around the South to snag them.
She was asked to take Celestine Sibley's place on the AJC staff when she died, but decided it was time to retire before attempting to replace another Georgia journalistic icon.
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