Several years ago, I wrote this little blurb in my small notebook I carry with me. My dog Toby (a bichon frise) and I were sitting on the bench outside my daughter's house, waiting for the school bus. Unfortunately, I didn't date it (the one writer's sin), but this is what I said (unedited).
"Toby and I sitting on the bench, waiting for the bus. How does he know what we're waiting for? But it's as if he does know. Would be a good picture--two white heads, turned the same way--waiting for one small blond boy, we both adore."
This morning I'm thinking it might work better in verse form. Let's see how that goes.
Toby and I sit on the bench,
waiting for the bus.
How does he know what we're waiting for?
But it's as if he does know.
Would be a good picture--
two white heads,
turned the same way--
waiting for one small blond boy,
we both adore.
Pretty bad poetry, but truth, nevertheless.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Dreamcatcher
Our writing prompt that day in the group was a dreamcatcher, hanging on the wall. And oh, the wonderful memories it brought back! Quickly I was immersed in those memories of another rich experience I will never forget.
I took a trip to Tucson, Arizona, as an escape from two years at my "church from hell." (Every minister has one; just ask them.) I thought I might even be able to transfer into the Southwest Conference and serve a church there. That was not to be. Nevertheless, it was a wonderful experience, traveling into a "brave new world" for me, in the Southwest.
I drove west by myself, my suitcases in the trunk, and a faceted crystal orb hanging from my rearview mirror, increasingly catching the sunlight and bouncing it around my car. As the scenery changed, I was overwhelmed by the beauty around me.
I'd never driven this far alone and was a little nervous, but I'd had the car serviced, and had a CB radio on the seat beside me. I promised my daughter I'd drive only during daylight hours, and stop when I got tired. And check in with her every night until I arrived.
The friend I stayed with had a condo up in the hills above the city, and she took me on several short trips to show me the area. Over and over, I repeated, "I love this place. I want to stay here." The sunlight was different there, and it caught the glass angel on her coffee table, sending brilliant sparkles around the room. Just as the faceted orb on my rearview mirror had done. I'm an early riser, and I got up before my friend did, so I had my morning coffee basking in the sunlight, and stroking her beautiful cats, who kept me company.
In Tucson I learned about the dreamcatcher, as one hung over my bed during my visit. And I was introduced to southwestern architecture, and art, and textiles, and scenery. We went to southwestern museums, and ate at restaurants with southwestern food. I bought a cross stitch pattern of the Taos Pueblo in New Mexico, though I knew that it would be a challenge for my then less-than-expert stitching skills. I stayed there two months--in summertime, no less.
But the only job I was able to find was temp work. The United Methodist Southwest Conference had more ministers than they could place. Apparently my love affair with the Southwest was not unique. Many people knew what a magical place Tucson was.
So eventually I came back home to Tennessee, took a new church in Cookeville, TN, and awaited the birth of my first grandchild. But I never forgot my Southwest adventure, and every time I see a dreamcatcher, or a De Grazia picture, or Georgia O'Keefe's art work, I'm immediately plunged back into that world that I loved so much. I finished my Taos Pueblo piece and had it framed, and it now hangs in my Tennessee apartment. I know that I'm back where I need to be, but I'm very grateful for the magical two months that God granted me in Tucson, Arizona.
I took a trip to Tucson, Arizona, as an escape from two years at my "church from hell." (Every minister has one; just ask them.) I thought I might even be able to transfer into the Southwest Conference and serve a church there. That was not to be. Nevertheless, it was a wonderful experience, traveling into a "brave new world" for me, in the Southwest.
I drove west by myself, my suitcases in the trunk, and a faceted crystal orb hanging from my rearview mirror, increasingly catching the sunlight and bouncing it around my car. As the scenery changed, I was overwhelmed by the beauty around me.
I'd never driven this far alone and was a little nervous, but I'd had the car serviced, and had a CB radio on the seat beside me. I promised my daughter I'd drive only during daylight hours, and stop when I got tired. And check in with her every night until I arrived.
The friend I stayed with had a condo up in the hills above the city, and she took me on several short trips to show me the area. Over and over, I repeated, "I love this place. I want to stay here." The sunlight was different there, and it caught the glass angel on her coffee table, sending brilliant sparkles around the room. Just as the faceted orb on my rearview mirror had done. I'm an early riser, and I got up before my friend did, so I had my morning coffee basking in the sunlight, and stroking her beautiful cats, who kept me company.
In Tucson I learned about the dreamcatcher, as one hung over my bed during my visit. And I was introduced to southwestern architecture, and art, and textiles, and scenery. We went to southwestern museums, and ate at restaurants with southwestern food. I bought a cross stitch pattern of the Taos Pueblo in New Mexico, though I knew that it would be a challenge for my then less-than-expert stitching skills. I stayed there two months--in summertime, no less.
But the only job I was able to find was temp work. The United Methodist Southwest Conference had more ministers than they could place. Apparently my love affair with the Southwest was not unique. Many people knew what a magical place Tucson was.
So eventually I came back home to Tennessee, took a new church in Cookeville, TN, and awaited the birth of my first grandchild. But I never forgot my Southwest adventure, and every time I see a dreamcatcher, or a De Grazia picture, or Georgia O'Keefe's art work, I'm immediately plunged back into that world that I loved so much. I finished my Taos Pueblo piece and had it framed, and it now hangs in my Tennessee apartment. I know that I'm back where I need to be, but I'm very grateful for the magical two months that God granted me in Tucson, Arizona.
Monday, October 5, 2009
October and Jeaninne
October is here at last. Thank goodness! Fall is my favorite season, a real relief after the dog days of summer. (Of course, when April arrives, I'll swear that spring is my favorite season. Which will also be true.)
I've always wished I had the coloring of my friend Jeaninne. She LOOKED like autumn--with beautiful auburn hair, and always wore fall colors beautifully. We were best friends in high school (bff's even then). We were in most classes together, and even double dated. I remember pizza parties, and walking through a snowstorm to the corner grocery store to buy the pizza mix. NOT Chef Boyardee, and this was before the time of Papa John's. No way to order online for delivery in 30 min. But my preference in pizza hasn't changed in 50 years--pepperoni, mushrooms, and GREEN olives. We'd make the pizzas, and when Nick and Don came over, we'd eat and listen to Johnny Mathis and Dave Brubeck. (Please note that this was 50 years ago, so I may be mixing my time periods. Was Dave Brubeck 60's or 70's?)
Jeaninne's home was a second home to me. Her mother was a wonderful cook; I still use her lasagne recipe. Her father was a physicist at Oak Ridge National Lab, and built a race car. They always made me feel welcome, and I loved spending time there. Her mother taught me how to knit, as well as sharing recipes. She loved opera and ballet, and their home was filled with good books, wonderful music, and art work.
Jeaninne drove a little yellow Crosley convertible, shaped like a box, with a hole in the floor where you could see the pavement go by. I lived on a steep hill, and when she picked me up, the neighboring German Shepherd would run alongside us up the hill. He was at about eye level, and ran at about the same speed as the Crosley, as it putt-putted up the hill. We had lots of laughs and good times in that little Crosley.
Through all the years after high school, we stayed really good friends, though we never lived in the same place again. She went to University of Wisconsin in Madison, married and moved to Japan. Their two children were born in Japan, and were bilingual up to the time of their return to the States. They lived in California after that. But Jeaninne and I stayed close friends, and shared that same crazy humor we'd had in high school. Whenever she came home for a visit, I'd get back to Oak Ridge to see her, and we'd pick back up where we'd left off. We'd exchange book lists, recipes, and life experiences. She was a wonderful friend.
I lost my friend a year ago to cancer. It is still painful, as such losses always are. So many things remind me of her--books, music, movies, art, food, wine--I could go on and on. As October turns Tennessee trees to golds, oranges, and rusts, I'll have Jeaninne with me. I dedicate this October to her.
I've always wished I had the coloring of my friend Jeaninne. She LOOKED like autumn--with beautiful auburn hair, and always wore fall colors beautifully. We were best friends in high school (bff's even then). We were in most classes together, and even double dated. I remember pizza parties, and walking through a snowstorm to the corner grocery store to buy the pizza mix. NOT Chef Boyardee, and this was before the time of Papa John's. No way to order online for delivery in 30 min. But my preference in pizza hasn't changed in 50 years--pepperoni, mushrooms, and GREEN olives. We'd make the pizzas, and when Nick and Don came over, we'd eat and listen to Johnny Mathis and Dave Brubeck. (Please note that this was 50 years ago, so I may be mixing my time periods. Was Dave Brubeck 60's or 70's?)
Jeaninne's home was a second home to me. Her mother was a wonderful cook; I still use her lasagne recipe. Her father was a physicist at Oak Ridge National Lab, and built a race car. They always made me feel welcome, and I loved spending time there. Her mother taught me how to knit, as well as sharing recipes. She loved opera and ballet, and their home was filled with good books, wonderful music, and art work.
Jeaninne drove a little yellow Crosley convertible, shaped like a box, with a hole in the floor where you could see the pavement go by. I lived on a steep hill, and when she picked me up, the neighboring German Shepherd would run alongside us up the hill. He was at about eye level, and ran at about the same speed as the Crosley, as it putt-putted up the hill. We had lots of laughs and good times in that little Crosley.
Through all the years after high school, we stayed really good friends, though we never lived in the same place again. She went to University of Wisconsin in Madison, married and moved to Japan. Their two children were born in Japan, and were bilingual up to the time of their return to the States. They lived in California after that. But Jeaninne and I stayed close friends, and shared that same crazy humor we'd had in high school. Whenever she came home for a visit, I'd get back to Oak Ridge to see her, and we'd pick back up where we'd left off. We'd exchange book lists, recipes, and life experiences. She was a wonderful friend.
I lost my friend a year ago to cancer. It is still painful, as such losses always are. So many things remind me of her--books, music, movies, art, food, wine--I could go on and on. As October turns Tennessee trees to golds, oranges, and rusts, I'll have Jeaninne with me. I dedicate this October to her.
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