OLD FRIENDS

We don't think much about them when they're in our lives. And eventually they more often than not make their own direction on their charted path. I'm referring to old friends of course. It's a rare and humbling event if they stay, sharing the ins and outs of your life. So it's indeed a special occasion when one renters your life after 10 or more odd years or so.
An unexpected email from such a friend surprised me. I had actively sought my old friend out, wondering how she'd been. I was hesitant, thinking, maybe we lost touch because of something I said or did. Perhaps something not done, the sins of omission those of us in Catholic school came to understand, or at least claim to understand.
But a pleasant invitation came to "write back" and I hope a new chapter of friendship has been forged.

The snow blankets our yards yet with promise of more Sunday. I hope it doesn't snow everyone in. We have a family party on Sunday, and I'm always reluctant to miss those. I know as we age they will fewer and farther between and subsequent years will find this or that one missing from the table. My nephew turns 18 and while (in his mind at least) he has outgrown the family gatherings, us oldsters, with not quite the social life we all once had, will look forward to gathering.

BLIZZARD

We saw it coming, so though the weatherman compares it to the blizzard of '78 there's not really a strong comparison. I've awakened early to see the damage and search for an unfrosted window through which to look. With the drifting and blowing, it's hard to tell. The picnic table is clear; lawn chairs left out to weather the winter have disappeared under mounds of the white stuff.
The 10 year old in me can't wait to get out in it. The mature (albeit practically senior self) says use your !@#$ head. (I've left the expletives for you to mentally insert.)
So I look at this day, hopefully a day for the creative muses to kick in. I'm working on a midgrade novel which in terms of subject and length, is looking more like a YA all the time. I'm not good at doing my own editing and will bore my grown children to death with requests for reads.And finishing an illustration for publication.
The coffee is perking and I'll shower and dress, treating this like any other work day, although I don't have to warm up a car and leave the house. (There are also no predictable paychecks, perks or benefits) Just a love for what I do and hope that someone will recognize it. And a very generous spouse who fills with with dishes, laundry, and an encouraging pat on the back. Happy Valentines Day, honey.

ONLINE PORTFOLIO

RITES OF PASSAGE

My youngest passed her driver's test on Thursday. It was a long passage. Not at 16 as you might imagine but as a young adult. Why? you might ask? Why not, I'd reply. You see, I've seen the newly licensed 16 year olds on the phone, speeding, running around by themselves for the sole purpose of running around by themselves. Taking cars the two blocks to school. Disappearing long after they should have been home. No thank you.
Our kids weren't allowed to consider having a set of wheels beneath them until they were 18. For my daughter, this was the year her grandmother died. Followed by a horrific accident for her older sister. Mowed down by a speeding semi on the interstate. Frightened to death as we all were, she postponed her time behind the wheel.
Just last year, a hunch I held was validated by statistics; judgment is the last part of the brain to develop. In 18-25 year olds.
LookSmart's FindArticles - Ready for the road? - car accidents leading cause of teen deaths; states enact graduated drivers' license programs

Current Events, Oct 31, 1997


Hmmm. So my thoughts that teens can't hold their focus were not just the imaginings of an over-protective mother. So we celebrated by daughter's accomplishment. Her first run as a driver? Taking mom to the store.

New avatar for the New Year

My new look courtesy of Yahoo avatar. Now if I could just create my own avatar!

THE GIRLFRIENDS OF 1945

It might have been a final goodbye luncheon; perhaps ladies parting ways as one leaves the workforce for marriage. This photo was found among my mothers photos and adapted to colored pencil and ink. They coyly glance at the camera not knowing what the postwar years will bring. They offered a play on my imagination.

Bunny Love

We said goodbye to beloved bunny last Friday. Very sad long day, complicated by the unexpected arrival of grandparents for a visit. And while we were delighted to see them an unforseen event further complicated things. Grandma lost her balance and down she went. hard. Breaking the joint at the top of the femur. On to hospital where I'm happy to say, one week later she is recovering and in therapy.
Ever have that sinking feeling in your stomach, "uh, -oh?) that's how Friday morning began when I discovered bunny heavily breathing. I'd seen this in humans with congestive heart failure, and his lack of acknowlege of me (after all I bring the food and he being a little boy, was always excited to see hay and pellets coming) gave me a start.
A blessing is always hiddne in these events and no more so than none of us having to make that "final decisio". He passed after seizuring on the way to the vets. It's always too soon. and even thought at 6 we was considered a senior bunny (dwarf rabbits live typically from 5-8 years tops), we had hoped for a little more time.
Rest in peace Sweetie Petie.

BACK TO SCHOOL

The Wal-Marts and Targets tout the age old (well at least as long as I've been around)reverie, BACK TO SCHOOL. I'm sure it has a different significance than it did for me in the 50's. Back then it meant a home perm, arguing about NOT cutting hair that had grown long in the summer. A new plaid school dress with a large "Pilgrim" collar, and saddle oxfords. It also mean a new wool sweater and skirt that it would be much too warm to wear for at least another month and a half. It meant walking up the steps to the school, last year's report card in hand to determine the right room number. Then checking the class list, would a best friend be on it. Or worse, one of the many nemeses that every kid faces until they mark their territory. How long til lunch when we could run home to a waiting mother and share the events of the morning, promises of great things; writing cursive, having geography for the first time, or, in later years, gym without the boys, Home Economics or Shop. But most of all, excitement. We hadn't been in the building all summer. The rooms had been painted, the floors waxed. There was a smell that permeated the entire building. Of course it didn't hurt that Kindergarten through eighth grade were house in the same building. There were new floors to discover, junior high had it's own entrance. Everyone had their space.
There would be orchestra or band for the first time. Brownies or Girl Scouts, and for the VERY lucky, lessons of some kind. Yes, there sure was a reason to shout, BACK TO SCHOOL!

TEA TOAST AND BREAKFAST IN BED

It was a huge thing, stuck on top of my grandmother's secretary. Neither really belong in a bedroom but space in our story and a half being at a premium, and I the preservationist extraordinaire, leave little choice. It is a huge gray aluminum tray; tole-hand painted with lemon-yellow flowers, no particular genre. Bright with orangy-red centers. In my sisters and my growing up years, it came out of hiding, rather predictably at every recovery from flu or childhood diseases. Often it was the first sign that a doctor would be called to the house, and no, you wouldn't be going to school.
Wobbly, since it was circular and had no fold-out legs, it balanced precariously on top of the bedcovers, offering, as hot dishes conducted their heat through the metal, additional warmth to the recovering child.
Predictable as well were it's offerings. It began with tea, Lipton of course, it's orange tinged waters betraying the actual flavors, as no sugar would be offered. Tea, to see if you'd "keep it down". Then dry toast. so dark it looked like it would break before it reached your mouth.
The morning the tray held milque-toast you were assured that later, a simple toy or book might be brought and you'd be sitting up amonst a mound of pillows; that is if you ate the soggy crumb infested mixture, and "kept it down". By the time a baked potato, ginger ale and jello were served, your time to play amonst the blankets was numbered.
By then, it was a treat to move to the living room where you could recouperate on the davenport and watch a little TV.
Such were the days of recovery in the 1950's. I miss them. But I still have the tray.

Music Under the Stars

What a beautiful evening. My daughters and I ventured to the Marina at the end of town, fully intending to take the launch by river to the Zoo. We are so fortunate to have a zoo on the opposite side of the river. For whatever reason, the launch never appeared and we went by car.
I have such wonderful memories of being a small child and hearing the symphony orchestra at this very ampitheatre.A WPA project, the ampitheatre has been around for years and the free events are popular among young families and seniors alike. The sit among the trees and listen to the music, birds and ducks flying overhead, was like a vacation for us. It's the kind of thing you see on billboards advertising a wonderful summer evening in distant cities.

WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF

A weird night to say the least. I began rushing to class in a University. (My mother at 98, STILL dreamed of missing class.) The class was to begin at 9:40 and in my dream there were not two clocks that had the same time. Rushing to what should have been the second floor, a maintainance man stopped me and said the stairwells to the west wing had been closed because the floors were wet. Groups of students were herded to another stairwell and I herded along with them. A couple of them I seemed to know and tried to engage in conversation about the whereabouts of the class. To no avail.
I found myself in the most elaborate of lab schools, I guessed kindergarten by the areas designated for housekeeping, blocks and climbing. Security was very tight and I inadvertantly emerged through the curtains of a puppet stage. Someone kindly directed me back through the curtains and into the main hallway where I was certain by this time it would make more sense to go back home than to try to make that class.
I was startled to see my sister as directress of the lab school; primly dressed in a smart navy skirt and vest, and crisp white blouse. She was hurriedly giving directions to a secretary and her arms were loaded with books, binders and the all important clipboard. She waved to me and seemed less surprised to see me than I was to see her. After a cursory wave I meandered to a ladies room where I thought I should change clothes. Two girls whispering and pointing in my direction led me to stop and ask if I knew them.
It seemed they were upset that I had sold school sponsorships to people they had promised (you know, the ads students are always asked to sell) I assured them that I only sold to family and friends. That seemed to satisfy them and I went on my merry way. (Remember this is a DREAM, not an actual event.)
At home I sent to cleaning the kitchen floor, tackling with a vengeance a small corner where rice had spilled, buggy rice, no less, so I needed to sweep tiny bugs along with the rice. I remember thinking I wanted to get the house to it's pristine origins, whatever that might be.
Glancing up I saw my children (now young adults) at about 4 or 5 years old.They were dressed in those wonderful blanket sleepers of the 80's. I remember how wonderful it was to hug their little selves and as I did so, felt deeply sad that they really weren't that little any more. I asked my mother standing in the room if they looked little to her, and she assured me that they were really grown up. It bothered me, in my dream state, that only I could see them as little children.
The house looked like a family getting ready for Christmas and there was a large glass walk-in cabinet in the living room filled to the brim with rotating Christmas ornaments. It resembled a samll version of Frankenmuth. My daughter was reaching up to touch one of the whirling ornaments. As she turned to smile at me, I woke up feeling like I'd been somewhere "other-earthly."
The feelings of that dream have stayed with me most of the day.

Happy 4th of July

Was it a storm or are we in the middle of a war zone. For a while it was hard to tell as flashes of white light grazed the side of our house and the air rumbled. A bit of both as the evenings "neighborly celebrations" that blissfully ignored warnings about amateurs setting off fireworks merged with scattered thunderstorms. We glanced above our roof and wondered if the next flare would render us "roof-less." I can see celebrating our country's independence, I encourage it. Flags flying from porches, rising at the sound of our National Anthem, attending a service given by the vets. But the risk of life and limb (not to mention the trip to emergency) escapes me. So with my family, I huddled inside, escaped the mosquitos, and commemorated our country's independence with national celebrations on cable tv.

Summer Luncheon

Occasionally I get to have my nose in on other's doings and today was such a day. My sister, a successful musician and piano teacher had a special "end of year" luncheon for her piano students. And a nicer bunch of kids I have yet to meet. If they are any example, I can attest to the fact that today's kid are not going down the tubes. Bright, polite, talented, and well-behaved, they were a credit to their generation. I began to speculate why? Is it because piano lessons are not cheap? Or is it that they are from mostly upper middle class neighborhoods. Today's newpapers tell me neither could be a solid reason.
I thought of my own classrooms, some 25 years ago. I taught in a poverty-ridden, ethnically diverse, neighborhood. The classroom was a split second-third grade classroom; many families were transient, and I was pregnant with my first baby. Not ideal? It really was. I cannot recall any behavior problems, (I did however have one little girl with a permanent egg on her face who could never find a paper in her perpetually messy desk.) I think the key was they new from day one what to expect. I didn't have to be a talk show host, I needed to teach. It was a wonderful time. Parents were home, lunches were packed, homework was done by the students. Maybe 1981 was the end of a predictable time in our society. But today, for a couple of hours I revisited it.

Native American Image

This is a favorite image I never got to use. Sadly, the project for which it was created was depricated. I happened to run across the website of a colleague of mine who has so richly illustrated the Native American community and whose pieces are in galleries throughout the United States. This is "my two cents worth". It's a piece that shows the reverence this group of people have for family and the respect with which they treat their seniors. I hope I have done this theme justice.

New Things Old Things

Ever come to a point where the past and present merge? Or at the very least, meet. Today my youngest had an interview for a job at a facility attached to my old high school. The nuns retire here and she saw an ad in the paper advertising for a part time trainable position. I was thrilled. As she nervously filled out her application, I sat looking around this amazing facility. Amidst the contemporary eye-ball lighting, muted wall colors, I discovered that the furnishings were from the original building, built at the turn of the century. I had attended college in this building and had loved it's vintage look. AS various sisters moved through, coming and going from their outings, walks and activities, I detected my hands getting moist, a row of perspiration bubbles formed on my upper lip. I was once again 16 and waiting outside the principal's office. What tricks the mind plays on us. This is not about me, I had to remind myself; this is not my past or my future, but my daughter's present. I like that.

Father's Day

Made Mac salad for folks to take to Father's Day Celebration across town. Everybody had a great time. I'd had a few off days due to heat so "babysat" our sweet Lilly. She felt so down with everyone gone, (I don't count that much; I'm basically "mom" to her and while she loves me to pieces, I'm always just there) I worried that she was getting sick. The little "faker" moped around all day, chin to the ground. My boy and I got her out just before a big storm. Wind was blowing fiercely and we lost a number of limbs.
When the folks returned around 10:00, she got to run in the yard without a leash. She was her old self, with her favorite FOLGER'S can,running and growling to herself (I think that's to create more excitement.
Pleasant uneventful day for all of us. My favorite kind.

Cleveland and tents.

Yet another trip. This time for mdh. Traipsed to this perrenially foggy city. Made good time. Discovered navigational skills better than expected. Found a new route saving some mileage. That's good news considering gas prices. We fortunately had some saved up at Giant Eagle and got gas for .16/gal. That must be some sort of record. And home in time to see how everyone was. My youngest had babysat our Lilly and they had spent some quiet time in the tent. Ah, the tent, lovely home away from home; blithely set up in our yard and quietly killing the grass.
Sadly it comes down today, as I speak in fact. We will nag again, my youngest daughter and I for there is nothing quite like hard ground, molds dampness, mosquitos; all worth leaving an air conditioned house, to enjoy. ANd the first week in July will find us all once more under the stars, wondering which Roman candle will land in our yard and end our nights out forever.

Hidden Treasures

It was an unexpected surprise after coming through tiny little Lima, a town I immediately coined one of the dirtier little towns I've encountered. "Let's go on to Delphos," I suggested, the tiny digital camera literally burning in my hands. A preservationist at heart, I love the overlooked elements of Americana, and the billboard view of downtown Delphos promised to supply my fix.
Rising like a Phoenix above the sun-glinted trees was the most magnificent stone church. St. John the Evangelist Catholic Church.
"Wow," I gasped.Does Bishop _____ know about this one? There's one he forgot to tear down, close, re"muddle", or neglect to find a priest for. We rounded the corner and my family generously waited why I got as many pictures as I could. I circled the building, wishing I could get inside. I'd not seen a vintage building in this kind of repair and hoped that this wonderful quiet community knows what a treasure they have.

Semper Fi

Upon passing the funeral home at the end of town, we realized that the person being lain to rest was a child who attended kindergarten with my daughter. He hadn't gone to school with her all through high school, but I'm sure he brought cupcakes for significant parties and birthdays. He was 25 years old, and received a Purple Heart for his bravery in Iraq. Something else we noticed was the motorcycle gang, flag bearers lining the driveway in honor of this young man and in protection of family and friends who could be harassed by protestors. I didn't see protestors, and doubt that I would have in our small town, but it was a kindness.

Lunch and changes

We all arrive at a crossroads in our lives and none moreso than my darling young lady daughter. Lots of conversation about programs and where lives are directed. Wonderful lunch with sister and her friend. Chimichangas and sherbet. Fun, jokes and conversation. But back home to serious conversations. I wonder how I'd illustrate someone at the crossroads of their life. Not sure. Wonder if we could solve it in a half hour like the Gilmore Girls. Ah, Luke would come in and save the day I'm sure.