A Month of Madness

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As I took my plants back outside after a couple of days of freezing weather I thought of how cyclical life is. I’ve been through seventy one winters now and watched the seasons change in quirky ways, but always somewhat predictably. Life is a series of repetitions during which we grow just a bit older and hopefully a bit wiser. We learn about the way of things and understand that while it’s unusual, it is possible to have a freeze in March in the south. We go with the flow and the routine even as big changes may occur to make things so very different. We understand that we can count on the calendar moving at its”petty pace” but surprises both good and bad may come our way at any moment. The traditions to which we often cling are ways of keeping us anchored even as storms roar around us.

March brings us the Houston Rodeo and Mardi Gras and Lent and the madness of basketball. In this month we celebrate St. Patrick’s Day even if we don’t have an Irish bone in our bodies. We decorate our homes with colorful beads and then replace them with shamrocks and finally bunnies. We take a break from work and school with an eye toward warmer days and fun in the sun, hoping that our plans to visit a beach aren’t spoiled with rain and cold temperatures. We seek a sense of control and continuity with our rituals. They create cohesion and memories that sustain us, but they can also be a source of sorrow when things spiral out of our control as often happens.

I remember a year when my friend Pat secured a beach house for all of us to use during spring break. Our children were teenagers who were not yet driving and doing things on their own although they may have been dying to do so. We happily packed enough food and clothing for what should have been a fun adventure, but things began to fall apart almost immediately beginning with the fact that we had to wear coats because it was so chilly. Nonetheless, by the time we had reached the rented house we had outlined a Plan B that did not include swimming in the still frigid ocean, but would still be filled with tons of fun. We were bound and determined to make the best of our situation.

As soon as we opened the door of the vacation home we somehow knew that even our alternate ideas were doomed. The place reeked of deceased rodents and there was no way that we were going to be able to stay inside. At that point our anger and disappointment reached its limit. We had no choice but to complain to the owner of the place and then return home. After shedding a few tears of frustration we were on our way back to where we had started with only a few lame ideas about how to have a fun time in spite of the frustrating developments.

I don’t remember what we actually did after that. I do know that we eventually found ourselves laughing in a kind of hysteria about how awry things had gone. At the time our misadventure had seemed so significant and horrific but as the seasons came and went and our children grew into independent adults the story of that spring break became more of a treasured memory of our continuing friendship than a terrible experience. Today my friend Pat is gone and I know in my heart that I would even stay in a stinky rat invested house if it meant that we might have a bit more time together. Such is life.

After someone dear to us dies the first few cycles of the the year are exceedingly difficult to endure. Each occasion reminds us of how much we miss them. Over time our wounds heal, toughen up, and turn into scars. We once again find joy in our traditions and the memories of those who once shared them with us. We realize how lucky we were to have them and the pain becomes bearable. Just as the dormant trees bud forth each spring, so too do we find ways to carry on even after we have felt as though we too have died inside.

I love this time of year. It is one of those grandly transitional months when we humans find ways to muddle through the last gasps of winter with the promise of spring just over the horizon. We gather together to celebrate all that has gone before and all that is yet to come. Our hats, parades, ashes, decorations, foods, and gatherings are inventions of the human spirit, attempts to maintain our optimism even when everything around us feels so wrong. How wonderful it is!

March is a hopeful month even as we witness destruction from the last gasps of wintery weather. It’s a month when we never quite know how things will turn out, but we plan them anyway. We may go to the Houston Rodeo in heavy coats with rain falling on our heads, but once we are inside the arena all of our worries seem to evaporate. March is ever a new beginning, a time to set the problems of the past aside and hope that better days are ahead. It’s also a time to prepare ourselves for whatever challenges may come our way by thinking outside of our own worries and needs. I’m now old enough and experienced enough to know that it’s often a month of madness that always seems to end with a feeling of peace.

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Escaping From Reality

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I’ve been watching the Academy Awards since the program was hosted by Bob Hope and it played out in black on white on my family’s tiny television screen. I suppose that I’ve always been a bit star struck. Viewing movies is a favorite past time. I’ve seen the industry evolve to the point that I am now able to catch my favorite flicks in the comfort of my home while vegging in my pajamas. I have the big screen, the blockbuster sound, and the popcorn at my finger tips. Still, I enjoy catching a picture at a movie theater now and then, although it has become a far more expensive habit than it was when I was able to go to the Reveille theater for a grand total of twenty five cents when I was still a child. If I managed to bring along another quarter or so I was able to set myself up with some snacks as well. Now even with the senior discount and a small box of popcorn I’ve killed a ten dollar bill. The increasing cost gives me incentive to be patient until the DVDs and streaming come out for any major picture. I religiously check On Demand each Tuesday to see what is new, and now see most movies months after they premiere.

This year I had an engagement on Oscar night so I recorded the event instead of watching it live. It turned out to be the best idea ever. With my remote ever at the ready I buzzed past long winded introductions and interminable acceptance speeches. I avoided political ovations and commercials. It was smooth sailing from one award to another and I have to say it was definitely the best Academy Awards night of my life. I didn’t miss having a host to bore me with weak jokes and aborted efforts to entertain. I really do not watch the ceremonies for anything other than seeing the stars and hearing the results. Most of the time I’m perfectly satisfied with the results, but I don’t like it when the winners use their moment as a platform to beat a political drum, a common occurrence in the past few years that has been draining the joy out of the occasion.

I’m a fan of fashion, so I truly find great pleasure in seeing all of the lovely creations from the designers. This year’s offerings were classically beautiful and flattering which I prefer over outrageous outfits like the camouflage suit with walking shorts that John Legend chose to sport. Perhaps it was the white socks that ruined the effect, but it just left me wondering what he was thinking. He’s such a talented and handsome man that he doesn’t need gimmicks to catch people’s attention. If his pants had been normal length he might have looked dashing rather than like someone auditioning for a children’s show. Other than that, everyone was absolutely gorgeous.

I was particularly happy that Regina King won a Best Supporting Actress award. I think that she is one of the best actors on the planet. She brings something quite special to every role that she plays and I hope that we see much more of her. The musical performance with Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga was my favorite moment of the evening. The chemistry between the two of them was palatable, and it was a real life moment of a true star being revealed to the world. Lady Gaga’s talent is almost immeasurable and I suspect that before she is finished she will have become a Hollywood legend in the likeness of the true greats.

I wasn’t sure which movie would be chosen as the Best Picture. There were a number of good and likely candidates, some that were fun, some thought provoking, and one that was a work of art in the tradition of a Fellini movie. I suppose that I would have been happy with any choice but I was rooting for Black Panther, Bohemian Rhapsody, or Roma. I personally believe that Roma will be studied by film students for years to come. It was a mesmerizing glance into a time and place that was so personal that I thought about the story and the characters for days after I viewed the film. I found myself wanting to rewind and unravel the images and I needed to know more about the history of the era. The fact that the actors were unknown to me made the story even more moving. Nonetheless, I understand that the average moviegoer might find the pacing too slow and the need to glance back and forth between the images and the captions a bit too demanding. Still, taking the time to just sit back and let the beauty of Roma flow into the heart and mind is worth it.

I plan to eventually catch all of the nominated and winning movies that I have not yet seen. Some Tuesday in the near future they will no doubt show up for rent. I might even discover some new favorites as I decide which actors, directors and pictures I really like. I never cease to be taken by the profound talent of Glen Close. I would be willing to watch her in a commercial. The fact that she is such an advocate for those who endure mental illnesses only strengthens my admiration for her. She is a winner in my mind even when she doesn’t take the golden boy home.

I plan to tune in to the awards ceremony again next year, but with my secret method of catching the festivities an hour or so after real time. Never again will I endure the babbling and the bad attempts at humor. I’ve found the key to sheer enjoyment and I won’t let it go. I hope that the producers of the program now realize that they don’t need a host and continue that trend. I hope they hear us clamoring for less talk and more viewing of the actual performances that landed nominations. I pray that they understand just how much we all enjoyed the amazing opening of this year’s ceremony with Queen and Adam Lambert that was breathtaking and way more entertaining than any of the skits in previous years. I hope the stars understand that we love them but recoil when they start to preach.

The relationship between the audience and the movie industry is symbiotic. They need us to watch and support their craft and we need them to bring us moments of relaxation and joy. If we want political commentary we can tune in to CNN or Fox News. On a Sunday night just before the start of a long week we look to the celebration of movies as a break from the demands of reality. We want to see the beauty and the pageantry of a world that we know is not real because we need to believe in dreams. The world is hard enough and ugly enough in real time. At the Oscars it’s nice to set all furor aside for a few hours just to escape. I think I’ve finally discovered a way to make the experience perfect.

A Joyful Presence

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Eileen and her big family lived within sight of the church and school that I attended when I was growing up. She was a beautiful girl with long blonde hair and a welcoming smile. She was also very smart with a level of confidence that I was still hoping to find back then. By the time that we were in high school we were scheduled for the same classes with the same teachers and our friendship blossomed.

Eileen sometimes got to take her family’s  van out for a drive, thus becoming the designated chauffeur for our group. She’d take us to Friday night football games, days at the beach, and now and again a special concert like the time when we saw the Beach Boys. I adored her and counted myself lucky for being invited to partake in so many fun times with her and the rest of our friends. Some of the very best times of my teenage years were spent with Eileen.

Of course things change after graduation. Eileen and I went our separate ways. From time to time I would hear about what she was doing and where she was living. I knew that she had become a nurse and ended up in Washington state. I suppose that I should have made an effort to contact her to see how her life was going, but the world intervened and created a busy schedule for me. I was caring for two daughters, teaching, taking classes, and being a caretaker for my mother.  Somehow I barely kept up with my responsibilities and so I never found the time to reach out to Eileen. Nonetheless I often thought of her and remembered how much fun she had brought into my life. I hoped that she was doing well.

It was not until our fiftieth high school reunion that I saw Eileen again. She was as beautiful and as sweet and friendly as ever. She had a daughter and a handsome husband who seemed to adore her. She enjoyed living in Washington State and was hoping that some grandchildren might be in her future. We traded addresses and reignited our friendship on Facebook. I so enjoyed catching glimpses of her world. Over time I learned just how faith filled she was.

Eileen battled breast cancer for a time after I was once again in contact with her, and during that time she inspired those of us who read her optimistic posts that demonstrated her determination and belief that God was by her side. We rejoiced when her weeks of treatment resulted in a positive outcome, and celebrated even more when she announced the birth of her first grandchild. As when we were both young, I found myself in awe of this wonderful woman who somehow offered hope and happiness even in her darkest hours. It was so fitting that life appeared to be falling into place for her with long golf games and photos of lovely moments with her grandchild.

It never occurred to us that Eileen’s cancer might return, but it did. The news was difficult to accept, but as always seems to be the case with Eileen she was soon attempting to soothe our concerns. She stoically insisted that she had the very best doctors as well as the comfort of God to guide her through her latest journey with cancer. Even with her courageous spirit we saw how hard it was for her and so we began to pray.

Eileen keeps us updated on her progress. Some weeks leave her exhausted and without even enough energy to let us know how she is. Others seem to revitalize her. Always she tells us how wonderful God is and how she has doctors in whom she places all of her confidence. Inevitably I find myself thinking of her all day long, praying each morning and evening that the outcome of her battle will prove to be positive and with as little pain as possible.

Recently one of our classmates started a prayer chain for Eileen. It didn’t surprise me at all to learn how beloved she was. She has always been a generous and giving person to virtually everyone. She is open and honest in ways that few of us possess, so much so that I still find myself wanting to be more like her when I finally grow up. I want more than anything for the power of love that we are directing her way to gird her and comfort her.

It amazes me how neither time nor distance has the power to destroy the feelings that we have for another person. Eileen was and will always be quite special to me. She kindly took the gawky unsure teenager that I was under her wing. She made me laugh and feel good about myself at a time when I sometimes thought that I would always be a misfit. She still has the power to make my day with her smiles and her serenity. She is truly a joyful presence, a living angel. I only hope that she knows just how much she has impacted so many lives and how ferociously we are praying for her.

A Springtime Ritual

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Winter has returned again after several days that made those of us in Houston feel as though spring had come early. I took advantage of the warmer days by working in my yard and beginning the clean up process that ushers in the best growing season of the year. It felt so good to work out every muscle in my body lifting and bending and filling bags with the refuse of pruned roses and weeded flower beds. I felt so alive and robust and in harmony with nature. As is usual, however, the cooler temperatures and rains came back to chase me indoors just as February always does. Mother Nature may still have some winter blasts up her sleeve before we get those lovely months when our gardens burst forth in all of their glory.

Until the next lovely day I suppose I’ll begin the process of reorganizing my space indoors. So many folks are giving Marie Kondo credit for showing us how to simplify our lives, but my mother taught me the same techniques back when I was still a child. She had a college degree and worked for a time as a teacher, but she always seemed most proud of her home economics skills. She often quoted the high school teachers who had taught her how to cook, sew, and clean. She had an uncanny knowledge of nutrition and often told us about the value of each of the foods that we ate. Whenever spring was on the horizon she organized me and my brothers for a cleansing assault on our house that she somehow managed to turn into a fun activity.

She’d assign tasks to each of us, turn on some rousing music, and then give us pointers on how to achieve the best results. No nook or cranny was left untouched as we washed down all of the walls from the floor to the ceiling, and cleaned the venetian blinds by hanging them from the clothesline and blasting them with the hose. We polished furniture, and waxed the floors. We scrubbed the grout in the tile with cleanser and a toothbrush. We emptied every cabinet and pantry, getting rid of items that were outdated or never used and cleaning the walls and the crevices. By the end of a week or two every single part of our home gleamed as though the place was brand new.

To this day I get a kick out of spring cleaning. Life is unpredictable in so many ways, but deep cleaning is something over which I have total control. It has a way of redirecting my worries and anxieties into something quite practical. Removing the grime and reducing the overstock of things, has the power of making me feel accomplished and more in tune with my universe. I know that there are other grander purposes in life, but sometimes the simple act of taking care of what I already have is a freeing experience.

There is so much waste in our world today. I see people who literally move because they feel that their homes have become too crowded or outdated. They begin anew rather than attempting to first redo and repair what they already have. I learned from my mother how to repurpose everything from food to clothing. She’d take old t-shirts and turn them into rags for cleaning or dusting. She used leftovers to create grand new dishes. There was little for which she did not find some use, and she knew how to organize and recycle with the best of the those who do such things.

As my mother grew older her energy waned. There came a time when she no longer engaged in her springtime tradition of making things gleam. Her home became dusty and broken. We’d try to help her get it back in order again, but she had let so many things go that the task was exceedingly difficult. Even then, however, we got that same feeling of accomplishment whenever we managed to restore her house to a semblance of order.

I’ll be starting on my own springtime ritual very soon. We put things in perfect order last year when we had to virtually start over after our hot water heater damaged so many areas. In the rush of vacations and holidays we’ve accumulated a few messy areas again that scream for our attention. Improving them one day at a time will be a fun way to pass the hours until the long warm days pull us outdoors again. We will no doubt fill bags with trash as well as offerings for Goodwill. We’ll set our home in order, and feel a bit more healthy mentally as well. It’s nice to know where everything is rather than having to hold scavenger hunts just to find particular items.

There are some things with which I still refuse to part. I love my books and have many that date all the way back to my childhood. I fondly read or use them again and again. I have my high school grammar books, and many a time I have referred to them when my grandchildren have questions about usage or punctuation. I reread classics like To Kill A Mockingbird and find new joy and meaning in the words.

I also have keepsakes from family and friends that have deep meaning for me. I have no desire to exchange them for trendier artifacts. The old things bring me joy. There’s a painting over my sofa that hung in my mother’s house. I can’t remember a time when she did not have it. She often spoke of how she and my father chose it together. I have built an entire room around it’s colors and essence. I gaze at it each day when I write my blogs and somehow derive inspiration from the very sight of it.

In the same room is a vase that once belonged to my great grandmother. My grandmother Minnie Bell gave it to me long before I truly appreciated it. Now it is one of my prize possessions. I would no doubt rush to grab it before leaving a burning house. I think of how it must have graced some table or dresser in my great grandmother’s humble home. I think of my own grandmother presenting it to me with so much grandeur regarding its importance. It is a link to my history.

So on these rainy days I’ll commence the spring cleaning and renew that age old feeling that I have enjoyed for seven decades. Whether its Marie Kondoing or just following my mother’s lead I know that it will bring me a sense of peace.

Go Climb A Tree

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I was lying on a table about to get a bone scan when I saw the loveliest sight. It was an overhead image of a perfectly blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds and the green canopy of a tree. It reminded me of being a kid again and lying in the soft grass on a spring day doing nothing more than gazing at the sky. If I exerted any effort at all in those long ago moments it was to use my imagination to find cloud formations that looked like animals or objects. Mostly I was simply chilling out, enjoying the glorious day and the joy of just being a child. There is something quite magical about that. It’s a time in life that can never quite be duplicated as an adult, a time of innocence when worries and cares are still mostly related to friendships and school.

Back when I was young I liked nothing better than climbing a tree, finding a nice niche between two branches and lying back to do some sky gazing. We once lived in a house that had a specimen that was perfectly made for such things and I spent more than a good share of time high above the earth leaning back in a chair created by nature. It was such a sturdy place that I was even able to read among the branches. One day I carved my name on the trunk to let some future climber know that I had once been there.

I often wonder what became of that tree. I suspect that a big storm or hurricane may have damaged the spot where I left my signature, but I like to believe that it is still standing tall. Perhaps it is inviting a new group of kids to find a foothold and use it as a magnificent stairway to the heavens. I hope nobody cut it down, but then such things happen all the time in the name of progress.

I have lots of memories associated with trees. There was a great tall one near the bayou where I grew up. It looked as though it had possibly been growing when explorers used those waters to navigate inland. Perhaps native Americans had once camped underneath its shade. It was quite magnificent and we used it as a launching pad for a rope swing that carried us over the water and back to the safety of the bank. I don’t think that I’ve ever had as much fun or felt as excited as I did when I climbed higher and higher into that tree and then jumped through the air clinging to the rope that was tethered in the highest branches. Sadly someone wanted to build a home right in the middle of where it once stood, and so it has been gone for some time now. I just wish that those of us who loved it might have saved it. There’s something so sad about losing a truly great tree.

Really old trees are spiritual. When I walk among the redwood forests of California I feel a kind of magic emanating from the gigantic plants that have withstood the centuries. Somehow they seem to be whispering to one another as the wind caresses their leaves, and I wonder what they are saying. Do they want us to go away, or do they understand that some of us truly love them?

My grandparents had a peach tree that filled with luscious fruit each summer. I once helped my grandmother pick the juicy orbs by skittering high up into the branches. It never occurred to me to worry that I might fall or break a bone. I felt the exhilaration of climbing until the branches became too thin to hold my frame. Then I would grab as many peaches as my arms would hold and slowly move back down to my waiting grandmother. I repeated my journey over and over again never getting tired or bored. Youth is like that, a time of unlimited stamina. I suppose that I miss that as much as sitting in a tree, something that I would now be afraid to attempt.

I hope that children still have fun like I did. I hope that they get as much joy out of nothing more than lying down at the foot of a tree and just staring up into the sky. There really is nothing quite as glorious as getting in touch with nature. Nothing that we humans can create or buy is quite as magnificent, save for our children, but that’s another topic for another day.

These days I have to even be careful about something as simple crouching down into the grass. Unless someone is there to assist me I may have a very difficult time getting back up if it’s a day when my knees decide to get surly. Of course I am unable to climb anymore, and even if I had the ability it would be dangerous for me. One small misstep might create a fall bad enough to break my now fragile bones. It’s such a bummer to lose the glorious abilities that I once had. If I could I would find a tree and climb it on a nice spring day. I’d look heavenward and just let my mind relax. Now the closest proximity that I have to such a sight is from the table on which a machine takes pictures of my bones.

Still, I have those memories that are so vivid that they still make me smile. If I close my eyes I am a child again, able to conquer the challenge of climbing as high as I wish. it’s a truly wonderful image. For now it will have to do.