Beginning, Middle, End, Part 2: The Beginning

Two weeks before the End, there was a beginning: my daughter's marriage.

It was a poignant occasion with all of our family there. One niece came from Australia! It was the first time we'd all been together since, well, since I don't know when.We got to know the groom's family too and they are the most wonderful people.

We Potters, as my brother said one time, "always have to do things a little differently." That particular time he was referring to our purchase of a turquoise VW van, but the wedding ceremony in a small New York city park was no exception.  There were no bouquets, no white frothy wedding dress with satin shoes, no bridesmaids or groomsmen, no fancy reception with wedding cake. The flowers were attached to a park structure with the rubber bands they came in. The champagne was put on an old wooden park table, the glasses on the trays meant for the ice tubs. It wasn't a fancy setting but it had everything we needed: the bride, the groom, friends and family, and sunshine.

The ceremony  itself was simple but meaningful.  My daughter, never at a loss for words, admitted that she was nervous, but her hand-written vows were funny and heartfelt. The groom put his written vows back in his pocket and looked her in the eye and said such sweet words that we were all moved.

When my daughter was christened, my mother gave her a lace cap to be worn on that day and used on her wedding day.  Since my daughter didn't have pockets in her un-wedding dress, the groom carried it in his pocket.  It was a sweet reminder of all our loved ones who were no longer with us.

After the ceremony, we all walked a few blocks to a restaurant where we ate creative and delicious food, drank champagne, laughed and cried as we toasted the newlyweds, delighted in being two families happily joined together. The restaurant desserts were divine, and consolation for the lack of a cake!!

As part of the ceremony, the two mothers spoke.  Here is what I said to the couple:

You all know that I believe in the power of words. Here are some times when words really matter in a marriage.

The first is today, when the two of you look at each other and say the words that will join you in marriage. You say them in front of witnesses, people who have always loved you and supported you and will continue to do so.

A second is when you disagree with each other.  Words that you say during conflict can actually bring you closer if spoken with compassion. When working things out, look at each other, speaking and listening through the same eyes of the love you are using today. Your words can be “I’m sorry, I’ll try to do better, I forgive you, I’m willing to find a solution for us.”

A third is during times of sadness or grief.  No one can understand another’s sorrow, but you can listen with your heart, say words like, “It’s okay to cry, I’m here for you, I loved her too, You have my support for as long as you need it.”

A fourth is broader, more constant, and that is in your every day expression of love for each other. It’s waking up and saying Good Morning, taking the time to share the successes and challenges of your busy day. It is a meal together where you look up and enjoy each other’s company.  Your words can be, “I admire you, I care about that, You look so beautiful/handsome, Thank you for listening/telling me that, I love you.”

Use your words wisely during your marriage. Mete them out with thoughtfulness.  Be kind to one another. I love you both and know that your life will be full of the kind of words that will strengthen your marriage.

I know that my daughter and son-in-law are off to a great start, joined in marriage with the approval of all of us who love them. 

It was a beautiful beginning.

Beginning, Middle, End, Part I: The End

(This is the first of three related posts.)

Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm.

"Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm."

                                        -- Bob Dylan

Back in 2000, we had had a particularly lucrative year. We decided to splurge and buy a boat.  In November my husband and a friend flew to Michigan and the boat was lowered into broken-up ice so they could check it out. We had it shipped to North Carolina and I first boarded her in early 2001.

She was a 1978 Bertram, a classic, with a 10x10 salon, a head with a shower, and a V-berth for sleeping. A well-kept freshwater boat.  After listening to a lot of good music to pick the name, we chose Coatimundi after a reggae song we liked. 

Our first home port was Wrightsville Beach.  It was a great place to begin our boating journey because our boating relatives lived there, the Wrightsville Beach Marina was staffed with helpful and understanding people, and the dockmaster is a gem. My dad also had a condo there and my sister lived there so we had good family time.

During the time we've owned her, the Coatimundi has also been docked at Southport, Bald Head Island, and Oriental twice.  

I have many a photo of  Durham and me or friends and family members sitting in white deck chairs on the back of the boat. I found a few while cleaning; the album was stiff and the photos were stuck to the plastic. We all looked just what we were--years younger
.

Besides trips to move her, we've also been to Charleston and Okracoke.  We've anchored out with friends or alone and seen some of the most untouched land this country has to offer. We've seen birds of all kinds, alligators, fish, jellyfish, crabs, marine wildlife at its most prolific.

We've had some rough times too.  Once a group of teenagers we had aboard decided to swim for Masonboro Island all at once. One afternoon a storm came up at Rich's Inlet and we had to break anchor in thunder and lightening.  On a trip to Charleston, we ventured down a finger of the waterway and sat for hours on the piles of an abandoned pier until the tide came in and we could float off. We've been shot at. There have been some, let's say, heated discussions between my husband and me in that tiny space. But 99% of having a boat has been great.

When we got the Coatimundi, our oldest daughter had gone to college. Three years later they were all gone. At a time when some long-married couples look at each other and ask, "What do we do now that the focus of our relationship--our children--is gone?" we grew as boat people, as a team. 

We replaced the engines, carpet, cabinets, deck, air conditioner, spigot, canvas, curtain hangers, stove, refrigerator, mattress, lines, hose, cords, furniture. My husband knew that boat literally from stem to stern.  He could fix anything on it.  But squeezing into tight places began to wear on him, and finally we decided to sell her. A buyer came up with our price a few weeks ago, and it was time to say goodbye.

My husband went down Memorial Day and started cleaning the boat out. It was ridiculous how much we had accumulated over the years. Today, as we hauled off the last of the containers, I felt that not only were we lightening the boat in a literal sense, but we were unburdening her for her next adventure. My husband kept smiling and saying, "Listen!" as he'd take something off, pretending that the boat was sighing with her added buoyancy.  

Everything we did this past weekend, our last one on this dear vessel, took on a sharpness.  The roads leading to the marina were full of wheat ready for harvest, and the grass around it a contrast in its spring colors. The marina where we've been for the past couple of years seemed even more pristine and beautiful. Even the light coming through the slats at the garbage can was enchanting!

The boat was a refuge for me. A place where I spent a lot of time with my husband, fixed simple food, read, rested, enjoyed nature, took zillions of photographs, watched movies, floated and swam, daydreamed, visited with friends and family. After 9/11, we spent the weekend on her to escape from the television, and as we cruised the waterway with my dad and other family members I asked for a sign that all would be well. I got one. If you're a regular reader here, you know I often post about what this boat has meant to me. The first Thanksgiving after my dad died, we took the boat to Georgetown. It wasn't Thanksgiving like my dad did it, inviting relatives and friends for a big spread, but it was peaceful and gave me some room to grieve.

Yesterday and today I kept saying, "This is the last time I'll [...] on this boat." Last night we sat on the deck and used the IPad to name the stars, which are outstanding at our marina, and after we went to bed, I stared out the pop-up vent at them until I fell asleep.  It was the first time I'd done that in all the years we had owned the boat, and I was annoyed with myself for not doing it more often.

The weather of course was exactly what you want: cool breeze over sunshine. Both days.

Today the new owner came early. The Coatimundi was ready. Empty, washed and wiped and vacuumed. I wasn't ready though and felt irritated when I saw him haphazardly toss aside the cover  my husband had just washed and dried, and when his friend put things roughly on the counter. I wasn't ready to walk away from this most amazing adventure I've been on, this time on our boat. But the owner was in a hurry to get underway as he was headed for Hatteras for the first leg of the journey to New Jersey.  So we hurried too, down the dock to our car where we couldn't hold it together another minute.

I have no idea what's next. We've agreed to do nothing for a couple of months at least.  I know something better is up ahead but right now I want to look back for a little while and remember the Coatimundi and our time in her company.

Another's Story

A few weeks ago I gathered up a batch of negatives that I had brought home when we cleaned out my father's house. I took them over to Southeastern Camera on Atlantic Avenue and had Angela scan them for me and put them on a disk.  I've spent hours looking at them.

Among the photos was this one of my brother and some neighborhood friends. First of all I was struck by the fact that all the boys had guns, pointing them at each other, wielding them so carelessly. So I asked my brother (who doesn't seem to have a gun) to write the story of this picture. It speaks volumes.

Here's his story:

Shoot 'Em Up

“Cheater!"

The word made him stop and turn; a dangerous look came across his face.

“What did you call me?”

“I shot you and you didn't fall.”

“What did you call me?”

“You’re supposed to fall when you get shot."

By now he was an arm’s length away.  His right hand drew back behind his right ear and paused for a much longer time than was expected, calculating the exact target that would inflict the maximum damage.

A normal response would have been to run.  The older, larger boy was a well-known bully who was quick to violence against weaker boys.  At least duck, or try to deflect the impending blow.

The collision of bone and flesh landed between the right eye and the temple causing the head and neck to jerk violently back and right, and the body to crumple to the ground.

“You missed me, you little shit."

The fallout was immediate and ruthless:  

“Why did you do that, Tommy?”

“You’re a bully."

“If you want to pick on someone, pick on someone your own size."

Then came the parents: parental outrage, parental comfort, parental shame.

The victim became hero and the victor solidified his reign as pariah.

A momentary, light affliction for an eternal weight of glory.

Thanks, Bro!

A Post About the Holiday

For only the second time in sixty-one years, I spent the holidays away from North Carolina.The first time was when our kids were young and my dad took us all to Disney World for Christmas. It was strange being in the eighty degree weather in December, but we had a blast.

This year we spent the week of Christmas in New England. When we got there, there was a good bit of snow on the ground. By mid-week, the sun was shining and the temperatures reached the fifties. The day we left it was snowing once again.

I wanted things to have a holiday flavor, so we rented a house a few blocks away from where my daughter lives. I mailed our stockings and my favorite cranberry-scented candles, and bought a few things around town to decorate once we got there.

We had a wonderful time with my daughter's partner's family, and enjoyed the feeling of having young ones around once again. We ate heartily, opened presents, stuffed stockings with surprises.

But for the first time in sixty-one years I was not with my family. And I missed them terribly.

When my father died, we lost our center. His house was our holiday gathering place. The first year without him, we went there anyway. It snowed that year, unusual for Greensboro in December. The second and third year we came together at my house, our town being right in the middle for travelers from all directions. It felt like we might be finding our new way of being together.

In November, my husband and I became grandparents and the baby couldn't travel of course, so we and our other daughters chose to go to him. My sisters gathered at the coast and my brother and his family in Greensboro. My sister-in-law was home with one of her sons. We talked to everyone on the phone, but it didn't fill the void.

I loved our time in New England with the new baby and the snow, the beautiful countryside, and our new friends, but next year, just for a few days, I want us all back in NC. I want my whole family and my husband's family here at my house, opening presents, over-eating, laughing, catching up. 

I'm looking forward to this most amazing year--2014--and will share some of my excitement in my next post. I hope this year you'll talk to me about what I write. You can post anonymously if you don't want to 'sign up' or you can post a comment on Facebook. You can email me or heaven forbid send me a letter!  I like to hear from you.

It's a happy new year.

Can We Do It? Part 2

On the last day of 2012, I made a commitment in this post to do what I could about the violence in our country. I ended the blog with a wish list for the year.

Number one on the list was "a sense of safety for everyone."  

It's clear that we still don't have a sense of safety. But I did a few things to enlighten people, through the very well attended Town Meeting on Violence at Quail Ridge Books, and a blog post here and there.

Mostly, though, when I sat down to write at Can I Do It? I ended up writing about something else. I felt overwhelmed and under-equipped to address the issue. 

At the end of 2013: 

Our state has gone backward in addressing gun issues, women's issues, mental health issues, and education issues.  We in North Carolina have got a mountain to climb to get back to zero.

The news is still full of gun violence.  Children are still rescued from untenable situations (if they make it out alive). Health care is still expensive and the "non-profit" Blue Cross and Blue Shield is still hiding profit in the salaries of its executives. People are turned away as they desperately seek help for taking care of their mentally ill family members, some of whom kill themselves or commit crimes shortly thereafter. Video games and television and movies are more violent than ever.

Maybe there's a little something we can still do this year to make a difference.

Today, on Facebook, someone posted an article from the Huffington Post. It said that each of the twenty-six victims of the Newtown tragedy has left behind a legacy in the form of either a new non-profit or support for a favorite non-profit of the victim.  So I'm going to do the only thing I know to do right now: make a donation to one of them.  I'm choosing the Catherine Violet Hubbard Foundation because Catherine was the niece of someone I know.

I hope that each of you will choose one also. If you do, please post here or on Facebook which one. If you choose it for a special reason, tell us that too. I hope you will share this post on your Facebook page or in emails or by word of mouth and that your friends and family will donate too.

Click here to access the Huffington Post article with links to all the websites.

Thank you in advance. 

My Best Ones...2013 Books

One time my husband, looking at the wall of books in this photo, said, "I can't believe you've read all those books."

"Sweetie, those are the ones I haven't read," I replied. 

So my list is long.  And with a friend like Nancy Olson, former owner of Quail Ridge Books, calling me weekly with a new list of must-reads, I don't see that I'll be clearing those shelves any time soon!

That being said, although I usually read 40-50 books a year, I've only read around thirty this year. But I have read some incredible books and herewith is my list of recommendations for the year:

First of all let me say that I'm still pushing Mark Helprin's book In Sunlight and In Shadow.  It is out in paperback now. You can read about it in my October 2012 post on books here.

10.  The Signature of All Things by Elizabeth Gilbert.  The Wall Street Journal says it best:  "Ms. Gilbert has turned out the most ambitious and purely imagined work of her twenty-year career: a deeply researched and vividly rendered historical novel about a 19th century female botanist."

9. The Round House by Louise Erdrich.  I've gone a few years without reading Erdrich although I'm a huge fan of her writing.  This book, which follows her themes of Native American culture, won the 2012 National Book Award.

8., 7. Two books of fairy tales were on my list of great reads this year: Phillip Pullman's re-telling of the classics, Fairy Tales From the Brothers Grimm: A New English Version, and Angela Carter's collection which combines re-telling of old stories and her own original fairy tales, The Bloody Chamber.  We lost a great writer when Carter died in 1992, but she left an impressive body of work.

6. The author of The Reluctant Fundamentalist, Mohsin Hamid, wrote How to Get Filthy Rich in Rising Asia in my favorite second person POV.  Andrew Anthony says of the book,"If Hamid set out to write a satire on the globalised dream of consumer-driven economic development, he ends up being undermined by the strength of his characters. You can't help but root for them in their perilous climb out of the mire of penury, while all the time being relieved that you are not really 'you.'"

5. Stephen Kiernan's book The Curiosity, isn't the most literary book I read this year, but it certainly had me thinking about the ethics of cryogenics. Scientists bring a man who has been frozen in an iceberg back to life.

4.  Shine Shine Shine by Lydia Netzer was one of the most unusual books I've ever read.  The main character, Sunny is the bald-headed wife of an astronaut who builds space robots, the mother of an autistic son, and the daughter of a woman who is dying of cancer.  I read this book in two days; it's quirky and compelling.

3.  In Someone Alice McDermott follows the life of Marie, a young Irish-American living in Brooklyn. In typical McDermott style, the settings are as rich as the characters. The book was long-listed for the National Book Award.

2.  Runner-up is an oldie but one I had never read, The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros.  I loved every chapter of this book that tells the coming of age story of Esperanza Cordero, a Latina girl growing up in Chicago.  As soon as I turned the last page, I wanted to start again.

1.  My number one pick of the year and the best short story collection I've read in a long time is Rebecca Lee's Bobcat and Other Stories. Like the Cisneros novel, I wanted to start these beautiful, haunting stories over immediately after finishing.  Lee is one of our own, a professor at UNC-W, and someone to keep an eye on.

I didn't mention any non-fiction because I don't read that much of it, but I have given George Packer's award-winning book, The Unwinding, for gifts and everyone has loved it.  I'm also hearing great things about Doris Kerns Goodwins new book on Theodore Roosevelt.

Many of our local writers, including Allan Gurganus, Nancy Peacock, Lee Smith, Elaine Orr, Peggy Payne, Jill McCorkle, and Wilton Barnhardt have books that came out this year. You can't go wrong with the local folks.

What's on my list for the coming months?

The Color Master by Aimee Bender (stories)
The Good Lord Bird by James McBride
We Are Water by Wally Lamb
Dirty Love by Andre Dubus
Curing Time by Tim Swink (a Greensboro writer)
The Goldfinch by Donna Tart
and anything else Nancy Olson tells me to read!

Now go to your independent bookstore and buy some gifts!

Falling into Winter

Fall came on rather dully this year.  The trees seemed to be changing one at a time and only a few times in early October did I have any wow moments of color.

At the end of October I went to Wildacres and the fall began to come alive.

In early November my sister and I took a trip to my hometown, Greensboro.  The purpose of the trip was to go see this amazing performance put on by the Touring Theatre of North Carolina.  While there we tripped down nostalgia lane by visiting relatives, cruising my dad's old house, strolling down Elm Street to see the revitalization of our old stomping grounds. The red- and yellow-leaved trees were in full splendor, especially in the cemetery where my parents and grandparents and several other relatives are buried.

As soon as I got home, I washed all my clothes and repacked in anticipation of the birth of my first grandchild, due November 19th. Within hours of getting the call that my daughter was in labor, my husband and I were ready to leave.

As we flew over Baltimore where we would change planes, I noticed that the fall colors there were brilliant. Clusters of color were everywhere as the plane prepared to land.

In the northern town where my daughter lives, the leaves were mostly gone but the weather was balmy and beautiful for the first few days we were there. My husband and I took a drive up into the low mountain-y area of the state and enjoyed the serenity of the landscape.  Everywhere there were large piles of stacked firewood. People were definitely thinking about winter.

For the time we were there, though, the main event wasn't the weather. It was the birth of our grandson, only the third male in my side of the family in four generations. All of us--parents, aunts, uncles, great-aunts and great-uncles--were beside ourselves with joy at the new life in our family.  After my other daughters and my husband left to go home, I was fortunate to have two whole days with the baby and my middle daughter before having to come home. I watched him at peace, sleeping in the same wicker bassinet that had cradled my mother, me and my daughters.

The morning I was to leave, the wind turned chilly and there was frost on the car window and the ground.  I wrapped my scarf around my neck and buttoned my coat; winter would be in this area of the country very soon.

On the way home on the plane, I realized that my life too has changed from fall to winter.  When I got the call from my daughter I was still a mother of older children. With the birth of my grandchild, I can feel the press of time more keenly.  I'm a grandmother. There's a richness in being the family elder, but a poignancy too, a tartness, a sense that every moment that I'm a part of this child's life is important. A sense that I cannot waste a single bit of it.

All the color was gone except for some red here and there when we taxied into Raleigh. I welcome the coming cool-down of the seasons. It holds the promise of the holidays and time with family. Time with that beautiful little boy and my strong and beautiful daughters.  Time that I will not use unwisely.

Dying Thoughts

How many of you have thought about what you'd like for your funeral? Beyond cremation and burial, what music do you want? Who do you want to speak and what do you want them to say? Once a group of friends and I wrote our obituaries and it was interesting to consider what I'd like for people to say about me when I die, what I'd like to have accomplished, who might have been born or died in my family, how old I'll be and what I'll die from, where I'd like donations to go.

When my dad was going in for surgery the last week of his life, my youngest sister told him that our sister from Orlando was coming to town. It was rare for her to come unless we were celebrating something and he asked if the doctor had told us to call her.  My sister said no, but that he had said it was serious surgery. My father began to tell her the songs he wanted sung at his funeral and who he wanted for his pall bearers.

To have been so clear at a time when he must have been scared out of his mind tells me that he had been thinking about this for a while.  My sister had the presence of mind to write it all down, and when we had his funeral a week or so later, we followed his wishes.

Over the past three and a half years since his death, I've tried to remember many times the title of one of the songs he requested. I could only remember, as the congregation sang, being very moved by the lyrics and what they might have meant to him. 

Last night I was coming home from yoga and had Pandora on my radio.  How Great Thou Art, a song often heard at funerals, came on and I tried to recall once again the song from the funeral.  And then the very next song that came on was it: Great is Thy Faithfulness (it was this version played by Chris Rice).

Because I couldn't remember the words, I thought that my dad might have chosen it because it was about a believer who had been faithful to God.  My father wasn't perfect by any means--who of us is?-- but I think the early death of my mother was a wake-up call for him and he realized then that many times there are no second chances. 

But tonight, preparing to write this post, I finally looked up the lyrics and now I realize that the song is about God's faithfulness to us. His choice of the song took on a totally different spin. He felt that God had faithfully loved and blessed him. I was touched just as strongly as the day of his funeral. 

Here are the lyrics:

Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father;

There is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not;
As Thou hast been, Thou forever will be.

[Refrain]
Great is Thy faithfulness!
Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see.
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided;
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!

Summer and winter and springtime and harvest,
Sun, moon and stars in their courses above
Join with all nature in manifold witness
To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.

[Refrain]

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

I love that the song, which I'd never heard on that station before though I listen to it every day in the car and at work, came on when I was trying to think of it. 

Feeling blessed myself....

Bursting

I just spent a week at Wildacres Retreat Center.  You might remember that I was also there back in April of this year.  This time I had seven unscheduled days to work on my writing. I took two notebooks of stories--over thirty of them--that needed revision.

I didn't expect this, but it was peak leaf week in that part of the mountains.  From every side of the property there was the most magnificent view.

The auditorium overlooks Table Rock.

I spent my days working in my room or in the library.

When I'd take a break, there were so many places to walk around. Ladybugs were everywhere, crawling on rails and decks and swarming trees.

At night there were readings by some of the writers.  I finally got up my nerve and read two stories on Friday night.  The first was a piece of flash entitled Just Before Christmas, and the second a fairy tale about a weary doctor who meets Death on the way home one night. It was perfect for All Saints Day!

As my sister-in-law and I headed down the mountain on Saturday, the serenity and fall colors we'd experienced at the center began to fade.  Traffic picked up and soon we were speeding home to normalcy.

We stopped at Stamey's Barbecue in Greensboro for lunch. I got a little teary thinking about my dad and the loss of his home as a place to stop on my way home from the mountains. Outside the restaurant though was this beautiful reminder of the fall beauty we had just been immersed in:

Finally home, I kept catching a glimpse of brightness out my den window and opened the front door to discover this brilliant tree in my own front yard.

I started unpacking and washing clothes.  Everything went right back into my suitcase so I will be ready when we get the call telling us that our daughter is in labor.

For the time of renewal at Wildacres, the new friends I made there and special time with my sister-in-law, a pile of revised stories, and the anticipation of the baby and the holidays, I feel very full right now.

It's All Small Right Now

It seems that every time I open the newspaper or turn on the television there's fodder for my blog.  Police shooting citizens, a mall taken over by terrorists, a mass shooting in the Navy Yard.  Rachel Maddow shares some statistics about the uptick in mass shootings over the past few years and it's alarming.  Really alarming. Starbucks comes out with a watered-down policy about gun-toting coffee drinkers, putting profits before the safety of their patrons.  To tell you the truth, right now I only want to look away.

This past weekend we spent time with family and new friends.  We were in a small Massachusetts town. There were children and babies and soon-to-be borns in the crowd and I kept thinking, "What is the world like for those six, seven and eight year old children?  What is it going to be like?" I wondered how the parents will handle the internet and the questions they are bound to have about a world blown wide apart by violence and too much openness, about access to all the information in the world at their fingertips. In one very touching moment, two of the children talked about being bullied and comforted each other.

Late one afternoon, I sat on the front porch of our rental house and watched the sun go down.  I was alone for the first time in two days and I felt this deep sadness for the turmoil that families face from within and without.

I again came back to my questions about what is causing this surge in violence in our world.  The possible answers were all the same: guns, media, lack of quality mental health care, stress over jobs andmoney, insecurity and feelings of unworthiness in our young people. One of them or all of them.  I don't know.

As I hugged my girls goodbye, I said the usual things:  Call me when you get home.  I love you.  See you soon. And today I'm unwilling to think about the violence that I see in the paper and on television, choosing instead to think only of home, my love for my family, and the anticipation of seeing them again. It's all small, and it doesn't begin to address the violence in the world in the way I first hoped when I promised you readers to talk about it, but it's all I'm capable of looking at right now.

Thoughts on an Anniversary

The sun has come up on another September 11.

The despair I felt on that day and the months that followed has faded, but I still carry with me the knowledge that we're vulnerable, we Americans who have assigned ourselves the task of ruling the world, taking care of everybody else at the expense of our own children, who put money before everything else, push our dogmatic opinions about how people should believe on those perfectly happy with their own beliefs. We who look the other way at some atrocities but shine the spotlight on the ones that we will benefit from preventing. We who have a few leaders who are in some ways as corrupt and unresponsive as the mightiest dictator.

And yet, and yet, I still believe that America has the power to be important in the world in all the right ways. A belief that is based on looking around at my friends and my churches and my children, and seeing an idealism that can't be suppressed.  A belief that is reinforced when one church prays solidly for twenty-four hours for peace, another sends a group to do work for the impoverished, when I hug my daughters good-bye, when I kiss the cheek of a friend or hear another say I must write my Congressman because she believes the system still works. A belief that becomes more imperative as the old generation in my family dies away and we bring new life into a world that must be supported by hope and compassion.

This morning I stood in my kitchen thinking about this day twelve years ago.  This song came on my IPod and cornily enough a hummingbird flew through the honeysuckle on my deck. Signs of sorrow and hope to a person who constantly looks for signs.

Once when I was a child spending the night with my grandmother, I was very homesick.  I started crying, and didn't want her to see me.  She came into the room and asked me what was the matter.  I remembered hearing that people cried sometimes when they were happy, so I blurted out, "Oh Granny, I'm just so happy to be here!"

That story has become part of my legend, but it also expresses in a way how I feel today.  Homesick for the days when we hadn't experienced September 11, 2001, but at the same time happy that I have my family and friends and the belief that on a small scale--person to person--we're doing it right.

Letter to Oprah

Dear Oprah,

I have now participated in two of the 21-Day Meditation challenges that you and Deepak Chopra have put together. I loved them, felt at peace at the start of each day, and learned a lot about myself and my relationships with other people.  The mantra meditation is perfect for a person like me because inevitably, two or three minutes into the music, the mantra is in the background of my ever-churning little mind. Towards the end of this 21-day session, I managed a few times to keep the mantra in the foreground of my thoughts and the busyness in the background instead of vice-versa.

According to Deepak's webside, more than 600,000 people participated in March. Six hundred thousand people!  Wow!  And according to an organization that I helped found, One Percent, there's a theory that “…if one percent of a population of more than 10,000 people practiced meditation [or contemplative prayer] it would have an impact on the collective consciousness of a society."  

I would say with the kind of numbers you and Deepak have going on, something ought to be shifting during those twenty-one days. 

But I'm really bugged by something, Oprah.  At the end of the twenty-one days (give or take some days) the only way a person can access the meditation series is by paying for it. And it's pricey - $50 for the old ones and $40 for the recent one, "Miraculous Relationships."  And darnit, Oprah, I don't believe for one minute that you and Deepak need the money from these CDs  You can afford to give them out for free. 

If one-fourth of the 600,000+ people who participated buy those CDs, you and Deepak stand to gross $6,000,000.  Six million dollars!!

I looked all over the internet to see if the profits from those CDs are maybe being used for a good cause, but I couldn't find a single word to that effect.

So Oprah, here's my request:

If you're so all-fired up about changing the world through 21-day meditations, make them available to everyone for free forever OR give the profits to something that matters.  

I just don't think you need the money. Although your numbers may be down a bit.

Fearlessly speaking my truth with love,

Mamie Potter

Attention Diverted

Front page news today: 

Lead article: "409 acres preserved for ages"

"Health insurance costs up modestly"

"Afghans take on Pakistan--in a peaceful soccer match"

"Animal rights group sues Raleigh over bus ad"

Second page news:

Aretha cancels yet another concert or two, Dr. Oz rushes to scene of taxi that jumps curb, Presidential pets

Third page news:

A nineteen year old man slips into an elementary school with an AK-47 Watch it here..  Headline: "Gunfire exchanged at Georgia Elementary School."

{yawn} It is getting to be stale news, isn't it?

Press 53 Gathering of Writers

This weekend I went to a writing event put on by Press 53 out of Winston Salem.  This wonderful small press is putting out some great poetry and short story collections.

You might enjoy hearing some of the wisdom I got from the four sessions I participated in.

From Mary Akers on what is haunting:

Violence, vulnerability, horror, yearning, things that are shocking or unexpected, death, regret, shame, grief and other losses, disgust, missed connections.  Mary asked us to think of stories that haunted us.  Larry Brown's story, "A Roadside Resurrection" and Ron Rash's story, "Speckled Trout" from his collection Chemistry and Other Stories immediately came to mind.

We chose a prompt to write hauntingly for a few minutes.  Mine was, "Write about a time when you let everyone down."

From Steve Mitchell:

We wrote while listening to Philip Glass; to the prompt write about someone you have seen this morning and what you know about them; and to the prompt write about when you saw something you shouldn't have.  At the end we had a feeling, a person, and an event that could be woven into a unified story, he said.

A few things he said that spoke to my writing style:

1.  Embrace limitation.  By this he means don't try to make your story a novel when it wants to be a short story or flash fiction.
2.  It's okay to write in spurts.  For some people writing every day feels too much like work, and who needs another job? he asked.
3.  All writing is about saving the world so it doesn't disappear. Many of you know that I keenly feel the need to preserve family stories both in fiction and non-fiction.

From Michael Kardos:

What makes a good story:

1.  High stakes
2. Character desire: There is a motivational continuum for each character.  At the center are expectations. On one side of the expectations are hopes and dreams, the other side fears and dreads. A good predicament for a character is one in which his or her dreams and dreads are pitted against each other.
3.  Active protagonist
4.  Conflict, both internal and external
5.  Compression of time
6.  Suspense
7.  Atypical day
8.  Originality in voice, setting, method

Throughout the discussion he used Tim O'Brien's story "On the Rainy River," John Updike's "A&P," and several other stories to show how authors use these to good advantage.

From Darlin' Neal (yep, that's what her parents named her!):

We took five random things suggested by the group (boxes, carpet, thunder, fireplace, bed) added a color (orange) for good luck and wrote a piece about them.  Several of us read them out loud and we talked about how each piece raised questions in our minds that created anticipation for the rest of the story. I'm always blown away by the ability of people to write beautiful polished pieces in this kind of setting.

I was happy to be in the rooms full of people learning and sharing. It was nice also to meet some of the writing crowd from the Triad.  And it was nice to go back to the Marriott at the end of the day, and think about how I could apply what I had been taught to my own writing.

Family Celebration

This weekend eighteen of us got together to celebrate.  "Let's get the next generation started!" one of my nieces said when she received the invitation to the baby shower for my middle daughter. 

It's such an exciting time! May I apologize now to all my friends with grandchildren?  I had no idea how amazing it is! 

My oldest and youngest daughters planned the party, which was hosted by my sisters and sisters-in-law. The theme was Beanie Babies because we called the middle daughter Beanie when she was little.  Well, actually, we still call her Beanie on occasion. :)

I can't begin to tell you how special and detailed the decorations were. The scheming sisters made sure that everything was about the mother-to-be!  Questionnaires about her childhood brought hilarious answers and to tell you the truth I was a little dismayed to realize that I, her mother, couldn't remember some of the details. But I was busy then, you know?

We set up a "photo booth" in the alcove of our deck with a camera and a remote control. We took over 150 photos of us clowning around with Beanie Baby masks, a boa, and each other.  After everyone else had finished, my daughter and her boyfriend went out and took a few pictures of themselves. I could see their love for each other in the photos.  Then her boyfriend put the cat in one of the chairs. The end!

My favorite activity was writing  future birthday cards to the child.  The sisters had made a card for each year from one to twenty-one and those present chose one or two to write. I picked twelve and nineteen, realizing as I wrote my nineteen-year-old grandchild that I had picked the "last of childhood" and "last of teenage" years. Some of us put things in the cards (I won't mention what here because I'd like it to be a surprise for my daughter too). I cried to think that when the child is opening her nineteenth birthday card from me I will be eighty years old.

Sunday and Monday the house emptied, people getting into cars to drive east and north and to the airport. Today the roses that my youngest daughter arranged and put around the house still look beautiful. The house is back to its quiet, the cat wonders what happened to the rooms full of people, and I think about the wonderful weekend with family.