Arles

We spent four days in Arles, two of them traveling to outlying areas. Down the street from our hotel, one could view the Rhone River. Every day I looked forward to walking down the narrow roadway, often jumping against the wall to avoid a car, climbing the stone steps, and seeing this:



Arles was the first place that we were able to get a birds-eye view (hard to do from the boat). Here is the cityscape and the Rhone from the top of the coliseum.



The city was a study in contrasts. We saw many, many parents walking with their children during the lunch hour since most businesses close for two hours in the middle of the day. This woman had a few to feed:



On the other hand, I saw children without parents or friends at lunch. This young boy was especially touching as he seemed to be furtively eating alone, weaving between cars. I felt sad as I watched him and recalled the loneliness that we often encounter during adolescence.



This is a portion of the coliseum that was under renovation. Many of the older buildings were being shored up, filled in, and generally spruced up. It was obvious that Frenchmen take pride in their old buildings.



In contrast, there was graffiti everywhere on these beautiful structures. I looked on the Internet and there is gang activity in European countries. It is truly a crime to deface properties that have withstood wars, weather, and general wear and tear.



Of course, we had to visit a cemetery or two. Angels, ceramic flowers, crosses: all a part of the landscape of the graveyard.



In contrast, I certainly did NOT anticipate this:



I'll end with the humorous tonight.

Tomorrow I'll fill you in on some interesting side trips.

Vacation: On Le Boat

If you're a regular reader of this blog, you know that we are boat people. Our boat is fabulous for two people. For this trip, though, we wanted to go down the Canal du Midi with our friends. So, with my husband as captain, we rented a four-stateroom (bedroom) boat. It had three heads (bathrooms), a galley (kitchen), and a sitting area. It had ample space outside to sit and enjoy the ride.

In the summer I imagine this is an ideal layout, but it was chilly during our sojourn down the water. This immediately put a damper on my friend's plan to sit on the deck in her bathrobe, drink coffee, and read every morning as we set off on the day's adventure. My dream of having meals on the deck was likewise crushed by the wind that blew almost continuously. We did mange to have a lunch or two outside.



The weather could not affect the incredible scenery along the canal. Thousands of trees symmetrically line the water. I probably took one hundred pictures that show the view from the deck. Like the sunset from the balcony of the hotel in San Diego, I never grew tired of seeing and photographing this idyllic scene.



The land surrounding the water was farmland, mostly grapes, and there were always shadows of mountains rising behind the fields. In the mornings, there was fog on the water and the land. That and the chill air gave the start to the day a crisp and new feeling.



We floated from Trebes to Narbonne in three days, stopping in small villages at night. Most of them had only one or two restaurants open as the tourist season had ended, and one night we actually ate in a restaurant that was part of the peoples' home. The food was the equivalent of "home cooking" and the young son played computer games as we ate.

The locks were a bit more work than I anticipated. Not strenuous, but steady enough to prevent much relaxation for my husband and me. We left the boat a couple of days early. I was disappointed to cut that leg of the trip short, but I know I will take other boat trips in other countries. These views are hypnotic and addictive.



Tomorrow: Arles

Day One

I am devoting an entire post to the first day of our trip. Because it was so exciting? No, because it seemed to last as long as the entire rest of the vacation!

Traveling is not for the faint-hearted. The friends who went with us, Jim and Nancy, own Quail Ridge Books and are seasoned travelers. My husband and I are not. Even with an engrossing book, I get restless after about one hour crammed into an airplane seat.

Our flights went to London, then to Toulouse, where we were to board the train to Trebes. Unfortunately, we found out with about five seconds to spare that the words "auto car" by our train's departure time meant run your tail off over to the bus terminal where you will be crammed into another very small space for two hours. With an urgent need to urinate. And frankly, the only way we figured this out was that some kind Frenchman saw us looking like the Clampetts at Dollywood and escorted us to the bus.

With no room to spare, a young Japanese man boarded, cheerily begging in broken French/English/Japanese to please make room for him. Three of us were seated at the very rear of the bus, and squeezed over to give him a place to sit. He had very prominent teeth and nervously blinked his eyes a mile a minute as he tried to explain to me that he was late getting to his teacher's house. He glanced at his watch every five seconds. Finally I asked if he would like to use my phone to call his teacher, and after a very loud conversation peppered with lots of hais he settled down. As he exited the bus a few stops before ours, he turned with his toothy grin, waved, and shouted to us, "GOOD RUCK!"

This is how the bus looked from my bleary eyes:



The ride seemed worth it when we boarded a taxi and arrived at the castle where we were staying. It was dark, and all we knew was that we were weaving through very small streets with very tall walls to somewhere. It didn't matter where at this point as long as there was a toilet there. The next day, I took this picture of the castle. Very picturesque.



One of the most memorable moments of the trip occurred that night. Beyond exhaustion after twenty-four hours of travel and no sleep, we walked into a restaurant that was on the premises of the hotel. It was closing but the staff took one look at us, sat us down with wine and San Pelligrino, hot bread and spiced olives, and directed the chef to heat up four bowls of cassoulet.

The observant monsieur who helped us to the bus and the staff of the restaurant were the first of many people who showed us kindness.

Tomorrow: Le Boat

Vacation

I'm sincerely hoping that at least a few of you noticed that I haven't been posting for the past two weeks. I've been on vacation.

It was a celebration of my thirtieth wedding anniversary and it was an extravagance at a time when it doesn't really feel okay to be extravagant. But we wanted to honor our steadfastness, so off we went.

The trip was to France, and we availed ourselves of almost every form of transportation available: plane, boat, bus, train, bicycle, subway, and of course our own feet. All of this moving around gave me ample opportunity to read. Here's what I read:

Girl Trouble by Holly Goddard Jones. I thoroughly enjoyed these short stories. Jones has a way with characters, and two of the stories were especially strong. One, early in the book, was told from the viewpoint of a mother whose son has committed a rape and murder. The last story was told from the viewpoint of the son.

Chemistry and Other Stories by Ron Rash. Short stories set in Appalachia. The most memorable of them is the award-winning story, "Speckled Trout".

The Anthologist by Nicholson Baker. Full of humor, this novel is about a poet trying to write an introduction for an anthology he has put together. I learned a lot about poetry and linquistics. I also learned that "Carpe diem" does not mean, "Seize the day" but "Pluck the day".

White Tiger by Aravind Adiga. Set in India, this was an easy read, a funny and quirky story of a taxi driver. I am surprised that it won the Man Booker Award though.

We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver. This is four hundred plus pages of addictive reading. Told in the form of letters written to a woman's husband, it is the fictional story of the life of a boy who was troubled from the day he was born, and committed mass murder at his high school when he was months shy of his fifteenth birthday. A magnificant book club pick.

Tomorrow I will give a few highlights of the trip, but I won't bore you with a blow-by-blow travelogue. The photograph is from the second leg of the trip.

Green High School

The principal at my daughter's school is interviewed as part of this program.


I've been out of town for a couple of weeks. I'll be posting more later.

Synchronicity

Today is my niece's husband's birthday. Unfortunately, we won't be celebrating because he died a few months ago of cystic fibrosis. Oddly enough, when I went by the bank today, there were three candy bars with a sign that said, "$2 - for cystic fibrosis."

If you're at your bank and you see those candy bars for two dollars, won't you donate? With a cure, others will live to celebrate a lot of birthdays, not just a handful.

YES

Anyone who knows me well knows that I want George Winston's version of Pachelbel's Canon in D played at my funeral. I love the way the song begins quietly, builds to a crescendo, and ends quietly. Like most lives do.

This might seem morbid to some, but several years ago my girlfriends and I wrote our obituaries. It was interesting to think about what I wanted to accomplish in the years I have left, who will survive me, how old I want to be when I die, and how and where I want to be when it happens. It almost felt like goal-setting for the rest of my life.

And predictably, I saw lots of grandchildren, I died before I had to suffer the deaths of any of my children or my husband, and I just went to sleep and peacefully passed at the ripe old age of ninety-nine.

Last night, I was lying in bed, idly channel-flipping when I came across a new age musician playing the canon. I actually became teary, thinking about my family and friends sitting in a church listening to music and to people talk about my life. And as odd as it sounds, I suddenly thought that I wished that when the last song has been sung and the last word spoken, someone will stand up, raise their arms to the sky and shout, "YES!" And that when that brave soul stands, others will do the same until the whole room is full of people shouting yes to my life.

A New Idea

When I first set up this blog, "Can I Do It?" was an abstract theme. Since its inception, though, I have come back again and again to the ways that I have pushed myself beyond my comfort zone in the past few years.

And now, another opportunity has arisen. Like the music workshop, it involves doing something that I've never done before and that I don't feel that I have all the skills to do. And yet, I've talked with another person about the possibilities and felt her excitement, and realized that I know two people who are positions of power to help me.

I am remembering when my children were younger and I was afraid to let them do something they'd never done before: spend the night out, ride their bikes in the street (I know, girls, I never really got over this fear), walk to a friend's house or home from the bus stop, drive away in a car, go to college, move to a new city to live. And for every time that they attempted something and it was successful, I felt more willing to let go the next time. My oldest daughter made it easier for the middle daughter; the middle daughter even easier for the youngest.

Two recent "Can I Do It" successes are giving me courage to move forward with this new challenge. With the assurance that I have what it takes to see it through. Each courageous move, successful, gives me the nerve to try something else.

I think I can do it, and I'll keep you posted.

Books

One of the finest collections of contemporary short stories I've read in a few years is Adam Haslett's You Are Not a Stranger Here. Oddly enough, the year I read it and carried on about it for weeks to my friend, Nancy Olson, she found it on a book exchange shelf in a hotel in Paris when we were staying there. She agreed that it was superb.

So it was with great excitement that she brought me a reading copy of his new book, Union Atlantic. I read it last week, and it in no way measured up to the beauty and poignancy of his stories.

Another of my favorite short story writers, who shall go unnamed for now, said that he loved writing stories, but had no desire to write a novel. At his publisher's urging, he is writing one. I wonder if this is what occurred with Haslett, that his skill lies in the short story form and he felt compelled, urged, coerced into writing a longer story. Just me wondering.

Maybe it is just that this book, the story and characters, were not to my liking. Others may read it and rave. I eagerly await the reviews.

I also read an oldie but greatie, Cowboys Are My Weakness by Pam Houston. I don't know how I've missed this short story collection but every story left me reeling. If that girl has done half the things she writes about in her stories (and how she could write so realistically if she hadn't?) she has lived an adventurous and dangerous life!

Here's my short stack for the next few weeks:



Read anything good lately?

Weekend in Pictures

Confession

I hope you aren't expecting something juicy in the way of a confession. Oh, I have a lot of those - tidbits of embarrassment and humiliation and treachery - but that's not why I'm here tonight.

I'm here to confess that I have never seen where any of my daughters live. No, really. They've all moved in the past few months and I have no idea what their places look like.

Here is how I imagine them:

Daughter number one: She lives mostly in her bedroom. Her computer is on the bed; the bed is unmade. Her clothes? Some are put away and some draped over the furniture. If you were to walk in the kitchen of her apartment, the only evidence of her would be the garbage can full of take-out containers. She has lots of books and notebooks and school supplies, both for herself and from when she was a teacher. Probably a few pictures of friends and family around, but not many. She's gone alot; I can't see her sitting around in the living room with her roomies.

Daughter number two: Her place is a beehive of creativity. One whole room is devoted to art: bookmaking supplies (gorgeous papers, glue, fabric), leathers, buttons, maybe a canvas or two. Most of what you see in her place is useful, nothing extravagant or fluffy or prissy. There are books, and again, a few photographs around of friends and family. There is a lot of art in the space, hers and others. Her kitchen is stocked and one can tell she cooks for herself and her friends. She has lots of carefully chosen things around her place. Her place is a peaceful spot.

Daughter number three: Her apartment looks like the showroom of Anthropologie. Her kitchen is fully stocked with dishes and she uses them all. Her closet is organized but looks haphazard. There are lots of throws on the furniture. Her walls are covered in pictures and she has lots and lots of family photographs. And shoes. Lots of shoes. A large proportion of the toiletries in the bathroom are hers. She has carefully chosen books on a funky bookshelf. She and her friends sit in the living room and drink wine or tea or cocktails before they go out on the town.

I could be way off base, and they can correct me if I'm wrong. But this is how I imagine their living spaces. It helps when I miss them to think of them safe and happy in their homes.

My Teachers

Tonight was wonderful! I heard my favorite teachers (Angela Davis-Gardner and Peggy Payne) read from a collection of stories in my favorite genre, flash fiction. Well, Angela read; Peggy had to explain. You'll have to get the book to understand what I mean by that!

The event was held at Quail Ridge Books and they were reading from a collection of short short stories called, Long Story Short, edited by Mariann Gingher. I carry the book in my car, and read a story while I'm waiting in line at the bank.


There was a strong connection to my hometown too. Two of the writers, Angela and Mariann, are from Greensboro, and another is a professor at Bennett College.

The flash fiction or short short story or sudden fiction form is so fun to me. They require brevity, succinctness, and substance. Most of them are in the 1000-1500 word range. One of the writers, Carrie Knowles, who is also a very inspiring artist, said that she has her writing classes start with a 2000 word story and gradually whittle it down to 750 words. Quite a challenge for some people, I imagine.

I got inspired tonight. To the table. Writing table, that is.

Being with Family

Today I went to my hometown to spend some time with my dad and my brother and his family.

At my dad's house, we ate soup, watermelon and cornbread that I had brought for lunch. He showed me some old papers he had found: letters from my mother before they were married, programs from shows he saw when he was stationed in New York City during the war, postcards and memorabilia he had sent to his mother to keep for him. He showed me the announcement that was sent out when his father died (he was 13) and a church bulletin where his dad's name was listed in the "In Memory" section. There were single cuff links, the others lost to history. He gave me a cookbook that was from my grandmother's church, and his potato salad and pimento cheese recipes. As we talked, he made a container of the pimento cheese for me to take home.

Several weeks ago he had sent me a DVD he had made from old video tapes. It contained footage from 1989 and 1990 of my children and my nieces at the holidays and Tweetsie Railroad. The first DVD he sent me was blank so he made me another one, and we sat on his bed and watched a little of it.

Then we went to my brother's house. His father-in-law died a few weeks ago, and they were celebrating his mother-in-law's 91st birthday. Her son took videos of her blowing out the candles, and afterward of her smiling warmly into the camera. My nieces were there too, which is always a real treat.

I was reminded of a couple of things today. One is the importance of taking movies of your children and other family members. Photographs are great, but nothing can improve on seeing people in motion and capturing their voices. All you parents and grandparents should go straightaway and buy The Birthday Interview and use it with the children in your life.

And as my dad and I watched the movies, I thought of a Brian Andreas card that says, "In the end, I think that I will like that we were sitting on the bed, talking & wondering where the time had gone."

Plans

Last night my plan for today was to go to the Nasher in Durham and see the photography exhibit, then go to Through This Lens and talk to the owner and look around. Instead this is what I did:

Three loads of laundry
Grocery shopping (x2 because I forgot some things the first time)
Went to see a friend whose husband died a month ago.
Cooked soup for my dad and another friend.
Cooked five pounds of shrimp (some for the soup and some for dinner).
Assembled 80 cards for my aunt and my sister-in-law.
Had a lengthy and somewhat contentious discussion with my husband about the division of chores at our house.

The discussion ended in a stalemate. But the rest of the day was productive. This kind of busyness brings a real sense of accomplishment, and a feeling of doing good for others. Not what I planned, but I know I'm going to make some people very happy tomorrow.

The world calls Audrey

I know just how Audrey feels, sitting at the window looking longingly outside. I'm at my office now, and thinking ahead to the weekend. Just as the cat sees bees, birds, butterflies, flies, and lizards, I feel excited about the things that are calling out for my time.

If you're free tonight, head over to the LongView Center in downtown Raleigh and catch the Triangle Gay Men's Chorus performance. It is called Threads of Hope, featuring "Brave Souls & Dreamers" and includes Special Guests, The Gay Men’s Chorus of Charlotte.

Come on, Friday night! I can't wait.

Day Off/Off Day

I've taken three days off now. The first day was spent doing chores that got neglected over the workshop weekend. The second day I had a meeting that lasted three hours in the middle of the day, and did grocery shopping. Last night I went to hear the wonderful author, Jill McCorkle, read from her new book.

Today I had intentions of revising a story I wrote last year. The revision has been boiling around in my head for a few days and I feel really excited about it. But when I got up, I had no energy. None. I went down to my writing space, looked over at the desk, turned to the card-making area, and walked back upstairs without doing anything productive. I got a book, wrapped myself in a blanket and tried to read. I ended up lying down, eyes wide open, body very still for about an hour.




After dragging myself up, I could tell that no creative work was going to be coming out of me today, so I worked on organizing my photographs on the computer. I have now spent close to six hours doing this. It feels good.





My photographs, my stories, and my card papers compete for my free time. I never feel torn, though, because working on each of them raises my seratonin and gives me a boost.


It's back to work tomorrow. I'm grateful for the time off.

Grand Finale

This is almost the last post about the choir and Norris Garner. I will only write about it again to give you the heads up when they are on television.

Last night, we went to WRAL to record for the gospel show, "Spiritual Awakening" and it was fun, fun, fun! Terrence Jenkins hosts the show, and we got to see him practicing his intros. He stood in front of a blank TV screen mouthing words and smiling. He interviewed Norris and that was fun too. When Terrence asked Norris for a phone number so people could call about his workshops, Norris said, "My phone number?? What do you mean? People are looking for me!"

This was a fitting end to this amazing experience. Norris Garner and the UCT choir are stars. I want Raleigh to know.

Norris Garner

Caveat: I'm no videographer, nor do I sing in public; I was purely an observer to this weekend's activities. And I only made very short recordings of Norris and the choir yesterday morning because I wanted to be sure that I could upload them. First Norris:



Being with my choir and this incredible choir director this weekend was a transformative experience. The choir worked with him from 7-9 Friday night, all day Saturday, did three performances at the church, and eight of them showed up at 7 last night to sing around the grand piano at another church. The choir's dedication and hard work brought me to tears as did Norris and his amazing ministry and inspiring voice.

The choir is recording at WRAL tonight to appear on the show "Spiritual Awakenings" next Sunday morning. Although I wish every one of you had seen them in person, tune in and watch them if you can.

Three days of pure inspiration. And a lot of lessons learned. And now the choir with Norris:

Feeling Groovy Part II

I just spent the most incredible two days with my church choir. Remember how grumpy I was on Wednesday? Well, they cured the blues.

They have worked for two days with Norris Garner. If all that happened this weekend was that we all listened to him sing, that would have been enough. If the choir had shown up and sang with him, that would have been enough. But these people have been champions. They learned ten songs in eight hours. They had already agreed to perform tomorrow at our 9 and 11 services and do a 3:00 concert; and at 4:00 today, after all that work, agreed to perform tomorrow night as well.

Here's the deal if you're in Raleigh and love gospel music. You have five opportunities to see this great group of people sing their hearts out with Norris.

1. and 2. 9:00 and 11:00 services at Unity Church of the Triangle in the Longview Center in Raleigh (corner of Hargett and Person Streets at Moore Square).
3. 3:00 concert at Unity Church of the Triangle. No admission but an offering will be taken up, profits to benefit the Raleigh Rescue Mission.
4. 7:00 night service at Fairmont UMC on the corner of Clark Avenue and Horne Streets
5. Date to be decided, recorded performance for a WRAL show, Spiritual Awakenings. Choir will record Monday night.

I cried today at the practice. It wasn't just the music, although it was so emotionally charged. It was the dedication and enthusiasm these people showed, the respect they gave Norris, the talent and voice of Norris Garner.

Sometimes things turn out so much better than one expected. That too was a gift. Bring on tomorrow. And I'm really glad I chose to stay home from the beach.

Feeling Groovy

Well, listen up: I'm not feeling groovy. I'm irritated with people who don't reply to emails in a timely fashion; I'm tired of wimpy people. Somebody recommended a blog on writing to me the other day, and I'm fed up with reading it because it's all about the fact that she can't get down to writing. I'm irritated at the same blogger because she uses punctuation incorrectly and can't spell. I am pre-irritated because she will probably get published!

I'm still irritated at the person who didn't write thank you notes for her wedding presents. I'm irritated because my husband goes out with friends after band practice every week but didn't want to go out with me after practice tonight.

The cat scratched the hell out of me. That ticked me off big time, especially since I had just changed the litter box. Which irritates me because I didn't want an indoor cat. I'm annoyed as hell because I like the little critter so much in spite of my aversion to taking her.

There has been a leak from a toilet in the part of our house that is sacred to me. I'm annoyed that the hole that was cut in the ceiling to figure out what was going on is still there, making my sacred space feel decidedly unsacred. And I'm anticipating an acceleration in my annoyance level because when the drywall guy comes to fix it there will be dust everywhere, and then I'll have to wait a few more weeks for the painter. Which leads me to the fact that I'm irritated that we're in the construction business, a business that sucks eggs right now, and that we always have to wait until the subcontractors are finished at our jobs before they come to our house.

I'm irritated at people who lie and people who act passive-aggressive.

I'm irritated that my monthly horoscope said tomorrow would be the worst day of the month and I'm already in a very bad state of mind.

Whew. My head hurts. And that irritates me.

Masha Hamilton and Time to Go

I mentioned yesterday that I read Masha Hamilton's new book, 31 Hours. Tonight she came to speak at the bookstore. She was classy, brilliant, and had chosen passages from the book that were spot-on for us, the Religion and Ethics group.

The event was poorly attended. There were maybe ten people there. Discouraging to put together a program and have few people there to enjoy it.

This discussion group has been meeting for many years - more than ten. Attendance can range from three people to forty people. As the discussion leader, I choose the materials or speaker, read up and prepare the discussion questions, send out a reminder email, and show up to lead. And try not to take poor attendance personally.

The first time I led a book group at my church, I had visions of seventy-five people showing up. From the neighborhood, bookstore customers, church members. The group ended up being around ten people. After a few great discussions, I decided to let go of expectations of large numbers of people being important. But I want actively interested people who have read the material to come. Tonight, two people had read the book and I was the only one who asked a question. How disappointing that must have been for Masha. I know I felt embarrassed at the lack of involvement by the audience.

When do we decide that something has run its course? It is the longest-running discussion group at the store. But to tell you the truth, I'm tired of doing it. And that's how I know it's time for me to take a break.

Later this week, I'll be talking about a couple of things that Masha has set in place that could use some support. Stay tuned.

Nice Weekend

I am a real reader - usually read between forty and fifty books a year. But I've been through a two-month slump. I didn't read one book. Instead, I watched TV in bed until I fell asleep.

Now, granted, getting your news from Jon Stewart is important, but it had gotten to be a bad habit. So just as a year or so ago I banned talk radio from my car, I banned watching television from my nightly routine. Lo and behold, I've read three books in the past two weeks, two this weekend.

One of the books is 31 Hours by Masha Hamilton. She is the author of The Camel Bookmobile, which I haven't read. Her new book is the story of a young American, Jonas, who is in his last hours leading up to being a suicide bomber in the New York subway. I read it in a day and half - it is very engrossing - and the ending is thought-provoking. Hamilton will read from the book at Quail Ridge Books in Raleigh tomorrow night at 7.

The second book I read is Paradise of the Blind by Duong Thu Huong. Huong is Vietnamese, and this is on the cover: "Banned in its own country, the first novel from Vietnam ever published in the United States." It is the story of three Vietnamese women through the viewpoint of a young girl, Hang, living under the Communist government of Vietnam. Not only is the language beautiful (it is a translation) but there is a great deal of current history of the Vietnamese people woven into the story.

Last night we anchored out. We chose a place that was very sheltered. Unfortunately, this also meant (last night at least) that the air was very still and the no-see-ums were out. Here is the view from the back of the boat:



The sunset, usually very vivid in this particular body of water, was rather subdued.



Because of the restless night, I saw the sun rise. It was a perfect start to the day.


I'm eager to start reading tonight and cozy up in my own bed. Next on my list is the new book by one of my favorite authors, Dave Eggers. My daughter, who works at Malaprops Book Store in Asheville, recommended it.

My brain on health care

I'm fighting the urge to cancel the paper and turn off the television forever. I don't want to weigh the options and debate the terms. It all seems very simple to me: we have to take care of our own in the most efficient and compassionate way possible.

My friend from elementary school did some of my thinking for me, and I want to share what she said. Read it here. Thanks, Virginia.

Leaps and Bounds

How do you handle things that challenge your confidence in your abilities?

Baby steps I can handle. Take a writing class, a photography class. Show my work to friends. Enlarge a few pictures, frame them, and hang them on the dining room wall. Send in a story or photo to a contest. Okay. I'm on it. But last month, two opportunities presented themselves that push my limits. And for all the confidence I've gained in the past three or four years, I'm very nervous about stepping up, stepping way up, to proceed.

I love to feel competent. I need to remind myself that there were times when I wasn't sure about starting things that I'm good at now. I have to remember that I'm fifty-seven years old (prime o' life) and that if I'm going to exit my comfort zone now's as good a time as any.

So, one step. Well, two steps. But giant steps this time. Mother, may I?

Another Death

"When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight." Kahlil Gibran

A friend's father died this morning, on his birthday. A full circle.

In all the years I've know them, he and his wife have been inseparable. A very attractive elderly couple, they could be seen walking in their neighborhood and holding hands on occasion. I can't think of one without the other.

They shopped at a small grocery store in their neighborhood, and after they moved across town to the retirement center, I would run into them at the store on occasion. No matter that there was one of the stores a few blocks down from where they now lived, or that they weren't supposed to be doing much driving; they wanted to shop where they knew their way around. And when I would see them, they acted almost sheepish, like they'd been caught. But I understood the need to keep the familiars when so much change was taking place in their lives.

I thought of my father yesterday when I was taking in this latest rash of deaths. He's eighty-seven, and I can't imagine how it must be to watch death grow exponentially as part of your life. Now, for me, it's mostly the odd death of a friend and the more expected deaths of the older generation. But to see, week after week, the death of those one knew and those one loved?

So we live long and become a companion to death. Or we die young and miss all the goodbyes, but miss the living too. There's something to be said, though, for the increased awareness and sweetness of time we acquire as we watch life seep away or dash away in friends and family.

Good-bye, Mr. Hooper. And happy birthday.

Short but Sweet

For some it is a long weekend, but we took only a couple of days to scoot to the coast. The sunsets were beautiful. Two nights, two settings, so many different colors.

He's taking the saints.

This post is for Hal Uzzell, who died yesterday after a long, dignified struggle with cancer.

The Beauty Of Death
I have passed a mountain peak and my soul is soaring in the firmament of complete and unbound freedom;
I am far, far away, my companions, and the clouds are hiding the hills from my eyes.
The valleys are becoming flooded with an ocean of silence, and the hands of oblivion are engulfing the roads and the houses;
The prairies and fields are disappearing behind a white specter that looks like the spring cloud, yellow as the candlelight and red as the twilight.
The songs of the waves and the humans of the streams are scattered, and the voices of the throngs reduced to silence;
And I can hear naught but the music of eternity in exact harmony with the spirit's desires.
I am cloaked in full whiteness;
I am in comfort;
I am in peace.

Kahlil Gibran

Fame

Many people ask why I don't sell my photograph cards. Well, I do sell them. At my local book store. But only because the owner liked them and felt bad about taking so many. So now she buys them from herself!

There's no money to be made from selling the cards, really. I might recoup my expenses, but that's all. However, this is an example of what those cards are all about to me:

The book store owner and one of her managers are going to China tomorrow. They were wondering what to take for hostess gifts and I suggested that I put together a few ten-packs of the cards. She went for it.

The thought of those cards - my photographs - going to China is the most thrilling thing I can think of. Photographs of our mountains, our wildlife, our oceans and lighthouses being used by people that I've never seen, so far away. Cards that say thank you/I'm thinking of you/happy birthday/I'm sorry/get well - what money in the world could equal the thought of that? My cards sitting on desks and under magnets on refrigerators, found in drawers years later full of sentiment. That's rich, people, and I feel as excited as I ever could about a check.

I wish my friends a safe and successful trip, and am filled with gratitude that they are taking a piece of me with them.