OLD FRIENDS . . .

Every so often I go off the rails and start ordering books--Evergreen (library statewide inter-library loan service), Internet sites, even author's sites that show their wares for sale.

In one of my recent binges, I began collecting a couple of authors I haven't read for 30 or more years. They're used books, of course, and some must be rarer than others by the same author because prices range from affordable to "never mind."

Now you may wonder why I'm back into collecting books, having (I think) mentioned that I've given away a number of books in the past decade or so, when the decluttering bug had bit me, or I had run out of shelf space in the house and books were being stored in the garage (along with dust and insects). Our local library welcomed my surplus, both for its monthly sale and in some cases to fill in a hole in the library's offerings. Anything that wasn't acceptable because of age or condition was further donated by the library to charities that use books to teach reading in other countries.

Wonder no more; the answer is simple: I miss my old friends. Those authors who have been absent from my life for few-or-many decades always had something to share with me. 

I've also learned some of my children like those same authors. Books about country living, country cookery, raising dogs . . . . And the authors were folks who read--poetry, newly published novels, philosophy; and who listened to recordings of composers I've long admired. Didn't they have television, you ask? Yes, Virginia, TV had been invented many, many decades ago; and as with anything new, it didn't continue to fulfill everyone's needs for entertainment. Some folks went out to concerts. Some stayed home and played records and tapes and CDs.

It all boils down to hanging out with old friends.

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Why do we do it, anyway? Why do we enjoy meeting up with old friends, sharing a meal--drinking a fancy coffee together--shopping together--taking a walk, with or without a dog--sharing a hobby like knitting, woodworking, gardening, painting. 

Experts tell us that we need friends to help us cope with life. I like that. So, what about a chance meeting? For me, it's pure enjoyment. An unexpected gift of time with someone who knew me once upon a time. 

While we're talking about non-people friends, here are some thoughts:

• I never feel lonely if I've got a book - they're like old friends. Even if you're not reading them over and over again, you know they are there. And they're part of your history. They sort of tell a story about your journey through life. -- Emilia Fox

• Old books that have ceased to be of service should no more be abandoned than should old friends who have ceased to give pleasure. -- Bernard Baruch

Do you have movies you like to watch every so often--the same ones? Or old TV shows? 

I've worn out some of my favorite LPs (back when I had a stereo setup); fortunately those same albums came out on CDs, but I'll be the first to admit the playback isn't the same. But still--I haven't lost those old favorites. (And I'm not yet ready to stream everything or have it play through my browser.)

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Ultimately, an old friend actually is a person--the author of the book; the composer of the music; the orchestra members or soloists (vocal or instrumental) who played for the recording; the person who wrote the screenplay, the director and the producers and certainly the actors, all of whom were required to make the story come alive visually.

Old friends. They're everywhere in our lives. Celebrate them. Give thanks for them. They're often just the blessing we need to keep on keeping on.

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

 MARY OLIVER X 2

She read to her dogs.

If you haven't met Mary Oliver before, let me introduce her.

She was born in Maple Hills Heights, a suburb of Cleveland, Ohio, in 1935. She died 83 years later in Florida. She loved nature and dogs, and wrote dozens of poems about both subjects.

If you want  more information about her life and growth as a poet, look at the Poetry Foundation's website for a detailed critique.

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Today I'm sharing two of her poems.

WHY I WAKE EARLY

 Hello, sun in my face.

Hello, you who make the morning

and spread it over the fields

and into the faces of the tulips

and the nodding morning glories,

and into the windows of, even, the

miserable and the crotchety--

 

best preacher that ever was,

dear star, that just happens

to be where you are in the universe

to keep us from ever-darkness,

to ease us with warm touching,

to hold us in the great hands of light—

good morning, good morning, good morning.

 

Watch, now, how I start the day

in happiness, in kindness.

      [from the collection WHY I WAKE EARLY, 2004]

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THREE THINGS TO REMEMBER

As long as you're dancing, you can

     break the rules.

Sometimes breaking the rules is just

     extending the rules.

Sometimes there are no rules.

     [from the collection A THOUSAND MORNINGS, 2012]

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Blessings,

Thursday's Child

 PROVERBIAL WISDOM

Nearly everyone grew up with proverbs. They might have been old sayings, or folk wisdom, or a family proverb, but they fit into Aldous Huxley's definition:  Proverbs are always platitudes until you have personally experienced the truth of them.

 I grew up with a whole boatload of cultural proverbs, such as:

--Haste makes waste.

--A stitch in time saves nine.

--Ignorance is bliss.

--Don't cry over spilt milk.

--You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

--You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink.

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Some of these were meant to make me feel better about something I'd experienced in my young life, like crying over spilt milk. (I don't remember spilling any, but probably did.)

I liked the concept of a stitch in time saving nine. Prevention was better than extra work.

Others didn't make sense--and still don't, such as ignorance is bliss. Nope. Don't get it.

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For your enjoyment, I've collected a handful of proverbs from other cultures:

It’s in the shelter of each other that the people live.

                IRISH PROVERB

 

Never mind snows and storms for the sake of a friend.

                AZERBAIJANI PROVERB

 

One minute of patience, ten years of peace.

                GREEK PROVERB

 

Deeds are fruits. Words are leaves.

                ENGLISH PROVERB

 

If someone sweats for you, you change his shirt.

                HAITIAN PROVERB

Four eyes see more than two.

                ENGLISH PROVERB

 

Deal with the faults of others as gently as your own.

                CHINESE PROVERB

If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.

                AFRICAN PROVERB

 

If the wind will not serve, take the oars.

                LATIN PROVERB

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In our current pandemic climate, may we find wisdom, and encouragement, and perhaps even a little diversion in the words and thoughts of other cultures.

Until next time . . . be safe, be kind to one another, be at peace.

SOME HEALING THOUGHTS

A few days ago I came across a poem by L R Knost, contemporary writer. The words are simple, the thoughts profound. If you're in a place where Life is looking gray and grim, this short poem may speak to you.

 * * * * *

When life hits hard

and you break in the soft places,

grow, love.

Grow.

Grow into the cracks.

Fill them with plaster,

layer upon layer

of tenderness, love, and intention.

Like casts on broken bones,

steadying, supporting,

letting time heal.

Knitting a new you,

from pieces of the old you.

Still you, but different.

Still good, but changed.

Still scarred, but stronger,

wiser, braver, you.

       L. R. Knost

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Blessings,

Thursday's Child

  LIFE IN THE SLOW LANE.....

There was a time when living life in the fast lane was the way to go. Everybody knew that. We had to go faster, farther, do more, get there quicker (wherever there was). It was the only definition for success going. The Eagles had a song about it. Had to be true.

Uh-huh. Until it wasn't true any more.

I can already anticipate reader response to this topic--they'll say: once she got to this age, she had to slow down, so now she's making it into a virtue.

And?

Let's get something out of the way right now: This is not about "stopping to smell the roses" or "getting off the merry-go-round"--that was 60s stuff. This is about living deeper. Ready? Take a deep breath.......

Think back to a time when you were deeply committed to something--your children, your marriage, your church, your hobby (whatever it was); politics; teaching; practicing medicine; playing in an orchestra; playing on a sports team, volunteering somewhere in your community . . . it doesn't matter what it was, or when it was, you had a strong attachment to that activity, that role you played. And while it was strong, it was also deep. So deep you didn't--couldn't-- always tear yourself away to do things or go places other people wanted you to do or go. 

In some instances, you may have lost friends or other relationships because of your commitment. Or, you may have been fortunate enough to have understanding folks around you who helped you honor your role and still remain part of a family or neighborhood or group.

My belief, based on my own experience and observing the experience of others, is that a deep commitment is a way of living in the Slow Lane. We continue in our path--either chosen by us or having been led into it--and we do that despite distractions and even well-meaning invitations to join in something else.

Consider world-class athletes who train for the chance to go to the Olympics. Consider musicians whose CDs you have in your collection who practiced for hours (literally!) every day of the week so their music would be the best they could make it. Consider scientists who work long hours in laboratories, sometimes alone, sometimes on teams--trying to find the answer to a puzzling disease, or the structure of cells, or how and why our climate is running amok.

My life wasn't geared toward any great goal--looking at what I did "back then," I see it was almost always something I saw that needed doing, at home or at church or in my community. I had a lot of company then, doing what I was doing--and I can say our attitude was one of "let's get this done." Or, as the Brits say, "Just get on with it."

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Some of us never had to make the decision to give up our Slow Lane life. But I suspect many of us had to wait until the time was right to find it--the children grown and flown, retirement from a day job, a move to another part of the country, a broken marriage, a death--we never thought we'd live through some of these changes, but we did. And when we came out on the other side, we found we had something called "free time." Hours and days unscheduled. A grand gift. And possibly a bit scary.

We may also have found ourselves a tad adrift--no job to go to, no family commitments, perhaps even no close friends, if we'd moved to a far-away place. This is the ideal time to consider living in the Slow Lane.

I know, whole books have been written on this subject, so you won't find this post definitive. The main things to remember are these:

--Slow Lane living is about depth, not speed.

--Former commitments don't have to be renewed. New ones can be explored.

--Not every hour of every day needs to be filled in. (There is no prize for a full calendar.)

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I've always been a schedule person (goes with being a list-maker) and I've discovered scheduling is still important to me, well into retirement, so I choose to continue to use it. Keeping track of medical appointments, birth dates of people dear to me, and due dates for library items are right at the top of my list. But I don't obsess about that keeping-track. I do it for peace of mind.

Life in the Slow Lane doesn't have to be filled with sloths. Tortoises are welcome; at least they move around, a little at a time. Maybe a better word to use for Slow Lane living is Patience. 

Maybe that's what Slow Lane living is all about--being patient, making a space and a place for Peace of Mind. I can do that. How about you?

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

P.S. The resurrection lilies in the pic below happen only once a year. I wait through the long period of lots of green leaves, their death into long brown stuff, and then the shoots come through, a few at a time. Then more. and finally a whole clutch of them in all their glory. Worth waiting for.

Resurrection Lilies with Holly Hippo

 WHY DO YOU READ?

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“And whether rich or poor, well or ill, happy or sad, books can be a refuge, they do not change with changing circumstance, they are the open highway to yesterday, today and tomorrow wherever you will to travel.” ― Gladys Taber, Stillmeadow Daybook

*****

Why do you read? Why do I read?

A couple of days ago I went to the library to check out books by Gladys Taber. Mrs. Taber was a short story writer, published often in the women’s magazines; also wrote novels; and later became a popular columnist for Ladies’ Home Journal and Family Circle. From her columns, which were about country life in Connecticut (and later Cape Cod), she branched out into several nonfiction books about the same subjects—life and living in the country and by the ocean.

I read the original columns in Family Circle when I was a teenager. It was like being a part of her family—her children and grandchildren, the family visits, dinners, taking care of cocker spaniels and an Irish setter--. Gladys Taber’s writing filled in some of the empty places in my life, and I couldn’t wait for the next issue of the magazine to come to the A&P Store.

Rereading her books now, I recall how much they meant to me in the late 1950s. I am grateful for people like Gladys Taber who shared their lives so generously.

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After I finally learned to read (in first grade), I couldn’t get enough of books and stories. Along about third or fourth grade I discovered mysteries for kids. The easy ones soon gave way to Nancy Drew and later on to Erle Stanley Gardner, Rex Stout, and Agatha Christie.

But my reading habits were eclectic--reading cereal boxes and pulp magazines, serious novels for high school English class . . . you name it, I probably read it.

From such a beginning, it was a natural, even inevitable, parth to a degree in English lit. That broad umbrella included American literature, expository writing (composition), and linguistics. I had a taste of European literature in advanced French classes. (That was an experience I appreciated, but never kept up with.)

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We are the children of a technological age. We have found streamlined ways of doing much of our routine work. Printing is no longer the only way of reproducing books. Reading them, however, has not changed. --Lawrence Clark Powell

*****

There have been a few times in my life when I couldn’t read.

When I was ten, I had scarlet fever. It was a mild case, but precautions were decreed: no reading; keep the room dark; bed rest. (That’s the only time in my life I can recall being bored. B-O-R-E-D.)

In my 30s and later, I had bad allergies that tended to wipe me out. I knew I was really sick when I didn’t even want to read.

Major surgery, with heavy doses of anesthetic, wiped me out again; while I was recuperating I couldn’t read anything for over three weeks. After that, only short--very short--selections in magazines.

And in my latter years, the time we call maturing, I’ve found some medications have a negative effect on me; my emotions virtually flat-line. Fortunately, I’ve been able to get away from most of those meds.

*****

You don't have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just get people to stop reading them.

Ray Bradbury

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We read for so many reasons—to gather information for a job; to learn about other cultures; to escape current situations; for pure enjoyment.

I venture to say all these reasons are about connecting with something or someone else. We learn about our jobs by participating in what someone else wrote. We find out about other cultures, and discover how alike people are, everywhere. Even our escape reading, and our reading for the simple joy of reading, connect us to another person’s mind and heart that conceived the story we are living through their eyes.

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For my birthday I received two Amazon gift cards! Talk about rich!! I now have a healthy account balance at Amazon.com and a Wish List that makes me smile every time I look through it.

Buying books (and movies and DVDs of TV shows) will never grow old.

The only problem is where to store everything. Hm, that downsizing gig isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

A SHIFT IN PERSPECTIVE

When my eyes aren't too tired, and the focus is good, I get a chance to read. One of my recent forays into subjects that need a little more brain work brought me to an American poet and writer named Pat Schneider (1934-2020). During much of her life she taught folks how to write--or a better explanation would be, taught folks to recognize that they could write, never mind their age, economic status, gender, or previous experience (or lack of it).

Pat taught workshops for all kinds of groups, large and small. I first encountered her in her 2013 book, How the Light Gets In: Writing as a Spiritual Practice.

And this is one of the nuggets of wisdom I gleaned:

• Beginning Again is not the same as Starting Over.

I say "one of the nuggets" because I'm only about a quarter of the way through the book and it's sprouting little Post-It Notes on many, many pages.

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That nugget of Pat's is especially important to me right now because I'm stuck--as in axle-deep in wet cement with no one to pull me out--in the story I'm currently writing. Actually, have been writing since last February or March.

The first trial, I set the story on Ash Wednesday, with my usual cast of characters: The Rev. Dr. Abercrombie, his curate Rev. Andie, and a parishioner. Wrote a few pages. Hit a wall.

So, I waited a while (probably a month or two) and tried again. Dr. Abercrombie is getting ready to officiate at a funeral in his church. That went all right for a chapter or two, then I got interrupted, and when I came back, I picked up the story in the wrong place, the time frame went down the tubes, and I was close to trashing the whole thing. (Since it was on the computer, not printed, I would've had to delete a lot of manuscript--and I just couldn't do that. I think it's a case of "waste not, want not," which I learned in childhood.)

Another wait. Inspiration eluded me. Tried ignoring it. Still nothing.

Enter Pat Schneider. When I can't write, no matter the reason, I like to read about writing. Pat held up her lamp and I began to see some things--not what I needed to do next, but at least I was noticing.

When I got to the part where Pat says (I paraphrase here) "Beginning Again is NOT Starting Over," I felt a sharp elbow in my ribs--"Hey, you, pay attention!"

As Pat explains it:

• Starting Over means getting rid of what you had.
• Beginning Again means keeping what you had and finding a new place to begin, and go on from there.

It's a tiny shift, I suppose. People (myself included) have been starting over for eons. But it seems like a case of tossing the baby out with the bath water (another childhood warning). As a writer, I can't bear to think about shredding pages of notes and research, deleting forever computer files of previous drafts. Think of the hours and hours of work just discarded.

So I've become a die-hard advocate for Beginning Again. Seems to work with other tasks and endeavors: painting, cooking, sewing/quilting/knitting, you name it . . . .

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If you've read this far, I thank you for allowing me to share a difficult time and what I (may have) learned. Life Lessons are everywhere.

Blessings,

Thursday's Child