A writing lesson....

Last week when I went to my writing workshop, a good number (well more than usual) of the people in the class, chose to "pass" and not read what they wrote. I find that strange, because this has not been a great class for me (in regards to my writing that is....I haven't, for some reason, liked the things I've written and struggled in each class to write something). No matter how bad I thought my writing was, I read it and was often surprised that others in the class like the way I have envisioned a scene or formed dialog or gathered up words to express my feelings. I miss it when the others don't share, for part of the learning of the class (for me) is hearing how others mix and mingle words expressing their thoughts and stories.

But as it turned out, the lack of people choosing to read gave us time to have some open discussion of writing styles and to ask questions of those that everyone agrees are truly gifted writers.....the ones that have projects in the works, the ones that write in such a way that you really can't wait until their book is published and you can read it. It was commented that writing is sometimes a "selfish" thing....or a thing of self....one expressing their own ideas and thoughts....sometimes to 'self'........that's not always a bad thing...........

Those of us who want to be writers, but confess to not being right in the groove yet, asked the "others" how they make their stories and characters so believable....the answer, almost unanimously, was that they abandon "self" and get into the minds of the characters in the story...they forgo their own opinions and thoughts and write through the voice and the mind of the place, people and time in their story. I found that bit of information very enlightening and educational. I've found my writings to be (in this class) more of my own thoughts and opinions... not that my own thoughts and feelings are not valuable, but even I'll admit, they are not always "page-turning wows". Thinking back, the writing I've done that have brought more good critiques from my classmates are those where I was able to lose myself in a character. I'm going to try to do my whole writing that way for the last two classes of this session and see how it goes. Perhaps I'll share them with you here.

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I don't know about where you live, but here in Maine....Fall is tearing down the street and rushing out of town.......no doubt with winter fast on her heels, driving an 18-wheeler full of snow flakes!

A world full of stories.....

John and I were talking at the dinner table last night, joyfully and non-stop since he'd been gone a week and we had much to catch up on. We talked about his seminar he'd been to, the neighborhood, things happening at school, things happening in the families of our dear and near friends and of family and friends far away. It was a delightful dinner (a simple plate of spaghetti--comfort food). We learned from many years apart sharing visits only every 4 months or so, that the one thing we missed the most in those separations (and in the last week), was sharing dinner, sitting across from each other after busy days and talking, laughing, enjoying the company of someone who means the world to you, looking across the table and without saying a word feeling love, warmth, comfort....home.

One of the things we talked about and that I constantly have rolling around in my head (because I want to write a piece about it, but haven't figured out yet how to make it flow smoothly) is that as we sat there enjoying a simple, but delicious dinner and engaging in a lively conversation.....at that very minute..... somewhere a baby was being born, taking its first breath, somewhere a person was dying, taking their last breath, somewhere there was a party going on, a bird snuggling into its nest, a fireman fighting a fire, a 911 call for help from a frantic caller being taken over a phone, someone looking up in amazement at the Eiffel Tower in Paris, someone contemplating suicide, a runaway teenager scared and cold with nowhere to go, some beautiful person celebrating their 100 birthday.....someone being beat up for not having dinner ready, someone drowning in another drink, someone at an airport getting ready to board a plane to go to a business meeting or to bravely go to meet someone they've grown fond of on the Internet. Somewhere it's raining, somewhere the sun is shining, somewhere it's hot, somewhere it's cold; somewhere someone is in a church praying, somewhere a seeing-eye dog is leading a blind person across a street.....someone is taking a bow on a Broadway stage.....and a million other things are happening while I was sitting down to dinner with someone I've missed for a week....

I find it fascinating to think about that....it makes me feel small and relatively unimportant in the big picture and yet it makes me feel important for the tiny little slivers of gems that John and I are in the mosaic that makes up this world. For every second of every day, while the small little space of "my world" is evolving and ever changing around me, the small little space in the world of someone else across the sea or down the street is evolving around them....mine important to me and theirs important to them.

Think of all the thoughts being thought in some other situation....as you sit reading my thoughts that I've chosen to share with you.

We each have a story, as simple or as complex as it might be; some happier than others, but not one more important than the other.

Mitch Albom wrote in his book called "The Five People You Meet In Heaven"........"and in that line now was a whiskered old man, with a linen cap and a crooked nose who waited....to share his part of the secret of heaven: that each affects the other and the other affects the next, and the world is full of stories, but the stories are all one."

Sometimes you never know why people come into your life....even if just for a fleeting moment.... while others stay for a lifetime.....Did you ever look at someone and wonder what their story was? I'm a firm believer that we are all (each) here to teach lessons and to learn lessons....

I hope right now your world is beautiful. Have a wonderful day!

Like a beacon from heaven---HOW 'BOUT THEM SOX

The moon was shining into my window this morning, like a beacon from heaven....a night light into my soul.

It's Friday, the sun is shining, the Boston Red Sox won last night in the last few minutes of the game (which has people hooting and hollering around here).....and me being from Texas....will give a quiet smile understanding their excitement....it's kind of like (years ago) when I was a dyed-in-the-wool "Dallas Cowboy" fan--never missed a game--ever! But things and interest change....now I'm not much into sports--couldn't tell you who the quarter back is for the Cowboys or for the New England Patriots for that matter....or who the players are for the Red Sox (....I know, I know...look ashamed!)John comes home tomorrow....so life is great! Have a beautiful day! I'll be thinking of you!

.....know true love ways

Today is a special day. Today is the 61st anniversary of the marriage of my parents. If you look up love in the dictionary you would find their picture. For you see, they have found a way to give and take, together-- to agree and disagree, together-- to laugh and cry, together-- to give each other their own space and yet yearn to be ever close to each other.

They have found a place in this world that works for them, together. He’s 85 and she’ll be 84 in January and yet they still look at each other the same way they looked at each other the day I was born…..almost 60 years ago.

They have something very rare….they have the love of the “love birds” who find each other and mate for life. They are two individuals, sharing one heart….knowing that the most important truth they’ve ever known is each other…

There is a song that says:

Look at this face,I know the years are showing.
Look at this life,I still don't know where it's going
So many questions still left unanswered.
So much I've never broken through.

And when I feel you near me,
Sometimes I see so clearly.
The only truth I've ever known
Is me and you.

I don't know much,
but I know I love you.
And that may be all I need to know.

I love you Mom and Dad….Happy Anniversary!

Just a little venting......and a day of joy!

I'm tired....

.....tired of the markets falling like a parachute with no rip cord, the ground coming up fast and the sound of "splat" faintly riveting in my ears.

....tired of the "he said", "she said", he voted for this, he didn't' vote for this, he wants to raise your taxes, he wants to keep us in the war, I promise I'll do this, I promise I'll do that, the constant grown up bickering between two relatively intelligent people, wearing themselves (and their followers/listeners) out, by trying to come up with just the right words or actions to build themselves up or cut the other one down, to sway the people....who are all just so tired of the whole mess...of elections....I for one just want to say, "could you just cut the bunk and stand in a room and tell us what you're going to do, actually explain your plan, instead of wasting time bashing each other. But then I'm aware that's a pretty Pollyanna notion......it never changes, they all make promises, some they'll try to keep and some they have no intention of keeping......it always gets down to the finger pointing and name calling......and it always makes me tired......but I'll be right in front of the "boob" tube on the 15th watching the final debate.........and I'll be right in the voting booth on November 4th.

One thing I do know for sure--there's not enough money in the whole world to ever make me want to be President of the United States!

Whew! There now I feel better!

I can hardly believe that it is yet another Saturday, closing in on yet another week that's flown by. Time is always flying, fleeting seconds ticking by as quickly as a spilt glass of milk at the dinner table.....for a nano-second it feels like everything is in slow motion....but then the milk just rushes out of the glass and no matter what you do, you can't stop it.....

Have you ever notice how quickly time passes when you're on the computer? I always find myself surprised when I write or check my e-mail or look things up....to discover how such large blocks of time pass so quickly. I've always been amazed too, how I get lost in time when I am painting, writing or doing needlework. I always used to say it would be a great way for me to go on a diet.....I simply forget time when I allow myself 'time' to indulge my creative passions. I totally get lost in the creative zone and taking time to eat means nothing to me. I know that this yesterday morning when my alarm went off, I wished I had more time to sleep. When the morning slipped by, I wished I had more time to get ready for work, as the day slipped by, I commented that 'there are not enough hours in the day to get my work done', and as the evening slipped by, I thought about how few hours there are to enjoy home and the ones I love.

I do, however, know of a way to slow time down ......at least it works for me.....and I haven't done it in ages. You get in a little metal or wooden boat; one that has a small engine just big enough to get you out in the middle of a lake or bay......make sure you have all the appropriate gear, fishing pole, bait, net, a stringer, hooks, weights etc. etc. etc. When you get out to the middle of the body of water, comment on how you've heard this is just the right spot to make a big catch and how good they'll taste when you clean, gut and cook them up. When your pole is all geared up.....don't put any bait on it and then whip the line out to just the right spot....lean back, take in a nice deep breath, let it out and watch the world go by. It's great, time just seems to inch along like a duck slowly lolling up and down on the slight ripple of the water. Enjoy the steady slosh of the water lapping up against the boat and feel the gentle rocking....don't think about work, or the stock market, or anything that involves time. Just let random pleasant thoughts skip in and out.

You'll be amazed at how wonderful it is when time has no relevance....it's like heaven in slow motion.

(Lucy and I agree those words of wisdom are worth about 5 cents...but it does work for me) :)

The trip up the Kangamangus Passageway was just lovely. At every “stop for a beautiful view” place, you could hear the click click click click of no less than 50 digital cameras recording memories. You could hear the verbal uhhhhs and ahhhhs as people gazed upon the beauty Mother Nature was unfolding across the White Mountains. There must surely be literally thousands of pictures taken everyday this time of year up and down that passageway. Some of those pictures I’m sure would turn out much more vividly and professional than the ones I shot, because there were serious photographers there too; with cameras that had huge (let’s capture a Nat’s ass) lens on them. I’m sure in those pictures you could see the very veins on the multi-colored leaves. John laughed at me as I clicked off my 100th picture! I was officially a “tourist leaf peeper”.

If you’ve never driven up the Kancamagus Highway (also called the Kangamangus Passage),into the White Mountains in New Hampshire, you should put it on your list of “things to do”. It winds around the mountains…..if you look it up on the internet, you’ll find such descriptions as:

The Kancamagus Highway is traveled by over a million people each year. The Kancamagus Highway cuts an east-west channel through the 800,000-acre White Mountain National Forest from Lincoln NH to Conway NH. When the dense trees change their leaves from their summer greens to breathtaking shades of yellow and red in the Fall, they are illuminated against the colorful mountains, making this a dramatic and enjoyable leaf-peeping route. Motorcyclists relish the twists and turns as the highway climbs to almost 3,000 feet at the peak of Mount Kancamagus. The easily accessible trailheads and parking areas are often sought by hikers.

And there were many many many motorcyclists enjoying the ride and the day. There were also the brave (and in much better shape than I) bicycle riders………oh my gosh, some of the inclines up the mountain (even on the paved road) were treacherous and you could see the sinewy calf muscles bulging in their work to pedal up the trail. They were obviously not amateurs….I got out of breath just watching them in the comfort of my passengers seat.

We stopped and took the gondolas up the Loon Mountain ski area….with of course no snow this time of year. The ride goes really high with the top wheels of the gondolas skimming along the huge cables. When you get half way up and realize how high you are and that you’re only half way up, it can start the butterflies in your stomach. But you are saved by the exquisite beauty being that high up (in the air) allows….

…..the words to the song “Up Up and Away, My Beautiful Balloon” danced through my mind...
(The world's a nicer place in my beautiful balloon. It wears a nicer face in my beautiful balloon. We can sing a song and sail along the silver sky...For we can fly, we can fly)

…. It must be just as breathtaking when the mountain is covered with snow. John says in the winter, you can watch the skiers rushing down the trails below….what joy that must be!

We stopped and had a lunch (of egg salad sandwiches) with the simple unpretentious beauty of nature as our “picnic basket lesson”.

It was a glorious day….I wish you could have come along.

We were not disappointed...

The trip up into the White Mountains was beyond words......the colors were beautiful....and we're told it wasn't even "peak" yet.

I have to get on my treadmill this morning....so I'll write more about the trip soon.

While you're waiting on me, enjoy a few pictures...

The lessons of the picnic basket

Geeze, Louise....I lost another week. I started this blog to try to get myself into the habit of writing everyday. Obviously that's not working out too well! Time is so fleeting and just will not stand still for any of us. Point in case....it's already October. Summer seemed short this year because of all the rain, but then it seemed like we watched summer picking up her wet petticoats and sauntering out of town just a few weeks ago. And as much as I hate it, there are stores already playing Christmas music (it's not Christmas I hate....I adore Christmas....it's the stores playing Christmas music when we haven't even seen the ghouls and gobblins or tasted the warm juicy turkey and delightful dressing!....Come on folks....time passes fast enough!)

Today we are going to pack a picnic basket and drive up into the White Mountains of New Hampshire to see the majesty of the trees as they stand tall with their Sunday seasonal best on. There will be bonnets of red and orange, chapeaus of yellow and crimson and coats of varying shades of fading green. This time of year in New Hampshire, Maine, Michigan, Rhode Island, Connecticut....all over the northern states, Mother Nature is the artist and she will stand back with brushes in hand, each dipped in rich warm fall colors and she'll flicked those brushes as though you would to get the water out of a brush when cleaning it......and in perfection, as only Mother Nature can accomplish, the colors will be mixed against the sky every where we look.

I know it will be a day that will take our breath away.

I'm still going to writing class....so I thought, in view of our delightful trip today, I'd share something I wrote in one of those classes....

PROMPT: Set a scene
Write a scene that tells a story

Come on child, put your toys away. I’ve fixed us a picnic lunch. Let’s go out in the meadow and enjoy God’s handy work.

“Oh for Pete’s sake”, I thought to myself. I don’t want to spend the afternoon with my grandmother. What the hell will we talk about? She still thinks I play with toys! I’ll be 15 next week! Why did I agree to spend the whole summer here so far away from the city and my friends?

I bet Nettie is flirting with all the guys at the soda shop in town…Nettie with her beautiful corn silk hair and that rich “endowment” that always makes me feel like “Flatty Patty”. I can smell the burgers cooking on the grill; see the splatter of the hot froth as the cook eases the basket of French fries into the bubbling rolling grease. If I close my eyes I can taste the smoothness of the most delicious chocolate shakes this side of heaven…….and speaking of heaven I can see Johnny’s dreamy eyes….

“Sara Jane”….my name being yelled out pierces my dream-filled bubble. “Did you hear me honey? Don’t you want to go on a picnic?”

Oh heavy sigh……”Yes, Grammy, I’m coming”.

As I walked down the stairs and into the kitchen, the smell of fresh hot peach cobbler filled the air. Grammy was the best cook I’d ever known... why, even Mother said that. And Grammy was the tallest woman I think I’ve ever seen; tall and slender with her long silver hair always pulled into a tight bun low on the back of her head. Her skin was tough and worn from so many years on the farm. I looked at her and tried to imagine what she looked like at 15.

Mother said I was the spittin’ image of her (except for the height) and I liked that.

So I put my thoughts of Nettie and Johnny aside and gave Grammy my full attention.

I looked at the picnic basket, worn from age, but still together and sturdy with a crisp blue and white gingham towel lining it and one over the basket. I reached over to move the cover and Grammy slapped my hand—“What’s in the basket, Grammy?”

“Don’t you peek now girl!” “I’ve made us egg salad sandwiches and put in some chips, sodas and peach cobbler for dessert”.

“Why didn’t you want me to peek Grammy?”

“You just told me what was in the basket!”

“No child, I only told you part of what was in there—you’ll see.”

“Grab that basket and the camera.” “It’s such a pretty day, no telling what we’ll see—or what we’ll learn.”

We left the old farm house. “CLAP”, the screen door slammed as we walked out. Grammy never locked the doors. There were no neighbors close by and not many people visited and Grammy trusted everyone.

The clapboards on the old house needed painting but as I think back now it gave the old place character.

Old Sam, Grammy’s Border collie followed us out into the meadow. He was almost as old as Grammy (well in dog years) and he never left her side.

We threw out the blanket and I looked around and immediately remembered why I said I’d spend the summer here. It was like heaven in a golden meadow. The fragrant smell of wild flowers tickled my nose. The clouds were translucent. The warm sweet air breath-taking. We ate our sandwiches; egg salad like no other. (I think Grammy’s secret was that she added a little curry).

We talked about her childhood, the meadow and all my hopes and dreams; Grammy so totally engaged in my ideas and plans. The afternoon was magical. I looked around at the beauty of this meadow, got lost in watching a butterfly flit around us, seemingly so content with its short life. I closed my eyes and felt the warm sun kiss my cheek and thought this surely must be what heaven is like.

I took Gram’s hand and said, “Grammy, I love coming to this meadow with you….it’s takes my breath away.”

Grammy smiled the biggest smile I’d ever seen.

Then right before we were getting ready to leave I ask Gram what else was in the basket.

She reached deep to the bottom of the basket and took out a flat little package wrapped in tissue paper with a single satin pink ribbon tied around it.

She handed it to me. “What is it?”

“Just open it.”

I slowly pulled the end of the satin ribbon, which slid out of the bow as if it never meant to stay in place and pulled apart the tissue folded over it. It was a picture in a tiny frame of my great grandmother with my mother, when my mother was my age, right here in the very same meadow.

“Oh thank you Gram, thank you, it’s beautiful!”

She looked at me with her crystal blue eyes, took my hands and said, “It’s the simple things in life child that are important, spending time in nature with those you love. Whatever you do in your life, remember to take time to enjoy God’s handy work. Take time to be thankful for the simple beauties that are all around us; for all the things you have.”

“Look at the back of the picture, Sara.”

I turned the picture over. The back was covered in brown paper, worn from the years and the times someone (probably Grammy and my mom) had turned it over to read the words, now faded from time, written on the back…

“Life is not measured by the number of breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.”

I ponder that day now. I think about the other lessons she taught me. And I know every summer why I return to that meadow with my grandchildren in hopes that they too will learn the lessons of the picnic basket.