I had to do an interview at a person's home last week -- the owner of a local restaurant. These three served as a live audience to our Q & A. Well, at least I think they were live, they sure don't look too lively. Hope that isn't a comment on my interviewing skills.
Spring Thaw
The numb earth rejects winter’s warm blanket. My frigid fingers hover above the keyboard, too cold to type. Stories that flowed like a bubbling river last year now freeze mid-stream. Tomorrow it will thaw, I say, but winter is long in these parts; words hibernate. White space fills the pages like snow. The wind chill like my word count is below zero. But life stirs beneath the surface, sprouting amidst the ice. Things are growing, budding, beginning to bloom and take root. Tomorrow the blossom appears and the white space will be riddled with tangled tendrils of tales to be told. I promise they are there.
photo55
Writing Prompt: What Makes You Happy?
I had two happiness encounters today. While shopping for office supplies, I saw a plaque that read "Make yourself so happy so that when others look at you they become happy, too."
Only a couple of hours earlier I had had the experience of witnessing that quote in action. I was eating lunch at our local village sandwich shop when a woman came in wearing a hat that you just couldn't miss. It was bedecked with bells -- "only one that jingles," she shared. The rest she had tacked down so they wouldn't make too much noise. It also had an array of star-shaped Christmas lights. "Do those light up?" I asked.
"Yes," she replied, if I can find the button. She proceeded to pat her head vigorously, looking for the means to turn it on. Then voila -- she lit up! And, so did I. "That's awesome!" I exclaimed. "You made me happy, thank you!" I said as I made my way to the door.
"I'm glad," she said. "It's my job!"
I didn't ask her what she meant, but I shut the door to the shop wearing a big smile. Job well done, I thought.
Writing Prompt: What makes you happy?
Mornings and Mountains
I have never been a morning person and never willing will be, but I had to rise early this morning to attend a class on e-publishing, a very good class, I will add. The world is very different in the early light of day. Today, the mountains, trees and sky were covered in a cool, white light. It was as if a thin, gossamer curtain had covered the earth like a cool crisp sheet. Everything seemed frozen and icy as if I had slipped in the back door to C.S. Lewis' Narnia. Everything was quiet, not yet awake. I felt like I didn't quite belong.
As I drove along, yellow rays of light crept in, caressing the edges of the mountains, warming the world just a bit. It was a designer's envy -- the way the yellow danced with gray. When I drove home later, the world was warmer -- the sky the palest blue, but sun-kissed and toasty, like a tasty meal left to warm on the stove.
I will never like mornings, but I loved seeing the mountains in the morning light.
Moonrise over Church Street
When Joan and I returned from the doctor's yesterday evening, the sun had already set and the evening was cold and clear. After arriving back at my house, I walked her out to her car and was fortunate to catch this moonrise over the houses on Church Street. The warm glow of the moon complemented the yellow lights of my neighbor's homes. Whisper thin tree branches reached up as if to caress the moon. It was a gentle moment, a mysterious moment, a moment to see my town in a new light.
IMG_3924
Narnia
One of Joan's pugs -- Narnia/Sweet Pea -- who was returned to Joan when her owner could no longer care for her -- has lost the use of her legs, just like my pug Vader did. Unlike Vader, she likes to squirm and move and get herself trapped in all sorts of strange places, so Joan pretty much has to take her with us everywhere. Sweet Pea, as her owner called her, or Narnia, as we first named her, came back to Joan because her owner Nancy had an ill father. Traveling back and forth to Florida to care for him was not fair to Sweet Pea, so Nancy gave her back to Joan. She has missed her ever since. Narnia was born on my lap 10 years ago and stayed at Joan's for many years before going to live with Nancy. As a result, I have always had a fondness for her. When I hear Nancy talk about her my heart almost breaks. There is such affection in her stories. I contacted Nancy via email the other day because I wanted to know more about Narnia's time with her. I thought I might write about it. She told me how she named Narnia after a can of antique wrinkled sweet peas and how she misses her still. Narnia is tiny and frail in body but her mind is active, her spirit downright feisty. Nancy's one request when she surrendered her was that we not tell her when she dies. "It will break my heart," she says. She wrote that she hates to think of Narnia's legs. She remembers how much she hated the cold and how she wouldn't put all four paws on the ground at once. "It makes me sad to write of her," she said. "She is a dear little bundle of black love and I miss her all the time.
IMG_3908
IMG_4047
Kindred Spirits
I followed Joan from the doctor's office to scheduling where Walter checked us out. They began their familiar dance of friendly flirtation -- he charming the older woman, she putting on the coquettish airS of a young southern belle. "You're wearing pink today," she purrs. "Yes, I am," he winks.
"I don't suppose I can get you down here at 7:45 in the morning?" he asks, consulting his computer. Joan and I both laugh. "She's not exactly a morning person," I explain. "She's the only person I know you can call anytime of night and she will answer. So, if you ever want to call..."
"Hi, this is Walter," he says in a creepy voice.
"Yeah, maybe you don't want to call," I said.
"Where are you from again?" Walter asks Joan. "Warren?"
"Up near Sugarbush," she replies.
"Are you from there, too?" he asks.
"No, Bethel," I respond.
"I used to live in Bethel. River Street," he says. "Where in Bethel do you live?"
"I live at my parents," I say, "John Gifford," remembering that Walter used to work with my father years ago at Sears.
"Oh, sorry I didn't place you," he apologizes. "So, how do you two know each other?" And, there it is...the moment I explain Joan. I could just answer friend, because that is true. But I give the answer that is most obvious and also makes Walter raise an eyebrow. "She's my pugs' breeder," I say.
"You don't know what images that conjures," he says.
"I went looking for a pug 15 years ago. I met her and we've been friends every since," I elaborate. That is the truth, but it leaves out so much. A trip out west stuffed into a van with three other passengers and Joan's tales of her life to keep us awake as we drive through the desert. Heading into a hurricane to travel to pug nationals, getting quarantined at another pug nationals because of a virus that spread through the attendees, births and deaths. Staying up all night trying to keep a litter of puppies alive by feeding them goat's milk and when all seemed lost, Vodka. Losing them anyway. Aggravation, laughter, adventure. Driving all night half awake to arrive at a Dunkin Donuts only to have Joan bring out stale, dried up biscuit for us to share -- "I brought some dried biscuits," she announced. "And, I erupted in a spiel of contagious laughter that she caught and left us clenching our bellies as we guffawed through the night. Joan is old enough to be my mother and yet we are the best of friends -- kindred spirits in many ways -- not least of which is the fact that she is only person I know who I can call anytime of night just to chat or tell her the cute thing your dog has done.
Blue Ladies
The last two Fridays I have taken my friend Joan to the eye doctors where, like my father, she has had to get shots in her eye. Because her eyes are dilated, she can't drive herself back to my house, so I've been driving her around until she can see to make her trip home. This Friday we made an adventure of it, visiting the new Noodle Station in Hanover and having a feast of macaroni and cheese and a dish in peanut sauce. Yummy! I splurged on a bubble drink and bought us a side of garlic bread. While at Dartmouth Hitchcock Medical Center we visited The Blue Lady Statue. My student Don, who volunteers at the hospital, is writing a young adult fantasy book featuring The Blue Lady, who comes to life and sends a patient on an adventure. I can see why Don chose to write about her. There is something alluring, mysterious and magical about The Blue Lady as she looks out from her wooded grove. Unfortunately, Joan's eye bothered her from the shot so as much as we enjoyed each other's company, she felt kind of blue herself.
Little Things
It was a day devoted to beauty. Actually, I spent the afternoon at the hair and nail salons, but I made sure to enjoy the beauty around me as I saw it. One client brought her dog Buckaroo to the salon. He happily walked around greeting everyone and then sat at her feet as she got her hair done. When I went outside I noticed this beautiful bush covered in the falling snow and an oil slick on the street. Walking past a local restaurant I saw a flower and bench having a conversation in the snow. Sometimes it's the little things that make a beautiful day.
Waffles Taking Her Medicine
Waffles seems to be feeling better, but as I shared with someone today, it must be a miracle because most of the antibiotic ends up on me instead of in her mouth. It's cherry flavored and the vet assured me that she would like it. My vet is excellent and in deference to her reputation, she was right. Waffles loves the medicine, but she does not like the syringe. So, if I can get the stuff past her teeth she laps it up happily, even licking it off my hand and clothes when it spills, but she does not like the syringe coming toward her mouth. It's a wee bit of a happy battle as she shakes and spills than laps and licks.