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 |  Just play: don't look at your hands! |
What a dumb title for a person who never got a single star  on her piano lessons!Daily practice is the thing though: the practice of noticing as well as of writing.  However, I'd much rather play duets than solos, so hop right in! You can do the melody or the base part, I don't care.  Just play along--we'll make up the tune as we go. I'll try to write regularly and deliberately. Sometimes I will do it poorly, tritely, stiltedly, obscurely. I will try to persevere regardless. It seems to be where my heart wants to go, and that means to me that God wants me there too. See you tomorrow. ![Merit Badge in Journaling
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| Yesterday was the day when, finally, the body shop would be ready to fix my telephone pole hugging bumper. That's been over three weeks, hasn't it? Would have been nice to have them do that while I was in Albuquerque, but no. So, yesterday I arrived nice and early, left the car and the keys, got a rental car and got to work on time. When I got home, there was a message on my answering machine from 9:05 asking me to call the body shop. It seems they ordered the wrong bumper. The one they got is textured, and mine isn't. Oh. And it will take until Thursday or Friday at the earliest to get another. Oh. And I have to come get my car because it's driveable, and the insurance company won't chip in for a rental under those circumstances. So, I had a cute red Mazda hatchback to drive yesterday. I could have driven it all day today too, because I had to pay for two days anyway. But I had to drive 100 miles today, and that meant filling the gas tank up; and to take advantage of 25c lower prices per gallon, drive to Oregon to fill up. Too much trouble. I took the car back when I had time, and drove my dirty Escape. I didn't have time to get it washed, and hadn't when it was missing its taillight. I went to a local writers' group today for the first time, and it was pretty fun. They made some very good suggestions about my story. I knew one of the ladies from somewhere else and hadn't particularly liked her before, but I found her writing funny and charming. So that was a plus. Two others read theirs, and they needed more help. I had to leave for an appointment, having misjudged how late the group would last, and wasn't too sorry to miss out on critiquing the last one. The group is one of two bunches of Christian writers in town who meet, one or the other, weekly. I shied away from that designation, not wanting to be listening to a lot of 'God-talk', but found it not to be as dominant as I had feared. This is the more fundamental group of the two, supposedly, but it meets at 3 and the other at 1:30. I seldom have appointments after 3, so it works better. Today, however, I had to go to Starbuck, my favorite trip, to visit the family. The patient died yesterday. I'll miss the people and the drive out there. |
| A digital camera is a wonderful thing, but... It is not a simple task to look through the mass of pictures we take on a trip and sort out those we want to do something with. I should have begun by blogging, instead of sorting. I'll post a couple of unusual scenes in a few minutes, when I get them in my album. Several are just pictures of fields, in all the patterns and shapes you can see from the air. (Actually, I took dozens more, but I've narrowed to one and spared you.) I think it would make a great painting or maybe a quilt or a piece of fabric art. The last one, of pelicans in Moro Bay, looks like an impressionist painting already. |
| I may run out of time to write tonight, but wanted my friends to know I'm safely home. We had a great vacation, a trip in our own plane planned for two years and finally accomplished. Bill had been stationed TDY (temporary duty) at Vandenberg AFB on several occasions and wanted to see that area again. He knew the airports around the area, and picked Santa Maria for our first few nights because there was a Radisson hotel right on the airport. It was also a good central location for roaming around. It's a good thing I had good books with me that I was completely happy to sit around and read, because a hotel on the airport was too good. Bill had the screen out of the window, for a better view, his chair pulled up to watch the planes come and go, and his radio in hand to hear all the pilot-to-tower conversations. He was in seventh heaven. During the days we drove the area from Morrow Bay to San Luis Obispo and Paso Robles, taking pictures of beaches, vineyards and fields growing all sorts of crops. We never quite pinned down what the big, cabbage-y looking things were, the crops we saw the most of; although we saw pickers putting their harvest into boxes marked broccoli. I couldn't see any sign of a solid center in the plants, at least from the road, and that seemed strange. There are wonderful fields of flowers growing there also. I'll post some pictures tomorrow while Bill's at a meeting and I can use the big computer. I'll try not to post pictures of lava flows because they probably aren't as interesting to others as they are to me; and I have others like that in my album, I think. After three days there, and lots of good "jammy" zinfandel-- my new favorite-- we flew to Oxnard and stayed in a resort on the beach for a couple nights. Didn't rent a car there, just hung out and had fun. Oxnard is surrounded by high mountains, and we had to circle for at least ten minutes to gain enough altitude to fly out. More tomorrow. It's good to be home. |
| "Readers," Margot whispered. "While Wren is on vacation, I simply have to know. I see that many of you have watched our little scenes and listened to our conversations, but hardly any of you have left a note about what we were discussing. "So, if you aren't interested in our neighborhood gossip, would you kindly say so? It would be so much easier to know than for me to have to move away. If you tell me now, while she's on vacation, I think I'll be able to break it to her gently when she returns. Otherwise she'll just see all these 'Leave a Comment' lines and be so disappointed. Don't worry though, she and I will still be friends." |
| the melancholy mind that waxes long has lost its popularity among the summer readers of the blog. my purple potted prayer plant folded up its leaves and quit its praying. However did it come to disillusionment? I know that not. I clipped its red veined wings and put them in a bottle (lo! of glass that’s ‘bottle green’) and filled it up with water. curl of root untimely ventured out and it is potted once again, but this time not in purple. the violets, neighbors on the table. hope that it resumes its prayers. O prayer plant, pray for me. |
| ,,,continued “So, after all the things I’ve done in the past year that you could have written about, it’s zucchini that gets me back into your blog?” Margot sounded exasperated, and Wren couldn’t tell if it was real or just another of Margot’s dramatic gestures. So she ignored it. “You were asking about the carpenter?” she commented pleasantly. Seeing that her snit was being ignored, Margot said, “Oh, yes, the carpenter. What is he supposed to be doing now?” “He hasn’t finished with the baseboards, and we’ve been waiting for over a week.” “Is that why all your furniture is crammed into the living room? I wondered if you were making some kind of statement.” “I suppose you could call it the ‘Don’t Come In Because There’s No Place to Sit’ statement. But it would have been a great time for a dance with all this bare floor. Pity I don’t know any teenagers any more,” Wren said. “Or do they still do that?” “If you want to know about teenagers, you’re asking the wrong person,” Margot replied. She sipped her coffee and then said, “Really, Wren, what did prompt you to put me back in your blog? “ “Nothing in particular,” Wren said. “Oh, wait. I did think of you when I was picking zucchini, and of all the fun I had last summer writing about it and about you. Separately, I mean. I don’t think the two subjects ever came up together before, but maybe I’m wrong. And another thing: I’ve been listening to audiobooks by Robert Parker. Did you ever see “Spencer for Hire”? I didn’t either, but his books are so much fun to listen to. The tag lines get annoying at first. Every sentence of dialog ends in ‘he said.’ After I got used to that and ignored it, I thought to myself, ‘Didn’t he have a lot of fun writing this?’ The characters have such attitudes, and vocabularies too. I wanted to try again.” “You don’t really call this writing , though, do you? I mean, it’s not like a novel or anything. Or am I about to be murdered and I don’t know it?” “No, “ Wren laughed. “At least I don’t think so. But I don’t have a plot, you see, so I thought I’d just start here with you. Have you got anything juicy I could write about? “ “Like making poisoned zucchini bread to give to Celia?” “Heavens no!” Wren said, giggling. “Why would you want to do that? Why should you care if Fred used to be married to her? She seems perfectly happy with her husband, and Fred seems completely charmed with you.” “I’m not so sure. Something doesn’t feel right about that relationship. “ “Which one? Ceilia and Charles? “ “Yes, her current husband, if that’s what he is. But also her ex. Ceilia and Frederick.” “What do you mean, ‘if that’s what he is’?” asked Wren. “He’s never home. Have you noticed that? “ Wren nodded. “And she doesn’t go by his name, of course; but then a lot of women don’t.” “And she’s still wearing the engagement ring Frederick gave her,” Margot said, and gave Wren a sly smile. “What do you think about that?” “How do you know? He didn’t tell you, did he?” “No, but I saw a closeup of their hands in one of their wedding pictures, when he was slipping it on her finger. I asked him if he had any pictures of him when he was younger, when his sideburns were long. He wants to grow them out again for a part he has in a play, and I wanted to see what they looked like back in the 70’s.” “Isn’t her ring just a plain solitaire? That wouldn’t be very significant,” Wren said. “No, it’s a little different. It has a tapered baguette and two small brilliants on each side. Take a look next time you see her. It couldn’t be a coincidence.” “Hmm,” said Wren. “I’m not sure I want to write a mystery story though.” “Well, sometimes you’ve got to take what you’ve got. And you have to admit it’s more interesting than funerals and people dying.” |
The previous installment of this, from last year, can be found at
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| “Knock knock,” Margot called as she rapped on the door. At the same time, she tried the door knob. “Just a minute, just a minue!” cried Wren. “I’m coming. Just hold on.” “It looks like you’re going, not coming,” said Margot as she opened the door. “Oh, thank goodness it’s just you,” said Wren. “Just me?” said Margot. “That’s a fine way to greet a neighbor. Or have you forgotten me? I haven’t been in your blog for ever and a day.” She stuck out her lip in a pout, and Wren laughed. “I’m so sorry about that, and about the ‘just you’ part too. I was afraid you were the carpenter, and, as you see, I’m not dressed yet. I was headed for the coat closet to find a raincoat to wrap around me, or something.” “I thought that ‘lingerie’ style clothing was a little young for you,” Margot said, pointing to Wren’s cami and slip. “I see it all the time on twenty-year-olds going down the street though, don’t you? What are they thinking? It will be one less layer to take off in a hurry?” “It’s certainly what my mother would have called ‘suggestive,’” Wren said. “Will you come have some coffee while I finish getting dressed?” She steered Margot into the kitchen. “I’ll be right back.” Margot regarded the assortment of mugs on the open shelf above the coffee pot, and opened the door of the next cupboard. Selecting a Royal Copenhagen blue and white cup and saucer, she poured herself some of Wren’s dark roast. “I don’t suppose there’s any cream, is there?” she called. She opened the fridge for a look. “That’s okay. Milk will do, “ she said. Wren appeared, screwing on the back to her diamond earring, fully dressed. “I see you found the new china,” she said. “Do you like it?” “Um, love it. Blue and white—the little black dress of china ware. You just can’t beat it. This scalloped edge is nice too. A little different.” “I thought so. Rupert brought it back from Denmark when he went on a business trip. He always picks things I like.” “How is dear brother?” Margo queried. “Quite well, thank you. He’s redecorating his apartment. He fell in love with all that George Jensen in Scandinavia. I told him it looks like the 60’s all over again, but he doesn’t care. ‘If it was a good year then, it’s a good style now,’ he says.” “Oh my, I thought you were going to say he’d fallen in love with some woman!” Margot said, fanning herself in a mock relief. “Then there’s still hope for me.” Wren smiled. “So, what brought you over to knock on my door this morning? “ “Other than to say I think you ought to take my name off your masthead if you’re never going to write about me again, I wanted to ask for something.” “Oh?” “Something I’m sure you won’t mind parting with if you have any. Monster zucchini. Have they appeared yet? I want to make some boring zucchini bread.” Wren laughed. “There’s not much chance it will be boring if you make it; and yes, I do happen to have two I brought in last night. No decent sized ones, of course, just these baseball bats.” She took them out of the refrigerator and set them on the counter. “They’re taking up too much room. I’m glad to find a home for them.” “You could put them in your umbrella stand by the door, to use as clubs in case someone walks in on you in your slip again. What’s the carpenter coming for, by the way?” |
| The body shop can't get to my car until August, but will try to replace the tail light this week. Since the other day I've noticed lots of bumpers with similar dents and have heard lots of stories of backing into objects. I feel better. I heard about a writing group in town and called to find out when they meet. It was today at 3, and I'd hoped to get there but couldn't. I'll look forward to trying it out when I can. Next week we'll be on vacation, and the week after that I'll be in Albuquerque at a hospice training. I don't know whether or when I'll have the laptop with me, but I'll check in when I can. |
| Backing up is my nemesis. I am having an absolute melt-down, and it has nothing to do with the 100 degree heat. I need to write about it to get some perspective. I hurried to the beauty shop this morning to get a hair cut, then to a new patient’s house, then to a funeral. I couldn’t find a place to park, and I parked in a designated “senior citizen” space next to the county building. According to AARP, I’m a senior citizen, but I wasn’t going into the county building for any reason. When I came out, after an overly long and sentimental funeral where we were jam packed in the seats, I waited patiently for a car coming down the alley to pass. I looked very carefully in both directions, and also at the exit to another parking lot adjacent. A car was entering the alley from the far end, and there was plenty of time to get out of the parking space. Maybe I was a little over-anxious to get out of the spot where I’d been illegally parked. I backed out right into a telephone pole in my blind spot, taking out the tail light and crunching the corner of the bumper. Seeing no damage to the telephone pole, thank goodness, I sped away. By the time I got to the office, being exceedingly careful, I was ready for a good cry. Arlene, the MSW, was there, and was a good listener. She had done the same thing once, to her mother’s car. My next impulse was to call Bill. I could say, “You know that movie title, ‘Honey, I Shrunk the Kids’? Well, honey, I just crashed the car.” Or I could say, “I never was superstitious about Friday the 13th. Maybe there’s something to it after all.” Then I pictured him insisting on coming home right away to comfort me, and I didn’t want that to happen. I didn’t want to feel as stupid as I was feeling, and certainly didn’t want …I can’t think quite what it is, but I still don’t want it. He won’t get mad. He will worry about me, about my competency. He may even give me some tips about checking over the surroundings before I get in the car, to refresh my mind. That’s what I don’t want: I don’t want my competency questioned, even though I was doing just that all the way to the office. I don’t want him or anybody to look at me askance, as it were, wondering if I’m ‘losing it. ‘Whatever ‘it’ is. Maybe I lost ‘it’ a long time ago. I’m constantly losing things. Maybe that’s a sign of losing ‘it.’ Anyway, I’m home now. There was a spectacular lightening storm as I drove. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many straight up and down bolts that stayed in the sky long enough to see them pulsate several times with increasing and decreasing brightness. The propane cannons were going off in the apple orchard, but have stopped. We had a fast shower of huge drops, but no hail. I still feel like I can hardly take a deep breath, and I may cry again, will certainly when Bill comes home. I don’t know why I have this urge to call up and ‘confess.’ My insurance rates will probably go up. I remembered the first accident I had, a long time ago. I clipped somebody’s fender in a parking lot the same way. I was so embarrassed about it that, as I left the note on the car I hit, I thought about the old Reader’s Digest joke. A person returned to her car to find a damaged fender and a note under her windshield wiper. The note read: “Everyone who sees me writing this note will think I’m leaving my name and phone number, but I’m not.” Of course I didn’t do that, but I couldn’t bring myself to write my name either. I just left the address and phone number. At least I didn’t break the power pole in half! Oh great, now I can worry about that now too! The car that had just entered the alley stopped and watched, maybe at first waiting for my parking spot. But maybe she was writing down my license number and calling the police to report property damage! Oh dear, I’d successfully gotten this into some perspective and me into control, and now I’m back to making a mountain out of it. Maybe I can get a backup camera installed. |
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