Cheers to You Today!

A couple of days ago - was it only that - I b_t_h_d about, well, attitude and moods, and just the way "we" are these days.

A book comes to our rescue! How often does that happen? Probably more than we realize if we are readers. If we are not (we being you) then don't answer the question.

But if you are a reader or want to be, try THE GUERNSEY LITERARY AND POTATO PEEL PIE SOCIETY. You can't have any pre-conceived notion as to what it is about from the title. That's part of it's beauty. The rest lies between the covers (oooh, tempting, huh?). You will meet the people you want as neighbors. Perhaps your best friend steps out of these pages. Maybe you know one or several of these people.

There's reassurance.
There's gladness.
There's sacrifice.
There's strength.
There's the stuff we should all be made of.

If reading can make it so, then I am better.

Take A Walk With Me

Today the temperature is going well into the 90's which isn't so bad but the humidity is 100%. So it is time to go for a trip down memory lane which leads to taking a dip in the pool. That's me on the right, mouth open. That happens less and less now, I hope! Those suits are beguiling. What happened to fashion? The yard was my backyard, jungle, library, forest, parade route, theater, swimming hole, campgrounds, and playground.

I had to share it with Grandma who held title to the veggie and flower gardens, see the white picket fence? The cherry trees were hers too, as well as the chicken coop-turned-tool shed which the photographer must be standing in near. It was the cherry tree in the photo background that I used to climb to pick and eat the cherries. I managed to get some for Mom and Grandma to make pies too. I had the kettle I used for cherries, right up till last year.

Oh, and half the yard had been converted to a parking lot, or maybe always was. Pre-Kate era. Grandpa was a mechanic and had a 3 car garage. Grandma rented "tourist rooms" and there was parking for guests. My dad's truck was always parked outside.

One of the tourists was a snappy, young lad, probably 24-28 and he had a car that matched - a zippy, 2 seat red convertible. I was too young to be appreciated by him but I knew what I liked and it was that car! So I just hung around, touching it when he wasn't there. It was an MGB. Now I think Grandma should have taken his car in exchange for a place to live and in time I would have had a slick ride for myself.

Come to think of it, this may have been my first sign of a love for cars. It became an obsession: I used to lay in bed, look out the window, tell myself, "1956 Ford Fairlane", "1960 Chevy BelAir" or whatever was passing by.

So the yard sounds huge and it was then, when I was little. It is, still, in my mind. It was a full day of activity, an adventure-land to visit. Some days there was laundry hanging out to dry and dashing between sheets was a game. The next day the line would be left up so a tent could be set up over it for camping out (day camp). The day after that the tent would come down and become a screen for a play or puppet show. We'd haul out folding chairs for dolls and trapped family members. After the final performance we'd swing and spin around on the monkey bars.

Then there'd be a day of running a library and the neighborhood kids would come and we'd read. Imagine that! Soon there'd be a game of tag or ball to wear us out before dinner. The pool was obviously above ground and a source of much cool fun, as is evidenced above. When the pool wasn't "up" we'd have pet parades and every cat and dog on the block was encouraged to participate.

The garden was the best though. Row after row of carefully tended to plants that yielded beans and lettuce, tomatoes and rhubarb, parsley and probably some stuff I wouldn't eat so don't remember. I do recall weeding and the associated excuses for not being able to do it...not just yet. The excuses failed; the weeds were gone. I was outnumbered by grownups.

Well, thanks for taking this quick trip with me around the back yard. I hope you enjoyed a glimpse of my only-child past. It was a close knit neighborhood where every mom was Mom, every dad was Dad, and every kid was like a brother or sister.

Or at least that's how I remember it.

Tales of Christmas

I nabbed this image and forgot to get the artist's name, but he/she has my thanks!

Do you have a favorite Christmas tale? Besides the one that started it all, mine is A CHILD'S CHRISTMAS IN WALES.

But I've never read it. Somehow, somewhere I stumbled across an audio tape of Dylan Thomas reading it and bought it, probably without knowing anything other than I liked Thomas' work. Dumb luck.

Driving from central Illinois to upper Kentucky one cold and wintry evening I listened to him read it and best remember going through Cincinnati and being enthralled but needing to pay attention to the road.

I'd never been thru Ohio before and I was all too aware of my tendency to drive beyond my exit when I got caught up in a story. It was night and I'd been on the road a few hours already. It was snowing and I was driving a sports car. I finally had to rewind a bit of the tape, stop it for awhile and drive on till I was out of range for the city lights.

That was a strange trip: an ordeal with a Schneider transport truck - a big meanie trying to shove off the road. (I don't carry a grudge - not much!); discovering Frankenstein University, seeing Louisville Sluggers HQ across the river, and wandering into a religious college's art guild/store - Berean, I think it was - wood and wool and pottery items. Something like that.

I came back a different route, past Santa Claus, Indiana. I listened to the tape again.

There's something about hearing a book read by the person who wrote it. That enables getting the understanding the author wants the reader to have. The way the words sounded in their heads, when they wrote them, are they way they speak them for us. In this case it was particularly grand and I felt transported.

As a child my favorite story was THE LITTLEST ANGEL. Oh, how I wore that book out! And a few years ago, when on-line shopping became popular, I sought out an old copy of it and found it - just like the one I had. Who knows, it could have been my copy but I had/have a habit of putting my name in books so perhaps not. Anyway, I read it and weep. Simple. Direct. Sentimental. Meaningful. I guess that's why I like THE VELVETEEN RABBIT too. Same basic format. Lesson-filled. Get real, seriously.

I can't help but see some of that in the longer, image-filled A CHILD'S CHRISTMAS IN WALES. This makes me a creature of habit then, when it comes to reading. I want my heart warmed at some point. If it costs me a few tears, fine. If I throw myself at my pets or my husband, OK. If I jot a note, send an email, make a call, good. The line between fiction and non-fiction becomes blurred when I think about these 3 books.

Gosh, there were much simpler times in this world when people were where they belonged instead of always trying to get where they thought they belonged. We strung popcorn and apple slices, made paper chains and other ornaments for the tree. People used English correctly as well as sparingly, and listened. We saved money in Christmas Clubs at the bank so we could buy gifts, or we used lay-away. There were secret Santas. There were school concerts. We knew and sang 2 or 3 verses of each Christmas carol and gladly went around serenading folks at home and accepting a cookie or hot chocolate. It was called Christmas.

I'm glad I got where I was going that year. Gladder still that I got home safely, wiser for what I'd discovered along the way. I was where I belonged.

We don't need to bring everything from our pasts forward but wouldn't it be nice to re-start just one old habit, one childhood tradition? Now, when everything is tumultuous shouldn't we re-establish our appreciation for what matters?

Start with the Christmas Story itself, and then recall your favorite Christmas tale. Share it and take it from there. You may surprise yourself at how easy it is to enjoy being where you are, where you belong.