A Storytelling Day

Happily tired tonight.
This has been a storytelling day.
Two sets at a retirement facility this aftenoon and then Jim and I hustled downtown where I was given an Open Mic spot at the Speakeasydc.

To celebrate Mother's Day I told stories for the retirememnt groups that somehow connected with mothers or had a central mother character. I tried out a new story with one group, and made up a new story on the spot for the second group. I think both are keepers and with some more telling and a bit of work will be really good additions to my chest of stories.

I was telling the folktale The Thrifty Tailor as a lead-in for a story about the special dresses my mother made for us when we were growing up. As I told it I kept thinking about my Uncle Dunc. I need a story about him for a program later this month. So, I told the audience I was going to try something new and out it came. It was real front porch telling. Once I started the memories rolled out and the story took a few unexpected turns. Once I have it worked out I will share it with you.

For Speakeasy I revised a personal story with some tweaks that gave it a new life. And cut a fifteen minute story to 7 minutes in the bargain. That was a challenge and I am happy with the way it worked out. Now I have two viable options for the same story.

Storyteller and coach Doug Lipman has been talking lately on his website and in his workshop offerings about the value of paring long stories to short and shorter versions. So, I had been thinking about it. That ruminating made it easier when push came to shove and I had to do it with the one story I have that fit the theme for tonight.

INKHEART at Starbucks

I watched as the woman sitting across from me took out her
pen and underlined several sentences in the hardback book she was reading. Now any of you that have been reading this blog for awhile know that I have a story about the woman who soundly chastised me when I underlined in a paperback book in the beauty shop in CA.

After a long few minutes I leaned forward and said, "Excuse
me. May I tell you something." She smiled. "I have to tell you how delighted I was to see you underline something in your book." She looked surprised ." Oh, I always do - that's why I buy my books." Kindred souls.

While we were chatting about writing in our books a mother and son sat down in the two chairs next to us completing the conversational grouping. I was just telling my companion that I had recently re-read Inkheart and was glad I had unerlined passages. Then we greeted the newcomers.

A few minutes later the boy leaned toward me. "Did you say you are reading Inkheart?" A proper opening gambit wouldn't you say. " Yes, I am. Are you reading it." His face lit up. "Yes."
and he and I were off into our own conversation about Mo and Meggie and Basta and Fenoglio and where he was in the book, how he liked the writing, and did he know about InkSpell.

A very poised and articulate young boy. His mother sat by quietly enjoying the exchange between her son and me. "How old are you," I asked. "Nine." I have to tell you I was surprised.

I put out my hand. " My name is Ellouise. what's yours?" "Jacob." " Jacob, I am delighted to meet you."

We talked on for some time about books, when the Inkheart movie will be released, Harry Potter, ofcourse, and how The Golden Compass movie was disappointing when you had read the book. He told me about Eragon and I told him about Dragon Rider.

I am familiar with his school but he was not there when I came to tell stories last year. "Well, if I come again again and you are there be sure and let me know it. Come up and say hello. I will remember you."

Jacob finished his hot chocolate. Time to go. He and his mother left for their appointment. The other woman and I gathered up our books and briefcases and said good-bye as we walked toward Wisconsin Avenue.

With out a doubt the most enjoyable and surprising book talk I have had in a long time.

Happy Mother's Day

3 Beautiful Things:
1. Mama answered the phone, " I had a wonderful Mother's Day - a perfect day."
2. Juliana and Alison gave me a talking card, " we love you Weezie." Just like the TV ad. Its a keeper.
3. Jim's card - to my beautiful wife, the mother of my precious children and grandchildren. A love-filled day.

And I am grateful to my kids today for their time and advice as I struggle with writing my grant project. The story just isn't jelling - their ideas might slip some light in this dark hole.

Curious Leavings

When I was going through My Pictures today I found this shot I took in March at Stanford Hospital.

Jim, Robin and I were walking down the hall on the second floor when Robin spotted these shoes at the top of an escalator.

A pair of shoes abandoned like the owner had been snactched right out of them. No one around. No sound of running footsteps with a rescuer rushing back to get them.

Were the shoes lost or left.

If they were lost no one would even know where to look to find them.

Hmmm, a story?

Cinderella redux?

Robin saw the picture. She knows I collect shoes and stopped me - "that's a good one. get that"

I took the photo.

A collaboration.

Memories in a Bottle

The other day I did not tell all about my finds in Beggars and Choosers in Pittsboro.

Yes, I found the "snappy shoes" but I also came away whistling with these two blue bottles tucked in a recycled plastic bag- not for the blue bottle tree but for the memories.

The squat blue jar is a Noxzema bottle. Can't you smell it as you read that word? When I picked it up from the shelf my head filled with the distinctive, sharp odor of the crisp white cream. The first time I remember Mama adding a jar of Noxzema to her store of wonders in the medicine cabinet we lived in the # 12 of the Virginia Apartments at 814 Hawthorne Lane in Charlotte. I was ten years old.

When I took my prize to the lady sitting beside the old style cash register I asked her if she knew of any other blue bottles in the store, "This is the only one I saw." She stepped around the desk saying, " didn't you see the Evening in Paris perfume bottle? or maybe its too small."

She opened the windowed door of a chest where the tiny treasure was tucked in a corner. I gulped at the price - because I knew I was going to buy it. 'Oh, no, that's too much." We looked at each other quietly. Maybe she was thinking about how long the dusty little bottle had been stashed on the shelf or asking herself when there would be another "live" buyer for it. She nodded and slid the price down to fit my wallet. She cradled the bottle in her hand for a moment before handing it to me. "This is an original 1920s bottle." There was a bit of a wistful note in her voice.
Then with her soft British accent she confided, "Evening in Paris was my first perfume."

Maybe she was seeing this small Navy Blue bottle sitting on her dresser as I was seeing it on Granny's dresser. I held it to my nose. It still smelled faintly of the familiar fruity perfume - and that scent took me back to 2308 East Seventh Street, standing next to Granny as she sat at her dresser, brushing her hair and powdering her face.

I am glad the woman did not realize - I would have gladly paid her price - for the memory.

Later I checked Google for some facts.

Evening in Paris came on the market in 1929 in this very style bottle. It was designed as an elegant scent in a distinctive bottle for those who could not afford Chanel.

3 Beautiful Things for today:
1. Jim made yellow dried pea soup for supper. Thick and delicious on a coolish rainy evening.
2. Long chat over coffee with Lucy at Starbucks. We rambled back through shared memories of the Washington Women's Arts Center where we learned new stuff and were free to try out ideas to see if they would really work. An artist's support community in the truest sense of the word.
3. Vivid green of fresh plants sprouting up after a Spring rain.

Miksang - Mindful Seeing

Recently Jim went to his internist for a check-up and I went along. While I was waiting I thumbed through Natural Solutions magazine. When I opened the page to an article by Anne Ford, Turn a Lens Toward Your Life - how snapping photos mindfully can help you find focus,

I was fascinated.

She explained miksang (Tibetan for good eye) and talked about the practice of mindful seeing. Of using your digital camera to help you focus on the world you see.

I connected with the idea immediately - a meditation form of seeing.




This is not new to me. I have been doing it for years - I just never had a NAME for it.
I know the zen of drawing, and other forms of meditation but had not encountered a zen of seeing. Think of it. Combining technology - the digital camera- and meditation.

So my 3 Beautiful things for today:

1. Today when I reconnected in my journal with the word miksang, researching it and experiencing the joy of Goldilocks when she found the little chair that was "just right".

2. Surfing for connections and finding a miksang website.

3. But most exciting of all - discovering more than 1000 "good eye" photographs.

I just had to share this and hope you enjoy the treat in these beautiful photographs of our ordinary world.

Enjoying Three Beautiful Things Today

Recently I surfed to a blog, Three Beautiful Things, that I had seen before and it reminded me to look for the TBT everyday.

Today:
1. Friends: spent time sitting outside enjoying a coke and a long conversation with a dear friend I have not seen in some time. And, the sound of another friend's distinctive voice on the telephone.

2. Jim: leaving paper work behind and taking time for a lunch break on our deck in the warm sunshine with Jim.

3. This blue vase with a stalk of orchids sitting on our kitchen table.

Telling Stories

Telling stories this morning at a Silver Spring Elementary School.

I know this school! I have told Audubon programs here for several years and I told A 398.2 Sampler for their reading night a few months ago. The kids are bright and eager and excellent listeners. They love stories.











This is a primary school. grades K - 2. Today I told three sets and covered all the grades.

When I put on my "coat of many colors" they recognize me. Hands go up. "I know you." And I feel welcomed and at home with them.




















They listen. I look into their eyes and watch their faces and we make the stories together. It is truly the magic of storytelling. What's not to love - I am grateful to be a part of it.

At the end of the sets I tell the children, "Now these are your stories. You can TELL them to your family and friends."

I hope they do.

Returning to a school keeps me on my toes because I know they remember the stories. The kids are quick to remind me "you told that before" if I repeat a story - - even when I can see they like hearing it again.

Hanging by a Thread

I have that feeling these days.

So must Hillary Clinton.

Its unfortunate that two "firsts" have to oppose each other at the same time to be the first.

OUCH!

Today in Washington, DC.

Junkin' Excursion

Jim and I turned onto Highway 85 about 9 am yesterday - heading home. After the bittersweet visit with Mama I was feeling a bit low. I guess Jim realized I needed a diversion because when we passed the huge sign anouncing the Webb Road Flea Market ahead at a Salisbury Exit he agreed for a stop. "Not for long." I nodded. "No, no, not for long. Just for a peak. " I have watced that sign fly by for years. I almost jumped out of the car when he pulled into the gravel lot and parked.

Listen, there is no such thing as a peak at the Webb Road Flea Market. It is a combination of tail gates, tables, and sheds of unbelieveable opportunities.







Even though the reason we had stopped was so that I could look for blue bottles who could resist lingering over this little six week old puppy. I had never seen one quite like it before. The owner said, "he's a miniature dappled silver dauchund. The runt of the litter. He won't grow to more than 8 pounds."
He looked like a nature's mistake. I was smitten. Jim was not. He won.

Let me tell you there were no blue bottles in sight anywhere. I was getting tired out and discouraged after trudging what seemed like miles along aisles of booths and tables when Jim rang my phone. "Look over here."




Jim had spotted these blue Milk of Magnesia bottles tucked into a box along with a bunch of clear, green and brown bottles. They were not what I had set out to find. And the preponderance of Milk of Magnesia says something about the prevalence of dyspepsia in the folks I grew up with - but what really prompted me to buy them - they reminded me of my Grandmother, her medicine cabinet and her administering hand. Granny believed in Milk of Magnesia. I can still remember gagging before the spoonful of thick white liquid ever reached my lips. I doubt these will be a part of my blue bottle tree - but I need to make a sculpture for a show that is coming up - they may be exactly right for that.

We made several other stops. The flea market we had been to on Hwy 64 E. several years ago turned out to be almost empty by noon and so it was not worth the time on the highway.



I bought a small vase for a dollar from a Boy Scout parking lot sale and we stopped at an antique store in Ramseur - mostly because we liked the look of the house.

By this time we were so far off Highway 85 that we decided to continue on toward Chapel Hill. Chapel Hill has been one of our favorite destinations since we lived there in the 1960s. Jim did his residency at NC Memorial Hospital, Jimmy started school at the Durham Academy, Karen and Robin were launched into pre-school at the Little Red School House, and our hearts hurt when our youngest daughter was born as a Downs Syndrome child. In the 1970s we brought Robin back to Chapel Hill as a Freshman at UNC and renewed our love of the area.

Along the way to Chapel Hill we stopped at Beggars and Choosers in Pittsboro. I was drawn in by the name and the purple and green paint job on the outside - it promised to be interesting - and it was.



How about these snappy shoes?
I collect shoes - well, pictures of shoes, and these were the most interesting in a long time. I would have bought them if they had been a couple of sizes larger.



All in all an interesting side venture.


It made the trip longer, true - but sometimes it helps to have some breathing space to recollect yourself.

The Traveler and the Genealogist - Bridging Time

While I was with Mama this week I came to understand a few things about how things are for her now - and to be emensely grateful for my passion for genealogy and for storytelling.

In one of his workshops storyteller Donald Davis told us to "take me someplace I can't go if you don't take me." I understood that perfectly. I had been doing that with Mama as part of my genealogy sleuthing. Once I began collecting family information I started sitting with Mama, or talking on the phone with her and asking her to take me places with her, some I knew and some I met through her memories.

These days my mother is traveling and because of all our genealogy journeys - I see some of the same things she does.

In the middle of a conversation Friday, I forget what we had been talking about, Mama said, " I went down to South Carolina but John Henry wasn't there." Startled, I tried to grab a new gear." " You did,? How old were you?"

" My age. Ellouise, I went there a few days ago." Fortunately I was getting onto her track.

" You mean you went to Sandy Springs, to the Keasler homeplace?"

"That's right, I did. But Mama and Dad Jack and my daddy did not go."

I guess not. Her father, Gus Keasler died when Mama was 15 months old and her Mama and Dad Jack, her step father, have been resting at Elmwood Cemetary since the 1960s. But I have been to the Keasler homeplace. In fact I took Mama down there twenty years ago to see Gus' last living sister, Annie Laura.

"Was it like it used to be?"

"Oh, Ellouise, it was. I went all through the house. No one was home. I did not see my grandfather, John Henry."

No surprise. John Henry Keasler died in the 1940s when I was 5 years old. It was a hot summer day when I sat on an open window sill of the whitl clapboard Methodist Church with Granny and Mama during the funeral service. John Henry is buried in the church yard next to his second wife, the woman Mama called Grandma. HIs first wife, Narcissus Howard, Gus's mother, rests in the same church year near her mother.

" I don't know why Mama wasn't there. I looked all over for her."

"Mama, I think its great that you can take these trips."
"You do?"
"Oh, I really do. I do it all the time myself. I sometimes imagine myself right back at 2308 East 7th Street, and I can see Granny. I can be right there with her. Are you doing that?"

"Yes."

"Take me to 10th Street, Mama. Tell me about your grandmother. Didn't she make all your clothes."


Mama smiled back at me. " With matching panties." And for a few minutes we were back in her grandmother's house on 10th Street, with the sweet smell of baked sweet potatoes in the warming oven waiting for Louie when she came home from school.

Yes, Mama is traveling - but mostly now she is looking for her mother.

She will say, " I want to go home." and some think she means she is "ready." Ready to be in Heaven, with her mother.

That's not it. That's too easy. If you really listen to her yearning you can hear the truth. A hurting we have no salve for.

Mama wants to go home. Home to her Mama where she was safe and loved. Home where she could climb up in Grandma's lap and snuggle close.

It hurts to touch that truth.

When I do I remember crying into my pillow when I was eight years old, at boarding school, wanting to go home to my mother. Crying without a sound. Crying until my eyes were stinging. Crying until my throat felt it would close.

Heaven was on 10th Street, heaven was anywhere close to Granny.

"Ellouise, you take me home. We will go in your car."

Mama, I would if I could.

Life is a Revolving Door

Life is a revolving door.

Welcome Clarice Ellen McGill, born this morning in Indiana. Mama was delighted when my sister called to tell her she had added another great-grandchild to the roster.

What, I ask you, is that fine Georgia Peach doing coming into the world so far from the South. The stork must have been blown off course.

When I stopped by the Salvation Army Store this morning I found a book of children's verses. Its a discarded library book from teh A.T. Allen School - somewhere. The typed book card is still in the yellow pocket glued to the inside back cover. The childen's names and grades as they signed to check it out are listed on the card. Tammy, 6th grade, was the last child to sign out the book, June 1, 1978,

The rhymes are old and familiar. They set off memories.

Sitting on the front porch in the warm sun I read a few rhymes to Mama.

" Oh, hear this - it is one my mama taught me." I said.


"Baa Baa Black Sheep
Have you any wool?"

"Yes sir, yes sir,
Three bags full." Mama answered,

Being together across time.

A Child's Grace
Thank you for the world so sweet.
Thank you for the food we eat.
Thank you for the birds that sing.
Thank you God for everything
Author Unknown.

One More Trip

Time to get to North Carolina to check in with Mama.

We were grateful for a sunny day which makes the eight hour trip sweeter.

We stopped at the newish Viginia Welcome Center which looks very much like a plantation mansion. When you step inside the space swoops up to a vaulted ceiling and it is light filled. I walked into the Women's Restroom, gasped - and burst out laughing. It was white tiled, spacious and light filled - but for all that the architect only installed six stalls. I ask you, does that make good sense.



As I snapped this picture a woman walked in and did a quick double take at the lunatic photographing the bathroom.

"It's for my blog." I said.

"Oh." She was not convinced but I did not hang around to clarify.

Granny Sue and her Blue Bottle Bush

On her blog on March 3rd, my friend WV storyteller Susannah Holstein wrote that she was collecting blue bottles to make her own blue bottle bush to keep the evil spirits at bay. Not only that she added a lot about the lore behind the blue bottle bush.

Right then I knew I wanted to send her a blue bottle for that tree. I frequent thrift shops so I thought it would be a snap to pick up a blue bottle and pop it in the mail.

HA! Shows how much I know.

Blue bottles are scarce as hens teeth as I soon learned. I was beginning to think I would have to settle and buy a jar of Vicks vap-o-rub, clean it out, and pretend I had found it. But I persisted and finally ten days ago I snagged one.

Coming home from the Safeway in Kensington I swung my car into the parking lot of the old Kensington Town Hall which has been for years a thrift shop run by the Prevention of Blindness.








I had just about given up finding one when I stepped into one of the smaller back rooms and - - there it was - a doozy of a blue bottle - sitting on a top shelf, glowing in the sunlight - just waiting to be a part of Granny Sue's blue bottle bush.




















I packed it up and shipped it off to West Virginia and as you will see on her blog today it arrived in one piece - in time to be a part of her blue bottle bush. It's a something! Don't miss it.


The way things have been going for us lately I am wondering if she is to something - - --
I am going to start collecting blue bottles myself so that I too can put up a shield that will keep the evil spirits away off our roof.

Home

Back on Jet Blue.
Taking a last look at Oakland as we took off and turned to head East.







The trip home was a quick 4 and a half hours. Relatively smooth until we bounced through cross winds on descent and landing making me even more delighted to walk down the halls of the B Concourse toward the shuttles to the Main Terminal.













As we walked off the escalator in the main terminal I noticed paintings on the walls - paintings with a familiar look and feeling. I recognized that artist. "Jim, look, I know those are by Sherry Sanabria. " Sure enough, they were. Hard to miss her way of working with interior light - a style she has honed since I first met her in graduate painting classes at American University.













I love seeing good art in public spaces and it is icing on the cake when I know the artist.





















What a great welcome home.!!!

Urban Barn Raising

It takes a village to raise a backboard.



Excitement in the backyard yesterday.
My ringside seat for this event suited me fine. I watched through the patio doors from the comfort of the couch in the den.
For several hours it was slow going as a couple of guys assembled the framework. When they were ready they called in more hands and backs from the neighborhood. As the raised arms and hands pushed the pole upright I recognized it as a barn raising.

No, I have never seen a real barn-raising but I have seen great movie recreations.
Remember the raucous barn-raising scene in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, the great 1950s musical. Another barnraising scene fresh in my memory is the Harrison Ford film, Witness which Jim and I saw recently on TCM.

There is a good article about our root connections to barn raising on Wikipedia.

While all that sweating was happening in the back yard I was watching "House" on the Fox Channel. There was a marathon of medical mysteries for the brilliant, eccentric Gregory House, MD to solve.

I first encountered medical mysteries at Johns Hopkins Hospital in 1954. Every Monday a paper with a puzzle was distributed - all the information to make a diagnosis. Blood work, x-ray information, etc etc etc. It was part of teaching and honing skills in differential diagnosis. Medical staff from top levels to medical students studied the clues, discussed them and cogitated over the possible answers. Students nurses also took a crack at figuring out the puzzle. Then on Fridays the answer was revealed at the Clinical Pathological Conference. Aleays complex, most always a surprise.

Now ofcourse there was not the drama of House - and no cameras - but the purpose was the same - ask questions, learn enough, save the patient.

And, often the cases were just as bizarre as those that appear on House. Hopkins is a teaching hospital. People came with the illnesses no one else was dealing with or with illness someone on the staff was researching and studying. I remember someone saying once time - "graduate medical school from here and you won't recognize measles the first time you see it."

But you will keep asking the questions - and I know from watching Jim - you're not satisfied until you get to the bottom of the problem. Part of the art of medicine.

Hal Schoetler Family - circa 1949

Front row: Judy, Loretta, holding Mary, Hal, Harold
Back row: Tom, Jim and Dave

Harold, Jim, Tom and Mary spent a lot of time together these last few days in Madera, surrounded by large groups of family and friends and alone. Time to talk. Time to remember. Time to just be together.

In this picture David is the youngest boy - he grew to be the largest - over 6'4", laughing and loving - a big man - a presence.

Re-reading Inkheart

"after all, there's nothing like a few comforting pages of a book when you're away from home Right?." (Inkheart, Cornelia Funke, page 235)

Last week when I was telling stories at Woodacres Elementary School I was leading third graders in a discussion of "how they make the pictures in their minds". An eager boy raised his hand. " I love to read chapter books because I make movies in my mind. I leave this world and go right into the book." Wow - from a third grader.

"That reminds me of Inkheart. Have you read it?"
"No"
"Well, I bet when you do, you will love it."

I am traveling with Inkheart. Entering the familiar story soothes me to sleep at night.

When I fall asleep with the book in my hands my glasses drop off and get lost in the bed covers. It feels like home.

In the 1960s my uncle took a job with a firm that sent he and my aunt overseas
to Baghdad. At that time Baghdad was still straight out of the Arabian Nights and filled with an aura of mystery and delight. I was surprised that my aunt traveled wth a trunk filled with books. Now I understand.

Smart woman.

Odyssey West

Everyone knew it was coming - ever since his operation at Stanford in March - but it happened suddenly. Jim's brother, David died Monday. Jim's doctors cleared him for the trip so here we are in Sunny California.

We flew out yesterday and drove down with Robin today. Our usual routte - the 580 to Highway 99 - is a boring drive but its a very familiar ride through rolling hills to the flat farmlands and smallish towns and almond orchards of the San Joacquin Valley. It was sunny but there was too much haze to see the Sierras in the distance, That's OK. I had gotten a really good look at those craggy mountain tops as we flew over.


We passed Modesto, Merced, old Castle Air Force Base and Chowchilla before we reached Madera, Jim's home town. After 53 years it holds many memories for me too.

We always stay in town at the Madera Valley Inn but this time we booked rooms at the Holiday Inn Express on the edge of town. Jim's older brother likes to stay here because its new and he says he doesn't hear the train.

There must be something amiss with his hearing - you can't take a step in this town without hearing a train. True its not as close so I miss the rattling and shaking as one of those long, long trains that brings traffic to a stop all through the town rolls by at the corner of our hotel room at the Madera Valley Inn.

Happy Birthday Lynda

Today is my sister Lynda's birthday.

I remember when she was born - and spoiled my happy life as an only child. People kept looking into her bassinette and ooing and ahing and I heard them saying - "Louie, what a pretty baby."

As she grew she added insult to injury ( to me) with her dark naturally curly hair that everyone liked to wind around their fingers to make into ringlets that bobbed on her head when she ran.

She was known as the "pretty one".

Now I ask you - how tolerable is that - even though there was a kernel of truth there.

But - she is my sister - and dispite all those pluses randomly awarded to her by nature -

She turned out to be a sweet, caring and loving woman - with a delightful sense of humor - that I love dearly and am so lucky to have as my sister.

Happy Birthday.
.

Lazy Jack

Today I told stories for more than 500 children and their smiling faces, laughter and engagement with the stories was a tonic for me.

" I liked your stories." "Your stories were so good." "Thank you for teling us the stories. I liked them all."

What more could you ask for? I was tired when I arrived at the school. I left feeling light on my feet.

One of the stories I told was Lazy Jack - the story of the muddled headed guy who keeps doing the silliest things - like putting butter on his head to carry it home, and dragging a leg of mutton behind him on a string. And finally carrying a donkey on his shoulders. All because he can't think his way into new situations and does things the way that would have worked with something else. Now the story ends well - seeing him and his foolish antics makes the miserable princess laugh and he wins her hand and his fortune.

I never liked the story much until I heard Irish storyteller Billy Teare tell it last August at Three Rivers Storytelling Festival in Pittburgh. He opened the story for me and I have been telling it off and on since then.

Today as I was telling the story I realized something new (to me) about the story - its not that Jack is stupid - its that he doesn't adapt to new situations. He makes a mistake, his mama scolds him and tells him what he should have done - and he applies that solution to the next problem - where it doesn't belong or work.

"You twit. You blockhead. What are you thinking?" is the way it usually goes -
Today I found myself saying.
"you twit. You blockhead. Aren't you thinking?"

Became a different story for me -

Aren't we all "Jack" - trying to make square pegs fit into round holes? Because someone told us to - not because its the right solution for the problem at hand.

Rainy Day Treasure

Rain, Rain, Go Away
Come again another day.
I am not singing that song today. Its raining and that is fine with me.

It poured yesterday, hard rain. My cell phone beeped all day with weather alerts - storm warnings, flood warnings. I don't know where the floods happened but we had drenching rain - rain beating on the windows and the roof and splashing on the skylights. The dog waited as long as she could before she would dash outside and back.

Today the ground is soaked. And being wet through has taken away the stink from the new mulch.

It is still raining. And I am glad.
A good time to stay home: catch up: get work done.

I love this kind of day. Nothing better than being snowed in or in this case rained in - for narrowing my focus and keeping me on my list.
So that I can feel "out from under".

I asked Karen yesterday if she saw the smoke coming out of my office - "What?"
I just meant I was getting so much done surely the computer was "smoking".

Behind the stories, storytelling runs on "paper work". Letters, invoices, calendars, etc. etc. etc. And when you drop-out for ten days as I have with Jim in the hospital it like untangling slippery yarn to get it back together.

And, the filing.
Clippings of ideas, receipts, letters, photographs etc, etc, etc. I am a "keeper". You never know what will come in handy.

Besides that, I am looking for something for a story I am working on. I didn't find what I wanted but in the search I found a copy of a letter from my Dad when he was in India during WWII. Ten years ago my aunt Katherine found it among her papers, copied it and sent it to me. She gave the original to Mama - because it was a letter to Mama. Who knows how it got into Koki's papers.

The letter opens, "My, darling." and continues on to describe where he was and what he had been doing in the enclosed snapshots of a day off the base. I don't have the photos but I remember them - and when he sent them home he numbered them. A reminder of how organized he was.

Daddy closes the letter saying, "I have not been getting many letters from Ellouise. I like to hear from her. I have written and told her to write more." ( I was nine years old, in the third grade at Sacred Heart at the time.)

A treasure find on a rainy day.

Losing Connection

Tonight the phone rang and rang
I called again and again
It just keeps ringing

Mama doesn't answer the phone.

Maybe she doesn't want to
Maybe she is tired
Maybe she can't reach it

Mama doesn't answer the phone.

Mama and I have a long phone history. When I was small she taught me the important numbers in case I got lost.

Home - 8741 - then 2-8741 - then ED2-8741
Granny - 6735 - then 3-6735 - then FR3-6735

When Daddy went overseas during WWII and polio raged through Charlotte Mama took Lynda and me to Sacred Heart Academy to live with the nuns for the summer. She called us every Wednesday night at 6:30 PM - as faithful as the sun rising in the morning. The sound of her voice being the connection to home.

When I went to Baltimore to go to school I called home - and after I married Jim we continued to talk regularly. Talking, and talking about something about nothing. Connected by our familiar voices.

Keeping in touch with the daily, talking about then and about now, staying connected.
Telling stories.
Remembering.

Mama is not answering the phone.

She asks my sister for Granny's phone number. She wants to talk with her mother.

I understand.

PS - Monday April 21
Robin called. " Mom, I just spoke to your mother."
"When?"
"12 seconds ago."
"I will call you right back." When I heard Robion's call click off I dialed Mama"s number.
"Hello."
" Mama. Good morning."
Her voice lifted. " Well, hello to you."
"Do you know who this is?"
"Don't be foolish, ofcourse I do, Ellouise."

" I called you yesterday and you did not answer."
"Well, I probably was not home."

"I am glad you are now."

Thanks, Robin.

Home

Jim was discharged mid-day.

He says he feels un-well. He looks un-well.

We were home only two hours when he realized he had a fever again. And by late afternoon it had risen higher. And they do not know why.

I remember these from my days in nurses training. FUO - fever of unknown origin.

We are gathering data. Taking his temp.

Watching.

Wait and see, they say.

I don't do that very well, do you?

Get busy, I say to myself. Work on your list.

So, I have done the laundry, written emails, put pictures and words on the blog, and

played computer solitaire.

When all else fails - play.

Post Script: April 19
I came back to this today and when I read I thought to myself, Ellouise, shouldn't that be Pray?

Betty left this comment for me the other day.
My prayers are with you and Jim. I know you would rather be home with a healthy Jim at your side, but God does work in mysterious ways. So glad you had just the right room.
Betty Smith

but God does work in mysterious ways.
Sometimes it takes me a bit - a knock in the head, maybe - for me to see what's right in front of me. The threads are all there - in these posts -

I have been looking for connections and they are there all right.

God is walking with us through this - and I am not listening or talking to Him.

Thanks, Betty.

Reminds me of the story of the Apostles on the road to Emmaus.

Circling and Connecting

I love this computer and my new broad band plug in. Surf, surf, surf. Email, blogs-read and write and a way to watch out for yourself. Jim and I spent one evening surfing for articles about the procedure the doctors planned for him for the next day. And having it helps to fill the minutes and hours that hang heavy on your hands when you are just sitting and waiting.

This time I brought Net Flix movies so Jim and I could choose our own entertainment and we watched them on the computer. Once you're in a hospital and strangers think they are in charge of you and your body it becomes important to make some indepedent choices just to hang on to your sense of yourself. Watching on the computer has several advantages - watching on a tiny screen - you're distanced from the violence in The Last King of Scotland and "pausing" takes care of interruptions without losing the thread of the movie. That's OK. Tests your memory. If you forget you can review a few scenes. Would you believe it took us five hours to complete a two hour movie?

Jim was visited by a member of the Pastoral Staff who is a Methodist minister. "Ellouise is a Metholic" Jim tells her." Then we explained that I had been Artist in Residence at Foundry United Methodist Church in Washingotn. I was sent there on a grant from Wesley Seminary. Isn't it great that I am a Catholic but art is ecumenical. For a year I went to Mass on Saturday evening and Church services twice on Sunday at Foundry. The ministers and the congregaton were great. Being at Foundry Church was a Grace that continues to enrich my life.

It turns out that this woman was a graduate of Wesley, had attended Foundry and we knew people in common. Another bit of small world connecting. She asked me if I knew that Catherine Kapikian, the artist who developed and directs the liturgical art programs at
Wesley and is the person who assigned me to Foundry, had designed the chapel here at George Washington Hospital. No, I did not know that so later I went to see it.

The Chapel is small and inviting - a calming meditative space. A central element is this large art work by Catherine Kapikian, which suggests a stained glass window. The background on the wood panel of patched suede-like fabrics softens the thoroughly modern abstract composition. The non-denominational "sanctuary space" is a gift to patients and families from the Women's Guild of George Washington University Hospital. Trust women to recognize the need.

Jim and I also spent some time with a bit of personal circling.

Our view from the windows in Room 552 over-looked the backside of 2440 Pennsylvania Avenue. Now it is the Melrose Hotel but in 1970 it was an office/apartment building. When Jim opened his private practice in DC his office was on the first floor of 2440 PA Avenue. He knew all the tradespeople, walked to GW Hospital for meetings, to teach, to see patients, and spent long days in his office. This was his world, his neighborhood for seven years.

Circling to the Pope

Some time ago Jim asked if I was interested in seeing if we could attend the public Mass when Pope Benedict came to Washington. I am not a big crowd person so had little enthusiasm about it. As it turned out with Jim's surgery and later complications the idea fell by the wayside.

Last night when we drove down to GW to the Emergency Room workmen were setting up barricades as they prepared to close the exits from Rock Creek Parkway to Pennsylvania Avene. Ah, ofcourse. The Pope's visit tomorrow. This was part of the traffic re-routing for the security plan to protect him. I had not wanted to be part of this very thing. At least we would were ahead of it. I parked in the multi-strory parking garage across from the hospital, feeling good that our car was safely out of the way.

Jim and I had a rough night.

We arrived at 9:30 pm, sent by the doctor as the safest thing for Jim who had a fever, saying it was best to get the IV antibiotics started as soon as possible. We are dealing not with a new condition but with an ongoing issue that began in this very hopsital. Well as soon as possible was two hours later. For those two hours Jim lay on a gurney in a curtained cubicle, feverish with chills. Finally blood was drawn for blood studies and the IV was started. We were told Jim was to be admitted. But, there "are no beds" "you have to wait in the ER." Fine.
a
Four hours into this wait - and Jim had not even been given a drink of water. I asked if he was ordered no food or drink, "no" so I found a drink machine and bought him an orageade and some plain animal crackers. The nurse said, "he doesn't look dehydrated" and I heard myself saying, "look, not even offering someone a drink of water shows no human kindness."

I don't think these people are cruel- they are thoughtless and as the night gets longer they lose sight of the basic human needs of people lying on gurneys waiting for treatment, tests, or admission. They are sharp for crises but over-look the human touch.

We stayed in the emergency room for 6 and a half hours.
Finally Jim was rolled upstairs to the floor at 4:30 am. Not to a regular floor but to a "holding area". We had been there before. I knew this was a basic observation ward. The nurses and tech were very caring. Once Jim was settled, I was grateful for a pillow and blanket as I prepared to sleep sitting up in a straight chair.

By 5:30 am my right leg was numb and I could hardly move so I crawled into bed with Jim and went to sleep. And that's where was when the four man urology House Staff entourage made their Rounds a little after 6 am. Oops. The really funny thing is that they seemed nt to notice that I was there. After they left I clmbed back in beside Jim for a little more sleep. When the nurse came in with a new IV she laughed. "How nice you can still snuggle." "You're right." we agreed.


When the nurse told us Jim was staying on this ward I aked if they could please bring down a cot from the 5th floor. Well, the short of it is that instead of getting a cot they found a room and Jim was moved to the Fifih floor. We walked into a room that faces 23rd Street and PennsylvaniaAvenue. A room with two windows that overlook the route planned for the Pope to travel when he leaves the White House this morning.


Jim could see from his bed and I pulled up a chair to watch the security preparations and then the gathering crowd.










And finally.
Pope Benedict in his white Mercedes Popemobile rode right before us.















Jim was delighted. He saw the Pope after all.

And I thought the crowd would be hard.

Circling back.

Back to GW Hospital

No. No. We are back in GW Hospital.

Jim had a procedure - an innocent enough adjustment to his drain from th surgery on Monday. This evening at supper time he began to feel hot and feverish and then began to have chills. A call to his doctor and we were on our way downtown to the emergeny room. By the time we got here his fever was 102.8. And, you guessed it - they started IV antibiotics and admitted him.

There is a story here and I will write more about it later.

Misc

1. Celebrating 37 Days,
Life is a Verb - (37Days.typepad.com/37days/2008/04/turns-out-life.html - On 37 Days today in her 500th post Patti tells the story of her new book, Life is a Verb.

2.
Today I drove down Kensington Parkway on my way home. On the corner at Rock Creek Park a straight-backed woman Park Ranger sat on a bronze colored horse surveying the traffic. I noticed a small horse trailer parked on a near-by gravel pull off and it stuck me funny - the Ranger drove the horse to work. Old and new co-existing

3. Telling stories
Telling stories today at a small Catholic elementary school. Sunlilght flooded te large multi-purpose room when fresh faced students wearing maroon plaid uniforms filed in. "I liked your stories." from a first grade boy as he walked past me. "You really held their attention." from the first grade teacher. And they lifted my spirits with their attention and delighted smiles. Its an even exchange.

4. City Mouse and County Mouse

Watching a 1966 movie - a room filled with young women wearing bee-hive hairdos reminds me of my special bee hive up-do that I wore to New York City when Jim and I went with a medical group from Chapel Hill in 1964. There was so much hair spray holding my hair in place that it felt like a metal helmet. It did not dent when I lrested my head on the pillow.

The evening Jim and I arrived in NYC we went to see my cousin at her apartment on Park Avenue. As we left she casually suggested that I meet her next day at 11 am because she wanted to show me something "absolutely fabulous". It turned out to be my introduction to Elizabeth Arden's Beauty Salon where her regular stylist cut through my NC helmet as he restyled my hair with a very flattering short hair cut. I loved being behind the Red Door. It was only years later that I realized that my cousin had set up the excursion so that she would not have to be seen in public which such a bumpkin.

That evening she and her husband took us to an exclusive private club for dinner. Like Professor Higgins she admired her creation, the new me, and commented approvingly on my elegant navy blue silk shantung sheath. I had sense enough not to tell her I bought it at the Franklin Street Episcopal Church "tag sale" for fifty cents.

Reconnecting with 37 Days

I miss Patti Digh when I don't read her blog every day so this morning I started catching up on all the 37 Days posts I have missed lately. This morning Patti writes in memory of a dear teacher and cites a wonderful poem in his honor. Then she tells that Patricia sent her the poem. Following that link I found that Patricia is why Patti wrote about Trudy and asked people to put her name into what I have always called a God box.

A God Box is a place for prayers and petitions. And praise and thank yous as well.

It does not have to be a special box but it can be - like the one Kate is using. Patricia linked to Kate and I am grateful to find her blog. I know I will be back to it often.

So my morning check up onc 37 Days brought on this bit of surfing, connecting and reconnecting and a bright light - epiphany they call it. My God box was right here all the time and I could not see it through my fog of fear.

I hope you read far enough to see that Patricia also has high praise for Patti's book, Life is a Verb which will be released soon. I can't wait to see it.

And I have a special reason to be on pins and needles until it arrives.

April 2 - I received an email from Patti - Your Art Work
Finally, I am writing to tell you that the artwork you submitted will be included in the book!!



Last Fall Patti issued an invitation to 37 Day followers asking for submissions for the book. She sent essays to the more than 100 artists who responded. I submitted 2 pieces - made for specific essays - maybe this one will be in the book.

All I can say at the moment is - I am thrilled to be a part of the project.

Charlton Heston

Since Charlton Heston died recently they have played a number of his movies on TV and I have enjoyed not just the films but the memorires of the times when they were made. His movies have been a part of the landscape of my life -when they came out and when we went to the local movie theater to see them and later with the many reruns on TV.

A few days after I went to the Circus last month TCM showed The Greatest Show on Earth. Great movie. It won the Oscar in the 1950s for Best Picture. I was surprised to learn it was Charlton Heston's second film, launched his career and he was about 27 years old when he made it. My sister Kathy called from Georgia while I was watchingn the film. ' Well how was the circus - I am watching The Greatest Show on Earth on TV and I remembered you had just been." We spent a few minutes talking abou the circus, the movie, and remembering our trip to the circus when we were kids.

Honoring Heston last week TCM host Robert Osborne replayed an hour long interview with Heston talking about his life and his movies. I am glad I watched it and heard Charlton Heston talk about the how and why of his movies and his approach to acting. It was something he loved doing and he worked hard to give the best performance he could.

At one point Osborne said, "you are a movie icon." and Heston responded. " People say that but I think its more that I have played a lot of very intresting men who achieved important things and some of that, maybe unfairly, rubbed off on me."

That reminded me of some genealogy advice I received once. When I was taking genealogy classes at the National Archives one of the instructors gave examples of " fame by association." For example, if you when you find the name of the boat that brought your ancestor to America and he or she is traveling in steerage - check the names of the other passengers - you may be surprised who was coming over in First Class - so they arrived on the boat with someone famous.

There are many ways to tell our stories.

Even though I did not agree with his onservative politics, I appreciated Charlton Heston for the way he chose to tell his story - and it has given me a richer appreciation for him as an actor and as a person.

A Window on the World

Having my hair cut today was not just for grooming - I went for the therapy of it. Tina, the shampoo lady at Images, has magic in her fingers as she massages my scalp. I have told her more than once that if I ever win the lottery I will come to her every blessed day. Tina is Italian and the only person I still even try to speak Italian with. I may not be able to say more than "Come stai, Tina." but somehow with those few words we connect on a different level.

Sometimes being in the beauty shop is not all comfort - it brings me slap up against reality.

After Soraya put the color on my hair I read while I waited for my transformation. And I listened to the voices surrounding me. Then the voices seemed to focus one one note and I heard it. Guns at the local high school. Yesterday two students were arrested selling guns in the bathroom. There was a shot fired. Thankfully no one was hurt.

The high school girl who is the afternoon receptionist chimed in reminding people that she goes to that high school. Telling them how she was late to work yesterday because the police held all the students on the campus until they had completed the arrests. As I paid my bill I said to her, "your parents must be worried about you." "Oh, yeah - they are kind of freaked out and keep calling and bugging me during the day."

How do they stand it, I wondered to myself. Thank goodness for the cell phone umbilical.

Remember how it was before cell phones - waiting and wondering without being able to connect with your child. I worried and sometimes could only breathe easy as I saw them walk down the street or the car turned into the driveway. But nothing like this - where the schools are armed.

Like a turtle I want to pull my head back in my shell. I do not want to know about this - but that won't make it go away.

Jackson - Pet Therapy Dog

Introducing Jackson.

Before I leave the subject of Jim's hospitalization I want you to meet Jackson.

Last Saturday was gray and rainy - a long and boring day in the hospital - when in walked Jackson, a sleek black Labrador Retriever, with his owner, Jennifer. Jackson,wearing his green National Capital Therapy Dog vest, walked quietly over to Jim's bedside and waited until Jim greeted him and reached down to rub his head. What a lovely exchange.

Jennifer told us that she and Jackson were trained before they began their hosptial visits. When I asked her how she got started with this, what motivated her to do it -she told me it was seeing dogs being brought in to comfort families after 9/11. "I was living in New York and when I saw the dogs visiting families standing in the lines I knew Jackson was a natural for this work. He has always been so calm and friendly and open to people."

That is true. Jackson is a warm and friendly presence - and you are hearing this from me - someone who is usually leery of large dogs. He and Jennifer are a perfect pair. She, too, is warm, open and and engaging. Together they are a great therapeutic team.

We wanted to know more about their volunteering and Jennifer kindly told us that they visit many hospitals in the area on several Saturdays a month. We happened to be lucky that today she was assigned to GW. She added, "Jackson is also trained as a reading education assistance dog."

A reading education assistance dog? Have you heard of that? I never had.

Jennifer explained, "its a new program to assist children who are challenged with their reading. Jackson and I go to the Rockville Library and kids read books about dogs to Jackson. He is trained to sit and listen and at my cue to put his paw on the book page and seem to ask for more reading. Its very empowering for the children and encourages them with their reading."

What a neat idea.

During our visit Jackson knew his job and he never stirred away from Jim's bedside.

We were grateful for their visit.

Another unexpected gift - from the hearts of volunteers.

We Are Home

Jim was discharged from the hospital this afternoon and we will sleep in our own bed tonight - - - -.

Thanks for your love, prayers and good wishes.

Those are the real healing potions.

An Unexpected Gift

Staying in the hospital over the week-end is trying.
Our fifth day at George Washington University Hospital so we have had time to learn the drill. And more time to get antsy and bored and chomping at the bit to go home.

What do you do when you are not the patient?

Stay out of the way.

You sit and watch.

Catch up on emails and business when the hospital Wi-Fi is on. Would you believe they cut it off on Saturday?

Watch TV - and learn about the eccentricites of Direct TV. When the wind blows it moves the dish around and you only receive the
second-rate stations and no movies. Its weird and someone with paranoid tendencies might take it as a personal persecution.

Read. Jim is completing a spy novel and I have finished Dragon Rider by Cornelia Funke and am now re-reading her InkHeart before
the movie comes out this summer. With all the reality I am dealing with sweet fantasy feels just exactly right.

Eat - meals are an excuse for an excursion into the wider hospital world. The food is like any cafeteria - edible. And regrettably
fattening. Its hard to stay on a diet esecially when you are eating for comfort or to fill time.

The cafeteria is also a great place to watch folks and occasionally meet interesting people.

Thursday a woman in a bright green cotton hospital shirt sat down at the table with me. We struck up a conversation over the soups. She told me she was a volunteer - a reikki practitioner. She sees people on request when the nurse or physician suggests a reikki session might be a help to the patient.

What a coincidence. Karen and Monica and I once took a course in Reikki - so I understood what she was talking about. I don't believe I have the healing gift but Monica, Jimmy's wife, does - she has "hot' hands when she puts hands on to heal. Marcia assured me I just needed to practice. That was encouraging.

We chatted like old friends for about fifteen minutes, then shared an elevator. When I told her Jim was having a procedure later in the afternoon she asked, "do you think he would like a reikki session? It helps with healing."
'Yes." I said. A blurt that felt good.
"Ok, I will come right up."
When I told Jim aout this "gift' he was open and had just agreed when Marcia tapped on the door.

The session lasted about 15 minutes. She placed one of her hands on Jim's head and the other on his abdomen. Quiet. No talking at all. Toward the end she motioned for me to come closer. She placed a hand on my arm and I put my hand on his shoulder. I felt the energy connect us. Aftewards, Jim and I both felt calmer and positive.

Marcia left and we were most grateful she had been there.

A gift.

Staying Focused on Red

I collect shoes - actual shoes or pictures of shoes. Glad I have red shoes in that collection.

How could you resist these sparkly small dancing shoes on a rack in a PA thrift shop. It was well worth a dollar to have a pair of Dorothy's red shoes for my very own. My ticket to the emerald city.

Red Shoes

When we were living in Chapel Hill, NC in the 1960s I took a UNC evening college Creative Writing course with NC author, Manly Wade Wellman. He was an interesting guy and a good critic. He called himself a "hack" writer. I later learned that he had a bevy of books on many subjects to his credit. Today I would call him a "journey man" writer - someone doing what they love for their full time occupation.

I remember a story I wrote in that class about a red dress I had when we were living in Brooklyn, NY. It opened with a line, " When she was afraid she wore the red dress and it gave her courage." or something like that. Mr. Wellman underlined the line and wrote "good and true" in the margin. I was thrilled he thought it was good because I knew it was true.

Well, I wish I had that dress these days or at least a pair of red shoes.

The other morning without either my red dress or any red shoes handy I pulled on red socks as I quickly dressed to take Jim downtown to the George Washington Univerity Hospital emergency room. 4:30 am little or no traffic held us up and we made the half hour trip in 15 minutes.

Wouldn't you know, a post-op complication - that had taken two weeks to manifest. When we were in NC visiting Mama Jim began to spike a fever. The came the shaking chills. He put himself on an antibiotic to get some treatment started until we got home and his surgeon.

Once at the hopsital we sat and sat as a dozen doctors came and went in his treatment room before finally, "we are going to admit you for observation." During the day that changed frequently to, " the ct-scan shows a collection of fluid so we are going to aspirate the fluid under Interventional Radiology, to doing it, to "you will be here two or three days."

So here we are again. His surgery was March 14, we are back on the same hospital floor with the same nurses and staff and attended by the same residents who were part of his surgical team. Familiarity is good -

All is going well.! Which is the best news - -

And what you ask am I doing all this time? Just like always - WATCHING!

This time I caught a mistake that could have really been hurtful for Jim. The in-take doctor did not order a complete list of Jim's heart meds and not getting the regular dose of one of them would have been a dangerous risk for Jim. Jim would have caught it himself except that he was still "out" from the anesthesia they had to use for his procedure.

It's important to have a watcher.

But if you are the watcher get ready - they will dub you a bitch, give you a dirty look and and walk away mad.

And will you care?

Mama

Things are changing for Mama.
Everyday is the same and everyday is different.

Old times are more real than today.
She checks out from time to time.

Its harder and harder for her to do everything.

She knows you and not me.

She is there and not here.

No predicting what will be what.

Is this good-bye?

California Duet