The Good Story:  2018

Nature’s Art

February 10

As I gaze upon the beautiful roses, carnations, and freesia my children sent for my birthday, I ponder on why we are drawn to flowers.  When I was a child, that was an easy question to answer.  They smelled wonderful!  The scent of a daffodil takes me on the wings of a fairy to a fantasy world of delight.  A vase of roses cut from the yard defined the home of one filled with Southern hospitality.  Every woman my age must remember the delight of wearing hyacinth earrings and clover necklaces – both laced with a sweet smell that made us feel like grownups in our pretend minds. 

Most flowers today have the scent bred out of them.  Yet, I find I am still drawn to their beauty.  Flowers are medicinal.  It is hard to be sad or worried when looking upon a bouquet given or gathered.  Much like art, I suppose.  That makes sense to me.  Flowers are Nature’s artwork, and she is quite talented. 

The Good Story:  2018

DAY 6:

January 6, 2018

Well, maybe a weekly journal is a better idea.  Many good things happened this week!  I was able to spend time with friends – Cathey, Pearline, Christine, Valerie.  I heard from both of my daughters.  I FINALLY got to see Roger and Madden!  We so missed them on Christmas. 

 I realized something about myself today.  I love with food, and I now clearly understand why Nanny wanted me to take something home every single time I visited.  It wasn’t because she thought I was hungry or incapable of cooking for myself (although, I have NEVER learned how to fry okra and sure do miss it).  She loved with food.  I cooked a big meal for Roger – fried pork chops, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans with jowl, molasses candied carrots, and peach pie.  I was certain my boy had not had a good meal in months, but he looked pretty healthy.  I sent some groceries home with him, but he would not take home as much as I wanted him to.  He wanted me to know he is making it fine, and I am happy with that. 

Still, I wish he would take food home.  I remember when the girls used to head straight to the kitchen cabinets and call it grocery shopping.   Those days are gone, too.  My babies are all grown up, and they are doing just fine.  They don’t come home hungry anymore, but I am still going to do my best to love them with food. 

Happy New Year!    

The Good Story: 2018

The Good Story:  2018

DAY 1: 

This year I will attempt to keep a journal of something good that happens each day.  Maybe I can post a few now and again. 

Today was VERY cold.  It is 12 degrees right now. 

Good Story:  January 1, 2018.

I watched the Tournament of Roses Parade this morning.  I remember watching it with my family when I was a girl.  I can still remember how amazed I was that all of those floats are made of plants.  I am still in awe today.  I always enjoy the Marine Corps Band and the Clydesdales.  The band was great, but ABC did not cover the Clydesdales.  I saw them once when I was a girl.  It was at a parade in Longmont.  I was fascinated by their size.  Watching the parade makes me feel light-hearted and youthful.  

The Fledgling Grandchild

Are these tears happy, sad, prideful, or selfish? I suppose all of these are mixing together to confuse my heart.  The first grandchild left the nest today.  My emotions say this day is about me and my tears, but there is no truth in those emotions. This is her day.  The Fledgling Grandchild is making her mark on the world – starting a career – becoming a lady and leader.   I am insignificant in this picture.   Indeed, if the Fledgling Grandchild were a painting, I would not even be in it. 

The prominent figure in this painting is a young lady who is small and frail in appearance.  Ah but appearances are so often deceiving.  She is stronger than I ever was as a young woman, middle-aged woman, and now an elderly woman.  She has been working out and her body is strong, but she has an inner strength and courage of conviction that I envy.   She knows what she wants, and she is going to fledge with fireworks! 

Two other women are in the painting – the Mother and Sister.  Today their role is supporting the edge of the nest so it is firm for the fledging.  They crowd the nest and hold the rim of the nest firm, so the Fledgling is incapable of insecurity or second thoughts.  The Fledgling looks back over her shoulder, wondering if maybe she should stay.  The Mother has a single tear creeping from her eye and glistening in the sun as it slips onto her cheek.  The Sister tries to laugh, saying she is taking the Fledgling’s room, but they know she won’t disturb that shrine.  Sister doesn’t know it yet, but the Fledgling will make her own fledge much easier in a few years.   

  

The future is now.  The Fledgling flutters her wings one last time before she leaves the nest with a strong swoop of her wings.  She flies high and strong towards the top of the trees where the sun shines the brightest.  The joy of life is the wind that holds her wings firm and strong. 

She will return to the nest one day, but she will never be the Fledgling again.  

Martha's Burden

I do not get excited about most western movies.  If Jimmy Stewart or Henry Fonda isn’t in it, I probably will not enjoy it.  I chose to watch Dead Man’s Burden (written and directed by Jared Moshe) because Clare Bowen (Scarlett on ABC’s Nashville) is one of my favorite actresses.  I began with the attitude that I enjoy Bowen’s work enough to tolerate a western.  Little did I know that I would watch this movie twice in one weekend. 

Moshe’s western has all of the “shoot em up” and acts of revenge you would expect from a western, but it is much more complex.  It is not immediately evident that Bowen’s character, Martha Kirkland, is the protagonist.  At first it seems like a typical conflict between “good guy” Wade McCurry (played by Barlow Jacobs) and Heck Kirkland (played by David Call).  Moshe downplays the star role to emphasize the insignificance of women who lived on the barren western front.  He demonstrates the psychological desperation of women doomed to this dirty, hungry, and barren life through Martha.  The landscape itself screams of dirt and oppression.  Even when the film seems to move a little too slowly, Moshe is demonstrating the psychological effect of living in this environment. 

We have seen many western heroines.  Maureen O’Hara uses humor to portray an overbearing, but loveable, wife opposite John Wayne in Andrew McLaglen’s McLintock.  Katharine Hepburn plays a tough woman opposite John Wayne in Stuart Millar’s Rooster Cogburn.  While these grand ladies entertain us, we do not have a true sense of the typical life for women during these times.  Bowen’s character has a different kind of strength – one born out of oppression.   Her character is believable.  The film might be titled Dead Man’s Burden, but the burden is clearly upon Martha Kirkland.    

Journey to the Isle of Freedom

The Journals of Captain Cooke chronicle a long and sometimes incredulous journey. The seas were not always calm. The people who inhabited the islands he documents were not always friendly. Early in his travels, Cooke thought he was saving the savages by bringing civilization to their lands. Later he was torn with conflicting thoughts because he could see that civilization brought disease, death, and corrupted the natives. If he had been less intrusive or able to supervise the movement to civilization, it might have been different. His intentions were good, but the results were questionable.


I made a similar decision on my journey to freedom from the Nicodemon. I quit smoking several years ago. Smoking cessation is clearly a positive change. I had introduced a different way of living. I was diligent in this lifestyle change in the beginning. After a while, though, I forgot to nurture the journey. I thought it was over. After 5 years and 23 days, I started smoking again. I was depressed and stressed and thought “just one” would calm my nerves. It did not. I know now that this type of lifestyle change needs continuous supervision and nurturing.

My journey has been fraught with stormy seas for the last 25 months. I became even more depressed because I could not quit smoking. As a result, I smoked more. I can see a clearing on the horizon now. And there, just ahead, is a new island – The Isle of Freedom. I will reach The Isle of Freedom on January 24. I anticipated a rocky landing. My ship may be damaged in the landing. I will not let these little problems stop me from assimilating to the lifestyle of the island. I will find the darkest cave where the Nicodemon lives and slay that beast.

This is a positive decision! This is a positive lifestyle change, and there will be no regrets this time. This journey will end on calm seas!

Learning to Ride in Sand

 

 

 

Learning to ride a bike is not the easiest task for a youngster, but I don’t remember that part of it. I was never a graceful child and still lack grace as an adult.   I am sure that I had a few skinned knees and elbows, but I do not remember them.  I do remember my banana seat bike and the tassels on the handlebars.   The supporting metal for the seat made a perfect handle for Daddy’s hand to hold me steady as I learned to ride.  I never even knew that he let go of me when I first rode on my own.  We lived on a sandy road, so it was difficult for a little girl to pedal.  I guess it was difficult for adults, too, because Daddy flew over the handlebars when he tried to show me to how to get around a curve in the sand.  I did learn to manage the sand and spent many hours “exploring” on my bike. 

I have tried many times to stop smoking, but it is a little like riding in the sand.  I am still learning and not very good at it.  I took a five year ride before I fell and scraped my knees pretty badly.  It has taken me over 2 years to get up the courage to try to ride again.  I am there now and have set a date.  January 24 I will once again go smoke free.  In the meantime, I will prepare myself.  Part of that preparation will be blogging. 

I am going to ride my bike through the sand and slay the Nicodemon forever this time!