Catching a Dream...

I want to escape! No, that's not quite right...I want to travel! I want to go to Ireland and England and hoof it around, or catch a train all over the islands and see what's historical and what has beauty - what's ancient, and maybe a bit more modern. And I want to see and hear people all over describing what's going on in speeches that tell of the sites, or simply overhear conversations of people in front of me in line.

Nothing as specific as London, but nothing as general as Scotland. Confused? Don't be. My passions tend to be a jumble. You see I've loved those two isles since I was young so the whole of the British Isles has been a dream for a long time to me. I even dream of working for the British Museum and living in a flat for a year, and have read all that I could both fiction and non!

But many constraints have kept me here - tied to my place on planet earth. So instead I dream and try to catch that "mist" in a net, and some how make it real, for until I hold it in my hand and roll it over and over examining it so carefully - it will only be a dream.

I need to live the dream!

What Makes A Home?

What would you miss the most about where you live if you went on an extended vacation, or moved to another place? My husband and I spent a long weekend in Chicago and the thought crossed my mind on the way home on the train. What is my favorite thing, person, etc. that would make it hard to leave?

One such "thing" for me has to be having my grand kids around. Being able to call them and just go visit at any time is a huge plus! But what is the most important thing for me that means "home?" Each of us has that little something that has to be there to make any place a home. Sometimes it's a special cup, or picture, it totally depends on what you treasure.

When many refugees moved to the United States after WWI and WWII they came with the shirts on their backs - literally, so the those little items that meant family, safety and love were even more important. Sometimes they brought a menorah, a special baking dish, or even a cup and saucer. For many of us home means something passed down through the years, and for me it is a painting that I remember sitting on the couch and figuratively crawling into to escape. The picture was of an old school house that seems to be just over the hill. You can see a steeple and the fall leaves on all the surrounding trees. I could feel the crunch of leaves under foot, and when I was young it meant a needed escape from much of my every day life.

The painting became mine after a family member died and since then has been on the wall shedding its "light" on all family occasions in our home. That special item can actually became a part of the family. It can become a memory, or even that warm fuzzy which you have come to rely on to make that small apartment, farm house, or cottage truly a home.

Magic...

Magic is...sitting on the patio in the middle of the garden sipping coffee and sharing that quiet moment with the birds during a warm summer morning...It's a time of quiet all to yourself somewhere you love, or even watching spectacular sunset with someone you love. Magic occurs when you allow yourself to be open to the beauty around every where, but it doesn't have to be as seldom as is usual in our lives. We can create that magic by opening up to what is happening every moment - all around us.

I found that out on a busy bus in downtown Chicago last weekend when I had the time to see it through the eyes of a 12 year old girl. She sat like she was totally alone simply drinking in all that she saw, and watching with excitement and the joy of discovery simply shone in her eyes -that became a magic moment for me.

Magic is looking beyond the ordinary to the totally fabulous!

Weather, Rain, and the World

Weather can set the mood for any day. For many rainy or snowy days brings the blues and lethargy that is frustrating. Isn’t it funny that we change so with the weather? I have chosen to try to enjoy the rain, and after our perfectly dry summer the rain has really come as a blessing, though not to the crops – I fear it’s really too late for most of them. Sitting at the window, or watching the water run down my car window at a light really gives a different view of what rain can be. It’s definitely quite good art in the sense that the drops running together create this lovely view of dripping colors as if the painting is melting.

When wandering into that runny world - into a soft summer shower it can make you feel clean and sticky and wet all at once. My dogs hide from the rain most of the time in their dog house, but willingly run out to greet a squirrel, or a passer by. They don’t seem to mind getting wet at all then, and neither do I. Guess I’m too old to care how I look when I’m wet.

A Lost Art

Remembering is a regular "trip" for many people. Some dip into those past experiences daily. But what if memories, our childhood or other memories aren't accessible?

What are memories, but the records of events that we can repeat over and over again. Often they are the positive things we've accomplished or experienced, but not always. Sometimes they are the nightmares that haunt us. But whatever they are they are what make up who we are every day of our lives from how we treat people to how hard a worker we are.

Memories are also how we know much of our history. If we look back at Queen Elizabeth I much of what we know about the happenings of her court come from the diaries and ledger from the period. What we know of the early European settlements in America come from the writings and records that have come down through the years to us. Some of it comes from letters that were written, or journals and diaries that were kept.

But today we have little to pass down to future generations because we all have progressively written less and less. Today the normal person does not journal or write long snail mail letters that might get saved, but instead create short emails that give little real information about our everyday lives. Some of our best information about even the Viet Nam War come from the letters home written by service people. It seems that no one really even wants to write anymore. There are writers like J.K. Rowling who inspire young readers, but few seem to want to emulate her.

The English teacher in me wants to rattle a cage or two to get people to somehow realize that we are losing something precious - Good writers who care about the written word. But the main question is how do I do it? How do we, as a nation refocus on writing as well as math and science?

Magical Memories

I've been spending some time lately remembering my Grandma Nona. Though I really have only a few memories of when I was young at home, but many of the times spent at her house on the lake are part of some of the best times from my childhood. Grammy lived on a small lake that became part of my summer dreams during the years I was growing up.

My grandmother was very special. She was small quiet women, who had a small and magical house. I can still remember the smells of old books and some of the most wonderful old black looking wood furniture. I can remember running my fingers over an old glass windowed book case with what to my young eyes seemed like thousands of books on top of more books. I would often sit in the chair beside this fantastic bookcase reading the many book titles within. I never knew those books for they weren't the kind found in the libraries I knew, but the magic of having that many books in one spot was like capturing magical animals to keep behind glass. I was a lover of books even then and loved to see so many treasures all in one place. I could just imagine exploring all over the world through my grandmother's books.

But none of the books were as much fun as listening to her stories about her childhood, for you see my grandmother grew up in a family circus in the 1800s filled with real Indians in buckskin, animals and fabulous people. I have pictures of Grammy dressed in buckskin and beaded head gear, and when she was young in one photo, and in the equivalent of tights and a leotard with a whip in her hand like a lion tamer in another.

Though she never talked about those times much when I was young, I can remember the pictures and a time when we became a part of that long ago circus through playing dress up. When my cousins and I were very small we use to dress in the Indian buckskin that by then was at least 50 years old. Soft and supple it gave off a wonderful smell of imagination and excitement as we paraded through the large closet to the mirror to view how each outfit changed the way we looked and felt.

Those years still create such good feelings today when I meander through the memories of the wonderful old house and all the "Alice in Wonderland rabbit holes" where we could escape to another life and another era. Wandering through those pictures in my memory are often the best escape from a difficult day even now. Those years were truly magical.

Without A Song

Music, for me is the soul of life. When I'm down, it can be my strength - so for me anyway, it is the key to operating during any day. Funny, but I think for many that few bars of music - of any song can change a day. I have a great CD that when I'm doing housework (Which I hate!) gets me through that terror called vacuuming.

I know I'm not the only one that loves music to walk to when I'm "walking the dog." For me it is either classical, or Sousa! I also love show tunes for walking. But for the dreaded housework it has to be moving music. Sometimes the music to move to is jazz, sometimes salsa. Okay, so I've dated myself, but I think there is that rhythm in all of us, so I'm off to "waltz" through the dishes! Toodles!

Memories From a Garden

Being a gardener, I am constantly on the lookout for great plants for my garden. Last year I bought three plants - not blooming and just ratty green leaves. I wasn't sure those three perennials would even survive but the price was definitely right. This year I've had the most wonderful surprise in that they are the most prolific bloomers and are simply spectacular! One was an old fashioned flower that my grandmother use to have in her garden.

When I was little I use to sit with my knees tight under my chin looking my Grandma Nona's garden. I watched the bees and butterflies zoom or flutter and felt as if I was in a faerie's world. My imagination had faeries dancing around the garden using the flowers as dresses. They would dip and whirl as the dresses rippled and seemed to fly with each puff of wind.

Her favorite flowers were the poppies, but the foxglove came a close second because they were so prolific and you could almost get lost in those bell-like blossoms. The pink and lavendar bells made me think of lovely ball gowns and added an old fashioned touch to my faerie dreams.

So now, when I watch those flowers bobbing with every breeze I am reminded of my grandmother and the lovely memories created in that very special garden.

Hey, Look at Me! I'm a Grandma!

I love being a grandmother. Okay, everyone is trying to always be "young," but I don't want to be any age other than the one I am. I have never had so much fun in my life! With my own kids I was Mom. Now, I get to be a play partner, a reader, and someone who loves to tell story after story! I can be silly and play all I want to, and that is the best gift I have ever received.

I survived my kids, three rowdy, and hyper-active boys. It wasn't always fun, but I have great memories and pictures in my mind of each at various times through their first years. Teenagers are another thing all together, though. But I loved them - even through a lot of impossible times. But with my grand kids, it is so different!

I love being grammy...I love being a kid right along with my four, very special "grand"children.

Our Neighbors Both Feathery and Furry

Friday evenings are great in the summer. I sit out on the patio, and watch the birds and listen to their songs until the swallows and bats make their entrance to the early evening sky. Tonight with little humidity was a great evening for sitting and simply being. The cardinals were, "Cheer, cheer, cheering," to the sky and the contrails that crisscrossed my view gave an image much like a game of tic tac toe.

It's funny to think that our modern age and the ever-present natural life around us actually coexisting, but they do...never quite in harmony, but always on an almost equal footing in our daily life. I found out how true that was one evening a few years ago when I was finding myself deep in inner city Grand Rapids on the 3rd deck of a parking garage. Walking to my car I crossed paths with a rather large raccoon. It ambled past and I stopped to watch thinking that in this urban setting there are still the soft features of nature brushing up against our lives.

I'm awfully glad I see the critters that surround us! I can be setting in the car at a stop light and enjoy the flight of a hawk, or see rabbits both big and small in the field behind our home and remember that this is really a shared space and not exclusively our own in this modern world.