Thankful for the Years

  I guess most generations think theirs has been the best.
  My years have been so full, and so wonderful to live in. My mom would probably argue this fact. Times they were a changing and I was right in the middle of it. I went from Madras to bra burning in a wink of an eye. A buttoned up cardigan, to long skirts and beads.
 I was a child in 52, and by 63 my world was shattered.
 Fear of communism and death hovered ever so closely, with the drills in elementary school. Anxiety was my partner in life, and then the president was shot.
 My mom, ran to our school, and into my room , crying telling Mr. Edwards that the president was shot, I don't think she used the word dead. ( we did not use the word pregnant either!!) I went home. It was quiet in our house, and things proceeded as usual. Kids did not ask questions, and barely watched any news. However I watched my parents faces, and I could not breathe. I remember blowing kisses to God, every night, so that maybe my family would be safe from whomever these bad people were. I was all of 11, mom still picked out my clothes, and I grew up really fast after that day.
 I was never a little girl again, my heart hurt and I could not process what had happened.
 My mom ordered a book, with all the details and photographs of the time. I devoured it, and have to this day.
 Just fifty years ago, seems so near and real, yet I know time has continued.
   Iam so thankful that I keep things, that help mold me. The book, The Torch Is Passed, has been dragged out every year, and I run my fingers over the pages. My children have sat with me, going over how young their mommy was!! Emma sat and briefly watched Killing Kennedy with Bill and I last night. Her biggest thought , mom was in elementary school and dad was a senior in high school, " That is just wrong!!" to quote my child with devil horns!! " Why do you watch this sad stuff?" said Lucifers angel. "IT IS MY LIFE, MY WHOLE LIFE changed that day!" quietly speaking to my love child.

   Your generation is you, all about you. We had big sorrows, and the Beatles. Music saved our soul, and of course organized religion ! We were from the south, religion is our bread and butter.
   The woman's movement and birth control changed my very being. These things were big, life altering wonderful happenings in my life. ( again Iam not so sure my mom would be on the birth control band wagon, back in the day. BUT she too has changed with the times, she rocks!) I am beyond proud to be a woman.

   This November, let us remember all the moments that changed us. Celebrate each year with Thanksgiving.
   Lucky am I, this I know.

Thankful for Pat

 On this Thursday afternoon, the sun has decided to peep out, and I began to stir.
 Normally I would leave my book reading until the end of the month, so I can fill you up, as books have filled me.
  This will not wait.
  So very thankful for Pat Conroy and his screwed up family. ( Note in my blog title, I use just his first name, I think we are cousins, or very close friends)
  I know in the past I have written about Pat, his way with language, reminds me of the smell of coffee in the morning. That first sip, warm java hitting your stomach, and then you breathe. Pat Conroy is one of our southern best. He is sweet tea with extra lemon, and a shot of white lightning.
 I do not under any circumstances understand how he has survived growing up, but I think writing saved him. At least it gave him some rope.
  The Death of Santini: The Story of a Father and His Son, is charming and undone.Exquisite prose, that comes from a hideous start.
 It helps if you have read his other books, you will understand his relationship with his family and how his life is the foundation of his work. He also refers to his family history as a wound, that he remembers even from diapers. Fascinating horror that produces this master writer.
  He describes his parents marriage as composed of terror and great violence, storm-tossed and seasoned with all the terrible salts of pain. ( He is a genius, a broken genius with words)
 Pat tells of love in his family that came to them veiled in disturbance-they had to learn it the hard way, cutting away the spoilage like bruises on a pear. ( The poet in him speaks volumes)
 When talking about his mom, whom he loved deeply, he said, "She could camouflage the blade of beauty in the folds of a matadors red cape." What a way to describe a women who could use silence to declaw her husband, her ungovernable husband! ( These are his words, not mine. I wish they were mine!)
 Here are a few more words about his mom.
      She lacked the quiet confidence that comes from the leisure and gracefulness of coming up right. Fashion and style were not tests you could study for. Your birthplace is your destiny and it hunts you down in whatever cotillion you've run to hide in-it is a bad tattoo that is defining, accurate, and irremovable.
   His mom lived in southern shame, and married a mean man. Their family was a vessel of pure madness(still his words, all of these are his words) The Depression pollinated every corner of her personality with the dark ash of insecurity she would take to her grave.( lord have mercy)
  Hard to believe that the book is Mr. Conroys goodbye to his demons. He lays out the family tree, and all of its badly lit crazy people, and forgives and closes those chapters.
  His father, whom I met at a book signing years ago, was the most horrible parent. He was a Marine fighter pilot, need I say more. Seriously these children should have gone to foster homes, years ago, but that was back in the day, where all was swept under the rugs. Mental illness, beatings, verbal abuse, sexual abuse, all lay under the rugs in many households. The Conroys, are in a league of their own.
  From the Chicago Irish Catholic, to the Alabama snake handlers, this combo, this DNA was toxic and yet..
Pat Conroy's words.
   He dedicated this book to his brothers and sisters, who knew how bad it really was.
 Out of the pain, comes......its all about choices.
  Thankful for my Pat, and his stories.

With Gratitude

  November rolls along with much gratitude.
  To say I have the best friends, does not do them justice. Iam so thankful for my friends, near and far.
   Just this week, Sunday night and Tuesday night, I supped with the girls. Bistro Nikko and  Marlowes were so lucky to have us. We talk and talk and talk, and throw some food down. It is always my pleasure to be surrounded by beautiful, strong, funny women. I love them all, even better then the concert that some of us watched. I will say, Allison and I had the best seats in the house to see House!

and as I write, I must note that my number four son is sitting across the table from me, eating, and of course not talking to me, because Iam working!! Its fun to have him home, in the middle of the day. He is moving into a new condo, and taking everything in my house that is not tied down!! So this is not a relaxed blog, I have to keep my eyes on him, like a hawk! precious adult children????

 There are a couple of things I want to lift up to my blessings, my sea glass, from Lucie Hamner. Also my daddy's canes, from Homer! two things I can see as I type, that touch my heart.

Mrs. Hamner bought me sea glass that she collected off the coast of Washington state. Each summer I would beg her for some, so it became a treat that for many years, she would pass on to me. I love each piece, I have turned them all over in my hand a million times. It fascinates me. One year for my August birthday there was a bag of something on my front porch, just a brown bag. I was hesitant to open it, but what the heck...it was full of sea glass from Lucy, no note, just my bag of glass. I will cherish the pieces of glass and our friendship. ( She now lives on "Glass Beach" in Washington) She taught me so much. So thankful.

I get to look at my sea glass while I type, but I confess I have to turn my head to see daddy's canes going up the back stairs. Those are Ward's stairs that lead to his bedroom, I do not think any of us use those stairs, they are solely his. Guess they will be always be his. I thought my daddy's canes would help Ward travel the stairs if he ever chooses to visit. ( I guess spirits don't need walking sticks, but he would appreciate the thought of pop-pops many collections, on his walking path)

I never allowed guns, even toy ones in my house,so I would tell the kids, to just grab a stick. Multiple uses, for intruders, or each other!! just watch out for eyeballs!! ( Note: no intruders ever, or sticks used on each other!!) My dad had hip replacement surgery starting in his early fifties. He had many, and required walking canes, he never found the right one. Lucky me, I get them all, and love them so much. Thanks dad for being particular to the point of hoarding canes, your number one daughter is thankful!

Those are my joys of the day, plus a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, gosh you forget how good that taste.
With gratitude.

Surround Yourself with Love

 Love encircles me, it is a well thought out plan.
 You cannot come into my home, and not see me.
  My joy is in every nook and cranny. Mixed in with animals, children, a hubs, great crazy love surrounds me.
        This November, I will take you through my home, and share some of my favorites things. This is the season to be thankful. You know that I adore my children, love my Bill, and pamper my animals, as if, they were all royalty. When in fact, the queen always rules! You would think that would be enough, all these jewels in my crown, but....I like my castle to have a little bit of my love, with stuff that will make this queen happy so I can share my love with all my subjects, I mean family members!
     You know I sit in my kitchen to write my blog, I love my spot!! In our big family, five kids, two adults and a cast of animals through the years, I have always had a spot. You have to carve out your spot, and put up a sign! No one talks to me, when I write or read. Mom is in her spot, is serious!! I am so very thankful for my area, and that my family has given me space of my own.

This is what I see , to the left of where I am sitting right now. I love it!! My marbles in this vase!! It may represent the marbles I have lost over the years, or just that I like to collect things that are not used much anymore. I feel sad, that marbles are a thing of the past. A game of long ago, and they deserve some love.
The vase, I bought at an antique store, and it is heavy and deep, not sure what it was used for. I put flowers in it once, and the vase overpowered the flowers, so I let the vase be on its on. It is a piece of art, sitting on a treasure.

It sits on top of an old card catalog case, I bought  in Vermont. I miss libraries and looking up where a book may be on the shelf. I wish that I had an entire wall of card catalog boxes.When the kids were little, they all had a drawer, to keep their secret stuff. If you look closely Hart's name is still on the left, bottom drawer. Lord knows what is in there, something special, I hope.    So thankful on this Sunday morning, for a couple of neat objects, a spot to think and a family for letting me read, write and buy fun things.
   More to come.....

Most of the Time

     I think on any given Sunday, we seldom connect all the dots.
     My dad would say, "Its just life, Bonnie."
Well life is a full cup of poison, most of the time. You have to not drink from the cup, or rinse the damn cup out!
     A friend of mine, who lost her daughter recently, has been diagnosed with breast cancer. Of course, I don't get it. There should be a set of rules, that when you lose a child, you are done with things that hurt you.
But then, it is just life, in a nut shell.
What to say and do?
I went to buy a scarf, earrings and a make-up bag. I want her to look darling, when she feels beat down. Chemo, the cup of poison, heals and hurts. How can you hurt anymore? My heart aches, I will get this package in the mail, with my love and kisses.
    You know, if you read my blog, that the end of the month is book time. Or as I like to call it, My drug of choice, books.
 I read three this month, really four, but only one I will brag about.
 French Dirt by Richard Goodman - about a garden in the south of France. Love France, love gardens end of review!

Think Jung! How I Found Meaning in My Life-by Paul Marshall Wortman- I love the search.

Stitches, A Handbook on Meaning, Hope and Repair by Anne LaMott- she is one of my favorite authors, and this book will take you about an hour to read. I will say that I highlighted so much of the book, that I lost the flow. So I read again. ( I also recommended this book to my friend who I talked about earlier, it calls her name) It will probably speak to you all. It is about life, and the ride. She talks about how easy it is to stay on track when we are feeling full of goodness. Then what happens when things fall apart, and they do, for all of us. Anne mentions solace in nature and art, and maybe if we are lucky, the quiet satisfaction of our home. ( theses three things have, and continue to keep me above water)
A couple of jewels are as follows: Ram Dass said that we're all just walking each other home. This is the sweetest thing I have ever read. The comfort that we can offer people, is like walking each other home. That is fantastic.
  Ms. Lamott speaks of feeling that we are barely pulling ourselves forward through a tight tunnel on a badly scraped-up elbow!! (Yikes! you feel that!!)( life is a beast, but hang on, get the bandages out!!)
 She also says we live stitch by stitch. (love that) and if you fixate on the big picture, the whole shebang, the overview, you miss the stitching!! ( pay attention!)
  Barry Lopez wrote, " All that is holding us together are stories and compassion.( You can tell Anne Lamott is a reader)
 She mentions that you never fully recover from some hurts. Then she says, that all you can do is say, "I get It" ( That is what I want to say, and it just doesn't come out of my mouth)
 Robert Burns said it best: " Life is but a day, at most."
(That kind of sounds like what my daddy said," Its just life Bonnie.")
"Without stitches, you just have rags. AND we are not rags!" says my author friend, Anne.
     We are precious beings, full of hope and heartache. That is me speaking now.
     Read this book, and think of my friend.
     Fill your cup with joy, and hold on. Lord its a crazy journey, but Iam loving it!!!

I Do Not Know the Date, but I Have a Plan B, C and D

 This bears repeating, October has been a warm biscuit kind of season in Atlanta.
I mentioned to my family, that I was sure that God was smiling at me, until we had a cold snap!
Last week, blankets were thrown over me, and I was shaking! My number four precious son?( I was being generous with precious on that day!) Hart said, " Mom, you need to move way down south, it is not that cold!"
   "HART..can you bring me some wood for the fireplace?" and " I have been saying that for years, Key West calls my name!"
 So what do we do, when it is winter in October? Go to the movies to see, 12 Years a Slave. Yes it was a good movie, and yes it had wonderful actors, BUT all I could see was the moss in the trees and the sweat soaked clothes of everyone who lived on the plantation. I could smell the humidity, and I felt alive and happy. When we left the movie, I was sure it had been filmed in my beloved south, when Bill said, " I think it was filmed in South Carolina or on a sound stage."
Husband, from Buffalo New York, I replied ever so sweetly, like fresh cut sugar cane, " Bill, that was filmed near a swamp and some long ass moss growing from those trees! that is deep in the belly, south." and " I will look it up when we get home." ( born researcher that I claim to be)
 We had not been home five minutes when, only daughter, sweet angel Emma hollered, " It was filmed in Louisiana, Mom!"
 Yes, in the Bayou, snake infested swamp, cotton picking state of crazy plantations and some wrong doing, for sure. I took a deep breath. Bill said, " You know your moss Bonnie" well now, " Thank you, Thank you ever so much!" but it remained cold in Johns Creek. However for a brief couple of hours, I was warm.
 Horrified of slavery, and the times but embraced by what I knew the south could be, one day, I hope.
The moss still holds some secrets, and pain from the past. The movie told the familiar story, that many choose to let lay in the history books. This story of Solomon, from 1853, had to be told. It is all of our history, and we hold our faults to the stars , so we can remember, never let that happen again.
I hope people see the film, and we continue to grow.
I have to admit, its my nature, that I think I would have been good at picking cotton. I like the way it feels coming off the plant, I like heat, and I love the songs of the black people. Its the white people who I would have had a problem with, I often have no filters when thinking and speaking, and don't take kindly to whips. My life would have been very short lived.
Bill says, " You thought all of this about the movie, during the movie!" and " because it was a cold day, it spoke to you?"
" Yes, I can not just see a movie, or read a book, or wake up each morning, I need a plan, A,B,C and maybe D" said I." You are a lucky man!"

Reginald Dwight and a Friend

       This past week I have noticed that Elton John has been on the morning shows.
       He has a new album out, The Diving Board.
       I half pay attention to morning TV, but I like to hear it going all over the house. I heard he was going to sing, and turned my eyes to the screen. The pianist was turning it out, once again, and I had to sit down.
His pudgy fingers effortlessly skim the keys, and make magic. I moved closer to the source. His voice, never perfect, has matured and is raspy well worn, Captain Fantastic!
     Later he played Rocket Man, and changed it up, until I thought I would faint. I held my heart with my hand, for this beautiful melodic memory of a song.
    He is a master with a friend.
    A person whom I have loved for so long, Bernie Taupin.
    This is the first album( I know its a CD or whatever they are called now, I happen to be stuck in the 60's)
since 2006 that they have collaborated on. My memory bank was flooded with emotions. Bernie and Elton, the lyricist, poet and the piano driven Sir.

                       -Its a little bit funny
                         this feeling inside...
    go ahead and sing the rest, It is Your Song
Another line from that song- If I were a sculptor, but then again, no- Bernie's lyrics are the finished art piece.
You can read his lyrics, as if, a book of poetry. Songs from my generation, into the now.
This duo, these minstrels tenderly and rambunctiously delivered something special to us.
They have done it again.
I may not have married a music man, but Sir Elton and Bernie have a piece of my heart.