Zelda with a "Z"

   June continues to seem like a long month to me. Summer slow, where the air begins to get thick. I yearn for these days. My back door is open, and Satan's humidity is creeping into my diggings. Atlanta is no Miami hot, but it will certainly cause you to wet your whistle! Ice water, sweet tea with lemon, a little something to ease the pain, so you can wither away longer. These are reading days, back porch sitting, reading days. So before I settle down, I thought I would share some of the books, that have been my friends for June.

 The Fitzgerald duo are near and dear to my heart. Scott and Zelda, are like relatives to me. Scott, because he married Zelda. Miss "Z" because she was born in the south. That Alabama girl is surely related, so I read all books about my kin.

 I love writers, books about writers, and when you throw in the influence of the south, Iam in knee deep in hanging moss and humidity.

 So it is no surprise to me, that I picked, Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald by Therese Anne Fowler.

My Bill always asks me, as do others, what I am reading? When I told him about Zelda, he said, "You could write your own book about her."
I semi-smiled and said, "Why thank you, I think?"
I remind him, that it is all family research. "You know she is a relative?" repeating myself over and over!
"Yes, so you say!" he responds, knowing I know he is not listening to one word I have said!

 Back to my story, the book was delicious, but you know that. Who doesn't know about Zelda? Anyone?
 My daddy always said, " Never assume!" but I think the world reads like I do. Unbridled desire to learn everything! Non-fiction, fiction, you need to read about my Zelda.
 Here are some lines from the book, that may spark your reading fever.
  *If only people could travel as easily as words.
  * Nothing except luck protects you from catastrophe.
  * But Zelda, what wouldn't you give to go back to the beginning, to be those people again.
  * Look closer and you will see something extraordinary.
  *"You can't have peach preserves every day of your life!" Aunt Julia said that was the only thing keeping me sweet enough to evade the devil!!! (delicious)
  * My standards were based on good sense, not the logic of lemmings
  * Zelda Sayre of 6 Pleasant Avenue, she of the toe shoes and angel's wings. Livye said, " and devil's smile."
  *"I'm wiser than I am impetuous or improper, rest assured."
  * Trouble don't need an engraved invitation.
  * His father was old-fashioned, too, but Scott thought him benign, like an old pocket watch that keeps time and has style but isn't worth much.
  * "Ludlow once told me his nanny could cut his meat just by scowling at it.
  *Days longer than whole months crawled by
  *There would be too much everything and not enough anything, and then where would that leave us?
I will end on that line. Zelda and Scott sucked up life and spit it out, and if they had lived now, certainly would have been put on some good meds. Then no books would have been written, and no stories told.
It is a fine line with artists, alcohol, mental illness and the years you have it all.

T.S. Elliot wrote, If you aren't in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?

This is a tall story, a long month of June story, a must read story for all who read.

My Zelda, "Z", from Montgomery, dressed in her prettiest spring dress and finest floral perfume, met Scott and the story begins.

I love them both.

Its Not Just A Container

 I am a very lucky girl, always have been, it takes work!!Luck just doesn't happen, you have to hunt it down!! Daily, I remind myself to be grateful for this thing called "luck".?.?
 Just last week, or one of those weeks, hubby brings me my cup of coffee. In the wee hours of the morning, we have always shared the serenity of the morning without a herd of kids awake YET!! Its early, 4 or 5am, and the coffee is hot. On this particular glorious morning, Dr. B. brought me my cub of Joe, in a weird mug. "What is that?" I questioned.
"Your cup of coffee?" replied my lucky husband?
" I believe that is a cup, that was filled with bad candy, that a child gave me at school!" said I.
" Its just a container, Bonnie, the coffee will taste the same.?" He that spoke, knew he had spoke too soon.

Oh Lord Jesus, "Bill, I want my cup, that I use everyday. You should know, as a scientist that I like the ratio of cream/sugar/coffee, in my cup, thank you so much." AND "Its not just a container, its a vessel."
Not only am I lucky to have married someone who appreciates my sense of humor, but after so many years, gets that I am also right.

Attention to details, the right cup, changes everything. That is how luck starts, or should I say No luck could start. It takes work, to know yourself, and to know others. Work or luck, to make another person happy.

To incorporate luck and joy into your day to day living, is not easy? or maybe it is?

I heard a sermon once, that the message was, you have to empty your cup before good can fill it up again!
Amen, to that.
AND I would like to add...your cup better damn well be the right one, or what you put in it, is not drink worthy!!
You create your own luck, trust me, my coffee is perfect.

Ongoing Improvements

 As I begin to piece together my thoughts, I sit here enjoying this Georgia rain. Wondering why I procrastinate so much, and remembering there is just so much to look at.

 Ongoing improvements have to be done, right? We repair our cars, put oil in them, change the tires. Some of us update our homes, new paint, a new chair, granite sinks, summer annuals in the yard, the list is long.
So it would stand to reason, that a tweak, to the old face, now and then would seem to be understood.

At least that is how I explained the COST of some botox and a tad of filler, to Bill. I am like a Bentley, a classic, that needs to be pampered and well oiled?? Maybe I did not say oiled?? Well maintained, smooth, and worked on from time to time. I told the doctor, that she needed to be conservative, that I wanted my eyebrows to remain in the right place, and I like a few wrinkles. Bill laughed, said that I was probably the only woman that asked for a little to be fixed. I guess I should tell him, it was a little, that time!!! I have the doctors name on speed dial. Ongoing improvements are important.

  Just last weekend I read, that Paradise Gardens, Howard Finster's place was having an overhaul and it made me nervous. ( note poison injected into my face did not!!) Some things need to remain the same, or do they? I guess that is always the hard decisions that we all have to make.
I have been to Howard's digs and I don't see how you fix a mess that is crazy beautiful. ( OK, notice that words like that were not used by my doctor!)( nor did Bill say, " Oh Bonnie you are so crazy beautiful, you don't need to go to the dermatologist! Here is thousands of dollars!)
 Seriously, Howard Finster, was a peculiar genius. A folk artist, and a collector of junk.
 One summer, my gals and all our kids, went to see this.....property...his stuff..I don't know what to call it. All I know is his relatives????had a house on the gardens, and then there were buildings and like a yellow brick road, type of path, with things that all of humanity had discarded, and he had put in this path!! It was like a Where is the world is Waldo book, minus Waldo. There was a building built entirely out of old bicycles and bike parts, an entire building! I think I was the only one brave enough to go in. You know that snakes loved his mess. He was a religious man, so I had hoped he had cast out the snakes, before my arrival!! GAWD!
 I think artist may have called some of his concrete art, mosaic treasures. I call them crazy on moonshine, fabulous art. There was a house of mirrors, that I think he called the chapel and a bottle house. Mirror prisms hung on every surface, so that the sun twinkled on all this junk. His painted art pieces are manic writings of his thoughts and opinions, simple drawings from a not so simple man. He even had his coffin, ready to go, decorated for all to see.
  Thinking about his work, causes me to ramble, because I truly cannot describe it. All I know is that some people are fixing it up. A big new building to house his work is going up,  because after he died, natures vines consumed the place.  His shacks were crumbling, and how do you protect and kept his vision alive.
With new building?? ongoing improvements?? I think it will not be the same, but.....what ifs its better? I like the word restore the gardens, that people with money are using. I just want it restored to Finsters' liking, his style. I hope it is possible.
 I guess we all need a little brushing off from time to time.
Ongoing improvements, me and you Howard!

This Isn't Over

 I write to heal. That is how I began this blog of mine. I had to find a way to put my grief into words, before it consumed me. So periodically, due to the nature of loss, I return to the page.

Most of my stories, are my day to day observations about my life, and the people who surround me. I can not end the month of May, without telling you of something I did in France. My final, I think, France story is about my love of churches and Ward, my son.

When they were about to close the coffin on my precious child, the gloomy undertaker people, give you a couple of minutes. We all held hands, and my mother spoke, the rest of us were quiet. We passed his body, and did whatever your heart wanted to do. Mine wanted to die, and in a way it did. I leaned into the coffin, to kiss him, and hit his nose, almost knocking me out. I smiled, as all my tears, hit his face. I whispered that I loved him forever, and this was not over.

Each and every day, I think of him, and remind him of how much he means to us.

I say his name, several times a day. I will never stop, even in France.

I asked Bill before we left to make me a dozen copies of a good picture of Ward, for me to leave in every church, I stepped into. Bill said, " What are you going to do with the pictures?" I answered, " Write his name on the back, his birth and death date, asking whomever looks at this picture to say his name out loud."
I wanted someone, besides me, to look at his beautiful face. Hold his picture in their hands, and maybe say a prayer for us.

Bill always knows, that if I have a mission, its done. ( I also took some photos of my sister, so people could say her name, Trudy Blackman)

We went in every church in Paris, lighting candles at each place. Picking out the perfect little altar to leave my photos. Many times, I would see people look at the pictures, and look around to see the person who left them. Thinking that they could spot someone with a broken heart. I think many people have that look.

I would just smile, and continue. I think that people would not recognize me as sad. I love life, and happiness flows through me. Yes, I have suffered a great loss, but my Ward knows his mom is OK. That was the first thing I told him, when we found him on his bathroom floor. Me screaming like a trapped animal, I touched and told him, I would OK. I did not at any time want his spirit to worry, I wanted him to soar. For hours I screamed, we are OK, it's going to be OK Ward. I no longer scream.

So in France, I left his picture in the Louvre, on park benches, in churches. I have had friends take his picture to Costa Rica, Israel. My friend Maria, puts his photo up at school for the Day of the Dead celebration. Each summer the Compassionate Friends do a walk, and carry his photo. We donate money to his college, Savannah College of Art and Design, money to the library, money to Animal Shelters.  His name and face, are all over the place!!! This is not over, loving someone continues, and I want people to remember he was here on earth. Even for just 25 years, its important. 

So I leave you with some photos of the church buildings that were beyond my expectations, and a few of my Ward. You can even say his name for me, Thomas Ward Baron.
This isn't over

I Will Take Versailles, With a Little A.C.

  I could just post some pictures, and that would tell the story of my visit to Versailles. Its just not my style, I need to find a few adjectives to explain my journey.
  I have to begin with the line to get into the compound. It was four or five long, winding rows of miserable people trying to get a glimpse of what? The gold, the staircases, the beds and murals, the history oozing off the walls?  Who were these people, housed in this glorious prison, that they called home.
 Finally we were inside, with no flowing air. It was a not a hot day, yet I could not breathe. Many people sucked up most of the air, but honestly there were no windows. Two long doors in each room that opened to the beautiful gardens, closed. I looked at Bill, with a brow that would scare you, why the hell do they have the doors/windows whatever they call them closed??? Did people live like this, there are no fans even, and they had to wear all of those clothes. This is what happens in my mind, when I visit historical sites, I freak. Where are the bathrooms, you mean to tell me, that they had to walk up and down these HUGE staircases to go to the bathroom????Just thinking out loud.....Bill said they had people.....???
We wander from room to room, the artwork is grand, the fabric on the walls breathtaking, and then there is a bed in the center of the room, the size of a twin bed and nothing else. A few chairs for people ( Yes they had people) to watch you sleep, eat and god only knows what else. Nothing is comfortable, it is marble and hard, and ornate. Yet, over the top, fantastic. The chandeliers are worth the wait in line, the hall of mirrors, I understood. Anything that would reflect sunlight, had to help these people. I do appreciate having your church built into your home, very easy to get to Sunday School!
  After, forever, someone started to open the doors, and a nice breeze came rushing in. My fainting spell eased up, and I thought, OK maybe I could spend the night here?
  We ended the tour in the gardens, that are endless. They had a little train, and golf carts to get you around on, how did they do it back in the days?? These questions haunt me. I promise you that Marie Antoinette never made it down those stairs, and walking to the end of those gardens. A carriage, horses? She even had another house way out in the fields, because she was to too tired, to skip all the way back to the castle. Plus her husband was not very good in bed. ( I did my research!)
 Very fascinating period of time, and worth exploring , even if its only a book.The French Revolution is wonderful history to read.
  I left there, downloading on my kindle, several books, to help me understand what I had just seen.
  I often think we are starving for knowledge, and I had just been to the banquet!!
  Versailles, so evident the art of pleasing and the failure of a doomed monarchy.
  If they had only some air conditioners, and a little less white powder in their hair.
  

Throw the Key Away

   There were many things in France that held my heart.
   When I think, all my stories have been told, I remember a jewel.
Bill and I were walking, a hundred miles, planning our attack on the city of Paris. We sat on the river Seine and just looked all around us, soaking it all up. The cherry blossoms were blowing like a snowstorm, there was no need for words. I reminded him, that it was probably not a good idea to stop walking, for fear I would never make it back to the apartment. So we put one foot in front of the other quickly. When what jumped in front of me was a miracle. We had found the bridge with all the locks on it.
We were not looking for it, and there it was. I had recently told Bill about my desire to find it, and he put it down the list under finding Ernest Hemingway's apartment! He of little faith! Everyone goes to the Eiffel Tower, I wanted to wander.
This was our first day in Paris, and we happen upon this bridge, luck was pulling us in the right direction.
( of course all of the rif-raf selling locks and keys on the street, should have been a clue?? I was looking at the flower-snow!!)
This bridge is for lovers, or so I thought. You put a lock on the bridge, and make a wish and throw your key into the river. There are notes attached to locks, heart and names drawn on locks, its a joy to be surrounded by this piece of art. However there was a sign, a real sign, that told the story about how it started out, to help lock out domestic violence against women, and over the years became a love bridge. I think anything to help bring awareness to violence against women, is also about love. So I was right also.
No we did not put a lock on the bridge, I was too busy reading everyone's little story, and my feet hurt. Bill knows I love him, I told him there is a pretend lock on the bridge with his name on it. He is a chemist, I don't think he really got the lock bridge. He gets me, and that is lock enough for me.

Pictures, I know you may think one is a video, but I hit the wrong button.

On The Wings of a Dove

 One of my girlfriends asked me recently, "What did you not like about France?" I thought that was a fair question. Since so much of France enfolded me with love, I had to think. My first thought, the gray weather, then the wheels of my hamster cage began to turn.

I noticed in France, there were no songbirds. No colored birds, really no birds. I saw a few crows, the size of small mountain lions, and scattered pigeons around. Counting them as birds?? they are very low on the sweet bird list. I missed my music in the morning, of all my birds. Right now, there is a symphony outside of many varieties of birds. I close my eyes, and listen. That was missing in France, and that silence, I heard.

When My Ward died, nature became louder and more beautiful. The very busy lives of birds, all around me, was a balm to my heart.

I found in my favorite grief book, this Saturday morning, a tiny thought written by Terry Tempest Williams.
-I pray to the birds because I believe they will carry the messages of my heart upward. I pray to them
-because I believe in their existence, the way their songs begin and end each day. The invocations
-and benedictions of earth. I pray to the birds because they remind me of what I love rather than what
-I fear. And at the end of my prayers, they teach me how to listen.

I was so starving for birds, that when we stopped outside Strasbourg, I heard a rooster that would not stop crowing. So I went looking, there was a chicken man, beside our hotel, with the most beautiful vegetable garden and chickens galore. Bill said to me, "Where are you going?" since we were headed into the hotel to check in. " I have a chicken man I need to talk to!"
" Bonnie, he speaks not a word of English."
" Well, love is a universal language, and I can point, so leave me alone to converse with some nature!" and
" Where the hell is my camera!"
" You are taking pictures of chickens in France?"
" Yes I am, you are looking at a very happy person!!!"

France was good to me!