travel – BethSings

Having your Cake and Eating it Too

Nine weeks seems like a long time in May. It’s not.

Once, when little ones were under foot and summer days were filled with ‘what are we doing today, Mommy?”, days were adventures. Without our even recognizing it, days and weeks change. This summer’s delight has been spending time – quality time with family and friends.

Anthony DeMello

I’ve long said that social media is often twisted, taken way too seriously and could very well be the downfall of real conversation. Sometimes it’s the best we can do but I wouldn’t consider it ‘quality time’ although I do miss exchanging the occasional bon mot with a few people.

To keep focused on the present, I purposefully didn’t take my camera on three trips so that I could remember each adventure in my mind’s eye. I did take a few snapshots on my phone…. Boston 4th Only once did I wish I had my Nikon.

Last week I took it on a day trip then when editing those photos

Longwood roof compressed 2

I noticed that the last shots I took were on my birthday last November, nearly eight months ago. Good grief! Longwood long view compressed

It may sound odd but that camera had been a friend just as others have been, when I didn’t feel I had a voice. I discovered in these years the importance of listening over talking or singing, patience in letting go. Picking up that camera last week was similar to the visits I’ve enjoyed with friends and family this summer. Talks over delicious meals, coming home to a comfortable place where the conversation was just as we left it. Here’s to welcome change, new adventures and much more…..

Tea and Scone

Much More

Unwritten – Outside the Lines

May. Graduations are bountiful.

On the cusp of marking my 25th graduation at St. Aloysius School I find myself more sentimental than usual at these occasions, feeling both lucky and grateful to be included in the lives of so many students and their families over 33 years of teaching. It’s hard to believe that 40 years ago this week I was lining up between classmates Brad and Joy for similar festivities on the evening of my parents 28th wedding anniversary, wistfully gazing toward the future.

To the class of 2017 from a mother, teacher and fellow traveler from the class of ’77:

Some days will seem incredibly long while the years and decades slip past rather quickly.
If you haven’t discovered it, journeys are sometimes better shared with companions…Form them wisely. That includes yourself.
Be kind. Be grateful.
Money isn’t everything.
Respect yourself and others. Don’t confuse respect with entitlement.
Failures are a part of the journey. You can’t change history, only learn from it.
Never loose your sense of humor. Don’t take yourself too seriously.
Be humble.
Dream big.
Love bigger.

“I hope your dreams take you…to the corners of your smiles, to the highest of your hopes, to the windows of your opportunities, and to the most special places your heart has ever known.” Anonymous

Godspeed

Unwritten-Natasha Bedingfield

Three months…..

“People always think that happiness is a faraway thing”, thought Francie, “something complicated and hard to get. Yet, what little things can make it up; a place of shelter when it rains – a cup of strong hot coffee when you’re blue; for a man, a cigarette for contentment; a book when you’re alone – just to be with someone you love. Those things make happiness.” Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

Three months since the last blog. Last weekend my oldest friend and forever ‘sister’, Leslie asked ‘what happened to your blog’? July seems a lifetime away. Several times I sat down to write and edit photos but the stories both in photosand words came at a snail’s pace.

In all certainty the Summer of 2016 will be remembered. . .

Lazy days spent with family and friends.

Sweet hellos, bittersweet good-byes. gary-and-rosemary

Undoing and and rebuilding.

Army. Navy.

A region and people figuratively and literally inundated by tragedy….swallowed by the blessings of those same people.

Yesterday morning I woke up, disappointed, thinking–“Today the family was supposed to be in Boston”. Life sometimes changes our plans for us, but as Francie points out in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn contentment can be found embracing the “simple things”. We have much to look forward to….

Floods wash away tragedy. Friends move to be closer to family.

And so on this October 7, 2016…..Fall break…..here’s a thought:

“Look at everything always as though you were seeing it either for the first or last time: Thus is your time on earth filled with glory.” Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

old-state-capitol-bldg

Yay family…..shake a little love….

Pruning

Love is little, love is low
Love will make our spirits grow
Grow in peace, grow in light
Love will do the thing that’s right

Shaker hymn

BYU Concert Choir- “Love Is Little”

Simple. Connections. As we grow older I believe that’s what we’re looking for really. Family, friends, colleagues. Sparks that light the way in a world that’s often overrun with chaos, too many choices and confusion. Voices of clarity. They challenge us, as the Shaker hymn suggests to ‘do the thing that’s right’.

Last week was Mardi Gras break. My North Louisiana roots always show the final weeks of carnival season when I escape to different adventures, mostly back to those Monroe roots.

This year, travel lead west to see friends and especially my daughter. I drove back from Austin on a dazzling day. I was well past Houston before I turned on music. The first song on the playlist was that Shaker hymn….I replayed it several times, listening to the lyrics. “Love is little. Love is low. Love will make our spirits grow.”

“Lent is as much about quitting the obligations that clutter our life as it is about learning to dedicate ourselves to more eternal tasks — because fewer branches equal better fruit.”

Since the word Lent comes from the Old English, “lencten,” which means Spring, “pruning my branches” during these next weeks seems very apropos.

Another beautiful day hanging between winter and spring, my daughter and I visited the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center. If we stop long enough to ‘declutter’ the ‘fruit’ is much better.

If you’re looking for me in the next weeks I’ll be pruning…..pruning…..and relaxing into spring….

Pruning doesn’t mean…”you don’t have to try so hard, bend until you break…..or giving it all away…” Take a listen!

Colbie Caillat – Try

Gurgle

The house is quiet again but echos with the laughter and talking that filled it a few days ago. Not unlike others, our family gathered to celebrate.

Celebrate a birth. Celebrate our love for each other.

The last week has been a whirlwind of cooking, eating, visiting with loved ones far and near. Their presence, whether by walking in the door or a phone call or card was a gift in itself.

On Christmas Day a wave of sentimentality hit me, a brief moment of melancholy.

Call it desire, wanting a little more, instead of being satisfied with what we have. Missing those who are absent is human nature. My son’s words grounded me. The sentiment was fleeting. Generations, family and friends gathered at our table….some present, some in spirit. The days spent together were as splendid as the feast.

This year there was a new addition at our table: a whimsical fish pitcher from my childhood best friend, Leslie. At each meal we giggled as we poured water. It wasn’t until a few days after Christmas that I discovered the story.

The ‘gurgle pot’ was the creation of artist Matthew Ellison inspired by his travel to a small French village for his brother’s wedding. There were no hotels so all of the guests stayed with host families. His spoke no English and he spoke no French so conversation was awkward and challenging. A saving grace at meals was a fish-shaped pitcher that gurgled with each pour. …what a wonderful connection. Laughter. Listening. Whimsy. Trusting communication in all it’s forms on the journey.

In retrospect, 2015 has been a year of similar connections: lightbulbs in deep grace and dark journeys on long days. Listening for a gurgle.

Blessings. Births. Graduations. Weddings. Illness. Deaths.

Maneuvering day-to-day living. Connecting to the gurgle of those we hold dear. Finding the way to connect to them in a meaningful way. Not our way, but the best way.

Gratitude for it all.

In this coming new year, may your connections gurgle…simply with love, and abundantly.

Do You Know?

America has only three cities: New York, San Francisco and New Orleans.

Everywhere else is Cleveland.

Tennessee Williams

Kindest regards to all “Clevelands”. New Orleans is a good hours drive from my door. I fondly call it an ‘adult playland.’. Food. Fun. Frolic. As the tenth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina approaches New Orleans has been calling. In the heat of the summer some friends and I took the day to explore. Some places were old ‘haunts’, some were new adventures, some we left for future discovery.

Reflective……..

Walking into vintage shops and stopping at her tables under shady trees is like seeing an old friend. “Pieces of eternity.”

“Don’t you just love those long rainy afternoons in New Orleans when an hour isn’t just an hour – but a little piece of eternity dropped into your hands – and who knows what to do with it?” Tennessee Williams

New Orleans….resilient and a sense of humor….

Our final stop was at a fine New Orleans restaurant, an institution that surprisingly none of us had eaten before. Exceptional food and service. At one point someone asked what we were celebrating…This morning I know….New Orleans…..

The “Always”

Friendship is such a holy gift but we give so little attention. It is so easy to let what needs to be done take priority over what needs to be lived.

Henri Nouwen~The Road to Daybreak

There has been unrest these last weeks. I found myself quiet, not because I had no opinion but because my voice in the fray seemed inconsequential. The people who truly know me also know my mind and heart on such matters of the world. Others, as my grandfather always said, don’t matter. “We can’t change their hard heads or harder hearts. We will never all agree, Baby Doll. Don’t expect them….accept them….”

Last week I was out-of-town: business, recreational, adventure. After a meeting I fell asleep with the television on for several hours. A hard sleep, June was a long busy month; I was much more weary than I cared to admit. I woke up to a familiar voice. In another life these words from Olivia Walton would’ve produced an eye-roll “….what I don’t like is the always… ” I understood she had built her life and the life of her family on tradition….but was willing to embrace change. In fact, she was restless for it, unafraid of it.

We become smug, dancing in the shadows of complacency, thinking our way is the only way.

We expect others….friends, family to believe as we do…the always….

On the drive home I made a short stop at the Beaumont, Texas Visitors Center which also houses the Babe Didrikson Zaharias Museum. For years I’ve wanted to stop, check it out but never took the time. Her life has always fascinated me. She along with Amelia Earhart, Anne Morrow Lindbergh, Eleanor Roosevelt, Katharine Hepburn and countless others who explored the world in a time when it wasn’t fashionable for women to take those risks. My mother was a risk-taker, working and volunteering for the civil rights movement in the 1960s. Visiting Mrs. Zaharias’ museum reminded me of the sacrifice that we all make for a life well lived….. On the walls and in the case hung the expected sports memorabilia from high school to the Olympics but also place settings of china and displays of her favorite recipes. Not content with “the always”, after her track and field career ended she became a world-class golfer. She learned to live in the world. Certainly in those days, one could apply all sorts of labels….but she was a woman of many talents and was successful doing what she loved. She didn’t let the world define her. She defined her world. Always.

When I took the shot of her golf portrait the museum docent was telling me that “Babe” was an expert knitter. The story was so good I didn’t check the shot.

Like Olivia Walton, Babe’s always was the unexpected. Looking for the end of the rainbow. Some people want to complicate or agitate…..Me? I’m grateful for the lesson….always…..looking for the rainbow

Creative Waiting

For years there have been two books kept consistently on my bedside. One is my journal. The other is a copy of Joseph Campbell’s “The Power of Myth”. Bedtime. Rising. His words challenge and encourage.

Yesterday I finished a journal that I began in May 2011. The first entry was written in an airport on the way to Prague. I had no idea when I started that journey and journal the adventures that were in store.

Travel. Home. Joys. Challenges.

“Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors for you where there were only walls.” Joseph Campbell

Thumbing through this journal was enlightening. A Rosetta Stone.

That first journal entry on May 19, 2011 was from the Dublin airport. My plane had been rerouted from Helsinki on the way to Prague. I wrote: “Not exactly where I thought ‘d be. Then again, life has a way of surprising us if we’re open on the adventure. Delays turn into journeys. Sleepless nights turn into card games (I played cards all night with the people from Texas who sat next to me on the plane). So I stay in the moment. Open. Eyes open. Looking at the vision surrounding me. Bringing the past into the future. “And so I ceased, I carred my father. I sought my way to the mountains.” Homer?

That last line is from some place in The Odyssey. I remember having more than a slight buzz from no sleep, being in Ireland and knowing I was going to see my daughter for the first time nine months. The Homer was about letting go and moving forward simultaneously. That tug-of-war has been a theme these four years. Maybe longer.

This weekend was filled to the brim with activity…. My mother and my friend Leslie might call it “burning the candle at both ends”. The “candle” is a little weary by the end of April and ready for the soft flicker of summer.

Driving home tonight after supper with a friend it struck me that the bliss Joseph Campbell is talking about is really just peace in knowing yourself. Lessons learned. Talk less, listen more. Waiting. Creative waiting is following your bliss.

A letter home…

Spring has been opera performances, conducting musicals, organizing a cabaret, teaching. A last minute trip to visit my son for Easter. Preparations for my daughter’s Masters degree graduation in Boston. My hesitation in blogging has something to do with all of that activity but also with tomorrow. April 19. Thirty years.

A letter that’s long in coming but has been formulated in my heart and mind for quite some time. A letting go.

It seems odd to write. Over these decades you have been a part of the journey. Some days, like today, it’s a fleeting flashback, almost relegated to a hashtag. How you visited with women in the Monroe A&P. We’d get animal crackers. Now, I understand the significance of those grocery store chats. What is said in those whispers on the aisles. I understand a lot more than I did thirty, forty, fifty years ago.

You’d be proud of your grandchildren. They are creative, generous, intelligent, funny people. There has never been a time I haven’t enjoyed their company —-from the first moment I held them to the last moment we spoke. I hope they can say the same of me. You were right. Children grow up very quickly. It’s hard to believe that Sarah (named for your grandmother) is the same age I was the last time I saw you. Patrick (named for your great-grandfather) is now the age I was when I had Sarah. I remembered what you said… to spend time with them. . . the dishes and everything else did keep.

During most of my life I had a clearly marked ‘road map’. About four or five years ago things seemed very murky. Hormones and a redefined self-image…. I recalled one of our last conversations: about middle-aged women – – – a complicated conversation that I didn’t understand at the time. Now I understand the aging process: physical and spiritual. You prepared me for those steps just as you prepared me for so many others. It’s hasn’t escaped me that like many women, you found passion in your 50’s—-yours was public service and education. It’s not that you weren’t interested in public service before, after fifty you just had time to dedicate. Freedom and independence are exhilarating. That was our last conversation April 17, 1985.

You and Daddy taught by example that each day is enough. I hope Patrick and Sarah know that too. Finding the ‘simple’, in themselves and in others; Sifting through life’s concerns with style and grace. Keeping their ducks in a row….sometimes alone, sometimes with others. Always remembering….Family. Friends. Respect. Love. Laughter and fun along the way.

Yeah…it’s more than enough….and the conversation continues….

Finding Crème Brûlée

It’s been nearly a year since I began this photo-journal blog adventure. It started as a thank you to my adult children after last Christmas: to my son Patrick for his thoughtful gift, a new camera; to my daughter Sarah for her advice as a photographer and blogger. Each time I’ve held the camera my life quietens in prayer for them and for what surrounds me; for those–near and for—who I keep close. It has been a wild ride….filled with fun and adventure. At fifty-five that seems appropriate.

Like most people, these weeks before Christmas are busy with mundane balanced with preparations for the coming holiday. I learned long ago to take an inventory of values and expectations during this season. Traditions are important. . . well, at least to me they are. Name the day and time, keep it. Stay in the moment and enjoy it. All of that was very helpful raising two children. Keep It Simple Silly

Over the last week I’ve been preparing my daughter’s bedroom for a holiday spruce up. The renovation was a long-time coming. This transformation seemed to erase her childhood in my mind. With a few strokes exuberant, innocent hot pink became crème brûlée. She’s an adult. It was time.

As I was moving furniture, etc. I found what I thought was memorabilia that Sarah had been saving. Not so much! Mostly empty bags from shopping excursions she and I had taken together over the years when she had been home during holidays and summers. Lovely memories. At the bottom was a HUGE box.

My daughter has lived on her own for the past six years–all over the world. I do have some of her things in storage but I couldn’t imagine what was in it. I saw the box, smiled and laughed out loud.

Sarah had been studying in Prague, living there for a year. At the end of the year I joined her in Prague to pack up her apartment, travel a little then back to the states. There was a year’s worth of life to collect. Her suitcases broke; we bought new ones in Vienna. The image of our parade of suitcases on the tiny streets of Salzburg still makes me smile. On a cold, wet June day we decided to ship two LARGE YELLOW boxes back, praying clothes, books, worldly possessions would find their way home. Neither of us could part with the boxes. Seeing them reminded me of adventures with both of my ‘children’….and the promise of future adventure….for them and for me. It is, after all, our tradition. . .

With those memories hot pink became crème brûlée. In a way, isn’t life like those layers of paint? It’s comforting to know somewhere in me is a shade of pink rose bud layered with green gingham checks. We move on taking pieces with us. . . keeping it simple.

Here’s to tradition…no expectations. You’ll never know what you’ll find.