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Sunday, April 29, 2012

What do Scotsmen wear under those kilts?



This is picture of my friend Daniel & his wife Kelly on their wedding day.  I am not sure how the helicopter fits in, but knowing Daniel, something spectacular happened when they boarded that helicopter.

But that is not the point – the point is I know Daniel & he is a Scotsman who proudly wears his clan’s tartan.

I never asked him when we were working together, but I think if I had asked, he would have told me what a Scotsman wears under his kilt.

I did not ask, because I know.

In another life, I traveled through Scotland.  And one afternoon, it just so happened that my traveling companion & I were on the last train to pull into the station where we wanted to go.  We were on our way to take a ferry to the Isle of Hebrides because my companion wanted to see the cliffs where seabirds planted their eggs.  And men on ropes gather the eggs.

As the train pulled into the station, we heard bagpipes.  We opened the windows & realized it was not a dream.  Dozens of Scotsmen, all dressed in their clans’ tartans, stood in the station playing bagpipes.

One of those magical moments that no guidebook can give young & impoverished travelers.

We rode the ferry to somewhere in the Hebrides, along with a large contingency of  bagpipers in kilts.  It was windy & the wind blew up their kilts & it was then that I learned what Scotsmen wear under the tartan.

I am sure I will ever tell.  It was a very public & very private moment.

And what happened on the Hebrides is another story . . .

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Janet, Peeps & Echos of Emily



Yesterday evening I ran into my sister at the discounted Easter candy display at our ghetto Randall’s.  Curious, because she was not filling her basket with Peeps.

Now, I am not sure what the relationship between my sister Janet & Peeps is – but I have confirmed her obsession with them with my niece.  Who is equally baffled by her mother’s affection for these sugar-laden, sugar coated marshmallows shaped like little chicks.

I ask Janet how my brother-in-law David is dealing with their daughter Emily being “in a relationship with”.   She smiles & tells me he is doing fine, for now.

Which makes me laugh.

My niece is a very beautiful young woman.  I can still see her as a little girl, skipping across the floor of Randall’s like a wood nymph.  Full of grace & glory & joy at surprising me.  And I remember a very little girl, sitting in the back seat of my Beetle, belting out with clarity:  You make me feel like a natural woman.

My niece has a soul that shines & enhances her very lovely face.  She gives every appearance of being a young woman comfortable in her own skin.  One only has to spend a little time with her to know that she is a friend you can trust, a kind & safe place to fall.

All of which she owes to being in a relationship with her parents.  

Who also have souls that shine on their very lovely faces.

My sister, impeccably groomed, leaves the discounted Easter candy without Peeps.  I, my jeans covered in the remnants of sidewalk chalk & the memory of my neighbor’s dismay at finding me on my knees on the sidewalk, buy an 89 cent pack of three chocolate dipped Peeps.

While I am certain that the childhood Easters I shared with my sister included Peeps, when I ate two of those three chocolate dipped Peeps, no memories flooded my brain.

I just thought that dark chocolate would work better.

Monday, April 23, 2012

Coloring Outside the Lines



WASHINGTON — Sarah Jessica Parker, Kerry Washington and Forest Whitaker are adopting some of the nation's worst-performing schools and pledging Monday to help the Obama administration turn them around by integrating arts education.

As I was kneeling over the sidewalk with chalk, I heard a faint Hello?

It was my next door neighbor Juta, who looked at me as if I had lost my mind.  And asked what I was doing.

I tried to explain to her that I wanted to blog about coloring outside the lines & that I could not find a picture, so I was chalking one on the sidewalk.

I am not sure that she does not still believe I am out of my mind.

Which doesn’t bother me, as long as she is comfortable living next door.

Because coloring outside the lines has always been important to me.

When I heard about the President’s initiative to bring the arts into schools at risk, I began to wonder who & what I would be if the arts had not been part of my public school curriculum.

I wonder if I would ever attended the symphony or the ballet or the theatre.  Not to mention the opera.  Or taken piano lessons.  Or visited an art museum.

If I ever would have painted or wanted to visit Europe’s museums or searched for a chance to see Van Gogh’s Starry Night.  

I wonder if I would have visited NY’s MOMA & weep in the Impressionist section.

Or recognize, that like Patsy Cline & Barbra Streisand, my sister sings in the middle of the note.

I do not believe that my life experience would be as rich as it has been & still is without my early exposure to the artsIn public school.

And being allowed to color outside the lines.

Or to write.

I do believe that a nation that neglects the arts is doomed to an emptiness that will take decades to repair.

Imagine not realizing the beauty of my sister’s voice, the wonder & whimsy of a Calder mobile, the depth of a Rothko, the passion of a ballet.

Or the wonder of a little boy skipping across the back yard, singing to himself & the world.

Unfathomable.

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Drive ins, Duke & Memory



My friend Carolyne posted this picture on Facebook.  As did my oldest & very, very dear friend Sue.

Carolyne asked:  Do you remember?

And I do, indeed, remember going to the drive in.

As a child, Jack & Jean would load us up into the car, with a grocery bag of popcorn prepared by Jean & a cooler of beer & soft drinks prepared by Jack & take us to see a movie.

I cannot identify which movie we first saw at the drive in – the files in my brain are too crowded to find it.  Something Disney – Snow White or Cinderella or Bambi.

My sister Janet might remember – her mind is clearer & cleaner than mine.  I think we wore our pajamas, but Janet might know about that.

And I remember going to the Fiesta Drive In in El Paso, on Mesa, with my friend Betsy Kerr.  
 And her older sister Carolyn & Carolyn’s boyfriend, Duke. Who was not only an athlete (a really cool thing to be at our high school) – but Duke did an outstanding job in our school’s production of “Arsenic & Old Lace” – also a really cool thing.

Betsy & I hid in the trunk of the car, because we were too young to watch the R rated movie – The Graduate.

At the end of the movie, as we were driving away from the Fiesta Drive In, Duke said to Betsy & me:

One day, you will realize the symbolism of the final scene.
Or something like that.

Over these past forty years, I have pondered over Duke’s challenge.  

And watched The Graduate innumerable times.   And pondered over the last scene.

I watched the last scene again this afternoon.  And this is what I realize I took away from that night at the Fiesta Drive In:

. . . and the vision that was planted in my brain, still remains.

Thank you, Duke.

Friday, April 20, 2012

Approaching Storms


It is mid afternoon & the skies are beginning to cloud over.  Everything is still & it is eerily cool outside here in the swamp.

A severe thunderstorm is on its way & I hope it does not damage the tomatoes or the emerging plants in the garden.

Like the birds darting in & out of the trees, I am restless.

So I make a decision & go outside, thunder rumbling in the background, & scatter red corn for the squirrels & fill the bird feeder.

The remains of the cannas Jean planted over forty years ago are blooming, sheltering a wonderful palm that has grown up among them from our neighbor’s yard.

And I wonder about the approaching storm.  Not the approaching severe thunderstorm, but the repercussions of the approaching election.

Will that storm nurture the good that has been planted in our nation or ravage & annihilate it beyond restoration? 

Anticipating the severe thunderstorm facing much of the swamp area, I cut some gardenia blossoms & roses for Jean.   In case the storm annihilates them, leaving bare bushes.

If only I could cut what I believe to be fine & good about our nation & keep it safe.

Looking out at the sky, watching the darkness descends, I am convinced that both storms will be severe & altering.

I am just not sure whether the bushes will be bare or still blossoming.

The rain & wind have arrived.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Remembering the Iowa 2012
















Every year, on this day, I remember.

I remember sitting at my desk in the Washington Hilton.  

And then the phone rang.  And it was my brother Jason’s friend Leslie, watching CNN back in Houston.

There was an explosion in one of the turrets on the USS Iowa.

The terror & fear I felt with that phone call have never left me.  I remember wanting to be home, to be with my mother & sister Janet & brother John.  

But I couldn’t, so I called someone & asked for help.

A someone I met while working on a George I inaugural ball & its flowers.

And so, because of that someone & her son (who was with Naval intelligence) & flowers for an inaugural ball for a man who did not get my vote, I learned that my brother Jason was not listed among the missing on the Iowa.

Although I could not be with my family during this time, I was able to call my mother & tell her that her youngest child was alive.

That day changed my life.  

It taught me not to take anything for granted, to respect connections, to hold onto family.

And to respect the privilege & joy & wonder of living.

Today I remember the young sailors my brother brought to my Foggy Bottom apartment on Virginia Avenue & the men who did not leave the USS Iowa alive.

As I will every year.