Words From Somewhere

A long time ago I read this passage in a novel.  Then I read it again.  Have you ever come across someone else’s simple little story and been deeply affected by it or felt so connected to the feelings portrayed that the whole thing could just as easily be your own?

I marked the page these words were on and kept coming back to them. Then I typed the passage and printed it and put it in my keepsakes box.  Every time I come across it I read it again and marvel at how much I like it and then I return it to the box.

After all this time I don’t know who wrote it or what book it came out of. If you recognize it I will happily share the source.

Funny how a random little snippet from a fictional life seemed like something worth saving, and how it never loses its charm for me.

And that’s my Saturday blurb of randomness for this week!  Hope you’re having a great weekend.

Edited to add- it is from The Pull of the Moon by Elizabeth Berg….thanks oregana

Sharing My World 17

Share Your World – 2015 Week #5

Do you prefer shopping or going to a park?

Oddly enough, I’m going to say shopping.  But not for groceries, because that kind of shopping is tedious and annoying and causes me to sigh a lot and wish I were somewhere else.  I normally like parks just fine, but this is February and the benches are probably freezing cold.  Compare that to a nice warm store and it’s no contest.  Somehow I inherited a junk collecting gene.  Spending time (and sometimes money) in a store like Home Sense or Pier 1 Imports looking at strange furniture and weird wall décor is a lot more fun than staring at grass.  I’ve always fancied having an antique folding room divider like the ones ladies in movies go behind to undress, throwing random pieces of clothing over the top.  Or one of those willow swing-chairs that hang from the ceiling.  Good thing the price tags on these things are completely out to lunch.

If you were a shoe, what kind would you be and why?

Any one of these.  Because they’re interesting and fun and red.  There’s nothing like a pair of red shoes to perk you up on a dull day.  They should make these for seniors.  The ones with the moose look very Canadian.

What’s the story behind a time when you got locked out?

Only ever been locked out of a car a couple of times, unless being locked out was such a traumatic experience that I’ve erased the event from my memory.  We have extra keys for things, in unexpected places.  Or we just forget to lock the door.  Either way, being locked out hasn’t been a problem.

Do you prefer eating foods with nuts or no nuts?

Anything that can have nuts added to it always tastes better with them than without.  I’m thinking of crunchy peanut butter, carrot muffins, brownies, ice cream sundaes, any kind of chocolate.  Nuts are just fine on their own too.  I broke a chunk off one of my molars once while eating peanuts.  So even though I have no nut allergies, those little buggers can still be dangerous.

Bonus question: What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?

Yesterday my audiologist did an hour-long, very thorough, hearing test on me.  I’m grateful that she was excellent at explaining what she was doing and what my results indicated to her.  For low-pitched sounds I have mild hearing loss.  For higher pitched sounds, the loss ranges from moderate to moderately severe in both ears.  The only thing left after that is profound.  Yikes.  So I am a candidate for hearing aids.  If I sit face to face with someone who doesn’t mumble or speed-speak, everything is fine.  I can hear W from pretty much anywhere because his normal method of communication is to shout.  Phone conversations are difficult.  And I know it’s extremely annoying for people when I continually ask them to repeat what they just said.

So, I am grateful to have had that done and paid for by health care.  They will not be so generous with hearing aids, but we’re checking to see what our insurance will cover.  I know when I fit glasses, some people didn’t like the sensation of having everything suddenly look so clear.  The audiologist said it’s sometimes like that with hearing aids too, and could take some perseverance getting used to hearing every little thing again.  I am looking forward to a report being sent to my doctor and to me,  and then I’ll have to decide how much I enjoy being a deaf little old lady.

 

Scene From A Park

Photo Credit James Lee

Writing 101:  Point of View

A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry.  Write this scene.  Today’s twist: write the scene from three different points of view: from the perspective of the man, then the woman, and finally the old woman.

We went for a stroll one afternoon in the park. I thought it might be our last outing of the season before the snow came, or even the last for the year until spring, supposing I survived the winter. Possibly the last park stroll of my life. I didn’t know. There were no birds to feed, the geese had all gone south. Leaves were falling and skittering across our path in the brisk wind and there was a faint smell of burning in the autumn air. Cold enough for a jacket buttoned up and for noses and cheeks to tingle. So I was surprised when we came across the old woman sitting alone on her bench, bare hands on cold steel needles. She looked up but the little clicking sounds the needles made as she worked bright red yarn around them never faltered. Her steely grey eyes peered straight through me as if I wasn’t even there. I let go of Sally’s hand and roughly brushed the tears I couldn’t control from my cold cheeks. What the hell? I never used to cry. But my emotions had gone haywire lately. I wanted immediately to lash out at a perfect stranger, shake my fist, yell at her wrinkled old face. Look at me, I’M STILL HERE! I’m not gone yet. And it won’t be today. Today is NOT a good day to die. I looked away, wiped my palms on my jeans, and grabbed Sally’s hand. And then we just kept walking.

There was such a sadness in Sam that last fall we spent together. And so much anger. I honestly don’t know how I’d handle a similar diagnosis, but when he got the bad news, I decided the right thing for him to do was to keep on living. No giving up, no wallowing. I wanted him to be grateful for every single day he had left and happy to live all of them. But his moods were just all over the place. Of course I understood why, but still it was hard for me to cope with the intensity and the fierceness of his feelings. The funniest things would set him off. Like the day we went for a walk in the park. Everything was so beautiful and colourful and crisp. I’ve always loved Indian summer. There was a little old grandma sitting on one of the park benches busily knitting a child’s bright red sweater. She glanced up at us as we approached and I returned her sweet smile. It vanished though, when she looked at Sam. Because he was crying. Deep wrenching sobs, although later he’d claim it was just a few tears from the cold air and some pent-up emotion and naturally he didn’t want to talk about it. He dug his fists into his eyes, and then he grabbed my hand again and almost wrenched my shoulder out of its socket pulling me away. That poor old grandma, I’m sure he must have given her a crazy scare. And poor me. But mostly, poor, poor, dear Sam.

I was never one to sit at home by myself with nobody to talk to and nothing new to see, so as long as the weather stayed decent and my legs were willing, I’d pack up whatever I was working on and shuffle my old bones over to the park across the way. The bench I liked the best was under a big old red maple tree, and that fall it was just gorgeous. Red as the little sweater I had decided to knit for the dog I didn’t have. Once in a while the odd curious person would take the time to stop and chat. I lived for that. I used to tell fortunes and predict the future in my younger days, but those skills must fade away with age and lack of practice, because I got pretty rusty. Still, I liked to give it a whirl whenever I had the chance. Mostly I’d come up with nothing much to write home about. So when that young couple walked up the path it was like I’d been struck by psychic lightning. Her sadness mixed up with bewildered confusion, his rage manifested in clenched fists and choked back tears. Their combined unhappiness almost bowled me over. There was so much I wanted to say to them about hope and faith and nothing written in stone,  but they didn’t stop. Maybe it’s just as well. They were both already resigned to a future they believed they were powerless to change.  Too bad no one likes a little old lady who interferes.

I Like It Like That

I went for a walk this morning in the misty drizzle.  Older neighborhoods with all their huge trees are delightful, as is walking in the rain.  Except your camera gets wet.  This is the tree in our backyard that W tried to kill a few years back, but it was having none of that.  He had it cut back so low we thought it would die (his marker slipped and the tree trimmers cut it there anyway, probably rolling their eyes in confusion while they did it.)  It’s gone kind of crazy since then, in a magnificent sort of way.  I like it.

This is my street when I’m almost home.  Every time I’m driving it I think I should walk back there and take a picture of it, so today I did.  Even on a cloudy dull day it’s rather beautiful.

Nope, this is not a park, it’s the side yard of the house across the street.  This is what I see when I look out my living room window.  This guy is NOT a tree trimmer.  I like that.

I decided to update my timeline picture on Facebook and this is it, a strange angled shot of the front of our house.

Yes, I have entirely too much time on my hands today.  And speaking of the timeline, I like it.  I have never NOT liked it and in fact I think it’s one of the most likable things they’ve done there.

I like that I’ve got absolutely nothing interesting to say today and filled up some blog space anyway.

A Ride In The Park

  Kale, Omayja, Madison (behind Jen directing traffic), Corey, Kenzie.  Our own little bike parade.

Madison and Omayja

Kenzie

Kale and Madison

Corey, although bringing up the rear, has no problem pausing to pose.

The girls at the park.

The boys had time to dig a big hole but that’s about it.  The bugs were horrible – time to hit the road.

Madison, Omayja and Corey, left behind by the bigger kids who found their own way home.

Madison and Corey

Corey and Omayja, on the home stretch.