THE SOURCE OF ALL HEALING

There are wonderful sayings and quotes rumbling around in my head that I enjoy when I have my hour on Facebook each night. However, my new favorite quote came from a TV series I picked to watch because it was set in Scotland and starred Susan Hampshire. I was so taken with her when she was in the pre-Masterpiece Theater production of The Forsyte Saga playing "Fleur." I loved that name and amongst the many nicknames I gave my daughter, one of them was Jennifleur. I was pleased when Susan Hampshire starred in the first Masterpiece Theater as she had been the catalyst for its long run. I hadn't seen her in decades and wondered how she had turned out. Did she still have those penetrating, soulful eyes? I digress, as usual. The quote came in a scene in which an actor played a sort of guru/shaman/NewAger who wants to bring his holistic practices to a grand house in the highlands. What he very quietly said to the young laird (who didn't go at all for this nonsense) was this: "There is no healing in denial." I was knocked out by that phrase. I paused the video and replayed it at least ten times. I've thought about the truth of it most of my waking days and may have even dreamed of this solution. It was like the Theory of Everything for me. Of course. There is no healing the earth if we deny climate change; there is no healing from unrequited love if we deny the impossibility of hope that change could happen; there is no healing from the brink of death if we deny its coming; there is no healing of a family if the parents won't acknowledge their children's shortcomings. It seemed to me that the problems of the world didn't boil down to science or religion which upon analysis could be fixed. The problems required facing squarely what we don't want to know. I became interested in looking up Susan Hampshire and was delighted to find an interview in which she has taken this solution to heart. Her enchanting globetrotting husband began sinking into dementia. At first she gave over the nursing duties to caregivers while she went on the road. When she returned from one of these assignments, she was appalled at how her husband had declined under the "care" and she embraced bravely what she needed to do. She left acting behind and began to spend all her time as caregiver. She learned not to raise her voice and watched how he responded when playing card games or doing puzzles or chatting or having her fix his favorite dish. He took Aricept which is apparently successful in early stages. They walked in the fresh air of the garden and Sir Kulukundis improved. I will probably forget the plot of "Monarch of the Glen" but I will remember the Scottish hills, the music, and the manner Susan Hampshire taught me to go forth. Cheerful. Kindly. Persevering. Denying nothing.

 I hope this post will be as revelatory for you as the quote was for me and we can heal the world together. 

dogs leap on the street

birds scatter by the lamposts

springtime in winter

artwork by D. de Letta

THE READERS WRITE

Most of the comments from readers come in the mail not in the Comment section of the blob. I enjoy reading these because they tell me if I have succeeded in my writing. What is success? Clarity, brevity, and warmth are what I like in aiming to please. This past week, Kathy asked if I wrote the poem first. Why yes, I did. Poems are usually the inspiration for prose for me. Marcia (pronounced mar-see-ah), who knew me when we were twelve, marveled that she hadn't heard about my living in Jerusalem only a few years previous to our meeting.  As I have said, I was a quiet child; I preferred to be mysterious rather than to tell anyone anything about myself. Stephanie was curious about the Jewish family. Harriet's note was short and appreciative with decorative flowers and hearts attached. Caroline wanted to know how I pick my topics and was there any particular, consistent catalyst for my postings.

Each case is different. This time it was coming across a name which brought a rush of memories. What prompted the Lizette post is that I was intrigued by a writer, not the writer of the book, the character. In The Nobodies Album the main character is a writer, Octavia Frost. The whole book is basically her description of how a writer would react to the events in her life. Commentary within commentary. I was reminded of Chinese nesting tables or Matryoshka dolls. So what I decided to do was write a poem (the underlying foundation) and then add  details in prose (the colorization).  What was important to me then and now is that Sister Marie Mignonette be painted as the person I wanted to be. Whimsical, persevering, imaginative. Your comments have shown me I succeeded in illustrating my message and I thank you. 

Gratitude spoken or unspoken

can never be underestimated.

It is the spark illuminating

the night when the pen rises to the occasion

and contact is made.     

 

OO LA

We sat in a circle on the stone floor while the young nun talked to us about the fruits of the spirit and the evils which caused the fruits to decay. She had a sweet little mouth and turned up nose. Her habit weighed more than she did, I'm sure. Someone said her real name was Lizette and she had been hidden by Jews in a long trek from France to Jerusalem. That was a switch. It didn't seem a likely story to me but, on the other hand, here she was in the Holy Land and she did have an extensive knowledge of the Torah. When she read from the New Testament the words became branded on my heart as the way to write--simple, exquisite, humble. She mixed in  Yeats and Keats as though they were part of her sacred texts.  Her attitude was plucky personified. She tossed envy, hatred, grumpiness, into an invisible bin with flicks of her bird hands. Often, her remarks were followed by, "Oo la" as though the nutty world was something to marvel at. Who would want to be competitive, anxious, clawing to the top of a corporate mountain?? Oo la. Such crazies! I loved her French accent and her certainty. I wondered if she really thought her students would escape the lure of worldly temptations. I'd like to think she rests in peace now in a convent garden full of the lilies of the field she liked so much. I would wish her to know that the circle had flawed admirers but I bet many of us will catch ourselves once in a while, exclaiming, "Oo la" feeling a little burden lifted, hearing the sound of sparrows. 

Sister, Sister, more!

Tell of banshees, dancing goats,
sailing galaxies.

Corrupt governments? 
Famine? War? Catastrophe?
"Press on!" Sister smiles.

Recollection's strange.
Not one child's face can I see.
Only oo-la's ring. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A LITTLE SOMETHING TO REMEMBER YOU BY

My dad had a wheezy sort of laugh, not very soundworthy but delightful and he laughed often, shaking all over.. He was highly amused by my daily "horror"scope which was a broken record of, "Don't scatter your forces." Out of this he would cheerily caution me, "Amass your forces!" "Don't hide your forces under a barrel." Too bad he didn't see Star Wars. He could have added, "May the forces be with you." Over the years, I've noticed I remember people by their catch phrases and whatever music was popular at the time. Since he didn't listen to the hit parade, Toreador from the opera Carmen comes to mind. Naturally, he used the alternative lyrics of, "He wants his shirt. He wants his shirt." Sometimes, the catch phrases aren't even phrases. In my circle of high school friends there was one whose entire conversational input consisted of, "Duh." I nicknamed him The Multilinguist. Another friend liked, "Cute!" She could shade it just-so to denote either sarcasm or gleefulness. I asked her if she had seen The Undead (the original) figuring there was no category she could place it in that was cute. I was wrong! It came under the heading of Chrissie's Silly Wit. I think fondly of Louella who described the man of her dreams in three words--hero, hunk, gorgeous. She never failed to repeat this glowing vision during study hall. I discovered years later that she had married at the age of 52. I was eager to hear if the man was the man of her long ago dreams. The answer came quickly, "No. This one is real."

I wonder if all these shortcuts were a precursor to bites and texting. Did they start with I Like Ike or maybe the New Deal? Would the small-govenment people of the 18th Century fought to save  money on the calligrapher ultimately changing history because the drafters of the Declaration of Independence ended up stating simply, "Free at last"? Pookie & Sebastian went out of business on 3rd Avenue. Was the name too long? The Gap has downsized its logo to something that looks like a highway sign on a drivers' test. Nobody but nobody says, "United Nations." U.N. and U.S. make me think of Unamuno. Thank goodness, he was a man of more words, though definitely not Proust. I was a quiet child, never raised my hand in class. College days transformed me. My language skills were developed by a fellow classmate who responded to everything I said, such as "What's for lunch?" with, "What does that mean?" I felt obligated to explain, rephrase. Voila, a storyteller was born. 

Walking on the streets of the Upper East Side, I am struck by how streamlined people and buildings have become. There aren't the elaborate window surrounds from the talent of a bricklayer/artist such as on the "Landmarks." Does part of being a New Yorker have to do with a The North Face jacket? (Does anyone know that this famous fashion line was designed by a student at Berkeley?)  I'm guessing if one's life is schedule-driven and multitasked to death. this is a good thing. As for me, I plan to go out on my adventures colorfully unhurried. I won't scatter all my forces but you can believe, I will scatter a goodly heap. "See you soon!" 

GO AGAIN!

William A Bake
 Boone, North Carolina

When my daughter was learning to talk she exclaimed, after a merry-go-round turn, "Go again!" It became her mantra. Read a story? Go again! Ride the trolley? Go again! Have a minicone of vanilla ice cream? Go again! So this post is about going again with a post from January 2011. My opinion of 2013 and all the other coming years. is this:  if they insist on coming so fast, then you  will have to tolerate a Reprint every once in awhile.  
 

Call me She Who Does Not Finish. Perhaps it's my horoscope which is a broken record of the warning, "Don't scatter your forces." However, I don't buy my horoscope because where I was born the stars were all upside down. Maybe it's because I am, according to Barb Sher, one of many a Scanner. These are good people who simply dabble in everything and there's no time left over to accomplish any one of the tasks. Get this: "What you've assumed is a disability to be overcome by sheer will is actually an exceptional gift. You are the owner of a remarkable, multi talented brain trying to do its work in a world that doesn't understand who you are and doesn't know why you behave as you do." !!!! I started a novel in '79. So far, no one has taken the title. A sign? I did write 92 pages and 150 drafts of those same pages. I told the story except for the ending to dozens of people on trains, planes, and buses. I imagine somewhere right now someone is wondering whatever happened to my delightful character, Evy. I had a dream once where Evy did the same. She came in a whisper of a cloud and asked, "What happened to me?" Guilt trip. I honestly don't know. There are several possibilities. She either succumbed to a recurrence of polio, or married Bartholomew Fields and together they created an orphanage in Cadiz, or quite possibly he died unexpectedly while filming in India and Evy went on alone visiting her old home on the Outer Banks where she became an artist of paper cranes. I asked several authors to write it for me with the identical response, "It has to be in your voice." Oh, bother. I also started an autobiography in 2003. I really liked the first five paragraphs. I liked them so much, I couldn't go on. Nothing seemed as lively or inspiring as those five paragraphs. Therefore, announcing to you that this is anniversary week on the Blob comes with great pride in achievement. I was only going to do one post on January 7, 2009. And yet, here I am. It is an unfinished work but a continuing one. I was looking at the entries of an old Gratitude Journal I kept in 1999. Every single day is accounted for. Another achievement. The last scribble says, "I thank you, my Gratitude Journal, for your attention and guidance and friendship, discipline and sympathy." Perhaps it is a fitting quote for the Blob as well. Perhaps a Scanning Gemini/Sagittarius is nae sa bad. A few things do get done and the itinerary always reads, "And then...."