Flat Kira: Days 3 and 4

Dear Kira Rose,

Grandmommy says we only have one more day of this middle school stuff before we can be truly home (at her home anyway) for the holidays.  YEAH!!!

After watching all those big kids take their exams yesterday (reading and writing and reading and writing and they still had to read and write some more today!), I was exhausted!  Last night, Grandmommy put on a movie that she was planning to show to one of her classes today and tomorrow.  It was about this really stingy old guy named Scrooge who is scared by a bunch of ghosts into changing his ways.  He was still pretty old at the end of the story . . . older than Grandmommy even (and that's old!) . . . but he wasn't a grouch any more.  So I guess those ghosts were good ghosts?

Anyway, I must have fallen asleep on the couch the second the movie was over.  I don't even remember Grandmommy carrying me upstairs and tucking me into bed.  And I didn't get to write to you like I'd hoped  . . .  Did you miss me?

Today was more of that reading and writing exam stuff , though we did get to see the beginning of A Christmas Carol in her last class.  We were just to the good part--the part where Scrooge sees the ghost who's all tied up in clunky chains--when the bell rang for school to be over!  Some of her second block class students brought Grandmommy Christmas presents.  She wouldn't unwrap them but they look like chocolate to me!!!!   YUM!!!

I also got to sit on Grandmommy's lap(top) while she worked on school stuff during lunch (we had granola bars and bananas), something she was writing for the school newsletter about the history of the Christmas card.  Did you know that stamps and Christmas cards were invented at about the same time . . . and actually just a few years after A Christmas Carol (the book, not the movie) was published?  I feel almost  like I've been teleported back to the 1840's the last 24 hours!!!

I think that, after dinner, we may be doing something in the living room with this box she received from FEDEX last night . . . I'll let you know how that goes!

Love you bunches and miss you even more!

Flat Kira

P. S. Do you know what a "receiver" is?

P. P. S.  It's a little bit warmer outside, but now it's raining!  Yuck!!!  Did you get snow today???

Flat Kira-Day 2: middle school immersion . . .

Dear Kira,

     You forgot to mention that your grandmommy would make me go to school during my stay at her house!  Not even elementary school, like good old McKee (miss you guys already!). Middle school!

     Her students are BIG . . . and a little crazy too this week before Christmas break.  A couple of them are hoping I'll be able to help them take her language arts exam tomorrow . . . as if I understand all that stuff about "extended metaphors" and "annotated bibliographies", whatever they are!

     It was pretty fun getting to explore her classroom though.  As you can see, I found



another tree to climb

 


and many, many more books (not many with pictures) to read.

 

    I spent most of my day safely perched beside this bird (she said it was an origami crane and to ask your mom why I make so many of these) on top of her SMARTboard.  Not so sure about SMART.  That board didn't have a thing to say to me all day, and your grandmommy and her students spent most of the day answering all its questions . . .

     She FORGOT to take me to lunch with her!  I understand I missed some awesome meatballs in the teacher's lounge, but the chocolate chip cookies she brought back were pretty good (and you know how I love chocolate chip cookies). 



      After school she did take me to a meeting where I got to sit with a couple of her friends.  They had never heard of Flat Stanley and his travels until I filled them in on his story and why I was in town for a couple of weeks.

     Hope you guys aren't having too much fun without me!

                                                           

                                                            Love you bunches,

                                                            Flat Kira

P. S. Please send me some warmer clothes.  It's brrr cold here!

(away from) Home for the Holidays?

Flat Kira arrived on my (mailbox) doorstep this afternoon, bringing all of that blustery western Pennsylvania chill (minus the white stuff) right along with her.  Brrrr!  But she certainly made herself at home, like she'd always lived here (Kira Rose must have been telling her clone lots of stories about grandmommy's home down south :-)!   




 First she climbed the Christmas tree to check out that ornament Kelsey made for me several years back and to touch (at least one of) the stars (Believe from Heidi of SCRI fame).

  

Then she scoped out one of the stacks of gifts . . .

nothing with her name on it there . . . yet! 

 

Next, time for her first "long winter's nap" and she knew where a doll friend, grateful for the company in that too lonely guest bedroom,  wouldn't mind sharing the use of a comfy bed by a shelf full of books.



 Stay tuned for more of Flat Kira's saga!

remembering a king and an earl . . .

1976
"The Treasures of Tutankhamun" exhibition opens in Washington, D.C., to a record-breaking crowd of five million, before moving to Chicago, New Orleans, Los Angeles, Seattle, and New York.
http://www.neh.gov/whoweare/timeline.html
National Endowment for the Humanities

It was January, one of those Virginia wintry days when the trees from the Parker Mountain farmhouse to Washington’s Smithsonian were treacherous:wondrous ice-clad marvels, the stuff of which fairy-tale illustrations are made. For me, that day was to be a fairy-tale dream come true.

My fascination with mythology paralleled my fascination with outer space in my adolescent and teen years. The names of those other-world gods and of those other-world planets and moon and stars and months and days that bore their names . . . I knew them all. I discovered the pyramids of Egypt—and the tomb of its boy-pharaoh—at about the time that I discovered academic writing. My first ever research “paper” was about King Tut. And now, on that coldest day of a new year, I would place myself in the presence of Tutankhamen’s earthly treasures, those which believers in other gods had once set aside for their boy-king's journey into the afterlife.

How strange then that—among the throughtheyears ghostly memories of my baby boy in his stroller as we waited in the long-lines cold, of ice skaters twirling on a frozen outdoor rink, of either the remnants or the preparation for someone’s inauguration, of Tutankhamen’s awe-inspiring treasures—the one memory from that day that is yet crystal clear is that of a cup of tea!

I think it was in the cafeteria of the National Gallery of Art, though I have no memory of art that day other than the contents of that cup of tea. I could not tell you of bergamot other than its magic . . . that day, and so, so, so  many wintry (and not so wintry) days since.

Earl Grey tea and King Tutankhamen’s treasures . . . what a day full of simple pleasures that was . . . at a time in my life when simple pleasures meant the world . . .

Almost time to brew a second mug of tea. I was “out”—not of tea (I have become quite the collector over the years) but of Earl Grey—until this afternoon . . . This afternoon, I also placed an Amazon.com order for White Chocolate Kisses, Cherry Vanilla, Vanilla Caramel, and something with eggnog in its name? Yes, tea. Six-pack boxes of tea bags—some for Christmas bags and stockings but, yes, many for me.

But none, much as I enjoy each of them and will enjoy those yet to be discovered, will ever displace the memory of that magical moment, that first sip, Earl Grey . . .

geocaching reprise

Several years ago I posted a picture of five grandbabies proudly displaying the cache they had discovered on a poison-ivy-carpeted island in the middle of a lake. Today--another summer, another lake, another state away from that moment in time--the two youngest of the now seven (and therefore "closest to the ground" :-)--were the finders of the "treasure."

Our first geocache--under a weeping hemlock tree in Fritz's garden on a community college campus--eluded us. Too many muggles perhaps?




But even the little ones were not deterred by this setback. On to the next treasure hunt. Of course, while we ladies, young and old, were making a necessary stop at the dam welcome center, the gentlemen, young and old, were in pursuit of the treasure. Just as we closed in on them we heard the cry go up. Michael, age 5, had found his first ever geocache!



Our last geocaching stop for today was at a waterfall. Unfortunately for us--or so it seemed--the treasure hidden here would also be an elusive one. Ropes, signs, and a determined lady ranger barred our way . . . or so we thought. Cassie, not quite three and therefore closest of us all to the ground, wandered away as we strained to see under the shrubs just beyond the rope barrier . . . and happened her way, much to her surprise and momentary embarassment, into the cache's new location.






A lovely way to while away a summer morning . . . making memories to keep :-)

Elysium . . .

From first memory, I have been enchanted by the bittersweet love story of Orpheus and Eurydice. The twists and turns of Orpheus' journey to the Underworld in search of his lost-to-this-life love--finding her at last only to lose her once again--have blurred over the years . . . I have often wondered where, in this story of love lost, found, and lost again, Gluck's haunting "Minuet and Dance of the Blessed Spirits" belonged.

Today I went in search of that answer: Elysium. When Orpheus is at last granted passage into the Underworld, he is taken to Elysium, where the blessed spirits of the good and the heroic spend their eternity. It is there, as he searches for Eurydice, who must eventually be found and brought to him, that a solo flute speaks of love and pain, hope and loss, joy and grief . . .

I was reminded of the importance of faith--unconditional faith, trust, hope, love--in rereading their story. If they had only believed--each in the other's love, in their collective ability to survive the test of separation, of parallel journeys--they would have once again been together this side of Elysium . . .

If only . . .

when we lived in the mountains . . .

. . . and what a view! The daffodils were blooming at the foot of Parker Mountain and, at home, a quarter mile up the gravel drive, baby brother Jamie had finally arrived.

Two short years later came our time to say good-bye . . .

velvet and curls

all dressed up
to meet
my
Daddy
home
from
the
war . . .

first flight . . .

to Atlanta, I think . . . just the two of us

letting her go . . .

It seldom snows in December in South Carolina--or in the first days of January, for that matter. But, that first Christmas home from Carnegie-Mellon, something in the skies above our home wanted to hold Kimberly here. We were snowdrifted, icebound--but she had a plane to catch and I had my new and blue Bonneville to slipslide our way to the nearby airport in and . . . Wonder if that something in the skies above our home knew that someone in Pittsburgh would steal our firstborn away from home for keeps . . .

Kimberly comes home to us--Albrecht, Kelsey, Garrett, and Kira Rose in tow--every Christmas season, even now.

If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours . . . ." -- Kahlil Gibran

one perfect morning . . .

This has been so.

65. walking a cool, early morning beach framed in sun glow and sea breeze
66. wearing sandy-hemmed sweats
67. being able to go the extra mile the day after the race
68. having just enough change for the parking fee you didn't expect
69. beginning with Amigos Para Siempre (both versions randomly back-to-back)
70. collecting not just one baby's ear but two :-)
71. remembering "here on the shore, turned into stone, lies a piece of a conch's one-spiral cone"
72. collecting whelk fragments for someday's frame
73. finding both Carolinas' state shells on the same morning

74. ending with Somewhere in Time (Michael Crawford with words :-)
75. eating breakfast both before and after

I would not have imagined that I would have been

. . . absolutely in awe as I drove over the Ravenel bridge for the first time today.

I have gone out of my way to avoid this encounter. They tore my beautiful bridges down, frail sacrifices to this aquatic demon. I wouldn't look in its direction on my few visits to its city. I went around, but never across, until today.

Today, because, in the morning, I will walk with thousands others the breadth of its span and more. Today, because this first encounter needed to be more up close and personal, more private.

Traffic crawled this afternoon, crawled enough for me to savor the marvelous intricacies of this giant Tinkertoy creation. Yes, marveling, wondering, agape with awe. . .

I can see its skyprint from my window tonight. Tomorrow it too will become one of my beautiful bridges, one that I imagine will live on this earth and sea longer than I . . .

third wall . . .

We as adults have too many walls. I know they are often meant to protect us, but I am finding letting them fall can leave you vulnerable to the occasional attack, and I’m sure will lead to some pain. But I also find that without walls, the radiance of the world around us can finally reach us – as the warmth of the sun can only do when you are outside.

I have this thing about walls . . . so this piece in today's email from a family member touched quite a chord . . . Walls--inside and outside of me. Walls I touch. Walls I build. Walls I let down, only to rebuild, piece by broken piece, to wall out the pain, to shelter the memories I want to hold close . . .

Almost two generations ago, when poetry was my release, my healer, I penned these concluding thoughts . . .

End?
Not end.
Third wall awaits,
But where?
I did not know--
Two walls suffice for weary eyes;
Four walls is house and home.
Third wall is deciding.
When?
Tomorrow.

I could not have better predicted my life . . .

remember . . .

I have lived long enough to have my own memories of November 22, 1963.

This year, on that anniversary day and hour, I was absorbed in the memories of those gone before me, memories of other lost heroes . . .

Why I Am Not a Writer!

More than a year after my one-and-only draft-but-not-published post on the Why I Am Not a Writer blog, the catalyst for launching this blog appeared on my doorstep this afternoon. Click the link above/below and check them out!

Galveston . . .

A couple of years ago, maybe three (was Katrina the catalyst?), I began collecting everything I could find about the 1900 hurricane. There's no family tie other than my genealogist daughter's laments about immigration records lost . . . But it's amazing how a well-crafted piece of nonfiction can tie us to those who lived long before we drew breath. Isaac's Storm and The Sisters of Charity Orphanage story on the Galveston News website did just that for me . . .

As I watched the waves crash over the Galveston seawall this afternoon, courtesy of 21st century streaming video, the Cline families and the Sisters protecting their parentless charges lived once more in my mind's eye . . .

I so wanted to give the young man who was out to see the waves this afternoon, staying because Ike, after all, is only cat two, a copy of Erik Larson's book . . .

108 years, almost to the day . . . Time is indeed a circle . . .

nine eleven - where I was . . .

What isn't there, in that long-ago journal (click blog title to view), is why the words ran out . . . A plane went down somewhere near Pittsburgh. My daughter's home is in the Pittsburgh flight path . . . My cell phone was in the car . . .

When I called, my son-in-law answered. My daughter was on a plane that morning . . . thankfully in the Atlanta airport between connections when the world as we know it stopped. The evening before, my son-in-law had watched, from the Newark airport, lightning backdrop the Twin Towers . . .

The crew and passengers of UAF93 have a very special place in my heart . . .

not that I have anything to write . . .

I finally broke down and added two of my secret obsessions--music and local histories--to my profile :-) tonight. Can't figure out what to do with this year's technology and literacy focus, though. Is this also a simple pleasure or does it really just belong on my other (techie) blog, which I've been seriously avoiding . . .? It's a little like my blog about why I am not a writer (NOT!). I wrote the perfect intro piece for that blog two summers ago, emailed it to the individual who was the catalyst for that state of (non)being/blog, shared it with a group of close friends (some of whom had had similar experiences)--and I was over not being a writer! But the empty blog is symbolic, somehow . . .

This week's simple pleasure? Last Saturday with the "babies," teaching them the swing song I grew up with . . . Watching them explore the new family car their parents surprised them with . . . Michael's first reaction--What on earth were they thinking about???--morphing into This is the best thing you ever bought for us!

I've never owned a black car, in or out, and doubt I ever will. But their new car brought back this one, one of my first ever memories . . .

On the back of the photo are these words, a message my mother wrote from me to my grandfather across the sea, the grandfather whose hat I threw out of an upstairs window somewhere across the gray Atlantic a few months before this photo was taken, the grandfather I would not again, in this world, see . . .

Fevrier 1950

Bon baisers a Grand daddy

Memories are everything . . . the best of life's simple pleasures . . .

home improvements--the next installment

Here's a quote that made me smile--something from my February blog on dealing and blessing . . .

Had to laugh when resolution time rolled around a few weeks ago. I was still wedged uncomfortably in the throes of 2007's three top-rated resolutions. Never mind the rest of the list--the usual stuff like exercising semi-regularly or replacing porch railings or thiswouldbetheyearI'dgobacktoFrance. . .

Maybe the way to approach the list is to put the really hard stuff at the top? Sure makes planning for and doing the tasks of lesser importance much easier.

Take replacing porch railings , for instance.

Thank you, Mama!

Or take thiswouldbetheyearI'dgobacktoFrance. . . OK, maybe it wasn't--but next year is. I've actually picked up (but not yet completed) a passport application and, get this, bought new luggage!

Exercising semi-regularly? I tried! My left knee is functional again. Yes! I've bought serious walking shoes. Any day now, I'll be back on the streets, earphones and all!

Seriously, I did tackle the big three first . . . major league resolutions: taking stock of life, health, career. Between me and this blog, I'm glad to be dealing, once again, with minor league resolutions. It's a blessing that I can . . .

music . . .

OK, I'll admit . . . this label was already long overdue when I added it last December.

Maybe it's because music is the one simple pleasure in life that renders me powerless, eludes me, takes me to places and times I can't always come home from, at least not unchanged . . .

Soon after my last cell phone upgrade--maybe the day I downloaded Yo-Yo Ma's rendition of Gabriel's Oboe and made it my ringtone--I added own an mp3 player to my too-long to-do list. I did the research, to the point of deciding that the one I wanted would be a someday purchase--as in when the Christmas debts were paid, after the price came down, etc., etc.

A year and a half later, I've just been (late-birthday) gifted with the very one I wanted--both upgraded and downpriced. I've spent most of today revisiting a modest collection of CD's I rarely make time to enjoy . . .

A gig of downloads and four playlists later, I'm so enjoying this now-simple pleasure.

And going in my mind to other times, other places, other . . . selves . . .

. . . where there is time, there is a circle . . .