Entry for August 22, 2007

I ran into a signature while looking for something else. It was my childhood friend and mischief buddy Rick. I wrote a private piece about him several years ago. So here it is revised some for length and appropriateness.

I must have been very small, for the world was very big. And I was in a snowsuit. I’ve never been sure of why this memory stayed with me, but I do know he was there, toddling about in a snowsuit as I was. That is my first recollection of my friend Rick.
Our parents were friends, and his father was one of four close friends that included my dad. My parents and his would visit long and often play cards when we were young. During one visit, his older sister and my older brother talked the two of us, probably no more than 4 years old, into wrapping ourselves in white sheets and jumping off the roof of our detached garage. We finally agreed and just as we jumped, our mothers came out the back door. My, they were surprised. Our siblings were thrashed, verbally and otherwise. We were sternly reprimanded and then cuddled – basically unscathed. That is my last memory of him for quite awhile.
I attended a private school for many years. When I was in 6^th grade Rick’s father died in a train incident. It made an extreme impression on me. The funeral was held in the chapel attached to the school I attended. I remember the day. The sanctuary was prepared when I was sent down to deliver some papers to the office. I walked calmly, as though it was my mission, to the quiet room where the closed casket stood ready for the mourners. I sat down, cried silently and didn’t really think. After a few moments, I rose and walked calmly back to my class.
The next year, Rick and his older brother came to our school and his mother taught there. It was a small school and I was a strange kid. Rick’s mom was somewhat nice to me, but didn’t like the two of us being too close. We became close anyway – not sweethearts, just close. We were the kind of friends that stood up for each other. We were in junior high school and both of us had various crushes – puppy love events.
More than once, when he or I ended an emotional ‘romance’, the other would ‘break up’ with the current object of affection to be there for the wounded one. My mom thought we were moving in and out of a long range romantic development and decided that one day we would probably marry. I’m not sure what his mom thought, but it wasn’t pleasant. Did I mention that I was a weird kid?
At the end of 8^th grade, we had a banquet, like a prom, but no dancing. There was music, entertainment, and then a movie. The place was decorated immaculately and we were treated like royalty. We dressed in formal attire and had assigned seats. Many of the young people went as couples. My mother and I wrangled over me wearing a dress that was far too adult for me and finally, she investigated to find what the girls all wanted but weren’t getting and bought a very expensive, appropriately daring dress for me. I hated it. I had to. In the end I wore it and was pleased as girl after girl told me they had wanted that dress, but it was far too expensive.
Rick wanted to take me to the banquet but his mom arranged a date with a proper girl outside our circle. Somehow I ended up across the table from them sitting next to one of his best friends. Rick and I laughed and joked and played with the mints and candles throughout the dinner and he sat between his ‘date’ and me during the movie.
In 9^th grade, we had a close call. His girlfriend wasn’t able to go to the picnic. She was quite a good friend of mine and so the two of us hung around together all day. Now this picnic wasn’t like I think of picnics today. We took busses up into the mountains early and came home late in the day. We cooked out, played games, had races and went on hikes. Teachers divided up and chaperoned various groups of kids. Our teacher/chaperone was very lax.
The two of us wandered off on a different trail. We were playing in the creek, teasing and talking about our friendship when a challenging moment came. We were quietly staring at each other, close. What came next? Do we honor friendship? Do we cast it all to the wind and go for it? I’m not sure who splashed first! The spell was broken, at least on the outside.
One time at camp, four of us decided to get up early and go fishing. There was a cabin curfew and lights out, a start time, but there was no end time. We weren’t really breaking the rules when we tiptoed out of our cabins before 5AM with fishing gear and took off down the road. It was a crazy event. We hiked for about a mile and then put in at a likely spot. The first line out wrapped around a branch on the other side. The river was wild, swift and deep. The terrain on the other side was rough, but the two guys hiked upstream to a shaky bridge and made their way back down to the other bank. In the time interval, a fish had begun jumping for our bait. Watching the ordeal, we laughed until our sides hurt as the fish came up empty several times and finally attached itself to the hook. The two guys made it around to the other bank and finally got the line untangled.
The sun was well up and everyone else was too by the time we wandered back into camp with our prize. The powers that be were not happy, not amused and if we hadn’t had poles, hooks and been completely grubby, we would have been in more trouble. We were put on kitchen duty for a punishment and a new rule was instituted. Curfew had more meaning. Come to think of it, I helped inspire new rules often.
Once in high school Rick asked me to take him serious, to consider a solid relationship. I told him I didn’t think it would work because his mom hated me. He told me his mom didn’t hate me. After attending a play at the high school, we walked to his house so I could call my dad to come get me. As I came in, his mom started reprimanding him. It was late, he hadn’t finished certain chores, etc. He explained. She looked at me like I was a mutated alien come to destroy her home.
I called my dad. We went up to his room. We went outside to wait. I hugged him, smiled on the outside and told him it just would not work. Amazingly, we remained friends. He warned me about what would be a disastrous relationship and we remained friends. We wrote faithfully for about a year after I married and moved to a different state.
Eventually, pressures on a young wife and mother became too great and I simply stopped writing. But never have I forgotten the childhood friendship renewed in adolescence. I went through a divorce, remarriage, two bouts of education and many life evolutions. Yet I’ve always wondered what became of my friend.

The picture is of me at 14 taken in class. My friend is sitting behind me. The hair? I guess it was stylish; my mom fixed it for picture day. By the time individuals were taken, the bobby pins and bows were history and the curl had taken over!

Entry for August 18, 2007

This has been a crappy day. Yeah, crappy. I was taught not to say the 's' word, but we grew up saying 'crap' without fear.
Reminds me of the time I came in, at the end of the day, to my art space in elementary and found my suite mate being somewhat romantic with her husband. There was a partition and I tried not to interfere. I had left Christmas Card Competition projects with a classroom teacher who had glittered and glued ad nausium and then put them in the floor of my little office/space to dry. They were stuck to each other and to everything else in the area. Some would have been nice projects if they hadn't had so much glitter and glue. Finally I forgot the noodlers in the other side and yelled "Crap! Crap, crap, crap, crap. Okay Inez how do you say "Crap" in Spanish?"
She fumbled for words and I heard her whispering to her husband. "What are you saying?" she finally asked.
I said "Crap. How do you say Crap in Spanish" I heard her husband say something to her in Spanish that I didn't totally understand.
"Oh, Donna, you don't talk like that!" she replied. The two of them came around the partition and looked at my mess. She gave me the word!
Well today, I have spent hot, sweaty hours cleaning gravel that was soaked when we had our plumbing problems. Every time it gets a little wet in the walkway to my studio, it smells like crap again. I am thankful for the rain and for the plants my husband put in this morning. I am also thankful that I got that smelly stuff cleaned up. But, hey Inez, I need that word again.
After a month of near record temps without any rain, the river is still above normal. It has gone below flood stage at least.

Hot and Humid

We went to a fishfry tonight here in town. It was an awesome thing held in the river park pavillion (air conditioned) and where else we decided to roam at the park. One of our good friends planned and kept it working right. Others cooked; others watched the service tables. I took pictures as did my husband and one other friend.
We all chipped in on the desserts and drinks. I took a banana pudding (secret recipe-not the canned pudding one) and an aerosol can of whipped cream. It was the first thing gone-the banana pudding, that is. My husband said it was because I remembered to take a spoon and everyone else needed my spoon to serve their desserts. Hmmm. I'd rather think it was yummy.
We loaned a large propane fryer and an e-z up canopy, neither of which has made it home yet. I'm one of those. I count the silverware before I put it away (not the old stuff.) I was glad to see them use the stuff, but the e-z up sits in my back yard by the patio and it's where I do my woodwork and my outdoor cooking.
My husband loaned it - kind of pressed into it - to a guy so he can have shade to work on his truck. He saw the fire in my eyes ignite and then die out a little as the guy explained why he needed it, promising it will return on the weekend. I'm not sure he is dependable, but I understand why he needs it. The fryer hopefully is in the truck of the event organizer and we will get it back in good shape and time.
I always like photoshooting an event like this. You get such a variety of responses: the shy "Will you get it over with?" group; the self-conscious "You will not take my picture-ever," group; the funny "Watch me cram my mouth or do bunny ears for my wife," group; the smug "I'll keep talking and not look right at you, but you know I'm posing," group; the preoccupied "I'm busy talking and I don't care if you do or don't," group; the exuberant "Let's all pose for the camera,come on, come on," group; the proud new mothers "You want a picture of me and my baby? Where do you want us? Are you sure you can see his/her face?" group. There are surely others I've not mentioned. Then there are the scenery and culinary surprises that just grab your mind.

Looking for my missing piece.

  

I know this may sound like a crabby post, but it's not - really. Aug 2, 2006 I posted a poem "You Were There" written about a dear friend 25 years ago. Another friend found it and submitted it for publishing a couple of years later - it was printed. The friend who found it didn't 'get' it. It said something completely different to her, and probably to everyone who read it in the magazine, than my heart was saying about my friend. My point was he cared enough to look beyond the surface and get to know me enough to understand. He was there. Even though eventually we saw each other only occasionally, it was like we were never separated each time we got together. He wasn't my lover. He wasn't a threat to my children or marriage; he was my friend. Time has ended our interaction, but inside, he still is there.
Let's say sometimes I don't communicate well. There are a few people who 'get' me; there are many more that say 'cool' and obviously have no clue what I was talking about. That in itself really isn’t a problem to me. I’m satisfied when a poem or piece of artwork speaks to someone in a personal way even if they don’t see what I really meant to convey. I’m sure there are many times when I see a wonderful meaning that does not remotely go with what a person thought as they were writing. I think the interplay of ideas is important, not the single vision. Yet there are times when I want or expect to be understood. No explanation, no discourse on what and why, just understood.
I have a friend who is a past English teacher. But more than that, he is a kindred spirit. He thinks deeply and has great insight. So last week I sent him an unfinished manuscript. It’s a lengthy story in poetic form with a basis in personality studies.
It was begun as an attempt to mentally right a wrong perpetrated by an ill thought activity during an otherwise innocuous waste of time known as teacher inservice. The leader had us test to establish our personality types then divided us into groups and had us vote one personality type “off the island.” This was supposed to help us see how badly we needed each other regardless of personality conflicts. I was the spokes person for my group and this activity made one of my dear friends so mad at me we barely spoke the rest of my last year in public education. Everyone was mad at everyone. Gee, that really united us!
I’ve been writing it for some time and am ready for the climax and the clincher. So I sent it to my friend to see what he would make of it and how he would see the characters, etc. I knew that he might draw his own conclusions because he is a deep thinker. I was prepared for that. I wasn’t the least prepared for what I got.
“I really enjoyed reading “. . . .” You have a great imagination! You bring real personality out of these likable beasts. Your narrative flows with an engaging momentum. . . . . . . . . I’m not sure how to advise you about what to do with this ballad. Have you considered illustrating it? As an . . . experienced English teacher, I had to make some suggestions for punctuation and in a few cases word choice or spelling. Good Work.”
Sigh.
The picture is of my iris garden. I moved my irises into three terraces this spring. Yea! they bloomed!

Friends

This is a petunia from my front garden. The flowers are starting to grow and bloom and I'm pleased as can be.

One day the world took me away
We could no longer laugh and play
She would not follow where I went
Nor could I go where she was sent
But sometimes in my heart I find
Her memory both good and kind
And for awhile our hearts entwine
I was her friend and she was mine
DWoodall 2007

May 4 is my granddaughter Sarah’s birthday. It’s also my childhood best friend’s birthday. We’ve not seen each other for at least 36 years and then only briefly. I’ve been thinking a lot about her, so I went to the internet typed in the last information I knew and began looking. So many names matched. Finally after an interesting process of elimination, I found her. I called but got an answering machine. So believing I was right, I left a birthday message.
I received a birthday message as well. I was teaching and my cell was in the other room. I was so pleased and thought of writing a short letter that gave some information including my e-mail address and just see where it went. Well Saturday I got another call. We talked for quite a long time and exchanged information. Our fathers are both deceased, but our mothers, who were close friends as well, are both still living. Our lives have taken very different trails, yet there are still many similarities.
I don’t know where the relationship will go from here. Will we become close again? Who knows. Will it be 35 years before we speak again? Probably not. We are not that young. But regardless, I took a chance, made an effort and was rewarded greatly. Life is good!

Really good friends

One of my best friends ever came to see me this past weekend. I hadn't seen her since February. Before February, it had been over a year. It was a good visit.
Friday evening we stood on my studio porch talking about the changes to the house in the past year and a half since they've been here. During the conversation, the door came up and I mentioned how many people didn't realize I'd painted it. She said yeah, it was different when they were here before. After a time, she finally realized that the door is a painting - just a painting. It's really a big flat hollow core door. But that didn't fit with my southwest idea, so I painted it and made it a panel door with a window. I've had students come and go through that door for months and one day say " Oh my gosh, it's a painting!" I take that as one of the highest compliments I could receive. My friend stood right in front of it and laughed as she ran her hand over the flat surface. "It's a painting!"
In the early 80's, I went through a divorce and family break-up. I eventually gave in to attending a singles organization and met another lady who had gone through a messy emotional separation and was getting a divorce. We had children of similar ages: she had 3 boys; I had 4 girls. We began visiting and hanging out together. It was support during difficult times for us both.
Eventually, she began coming around less frequently. But it was okay, because I had become friends with a fascinating man whom I would later marry. One evening, late, she called. She knew I wasn't an early settler, but she asked if I was okay to talk. I said "Sure" and she began telling me about a guy she was interested in. She didn't give his name but told me she was afraid she was getting serious and she wasn't sure how she felt about that having been through her past relationship. Listening to her talk, I knew how she felt about it, though I would never have said so at the time.
A few weeks later, she called to tell me she was getting serious about this guy and gave me his name. He was my new guy friend's house mate. I told her who I had been talking late with after coffee and we had a good laugh and a good talk.
They married that fall; we married a year later. A few months after their marriage, her husband was diagnosed with lymphoma and given 6 months. He was one of my husband-to-be's best friends and would remain so through the next 6 and a half years of cancer treatment. The four of us grew very close. We camped, played cards, sat in the hospital, cried, prayed, laughed together. His death was hard on us all. After his death, there was a rift by no ones design in the friendship. Then one evening, she brought a friend by. Eventually, they married. We became close again: a new foursome.
When I graduated with my teaching degree, she was there. When I went through heartbreak with family, she was there, when I had a car wreck, she was there as soon as she knew. Gradually her marriage, her life, my busy schedule, my family all took a toll on our friendship and we began moving different directions physically and socially. We had a fifth daughter at home still. Her kids were all grown and gone. We were surrounded with grand children. She had two by one son and has only recently had her third.
They were in the settled, thinking about retirement crowd. We were in the junior high and high school parent crowd. They talked about golf and tours, we talked about gymnastics and cheerleading camps. They bought more prestigious homes, we bought braces, cars and prom dresses. They went on cruises and trips to resorts; we took camping vacations with children and grandchildren to inexpensive places. Our ideas of fun had also changed. We looked for adventure; they looked for comfort. For over a decade, we bought tickets to the University of Arkansas football games together. Then they dropped their tickets for more freedom and we went on alone.
Over the past few years, we've seen each other less and less. They've made new friends and so have we. Yet this past weekend, it was as though we were back in the early years. We played cards until 2AM, got up late and ate a leisurely breakfast. It was fun, sweet, sentimental. Once again, we hugged and promised to bring back the contact. We'll go there, they'll come here. It's important. In my mind, I know they'll get busy, we'll get busy. In my heart, I hope we can keep all those promises.
Friends like us are hard to find!

I was tagged - more than once.

I have grandchildren since Friday, so not much blogging. Be back soon.
List 5 things in your bedroom:


1. My stuff: clothes, make-up, accessories.
2. a hamper
3. an air purifier
4. Furniture: a bed, 2 dressers and 2 night stands- one was painted pink by my granddaughter.
5. A self made jewelry tree.

List 4 things about me:


1. I'm good at most art stuff, but not awesome except for teaching.
2. I’m a self proclaimed poet and life philosopher.
3. I’ve had so many different lives, it would be rude to list them. Now I’m working out of my studio.
4. I live with a “female” dog, a needy mutt and a psychotic cat. Oh, yes and a perfectly sane husband.
List 3 favorite past times:


1. Hiking
2. Photography
3. Working in and out of my studio.

List 2 of my favorite quotes:


1. "This is not the end, it’s the beginning; the worst that can happen is we fix it." (ME)
2. "There is no significant difference between those who don’t and those who can’t." (Mark Twain)
I tag:
1. I don’t like tagging people much.
2. Most of my friends have either been tagged or have commented their answers on someone else’s blog.
3. If you haven’t done either of these, then blog it or comment.

It's a Picnic

The past few days have made me anxious for spring - not for spring storms mind you, but for springtime with planting and flowers and trees budding and picnics. I'm reminded of what Vinod did in bringing his blog friends together for a real picnic. Now, I can't do this right now, but we can dream can't we and if we dream enough, who knows what the future will hold.
I got to thinking. What would be better in blogland than a virtual picnic in honor of the coming spring. So, what would you like to contribute, and what is your ideal spot for a group picnic. Some of us would want to bring a couple people with us, so it needs to accomodate at least 25 or 30 people. What is your favorite group style activity? (That could be accomplished in a public place)
I'll bring a large taco salad and strawberry limeade. Lots of it. I make really good strawberry limeade with real strawberries and real limes. I took it to an art group dinner at Thanksgiving. One friend's daughter asked what she was drinking and she replied "It's strawberry limeade. It doesn't have any alcohol, but it's really good. You really ought to get some." We did have it at two Christmas parties, but they were at my house, so technically, I didn't take it!
My ideal spot for a spring picnic would be at Mount Nebo State Park near Russellville, Arkansas. It's a steep drive, but you can see forever and it's so beautiful. There is a playground for the kids and biking and hiking trails galore. There is a beautiful waterfall which has a good amount of water in the spring, though in the summer it's only a thin veil of water.
I love to play volleyball and to roast marshmallows. Funny Bones is also a great group game for adults if we had a pavillion.
So join me on my virtual picnic. Let me know what your part would be.

Now You Know

I’ve been a blogger since last June. I went through my posts the other day looking for something and I was surprised at the time and number of logs. I could see the growth of my friends list and interaction. It was fun to look back through it and remember when and where I picked my virtual circle up.
I’ve come to respect and value many of the friends I’ve made here. Like the touch world, blog world has many kinds of friends and I’ve learned to appreciate them for what they are. I blog regularly with a couple members of my own family and have learned to see them as part of blogland. I try not to violate blog etiquette in their space. I have one dear friend whom I’ve known and respected since college. He blogs so seldom, that our blog relationship is still based on profession and history. We still even email each other. I love you man!
Then there are others- you know who you are- whom I read daily and comment regularly and miss greatly if there is a lull in the blog contact. Some who went silent for a time without warning, I actually worried about and prayed for. There are people I hold in favorites because they are so inundated that I hate to even invite them. I just fly by frequently and read and comment and get tickled when they answer. One of these has referred to me as her favorite lurker. I smile when I think about it because she has an exceptional blog. You guys are the reason I’m here.
I got an invite today from a person who has a site that rejects any outside comment, though the visitor can view the site, the blog and the comments of others. I’ve had some people on my friends list who restricted comments to a few friends while allowing comments from others while everyone could see it all. It seems as effective as those TV shows where the speaker asks for your opinion and then gives you a website you can’t access without giving your personal information. –Sheez who do they think I am? I’m sure this style of blogging has its purpose, but if I ever feel threatened in blogland, I probably won’t go there. I certainly won’t ask others to join my party from the street side. If I don’t want you in my house, I won’t ask you to the party.
I’ll probably put said person in my favorites as I usually do for a few days. The blog is somewhat interesting and after watching it, maybe I’ll feel like it’s a good add, but I must admit for me, that’s a bad first impression as was the “I’m God and what I say goes in blogland” approach the blogs took. Of course! We all manage our own site.
I got another invite from a person who has 2 blogs since 2005. The 2 blogs were long, topical, and pasted in from reference manuals. I’ve read enough of those. I didn’t add that one to favorites. I had that one in my favorites for a month or so in a previous life and it was the same then. It made me ask “Why did this person want me as a friend? Again?” If I sound arrogant, forgive me. I’m not saying the blogger doesn’t have a right to that interest or that cause, but a few minutes with my site will reveal what I’m about. If you’re new, try reading a blog or two and see if you can value me as a friend.
I do hope my friends will stay around and if you’re a visitor, I’m not really a crabby person, per se.
I write from my heart, my wierd sense of humor and my rabbit chasing mind. I write because I like to write and because I like to communicate with others. The poetry I post is my own unless I say differently. The pictures I post are my own unless I give credit. I don’t cut and paste and I seldom YouTube. No problem with others who do.
I’m old enough to know better than to undress for the camera for many reasons, and I have no interest in posting a provocative cut of someone else’s body on the internet. My father taught me that bad language was a stupid substitute for effective communication skills. I grew up accepting that and after a brief interlude of stupidity, I rejoined the camp. I’ve learned to let other people be what they will as long as I can stand it.
Most of my friends are artsy types who write, paint, photograph etc. When I stated this, my 21 year old said “Imagine that.” in her dry humorous way. I paint, make ceramic stuff, play keyboard, make jewelry and other things I dream up. I design and construct everything from furniture to waterfalls. I love swimming, hiking, reading and playing with my grand kids. I’m devoted to my husband. I’m mesmerized by fire and nature. I hunt with a camera. I am a teacher with several gigabytes of memory.
Now you know.

The whole experience

The picture is of a pair of beaded flowers, a gift from a fellow artist friend.
I attended, last night, a meeting of regional artists of a variety of venues. We are in essence a Christian group, but that's a broad range and we aren't exclusive. We have a charter that values, to a protective extreme, individual creativity. This is a good thing.
I took a piece of pottery and some poetry for the 'show and tell' feature of the meeting. Some of it was silly some was suedo serious. Others brought photography, and paintings.
In our group we run the gammut of age and development of ideology, skill and creative thought. I must admit, kicking and screaming inside, that I'm a pretty tight individual. I get a kick out of those 'out there' people even if I don't like to work with them toward an end. I see 'out there' as a particular stage of creative development.
Last nights meeting was held at the home of one of our members. The moderator told us to meet at his studio so we could find our way, seeing as how it was close. I was standing with another group member in the cold. As we waited for him to arrive, three people walked toward us. Being the kind of person I am, I said "You must be the three." A tall, youngish guy replied, "And you must be the two." True to my own creative silliness, I quipped. "Well I may look like two, but that's just the holidays effect and I'm working on it." I had no idea we were waiting for another couple and assumed he was just coming back at me. I'm glad I didn't know, for my quip caught his attention and he began to bounce off it. The other two tried to be philosophical.
So this young man caught my interest. He was genuine, confident, and creative. He responded to the philosophy that our leader put forward during the 'devotional/inspirational' segment with a straightforwardness that truly added to the concept. He had the confidence to bring an incomplete work and discuss his progress and intentions. I like that. The work was exciting and it's incomplete state inspired all kinds of input from this group of creative minds. He didn't seem to mind. It was obvious he had a plan, but was open to new thought and technique. He may use some or none of what he gleaned, but he gleaned none the less.
When we started off at the end of the meeting, I thanked him for allowing me to jest with him. By that time I'd gathered we were supposed to have had two others join us, but I didn't say so. He rolled his window down and said "Thank you!"
So now I've had the whole eureka! and I'm saying to myself "Why didn't you know?" Yes, I had heard mention of the group of art students that had discovered my friend our moderator. I knew of a young northern artist that was looking for some honest art and quality artistic expression in this area, searching for that last peice of himself. I was part of the loop, so to speak. Yet I was so full of myself that I didn't see.
But then I ask myself, had I known he was 'that person' would I have been different? Would I have been more cautious, less real? Frankly, I'm glad I didn't know. I've decided that I hope I never know again, until I can be as real, as searching, as honest. We're all seeking and becoming. We need not be perfect to influence the life and mind of another, we just need to be true people and relax a little with who we are.
So in my ignorance, last night, I met a friend.