I've taken a vacation from blogging for almost a year and a half. Mostly this was about being newly married and trying to shoehorn all aspects of my old life into this new life with Tom, which really did not work too well because, after all, there are still only 24 hours in a day. Blogging, even writing, have been pretty low on the to-do list. Yesterday was our second anniversary, and we agreed that we'd do it all over again. This married life is sweet.

Lately, I've been playing with the idea of finishing my book, Aunt Testament, so I can move on to another project. To that end, I've joined a writing class taught by my studio partner at the GoggleWorks, Mickey Getty. We meet every Tuesday for two and a half hours. The writers are brilliant, talented women. We critique each others' work and do writing exercises, which brings me to the point of reviving the blog. It's going to be more about the writing life and my progress on my book. Also, though, it will contain snippets of the writing exercises we do.

Like yesterday's.

Write for ten minutes starting with "I remember...." Then write ten minutes starting "I don't remember...." Then write for ten minutes "I am thinking of...." The following is the result.

I remember the smell of the sweeping compound the custodian used on the floors of our elementary school. It picked up all the mud and dust and added a slightly oiled look to the surface of the floors. I remember being in Seventh Street School from third through sixth grades. I remember that the third and fourth grades were on the main floor. So were the first and second grades. But the bathrooms were in the basement. How weird to have the bathrooms in the basement. I remember the boiler room right at the foot of the stairs The girls' bathroom was at the end of a long hall, and had about four booths. There was a gas heater with open flames that kept the room warm — I remember that we used to toast ourselves in front of this heater.

I remember Jeannie Kudray.

I don't remember how I heard about this. I don't remember my brother coming home and saying that Jeannie Kudray had gotten hurt at school. I don't remember hearing the details, but I have a visual image in  my mind. I don't remember her toasting herself at the open flames. I don't remember her running, panicked, out of the bathroom, turning the corner and running down the hall in flames. I don't remember her long blonde hair streaming out behind her, and myself looking out the doorway of the music room. I don't remember the custodian grabbing her and beating out the flames with his bare hands. I don't remember the ambulance taking her to the hospital.

But I do remember that Jeannie Kudray died. She was in my brother's class. Lynn was four years behind me in school, so when he was in third grade, I was in seventh. There is no way I could have seen this.

I am thinking of the power of imagination. How my mind made up the whole scene so vividly that I can see it still. Intellectually, I know that I could not have seen this, but I believe in the power of that vision, that movie in my mind with a clutch of girls standing at the far end of the hall, their faces distorted by open mouths, horrified looks following Jeannie. I believe in that scene as truly as if I'd actually seen it.

My interior movie version of Aunt Testament is just as real. Some of the scenes are that vivid — as if I am watching them and recording what I see and hear, noticing every detail of color and sound and smell. Other scenes, though, are not as clear. They must be conjured up, assigned to my subconscious and written and rewritten to capture the same power as the visions. I could wish for all my writing to arrive in such technicolor bravado, but that would be tempting fate. I will myself to be satisfied with the visions I have, and trust that the rest of the story will be there when I summon it.

It is all mystery.

San Diego Wedding

Here comes the bride

Speak now or forever hold your peace.

With this ring...

The Kiss

Gorgeous bouquet

The rings

Mr. and Mrs. Robert McLay

Dina, Robert, Jodie, and Haley

Shocking — a wave!

Kian, Dina, Robert, and Devon McLay

Dina and the brothers: Jodie, Robert, and David

Devon and Jess

Sharon, David, Devon, Haley, Jess, Joe Henry, Robert, Dina, Jodie, Tom, Donna, and Kian
The Gathered Clan

Wedding cake

 

Cutting the cake

 

Delicious!

Family vacation

It's the McLay family vacation time again. Every year they get together for a week -- hanging out, cooking and eating, and some form of recreation, depending upon the location. They've been to Turks and Caicos, Majorca, the Outer Banks, and here. This year we are in San Diego, right in Mission Beach. It was a seething mass of humanity for the Fourth. I walked from the beach house to the bay and then to the Oceanside. Not a long walk, but informative. I took pictures. The beaches and parks look empty, but the reality was it felt incredibly crowded. Even though it was before 8 am, the parking lots were full of tents and screened rooms, beach chairs, and playpens.

Now it's Friday morning and we are thinking about our flight home tomorrow, about cleaning the beach house, doing laundry, and packing.

This year we had a special event -- Tom's oldest son, Robert, married Dina Testoni. His younger brother David married them. Did you know that in California any person can be the designated officiant? Robert and Dina exchanged their vows, and then David proclaimed, "By the authority vested in me by the state of California,I now ..." It was a very sweet service witnessed by all the family members who are here: Tom and I, Robert's sons Kian and Devon and Devon's girlfriend Jess, Tom's son Jodie, Jodie's daughter Haley and her friend Sharon, and Joe Henry, cousin of the McLay boys. Then we traipsed off to the beach to take pictures.

After the photo shoot, we walked back to the beach house for a feast. Jodie had prepared a shish kebab dinner: skewers full of shrimp, steak, vegetables; baked sweet and white potatoes. The whole meal was delectable. Last of all was the wedding cake which Jess and Devon and I had made. Carrot cake with pineapple and coconut in it,and buttercream frosting of ambrosial dimensions. We had made flowered decorations, too. I'll try to post a photo of the cake when I'm back at my regular computer.

Strawberries!

     The first strawberries of the season have appeared at our local farm stand, and I bought three quarts. They are everything good that I remembered about fresh strawberries from last year. Sweet, ripe, delicious!
     As I was hulling and slicing them, I remembered another occasion when I was serving strawberries nearly thirty years ago.
     As a child, I had always wanted to take piano lessons. Not a good idea, my mother said. A piano would fall through the floor. While that sounds extreme, it masked the real reason my mother didn't want to have a piano in the house: all those children (there were five of us) could have created an awful racket pounding on it. Also, she had memories of her one and only piano recital during which she forgot her piece. After several attempts at the performance, she walked off the stage and never took another lesson.
     When we lived in Wyomissing we bought a piano, and the girls and I took lessons. When I left the marriage, I took only my clothes and the children's furniture and clothing. I was sad to leave the piano behind, but it was necessary.
     After a long job search I found work teaching. The job provided low pay and few benefits, but it was a job. It was a toe in the door, a chance to show what I could do, and perhaps to get hired. Turned out I was hired the following year — on the salary scale and with full benefits.
     Late that spring I answered an ad and bought a piano! I enlisted the help of my brother, Dick, and brother-in-law, Frank, who had a truck, to move it to our townhouse. Anticipating a celebration, I bought an angel food cake, a half-gallon of ice cream, and two quarts of the first strawberries of June. I hulled and sliced the berries, sugared them, then placed them in the fridge to chill until the moving was done.
     The men moved the piano into place in the dining room, and I began dishing up desserts. The first bowl went to Dick's wife Kathy. I handed another bowl to my sister Dorothy just as Kathy said, "Donna, there's something wrong with these berries. They're salty!"
     What?! I tasted them, something I hadn't done because I didn't want to eat a single berry of the celebratory treat. Definitely laden with salt. I checked the sugar canister; it had been filled with salt.
     I found out later that my daughter Patty had played an April Fool's Day trick on me — and we used so little sugar that I hadn't discovered it. And she had forgotten about it.
    Plan B: angel food cake and ice cream.
     This morning, remembering the salty berries, I smiled — something I had not done that day so long ago.
  
  
 

Weather Worries

     Jackie Troop had been the library secretary, laminator queen, and general go-to person on the staff at Summit Valley Elementary School, so when I heard about her retirement celebration I was quick to sign up. On Thursday I attended the dinner at Shady Maple. It was great to see so many old friends from my days as principal there. I have kept in touch with a few of them, but this was Nostalgia Nirvana!
     One of the best things was seeing the way the staff still supports each other. There was a pervasive spirit of camaraderie and good will, and the two retiring staff members were key to this nurturing climate. I remembered how remarkable the district was and was glad I had worked there. Gratitude settled into my bones once again.
     It was still light when I left the building. I'd parked in the farthest corner of the most distant parking lot, and as I walked to the car I noticed a dark cloud covering most of the sky. I could see the edge of it. I felt the wind pick up and wondered if it would rain. I hurried as quickly as I could in the sandals I hadn't worn since last summer.
     By the time I reached the light at Rt. 322, wind was whipping the trees and blowing small bits of detritus across the road. I drove for a few more miles. The wind became stronger. It blew a dense cloud of dirt and pebbles which covered perhaps fifty yards of roadway and I had to brake so I could see where I was going. Road signs wobbled wildly. Sticks the diameter of my wrist and arm were scattered on the road and I had to steer carefully to avoid them.
     I noticed that the edge of the front paralleled my line of travel.
     Weather has been in the news lately, and not in a good way. Tornado season arrived with a vengeance this year. I was aware of storms that had devastated Tuscaloosa, Alabama and Joplin, Missouri. I scanned the sky for funnel clouds. I began to worry.
     As I drove the last miles on 322, my imagination took flight. Those wobbling signs became potential agents of death. If the winds could drive a straw through plate glass, broken signs could become flying scimitars, slicing through the car (and me). I concentrated on steering, dodging road trash, and breathing. The twenty-minute trip seemed to last forever.
     At last I arrived home. Home! Still no rain, and the edge of the front was behind me. Thanks be to God!
     Tom is accustomed to imagining the worst case scenario in everyday events. He is adamant about putting small cargo on the floor of the back seat instead of in the hatchback, where it could "become a projectile in case of an accident." I understand that, though sometimes I need to be reminded of it. When I described the trip and my relief at my safe arrival, his comment was, "You have a vivid imagination."
     Don't we all?

  

Paris Highlight

Photos by Helen Maynard

     One of the best moments was our last full day in Paris. We were going to walk up the hill in Montmartre on our way to Sacre Coeur Basilica. We were to meet at the Abbesses Metro stop (one of the few remaining art deco entrances). In the park near the stop, three musicians had set up and were playing wonderful jazz. Tom put a few Euros in the clarinet case and we started dancing. A young man from London holding his baby joined us, and we had a great time just dancing! Applause when we finished, too.

     Tom was always a jitterbug fanatic, but I came to it much later. It's such a fun way to enjoy the big band sounds of the thirties and forties.

     Paris has many charms. We have not seen all of them yet!

April in Paris

     A week in Paris — who could ask for anything better? Well, maybe two weeks in Paris, but never mind. A week of learning and visiting new sights and meeting new people. A week of delectable food served with flair. A week of walking on cobblestoned streets and broad boulevards, of sun and clouds but no rain. A fabulous week.
     Though this was my ninth visit to the City of Light, it was my first time seeing the original city wall in the lower floor of the Louvre. Paris long ago outgrew this boundary, but the beautiful stonework has stood for many centuries. We  walked in the moat that surrounded old Paris, and saw the pillars that had supported the drawbridge. I marveled at the expertise of those early workers in stone. Nameless, their work testifies to their skill.
     I will post some photos when I have downloaded and edited them.

Packing!

     No pressure, oh no. Just packing for the movers to come to the condo on Friday, and packing for the trip to Paris on Saturday! The packing to move is definitely more difficult. I have sent so much to Goodwill and the Mennonite used furniture store in the past weeks, an ever-increasing stream of things leaving the condo. More waits for my daughters and their trucks. I've rented a storage unit for boxes I can't deal with right now, and have made space for my big desk in my writing studio at the GoggleWorks. Giving away/farming out family treasures is hard. There's a rocker in my studio that belonged to a wonderful teacher in a school where I was the principal. Many good memories are attached to that chair. Hard to part with it. But it is time.
     And then there is Paris! She awaits with her dazzling Eiffel Tower and art museums. I expect to learn a great deal this visit, though it is my ninth. We have more structure and an expert guide this time.
     Stay tuned...

More moving

     Things are starting to fall into place around the big move to empty my condo and get it on the market. I have an experienced agent who is familiar with my development and the surrounding area. I have reliable movers ready to come on April 8th, putting the last things into a storage unit. My daughters have been helpful in finding homes for art work and furniture. I have window cleaners scheduled, as well as a janitorial service that will come and do a final cleaning/polishing after everything is empty.
     Packing is slow work. I have archives of letters and family history to put into a safe place till I have time to explore them. Yesterday I found a photo of my father, young and handsome with that cleft in his chin. No wonder my mother fell in love with him!
     The movers come on the 8th. We leave for Paris on the 9th. Oh happy day!
    

The Write Stuff Conference

     Mickey Getty, my studio partner at the GoggleWorks Center for the Arts, and I spent three days last week at the Write Stuff writers conference in Allentown. We had a ball! Our class with Donald Maass on writing the breakout novel informed us that we need to create microtension on every page. Lisa Rector Maass helped us with sagging middles as well as the first fifty pages.
     Other writers shared their expertise in sessions throughout Saturday. Most valuable of all were the connections with other writers. This is my second year at the conference, and again I'm fired up, fed by all the ideas. I come home and rest for a day or two — and then start to apply the new insights.  

HD World

     In early March Tom's son David flew in from Colorado to facilitate our move into the world of HDTV. Tom's three sons had promised a flat screen TV as a wedding gift, and David and Jodie made it happen. I pictured Robert, still in Texas, cheering from afar. Three fine men.
     Now we have a gigantic TV occupying one end of the living room. It sits atop a cabinet containing all the smaller devices that make the system work seamlessly. I am stunned by the clarity of the picture, which details every pore and hair follicle of individuals. But nature programs are wonderful. The screen size allows one to feel almost in the picture. Oh, the wonders of modern technology!
     This does not mean we have more time for watching TV, though. We are still engaged in merging and purging. Patty took home a carload of things yesterday, and Laura will come tomorrow to help clear the decks. My handyman neighbor has done a marvelous job of touching up paint and patching holes where art hung on walls. I think we are rounding the last turn and entering the home stretch.
     Now to redecorate the studio!
  

Letting Go

     It is nearly a month since I posted to my blog. I know this isn't the way to build a big following, but right now I am not interested in building a following. I'm still in the "purge and merge" stage of melding our two households into one. It is trickier than it seemed last July, when Tom proposed, or even last month, when I finally got my dresser here. As a matter of fact, it is more of a challenge as time goes on.

     Like so many tasks, the hardest part of the job can be finishing it. So I have done the easy parts, the things that don't require much consideration. No pot for making soup? Simple — bring my own. No room in the files? That's easy — two sets of files are here now, one in a cabinet and one rolling and portable. Books? Keep the ones I love, which turned out to be most of them. The rest went to the library sale.

     Now I am faced with the hard choices. My grandmother's Limoges? Hand wash. No microwave. Who would bother to use it? The 1930's-era cedar chest that belonged to my parents. Beautiful wood, beautiful carved scene on the front. No room here. My large mahogany desk? Definitely no room here.

     I have the sense that I will feel a burden lifted once these things are successfully moved out. I know for sure I'll feel lighter, free to step into the next thing with nothing dragging me down. And best of all will be to have the condominium sold and happily occupied by others. It is a great place, with wonderful neighbors, but it is not my place any more.

     If my life up to this point has been like that of a decorator crab, adding on everything that looks attractive, then I must un-decorate, one thing at a time, so I can dance into the next chapter unencumbered. I am grateful that I have a wonderful partner for the dance.

Life in Community

     Arriving at Tel Hai Retirement Community has been a homecoming of sorts. After teaching four seasons of memoir writing workshops, I have many friends here. Familiar faces are everywhere. It's made the transition easy.
     I must admit that having dinner prepared and available every night is a treat. The food is good, too. I find that the absence of junk food in the house has even helped me lose a few pounds! I'd been warned about the "Tel Hai Ten" (cousin to the "Freshman Fifteen"), so this is a good thing.
     Snowstorms have disrupted routines, but people adjust. We had a phone call from one of the staff asking if we'd eaten yesterday afternoon. Turned out that they were getting the staff home early, so they served dinner from 2 - 4 instead of the usual times. We had fifteen minutes to get down there, but we made it and were happy with the fare. They do fish really well here -- crusted tilapia was on the menu, and supremely delicious.
     The  big challenge we face this week is trying to fit everything I brought from the condo into the apartment. So many books!! But there is a place for redundant items: a flea market which runs several times a year. We have many items designated for donation, and are happy to know that the proceeds go to a fund that cares for folks whose resources are depleted.  
     I'm still getting used to being married. It's wonderful!

Wedding day Photos

It has taken a while for me to recover from the festivities! Here are a few of the wedding day photos, these courtesy of Donn Shires, who did a fantastic job of capturing the many moments that made up that never-to-be-forgotten day.

Patty and Laura with Mom

Sarah, Emily, and Katie
Beautiful granddaughters!

Tom — before the wedding

Father John Francis, Tom and Jodie,
the best man 

Olivia

My sister Dorothy

Jim walks me down the aisle

Who gives this woman?

Patty reads

Exchanging vows

Vows and rings

Dan Varner plays and sings

Singing "Forever Young"

Flautist

Donna listens

Mr. and Mrs. McLay bring the
elements for the Eucharist

Jim, olivia, Alyssa, Tess and Haley

At the Eucharist

Leaving the church

Merry Christmas, Married Christmas

     In my last post, around Thanksgiving time, I talked about books that foster change. I have discovered some resources while clearing out my condo in preparation for my move to Tel Hai with my new husband. They come from the Southern Poverty Law Center in Birmingham, Alabama. Teaching Peace is a theme that permeates them. Check out the website. They do important work and deserve our support.
      One week ago today Tom McLay and I were married. We had a weekend full of celebrations with family from all over — my siblings and son and granddaughters from western Pennsylvania and Ohio, and Tom's relatives from Texas, Colorado, and Virginia, as well as the fairly local children and grandchildren. Such a disparate group, and how we enjoyed each other! We partied from Friday through Sunday. The whole event seemed perfect. At least we will remember it as such.
     I have such a sense of God's abundant blessings poured out, heaped up and running over. I feel enormous gratitude. My prayer, waking and sleeping, goes, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
      At the Christmas Eve service last night, I welled up at the memory of my father taking me to my first midnight service. I recalled my awe, my reverence, the absolute sense of coming home the liturgy engendered. That eight-year-old could not have imagined the decades-long journey she would take. Looking back, I can only say, "Thanks be to God."
      May all who read this have a blessed Christmas.

To Think About

"A book ought to be an ax to break the frozen sea within us."
                                                   — Anton Chekov

     I am rereading Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder in preparation for my review of the book at our next book club meeting. Once again I am struck by Dr. Paul Farmer's singleminded pursuit of healing for the people in the mountains of Haiti. He has been incredibly persistent. He has also been lucky in his choice of educational institution to find a place that accommodates his style of learning.

     I will post more about this as I find other resources that speak to the situation in Haiti.

     It is a long time since I posted to my blog. School keeps me very busy, and I have been traveling as well. The first trip was to an Elderhostel event in Chinle, Arizona. We stayed on the Navajo reservation and visited the Canyon de Chelly, a magnificent place with petroglyphs and ancient dwellings that had gone to ruin and were no longer occupied. The red rock weathered differently according its composition, and resulted in incredibly beautiful formations. The place has a sense of mystery and holiness that is hard to describe.
     We also saw Navajo weavers, potters, and silversmiths at work; a storyteller guided us through the tale of The Long Walk. We learned a Navajo word each day, too. It was an immersion in the culture.
     Albuquerque, NM, was our next stop. The Albuquerque International Balloon Festival takes place every year. This year 500 balloons participated. We attended the mass ascension on October 2nd, an event that began at 5:30 a.m. and went on for hours. About 200 of them went up that first morning. It was jaw-dropping.
     Sightseeing and visiting family occupied the rest of our time. Of particular note was a walking tour of Old Santa Fe led by Joel Stein, a veteran tour guide, published guidebook author, and friend. We also liked the Nuclear Museum. I was impressed by the periodic table of elements done in polished stones of various kinds in the main entry hall.
     This was a vacation that needed a period of recuperation afterwards!

More school things

     Fall brings changes in the weather and changes in my students' lives as well. Last week we had a big drop in attendance. I did not think about this right away, but one of the other teachers told me that her class attendance had dropped to less than half, and she thought the weather was responsible. As I considered this, I looked back over the week. Rain, chill, rain and big winds — yes, the weather could have played a role. I'd had hints of trouble brewing when one student said her grandmother in Puerto Rico was sick and her sister (also a student) was going to PR to take care of her.
     Then I received a note in Spanish from another mother, stating that her son had been sick and I should please excuse his absences. He brought the note, but that was the only day he came. I assume he is still sick.
     One student has had spotty attendance, but promised to start back next week because her mother is laid off and can now babysit her two-year-old daughter.
     One student returned early from a nursing assistant training program. He said they had two chapters of homework every night, and the next day had one hour to finish 75 questions on a test. He felt overwhelmed.
     Three-fourths of the class are not native English-speakers. They face myriad challenges. Many have diplomas from their country of origin. It takes lots of reading and writing to raise students' reading to the level required to pass the GED test.
     Every teaching day is busy and takes planning, and sometimes I just have to make do with whatever and whoever shows up. But most of all I recognize how much effort it takes to stay on the path to a GED. Thank you, students, for your stories that spur me to get up and get going every day!

Politics!

     My student Becky was late this morning. I was surprised. She is never late. But she arrived at 10:30 with an amazing story to tell.
     Becky is an activist. She speaks up and speaks out. She volunteers for the phone bank for political campaigns and rings doorbells and hands out political flyers. Today she was accompanying Joe Sestak on  his campaign visit to downtown Reading.
     Becky related to the class how she had walked next to Mr. Sestak. She showed us how tall he is. As she walked beside him, she told him, "I'm your security in the 'hood." We all laughed.
     She brought Joe Sestak campaign flyers to us, and we all got one. The class gave her a round of applause for civic involvement, and for showing up at class too.
     It was a wonderful moment!

For God Alone My Soul in Silence Waits

When I was a young mother, my children would come to me full of stories of injustices in school or on the playground, arguments they’d had with friends, complaints of unfair treatment by a teacher, and the other myriad challenges children face when growing up.  As they talked, I would interject remarks that I deemed helpful, well-intentioned solutions. One day one of the children said, “Mom, I don’t want you to solve it.  I just want you to listen!”

            What a wake-up moment for me!  I had been too ready to put in my two-cents’ worth instead of letting them finish speaking.  I should have been saying, “What do you plan to do about this?”

            I still struggle with this. The other day my daughter said, “Face it, Mom, you’re a fixer.”  I like to think of myself as a recovering fixer.  Every once in a while I relapse, but mostly I try to be present to people as an attentive listener.

            This works equally well in my prayer life.  Many times I am tempted to assault the ears of the Almighty with a litany of pains, woes, complaints, griefs, miseries — the list could go on.  But for me, answers do come.

            What do I do?  I sit in silence, focusing on my breath.  I might have an image, saying, or list of concerns nearby, but I do not obsess about those.  I sit in silence and I breathe, and remain attentive, and in that silence I find peace, healing, restoration, and sometimes answers.

            The art of listening is a gift to others and to oneself.