Veazey Mail Box

I couldn't stand it.  10 days and I had to pick the gauntlet up again.

My new blog is:  Veazey Mail Box.

come and visit!  now!


http://veazeymailbox.blogspot.com/2010/09/something-in-mailbox.html

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

What I did on my summer vacation was write Thursday Chronicles.  Now it's September and instead of contemplating coffee bubbles and font types, I'm teaching piano, directing choir rehearsals, seeing Reiki clients, and wedging in time with my family.

I'm grieving the farewell to Thursday Chronicles.  My flegling was just barely hatched.  Hopefully it will reincarnate before long.  Thanks to all of you for reading!

Travel or Travail

The excitement and dread of it.  Driving to unknown territory in Pennsylvania.  Five days away from my family.  Loneliness and euphoria all mixed up together.  The pain of packing.  Will it be hot or cold?  Will I get lost?  Will Hurricane Earl sweep me away?

Here's what I'm bringing:

• coffee
• electric kettle
• plastic cone
• filters
• mug

I'm staying in a very nice hotel that probably serves coffee, but unless I have a certain kind of hair-on-your-chest French Roast, I am not fit to meet the day.

I'm also bringing:

• clothes
• toiletries
• umbrella
• 2 notebooks
• 4 pens
• 18 books

I'm not bringing my computer.  Without "The Screened Beast" my little hotel room will take on the ambiance of a retreat cell.  The cleansing quality of a Lenten Fast.  What do you mean I don't need 18 books on a retreat?

I'll bring my credit card and some money for food and potential non-caffeine liquid necessities.  I'll call my husband every night because I miss him even though I want to get away, but I miss him.  I won't call my son because he's 17 and I don't think that's the way these things work.  But when I get home I'll kidnap him and take him out for hot chocolate and cannoli.  I'll ruffle his marvelous red hair and tell him how much I missed him.

Kinky

I should quit this habit.  Andrea told me to my face that she thinks it's dirty.  You wouldn't imagine me to be the kind of person to collect these things.  I don't know a single other person who does, but thankfully, my husband understands the fetish and plays along.  I have read on the internet about people like me, and sometimes when I'm alone I sit around in the afternoon and google images. 

It happened again today on my walk home.  I saw one by the sidewalk.

That's right. 

I had to pick it up and bring it home. 

Wash it off and save it in a bowl.

Last night I dreamed I had a beautiful blue bottle cap with white writing.  Lots of white writing.  More than one would expect on a bottle cap.

Dog Days of Summer

This happened once before - years ago when we were vacationing in the Adirondacks.  I had signed up for a class in birch bark art.  At cocktail time I ran into the teacher who said, "Why weren't you in class today?"  "Oh, I'm signed up for the Wednesday class."  "Today is Wednesday."  I had entered into the fullness of vacation mode.

I posted a blog yesterday, thinking it was Thursday.  That doesn't mean I have Early Onset Altzheimers does it?  Tell me it doesn't. 

I just finished reading "Still Alice" by Lisa Genova.  The book is a fictional, but realistic account of a 50-year-old Harvard psychology professor losing her memory.  I couldn't put it down, wondering if I was reading about my future.  Now every time I walk into a room and say, "What did I come in here for?" I think of Alice in the novel.  Fortunately this hasn't yet happened to me in a bathroom stall.

I'm just enjoying the dog days of summer.

The Lure of Print

When I started playing organ in high school it was a thrill to see my name in the church bulletin.  "Diane Lewis, Organist"  I fingered the bulletin admiring my name in print.  The page said I was An Organist and so I must be one.

Now my thrill is tossing words up on the screen.  The font is Arial and each little p d q looks perfect.  Orange headlines herald Important Topics Everyone Wants To Read.  Official.  Published.

But things are turning full circle.

Today I thought of handwriting's intimacy - more precious now that it's rare.  Visual imprints of dear ones from far away.  Casual words.  Easy to take for granted.

My teachers' handwriting.  Mary Stanton's red G # scrawled on the Chopin score.  The assignment book with detailed instructions from David Almond.  Jeffrey's neat rune print.   Attentive letters from Alex.  Christmas cards from Marilyn signed "Blessings" or "As always" saved in a shoe box.

Getting Things Done

Today is my day for planning fall piano teaching.  This is written in my calendar to keep me from procrastinating.   It started well.  I made new student records, tranferred notes from old records, printed student materials, and created a neon yellow index card to remind me of my new year's teaching resolutions. 

Then I thought I'd take a little break and read some Blogs of Note.  I love this one:  looseleafwriting.blogspot.com.   It looked like it might give me helpful hints on writing, so I read quite a bit it of before I went to yoga.  When I came home I really needed a shower, and then my towel was wet, so it seemed like a good time to do the laundry and I practiced a little while the clothes were in the washer.  Then I was hungry and while I was in the fridge I noticed an aging lemon.  I haven't make a lemon cake in years!  The only problem was flour, so I made a quick trip to the store.  When I got home I noticed those spots that I've been meaning to scrub off the living room floor all summer, which made me thirsty and what better thing to do while drinking a diet coke than read more of that blog to get ideas about writing, which made me think of putting up a new posting, even though it isn't even Thursday!

Favorite Persons Club

CLUB MEMBER

I Sat With An Old Woman

I sat with an old woman
     who spoke a foreign language.

We had waited all summer to sit together.
     the summer of June, July and January.

She told me her father haunted her
     though he died 40 years before.

She told me she played Beethoven
     but not as well as I do.

I sat with an old woman
     who spoke a foreign language.

I've waited all summer to learn it.
     like a child at the age of two.

Your Secret Blog

Before starting Thursday Chronicles, a blog with no theme except Thursday, I tried to come up with an actual topic.  Here are some of my rejected ideas:

• "Mikrokosmos" - little things about piano teaching, music and life in general
• "The Boychoir Blog" - about St. Columba's Boychoir
• "The 2:00 Journal" - whatever I was doing at 2:00 each day

What blogs have YOU secretly been wanting to start?

simple pleasures

morning newspaper

coffee with little bubbles

the sound of birdsong

breakfast on the porch

yogurt in a chinese bowl

cicadas humming

Ironing Day

I was thrilled, at the age of ten, when my mother taught me how to iron.  The summer after 4th grade we specialized in pillowcases and handkerchiefs.  Not only did I enjoy smoothing out the wrinkles, but I loved being able to handle the dangerous object.  One false move and I might burn the house down!  I'd go to the cool basement and enjoy a summer afternoon alone drinking strawberry pop and ironing.  This odd joy has never left me.

Before contacting me with all of your pressing needs, I should explain a few things:

• I don't iron men's clothing.
• I'm not actually very good at ironing, so complicated things like shirts or pants are risky.
• My favorite thing to iron is a small tablecloth.  Preferably a beautiful vintage one.

I always wait for The Perfect Ironing Moment.  The house will be mine alone.  I will be well-rested and recently fed.  I used to put on special ironing music (the Brahms Piano Quintet in F Minor), but these days I prefer the simple sound of the spray bottle.

A couple of major shifts in my ironing habits have occurred this year.  The old iron, which I've used for 20 years, died.  I had to put it in the trash!  The new one is sea blue and harmonizes with the New and Improved Ironing Location.

The Reiki Healing Space now doubles as The Center for Contemplative Ironing.  Wrinkles smooth out more peacefully than ever.  Fabrics are soaked in healing energy.  The practitioner works to the soothing sound of bird call and squirt bottle.

July 101

It's 101 degrees outside.

Pat and I went to the (air conditioned) National Gallery of Art.  A pity that I need a visitor from out of town to discover how close I live to A Girl with a Watering-Can and a Girl with a Hoop.

The grass outside is dry and brown, and The Olive Orchard makes me feel hot.

Two favorites bring cool relief.

How are you keeping cool?

Rabbit, Rabbit

All these years waking up in bed together and remembering at the first of each month to say Rabbit Rabbit.  (usually)

I know we did this 30 years ago (that would be 360 double rabbits) when I took German at Hartford College for Women.  The Professorin had no idea what I was trying to communicate in my essay, "Kaninchen Kaninchen."  Explained in English, she still couldn't understand.

Now each month I think about time passing.  "It's July already?"  December will be here soon.  David is 17 and thinking about moving away.  Colleges in Virginia are too close.  He wants something further.  The skin on my arm is wrinkled and sagging.  Not really a big deal, but months come and go so quickly, reminding me we're only here for a little while.

Art Day Gallery

Jeanne's photo.  The Reiki Hut.

Jeanne Painting

Jeanne's Borders

Jeanne's Sea Grass

Me

It's Thursday!

We Don't Always Do What We Always Do

Thursday was a bust.

But I LOVE this Saturday morning with no responsibilities and I mean not one.  Home Alone.  Better than a vacation. 

The boys are on a college trip.  Kitchen work is nearly finished.  Just me and my coffee.  Lounging around in my penguin shorts.  A Beautiful June Day.  So many possibilities.  The world is mine.

Here's what I do with my glorious freedom:

drink coffee, email, shower, eat grapes, read the paper, and begin to dust the bookcase.

Serious dusting - layers of sawdust, plaster dust, house dust.  Trying to straighten up.  Tell me, how many decks of cards does one family need?  We don't even play cards.

And how many used twist ties, clips and clothes pins?  What were they doing on the bookcase to begin with?  Then again, I could use them for art...

Give it a clever title:  "Attachment Theory".  All it needs is the right lighting and a frame.


I've been saving other little things in a box for an art project. 

What would you do with these precious items?

The Kitchen has been Closed

The kitchen has been closed since April 15 when we took out the stove, refrigerator, dishwasher, counters and most of the cabinets.  We also knocked out a wall. 

Kitchen Renovation Central.

For meals, we have learned to forage, going to the store 2 - 3 times each day in search of yogurt, a salad, or something to call dinner.  There's also pizza and sushi.  It's not bad!

As of today, we have running water and a fridge.  We do not have a working stove.  Dishes and pantry items are still in boxes.  Forlorn wires hang from the ceiling in lieu of pendant lights.

But Andrea has waited low these long weeks and now demands A Viewing.  Tonight we will sit at the soapstone altar and enjoy a foraged supper.

Bar stools have yet to be ordered.  We'll sit low in our chairs, remembering that "he who is down need fear no fall."  As wine glasses empty our cheeks will glow and the unfinished kitchen will be the most beautiful kitchen that has ever been.

Great Expectations

I go to yoga class with a bucket full of expectations.  Fortunately, these are (almost) always met, which is why I fill the bucket to the brim.  It's also why I go NUTS when they're not.

The yoga studio is the place, as in The Place, where I go to meditate.  to pray.  the space.  the heated room.  no chatting.  no telephone.  no email.  no snacks.  just The Purple Mat. 

Classes are pretty good.  I work my skinny arms doing on-the-knees chaturangas.  Tree and Eagle challenge legs and equilibrium.  A few toxins melt out.  Sometimes a teacher reads a poem or scriptural advice on right living.

But it's all about the first ten minutes.

I crave the quiet mat time before class when I fall into healing meditation.  Healing for myself.  Healing on behalf of others.  I put my hand on my belly and connect with that which is larger than myself.

And God has never yet missed this ten-minute appointment.

 

Seeds from a Birch Tree

This morning's coffee was accompanied by a delicious book that recently arrived in the mail - "Seeds from a Birch Tree" by Clark Strand.

One of my bad habits is reading about writing instead of writing. Another bad habit is reading about spirituality instead of saying my prayers, and so Clark’s book is the perfect indulgence.  The subtitle is "Writing Haiku and the Spiritual Journey".

I haven't written any haiku yet, so I'll give you one of Strand's: 

sparrows flutter down

into bushes full of light

without any leaves.

The Cathedral Garden

My grandfather (Russell Wagner) would have loved the gardens at Washington Cathedral.   The intoxicating smell of hot boxwood time-warps me back to his terraced flower beds in Marietta, Ohio.  Russ' garden had rose beds, cutting beds, and a vegetable garden down by the garage.  A thick border of variegated red petunias ran along the house.  The cinder block wall was topped with a mosaic of portulaca.  Forty-five years ago my summer afternoons passed by rolling in the grass, singing, and searching for fairies in the lily bells.  At night there were lightening bugs to catch. 

I don't have flowers at my house.  Instead I claim as my own the garden at Washington Cathedral.  This is my lunchtime bench.  This is the spot where I read picture books to a long-ago toddler.  I know the twisting paths, the smells, the bells.  When out-of-town visitors come, I bring them here for a rose-scented visit.  If you come on a Tuesday night you can listen to change ringing practice and pretend you're in Oxford, Lincoln, or Washington.

 I have a fantasy of my grandfather working in the cathedral garden - accomplishing more in a morning then others in a day - oblivious to cathedral politics and concerns.  When budget/staff cuts come he would take on three men's work without complaint or trouble, all the while glorying in the magnificence of the surroundings.  Bringing home snapshots of his work to keep in albums arranged by year.

In truth, he enjoyed his work as a telephone lineman as much as the gardens he kept.  He proudly shared photos of lines restored after The Great Hurricane of 1938, along with his log of that year's overtime hours.  When he retired from Ohio Bell, after 50 some years of service, he collected and sold antique telephones and telephone insulators, maintaining a basement stock with hundreds of colors and styles. 

On my walk home from the cathedral today, on the corner of 38th and Quebec, I look up and see insulators on top of poles.  I thought they had been outdated, but insulators are just around the corner from my house!  Russ is following me.

One of Russ' white insulators sits on my window, along with a Buddha, a birdhouse and a boat.  I keep these dear ones near while I write. 

 Come visit another Thursday and hear the cheetah's story.

Unique Thrift

Andrea calls it a ritual. We do it on certain days (Monday or Thursday) and a certain time (the stroke of 9:30 am). We wear special clothes ("try-on" clothes).

We’re off to the land of plenty in Silver Spring, Maryland - Unique Thrift and Value Village all in one magnificent building!
Andrea goes as therapy. She falls into a kind of meditative state - "the zone". It has something to do with "having it all". Today her zone focuses on curtains. If she could only find the perfect curtains then she would have the perfect home and the perfect life.

I’m more practical. It started with a need to replace my ripped pants. At that time my thrift store mentor was Enid. She modeled "thrift extravagance" by purchasing a crystal candy dish to keep lipsticks in and a white leather jacket. Eventually I too became extravagant. I indulge in color - pink, green, even orange! I could stock up on cute skirts! Have a summer bathrobe AND a winter bathrobe!

The good news is that it’s no harm to the earth, poorly paid laborers or my bank account. And I get to visit with Andrea.

Here’s what I bought:

• funky patchwork jacket to replace grey shroud on the back of my office chair
• moo- moo for Hawaii trip (not yet scheduled)
• pink cotton nightgown from Macy’s with tags still on
• 2 camisoles: 1 basic white and 1 glorious rich plum
• Andrea-type skirt - black and maroon
• green and white capri pants (I will look very Bethesda in these)
• tres elegant black silk blouse for concert attire
• flamenco dress - black with swirls of spots and lots of flounce

This wasn’t cheap. It set me back $45.

Since this is the first "Thursday Chronicles" posting I should mention, the blog is not going to be about thrift stores, but like thrift store finds, "Thursday Chronicles" might be:

• a bunch of junk
• a treasure hunt
• a little imperfect
• absolutely perfect

Thanks for reading!