Challenge - Day 8: "Daily Routine"

This has to be the most boring topic on the list -- my daily routine. Just a few days ago I was talking to one of my friends about how I stay busy most all day but, at the end of the day, cannot tell you what I achieved. We were discussing the transition from the workplace to being "mostly retired." At least when I had a salaried job I could tick off a list of accomplishments at the end of the day. Now it seems my life is more of a process, with no distinctive goal in sight other than to keep living and not have knee surgery. (My knees are not "bad" and I hope to keep them strong. It seems like the majority of the people I know end up having knee surgery, so this is a worthy goal.)

I do have some things I do routinely. The fourth Monday afternoon and the first Friday afternoon of each month I volunteer at the Visitor Center. That's always entertaining because of the never-ending variety of questions we get asked, both in person and by phone. I once had a woman from New York call, wanting to know how she could get in touch with whoever collected the garbage from roadside parks in Texas. She had been in Texas on a motorcycle tour the week before and thought she had left her cell phone at a roadside overlook somewhere near our little town and wanted to recover it. She was very aggressive (New York, remember?) and more than a little upset with me when I didn't offer much hope for her quest. Exasperated, I finally said, "Lady, you need to buy a new cell phone," and hung up. Sometimes you just have to hit people over the head with a 2 x 4. My monthly routine also includes Mexican Train dominoes (second Thursday) and Mahjong (any Wednesday we can get it together,) but I don't have many tasks I do on a daily basis, other than feed the dogs. That task takes precedence and they will remind me enthusiastically if I'm running late. 

For a little more than a year now, my husband and I try, at least twice a week, more if possible, to go to the San Marcos Activity Center and work out in the pool there. Neither of us are strong swimmers, so we power walk in the pool. I also do a series of exercises using aqua bell hand weights to tone my arms and upper body, wall stretches and squats and sets of leg work using a kick board. Scott simply walks the pool as fast as he can. Some of you may remember I wrote about how I think that, at this point in life, I can forget math and algebra, mostly because my husband is a math genius. (Read about this here if you are interested.) He has calculated the length of the pool and estimates that 37 laps make up one mile. While he powers away, walking as many laps as he can, usually about 55, my routine is this: (1) arm exercises (2) ten walking laps, with two of them sideways and two backwards (3) wall stretches and squats (4) ten more laps (5) straight kicks and frog kicks with the board and (6) ten more laps. The whole thing takes exactly one hour; it seems much longer. Seriously, I do enjoy the workout. I feel great afterwards and can tell it has significantly improved my stamina and muscle tone, not to mention burning calories. Combined with yoga and occasional bike riding, it is the sum of my physical exercise. I made a proclamation when we started the aqua workout that I was not doing any more excercise that hurt. No more running, Jazzercise or Zumba. So far, so good. My fitness hasn't suffered and my knees and joints are ever so grateful.

So there you have it -- routinely boring but happy and fulfilling. I have no complaints, or at least none right now. Check back later, I'm sure that status will change. 

Thanks for stopping by today. 
 

Challenge - Day 7 : "Your Sky"

Looking out the window of the airplane as we cruised toward the east coast, it seemed as if I were gazing at a vast arctic landscape. The tops of the clouds formed a continuous sheet of ice, thinner in places, broken by a few bits of blue ocean. The tops of puffy, cumulus clouds were the mountains, rising here and there in the landscape. As my mind wandered, I imagined intrepid voyagers, wrapped in furs, with teams of sled dogs pulling them to safety. As the sun continued to sink in the west, the "mountains" showed shades of red and pink in the ending day until, at last, it was just darkness across the ice and tundra, with me, the lone observer, continuing east in my twinkling ship.

I hastily scribbled this passage down on hotel note paper one evening after we had flown to Tampa, Florida to embark on a cruise. It's not "my sky" today, but it was lovely on the day it was.

Thanks for stopping by today.  

Challenge - Day 6: "Favorite"

With the recent news about the discovery of Richard III's skeleton under a parking lot in England, I have been reminded of one of my favorite favorites. Katherine, by Anya Seton, is one of my lifetime favorite books. It is a historical fiction/romance novel about the love affair between John of Gaunt, Prince of England and head of the House of Lancaster and Katherine de Roet Swynford, daughter of a knight in service to Gaunt's mother, Queen Philippa (wife of Edward III.) Their relationship lasted many years, throughout his first two marriages and into their own marriage, making her his third wife. A decendant of one of their children (surnamed Beaufort) was Henry Tudor, who eventually challenged and defeated Richard III on Bosworth's Field and became Henry VII, the first Tudor king. 

I will admit that there is something of the heaving bosom/throbbing member genre in Katherine, but the history is correct and the author does a good job drawing you into the story and making you cheer for the heroine. It is a little bit of a guilty pleasure book, one that I have indulged in many times. 

I think what I like most about the book is that the love of the story is shared closely in my circle of friends and family. The paperback copy I am looking at right now is inscribed inside the cover "December 25, 1972, to Annette from Iris." That's my oldest sister. In 1972, I would have been fifteen years old. Both my sisters, my nieces and my dearest friend, Maureen, have read and loved this story.  

 In the early 1990's, my two sisters, Maureen and I went to Europe for a tour of Great Britain, Ireland and Scotland. We had the first day free for touring in London and our list of "must sees" was long. High on the list was a visit to St. Paul's to see the tomb of John of Gaunt. Finding the tomb was, in itself, an adventure. He was buried in Old St. Paul's, which was destroyed in the Great Fire of London. Currently there is a memorial plaque/wall in the basement of the new St. Paul's honoring those who were buried in the old cathedral. When we got to the basement, we found the target area roped off and draped for construction repairs. Our disappointment must have been expressed loudly, because a very polite security volunteer arrived and asked if he could assist us. We told him our story; he smiled and escorted us behind the curtain to see and photograph the memorial. My guess is that we were not the first group of women coming to St. Paul's to swoon over John of Gaunt. 

 

I haven't found the photo of the tomb, but this one is of the four of us outside Buckingham Palace on the same day. What a happy day, a happy memory and another great story.

Thanks for stopping by today; see you tomorrow.        

Challenge - Day 5: "Makes You Smile"

Par-a-dox; noun; (1) a tenet contrary to received opinion; (2) a statement that is seemingly contradictory or opposed to common sense and yet is perhaps true; a self-contradictory statement that at first seems true; an argument that apparently derives self-contradictory conclusions by valid deductions from acceptable premises.

Statement I made to myself during mid-January: "I have the time and really should get back to writing. I know I waste time every day that could be spent working on my blog or novel."

Statement written on blog February 5: This is the first time I have had today to sit down and write (7:13pm.) But I am here and will complete today's task. (I did miss yesterday, though; I had a stomach bug of some sort and no will to write.)

I am looking at a framed photo that makes me smile every day. The frame makes me smile. I saw it in a local store while shopping with a friend and it ended up a surprise under my Christmas tree. The surface is mosaic, made up of small red glass tiles. It sparkles in the sunlight on the table next to my reading chair. Red and sparkly -- what more could I ask? 

The photo in the frame makes me smile. Just a snapshot, taken on a picnic during a family outing on the Texas State Railroad. The little boy is wearing blue and white striped overalls with train appliques on the bib and pockets. He is two years old and loves trains so this day is one he won't forget. His smile is big; wrinkling his bright blue eyes and producing dimples on his cheeks. Just a quick snapshot. Who knew it would become so poignant? 

   

Poignant; adjective; (1) painfully affecting the feelings: piercing; (2) deeply affecting; touching; designed to make an impression.

I look at the photo every day and smile. Then I feel the stab in my heart and inhale sharply. Some days I hold the breath and let it go slowly, nod my head. Other days I cry. 

Thanks for stopping by today; I'll try to do better tomorrow. 

Challenge - Day 4: "Something You Wore"

In the summer of 1963 I was five years old and my family was planning a big adventure. We were driving from our home on the Gulf Coast of Texas to California, the trip culminating with a visit to the kids' ultimate dream -- Disneyland. 

Preparations had been underway for months. A brand new car was purchased. This was a big deal for our family and it was the only new car my Dad purchased in his lifetime. He was a genius with anything mechanical -- cars, washers, televisions -- and kept everything in our house running smoothly. For whatever reason, this time he took the plunge and bought a 1963 Ford Galaxy 500, four-door model. The  photo shows a red one but our model was a metallic gray which we immediately named "The Silver Bullet." Daddy built a custom car-top carrier for The Silver Bullet to hold all the gear for this trip. This was to be a true 1960's family vacation and we were to camp our way across the western states. 
 

My oldest sister was thirteen at the time and had a voracious metabolism. She had recently shot up to almost her full adult height and, to satisfy this rapid growth, she ate every hour. When she found out we would cross the desert with no gas stations, rest stops or restaurants for miles and miles, she went into full-scale panic. Mother said she was convinced she would starve to death so she (Mother) took action to calm her down. Books of Big Bonus Stamps were marshalled to purchase a car snack carrier, equipped with two large thermoses and a food compartment. It was designed to hang over the back of the front seat (seats were bench style in those days) for easy access by those in the back, with the hooks folding together to make a handle for carrying to and from the car. All in a "campy" red plaid. 

With this addition, plus one of those canvas bags on the exterior of the car's radiator, my sister was convinced we wouldn't die in the desert.

Being five years old, I don't remember everything about the trip, but certain memories are vivid. We camped in a mountain park in Cloudcroft, NM. During the night a violent thunderstorm hit and we were terrified in our tent, seeing the shadows of tall trees whip and bend over us during every lightning strike. The next morning we found the town below heavily damage by a flash flood. In Las Vegas we stayed in a hotel, one of the few times on the trip. We went to the Golden Nugget Casino long enough for Dad to play one coin in a slot machine (he didn't win) and for Mom to acquire a souvenir Golden Nugget ash tray, which was the one we brought out any time a smoker came to our house for as long as I can remember. Somewhere in the mountains we stayed in a log cabin and Mother made fried pork chops for dinner. The memory is vague; I don't remember where it was. 

Then there were the national parks:  King's Canyon, Yosemite, Mesa Verde and Carlsbad Caverns were the ones I recall. At King's Canyon we went to the Ranger Campfire, where he told stories and we all sang songs. There was one song, sung as a round, that I still remember. It was sung to the tune of "Are You Sleeping," and went "In King's Canyon, in King's Canyon, you can fish, you can fish. You can catch your limit, you can catch your limit. Fish, fish, fish. Fish, fish, fish." The Ranger also told a long, rambling story about a man who had a boy who he named Shine. Somehow Shine got lost and the father spent years looking for him. He knew he would recognize his son because his shoulder bore a distinctive birthmark. When he finally found the boy, identified by the birthmark, the father burst into song ... wait for it ... "You are my son, Shine, my only son, Shine." We were at Carlsbad Caverns when they still had the cafeteria at the bottom of the cave, where they served a box lunch before you began your way back to the surface. The whole place seemed a little eerie to me and I'm not sure I enjoyed it much. I knew I was deep underground and wasn't very happy about it. 

As I write this, flashes of memory keep coming into my head. In San Francisco we ate at a restaurant on Fisherman's Wharf. While waiting to be seated I kept climbing on a bench and looking through a divider into the bar. The bartender must of thought I was cute, because he fed me a cherry every time I stuck my head in. I also remember Trading Post style souvenirs -- dolls with papooses, my brother's feather headdress, rubber tomahawk and drum. We drove our car through a tunnel in a giant redwood tree in a Sequoia forest. In San Francisco's Chinatown I wanted the red Chinese pajamas because red was my favorite color, but the saleslady commanded my Mother to buy the aqua blue because the color looked better on me. She was right, but I still wanted the red; I got the blue.

We went to Marineland, Knott's Berry Farm and, of course, Disneyland. This photo booth shot of my brother and me is one of my favorites. We had never been in a photo booth and didn't know what to do. Result? A pretty somber pair. 

     
And then there was Disneyland. Here again my memories are just flashes. I remember the Matterhorn, Peter Pan's ride in a flying ship and the flying Dumbos. I was terrified on the Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea ride, where you were in a submarine. I buried my face in my lap and wouldn't look up, something that totally baffled my parents because I had shown no fear on any other ride, not even the "scary" ones. I think it had something to do with being under the water; that is still hard for me. 

So finally we come to the topic of this whole exercise, "Something You Wore." Here it is. My souvenir t-shirt from Disneyland. 

I loved this shirt, evidenced by the fact that I still have it. I can't think of any other clothing from my childhood that I saved, although I had those blue Chinese pajamas for a long time. Originally the shirt had a clear rhinestone at the tip of Tinkerbell's wand that I was convinced was a diamond. I'm sure it came off because of years of fingering the stone; I probably cried when it did. The cloth is thin and extra soft now, with several holes worn through. This teddy bear has worn it for about fifteen years and most likely will for many more. 

As I said, writing this has jogged a lot of memories. I am going to have to talk to my sisters about this trip; they were older and should remember more than me. We must have been gone several weeks; I can't imagine covering all this territory in less. It has been fun thinking about it and I appreciate your sharing it with me. Thanks for stopping by.  
 

 

Challenge - Day 3: "Letterbox"

Naomi Fisher left the doctor's office that day feeling as if her life had just ended. Her head was swimming with medical terms Dr. Hughes had spoken in his soft, compassionate voice. "Tipped uterus, "infertility" and "hysterectomy" collided in an echoing explosion. She would never marry, never have children -- in 1944 a bleak revelation. 

Naomi loved children. In a family where she was the second of four daughters, nieces and nephews were all around, with more to come in the years ahead. But not for her. The reality of the hysterectomy came, with many days spent recuperating in the hospital. Cards and letters from family, friends and church members brought wishes for comfort and healing; they did their job. 

Naomi healed and lived a life full of children. World War II came and materials like rubber and plastic were needed for the war effort, which meant they weren't used for things like dolls and toys. Naomi couldn't bear to think that the little girls she knew would not have dolls for Christmas, so she made them. Beautiful dolls of all sizes, from infants to toddlers, made of cloth and stuffed, with smiling embroidered faces. She worked with children in her church, teaching Sunday School and directing craft projects for all ages each summer at Vacation Bible School. 

Eventually Naomi did marry. She and her husband loved and worked together for many years. She learned to use woodworking tools as well as any man and became a craftsman in the use of scroll work and decorative touches for the many houses they built and sold together. She could frame a house, dry it in and roof it; something she proved again and again. And until her death at age 82, she worked with the children in her church, teaching them the craft skills she loved. 

Death came quickly to Naomi, alone in bed during the night, five years after her husband had passed. Her neighbor found her that morning when she didn't turn up for a meeting. The sisters she had envied were old by now and unable to tend to the details of death. So their daughters, the nieces Naomi had spoiled and mentored did the job. They arranged the funeral and tackled the task of clearing out her home and making it ready to sell.

One Sunday afternoon two of the nieces sat in Naomi's sewing room going through boxes of fabrics. The weather outside had turned dark and rain was pouring down. Deep in the corner of the room they came upon a carved wooden box, roughly in the shape of a treasure chest, and realized it was where Naomi kept her treasures. Inside were photographs and postcards, an ancient family Bible and tissue-wrapped glass dolls from her childhood. One of the nieces found a letterbox, which she opened and began to explore. Inside, there they were. Every one of the letters and cards that came to Naomi in the hospital when she had the hysterectomy sixty years before. The letters that brought her comfort and hope during one of the darkest times of her life. The time when all her hopes of motherhood were lost. The time when she decided she could still go on and be a mother to other people's children. 

This story is a (mostly) true one. Naomi was my aunt and my sister and I were the nieces who found her letterbox that rainy Sunday afternoon. Some day I will write a follow up blog about this remarkable woman and show some photos of the items she made during her life, including the beautiful dolls. But for now day three of my challenge is done. Thanks for stopping by.

Challenge - Day 2: "Something You Adore"

Day two of my writing challenge and I am already cheating. Well, maybe not cheating, but at least interpreting the challenge to my advantage. But since I made up the challenge, I decided I get to determine the rules. My guess is that they will change as I go along, a little like Calvin Ball in the Calvin & Hobbes comic strip.

"Something You Adore" defines that it should be a thing and not a person. At first I let my head run with that for a while. What do I adore? A few things popped in for a brief visit but didn't stay long. I thought, "If I don't even want to think about these things in detail, why would anyone want to read about them?" The meaning of "adore" carries with it a higher, almost reverent tone. "O come, let us adore him," is a little more serious than my feelings about favorite foods or Masterpiece Theatre. 

During all these ramblings my mind kept coming back to one object, something I did adore, but here's my dilemma. The thing I adore is a studio photograph of My Girl, about whom I have written here and here again. Plus, this is supposed to be a writing challenge and not a photo one. But then I got decisive. This photo is a thing and when you see it, you will know why I adore it. My Girl's mom gave it to me for Christmas and it is one of the most beautiful, creative portraits I have ever seen. I adore both the photo and the subject. Don't you?