assets

I write quotations on the white board of the staff entrance at the library and yesterday I wrote "My friends are my estate" - Emily Dickinson.

I smile at that sentiment every time I think of it.

Because, in truth,all other assets pale in the strong light of friendship. And there are myriads of kinds. I have childhood friends, (whom I may seldom see), college friends, current friends, family friends, in my case patron friends - brick by brick they all add dimension to my life. And when I move on to the next level of existence, if my friends would remember the good times we shared, that would exceed any measure of earthly gain.

Friends. They are the yeast, the answers, the questions, the frustrations, the joys, the laughter - the rainbows that make any storm worthwhile.

towering above

I was listening to an account of a young man who was studying to be a doctor. It was in the middle of the night when I awoke and happened on to the show,  missing the context. All I know was that he was homeless and often rode the bus all night just to stay warm. Or slept in a fellow student's van. Or, whatever. All the while he kept going to classes and his vision stayed strong.

I spent the next long time trying to think what I would be without a home. What? I can almost guarantee I wouldn't be studying for a rigorous degree of some kind. I don't have that kind of ambition despite being cosseted by advantage.

Not having the simplest nest to go to at night and arise from in the morning is inconceivable. I need a staying point - I think everyone does. The difference is his is within his flesh and bones rather than brick and mortar.

Talk about superheroes.

The morning after

And with the early rising of today's sun, I could not stay in bed, despite having this day off as well. I had to feel that bracing November air on my face and swallow some sunshine to help digest the indulgences of yesterday's feasting! I know each step didn't erase all the bodily excess, but it helped to hone the spirit. What a glorious spate of weather we have been given here in this last burst of fall. On the coming days when cars are spinning off the roads and the snow is swirling we will look back with longing! For now, soak up the rays before the north wind blows!

Happy Thanksgiving

Since I am not cooking the turkey this year, I was free to walk on this glorious afternoon. The crisp temps and sunny blue skies made the day itself a gift. I stopped at the far end of the lake and basked in the brilliance for a bit, ticking off my blessings mentally. It went on for quite a while! Rising high on the list was health. And I wondered if that were taken away, would my inner peace dissolve as well? Is health the kingpin? I hope not, but I see/read/hear so many stories of destroyed wellness where folks just rise above it all with shining, if weathered faces. That is the true Thanksgiving - when you find the rainbow despite the storm. I pray I don't have to put my gratitude to test! But meanwhile, I so fervently give thanks.

I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings

One Thanksgiving in the late 40’s, we headed over to my cousin’s home for Thanksgiving dinner. It began to snow heavily as we started out and my cousin lived on a farm that was down a long lane which began to drift into snowbanks almost immediately. But food and family lay ahead and apparently my father never gave driving another thought! When we entered the old brick farmhouse, the dining room was completely swallowed up with a long, long table that fairly groaned with the lavishly decadent cuisine of the Pennsylvania Dutch culture. The aromas hit the empty stomachs with a visceral punch! I’m sure there was some combination of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, corn, peas, red-beet-eggs, pickles, potato salad, olives, chow-chow, gravy, bread, jam – and my memory’s probably skipping over lots of things! And for dessert, there was a staggering array of cakes, puddings crowned with whipped cream, pies, cookies and of course, ice cream for those who needed a calories boost to any of the afore-mentioned! It is indeed awesome to consider the amount of physical labor that occurred around the preparation of that feast and the cleaning-up afterward! No dish-washers for that crowd, just dishpan after dishpan of soapy water and many, many soggy tea-towels – all punctuated by gossip, laughter and overflowing good will.

I reflect that possibly we were the last of my extended family to experience the enveloping embrace of larger family events as everyone now is far-flung. The world had exploded. And while I’m sure there are still families who maintain the traditions of generations, my sons will never go over the river and through the woods, through snow-banks and farmland to a crowded steamy house of family giving thanks. We celebrate in new ways.

But the memory of that burst from the snowy cold into a  Thanksgiving kitchen filled with food and family will shine forever.

sneak peek at the feast

Since I knew I wasn't going to be cooking the Thanksgiving meal this year as we are invited to the neighbors' house for said feast, I blitzed the holiday last evening. For the first time ever I bought a package of three turkey legs to roast! I put a bed of chopped veggies, garlic, broth and butter and baked and basted those beauties to browned perfection in very little time. I added two of my favorite sides, mashed rutabagas and keckling - a nutty, soy bean dish from my childhood. And of course, cranberry sauce.

I was in heaven - and it took so little luggage to get there! The aromas swept through the house and my soul, delighting me with each intake of breath.

What a secret to discover in my advancing years! I think I will have to stock the freezer with this easy access to turkey nirvana! All the joys and minimal sweaty brows, greasy pans, carving, thermometer anxiety, and leftovers beyond the scope of two adults - one of whom doesn't care for turkey in any form!

Life can be so simple if pursued properly!

From the past

Yesterday my book club discussed Alice McDermott's Someone. The story takes place in Brooklyn beginning in the 1920's. I am not Catholic, Irish, or really familiar with Brooklyn, but I was home from the first page. Her unerring understanding of the human heart is breathtaking, but so is her attention to detail.

Two details transported me back to my childhood with such a rush it was astonishing. She talked about the girls sitting on the stoop gossipping, pulling their skirts down over their bent knees and tucking them modestly in place!

And the second detail was that she crawled up into her father's lap behind the newspaper he was reading - and that hit me like a sledgehammer because, probably for the first time in a half of century  I remembered vividly doing the same thing to my father in the front room of our house in Hinkletown. And could there have been a greater haven for a little child?! I felt his heartbeat and was surrounded by newsprint and love!

Lima beans

Today I am thinking of lima beans!

And, well you might say, go to Harris Teeter and buy a bag, but alas, they have nothing that even resembles the food I'm fantasizing about. I keep buying frozen bags of Fordhook lima beans or baby lima beans, hope springing eternal in my veins not to mention salivary glands. But though I steam, boil, add butter and even a bit of sugar, the objects on my plate bear no kinship to my memories.

Mother picked lima beans from the garden behind our house by the swings. And she picked them young. And she cooked them briefly, adding butter, salt, pepper and a bit of rich milk. Then you ate them. The squish of flavor as you mouthed these tender morsels was incredible. I long for it!

In my current world, the closest thing that comes to matching the flavor is young edamame - quite the chic item as you squeeze them out of their salted shells in glitzy bars with a tasty cocktail in hand.

But I'd trade that any day for a plate of Mother's lima beans served on a snowy white Sunday dinner table with a family of seven divvying them out amid the clamor!

Books await

When the library morphs into a polling place the whole aura changes.

Even though the voting room is down the hall, library neophytes wander into the main library as well, blinking in surprise at ----everything! It’s always amazing to me how for a sizeable percentage of the voters this is their first venture into the belly of the books! I can always tell the newbies. This morning at bright-eyed boy asked me where the history books were. “History of what,” I asked. “Let's say Antarctica!” And immediately I surmised he was really interested in the Shackleton expedition – he was a boy, after all! (Yes, I know, judgmental!) But boys who don’t really read always want something spectacular or grisly or scary. Like monsters. Or dragons. Or shipwrecks. Or racecars. The newbie girls will ask for Disney characters and princesses in general. The don’t ask for authors, or titles, or series; their interest lie largely in finding a book that will supplement TV or movies interests. I am always saddened, because there is such a wealth of reading for every age that would help fill out the edges, gaps, nooks and crannies of growing up.

Hurray for Election Day – but come back on a more regular basis too and get to know us!

this little light

We sang in Sunday School, "This little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine".... and though it had religious connotation then, it has new meaning to me in November 2017. 

Each day brings new horror, it seems to me, whether it's political, cultural, religious in nature. And it feels as though one's feet are constantly becoming stuck in the mire and, some days, forward progress seems slim.

Yet yesterday when one sad patron was pouring out his grief about the times to me, I said spontaneously, "you have to seek middle ground - you can't really exist on the rarefied, bitter air of the far right or left. Seek the middle."

At the end he said, "I might actually survive if I get in here to talk to you every now and again."

Such a few words, but that little light can shine in very dark hours indeed.

remembering

New Orleans had a "second line" for Fats Domino yesterday. How I would have loved to be in that throng of dancing, singing, ordinary folks who loved his infectious music!

And what a concept -to dance instead weep!

I think gradually our commemorations of death are becoming more radiant. The gloom, tears, black clothing, veils, solemn sermons of the past are hopefully getting replaced with whatever sunshine the deceased brought into this world. 

For me, the time to weep is alone.