Secrets

 

Secrets.  Can you keep one?  Is there something you're itching to tell? ? Do you have some that remain, and will remain just with you?  I just finished reading "The Things We Never Say" by Elizabeth Strout.  (She is the creator of my favorite character in literature: Olive Kitteridge. ) Strout writes in a conversational tone.  Like the two of us are having lunch and she has a friend with an interesting story.  Is part of the joy of being a writer being able to tell as many secrets as you want about your characters.  Hmmm.

I've been deeply affected by what has gone unnoticed by me, or deliberately kept away.  And, I have a few stories I won't put down on paper and one I'll make room for in my grave.

I'll leave it at that.

Message to the Universe

 

Greetings from the planet Earth.

We have human beings here who are smart enough to have invented a

device which has just now broken free of our solar system. But, even though

we possess so much intelligence, we are in deep trouble. We have not been

able to figure out how to live peacefully with each other. Our existence

has been one of including killing and destruction.

We also have not been wise enough to respect our natural habitat. Our

lifestyle is destroying our planet to the point where we can actually envision

our own extinction. Yet, no one has the will to turn things around. 

If you are more advanced, we could surely use your help.

Sincerely,

All of us.

This is from my book, Joan Chandler Today. I thought it was a good message to repeat on Memorial Day.

Remembering

 

My Uncle was stationed in the Pacific when Pearl Harbor was attacked.  He survived years in a Japanese prison camp.  The post war years were a struggle and he died "too soon."  As a child, he was my handsome soldier.  As an adult, I continue to salute him.

My thoughts are also with my friend Julia's brother.  The closest I ever came to him was seeing his name on the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington.  He lived to 19.

Because there is no draft, the armed forces are like some exotic population.  Interesting, but apart,  We are happy to say, "Thank you for your service." and be on our way.

I will never accept why any of this has to be true.

Fire

 As I entered my lobby this morning with my donut and coffee, I noticed my neighbors everywhere, sitting and standing.  "There's a fire, or smoke, on eight.  The elevators are closed down."  Moments later the sirens announced the arrival of the firemen in their formidable uniforms and gear.  (There's nothing quite like them, is there?)  It took a short while to get things back to normal.

Of course, I remembered being in another high rise fire.  Belmont.  Twentieth floor.  1970's. This time I was upstairs and told to stay, by bullhorn from the street below.  By the time I heard the "all clear", my head was at the window gulping in the air.

The smell of smoke does not go away. And it penetrates everything. Being even on the far, far edge of danger makes me appreciate once again the essential, yet devastating, force of fire.

The Gift of Choice

 How much "choice" do I have?  If I am white, have enough to eat and a roof, am educated, then I have a lot of "choice."  I have time in my daily life to think about what I believe and what I want to do.  Or not.

I've come to realize what a huge gift this is and how few of us humans have it available where we can realize its existence.  How did it happen to me?  Fate?  Genes?  A universal lottery?

See? Here I am pondering the origin of my being.  The indulgence of the most fortunate.

Choice is not to be squandered.  Oh, alright.  Grab the chocolate cake and leave the cheesecake behind.

My Mother

When my father died,  my mother convinced my father’s bosses to give her his job as a furniture salesman.  It was in 1941!  No question, she managed her own big break.  Thus,  she became a woman in a man’s world.  The war years were slow, but she was in place to profit from the post war boom.

She had little education but had what we now call “street smarts.”  Maybe she profited from her customers and colleagues seeing her as “the young widow” but she knew how to handle them and many became her friends.  She invested wisely in stock and knew about IBM early on.

My mother enjoyed all of the trappings of success.  She paid close attention to her hair, makeup and wardrobe.  Her purchases were always top of the line. She loved it that she could afford a new Cadillac whenever she decided it was time.

There were many dark days ahead for her in her very long life but she had her wits about her until the very end.

I wrote this a few years ago in a series of stories about my family.  

Living Small

 Last week I was feeling lonely thinking of my friends who had died or disappeared behind the wall of dementia.  I actually made a list of the people who I still have here.  It made me feel better.   I noticed that there was no one on the list that I had to "put up with".  No bosses, trouble makers, or even no one of a different political persuasion.  Yes.  The big decisions and the high stakes lie in the past. And, along with them lies  drama and excitement. Is that depressing or comforting?  I think both.

For me, keeping attached to the newness of today involves living "small." A new job, a new love affair, or new home becomes a new book, new class, new restaurant. Or even, unwrapping a new bar of soap. 

Boring?

Remember, we can put danger, guilt and regret in the rear view mirror

too.