It’s “Hey Rene J” Today!

NYC always intrigued me so I had to make a detour there on my East coast foray. Luckily, the sisters had an aunt and uncle who lived somewhere there and we could spend a couple of nights on their graciousness. Why their parents trusted us in this adventure? Says a lot about parenting back then.

Thus, did we go to the Statue of Liberty? Take a bus tour? See a show? No. We went to a night club – a “real one” in a basement. In no way, shape or form would I have wanted my kids to be thrown into a big city den of uncertainty like that! Plus, I’m only 19 – remember? How did I even get in? No fake ids for me. You get the picture. I’m not sure when I realized we should probably get out of there, but we successfully did. This was out of my Midwestern comfort zone. We found my car parked wherever it was and managed to make our way back to the relatives’ house. I decided it was time to head back to “The Good Life.”

Leaving when we did brought us to a truck stop in the middle of the night – Indianapolis area on I-70. Some guy walks up and says, “You from Geneva, Nebraska?”

And there the story continues.

In 1978 I was a guest for a performance long forgotten in my memory. It was at the Kennedy Center.

Preceding that, I had topped my 1968 Mercury Cougar with a U-Haul device and slapped two college mates’s luggage atop. We were heading to Annapolis to deposit the sisters at their home. Neither drove a car, thus I toted an extra friend who did know how to drive as my back-up.

It’s an epic tale for sure, one that came to mind with this hullaballoo surrounding the demolition of the Center. The part most prevalent in my foggy bank is that I was 19, driving in D.C. with no sense of direction. (An issue still unresolved at this point in life.) While we made it to the performance in my little boat, we couldn’t figure out how to get out of the city. I pulled off Pennsylvania Avenue to read a map, and yes, flashing lights immediately flagged us. Even then you couldn’t just pull over to an empty spot for a respite.

The officer obviously noticed our youthfulness, Nebraska license plate, unfolded map of the area, and politely offered to escort us to our route. I was never scared, just too naive to even be worried about my fate other than finding the right road. We did escape, and eventually my other driver and I made it back to the Midwest. Of course, I had to drive in NYC before heading home. Another wacky adventure.

The biggest marvel? My parents thought I was quite capable of navigating that entire two week mission in the era sans credit card or cell phone. And apparently I was.

But what is wasting time? Contemplation, prayer, doodling, writing, or meditation are not wasting time – yet they don’t “accomplish” tasks that need to be done. (Which is why people avoid those lovely diversions, methinks.) Today, tasks must be done in between this fine art form. It’s Labor Day weekend, a weekend typically reserved for us doing labor.

In years past we have cut down trees, raked pine needles, finished summer jobs which we put on a back burner, had a baby before the big day, oh – and got married. This weekend? Revolving door time with family and friends. Thus, Rene needs to attend to some housekeeping and yard maintenance.

The coffee is done, the day begun. Now is the time for us to have fun!

Today I was forced to do laps in the lap pool rather than walking against the current in the activity pool. It would have been better if I’d had my floral bathing cap, but I managed to keep my head above water and preserve my messily thrown updo. (Notice the terms related to swimming which apply to life?)

What I discovered in that pivotal exercise is that I really do like swimming laps. I used to go for an hour just mindlessly letting the water do the work while I participated. Today I noticed the sign which read, “No long breath holding.” What? That was my entire goal each and every summer when the city pool opened!

Probably in my teens I mastered the length of the pool in one breath. The width of the pool was highly achievable at some point, so I went for length. I can still feel that pressure from thinking you’ll explode before you reach the wall. But when I did it, I knew I could survive anything an ocean could throw at me! I’d never been in an ocean, so I had no clue what that was like, but it did build my confidence. Perhaps that’s why I feel so very comfortable under the sea?

Summer thoughts for an end-of-summer month. Just keeping my head above water.

A dear friend reminded me that I had suggested the name, “Curtain Rods” for our little four-girl clubhouse moniker. Apparently eccentricity may begin at an early age? Either that or I was wishing I had curtain rods in the bedroom my sister and I shared in that first home we rented!

The cool thing about that un-draped bedroom was that we each had our own twin bed, and we could run a string with a bucket on it from one end to the other, five feet away. We passed messages and dumb stuff back and forth to avoid sleep. I can only imagine what will happen soon enough with the twin granddaughters who have already managed to understand the meaning of, “delay bed time.”

The little gifts of an idyllic childhood.

For some reason, probably because of the therapy session yesterday, I was thinking about how we weren’t financially rich as a family when I was growing up. Then this pops up in my daily reading!

My siblings and I spent hours entertaining ourselves with non-toys and our make-believe stories. Since my father had a playhouse built for my sister and I when we were just three and four years of age, that mini-domicile moved with us to two different towns and became our go-to haven for fun. It was a library, restaurant, school, hospital, and one evening, an attempted sleep-over unit. (That didn’t work. My mom was too worried about us in the yard at night so in we went!)

We did make our own fun and were truly rich in the ways that mattered.

If you happen to have a baby grand lying around, it can successfully be used as a fort.

Yesterday’s domicile resulted in an excellent nap for one elder granddaughter and her grandmother, even though our legs were unsheltered. Nice and dark and cozy, it also doubled as a viewing room for a brief “Frozen” showing on the iPad for all three pipsqueaks.

Luckily I do not have to rehearse any selections for church.

Apparently my admonition only served to gently disturb my guests.

This morning the visitors from last night who were nibbling on my shrubs were once again lounging in the backyard. When I saw them yesterday, I tried to move them on to the neighbors’ smorgasbords with an emphatic, “Get!” They lazily eyed me and sauntered about ten feet away. I gave up. Then this morning, I find they have taken up residence. Perhaps if I mowed those lengthy weeds they would find the premises less desirable?

Even though uninvited, it’s nice to have such noble visitors.

Years ago I went to an inspirational speech by a man I have since learned was on the beginning of his Vietnam story tour. I was wearing a POW bracelet at the time. His words have since influenced my thoughts and actions. Captain Charlie Plumb.

And let me back up a bit…Mrs. Hamilton.

The local librarian steered me into historical fiction. She saw my sister and I every weekend, for the most part, and aside from the dime she gave “Pindy” to buy her a donut, she navigated me to the adult literature section. She knew and understood I craved more. I read biographies and autobiographies. When I heard Captain Plumb speak, I had an individual bringing horrific history to life. Since then, my heart was and has always been drawn to stories of those who survived. I think about odd stuff…like, what do I know by memory that could sustain me in a prison? Could I recall anything worthy? I think about the scraps I discard that prisoners and others died for lack of. Cherishing. Even in the small, cherish. I am happy to have those thoughts.

So, Charlie Plumb….I’m not sure how you came to mind today? And thank you and everyone else who served us.

That word is not my favorite. It implies one thing trumps all other choices which I find to be untrue most of the time. Unless, of course, it’s favorite food we’re discussing. Hands down, a grain-fed excellent grade of beef hamburger, medium-well with raw onion, tomato and lettuce.

Yes, looking at yesterday’s list I realize I have preferences, but really, they are options only in certain instances. Let’s look at coffee or tea.

If I am in the country of Turkey, it’s that wonderful Turkish tea which I can still taste. It might be worth a trip back just for the beauty of being served from an exquisite samovar. I love it. Of course, a cuppa is proper when visiting our British friends, and I have actually deemed to have it “properly” with milk. Perhaps I will have the chance to comment on tea in China one day?

However, when I am homebound – coffee it is. Time for a jolt.