On The Road

We are on the road to Oregon tomorrow morning. We'll be leaving around 8 a.m. and traveling up to the Portland area. The drive takes about 11-12 hours. The funeral is Saturday morning. We will probably get back sometime Monday afternoon after breaking up the return trip with an overnight in Medford. It will be good to see Quanah and Erin again despite the circumstances. Thank you all for your prayers and good thoughts.

In Memorium - 1980 - 2007

George was full of life. I knew him so little but so completely. I love Erin, my daughter-in-law, dearly and by extention, her wonderful family. It wasn't hard to quickly come to love and care about all of them.

Revelation 14:13

I, John, heard a voice from heaven say:"Write this: Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on." "Yes," said the Spirit. "let them find rest from their labors, for their works accompany them."

The Word of the Lord.

Update on George

Quanah is in Oregon at the moment. He returns to Indiana tomorrow. He just called and told me that after George leaves the hospital (probably today) he will be going into home hospice care. It's all about pain management now. Please remember George in your thoughts and prayers. Blessings to all.

Some Thoughts on Turning 60 - Part I

I wrote a poem earlier this month, a poem I should keep foremost in my mind - a sort of anthem if you will, to act as a reminder of why I am actually happy to be 60.

Yes, I find it strange and actually A LOT weird. I don't feel 60. Perhaps I won't feel 90 when I get there either. I wonder if true age is a state of mind? I've known young people who seem so old. They even dress old. But it seems that the older I get the younger I feel. And, as I age, I realize that the greatest gift age has given me is the gift of

Wisdom

A few things are truly important to me and how they fit into my life comes from experience and the wisdom I've gained along the way.

Wisdom has taught me a lot about friendship. Thoughts of friendship and its place in one's life has been on my mind for several months now. Friendship has so many faces - long-term, short-term, new, cyber, real world. What more is friendship than a connection we make with another person? What is the glue that binds this connection and determines its strength?

Long-term friendship holds with strong glue - but - does it really? Since friendship is a connection between people and people often find themselves in seasons of change, it stands to reason that the glue needs to be changed too. Friendship is a structure that requires maintenance. Without it, a friendship can flounder.

The sad thing about change is that while it is happening, it can lead to confusion for others. I've noticed that few people show patience when unusual or unexpected personality flashes occur. Few people step back and ask what is going on. Close family members might but people are, for the most part, reactive. Once I noticed this, I started becoming more watchful of the people in my life.

But changes, when they do occur, are living creatures. They demand a lot of us and the roads they lead us to sometimes aren't pretty and nor well-paved. So sometimes we find ourselves saying good-bye most unexpectedly to a friendship, a relationship. Perhaps we feel a sense of relief but I think more often we must feel a sense of regret, a sense of loss.

Along with friendship, the making and/or losing of connections, I also find myself traveling a faith road. This road has taken an unexpected u-turn and turned me back to my past. I've written previously about my dismay with the Church today and especially the state of worship. A month after returning to the Latin Mass, I find that I have rediscovered the reverence in worship that had all but disappeared for me. Some might think that I have returned to something that isn't relevant in the 21st century and certainly no one born around or after 1962 would have a memory of the Latin Mass and how meaningful it truly is. For me, it has become a matter of not knowing what you had until you lost it.

I find now that the reverence of worship I experience each Sunday actually fills me with a light that carries me through to a closer awareness of my daily life. And, since my daily life is firmly rooted in the 21st century, I am more aware of the moment to moment needs of others. Considering the level of global communication we share now, how could I not?

This aspect of my character has always been active but the weekly immersion in reverence of worship has actually acted as a sort of weekly booster shot to be more immediately responsive to need. This immersion is also teaching me to be more discerning of need, to understand that angels are not necessarily knocking when the need presents itself. Thoughts of angels causes me a lot of concern and after a bit I will be pursue this train of thought in Part II of my thoughts on turning 60.

Writer's Island - The Dream

I have yearned for most of my life to live by the ocean. I lived in San Diego in my teens so have wonderful memories of the beach. Of course, this was over 40 years ago and much has changed in San Diego and it definitely would not be the place to which I would return to live. However, the dream of a home near water hasn't changed.

This week's prompt at Writers' Island is The Dream. This prompt fit quite neatly into a beautiful series of aboriginal words recently posted at Annie's "Bimbimbie" blog. Annie is in Australia. Please click here and here for some background.

As I looked over the words (second click), admiring their magical and lyrical sound and images, it came to me that all the words worked together to create a perfect poem of my dream place. I share it with you here and wish you all many blessings on this Thanksgiving Day.

Weeona emoh ruo
Mirri-Mirri illalangi

Karribi givinganna
Oodlawirri, Wambiri
[Merge]
Aroona and Bultaroo
[Brother & Sister]
Elanda

[Peace in]
Weeona emoh ruo.

The shelter

High up home on hill

Headland lookout

Hill and tree country, seacoast

Merge

Running Water and North Wind

Brother & Sister

Home by the sea

Peace in

The shelter.

*****************************

And for one of the nicest and most heart-felt Thanksgiving Day thanks I've ever read, please click here and say hello to my dear friend, Biene.

Remembering George and so thankful that he has this day with his family.

Winter Heart

Sensation in heart
So desirous, pain squeezes
A moment, freezing time.

Choking sensation
Releases emotional
Reply to spirit.

In the quiet of
A frozen moment, answers
Salute saying "act".

Class Reunion

Two years ago, a few women, most of whom had not met face to face, got together for a day of art and fun and conversation at Penny's house in Keyes, CA. Today, two years almost to the day later, we got together again, a few of us missing and one new face joining us. The fun was as lighthearted and happy today as it was at the past meet-up. Our group was smaller but the joyful laughter of women at play was just as great. Here is our little group.

Back row from left is Jane (New York visitor and the catalyst for these meet-ups) Charlotte, yours truly, and Denise - our new face. Front row from left is Aileen, Penny (Jane's hostess) and Lotus, Charlotte's daughter.

Aileen hosted our class today and taught us the intricacies of working with metal clay. We all came away with 6-7 silver charms made by our own hands. I haven't taken a picture of mine yet but will soon and will get them posted in the next couple of days.

How slowly would I like to live my life?

I would like to be riding a train, admiring fields of flowers as I pass.
I would like to be moving so slowly that I might
jump from the train, spend time gathering flowers,
and fashion a bouquet for my hands and heart to hold
as I re-board that still moving train.

I would like to stand at the back of the train
and watch cares fall away like gently floating scarves
caught on a wind to peace
and feel the fluttering kiss of their departure
on my cheek.

It is the slow and quiet moments from which I draw strength
when discordant life overtakes the gentle wind of peace;
discordance so swift, unexpected, and sharp
that even hardy wild flowers wilt beneath its heat.

The slower pace
offers the honeyed taste
of wildflowers,
fresh as wet from spring rain.

Bouquet's flourish of sprinkling freshness
reminds me to lift my face skyward and
breathe deep the cool, sweet air.

Touch, See, Hear, Taste, and Smell
I savor life from my slow-moving train.

Morning Sky III

Have a wonderful day as you go into your weekend.

Twilight

Ten minutes after five Wind sends gentle ripples In soft undulations Lightly across water's surface In endless eddies, Going round in rings, Hastening The setting sun.

A couple of tags

Thinking Aloud tagged me for a random facts meme. I thought about it for a while and then decided to dust off this old chestnut and use it again. It actually still fits nicely.

The instructions tell me to tag others but, oh heck, you know me, just jump in and have some fun. Then let me know so I can read YOUR random and weird facts.

*************************************

Ret recently sent a tag along to me that I thought was really interesting. The tag asks for an explanation of why/how I chose the name of my blog. I am to then ask two other people to explain as well. So here is my explanation - short and sweet:


I traveled across country several times via train when I was young. I think I was 12 the last time I road the rails. It was Santa Fe all the way. Back then kids were given a measure of freedom that no sane parent would allow today. I would spend hours alone in the dome car watching the landscape pass. It was, in a word, mesmerizing.

I remember thinking that the train seemed to be going so slowly. The world went by at a leisurely pace and I always felt I had enough time to enjoy the details of went before me. This image of a slow moving train has always stuck with me and somewhere along the line I imagined that someday I would write, short stories, vignettes, memories, etc. of my life and wrap them all up in a journal(s) called Scenes from a Slow-Moving Train.

That this actually happened, albeit, as a blog, is still a source of surprise for me. But in March of 2006 inspiration in the form of a friend's blog and then my introduction to the world of blogging has brought me to this day 21 months later still going strong yet immeasurably changed and all because I actually started writing MY scenes from my slow-moving train.

For this tag, I WILL select two to pass the question along to. I'm curious. So - what was the inspiration for YOUR blog name?

http://turquoisecro.blogspot.com/
and
http://bimbimbie.blogspot.com/

Ice Leaf Haiku

Winter's icy breath

chokes lone leaf's struggle for a

last twist in the wind.

photo from bewinca @ stock.xchng

Tanner at Play

I've discovered a new (for me) blogger tool - uploading videos. So without further ado, presenting Tanner at Play.

Writer's Island - Unforgettable - Part Two

Fourteen years after the intense and terrifying rainfall of East Texas, we once again found ourselves in Texas, this time travelling west, Krista now part of our family. Some memories are so simple and perfect in their simplicity that it takes very little to resurrect them in your mind. For me, this memory comes from the aforementioned biscuits mentioned at the beginning of Unforgettable - Part I.

Once again we were being chased by a rainstorm across Texas. We had dropped south from Quanah, Texas to Interstate 40W when we connected with the storm. Unlike last time, we were driving a rental car - a Lincoln Town Car circa 1993. The comfort and luxury of this car cannot be praised enough. It was like driving your own Pullman car with room and comfort for all. I don't recall a bit of squabbling coming from the backseat the entire trip.

As nightfall approached, we decided to stop before we entirely lost the sunlight, memories of East Texas stranding still sharply in our minds. We took a turn-off to somewhere and dropped onto a distant connecting road that matched the interstate from one exit to the next, a beacon for travellers, truckers, and local ranchers. We pulled into a strip of businesses bookended by a cafe and a mom and pop motel on one end with gas stations on the other. If you are picturing bright neon and Holiday Inn Express/Howard Johnson motels or fast food restaurants, you would be so wrong. Picture instead a single story, rambling and box-like motel hosted by a 4th generation Texan. She nodded us to the cafe across the road and assured us that the biscuits were the best we would ever hope to find anywhere.

The rain came down in a steady pour, the sound soothing after hours on the road. We had two rooms, a TV in each. The kids claimed a room and a TV and settled in for the night in their own beds. There was nothing at all fancy about these rooms, falling more into the category of inside camping. But the rooms were clean and fresh smelling and the sheets felt like heaven.

By morning the rain had passed by to the west and was now ahead of us. We would have clear skies for a while. We crossed over to the cafe with the best biscuits ever. Once again we found ourselves in a local hangout. Tables were scattered without any particular pattern throughout an large and rambling room. A wide opening gave a clear view of the kitchen and the wall ovens from which issued forth these fabulous but still untasted biscuits.

The first wave of locals had already come and gone, fortified by strong coffee, a huge breakfast and those BISCUITS. The waitress arrived with coffee and orange juice - both unasked for but presumed. She presumed right. Orders were taken and we were assured that the next round of biscuits was already in the oven. As we waited for our plates to arrive, I watched the baker moving smoothly back and forth between table and oven, movements economical and practiced as raised dough was punched, rolled, and set out onto heavy sheet pans, an assembly line for baking.

In due time, breakfast arrived AND the biscuits. It goes without say that anyone who can produce the “best biscuits ever” will also produce a great breakfast and oh they DID. But those biscuits!!! Imagine large, full, light and buttery, melting, smooth, steaming hot, crisp on the outside, soft on the inside, and covered in homemade jam – or not – and you will be able to redefine the meaning of the word “sublime”. Breakfast came to an end too soon and the road beckoned, but not before the waitress returned and presented us with a bag of those “best biscuits ever”, for the road of course. Hours later they were cooled about still remained utterly sublime and UNFORGETTABLE.

Morning Sky II

Booties for Babies Update

Update time. I have an address now for sending Booties to Frida via a soldier stationed in Ghor. I have received a few and would be happy to receive the booties and mail them out in one package. Or you can email me for the address and mail them yourself directly. They go to an APO address in the U.S.A. and then 10-14 arrive in Afghanistan. So - if you have booties out there ready to warm little feet, things are good to go for mailing and winter is fast approaching.

Thanks to all
Annie

Writer's Island - Unforgettable - Part One

This week’s Writers Island prompt came at a time when biscuits on a plate reminded me of two cafes in Texas. The experiences were separated by fourteen years but both were found in the middle of nowhere and both were

UNFORGETTABLE.

August 1980

You can’t know what darkness truly is until you find yourself long past sundown on a moonless night in East Texas. Quanah was nine months old and crying fretfully in the backseat of our new Honda Accord. The night was quiet and traffic was light on the interstate so I reached in the back, lifted him out of his car seat and settled him onto my lap. He calmed immediately and in that brief moment of peace the East Texas sky split wide. Without warning, a tremendous down pour became the center of our world and with the flick of a switch, we discovered that our windshield wipers did not work.

I will never forget discovering, in the moment, several things all at once –

It is possible for rain to fall so hard that you feel a curtain has been drawn around you.

It is possible to NOT be able to see the lights of a long-haul truck directly behind you.

It is possible to across 3 lanes of interstate safely even when you are driving blind.

And most importantly, it is possible to see and not miss a rural exit – a road that leads to four blocks of town silent and asleep except for one unforgettable cafe.

The dash from car to entrance was short but drenching. Stepping across the doorway, was like passing into another world. The front door sat at a kitty corner angle to the interior. A long and worn out counter with black Naugahyde stools took up the side facing the door. In back, partially visible through the pass-through, was the kitchen. Sagging booths lined the window wall to the right of the entrance. We made our way to one of these booths.

After settling into the dubious, but gratefully received, comforts of the booth, I took a look around. A black and white check floor, tiles cracked, broken, or just plain missing, was over-run with water dripping from a sagging, broken ceiling near the entrance. It was hard to imagine the ceiling surviving the night. Strategically placed buckets caught rain as it dripped in. A tired waitress who looked as old and worn out as the building itself brought a coffee and a drawling hello. Two men sat at the counter, locals by the looks of them and refuges from the deluge just like us.

Weather in Texas has a particular significance. Radios, AM and FM, regularly tune in with weather updates in between country western music or a midnight talk radio host, mainly Christian hellfire.

The waitress allowed that we could get most current updates of weather from a phone call to the Texas Highway Patrol. Twenty-seven years ago, portable phones were as big as a regular phone and we definitely did not have one. What the cafe DID have was an old fashion wall phone – drop in two dimes please – and an instant connection to weather central.

I will never forget the interior quiet of the cafe. The locals knew each other but no one spoke to anyone else. Each sat separate from each other, lost in their own little world. They didn’t even pay much attention to us. I remember noting this lack of curiosity about us and it wasn't until years later that I learned about very, very small town life and the prevalent attitude of MYOB. After all, we were merely strangers taking temporary shelter and would be on our way soon enough. And so it was. An hour later, the storm had passed over us and to the west and we passed on to the east, leaving not even a memory behind us.

Morning Sky I

Fall/Winter is the time of year when the sky is different every morning and changes throughout the day. This morning I stepped out and found this sky greeting my day. I decide right then to post the sky from this point several times a week. So here, without further ado is my morning hello to you.

One Deep Breath - Loneliness

Di'mond hardness chokes,
Weighed breath forages within,
Lonely ache waiting.

Mysterious world,
Wonders, curiosities,
Walking through wide passages,
Walls too far to reach.
What fun to twirl and dance
Lean through walls -
Reach for what lay on the other side -
Crushed leaves
Wafts of smoke
Incense of autumn dreams
Looking back. Youth gone.
Younger days ahead.
Passages widen,
Walls crumble,
Joy and dreams wave a greeting.
A step.
A leap.
A flight
into the end of the beginning.
Or is it simply the beginning of
A new beginning?
No matter -
I wave back.

Remembering George in Prayer

The Best Laid Non-Plans

Halloween has slowed down at our house considerably on a couple of levels - 1.) our kids are grown and mainly gone; and 2.) the location of our home does not foster a lot of door knocking and bell ringing.

Krista had this plan to hand out candy this year - she and Tanner in costume ready to say hello to the princesses and warrior and goblins and ghouls that might land at our door. Reality took her off to Starbucks to balance her checkbook and then home early after the misadventure of bad coffee (at Starbucks????) and the lack of a pen.

No one had come to our door yet so off she went to Pet Extreme with Tanner to return an item. No soon was she gone than the kiddies started arriving. And of course, not too much later we got a call from Kris say she was heading over to Meg and Art's house but she would not be late. Door answering was now in our hands. uh huh.

I took first shift but 30 minutes later DH took over and THAT is when the fun started. Don can strike some people as sort of a dour and serious guy if you don't know him. But there is something about October 31st and all that changes. DH loves the holidays. He decorates. He goes all out on gifting. He doesn't buy the cheap candy. He takes every opportunity that comes his way to be spontaneous. Don spontaneous????? Oh yeah. The king of think it out and look before you leap can really get into the swing of it with the best of them.



A first that happened this year was a hay wagon and horses all lit up in fairy lights going around our neighborhood. The wagon was filled with laughing children and after the last knock at our door apparently the wagon rolled through again. Next thing I know, I'm hearing lots of goofy laughter and shouting going on in front of our house. I amble out and what do I see but Don giving out the rest of our candy to the kids in the wagon (thank you God, no one else knocked) and one little goblin, in the excitement of the moment, asked DH if she could have the pumpkin bucket. MORE laughter as the bucket changed ownership. DH was the hit of the night and for a moment he was the Kandy King.

I love October 31st through January 1st. There is always something funny happening with my man and each year is different.

Remembering George in Prayer

Pictures from Stock.xchng