REDONDOWRITER'S SACRED ORDINARY

Even Grandkids Get Scarey on Halloween

Tonight, as I fly to Europe, I bet I'll see all kinds of witches on brooms, ghosts, and other scarey things at 40,000 feet, don't you think?

Last night I stopped by my "little guys'" house to see them in their costumes. So here is Henry as a skeleton that glows in the dark and Fritz as a kitty he named Shiloh. No trick or treating for grandma this year, but I guess the little ones have been celebrating for days.

This holiday always conjures up so many memories of myself as a kid in a very small California town--Sunland, a suburb in the foothills of Los Angeles. Houses were spread out, but we trick or treated nonetheless. I remember that one neighbor had a chain-linked yard with his coyote in it. I swear that the dog was an actor who howled unmercifully on Oct. 31. My dad told stories of tipped over outhouses and taking apart and reassembling a wagon on top of someone's barn. And then there were my own three kids--and all the costumes I made, or that they threw together. My best work of art were the papier mache heads of Lucy, Charley Brown and Snoopy that I made one year.

So, what you will be wearing tonight? I'll be dressed as a tourist.

I Am Listening to Istanbul, a Poem

On the eve of my departure for our pilgrimage trip to Turkey and Greece, I looked up Turkish poetry. Orhan Veli Kanik, a famous Turkish poet, was born in 1914 in Istanbul. He wrote different poems than the other poets, it is said. He used new themes, new feelings and his poems were written in everyday language. Orhan Veli was very successful by examining the inside world of the people with a sense of humor. I will read this poem once I'm safely inside my hotel in Istanbul, whose room supposedly will look like this.

I AM LISTENING TO ISTANBUL

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed;
At first there blows a gentle breeze
And the leaves on the trees
Softly flutter or sway;
Out there, far away,
The bells of water carriers incessantly ring;
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed;
Then suddenly birds fly by,
Flocks of birds, high up, in a hue and cry
While nets are drawn in the fishing grounds
And a woman's feet begin to dabble in the water.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.
The Grand Bazaar is serene and cool,
A hubbub at the hub of the market,
Mosque yards are brimful of pigeons,
At the docks while hammers bang and clang
Spring winds bear the smell of sweat;
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed;
Still giddy since bygone bacchanals,
A seaside mansion with dingy boathouses is fast asleep,
Amid the din and drone of southern winds, reposed,
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.
Now a dainty girl walks by on the sidewalk:
Cusswords, tunes and songs, malapert remarks;
Something falls on the ground out of her hand,
It's a rose I guess.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed;
A bird flutters round your skirt;
I know your brow is moist with sweat
And your lips are wet.
A silver moon rises beyond the pine trees:
I can sense it all in your heart's throbbing.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes

Orhan Veli Kanik (Translated by Murat Nemet Nejat)

Portrait Art on Doors

A few weeks ago I went to an art show sponsored by the Redondo Beach Art Group and I had mentioned an outstanding freestanding set of portraits painted on doors.

Max Parker and sister Cindy Parker-Cook teamed up to make art out of 24 life-size doors for the Redondo Beach Art Group's upcoming show at Alta Vista Community Center. Oct. 3, 2007.

Now, John Lennon is a favorite of mine and I always visit Strawberry Fields when I am in New York, but in the park, a visitor leans up against the portrait of John. Can anyone tell me what art is called that has this kind of reverse black/white technique? As you walked through the park going to the tented area and the handball courts converted to galleries, you walked by several of these doors depicting famous artists, literary figures and entertainers.

This door art of Johnny Cash actually was installed right by the entertainment area where the bands played, poetry was read, and a silent auction was held.

Can't Believe I'll be Enroute to Paris on Halloween

On the afternoon of October 31, I will board an Air France flight to Paris for our 11 day pilgrimage trip to Turkey and Greece sponsored by the Episcopal Diocese of Los Angeles and their Hands and Healing Project. (I just heard that Air France has had reduced flights due to a four day flight attendants strike. Supposedly it settles tomorrow.) This past Wednesday the reality of the trip finally hit and I began to gather the stuff to take, doing the shopping to get the things I didn't have, and generally began to get really excited.

I've written about this trip before, but I still have to pinch myself to make sure it is really happening. No, we will not be in the part of Turkey that borders Iraq, Syria and Iran. We fly to Paris and connect to Istanbul. Over the next days we visit ancient Constantinople, Topkapi Palace, the Hagia Sophia, the Blue Mosque, see the Archaeological Museum and visit the Grand Bazaar, to name a few of the sites. Then we go to the City of Troy, Canakkale, Pergamum and Izmir. On day six we'll be at Ephesus and Kusadasi, where next we'll embark on a three day cruise of the Greek Islands. We'll see Patmos, Rhodes, Heraklion and Santorini. On day ten we go to Piraeus Harbor for the trip to Corinth and then Athens for two days.

The best part of all is that three of my close girlfriends are also taking this trip and I have met many of our other traveling companions. I am so excited. Those of you who read regularly here know how much I've traveled alone since my divorce and I keep vowing not to do that anymore. And my niece and a friend are staying at my home to take care of my beloved Cookie.

And then, to top it all off, my friends Barbara and Jerry just told me about a trip to Assisi and environs and then Rome happening next September, and my friend Betty, who just arrived today at my house from upstate New York, wants to go and room with me. I had begun to think my "big" traveling days might be over and instead it seems as though they are just beginning. I also have two conferences to attend in 2008--one in DC and another in Denver, plus my regular trips to Washington state.

I do not like flying, by the way, although I don't fear it. I just hate the hassle and especially the tedium of the long flights. I hate driving rental cars, but that won't be happening this time. I am just so grateful that I am able to travel at my age and that I have the resources to do it. You know how frugal I am, but the pilgrimage trips are one of the best travel bargains you can imagine. Incidentally, in 2010, there is another pilgrimage trip to Germany with the highlight being the Passion Play at Oberammergau which only happens every ten years. Lord, let my health and my attitude remain good. Let the next two days at work be really productive ones.

For those of you who are young and feel like you'll never get out from under, if you are forunate, you work your ass off to save for retirement--and then it comes. How blessed I feel tonight as I write this.

The Continuing Comfort of Old Friends

Yes, Virginia, older people do still have fun! Maybe our pre-Halloweens aren't like they were when we were young, but there is almost nothing more comforting in life than old friends.

For more than 36 years, eight of us, sometimes ten, have gathered four times a year at each other's homes for what we call our "gourmet dinner." Tonight we were at Mary Lou and Larry's and she is Irish, so the theme was Celtic and we had classic food served in Ireland at the Halloween season. We aren't as into costumes as we once were around this time of year, but here we are, although some have already ditched their costumes.

Each of us provides a portion of the meal with the host and hostess providing the main course which was Irish stew and colcannon. We had a high learning curve, too, as we always do. Mary Lou read all about the Celts and Druids and how what we celebrate as Halloween came to be. Each person who cooked then described their recipes. I cheated this time, I'll admit because I had a lot of help from Costco.

This is Mary Lou and Larry's beautiful table complete with a pumpkin for each one of us. After dinner, we watched a concert on DVD of the Celtic Women at a castle in Ireland--and chatted up a storm. Even after all these years, we seem to still have all kinds of things to talk about.

Memory Trekking in 1920 to Mt. Aconagua, Chile

At work today, I opened yet another box of several unknown photo albums and scrapbooks. One is thickly filled with magnificent black and white photos of the trip of several adventuring men through South America in 1920. There are no names, just writing that says where in South America they are. These albums don’t seem to be connected with anyone, past or present at the school where I work. When you first see items like this in the world of archiving, at least if you’re me, it’s like reading a mystery novel. Who was who and what were they doing? And then my imagination goes wild.

These two photos written in white pencil against the black album background merely say, “Volcan San Jose de Maipa, Dec. 1920.

Obviously the men are trekking and a quick Internet search tells me that this is in Chile, part of what they call the climatizing for Mt. Aconcagua. My eldest son is a climber and I know he is going to love to see this album, as will our Outdoor Education Director, who climbed Aconagua himself about five years ago. This single photo seems to be the same man, third from left in the first photo, doesn't it?

If you had to write a caption for these photos, what would they be? With the good luck I’ve had lately with people identifying some of my mystery photos, maybe somebody will take a look at these and the mystery will be solved. I feel like I’ve opened the door on a new segment of Indiana Jones. How I wish I could show you the entire album.

So, what does this have to do with sacred ordinary, you ask? The honoring of those who came before us is, frankly, a holy experience, even if I don't know who the people are. And the environment is magnificent whether we see it then or we see it now.

Robert Cummings in The Virginia Judge, 1935

A few days ago, Chancy at Driftwood Inspiration wrote a story posted at Ronni Bennett's the Elder Storytelling Place called "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels." It's about going to the movies as a kid in the 1930s.

And don't we all have our own memories, regardless of our ages, of going to the movies when we were kids? I'll have to write about that myself someday.

But, in the meantime, I ran across more celebrity photos today when I opened yet another box of unsorted materials for the archives of my school. None of us have the slighest idea where these have come from, but for now I'm cataloging them--and thoroughly enjoying them. I've posted some before, but today I thought I'd treat you with Robert Cummings in the 1935 film, "The Virginia Judge." If you click on the photos below, they will pop up in larger format.

Look at this despondent young Cummings, cigarette in hand, hair pomaded and parted down the middle. The caption at the bottom says:1935 Paramount Produtions, Inc., Walter C. Kelly in "The Virginia Judge" with Stepin Fetchit, Marsha Hunt, Johnny Downs, Robert Cummings.

This photo says the same thing in the caption. But, if that is Marsha Hunt, look at those eyes, those lips, the ribbon in her hair. Did any of you ever see this movie?

Like my story a few days ago, "My First Kiss," these old movie stills remind me of a vastly simpler time. Or was it really? At least the early film actors were not hounded as much by what we have come to know as the papparazzi. What memories come up for you looking at these photos?

California’s Perfect Storm says Schwartzenegger

It’s hard to believe, staring down at the 90 degree view of Los Angeles from high on top of Palos Verdes that multiple tragedies are playing out throughout Southern California as the Santa Ana-caused firestorms ravage everything in the way. Usually I can see the mountains ringing the basin and the tall buildings in downtown L.A. and Century City. The visibility is only a few miles today—and Palos Verdes’ canyons are also absolutely bone dry—a potential disaster being watched carefully by the local fire departments and home owners. No one rests easy tonight. It’s hard to breathe, even here, some 40 miles from the closest fires and more than 100 from San Diego. My car is covered with ash and I am having a hard time keeping my emotions in check. I wish I could be remain merely observant and prayerful, but it’s hard not to project.

Breaking news coverage on TV is non-stop and every photo takes my breath away. But the photo you see above, taken by Karen Tapia of the Los Angeles Times at the Orange County Santiago Canyon fire, is seered into my brain. Those gold-looking forms are firefighters in aluminum shelters they retreat into when they get in a tight place. It ran in this morning's paper. I saw the same image countless times on the news last night and it is lodged with a handful of other photos I've stored in my brain over the years.

This is the caption to Karen Tapia’s photo:

"Twelve firefighters are trapped atop a ridge off Santiago Canyon Road in Orange County after flames jumped the road. The blaze roared up the hillside and prompted the crew members to deploy their fire shelters. They were surrounded by burning brush, but they made it out alive. "We just remained calm, everyone did," one firefighter said after he was checked out by paramedics. All of the firefighters were treated at the scene and did not want to go to the hospital."

In writing groups the question often asked is what you would take if your house was burning down? But someone in my journal group last night asked this question, "This is weird, I know, but if you were beginning to put yourself together again after losing everything, what would you buy first?" I thoughtlessly blurted out, "A Tempurpedic mattress." Yikes. Where did that come from in the midst of all this human tragedy?

My First Kiss up at the Elder Storytelling Place

How can I ever thank Ronni Bennett at As Time Goes By: What It's Really Like to Get Older" for giving all of us elders a story telling forum at her blog? You can see my essay "My First Kiss" at the Elder Storytelling Place tomorrow, Oct. 23.

The First Kiss happened in 1954, and the person I went to the dance with is Jack. This photo of me horsing around in the same beautiful coral-colored chiffon dress I loved so much was in May, 1957. I took the dress away with me to San Jose State in 1957-58 and our next door neighbor, Bob Minford, agreed to clown around with me for photos. Doesn't he look like he just came from a San Francisco coffee house, the Hungry Eye maybe? I was actually able to find a similiar vintage dress about 10 years ago. I bought it to wear to a '50s dance and sometimes I would get it out and just stare at it. It went to the thrift shop only a few years back. The memory of this dress is still so darned strong. And I wonder whatever happened to Bob Minford who must be in his mid to late 1970s now? Who knows? Maybe someone will recognize him.

So, my question to all of you is, "Can you tell us about your first kiss--and how long ago that was?" Since I'm no longer married and haven't seriously dated for about nine years, a question to myself is, "Can you remember your last kiss?" The answer is no, but then at the time I'm sure I didn't realize it was the last. But, Cookie smooched me when I left for work this morning.

SoulCollage: The Fire Tender

No matter where you live, if you’ve watched television today you know that Southern California has several wildfires burning. None of them are near where I live in Redondo Beach, but at sunset, the western sky was dark gray all the way up to Malibu. When I walked Cookie an hour ago, the smell of smoke was extremely prevalent. As an asthmatic, I’ve got my inhaler handy just in case.

In situations like this, you know that countless firefighters are putting their lives on the line and countless people have already lost their homes and/or businesses. Most of the fires are nowhere near containment. Nine fires are burning in this state right now. When my daughter-in-law and I walked my grandsons this afternoon to the fire station a half block away for a visit, we stopped to talk to the captain. And he told us that all of the fire companies have crews working throughout Southern California. He smiled as he turned, fingers on both hands crossed. “Keep your fingers crossed,” he said and I replied, “I’ll do a lot more than that.”

Now, I meant I’d pray, but frankly, I feel utterly helpless. We have to leave it up to the fire fighters—and the bottom line is that all of us who observe feel utterly helpless. Though the wind is not blowing tonight in Redondo Beach, it is in the canyons and desert areas, “up to 100 mph,” the fire captain told us. The Santa Anas are predicted to blow a few more days, humidity is low, and temperatures are high. Earthquakes and fires are California's legacy, I guess.

In my helplessness tonight, I turned to my SoulCollage cards knowing that I have at least five with fire themes. Perhaps they could help me focus. I have put them all out on display in preparation for a free write in my journal I am about to start. But, though I’ve published my “Fire Tender” card before at Sacred Ordinary, I offer her again. I’ll start my writing out with this prompt, “When fires burn out of control, I----“ If you feel so inclined, join me in writing and sending energy support to those in danger.