Relaxing Monday

A part of me thinks I should be "doing" more than I've done today. But the other part doesn't care.

I've been doing laundry all day and have cleaned two bathrooms. I talked to a friend on the phone (high priority), read the paper, looked at few emails, cooked some beans for lunch, made the bed, brushed my teeth, put on clothes, exercised for about 25 minutes, had a conversation with Direct TV and found out it is more expensive than what we already have, but it was a chore getting that out of the woman on the phone, read a couple of blogs...When I see it like that, it looks like I've done a lot.

But I haven't written. And that's what I think I need to be doing. I even want to, but not enough to put out the effort to do it.

Why do some of us think we have to be busy all the time? What made us this way? Our ancestors? Just because they lived on farms and had to make their own clothes, till the soil, cook from morning til night---all those things we've heard they had to do in order to survive, why do I think I still need to be as busy as they were?

If I'm alone and no one sees me goofing off, I can kill a day channel surfing or reading a book, and when I do, I feel guilty. But I really do enjoy doing those things.

So, I'm going to go read my book, "Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet" an excellent read, by the way. Then, about 2:00 I'll tune into to a couple of old episodes of "Little People, Big World." I might even take a chair nap while I'm at it.

And hopefully I won't suffer guilt because of it.

Stretching the Limits

I'm a fiction writer and reader--mostly. I belong to a book discussion group and have read books of genres that I probably wouldn't have picked up on my own. Because of dipping my toes into other streams, I've read two excellent non-fiction books in the past few months.

One is "Blood and Thunder" by Hampton Sites. (I'd underline the title or put it italics but when I try, it comes out really strange.) It is the true history of the Southwest wrapped around the life of Kit Carson. After our friends read it, we made a trip to Taos where we visited places mentioned in the book. We saw Kit's house and his grave, along with the graves of his wives and children. We'd been to Taos Pueblo before but seeing it through the eyes of what we'd read made it more meaningful.

The other book I read is "109 East Palace" by Jennet Conant. This one is the true story of Robert Oppenheimer, head of the secret Manhattan Project in Los Alamos. The scientists and their families lived in secret (and appalling living conditions) all the war years as the atomic bomb was being "created." We plan to make another "field" trip to Santa Fe and Los Alamos some day.

In reading these books I was stretching out of my comfort zone. Sometimes it isn't easy for us to get out of that zone, is it? When we went to El Morro a couple of weeks ago and climbed to the top and walked around on those horrible rocks, I was definitely uncomfortable. It's done and I'm glad I did it. Maybe that's why people climb mountains and jump out of airplanes. I won't do those things (or ride roller coasters, bucking horses, or race at NASCAR) but I can still stretch my limits.

I've always loved learning. Since I no longer go to school or am in a profession where I learn something new every day, I need to keep my mind alert. Reading does that for me. Writing, too.

They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks. I beg to differ. This old dog is into new tricks!

Life Long Friends

Who have you known longer than anyone else and is still in your life? Parents and siblings don't count? Both my parents have "passed over to the other side." Even my brother isn't the person I've known longer than anyone else.

I had a friend, Sharon, who passed away a few years ago. She and I had been friends since 2nd grade and had kept up with each other over the years. Her passing hit me hard. It was like a big piece of my heart was taken away. I have another friend I've known a long time. I don't know exactly when Anna Lou and I first met, but we were best friends until after I graduated from high school. After both of us were married and started families, we lost contact. It's only been since 2004 that we found each other again, and that is through email now.

But the person I'm really speaking of is someone I've known since I was about four years old.
I remember having a picture taken when she was two and I was four. That's my first memory of my cousin, Jo Ann. We didn't live in the same town and probably didn't see each other very much until her family moved to Memphis, Texas, where our grandparents lived.

Jo Ann and I spent summers and holidays together. We spent hours in Mamaw's front bedroom playing paper dolls, creating exotic hats with feathers (where we got them is still a mystery), reading--we loved to read and both of us still do. In our grandparent's side yard we put on musicals for the neighborhood kids (think Little Rascals). We ran the neighborhood on our "pretend" horses, the Black Stallion and the Strawberry Roan, being Vera Ellen and Cyd Charisse (or Ava Gardner--whichever one I felt like at the time.) Our pretend boyfriends were Guy Madison for Jo Ann and Roy Rogers for me. (If you're so young you've never heard of these people, it's all right. Just think of the male and female actors of today you'd like to pretend to be.)

Our grandparents took us on fishing trips to Chama, Eagle Nest, Crede, Red River--through beautiful mountain scenery and we read all the way. Once at our destination we never lifted a fishing pole. We hiked and played, and when we were older, flirted with boys. We wrote a book of poems on one trip to Eagle Nest and always took time out of every day to read. Nancy Drew was one of the series of choice, but we read others, too. I especially remember "Yankee Stranger." I think I read it three or four times and still have a copy of the book. Jo Ann and I would read the same book and cast it with movie stars.

Young, unemcumbered with stress, fearless, content. We had a good life.

Then we grew up. Dang! I decided to get married when I was nineteen. Jo Ann and my grandfather cried at my wedding. Had I known some of my future, I might have cried, too.
We wrote letters for awhile. She was in college and later teaching. Our letters grew farther and farther apart. My life took some weird detours, and we weren't in touch much.

Then came email. Somehow we got back in touch again. I was widowed, and she had retired from teaching. We had time and started emailing back and forth. Today, it's at least one email every day. We've been together at our house, in Denver where she lives and have taken an England trip together.

I've known Jo Ann longer than anyone else in my life, even longer than my brother who is seven years younger than I am. I think she's known me longer, too, since her brother is 8 years younger than she is. Like with Sharon, a piece of my heart is tied to Jo Ann. I think it's that way for all of us. We have people in our lives that make places in our hearts forever. Of course, our families are there, our children and spouses, but friends, too.

More than a cousin, I consider Jo Ann a friend. She's having a birthday on the 5th of July. Happy Birthday, cousin and friend! I'm thankful to have you in my life.