Sprung!

I'm almost afraid to say it -could it be- spring??? Well, at least a hint of it.

The thermometer hit 60 today -the sun was shining- the sky was a clear, azure blue.

I dragged my lawn chairs out of the shed, and I'm sitting on the back porch (trying to ignore all the fallen tree branches lying around the yard) and just breathing in spring.

Ahhh.

Whether its the mellow weather, the book I'm reading (The Senator's Wife, by Sue Miller), or getting away for a bit this weekend (we traveled to the west side of the state for a couple of concerts), my mind is running on overdrive - so many thoughts percolating in my brain, I can barely slow it down long enough to type. 

 A story popped into my head this morning-does that ever happen to you, that you're reading a really good book, and suddenly one phrase sets an idea in motion, and idea for a story that then insinuates itself into your mind, poking and prodding at you when you least expect it?   Off and on today, I've been jotting down notes and phrases and sentences that occur to me, so there are now scraps of paper torn from the note pad in the hotel, the program from the concert last night, and even the bulletin from this morning's church service - all representing some fragment of this story that's been rolling around in my brain.

Will I ever get round to actually writing it? 

Who knows.

But I'm enjoying this creative blossoming, mirroring as it does the gestating going on underground these days, as I watch the grass turn progressively greener before my eyes, the small shoots of tulips, and  crocus and hostas poking up from the dry ground.

It never ceases to amaze me, the regenerative power of life.  How after the worst of cold, barren, difficult winters, the earth can sense a turning of the tide, can respond to the first warm rays of sunshine and ignite its cycle of growth and renewal. 

People do it too, don't they?  Something in the human spirit responds to that as well, even though, in so many ways, we no longer need rely soley on nature for basic sustenance.  It's a tale as old as time, as the song goes, the joy and inspiration that comes from the idea of rebirth, renewal- spring.   It gives us the impetus to move forward, to be hopeful, to care about life all over again.

So I'm off to enjoy the last bits of sunshine (it's almost 8:00 and the sun is still shining - that in itself is a miracle!)

The only blemish on this day - you know I'm simply dying to go for a walk (damned broken foot!)

Oh well.

Soon I'll be sprung.

Sunday Scribblings-Photograph

It's really a slide - remember those?  That's what my dad took, back in the 50's when I was very little,  and he had a huge, boxy brown camera with a flash attachment as big as a lampshade.  Not only did the bulbs flash in your face when you least expected it, they made a sharp Pop! sound, their bright little lives over in an instant.  Oh, was I terrifed of that thing!  Each one of my bithday parties was completely spoiled by the knowledge that he was prowling around with his camera and its horrible flash attachment, trying to take my picture. But I digress. 

It's the photograph (or slide) I'm here to recall for you, and since I have no idea where the actual item has ended up, recall it I must.  Actually, I believe it's quite well etched in my memory, for it's the image of myself as a child that most describes the essence of me.

I'm probably two at most, and I'm standing at our back gate - the proverbial white picket fence type.  My back is to the camera, my little legs are bare underneath the short dress I'm wearing.  The neat bow at my waist has started to come undone, and hangs slightly askew.  I've probably been swinging on my swingset -my most favorite outdoor activity at that age.

So there I am, standing at the gate, reaching on tiptoe as far as I can reach, one hand on the latch about to lift it and make my escape to -freedom!  And the camera catches me just as I look over my shoulder, a pleased and rather wicked little grin on my face, to see if anyone is watching.

Oh, you can be sure I was stopped before I got out.  I was watched mighty carefully in those days - after all, an only child whose mother (and grandparents) were in the house 24-7 was in no danger of having too much freedom, believe me.

But that image still haunts me.  It recalls the feeling of being trapped, of not being allowed out of the safe confines of my home, of being cloistered behind the gate. 

At the same time, it summons that buring desire to throw the gate wide and burst out at full throttle, like a race horse off the gun.

If I could find that photograph, I'd have it enlarged into a huge poster I could hang on the wall, a poster that would remind me I'm all grown up now, and I can open the gate if I want to.

There's no one to stop me anymore.

go here to see more photographs

Good for Me

I did it. I just said NO.

Someone called with a request for a substitute in the handbell group I used to play with - four hours of rehearsal on Monday, most of it standing.

I said NO, clearly and unequivocally.

Aren't you proud of me?

Thanks for all your encouragement.  I couldn't have done it without you. (smiles) 

Word(s) of Widsom

Fooled you. I don't have any.

I do have some very achy muscles, a very burned out brain, and a growling tummy.

Mysterious set of symptoms, eh?

Not really, when you consider I've been wearing this five pound monster boot on my left foot for the past 12 hours, typing my way through 892 pages of medical records, and going straight from work to a rehearsal where I had to stand on my one good leg and ring handbells for an hour, thereby missing dinner.

So who's the wise one here?  Certainly not Becca.

Because Becca, who (on a very good day) calls herself a writer, has one absolutely vital word missing from her vocabulary.

Oh, come on, you all know what it is.

Go ahead - say it for me.

NO.

Sorry, I can't possibly finish this record review today.

Sorry, I can't substitute for you in bell choir tonight.

Sorrry, I can't.

NO.

Alas, I've covered this ground before here at the Byline, and I apologize for my redundancy.  I allow myself to do far too much, to my physical and emotional detriment, because I never learned to say NO.

Of course, when I was a little girl growing up, I wasn't allowed to say NO.  Like every other two year old on the planet, it was my favorite word.  NO, I won't take my medicine.  NO, I won't go to bed.  NO, I won't come in.  NO, I won't eat those creamed peas.  Yet society tells us we much squelch that tendency in our toddlers - don't let them get away with saying NO to everything - they must learn to capitulate, to bend their will to yours, to please you at any cost.

Perpetually the good student, I learned the lesson all too well.

So here I am, 50 years post terrible twos, and I can't seem to say NO to anyone.

Except myself.

Oh, I'm really good at that.

NO, I can't leave the housework undone and put my foot up for the evening.

NO, I can't spend all afternoon reading a book.

NO, I can't let my husband do the grocery shopping for me.

NO, I can't ask my co-worker to take on some extra assignments.

Yes ~ I bet you do that too.

So here I am, achy, tired, and hungry - all for the lack of a two letter word.

Maybe tomorrow will be different.  Maybe tomorrow I'll sleep late, or just lie around the house in my pajamas all morning.  Maybe I'll go out for breakfast instead of going to work.  Maybe I'll order a big, gooey cinnamon roll.

Maybe I'll say YES to myself tomorrow.

What a wise word that would be.

Sunday Scribblings-Out of This World

He has a rather goofy grin, don't you think?  The man in the moon, I mean.  Kind of slack jawed and spacey (sorry, punning again), similar to a circus clown or someone who's just a bit deranged. As a child, I often stared up at him, his friendly face beaming down during those summer nights we sat on our front porch, me in my nightgown with a blanket wrapped round my shoulders to ward off the evening chill.  It was a summer time ritual in my family, the porch sitting thing.  I looked forward to it with a great sense of anticipation, for even though I was called in at dusk (along with the rest of my neighborhood playmates), while they were sent to their dark and lonely bedrooms I was allowed to stay up with the grownups and sit on the front porch.

And watch the man in the moon.

What was he doing up there? I wondered.  Was his smiling face beckoning me to come up and visit?  After all, Neil Armstrong had recently walked around there - I had seen him with my own eyes on the blurry black and white TV screen, bobbing about like a puffy marshmallow floating atop a cocoa mug.  And I would squinch my eyes very tightly, hoping I might be able to see a glimpse of that American flag he planted so proudly amongst the rocks.

No flag.  Just that silly smiling man in the moon face.

But Walter Cronkite had suggested that one day space travel might be commonplace,  sometime far, far into the future - perhaps in the year 2000! - people would rocket around to stratospheric space stations in much the same way they already flew from coast to coast.  I stared deeply into the night sky, wondering if I might spy one of those bubble topped sky vehicles like George Jetson drove, whizzing between the stars.

No space cars.  Just myriads of twinkling, starry lights.

Meanwhile my eyes would grow heavy lidded and tired as I burrowed deeper into my blanket, my head would wobble a bit as I struggled to keep it upright on my neck.  The voices of my mother and grandmother became remote and fuzzy - "I just never did see the likes of it," my grandmother would say, her soft Southern drawl cadenced like a lullaby, "all those children of hers runnin' round nearly nekkid..."

Oh, she's talking about the O'Reilly's I thought sleepily, whose seven children were allowed to wear their bathing suits all day long during the summer.

I wonder if you had to wear clothes on the moon? I might think, sneaking one last peek at the man in the moon. 

Maybe that's why he had such a goofy grin on his face.

for more writing that's out of this world, go here