Sunday, December 5, 2010

Gratitude by Loisjean Raymond


I AM GRATEFUL FOR...

...life as it now is...

"As it now is" awakens me to the reality of who I have unexpectedly become.  What happened to  the interval between vigorous family life and singlehood?  What has become of the energy to "do everything in one day"?

And yet - I am so grateful for this particular season of my life - especially now, launched upon this new adventure.  New acquaintance, new challenges, new everything...

There is now opportunity to be a "loner" or to be sociable.  I'm grateful for less pressure too.  it is okay to be there or not, to do it or don't....

Though some of my "wheels are coming off" as I age, I am most grateful that this old lady still has a few good miles in 'er.....

Thursday, November 11, 2010

HALLOWEEN IN BLACK by Elisabeth Levy

It is a week before Halloween and Varenna is buzzing with anticipation. The Halloween fever catches my three friends, Joyce, June, and Shirley, who decide to go costume shopping. They don’t ask me to go with them and I feel a slight tinge of jealousy. On the other hand, I know they know I am a no-Halloweener.

I wake up one night and begin thinking. What could I find in my closet without going shopping? Black. I don’t like black, but black is the answer. My Antarctica rain pants are black. I wonder if I still have my black boots I used for playing Santa, and my long black gloves. I know I can use the black ski mask and my dark glasses. I can reverse my black Australian t-shirt, and my orange blouse will do to cover my arms. I find the boots, try the ski mask and think it might work.

Two days before the big event, Shirley comes and says, “You know, we feel bad, we want you to be part of the fun. Joyce has a wig she is not going to use.”

I am touched and decide to somewhat confide in Shirley.  “I have something in mind, but I have to do it my own way,” I say. 

“I’ll recognize you,” Shirley says, and my answer is, “No, you won’t.”

The day of the Halloween party has arrived. In the morning, I go and see Jane, tell her about my idea of dressing up in black and we have this glorious idea of my changing at her place. At dinner I am vague and ask if I could pick up Joyce’s wig “just in case,” telling them, if at all, I would arrive late.

I pack my bag; take my stick, sneak through the back along the bocce ball court to Jane’s. There is worry in the air. Spanky, her dog, had taken advantage of an open door. Jane hopes he did not run over to her daughter’s, as he has been a guest there off and on.

I get dressed and Jane sees my orange blouse. “This won’t do, I have a black jacket.” I try it on, dressed now in black from head to toe. 

“A Muslim,” Jane says. “Now remember,” she continues, “either you walk very straight, or hunched over. Everybody knows you by the way you walk.” (Thanks, Jane.)

I remove my dark glasses, walk over to the main building., and oh horror, by the time I enter the main building, my real glasses are totally fogged up, I can’t see a thing. I go into the mailroom and dry them just in time before Joan and Mel come around the corner. Together we take the elevator. Joan loves this black knight and says she will vote for me. I decide on walking straight with a marching step. I don’t speak, but bow. 

Very few people look at me. I walk around, bow wherever I can, most of the time without response, I am offered a candy, I gracefully bow, then I give it to a pretty little girl depicting a bride. I can barely see and wonder how I ever will find my friends. I see Alden in his prisoner outfit and assume it is Sheila who is next to him. I bow to Doris and her friend Millie. Emily tells me I look scary. 

The great Hall is filling up fast, so many fun costumes. One huge person sticks out, a big woman with a sloppy wig looking for her puppy, which is pinned behind her in the pleats of her skirt. There is a gorilla; he groans, I bow. The tables in the foyer are filled to the till with sweets, and people are milling around. I try to catch their attention, but am not very successful. I am all in black, nothing fancy.  

Now I am really beginning to worry. I can barely see; where are my friends? Due to my good fortune, I had seen the scarecrow hat in Joyce’s apartment and sure enough, I spot it. The three are sitting at a table with two empty chairs. I beg the candy lady for another piece and bring it to Shirley. Shirley has this black stylish wig; she reminds me of somebody whose name escapes me. I bow and they find out I don’t talk. I try to behave as if I don’t hear well either. “Do you speak English,” Shirley asks and I shake my head negatively and think immediately how dumb that is. I motion for permission to sit down. On the next table sits Karin, handing me a business card. I give it to June to read and she says, “You don’t need a gardener.” 

The music sounds good. I get bold and motion to Shirley to dance. She accepts and whispers I should dance with Joyce, too. I try to swing Shirley around, it’s a clumsy try. As a true gentleman, I bring her back to her chair and at the next dance I ask Joyce. I am getting too warm. As June is a male Sheriff, no need to dance with her, and I decide to get out of my garb and return. On the way out, I run into Sam, the kosher sausage, with mustard, his daughter, and ketchup, his wife. I bow to his wife and she returns my bow. Thank you. 

Glenne comes; she lifts her headpiece, and wants to know my identity. I bow, no. They see me going to the elevator and ask Eli to follow me, but he does not. I get out on the second floor and back to the third, unseen.

I shed my outer black shell, find an orange jacket and decide enough is enough, no wig for me. I return to the Great Hall. Joyce waves. “I knew you would come.” 

As a sideline, they mention a black “it”.  They are not quite sure if it is a man or a woman. I try not to show too much interest. I wonder if they truly do not know the identity, or are pulling my leg. Prizes are given to the pumpkin carvers and the most interesting costumes. Glenne wins a prize and so does Don Wolf, the big fat woman. Liz comes and says hello. She looks beautiful in her angel-like costume and Shirley brings up the subject of that black figure. They look around. Gone. Sadly Liz says, “I guess we’ll never know”. The three agree.

Come Monday morning, Shirley still ponders about that black creature, and June calls it the nemesis warrior.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Words From the Wise: 10/13/10

"You can't get anything from prunes except the pits."
                     Joyce Cass

"Maybe my next collection of essays will be called, 'My Life, Lately.'"
                   Shirley Johnson

Monday, July 26, 2010

A Poem to Celebrate the 1924-ers of Creekside by Dorothy Herbert

It all began in twenty-four
And now it's been a neat four score
Since that eventful date of yore
When all of us were given birth.
And still we grace this lucky earth.

We must admit to slowing down.
Which gives us time to look around,
To seek the knowledge yet unfound,
To understand and contemplate
This wobbling world's uncertain fate.

Younger folk will seek advice.
When books and gurus may suffice
They willingly pay any price!
How can this be? Can they not see
Not even asked we give it free!

As collagen and fascia fail
In turn will gravity prevail.
And as we climb the bathroom scale
There is no longer any doubt
We're way too thin or far too stout.

TV and pamphlets entertain us
Saying exercise sure will maintain us
And proper diet can sustain us.
So if we walk and drink Ensure
It's in the cards--we shall endure.

When all is done and all is said
We've ended where Dame Fortune led.
And now renewed we surge ahead.
No looking back--but onward go
Lunging toward the great nine-o.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Words from the Wise: On Starting Over

"Starting over can definitely lead to an exciting new adventure."
Ellie Rutigliano
"There's no such thing as a fresh start. We bring much of our old selves to our new enterprises."
Susan Bono

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

SOUNDS OF CHILDHOOD by Shirley Johnson

First a distant, high-pitched note far away wailed octaves above the rhythmic  rumble that accompanied its approach.  Not melodious, but insistent, gaining in force as it came nearer, changing from an announcement to a warning, and from a single note to multiple tones like a bellows.  Soon all the dogs in town howled mournfully, none more than our two Chesapeake retrievers who heard  all the mortal warnings of mankind and  dogdom as the heavily loaded cars rumbled through the town.  In the days of my young childhood, seventy-five to a hundred boxcars loaded with hematite ore bound for the steel mills of Gary and Pittsburg thundered along the way to the port of Duluth two or three times a day, leaving the pictures on our walls askew and the keening dogs quiet after their service as town criers. 

For those of us who lived in the small northern Minnesota town, the trains became the background noise of our lives, hardly noticed unless a stranger called attention to them.  “Oh, that’s an ore train from the Iron range,"  we’d explain with a certain pride in the reflected glory of being part of the power that fueled the great industries of our country.  How mighty those trains were, dangerous and exciting as they declared their importance in that cold land.
 
The open-pit mines of Minnesota (“The largest open-pit mines in the world,” we often heard repeated)  represented great wealth like the oil of the Mid-East in the next industrial revolution.  My father often said with slightly bitter humor that his grandfather left northern Europe to walk across the state, bypassing the riches of the iron range to settle on swampy forested land.  ( Golda Maier said something similar when she explained that the Jews couldn’t be as smart as was claimed having had the whole desert to settle in and choosing a place with no oil.)
I didn’t realize I had carried the sound of the ore trains in my memory. For years after I came to live near the Pacific, I accepted the ocean’s roar as part of the orchestral background of my life without questioning its source.  These rhythms were totally different but I didn’t stop to listen until one cold night when I paused on my front steps and hearing the pounding of the waves at last knew that these were not echoes from my childhood but the sounds of the new world I was to live in from that time forward.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Light and Lively Limericks

Oh, once there was a baby born
Her parents named her Polly
Expecting a boy
They howled with joy
Isn't she sweet; the family's complete
And so it was, by golly!

          Joyce Cass


There once was a girl called Kira
Who always looked in the mirror
But never when she got older
Because she would not believe
What the mirror told her.

         Bernice Schacthter

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Varenna Writers' Ukiahaiku Contest Entries

Karin Fitzgerald alerted the club to the Ukiah Haiku Contest, deadline, February 26, 2010. Here are some of their entries:

the wet water flows
over the silver blue fish
in the little pond

Ellie Rutigliano

real snow, some fake snow
ice skates, ski poles, dark goggles
Winter Olympics

haiku can be fun
I’m glad for a chance to try
it may lead to more

Inger Larsen

SLL a bles are hard
to write in Writing Class today.
I will try another time

Bernice Schachter


the earth is warming
roses pushing out and up
sunshine caused all this

the silly white dog laughs
prancing about to be loved
a pat will do it

water rushing over rocks
foam appears at the rushing
our feet are cleansed

it was that moonlight
made everyone so looney
a hypnotic sight

awake, awake, called the seeds
frigid cold, the pounding wet
calling all to be

Sally Tilbury


raindrops spilling down my windshield. somewhere
soldiers’ mothers’ tears are mine

pebbles of unrest
are not washed away
by forces of the main stream

something is sharing
my morning muffin
a mousie in the pantry?

summer pleasures
ice tinkling in glass
cool contemplation of navel

Joyce Cass


the things that I love
are always close beside me
home means happiness

you might cover me
with bubble wrap so I don’t
break my bones falling

Shirley Johnson


step, slide, step, step, slide
whirling skirts and do-si-do
square dance melodies

light bursts from the sky
the thunder gods are bowling
electricity

please remember this
no black cats under ladders
even catching mice

Look, bare feet dangle
Ten toes wiggle, splash, and play
Then little fishes nibble

Karin Fitzgerald

Words from the Wise: On Friendship

"The most valuable gem you can own is a precious friendship that allows you to shine on your own."
Bernice Schachter

"Friendship is the spine that keeps me rightside up.
Friendship fuels the engine that is my heart."
Karin Fitzgerald

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

More Words from the Wise (on Love)

Love is a renewable resource.
Shirley Johnson

Love: the best show in Vegas.
Bernice Schachter

Love: the best show anywhere.
Dolores Fruiht

There's always enough love to go around, even when you don't know where you've misplaced yours.
Susan Bono

Love is a strong emotion; when honest, it improves those involved.
Sally Tilbury

Helpless: A Drabble by Sally Tilbury

Two large men wearing green scrubs placed her on the gurney and began to roll toward the surgery. Our four-year-old daughter appeared to be a small bundle on the cart. I was terrified. She had been born with strabismis, or crossed eyes. Early surgical intervention was so that her eyes and brain could work together. This was her second surgery.

As the doors of the scary elevator closed, the small bundle raised her finger toward one of the men and said, "I'm not going to do this today, but I'll come back tomorrow."

The elevator door clunked shut.

Monday, January 25, 2010

CARVING A BEGINNING--from the memoir, LEGACY: A LIFE CARVED IN STONE by Bernice Schachter

Since my early childhood, the pride and love I have had for the first three sculptures I ever created now remain carved only in my memory. The first one was a small bird whittled out of a large bar of ivory soap. I was not given the "fifteen minutes for my claim to fame" because my mother was too busy with two younger siblings and my father paid little attention to any of his children. He was just eking out a living following the Great Depression which occurred after I was born in 1925.

The second work of art was a papier-mâché sculpture, a very tall giraffe, painted yellow with black spots. It was exhibited on my bedroom dresser for many years.

I did the third piece in my preteen period, winning a Certificate of Honor for a farm complex sculpted in a large sandbox in Warinanco Park in Elizabeth, NJ. This great park was our playground. In the spring and fall we fished and boated on the lake, ice skated and sledded in the winter. The summer was spent at the Jersey Shore where I was content to build sand castles on the beach in Bradley.

It was only after I married, at the too early age of twenty, that I began to work as a serious artist for the next fifty years. This book is about the four hundred sculptures I have carved in stone that will tell the story of my life as I lived it.

Monday, January 18, 2010

Reflection by Elisabeth Levy


            It is an October evening and I am sitting on my balcony at Varenna. The sun is just about ready to say good night and disappear behind the mountains. Her last rays leave a golden rim, and even from behind the scene, she has the ability to change the colors.
            I look down on Lake Nagasawa. In front of me I see the little island. The trees are already unrecognizably dark. However, the whole line of trees mirrors in the lake. One tree catches my eye. It has tiny leaves, well visible in the water. They quiver in the gentle wind, I can’t hear their rustling, but they seem to have fun seeing their own mirror  image.
            In the back to the right the shore is getting darker too. The lake takes on a soft pink color.  The last little boat is leaving and the ducks seem to have a meeting. They are chatty, the sound muted by the distance. Maybe they have to tell each other the happenings of the day and then discuss where they want to rest for the night.
            The sky changes color. The strips of clouds reflect the sun, first yellowish white, then  pink. Even the birds I see glow while flying through the clouds. The sky’s color turns from red to orange to yellow to green to blue, becoming a true rainbow. The darker the sky gets, the lighter the lake is. The pink changes into a light orange,  Every part of the lake is different.
            The sky seems to have a last spur of colors until slowly, very slowly the night takes over. More and more lights are visible. It is quiet and peaceful. A good time to go inside and be thankful for living in such a beautiful place.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Don't Forget the Six-Word Memoir Challenge!

Writers,

A friend just emailed me this:

A college class was told they had to write a short story in as few words as possible. The instructions were that the short story had to contain the following three things:

(a)     Religion (b) Sexuality (c) Mystery

Below is the only A+ short story in the entire class.

"Good God, I'm pregnant! I wonder who did it?"
This reminds me to remind YOU to check out Smith College's online magazine, Smith Magazine: www.smithmag.net. They are looking for six-word memoirs in many categories--the best of those collected get put into books!  Check it out!!


Wednesday, January 13, 2010

More Words from the Wise (New Year's Resolutions)

"The best resolutions are those that are easier done than said."
                     Susan Bono

"Be careful what you ask yourself to resolve."
                    Ellie Rutigliano

"Making resolutions has the power and the permanence of a snowflake."
                   Shirley Johnson
"Set your mind to your goal and you can do it!"
                   Elisabeth Levy

A Drabble by Sally Tilbury

All families should show their appreciation for the mothers who are the directors of the Christmas frenzy. They are the ones who make the costumes, buy and wrap all the presents, and do the cooking. Who drives the children to music practices? Who introduces the young ones to Santa?

Who addresses all the cards and keeps the addresses up-to-date? Who decorates the tree? Who dismantles the tree and drags it to the curb? Who aorts the ornaments? Who lugs the turkey into the house from the car? Who dresses the bird, sets the table and serves?

Here's to moms!

A Strange Coincidence: A Drabble by Ellie Rutigliano

A strange coincidence occurred when some young men who were planning a party decided they needed five bucks more to buy a keg of beer. John, overhearing the conversation, offered the cash if they would find him a date.

Another gentleman, also named John, whom I had introduced to my friend Dusty, was among the party planners. Dusty asked me to come along as a blind date to the party. That night a car with the two Johns picked us up to take us to the party. I wondered what my blind date would be like.

(Ellie's blind date later became her husband!)

Friday, January 8, 2010

TRUCKLUCK: A METAPHOR (A Drabble in 100 Words) by Bernice Schachter

A strange coincidence happened in San Francisco.  My daughter and I ran into a New Jersey friend before searching for a leather lounge chair for my new home in Varenna.  Coincidentally, our friend happened to know of one in a Tiberon estate sale.  It was a bargain and perfect. The seller offered his truck for transport to be returned on Shari’s way back to San Francisco.  Having the use of that truck I was able to purchase an armoire for my new apartment and haul all my excess stuff to storage. “Truckluck” became our family’s household word symbolizing lucky happenings.

  Find out more about Bernice's art and writing: http://www.berniceschachter.us/

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Calling all Varenna Writers!

It was no accident that the first entry was simply some "Words from the Wise" that I gleaned here and there during our meetings. You are all wise and wonderful writers with plenty to share and I wanted you to see how good you look in print!

PLEASE help make this blog a lively, inspiring place to visit by sending more words of advice and anything else you'd like to submit. How about your quilt poem, Ellie? Your Eloise essay, Sally? Your 4th of July memory, Karin? The wolf-in-the-hall story, Elisabeth? Your adventures in teaching, Shirley, or your Nebraska church memory, Mary? Joyce and Bernice, we'd all love excerpts from your book. Val and Helen, what do I have to say to convince you?

This is a place for pictures and artwork, too. There is no limit to what we can include (or change or delete!!). For now, I am happy to proofread material you send me at sbono@comcast.net. If we need to do something of a more formal nature, we can figure that out later. This is my first experience with a blog, too, so I'm hoping to learns lots. Join me! Susan

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Some Words from the Wise

"The more foolish we become, the wiser we become.
                --Dolores Fruiht
"When you carry out a plan that is your very own idea and it is successful, you are incredibly proud.  Pride comes from controlling your own destiny.  Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose, but it is all yours. You took the risk."
               --Sally Tilbury
"Assume assumptions are to be avoided."
               --Bernice Schachter
"Hard times get harder the more you dwell on them."
               --Susan Bono

'