Blog Your Blessings: Sears and Roebuck

,

This week's blessing is Sears & Roebuck. Sears & Roebuck 25 or so years ago, when a hunter green "Free Spirit" touring bike advertised in its catalogue became a reality under my Christmas tree, a gift from my parents.

I never rode the thing. Instead, it hung in my parents' garage and endured the extremes of hot and cold by which Connecticut people measure time. Then it made its way to their garage on Topsail Island, North Carolina. Last week, I brought the bicycle pump so dad could breathe new life into those old though never used tires. That he did, and Adella spent her evenings coasting up and down the bike path along the North Shore Road.

That is, she rode the thing after several days of pure reluctance followed up with a clear and steady "no thanks" when I asked her if she wanted to give it ago. I don't know what changed her mind, exactly, though I know when it did: the evening after we got caught in a rip tide and found ourselves facing wall after all of relentless and powerful water. "Don't take my daughter," I thought as I watched the water overwhelm her little body and she swam for her life. I was able to push her in now and again and to swim her in, but she did the lion's share of the muscle work. She saved herself. She didn't panic. She found her feet a lifetime later.

Silently, we walked back to our towels so she could sit down and have some fresh water. "That scare you?" I asked. "Yeah." She kept walking. "Me, too," I said.

Later that night cycling on a bike that's got the gear shift in a weird place, brakes that are a little tight, and a seat that's a little high ain't nothing to putting your 70 lbs. up against the Atlantic and surviving.

Next day, she was anxious to get out in the water again. I couldn't move fast enough. "You look bored," I said as the waves whacked us in the knees over and over again. "I am. I want to go out there." She pointed so I'd understand. There is the place that rocks deep and sure before it comes to shore and breaks. I wanted to be there, too. "Let's go, kid."

On her bike ride on our last night in Topsail, she turned to me and grinned: "You want to learn how again?" Oh no. "Learn how what?" Yeah, mom. "To ride. You taught me to scull, I'll teach you to ride.

"You did what I told you to do in the water the other day?"

I do try her patience. "Yes, mom!"

So I got on the bike. And I didn't fall off.

What the Sears people make possible. Amen.

Blog Your Blessings

Skywatch Friday: 2nd Company Connecticut Governor's Horse Guard

This is the stable of the Second Company, Connecticut Governor's Horse Guard, at Fairfield Hills, Newtown, Connecticut. By some miracle, my daughter and I got out of bed early a few Sundays ago to go watch a horse show there. Seems my kid wants to learn to ride, so that's the next adventure on the list.

Here's a bit about the 2GHC, as they call themselves:

Chartered in 1808 “to attend and escort the Governor in times of peace and war”, the Second Company Governor’s Horse Guard continues to serve Connecticut as willingly today as it did during Colonial times. 2GHG is part of the organized militia of the State of Connecticut, under the direction of the Governor and the National Guard. Although today’s Trooper most often rides in ceremonial functions, cavalry military training of horse and rider takes place throughout the year. The public is always welcome to visit during regular drill hours or special events.

This was an opportunity to photograph something other than flowers, rocks, and buildings. I need the challenge of living, breathing specimens! I am wondering why these girls couldn't bear to watch when they jumped, though.

I noticed she didn't turn her gaze:

Skywatch Friday

Wordless Wednesday: The Bee's Knees

My World Tuesday: Nighty-Night, Woodbury

I was out walking around the green in Woodbury, Connecticut, and experimenting with nighttime exposures and coming up with all kinds of grainy stuff a few weeks ago. The first two capture the gazebo, which is in terrible condition. The third is the Canfield Corners Pharmacy, and the fourth is a beaten-up and swollen old baseball left in the grass.

These shots make me think of how the world looks after a dose of NyQuil. Oh well! Sleep tight my friends.

My World Tuesday

Today's Flowers: Where the Wild Things are in New Haven

We went for a walk along a bike path that follows the railroad line to the harbor after photographing some graffiti in New Haven. All of these flowers colored the way and took us from hardcore urban grime to the freedom of the sea.

Today's Flowers

One Single Impression: Fragrance

,

In summertime dampness like a thief

Finds its way into the pores of old wood

And takes the past

To make a gift of it

To the present

This is not a noble gesture

But a thing that happens.

For me it is a happy accident.

It takes from the ruins of my inheritance

The fragrance of wood fires and coal

The distant scent of Christmas--

Wrapping paper and turkey grease

Pumpkin pies and apple--

My grandmother's ruby red lipstick,

The press of her kiss on my cheek

That said

I am glad you are here now.

The press of her kiss on my cheek

That said

I love you, child.

In summertime dampness like a thief

Takes from the ruins of my inheritance

The boxwood incense of nights that

Seem never to end

But are gone in the blink of an eye

I breathe in the bounty

Of summertime dampness

Sit with my grandfather over breakfast

One more time

And wonder when

My grandmother will awake

And join us.

I never quite know what to say.

We are quiet together.

I breathe.

I dream.

I blink

And it's over.

One Single Impression

Blog Your Blessings: Yankee Baseball

I had the opportunity Monday night to catch some Yankee baseball with my three favorite people--daughter Adella and nephews Alex and Adam. With their fathers, we took the train into New York and took in the scenery along the way. The train was full of similarly relaxed and happy people bent on the same purpose and similarly dressed in their blue-and-white team-related regalia; the journey felt like a gigantic school field trip.

The kids thought it was cool and neat and awesome when trains flew by in the opposite direction, when the elevated train roared over their heads, when our conductor said, though he was a Red Sox fan, he would be on the "Yankee train" back to Connecticut. Sure enough, he was, and it was a cool thing to know that we and hundreds upon hundreds of others had gotten on the right train that late at night.

It was an evening full of keeper moments.

Adella, Alex, and Adam were as fascinated by the new ball park as they were by the trains. Adam borrowed my camera to snag shots of Joe DiMaggio's plaque in Monument Park and then to get a few more of Derek Jeter and A-Rod. I love when the kid uses my camera. It seems to me then he is seeing what is memorable and beautiful. He knows what he likes. Lately he has been framing his shots or, if he has had to get them off quickly, realizing how he could have framed them. He's loving his world.

I was especially thrilled that Andy Pettitte was on the hill Monday night. He is pure art. The kids saw I was happy and thought it was funny I could be so happy--and engrossed--and giggled. It's good to be understood.

The new stadium is a beautiful thing, too. There are plenty of restrooms, plenty of places to eat, plenty of leg room wide walkways. No matter where you stand, you can see the field. Genius. The banners paying tribute to the greats that stretched the length of the arched windows along the exterior concourse and MonumentPark with its tributes to the team's legendary players spoke to the fine art of doing something well, even if you're just playing a game.

In a corner of MonumentPark is a memorial to 9/11. Adam asked me why that was there. The joy of the hour shifted gears just then. "Some terrible people did a terrible thing in New York City that caused thousands of people to die and to suffer. This monument honors their memory."

"But why is it here?" Fair point. They weren't Yankees.

"Because the Yankees put it here. This is New York. It happened here. They care, and they want us to remember."

At the heart of our fun and games is a heart. A big heart.

(Some more views of the new stadium and my favorite player are here.)

Blog Your Blessings

Skywatch Friday: Light Dissolves into Mist

I am away for the next week or so, but I will return your visits as soon as possible!

Skywatch Friday

Wordless Wednesday: Who...?

An object d'art that once belonged to my father's mother, this Caribbean lady stands four feet tall carries a basked of fruit on her head and a purse on her arm. She's old. Only dad knows the secret to her beautiful complexion. (Cuprinol? Varnish? Spray Shellac? We'll never know.)

Wordless Wednesday

My World Tuesday: New Haven, Connecticut

There is a legal graffiti wall on Water Street in New Haven, Connecticut, that is tightly maintained by Reo, a very talented young guy from Connecticut. Painting here is by-invitation only, and the standards are high. This is a bright spot in a tough neighborhood near the railroad station and the joys and wonders, shall we say, of the harbor. (Other images of these walls are here.)

These walls are near High School in the Community, where it seems these writers inspire the kids inside to come out and play:

My World Tuesday

Today's Flowers: Summer White

Today's Flowers

One Single Impression: Inner Voice

A child's hand

Reaches toward

The rays of the sun

Not to hold them

But to touch and be touched

By the warm yellow light.

The hand that reaches for the world

Because it is there

For no reason

But to be touched

By curious hands

Stops the hands of time

In a child's heart

Where dwells

The light of the sun

We speak of it

As the soul

It is the inner voice

Whose language is light

Whose lexicon is mystery

Whose syntax is truth

Children speak with that voice

Long before they speak

To anyone

Some never lose the language

Blog Your Blessings: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

"That was the best one yet," my daughter said before the credits started to roll at the end of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince on Wednesday night.

"Yeah? But there wasn't as much action. You really think so?" Me. I don't speak Potterese. For years, I just didn't get it--and it never helped that I only half watched the videos from the comfort of home. In the theatre, I usually benefit from the commentary of my 10-year-old nephew Alex, who remembers exactly everything he reads and defines the terms and summarizes the plot as we go.

This time he sat next to Adella, and every time he filled in the gaps for her she'd say, "I know." Two seats away, I thought, "Yeah, but I don't!"

Except that I did this time. Once I got used to the idea I was not on a fantasy roller-coaster through the lands of Wizards or Muggles, I was in. It's a story about doing the right thing, about putting your own interest aside for the benefit of others, of making sacrifices. Of keeping on. The action takes place inside the characters, and they take us there, even with the special effects.

Talking about Half-Blood Prince with my daughter, she was able to talk about Snape the traitor; Dumbledore the firm but kind taskmaster; Malfoy the confused and cruel coward; Ginny, Harry's love. The death-eaters? Awful bullies.

As the death-eaters pull the pins out of both the Muggles' and the Wizards' worlds, the aged, wise, and benevolent Dumbledore guides the adolescent Harry on the right road. He's got a job to do, and he must do it. The well-being of his world and ours is at stake.

Before embarking on their mission, Dumbledore tells Harry he must stay the course even if he, Dumbledore, should suffer as a result. Even if he, Dumbledore, should suffer in such a way that his own judgment is impaired. In short, you know what you have to do, Harry. You know what is right. So do it. At all costs.

Harry pulls through even if he doesn't exactly vanquish evil this time around. It's a tough ending. Harry's closing lines acknowledge that his challenges are no less, his work is not done. Hermoine reminds him that he can't go it alone; his friends, because they are friends, will be with him.

"Best one ever," the young girl said. It's about doing the right thing.

Blog Your Blessings

Skywatch Friday: Life Beyond Skee Ball

A few weeks ago at Ocean Beach Park in New London, my daughter and her cousins just about owned the arcade. Everyone else was out enjoying the blue skies and sunshine! Looking up from the inside, I found some relief from the weird darkness of the arcade and found myself dreaming about being way out in the water, on a boat....Winning no tickets at all.

Skywatch Friday

Wordless Wednesday: To Improve or Enjoy the Day?

E.B. White said, "I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day."

We took this approach to the problem:

Wordless Wednesday

My World Tuesday: The USS Nautilus Submarine Force Library Museum, Groton, Connecticut

Here is the world's first nuclear-powered submarine, the USS Nautilus, at the Submarine Force Library and Museum in Groton, Connecticut. Walking around this place, I was awed by the audacious minds who thought up these contraptions and the audacious spirits who put them to work in the name of war, peace, and research. Amazing. Click here for a link to a slide show containing shots of the inside of the USS Nautilus.

My World Tuesday

Today's Flowers: Lily on Fire

This lily endured countless storms and wind to blossom at my parents' this week.

Today's Flowers

One Single Impression: Thinking

I am thinking

The flowers

In my parents' garden

Thrive because they are there

Because they watch them

They wait and watch and wonder

If they will thrive

And they try everything

Manure

Miracle-Gro

Manicuring trees

That might get in the way

Of the light.

Watching the light

Questioning the quality

Of the earth

Adding a fence

To protect the young and unguarded

From rabbits and the dog

The flowers thrive

In all this thinking

Bees come

Nobody flinches

Nobody swats away

The miracle workers

There are people

Everywhere

Thinking of ways

To attract the bees

To stay alive

That's what all this is about

Think. Watch.

Flowers thrive.

Bees come.

Think. Watch.

Please.

My parents watch from their

Patio chairs.

Thinking about flowers,

They protect my inheritance

And yours

Even if they

Never spared you

A thought.

One Signle Impression

Blog Your Blessings: Turtles with a Walk-on Role

I was thrilled to pieces this week when I heard about the 78 turtles who stopped air traffic for 1.5 hours at John F. Kennedy airport on Wednesday. Until Wednesday, I would have thought you'd have to be a big noise to have that effect.

But then, maybe 78 2- to 3-pound diamond back terrapins on a mission to keep diamondback terrapins on this earth are a big noise. Here's the Daily News's version of the story:

Dozens of randy turtles crawled onto a JFK airport runway Wednesday, delaying flights for over an hour, authorities said.

Port Authority workers rushed to the shell-covered runway about 8:30 a.m. and scooped up 78 diamondback terrapins that had left the waters of Jamaica Bay scouting a spot to breed, said Port Authority spokesman John Kelly.

Pilots from various airlines shared the news with stuck passengers who had to wait up to 90 minutes for their flights to take off so the turtles could land in a safe place.

"Everybody had a good attitude considering it was turtles going off to hatch more turtles," Kelly said.

The animals were piled onto the back of a Port Authority pickup truck and were moved "back into Jamaica Bay," Kelly said.

Jets hit turtles a few times each year at JFK, usually in the final days of June or earliest days in July, according to the FAA's wildlife strike database. There have been no recent reports of the strikes causing any damage to an airplane.

The website NYC Aviation pointed out:

JFK Airport is almost entirely surrounded by bays, creeks, swamps and undeveloped land, on which all sorts of wildlife live happily despite the rumbling of aircraft at all hours. It is not unusual to see bird watchers standing beside plane spotters in areas such as Broad Channel Island. Other residents include rabbits, snakes, Canada geese, feral cats, and the occasional runaway show dog.

So that's it. We live in a world that actually stepped into turtle time--and survived. I'm happy for the little dudes. Maybe someday they (the airport guys and the turtles) will take their rightful place in the museum.

Blog Your Blessing

Skywatch Friday: Central Park Blues

My sister, daughter, nephews, and I took a break from the American Museum of Natural History to suck in a little fresh air in Central Park. The kids had a grand old time following the paths this way and that and looking for the arches and the other curiosities of the park. The weather was iffy--meaning it is very likely to pour rain if we don't take our raincoats--but I caught a few views before the deluge.

Skywatch Friday

Wordless Wednesday: Greetings from the Dum-Dum and Friends

Wordless Wednesday

My World Tuesday: Fort Trumbull, Connecticut

A birdwatcher at Ocean Beach Park in New London, Connecticut, put us on to Fort Trumbull, just a short hop along the Thames River.

Fort Trumbull is one of 42 forts along the East Coast known as the Third System of Fortifications. This building, constructed from 1839 to 1852, is the third fort on this site. The web site for the fort says it is unique "because of the Egyptian Revival features incorporated in the architectural design." Who knew?

The site commands an incredible view up and down the river and is very, very beautiful. It's hard not to feel safe and sound with that much rock behind you and a few Coast Guard boats moored over your shoulder. Folks were picnicking and reading on the expansive lawns and enjoying the sunshine and breezes of a warm summer afternoon when we stopped by.

My World Tuesday

Today's Flowers: After the Rain...Wet All Over

Last week dad showed me this iris in his garden. It magically appeared with a dozen or so others after the umpteenth deluge of the season. How and when photosynthesis takes place around here, I don't know. But, as dad says, that'll make a believer out of you. It's all possible.

Flowers from Today

One Single Impression: The Stranger

Years ago
I sought the company

Of strangers

I traveled far and light
To listen to strangers,
Then walk away

I liked their stories
Liked listening
Without commitment
Without promises
Without need

One, an old Argentinian
Staying at a youth hostel

In Switzerland,
Tried to sell me a fur coat.

I played with him as he
Tried to play me.

Usted tiene una cara como una cura,
He said,
Drawing out each syllable
As if it were a kiss
I should desire.

I laughed
And let him go on
With his beautiful Spanish
Until I had enough:

No quiero esa cosa.
Gracias.

I laughed.
I knew

He and I played

Differently.

The coat was nothing new.

He stood with his

Merchandise:

Tu eres el flor del diablo.
He marched away

And let me fall

From grace.

Such things happen

Among strangers.

When I saw this week’s prompt, I went straight to my favorite resource, the Etymology Dictionary. When I searched “stranger,” the definition “guest, enemy” came up. So did “host (3),” meaning “body of Christ, consecrated bread.” Naturally, I had to look at the other definitions of host. I found the expected—a “person who receives guests”—and the less obvious “animal or plant having a parasite.” I was struck by the blend of kindness (guest), malice (enemy), mystery (body of Christ), and science (animal or plant with a parasite) in this. The definitions took me way beyond my personal definition of stranger as someone I don’t know.

So I struggled with this one until I decided to stick with what I knew and sprinkle it with a little kindness, malice, mystery, and science. The story of this poem is biographical. This was a moment in my life in the late 1980s when my favorite form of adventure was talking to strangers. I had the best of times.

Shortly after losing the attention of this strange Argentinian, I fell into conversation with a recently college graduated Californian boy whose goal in life was to start a fast food franchise that would sell healthy junk. His name was Stewart. He made me laugh, too.

One Single Impression

Our Day

The other day I was at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City with my sister, daughter, and nephews. In that magnificent warehouse of world culture and natural phenomena, we were surrounded by every make and model of humanity, and everybody was photographing everything because it was all so interesting--whether it was their thing or someone else's. (And most of us probably saw and loved Night at the Museum, the premise of which is your story is what you make it.) The entire world under one roof. It's amazing. It's beautiful. It's possible. It's worth fighting for. We call it home. Happy Independence Day.

Blog Your Blessings: "What Does Hallowed Mean, Again?"

On Tuesday, I brought my daughter and nephews to the National Submarine Memorial in Groton, Connecticut, before we made our way to Fort Trumbull and Ocean Beach Park for an afternoon of sunshine and the sea. (I was retracing the footsteps of a well-spent Saturday.)

I wondered before we got there how they'd respond to a bunch of granite slabs with names of men and submarines engraved on them. What is it to a young child to know that a great-great uncle's name was among the 3,617 on that wall, and so was the name of his submarine, which the Japanese had sunk after 8 patrols in the Pacific? Global warfare, duty, bravery, honor, adventure, death--what do these concepts mean to kids who have walked this earth for a decade or less?

I grew up hearing the stories from my grandmother, and I have retold them on this blog many times. Loving my grandmother and her siblings whom I knew as much as I did, I can't help wondering about the great-uncle I never would meet and hearing his stories.

As the kids walked around and studied the conning tower, the torpedo, the plaques, and the names that comprise this memorial, I told them what I knew of Laurence Isbell's story. They sought their uncle's name, found it, and stood by it. They attempted to count the names of the other men. They read the names of the boats in search of his, the Herring.

"Hey. They all say 'no survivors'--but that one says there were 3 pows What's a pow, and why were there no survivors?"

That came from Adam, who will begin second grade in the fall. He read all he could, and he was the first to find the Herring.

With a little bit of help from his brother and cousin, he also did us the honor of reading the words of Fleet Admiral Chester Nimitz: "We shall never forget that it was our submarines that held the line against the enemy while our fleets replaced losses and repaired wounds."

Together, the three kids worked on reading the words, "walk softly, walk softly stranger, you stand on hallowed ground," inscribed on the Wall of Honor.

They were into it; it was a touching sight--so much so that the landscapers trimming the grass watched them and smiled until they were finished and then apologized for making so much noise

Adam touched my heart, though. He checked out the torpedo hatches with his little hands, speculated on the purposes of the various parts of the conning tower, and wanted more than anything to take a brochure to read in the car. He was everywhere at once and on it.

As we pulled away from the memorial and headed for the beach, "What does hallowed mean, again?" came to me from the back seat.

"Very special," I said. "Very, very special."

Blog Your Blessings

Skywatch Friday: Ocean Beach Park, New London, Connecticut

Skywatch Friday