A Look Is All It Takes - Trust

It is a good thing that I wasn’t one of those kids that was embarrassed by my parents singing in random public places, at home, on stages, and pretty much everywhere between. I would have lived in a constant state of mortification otherwise! I learned at a very early age to add my voice instead. Hey – it beats stage fright! My part is alto and I join in with my mom and dad. When we have the opportunity we’ll add more voices to the mix; family joining the chorus, making the sound so much richer and stronger. 

Singing together, lots, for lots of years, you learn to “read” each other.  A look can tell someone to switch parts because you feel a sneeze coming on, warn me off from heading flat, or share a moment of sweet relief when something touch and go comes together. For me, being an alto, reaching the high notes can create squeaks that I would really rather not put out for public consumption.  So, some switching goes on and almost always the audience is completely unaware of what is going on. The same way with slowing down the tempo or deciding to sing the chorus one more time, it doesn’t take a word, you just know.

It’s all done with a look, a nod, a flick of the hand, a sway – most of the time it doesn’t require a verbalized thought. What is seen as a comfortable knowledge of the other person, the part they will take, how they hear the music, their strengths and where they will struggle, it all boils down to trust. It is something that takes time to develop, but when it is there, the music can be so sweet and freeing. 

Taking It All With Me

The trip is winding down, and here at about a half-way point between the Black Hills and home in Iowa, it’s time to get some sleep.  Packing up this morning, rarely my favorite thing to do, I was consoling myself that even though I was leaving a beautiful place, I was going to take many things back with me. 

The buffalo herd moves across the grasses, mostly in a slow and loose conglomeration of shaggy creatures.  Babies test out their legs, and discover hopping and running to their great joy.  The mamas look as if they hope the babies will do several more laps to be naptime ready sooner rather than later.  The herd sentries grunt back and forth; passing along directional, pace, and herd behavior instructions.  Rolling in the dust, sturdy buffalo legs stretch in wallowing holes to take dust baths.  Tiny cow birds gather around the buffalo, partners in their environment.  The calves stretch out next to their mommas, soak in the sun, and wake recharged and hungry.  They try to add their own grunts, with baby voices that are much higher than the adults surrounding them.  I will take them with me.

Antelope, elegant creatures of patterned colors, perch high on hills and low in the gullies.  They tend to pretend that human viewers are simply not there, conspicuously ignoring the person within view.  Watching the antelope, quietly munching the grasses and moving along the hill lines, I love their patterned looks and the sounds of their quiet grass clipping.  I will take them with me.

Sylvan Lake, Legion Lake, Stockade Lake, and several other lake spots reflect the pines, snow, and rock formation.  The ducks and geese that make their homes in the waters take turns honking and quacking at each other, flapping around in a merry chase of territorial nesting crankiness.  The air is full of pine smell, clean and sweet.  The water, still frozen in some places, is cold with spring snow melt.  Little fish dart in and out of the cattails.  Tiny birds played as they move in and out of the reeds.  An osprey dipped and dove into the waters.  The trails around the ponds and lakes are each different.  The Sylvan Lake path leads past the waters framed in low rocks to a path sided by tall rock walls.  The pines and birch trees close to the rocks are still encased in thick snows.  Higher up, where the sun is hitting, the snow has melted to form icicles that glow in the sunshine like jewels.  I will take them with me.

Blue birds perch on the fences and bird houses.  Tiny spots of sky blue, they are like little sky streaks that dart around.  The females are toned in browns, like little paintings that reflect the good soils and stones around them, delicate in coloring and well disguised in their environment.  The meadow lark sings the most beautiful song, loudly and joyfully from tree branches, fence posts, and anywhere else they can find.  Yellow, with a swirl of black on their chest, these birds are as beautiful to see as they are to hear.  Magpies, white

and dark blue, dart about as if they are the supermodels and everyone else should pause to watch.  They are beautiful, and I do pause.  A strutting turkey, fluffed up and gliding over pine needle covered ground attempting, all in the attempt to impress a hen was a beautiful sight.  She was even chasing him for a few minutes, so apparently it was working.  The gobble gobble and cluck cluck of the turkey was fun to hear.  The pheasants, hawks, burrowing owls, and noisy crows were all there and all so wonderful to see.  I will take them with me.

I have met wonderful people.  A woman on an adventure who displays warmth and caring in her work, will have a collection of stories that is worthy of writing in a much shared book.  A local small store owner brings Bob the Manager to the store each day to “work” as a greeter.  Bob is a liver colored lab who likes belly rubs and to show off his big blue toy bone.  The Custer Chamber of Commerce awarded Bob as having friendliest customer service; all because his person brought him to work and let those who visit the store enjoy that personality.  Another woman has picked up the pieces of her life and found a passion for photography that has inspired her to make more than a so-so existence, but to enrich the lives of others around her.  I felt as if she was looking to share, as one who cares about an art wants to share it with another.   A gentleman is warmly greeting guests, even as he is a guest here.  I hope that he feels as welcome

in the Custer area as he made us feel.  A retired rancher, working at the Wild Horse Sanctuary, let me see the plains through his eyes.  Grasses, sustainability, the balance cycle of predator and prey, water conservation, and the joy of spring’s arrival from the presence of a burrowing owl were only the frosting on the cupcake.  His love of the horses and caring for them and their preservation was something that could be described more as a passion than a job.  People who have greeted, smiled, welcomed, and been kind – I will take them with me.

Snow falling so gently while enveloped in the heat of the steam and water of a hot tub, watching deer eat their dinner just beyond the pines from the same hot tub, and the sound of migratory ducks and geese as they fly over - they are all cabin memories.  Tucked near an outcropping of rock, the cabin was a quiet landing place at the end of a day.  With a gas stove fire started, the living room was toasty and the perfect place to end a day flipping through pictures.  A kind hearted woman owns the cabins and so wants to share her joy of the cabins with those who stay there.  I will take these with me.

These are just a few of the things I will take home with me.  I packed them all so gently in my luggage and have them with me even now.  They are many more, and those also I will take with me.

To Answer the Question

    Someone asked me a few weeks ago how bloggers came up with blog topics and how they were able to write on a fairly consecutive basis. Well, I cannot answer for any other blogger, especially since I’m having problems still calling myself a blogger. All I can really comment on is my own experience. That consists of little scraps of paper and learning to keep a pen or pencil in my pure. A familiar joke in my house has become, be careful – you may wind up in the blog. And that is so true! A blog for me has been an outlet, a stage for my words that live more than just on my computers screen. I hope they encourage, uplift, teach, make you laugh, and make you think. I give a shout out to Russia, Brazil, India, and other various locations where people have clued in. That is just a really cool thought.

    Blogging started for me as a challenge from a speaker at a Conference not quite a year ago. I enjoy writing and wondered if I could do something like that. I wanted to get back into writing that wasn’t work or school based, and this seemed to be the perfect way. I have found myself with scraps of paper in my pocket ever since. As a topic comes to me, I jot it down and then stick the paper back in my pocket. Then, as I have time, I write. Normally it is in the hour or so before I go to bed. Somehow, pulling out the thoughts over a day is relaxing and I go to bed a bit clearer minded.
   It has been a little more than a month shy of a year of blogging. Thank you for reading – I hope you have enjoyed it as much as I have enjoyed writing down these random thoughts.

Summertime

Summer – the word evokes a flurry of responses in me. I live near an elementary school, and notice that for the children making their way back and forth, they seem to have picked up a new spring in their steps. Summer is freedom; freedom from school and homework, to have time to sleep in or get up way to early and play outside until way too late. Summer time and the living is easy.... the words from George Gershwin float on the too still warm air as I seek out the comfort of shade. Lightning bugs and the sounds of night cricket sonnets fill the air as much as the light from the stars and moon. The sounds of leaves in the wind, they strike me as if they actually are laughing with the pure delight of receiving a cooler breeze than those of us with two feet stuck firmly on the earth. Summer is sun dresses and sandals, sheer silky scarves wrapped around your neck and lawn chairs. Summer is the splash of the garden hose and the smell of fresh sun warmed strawberries. Summer is the bliss of walking into the air conditioning and being able to snuggle under a quilt rather than sweating buckets on top of all sheets while fans are running. Summer is baby birds that don’t fly very well yet, are slightly mottled and now stand next to their momma’s while waiting to be fed rather than waiting in the nest. Summer is the sound of the riverboat horns as they approach each other.

I have a lot of really wonderful summer memories. I have played in sprinklers, mud, and trees. I remember making up plays with neighborhood compatriots who apparently either was willing to share the flare for the story telling or just did what the bossy neighbor girl told them. A white long haired dog named Bo Bo used to stand on our picnic table, and wait for us to come and pet him. He appreciated the attention as one of those good neighborhood dogs. He did not appreciate it when my mother tried to use some flea killer on him. With hurt feelings, he did not come back for a week. I remember summer vacations, especially ones in the back of a big green van. It had a bed in the back and I loved lying on that bed, and having it completely covered with whatever project I was working on at the time. I would let myself roll from side to side as we went around corners and watch other drivers out of the back windows. I remember many summers of band and sweating on the side of a football field. It seemed a great accomplishment to learn a few new steps, a few new notes, which we knew would be needed come fall and competitions. The accomplishment seemed worth the sacrifice of our summer hours, our sweat, blood, and yes – tears. I remember trips to stay with my grandparents. Swimming at the campground with one and all sorts of messy projects with another.
I look at this summer and as it is my first one without either being in school, preparing for school, or completely burned out from school, and I wonder what I should do with myself this summer. There is work of course. But, that is to support life, not life itself. What should I do? Read a few new books? Of course! Three are on order, two Geoffrey of Monmouth books and one biography of Eleanor of Aquitaine. I have considered lying down on the driveway at night while the pavement is still warm, but figure the neighbors would all think I had gone completely buggy. Oh well, I may do that anyway. There are flowers to picked, pictures to be taken, birds to listen to. Trips to plan, friends to visit, and time to enjoy the antics of the dogs. There is my Bible to read, my time in prayer, and Character Camp at church (like a VBS). This summer is unique. It will never come again. I feel that I need to dig down deep and plant something here that is memorable, that will be recalled someday like my grandmother’s snowball bushes. A lasting memory that comes back to life with a fragrance or sight.

The Smell of Books

I love to read. As a little girl, if I didn’t have a book with me at breakfast, I read the cereal box. Admittedly it would easier to just download my books, but there is something about the way they smell, the feel of the pages. Reading, especially in the bathtub and right before I fall asleep, I get to soak in the words of different authors. To Kill a Mockingbird has been stealing my sleep lately, as I become caught up in the world of Maycomb, Alabama and the Finch family. How I love the look into Mayella Ewell and her geraniums, Miss Maudie’s azaleas and lane cakes, even Mr. Arthur Radley who watches his children. Or getting lost in Tolkien’s words as I journey into Rivendell and wish to linger there.

I finished To Kill a Mockinbird yesterday, reliving the tension of the last chapter once again. But, now what to read? There are so many books that I want to read, I don’t even know where to start. Melville, Whitman, Homer, Michner, history, non-fiction, fiction, biography, novel, historical novel, poetry, iambic pentameter, fantasy, translated, multi-cultural, religious…. The list goes on and on!
I need to make a decision, and am just not sure where to even begin. I’m open to suggestions and ideas. Tennyson maybe?