Janet

Overheard Conversations...#1

For some reason over the years there are some Overheard Conversations that are still stuck in my head. These are conversations, or snippets of conversations, that I happen to have been around when they occured. I usually haven't known the people involved in these exchanges, but they've stayed with me...lingering in my head for some reason or other. Are they just unique characters in the unfolding novel of my life? Are they memorable "life lessons" that stick there until I realize that it's time for me to call upon them for a particular moment and reason? Is it just life, and I'm just here as one of the Recording Secretaries?

I don't really know, but I'll jot some down from time to time.

EARLY MORNING  DINER

I wasn't even sure what small town I was in. Somewhere in the backroads between Worcester and Western Mass.

I'd been driving for a couple of hours already in a steady heavy downpour of morning rain. The ratty, old windshield wipers of my '65 Volvo jerked hesitantly back and forth and left bleary streaks at my eye level. It wasn't even 7 AM and I'd already developed an eye-straining headache because of this.

Barely making out a little coffee shop ahead through the blurry windshield, I decided to stop in to give my eyes a break, have some coffee, and maybe even figure out directions to where I was headed.

I was in search of an old woolen mill that I'd learned of that produced recycled wool. Apparently it still made bolts and bolts of this great fabric that I was using to sew coats and hats. "Wool -- warm when wet," I thought, as I ran from the car, and shook the heavy wet rain from my bulky, woolen sweater.

As I entered the diner, I peeled off the wet sweater and around me felt the normal buzz of an early morning rural coffeeshop. Farmers and mill workers sat at the counter smoking their Marlboros and sipping their mugs of coffee at a leisurely pace. The warm smell of coffee mingled with the cigarette smoke that hung in the air along with the sweet aroma of maple syrup. Butter soaked hash brown potatoes crisped up next to strips of bacon that sizzled alongside eggs and pancakes on the griddle. The place was warm and inviting and just had a feel of, "Come on in and join us."

The counter waitress (the only waitress), gracefully moved along pouring coffees with one hand, deftly dropping off creamers with her other and chatting with everyone at the same time. The old timers at the counter (and they were all men), just barely looked up to acknowledge me enter the room. They carried on with their general chit-chat in low tones that barely raised above the Country Music playing faintly in the background.

"Have a seat wherever you'd like, darlin. I'll be right with you."

(I love it when a waitress who doesn't know you from Adam, calls you "Darlin" ... complete with dropping the "g" from the end of the word!)

Settling in a booth, I hung my wet sweater over the back of it while listening in to the old guys chatter about the wet weather we were having, including yesterday's surprise afternoon thunderstorm - "I saw you out on your tractor just before that big crack of lightning. Did you get caught out there in that? Phew, now that was some lightning!"

The waitress brought over my coffee and with a warm smile said, "Now this should take that wet chill out of your bones."

Our eyes met and smiled warmly together as I nodded and thanked her.

The old timers' conversations continued on...more about the weather; one asking how some family in town was doing since a fire destroyed their house last month; and some reminiscing about how a couple of these old timers were quite the pranksters in town some 50-plus years back. The waitress stood behind the counter joining in their joking and chatter, and occasionally they'd all break into laughter about something or other that one of them said. This was the comfortable banter of a group of people who had known each other for years and years. Their life stories complete with all the goading and prodding of people who knew each other well, since they were kids even. Their lives were all woven and shared together and told and retold over time. All their life stories of happiness and sadness complete with silly and important opinions and ideas; so many family births and family deaths had been shared in this little diner over so much time.

The door rattled opened again and only the waitress looked up. I saw a certain look flicker across her face. The look was something different than I'd seen from her so far, so I too, turned to the new arrival. To me it was just another old timer who looked much like the others. Looking to be about 70 years old, he wore a similar uniform as the rest - work boots caked with soil; well worn green Dickie pants; suspenders over tired, plaid flannel shirts; and a red and black-checked hunting cap with the earflaps tied up on top.

Subtly I glanced back to the waitress who'd, I'd noticed, grabbed a coffee mug and stood pouring, holding the coffeepot as if in mid-air. She looked up and smiled, though somewhat more guardedly than what I'd felt from her so far that morning.

"Why, Del. What brings you out on this terrible day? Some coffee? "

The others at the counter turned their heads as they looked up and immediately stopped their idle morning chatter. Scanning their upturned faces I sensed that something was certainly in the air.

Del spoke, though I couldn't hear what he said. One of the regulars moved over one stool and Del slipped in to the newly opened spot.

Everyone, quite politely, offered their good mornings to the new arrival, but did not go back to any of their earlier banter.

There was an awkward silence that settled upon the place. Suddenly, all I could hear was the sound of sizzling bacon, the loud tick of the yellow-faced 50's coffeecup clock, and the Country Music in the background which got uncomfortably louder. "He done gone and left, And he's never comin' back agin."

Glancing toward the waitress, I caught her eye and furrowed my brow slightly as if asking, "What's going on here?"

Acknowledging my look, she cautiously raised one eyebrow and her mouth twitched ever so slightly. I knew she was communicating with me, although I still had no idea what was going on. She kept her attention on Del and the man next to him and they slowly started to talk in low tones together.

After some time, she arrived with my breakfast order. Our eyes met again and she just softly mouthed the word, "Interesting."

Well, that's all I needed to sit around and watch this story unfold!

Straining to hear anything I could, I crunched on a crispy piece of bacon, so I quickly put it down and went for the softer, quieter scrambled eggs. Trying to be unobtrusive, I occasionally looked over and tilted my ear toward Del as he spoke quietly with the man on his right. Although I couldn't hear anything, I could see some of their exchange.

As I watched them more closely I realized that they had somewhat similar features. They were both built alike - broad backs and shoulders; noses that started high in their foreheads then splayed widely into the deeply weathered lines in their faces. They each had large leathery hands -- strong hands that knew hard work and dwarfed the ceramic coffee mugs that they held. When they turned sideways to speak with each other I noticed that they even seemed to have similar facial gestures as they nodded and spoke together.

Brothers, I guessed.

I glanced up at the waitress again and noticed that she was observing them as closely as I.

As if on cue, she spoke up. "Haven't seen you in a long time, Del. How've you been?"

Del nodded politely, though somewhat awkwardly to her, and then, as if the bubble had burst, he reached into his pocket for some change for the coffee and backed off his stool to get up to leave.

Realizing that he was not sticking around, the waitress tried one last time, "We don't see you in here enough, Del. Now don't be a stranger."

At that, Del gave his head and chin a slight lift up toward her and his eyes quickly scanned the other men at the counter. He didn't say anything as he headed out the door.

Shortly thereafter the other man stood up.

"What's up, Bart? It's been a long time since your brother Del has been here. How long's it been?"

Our waitress was saying everything all the other regular guys were wondering.

Bart stood up, reached into his pocket to pay and said nothing.

A girl after my own heart, she couldn't resist gently probing further.

"You and he haven't talked with each other for years now, have you? How long's it been since you've spoken with Del?"

The regulars sat quietly. The room was laden with an unspoken heaviness from all the stories that had been shared in that diner over the years. Or, maybe it was a certain quiet respect that these people shared for each other, as each one of them at some time or other had opened up right there in that very same room amidst the smell of coffee, cigarettes and bacon and eggs, to the backdrop of Country Music and the steady ticking of the coffeecup clock that hung over the cook's delivery window. Lifes' ups and downs shared with those they trusted the most.

Bart quietly answered, "Oh, I dunno. Maybe about 40 years."

Brothers in the same town...hadn't talked in forty years?!

Our waitress persisted, aghast, but there was a warmth in her tone. "Forty years?! That's a long time! Why'd he come by today, Bart?"

Bart mumbled something as he offered forth some money for his morning tab.

"What's that you say?"

We all turned our heads toward Bart as he headed toward the door. Somehow I now felt a part of this group of people and their early morning drama.

"Says he's sick," said Bart.

"Dying sick."

A blanket of silence and sadness fell over the diner as Bart finished these last words and left.

For some reason the waitress came directly over to me (I was the only other woman in the place), and her animated eyes glistened with tears as she felt the need to explain to me, "Those two brothers haven't spoken to each other in over forty years! We've never known why they stopped talking with each other."

She looked out the window at Bart as she sighed heavily, "And now this. It's so sad."

Sleeves pulled up to her elbows on the brown cardigan sweater she wore over her waitress uniform, she crossed her arms in front of her and quietly shook her head, eyes still welled up with tears. I offered her my napkin and she wiped her eyes as she watched Bart get into his pickup truck and drive away into the grey, rainy day.

June 19

Today's my mother's 84th birthday.

She was born in 1923 in Colorado...and, as many of our folks did, lived a tough life of poverty in The Depression, including some rough financial and family times from when she was quite young.

My Mom met my Dad at one of those WWII dances for service men in Denver, Co in 1943 and, after some creative and interesting correspondence, they married within a year...though, admittedly, still sort of unknown strangers to each other.

Jim and Phyl were married for 62 long and good years. They worked well together as a team of parents to four children, as well as Co-Directors of a day camp business that they ran together for over 38 years. Their lives were many things, both separately and together over the years...though many of us fondly remember them in that role of Summer Camp Directors.

I remember lots of family smiles and laughter over the years.

My father just died this past December...so far, it seems, Mom's doing okay.

Happy Birthday, Mom.

Yesterday...Today

Yesterday when I sat down to write I really didn't intend to write about my long forgotten HS Dream Journal. When I read both Larane and Elizabeth's comments about being a bit apprehensive about diving into blogging, I thought back to how my interest in writing developed over the years.

PC - or, pre-computer days, I  filled spiral ringed notebooks with thoughts, story attempts, poetry, and just plain old notes to my self. But, to go back before even that time period, I thought of how one or two writers just really grabbed my ear at that stage in my life. One, in particular was Annie Dillard. I fell in love with her writing and her nature studies as she lived and wrote about her life in a little cabin in a woodsy/farm area of Pennsylvania. At that same time period in my life, I was living my own "Pilgrim At Tinker Creek" while working on a horse farm in Pennsylvania, then later caretaking a professor's cabin out in the hills outside of Amherst, MA.

As I chopped wood and boiled down maple sap in upstate NY another winter, I read more of Dillard's work. I have to say, none of her other work hit me so close to home as "Pilgrim" did, but I always followed up on her latest work (which I understand from this Sunday's NY Times, she's got a new novel out that I'll have to check it out).

Another strong voice in my ear in my twenties and then into my thirties, was Hal Borland. Over many years he wrote and published several books as well as nature editorials for the New York Times and "The Berkshire Eagle", in Pittsfield, MA. Though he grew up out West, he and his wife settled on an old farm in the Connecticut Berkshires where he recorded his views of life and the rhythms of the natural world around him. One of my favorites is, "Twelve Moons of the Year." In it he has an entry for every day of the year. Each piece is only between three to five short paragraphs, but within those short lines Borland conveys scientific information, his life's views and philosophies, as well as some humorous anecdotes that give you a smile at his full perspective. I realized after reading him for a short while that he also was the author of a favorite childhood book of mine, "When the Legends Die."

When I sat down to write yesterday, it was my recollection of Borland's work with an entry for every day of the year that made me think that I was going to write something about that. Favorite authors of mine and their influences on my writing over the years. How Hal Borland can look at a small flower of "Butter and Eggs" and write 5 paragraphs about it! It made me start to observe the natural world more closely and try to remember some of the details that would help convey the story of what I was watching. I remember seeing a golden ring around a frog's eye and wanting to write about it so people would know there was such a beautiful thing to see in an otherwise slimey frog. Another day, I observed some strange red movement on the backside of a leaf and, only when I took a closer look with my magnifying glass, did I realize that I was watching a platoon of red, velvety spider-like creatures marching across the bottom of the leaf. Stuff you just don't see everyday...but, it's always happening, whether we're watching or not.

I guess in my piece yesterday, I forgot my original point and instead I went even further back into my own writing history and remembered my early attempts at doing a "Scientific Study" with my own daily writings in my Dream Journal!

That said, I think I can go even further back to living at that deadend road in very small town Marshfield (before all those "summer people" descended upon us!), and remember getting letters from my mother's mother in Colorado. She wrote short little descriptions, stories actually, of a different world, different people and their day-to-day activities from out West (putting up hay, cows getting loose, rain storms coming over from the mountains every summer afternoon, Colorado cousins of mine who visited her farm, cactus on the plains, and on and on...a whole different world than I knew). I'd look over my mother's shoulder as she wrote letters in return and learned of the stories from our life that were important for my mother to convey to her family back West. "The older girls, Joey and MJ, pretend they are teachers and are trying to teach Janet and Mike the Alphabet. They have a small chalkboard and paper and pencils that they use. Janet is a good little student and likes to play along, but Mike seems to have other ideas. He convinced Janet to go down to the frog pond and see if they could catch anything. They both just came back as muddy and wet as the dog, who is shaking more mud all over them on the porch right now...yet, they have no frogs to show for their "escape" from their sisters' schooling! Looks like a bath night tonight."

These are the stories that made me want to write my stories as life has gone on.

So, I guess all this meandering to say, as Fitz says, write what you know...write whatever comes to you...write for the enjoyment of getting some of your ideas down...and, who knows, like me, you'll probably write about things you don't even know you're going to write about!

Enjoy!

The Astronaut at the Door

One summer years ago when I was in High School, I decided to keep a notebook by my bedside so that I could write down my dreams when I awoke every morning.

Don't ask me where I got this idea, I remember being fascinated with the dreams that descend upon us or arise from us as we sleep and wondered where they came from; how they took over our sleeptime experience; and, if I could record them, what would I learn about them? I think that I felt I wanted to approach this as a science study on dreams (very heady high school stuff!)

My first efforts were somewhat limited. As I woke up I remembered to remember my dreams, so I would lay there and reimmerse myself into wherever I'd just been. Most of my early entries were just that, whatever was floating around in my head as I was just waking.

Eventually, June turned to July, and July to August, and I grew more practiced with this little exercise. It became almost like writing backwards... I would record the dream that I woke up to, but then as I wrote I began to realize how before that dream had happened, another dream actually "led" into it. As the summer was coming to an end, I had records of three, four, five dreams a night, including how one led into the next. My entry would always start with the last dream from just before I woke up, and go backwards to however many earlier dreams I could remember. This was quite fascinating to me at sixteen years old. I was eager to go to bed at night and see where my night time "shows" would take me!

I started to think that I might have the makings of a very important entry to some very important Scientific Journal!

The few times that I brought up this little writing activity to my mother she just shook her head almost in disgust as if it were just a silly waste of time. What did she know? I was recording some very interesting "Science" that I'd never heard anyone had ever done. Who knows, I thought, maybe I was onto something....some of the secrets of the Universe, if nothing else! Or, so I thought.

Then something happened that left me a little shaken in my grandiose theories of my "work."

I remember part of one series of dreams. At one point, in my dream, I went to answer the door and there before me stood an astronaut in full astronaut gear, complete with the big bubble helmet that they wore at the time. It was night time and the outside light was dim. I was curious why an astronaut was at our door and even asked him what he wanted. He replied, "You'll know."

At the time of course, I had no idea what that meant and I wrote that in my Dream Journal.

I don't recall now any more specifics, or dreams that led up to that one, but a week or so later when I was not sleeping, there was an early evening knock at our door and I went to answer it. I was quite startled to see the "Astronaut" from my dream of a week earlier standing in the dim porch light. So much so that I quickly panicked thinking that this dream recording that I'd gotten so into that summer was maybe a little too close for comfort and questioned myself that maybe I needed back off this "dream world" stuff some.

As I stood there quickly processing all of this, the "Astronaut" took his helmet off and I realized that before me stood my handsome cousin from out West, who'd set off from Colorado a week earlier (without telling anyone, I might add), to come visit us in Massachusetts.

That shook me out of my dream world worries, but startled me to realize how much that dream of mine from a week earlier had just "replayed" in my real world life!

School started shortly after that, I left my dream studies and journaling for school studies and field hockey games and other real life activities.

In September sometime, searching for my notebook, my mother told me that she had thrown it out. In her motherly wisdom she knew that this "hokey so-called science study" of Janet's was just that...hokey and a bunch of bunk! At that point, I was a bit removed from it and didn't really get mad at her though I did think it was a little disturbing that she felt she could take something of mine that was somewhat personal and just trash it without telling me. Who knows what great works in science I could have unveiled!

I wish I could see that dream journal now. I'd be interested after all these years, what it read like and what, besides astronauts at our door, I was dreaming of at 16-years old, and if any of my other dreams might have come "true"...well, sort of true.

Ah well, gone are the actual records of the dreams of my youth...and for some reason I've never started up another Dream Journal over the years.

Actually, I can hardly remember what, or if, I was dreaming when I first wake up these days, but, I bet with some practice I can get back to uncovering some great studies in the dream science world. Or, at least some good stories to write about.

The Park

What a great corner we live on!

And, better still, what a great park we live next to.

This time of year it is just alive with activity. Three to four Little League baseball games going on at one time...full of cheers and Coach's instructions..."Hold up!Hold up!Hold up!"  " Throw it Home!" "Nice hit, Jared!";  Sundays bring on the all-day soccer matches - kids leagues and adult leagues... even in the rain; the Asian basketball teams...where they come from, I don't really know...but, I'm half expecting Yao Ming to show up and give a little blocking out under-the-boards workshop to the boys!

There's tennis players, dog walkers, the swings and climbing towers, kites and bubbles,

old people, young people...it's busy, busy, busy with activity and happiness.

Last night around dusk we watched three barefooted teenage boys batting and shagging some tennis balls on the baseball field. After about an hour of this they ended up in a tumble wrestling together - sometimes two on one, sometimes one on one...laughing and rolling around the whole time. Just some good fun with the buddies!

Out of nowhere one night when the light was fading quickly and the park had quieted down from the day's busy-ness, we heard the melancholic notes of a bagpipe floating in the air from the other end of the field. We stepped into our back yard and were treated to a half hour of bagpipe playing, ending with a mesmerizing version of "Amazing Grace" that hauntingly filled the darkness that had descended upon us. I don't know who that person was, they've never returned, but that was quite nice.

Early Sunday mornings on the basketball court in the summer there often is a woman who practices some sort of Tai Chi, but with a long baton/stick thing. She looks quite graceful as she goes through her positions/moves, stretching and lunging while twirling the stick around and about her. Later in the day an older Chinese couple come to the same spot and do their Tai Chi movements. They are each so fluid and smooth with their movements, it belies their elderly age.

My favorite is to see a little 3-year old kid jump out of the family car and just run to the gateway opening to the park. Most of these kids just keep running with the biggest smile on their faces, some of them shouting for glee, "The Park!"  as they head for the jungle gym, the swings, the climbing areas...fun, fun, fun!

Those smiles just convey such pure joy....the park is a beautiful thing!

One of Seventy

Today is the first day of summer vacation for me....ahhhhh!

I, too, love teaching, but I think even more, I love summer vacation! My life can become more than just answering to that o-dark-thirty alarm clock for 180 days. I can open myself up to the many, many things in life that I just can't make time for during the school year...and still get a paycheck at the end of every two weeks! Gotta love it!

(lots of exclamation points here!!!!!!)

I started today with counting the days on the calendar and was amazed with the number that I came up with until we return to school at the end of August.

I then proceeded to start a list, as I do every summer, of the all and everythings that I'd like to do/accomplish/start/try/etc. And, as always, oh what a list it is! It goes on and on. I have even come up with some categories - everyday to-do stuff; before June is over stuff; immediate stuff; long range stuff; things I have to do stuff; and things I want to do...now, I gotta say - that one alone, goes on and on!

THE  LAWN

One of the things on the on the "immediate" side of the list is our lawn. For those of you who've driven by lately you'll know that it has yet to be mowed this spring. And, for those who haven't seen it, it's gotten to about a foot tall...and the assortment of vegetation ranges from low-lying, but lengthy and sprawling crabgrass, to flowering white clover, to a stringy, tall yellow variety of Indian Paintbrush (I think that's what it is), a beautiful patch of green starry moss, and assorted other grass types that I don't really know by name. Suffice to say, ours is not a well-groomed Kentucky Bluegrass lawn that might grace the cover of "House and Lawn Beautiful!"

Our lawn mower of the past few years finally up and died last September. Well, that's my version. Ace will tell you that I kind of beat it up by running it over roots and rocks and just treating it rather mercilessly. Which is true. For some reason I treat my lawnmowers like workhorses and they better stand up to the work, even if it means being pushed under bushes into unknown territory and then hitting rocks and plowing over stumps! (and, yes, they are my lawnmowers, I've bought them and been the main one to use them over the years!)

A few weeks back I bought a push mower to replace our last model. You know the kind -- no gas engine, just rotary blades spinning around and chopping up the grass as you pass over it.

Oh, if it were so easy!

Ace tried it out and claimed it just wasn't right for our assortment of vegetation, that it just smashed it all down and didn't cut enough to make it worth the effort. He suggested that I return it and was convincing me that we needed to get another gas machine, much to my dismay.

I didn't even have a chance to try out the push mower until today (hereafter known by me as "one of seventy"). I was sort of surprised when, after pushing it around for just fifteen minutes, I did see that I could put a dent in the side yard that's next to the driveway. Well, sort of. There were still several scraggly pieces, but on the whole I felt satisfied with the performance of the push mower. It took me the next four long but overall satisfying hours to complete the task. I spent a physically active but tiring day taking care of the yard with the combination of the new push mower and my old manual, arm-swinging weed-whacker.

It was a long day. But I was in the sun and getting lots of exercise (two of the things on my "Summer To-Do" list!), and the lawn was getting done. Being on the busy corner that we are, it became quite the little "show of the day" for all the Conant/Laws Brook shortcutters. Old people slowed down and lingered to watch and smiled and nodded appreciatively as if remembering the day when they cut their lawns with an old push mower. Landscrapers, who I could hear all around the neighborhood with their power mowers and blowers and weed whackers, smiled but shook their heads as if I was batty and wanted to let me know that they could do our lawn in a half hour (for $50 a week, thank you!). The local Physical Trainer turned our corner heading to the gym for his next one-on-one $100/hour training session and hardly gave me a glance. One guy slowed down while I was swinging my weed whacker and shouted out, "Hey, that's good practice for your golf game!" I pretended that I was teeing off, did a perfect swing and raised my hand as if a visor over my eyes in true golfing fashion to see how the ball was heading. A true golfer, he shouted out with some authority, "Hey, keep your head down!"

The day was not only productive, but entertaining!

While pushing and mowing away, some writing topics crossed my mind. I thought of how the lawn looked like a bad self-inflicted haircut at certain times of the day and that reminded me of a good little story that I want to include in a kids' story that I'm working on. I learned about our lawn in a different way...different vegetation takes different techniques to bring it down to "lawn appropriate levels." I learned how to maximize my efforts with the push mower. I got a physical work out for myself. I even had an entreprenurial thought, "Hey, I'll get some more push mowers and advertise myself as a personal trainer and get my clients to mow my lawn as part of their training...and, better yet, I'll show that personal trainer guy who drives by and get the last laugh...HA!"

And so it was, my first day of summer vacation.

I'm loving it...!

And, now, after a hard days work, gotta deal with these blisters that have appeared on my hands ...

My lawn after today's efforts...hehehe!

:  )