Thursday, August 25, 2016

"Sally's Birthday Present," Part 2

Yesterday we left our heroine lamenting the fact that coming west wasn't worth it.  We pick up the story from there.

Ever since Sally could remember she had had present and parties.  Sally got the water and gave it to her mother.  She went to the barn and played with Patches the family cat.  Sally always loved Patches and told Patches all of her troubles.  This time she cried and said "Oh!  I don't think I will get anything."  Sally wept in Patches long hair.

"A penny for your thoughts."

TO BE CONTINUED.

Feel free to ask yourself if this is Patches the family cat talking?  Or is someone else there in the barn with Sally?

Feel free to also ask yourself if people "way back in the years of 1848" used phrases like "a penny for your thoughts."


Wednesday, August 24, 2016

A Story is Born: the Early Years!

I've been helping TRQ go through old boxes, and we found one with a bunch of my old stuff.  I even found a story written "by Ann Edwards, age 9."

I will publish in installments over the next few days.  It's called "Sally's Birthday Present," and I have preserved it in its original form except for the paragraphing part.

Way back in the years of 1848 there was a pioneer girl named Sally Peterson.  

"Tomorrow is my birthday!  Tomorrow is my birthday!"  Sally cried jumping up and down with delight.  

Mrs. Peterson looked out of the small cabin at her daughter.  Mrs. Peterson sighed knowing that Sally wasn't going to get anything for her birthday, for these were hard times.  

"Sally," said Sally's mother in a trembling voice.  "Come here.  I've got to talk to you.  You know how hard your Father works to get the few things we have.  We're scraping the bottom of our corn barrel all ready.  The corn and wheat has been flooded. [editor's note--I can't read my handwriting here, but it's probably something really touching.] We just won't be able to afford any presents or cake with icing.  Do you understand Honey?"

"Yes Mommy."

"Oh Sally by the way would you go get some water?"

"Yes mam."

Sally walked out of the door with the hedges creeping.  [I think I meant to say "hinges creaking" but who knows what descriptive details linger in the minds of fourth-grade creative writers?]  When the door banged, Sally felt a hollow feeling creep over her.  With salty tears rolling down her cheek she said, "Oh dear!  I just don't think coming west was worth it!"

TO BE CONTINUED!

(Favorite detail:  Sally's family is already scraping the bottom of the corn barrel.)
(Favorite sentence:  "Oh dear!  I just don't think coming west was worth it!_

Sunday, August 21, 2016

Yesterday in Provo

Yesterday was bittersweet.

I went to the graveside service for my friend Becky's mother, Sheila, who died last week--thirty years after the debilitating stroke that changed her life.  She was buried in East Lawn Memorial Hills--overlooking the neighborhood where Becky and I first met as ten year-olds.

My friends and I used to go sledding in the winter, not far from the spot where Sheila is buried beneath a grove of scrub oak.  And while I was there, surrounded by people from my past, girlhood Anns swirled up to greet me.  

The Ann who spent a year in bed in the red brick house next to the red brick church.  

The Ann who climbed the foothills covered with summer-burnt grasses.  

The Ann who rode her bike from Sears down 4380 North as fast as wind.  

The Ann who greeted her grandparents with a shout whenever they pulled up the driveway in their VW bus.

The Ann who used to pretend (along with neighbors Wendy and Diana) that she was an orphan pursued by an evil aunt named Georgia.

All those Anns were present yesterday as Sheila's friends and family members stood together and told her goodbye.


Friday, August 19, 2016

Bean's announcement

Bean, as you may recall, is my six-year-old granddaughter.

We had a slumber party at my house a few weeks ago and before she went to bed, I told her to pick out some books for Ken Cannon to read to her.  When she pulled out a princess book she turned up her nose and said she didn't like princesses now.

So, this is a little girl who wanted to be in reincarnated as the movie Frozen.  This is a little girl who hugged every princess she met the first time she went to Disneyland.  This is a little girl who practically invented princesses.

And now she doesn't like them anymore.  This is probably a good thing.  We have lots of books in both the parenting and gender sections at the store decrying the whole culture of little girl princesses.

But still.  I'm going to miss her singing like Ariel in the next room.

Wednesday, August 17, 2016

Video did not kill the radio star

I know this, because I still listen to the radio.  At home.  In the car.  I'm an old person that way.

But here's something I haven't done in forever--listen to a baseball game on the radio.  Which I did last night.  I'd meant to go to the Bees game, but gah.  I was tired.  And Geoff, who's home visiting from DC didn't feel like it anyway, so I found the game on my AM dial and filled the house with the noise of the crowd and Steve Klauke doing the play by play.

I didn't listen closely but I liked the way it felt like summer in my bedroom.  And suddenly I remembered nights growing up when we would hear Vin Scully calling a game all the way from L.A., Baby, with the same stars shining over the mountains and the beach.  It made me feel . . . connected

Interesting, isn't it, the things that become the stuff of happy memories.

Thursday, August 11, 2016

So tiny (and also attachment issues)

This morning I took a tiny walk with my neighbor Johanna who wanted to show me a tiny hummingbirds' nest built on top of a tiny wind chime.  The nest, of course, was filled with a tiny baby.  All of which seems like a tiny miracle to me.

Or even a big one.

It's no secret that I struggle with bouts of depression--some of them fairly severe--so I keep looking for tools to put in my toolbox (ugh!  therapist-speak!) so when an episode hits, I can find ways to lessen the pain.  Which is why I've been reading about mindfulness which goes down the Buddhist road which places a lot of value on letting go of attachments because attachments are the cause of pain in this world.

Or at least that's how I'm reading that concept.

But as I walked away from the tiny hummingbirds' nest, I thought bring on the pain.  I want to feel the beauty of that nest in my heart and love it still, knowing full well that it will be gone by autumn.


Monday, August 8, 2016

To floss or not to floss

I set out my opinion in this column.

Now please excuse me while I go floss.  Or not.