Donna Says...

No Shortcuts

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Mon, 07 Nov 2016 20:31:00 +0000

It’s all about shortcuts.

The election, the news coverage of the candidates, and the candidates themselves. It’s all about taking shortcuts.

News organizations of all kinds decide to toss up a big story to increase their ratings, clicks or newsstand sales without taking the long way around and checking the details, putting it all in context, or giving the historical perspective on the issues. They take a shortcut for the sake of their wallets.

We, the audience, read the news headlines without taking the time to read a story and weigh what it says, weeding out the biases or the illogical conclusions and considering the history of where we’ve come from or the history we want to leave behind for our children.

And let’s look at the candidates themselves.

Hillary takes no shortcuts. She does the research, digging down into the details that determine what makes life better for people who cannot fight for themselves. She allows herself to see the challenges and difficulties faced by the underprivileged and feels empathy for them. She takes on their challenges and works hard to find solutions, whether this work gets headlines or not. This is a way of life for her and always has been.

Donald has always taken shortcuts. It appears he has no understanding of the difficulties faced by others, as demonstrated by the way he repeatedly refuses to pay people who have done work for him, by the way he preys on women, by the way he dodges taxes that are needed to fund programs that help millions of people and then brags about it all. He cares only for himself and his own publicity. He prefers acting on instinct, which means he does not want to do the research and preparation required for a debate, nevermind for the office he seeks. He seems to have no understanding of how much more would be required of him if he occupied the Oval Office.

Some will say Hillary has taken shortcuts by using her own email server or by being less than fully transparent when answering questions from the media. Personally, I’d rather have a president who can admit mistakes and learns from them than one who thinks he’s never done anything wrong.

There are no shortcuts for my family now. My husband has cancer.

We have to take every slow and painful step along this road, celebrate the victories when they come and pick ourselves up and keep going when they don't. Every decision I make, whether it’s regarding his care, household chores or financial responsibilities I ask myself, “If I take this next step, where will we end up?”

As a country, we need to ask ourselves, “If we take this step, where will we end up?”

Consider how you’re voting.

Where does that path lead?

Is it a shortcut or is it a path toward real and lasting solutions?

Christmas Ideals

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Thu, 24 Dec 2015 21:46:00 +0000

It had to be Scotch Pine.

No spindly Spruce or Fir for us with their short needles. We always always got a Scotch Pine.

Long needles filled in the space between the branches so you could hardly see through the middle of the tree to the other side. Perfect for poking your hand when reaching to hang an ornament or crawling up under it to give it a drink of water. Those Scotch Pine needles could last well into Spring as we continued to find strays that had been missed by our rocket-shaped Electrolux canister vacuum cleaner.

After Thanksgiving we saw Christmas trees bundled and lined up in front of the 7-11. Tree lots popped up in vacant spaces along the highway. We might visit two or three places but often found ours at Wolfe Nursery. I breathed deeply, taking in as much of the woodsy scent as I could, running up and down the long aisles looking for one that wasn't too tall or too short or too crooked. Eventually, a winner was declared and carefully tied down in the trunk of our car for the trip to its new home.

Everybody had something to do because getting ready for Christmas was a big job. First, the bench had to be moved from its place at the living room's big picture window and put in the kitchen in front of the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. Then Daddy took down his big saw from the garage wall to take a little off the bottom of the tree so it could take in water and stay moist and green until Christmas was over. Getting the tree centered and fastened tightly into its stand was a group effort. Daddy held the trunk while Mother and Debbie told him which way to tilt it, and David and I crawled underneath to tighten the screws that held it in place.

Next, time to untangle the lights. Big red and green bulbs, some with star-shaped plastic reflectors. Our little blue and white record player sat on the bench in the kitchen playing Firestone Christmas records while we decorated the tree. Ornaments were sorted and hooks were ready and waiting. Icicles went on last. They took a long time if you did them properly, adding one at a time instead of throwing them on by handfuls.

White fluffy stuff that looked like sparkly snow was spread out on top of the piano. The nativity set went there when I was little. Later, I helped Mother fold magazines that were spray painted red, and Daddy drew faces for styrofoam heads and those choir dolls sang faithfully from the piano every year. (I still have them.)

Candles were set in their places throughout the house. At each end of the piano, on the coffee table and in each bathroom. Bayberry, cinnamon, sandalwood and sometimes vanilla or pine. When I was old enough, I got to light them. In the middle of the kitchen table, on either side of a little pink poinsettia Christmas tree, Mother put tall white candles that dripped all different colors. I watched them during supper to see which color would drip down next.

The front door got special attention, too. Daddy even changed the porch light to a spotlight to show it off for the neighborhood. One year we wrapped it all in bright red foil paper and made it look like a giant Christmas present. Another year, he made a big sign that said "Merry Christmas from the Dillards".

At some point in the process someone reached deep into the front closet to pull out a stack of the Christmas Ideals magazines that Aunt Fiesty sent every year and put them on the coffee table. I'd read each one and travel to mythical places where Christmas came with snow and children hung their stockings on real fireplaces and got sleds and puppies and kittens on Christmas morning.

Now, we're ready for Santa. Or the relatives, whichever comes first....

My mother, Marah Dillard, with our Scotch Pine tree, Christmas 1972

A Blue Teddy Bear

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Thu, 07 May 2015 21:27:00 +0000

A few months ago I got a message on Etsy from someone who was looking for a blue teddy bear. Alyssa said she worked for an online retailer that likes to go above and beyond for their customers. She and her team had searched for months trying to find a very special blue teddy bear like the one that had been lost by a little boy with autism. The boy's mother had tried to replace it with something similar but it just wasn't quite the same. They hadn't been able to locate it anywhere and now Alyssa wondered if I could make one like it.

I could tell from the photo she sent that it was very different from the teddy bears I make but I said I wanted to help and I'd be glad to look around and see if I could find another Etsy artist who could make one. I started right away and after finding some similar handmade bears I remembered I'd seen many of the toys my daughters grew up with listed on eBay so I decided to look there. I thought I might at least find a similar one that would tell me what company had made it.

After some searching... there it was. It looked exactly like the bear in the photo. Same blue fur, same floppy look, same pink nose... it was the same bear.

I sent the link to the teddy bear to Alyssa and she was ecstatic! She said, "You have my entire team in awe! We have been searching for at least two months! Thank you for the bottom of my heart! Can I please have your email address I would love to send you and your family some Zappos.com friends and family coupons. Thank you, thank you, thank you, a million times more!!!"

Oh, that online retailer!

What they didn't know was that I'd just begun searching for a job for the first time in decades and had been feeling pretty down about my prospects. It made me feel really good to know that I had made a difference for Alyssa and her team and especially for that little boy.

A few days later I heard from Alyssa again. The blue teddy bear had arrived and it was perfect! They had decided to tell the story of how this had all come together for their customer and since I was a big part of it, they wanted to include me. Would I be interested in allowing someone to come to my home for a video interview?

Well, why not?

So, besides my new friend, Alyssa, I now have a new friend, Sara, who came to my home to ask about what I do and how I ended up finding a very special blue teddy bear for a very special boy.

I guess Zappos.com knows what I know from selling on Etsy. It's not just Customer Service. It's a relationship.

Sheeba

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Tue, 10 Mar 2015 21:01:00 +0000

I first met Sheeba when I stopped by the office at the SPCA of Anne Arundel County. Sheeba was Rita Melvin’s office cat for the day and she greeted me with joyous meows at the safety gate in the door. As I stepped back to let Rita move the gate, Sheeba protested loudly and took a flying leap up to my shoulder as if to say, “Oh, no! You’re not leaving yet! You just got here!”

I spent the next hour or so talking over volunteer possibilities with Rita while Sheeba did figure eights in my lap so I could do a thorough job of petting her on all sides. Sheeba was as busy and playful as a kitten so I was surprised to hear that she is over ten years old . She purred and meowed and made little noises of satisfaction and I’m pretty sure she thought I had come just to see her.

Shelter cats get as much loving as our cat caretakers and volunteers can give them but it’s never as much as if they had their own family in a forever home.

Sheeba was recently moved to a foster home from the shelter, where she's been since May of last year. Foster families provide a place for animals who need a quiet place to recover from illness or surgery or who just need a little extra attention and a break from shelter life.

I went to see Sheeba recently in her foster home so I could take a few photos and share her story. When I first arrived she came running to see who had come to visit. I think she remembered me, but she was a little shy at first, probably wondering what I was doing there. She is definitely a curious cat.

It didn't take her long to get used to the sound of my camera's shutter and relax. (I think she was trying to figure out why my hands were busy with that clicking box I was holding instead of busy petting her!)

Sheeba loves that big bay window at her foster home, running to see what's up when she hears a car go by then staying just to soak up the sun.

She has her own special perch in front of another window that lets her keep watch over the squirrels in the backyard, too.

By now, Sheeba is accustomed to having me follow her around and point my funny little clicking black box at her. Maybe she realizes I'm taking her picture because it seems like she's started posing for me.

When she's had enough of solitary posing, Sheeba decides it's time to jump into her foster mom's lap for some hands on attention in a cozy chair. That means a lot to a cat at any age but especially to an older cat like Sheeba.

I hope this lady with the heart of a kitten finds her forever home soon. If you're interested in adopting Sheeba or becoming a foster family, please call the SPCA of Anne Arundel County at 410-268-4388 or check out our website. So many like Sheeba would love to hear from you.

You can see more photos of Sheeba in my Flickr album.

Wellness

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Fri, 20 Feb 2015 17:11:00 +0000

I haven’t written much for this blog lately. The fact is that for the past few months I’ve been in an emotional (and sometimes spiritual) survival mode.

It was almost a year ago that my husband’s car was totaled by a loose highway reflector bracket that flew up into his front grill and spiraled it’s way through the length of the car, flattening a tire and popping open the trunk as it exited out the back. It was only a 1997 Skylark, but it had belonged to his mother, then came to us when she died a few years ago. After a few months and lots of red tape we did get a settlement from the state highway department but it wasn’t enough to replace it. Thankfully, some very generous friends gave us the key to an extra car of theirs and said, “Keep it as long as you need it.” There is a God.

Last fall we hit a crisis point with our bank and are still scrambling to make arrangements to pay what we owe so we can keep our house and deal with other creditors, too. That’s what happens when you spend a few years losing a job or two and your insurance premiums keep going up until they drop you and the “good” car needs repairing and you have to have glasses so you can see to do your job and… well, I’ll spare you the details.

Last fall I also had to have eye surgery. It was just a routine exam for new glasses when the problem was discovered. Mine was not the kind of laser surgery that fixes you up good as new in a day or two, this was the kind that takes a few months to heal, limiting your ability to function well in the meantime. I’m grateful I had wonderful doctors and other medical professionals and insurance to pay for them, plus a husband and daughter at home to look after me.

I was almost back to normal when I got sick on Christmas Day. It started with a cough and quickly went into a sinus infection, as little sniffles tend to do with me. From the description of other friends who got the flu and were left with a lingering cough, I’m guessing that’s what started it all. And just to remind me that I’m only a frail little human, bronchitis set in for another week or two for the big finish.

Today, I’m feeling like myself again. Finally.

Mind you, I’m well aware that these challenges we’ve been facing are a drop in the bucket compared to a cancer diagnosis or the death of a spouse. But I confess that as these issues piled up I waffled from a fierce determination to overcome them all to facing my own helplessness and just trying to hang on for another day.

If I have spoken to you at all during the past few months, please know that every smile, every friendly wave, every “I’m praying for you” - whether in person or over the internet - has been tucked away in my back pocket and carefully saved, to be taken out again and again as needed to shed a little light on a particularly dark day.

Thank you.

In October of last year, when I was feeling especially powerless to change my situation, I decided to volunteer at the the Anne Arundel County SPCA. I needed to spend a little time with animals who have always calmed and comforted me. During a time when I felt like nothing I did was making a difference I thought I could at least make the day a little better for the homeless animals cared for by the SPCA by giving them a little time and attention. It’s amazing how a few purrs and tail wags can change your whole perspective on life and teach you something about God and Grace.

A couple of weeks ago I took pictures of an Animal Wellness Event at the SPCA where several volunteers use their skills and training in Reiki, massage and other healing touch modalities to benefit the animals who may be stressed or having trouble adjusting to shelter life. It was the first time in quite a while that I’d covered an event, though I used to do it frequently years ago. It felt good to get back into the groove and stretch those old muscles of observation and storytelling. At the end of the evening when I started to gather my things and drive home I found Pebbles Cuddles, our official office cat, curled up for a nap on my coat. I think I’ve been accepted into the family.

Thank you, God, for your grace.

Thank you, family and friends, for your love and support.

And a special thank you to Pebbles Cuddles and the Anne Arundel County SPCA.

Teddy Bears For Mike

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Wed, 09 Jul 2014 01:03:00 +0000

This is the story of some very special custom handmade teddy bears that I made for my friend, Lori. When Lori's brother passed away suddenly last year she asked if I could make some of my custom teddy bears out of his old t-shirts as memorial gifts to all of his siblings, nieces and nephews. I told her I would be honored.

It took me about six months to make fourteen teddy bears. It's a big family. Fortunately, I had a few months to get them all done.

Lori lives in Alberta, Canada and I live in Maryland, so we had to do all this long distance. Lori picked out the first t-shirt I would use and mailed it to me. It had a big beautiful dragon on it and I saw lots of possibilites for the bears. We met via Skype so I could show her how my pattern pieces could be placed so that different parts of the design ended up on different parts of the bears. A few hours later I had a pile of tiny t-shirt scraps and nine stacks of teddy-bears-to-be and I got busy sewing.

I took photos of each teddy bear in progress and shared them on Instagram and Twitter so my friends could keep track of the story of this family of bears as I went along.

Hint: If you're planning to do a lot of hand sewing, take care of your hands. Keep your favorite lotion nearby. And I highly recommend leather thimbles.

When I was close to finishing the first nine bears Lori sent me another shirt for the remaining five bears, a white shirt with an argyle pattern and an interesting texture. Again, I had fun choosing which parts of the design would end up on what parts of the bears.

All fourteen teddy bears were completed and delivered in time for Lori to distribute them at the Brown Family Reunion last month. She lined them all up on a bed and brought everyone in to see them and choose the one they wanted to keep. Lori says, "Losing Mike was devastating to our family, and missing him is part of every day. Having a small piece of him to hold onto, with these beautiful bears, is a comfort.... The bears are another way to heal our broken hearts."

You can go to my Flickr gallery of Mike's Teddy Bears and see a photo journal of this project with views of the teddy bears in progress and all four sides of each finished bear.

Find more custom teddy bears in my Etsy shop

and let me know if you have a special project you'd like me to make for you.

I Need More Practice

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Sat, 28 Jun 2014 15:26:00 +0000

My sister and I have a challenge going to write something, every day, for ten minutes. Here's mine from yesterday....

Since I have only ten minutes left in the day, I guess I’ll do my daily ten minutes of writing now.

Last night was the wrong night to have a bad case of insomnia as I had to roll out of bed and get to the church on time this morning to set up audio and video for the closing program of Vacation Bible School. It was also the wrong week for my bad back to flare up but fortunately, I took my daughter with me to help with any heavy lifting and/or fetch me my ice pack, whichever came first. During a break in the action we enjoyed visiting with a young man who had grown up with my daughter in our church and is now a student at Baylor and member of the Baylor Religious Hour Choir. That prompted me to tell him a few of my dad’s favorite stories of his student days at Baylor and impress on him the need to take that little drive from Waco to Belton to meet my father who would be delighted to meet one of the the current generation of Baylor ministerial students and share more memories with him.

The VBS program went off without a hitch. The ibuprofen kicked in about halfway through the morning and exercise seemed to help loosen up my stiff back.

I made it to 5pm before I fizzled, gave up the fight, and took a little nap before supper. That reminded me of the way my mother used to take naps. She’d come in from work and say, “I’m going to just lie down for ten minutes before I start cooking supper.” I used to wonder how much good ten minutes could really do. After all, it usually took me at least a half hour just to fall asleep. But she would fall asleep, sometimes not even disturbed by the phone ringing next to her bed. Then exactly ten minutes later she would emerge, fresh as a daisy, and dive into dinner preparations.

My mother… the original power napper.

Before I got to my power nap today I had edited video of the VBS program so it could be uploaded to youtube later… added a few rows of knots to my current macrame project… did a little computer research during lunch… and scanned an estimate of car repairs to be submitted to the state in hopes they might still decide to help with the costs incurred when one of their highway reflectors took a flying leap into the grill of my husband’s car and traveled through the air conditioner, transmission and oil pan, taking out a tire and popping open the trunk as it exited out the back.

My power nap took an hour.

That’s almost as much sleep as I got last night.

I think I need more practice.

How Much Do You Know?

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Wed, 25 Jun 2014 20:46:00 +0000

I was once asked, “Do you know a lot about computers?”

I didn’t know how to answer that question. I know what I know, but I’ve just picked up my knowledge little by little as I was faced with particular situations. I never took a course in Computer Science or Information Technology. When I was in school those subjects were part of the Math Department which I avoided like the plague because, really, Math and I don’t get along very well.

So the best answer to that question is, “I know enough to know that there’s a lot I don’t know.”

Each time I’m faced with a new computer mystery I search online for an answer but a part of me is always wondering if there’s one thing I left out. Just one little thing about that component or software glitch that I didn’t realize might come into play so I didn’t bother combing online forums to see if anybody else had been tripped up by that, too, when they tried to fix this one little thing that’s gone wrong with my computer.

That kind of thinking can lead to a Technology-Paranoia-induced paralysis which results in multiple Windows computers in varying stages of assembly filling up the floor of my living room while I use the one Mac in the room to continue with my usual work as a writer/photographer/artist or whatever I’m calling myself this week.

These techno-DIY projects have taught me some lessons about life and God....

1. I know enough to know that there’s a lot I don’t know.

I grew up in a Southern Baptist home and most of my life has been spent around people who were very sure of their beliefs and their particular interpretation of Scripture. The more time I’ve spent around people whose beliefs differed from mine, the more I could see God relating to people in different ways. I could not deny the Fruits of the Spirit I saw in their lives but I knew they’d never walked down the aisle of a Baptist church or been baptized by immersion as I was. I know it’s possible to share my interpretation of Scripture with them and listen to theirs without either of us feeling threatened or judged. How about that? I don’t know why God relates to each of us the way he does. That’s just one of the things I don’t know yet.

2. You get what you pay for… or … You get out of it what you put into it.

The more time I spend reading about computers, taking them apart and putting them back together, talking to other people who know about computers, the more confident I am in my knowledge of them. The more time I spend focusing on the spiritual side of life, listening for a word from God, looking for Him in others, the more aware I am of my place in the universe and of God’s love for me.

I used to work with a young man in the seminary Print Shop and now and then forgetful professors would come to him with a big rush job, begging him to run copies immediately. He’d look at them with a slow smile and say, “How much is it worth to you?”

So, how much is it worth to you to really know what you want to know?

3. Stick with what works best for you.

My husband and I bought the original Macintosh when it came out in 1984 and used it for years until an upgrade was needed and it was clear that we would not be able to afford Apple’s pricey machines, even if they were worth every penny. We’ve been PC users, exclusively, until my daughter gave me her old iMac. I’ve only been using this iMac for a few months but I have to admit, I do love it. I’m sure I’ll always keep a PC around for things I have to do with PC-only apps but I’m hoping to stay with Macs from now on.

The lesson I take from this is that it’s important to know what works for you and go with that, whether it’s what you expected or not.

When I was growing up I expected that I would remain Southern Baptist all my life but things changed. The denomination took a definite turn to the right just as my personal beliefs were becoming more clear to me and I could easily see that we were no longer a good match for each other. Some of my old Southern Baptist friends may be praying for my salvation now when they read certain posts on my Facebook page but I don’t mind. I know what makes sense for me and I’m sticking with that, regardless of what others may do or think or even what my own opinions may have been in the past.

It’s amazing what you can learn from technology, isn’t it?

For Maya

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Thu, 05 Jun 2014 18:36:00 +0000

I’ve been trying to gather my thoughts and write something about Maya Angelou but I’m stuck on the first sentence.

“Maya Angelou died last week —“

No, that’s not right.

Her spirit will never die.

“Maya Angelou is no longer with us —“

No, that’s not right, either.

She is still with us in every word she ever wrote, spoke, or sang.

So instead of writing…

I’ve been listening.

I’ve listened to news reports and talk show hosts,
to celebrities and people on the street,
all talking about what she taught them about life and love.

Just the way she spoke taught us something

about the power of words,

about the value of thoughtfully considering what it is that we really want to say,

and about the joy of letting words spring from a hopeful heart without hesitation.

The many roads she traveled taught us

that what we have been is

not necessarily

what we always will be...

that life brings changes...

that we can do better when we know better...

and that forgiveness brings freedom.

We learned from her because
she was always learning.

She shared what she learned the way a toddler comes running

with eyes shining bright

shouting with joy,

“Look what I found!”

The lesson… the joy… cannot be contained.

It is given to us to be shared.

And share it, she did.

Faithfully.

Frequently.

Fearlessly.

It’s the “Fearlessly” part that often stops us in our tracks.

To share what you’ve been learning you must first admit that there’s something you didn’t know.

It calls attention to parts of ourselves that we don’t like to look at…

That we hope the rest of the world doesn’t see.

Maya Angelou wasn’t afraid to take us with her on her journey of learning,

To show us all the paths she had taken...

The lessons she had learned...

The things she had released in order to take hold of something better.

She showed us the hope in her heart,

The good in us that we did not see in ourselves,

The heights we could reach when we felt mired in the depths.

I pray that, like her, we will see…

In our weaknesses

opportunities for growth,

In our discouragement

a spark of hope,

And in each other,

our best selves instead of our worst.

She said,

“I’ve had a lot of rainbows in my clouds.

I’ve had a lot of clouds.

But I’ve had a lot of rainbows in my clouds.”

Which will you remember best…

The rainbow or the clouds?

Makers

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Thu, 27 Feb 2014 01:57:00 +0000

This afternoon my daughter and I watched a couple of hours of Makers: Women Who Make America. I'd seen it before and she had seen parts of it but this is the first time we'd sat down to watch it together that way. It gave me the opportunity to share some personal memories that put some things in perspective for her.

I recalled where I was as particular dates were mentioned. 1972, when Title IX was passed, I was in the eighth grade and my older sister was graduating from high school. I got married in 1980, the year Oprah dared to ask for a paycheck equal to her male co-worker. A record breaking number of women were elected to Congress in 1992, the year my daughter was born.

Yesterday was a day of memories for me, too, as I watched Vice President Joe Biden on The View. He talked about the Affordable Care Act and how it will give women more choices because they won't have to be dependent on their jobs for health insurance anymore. When he said that I was suddenly back in 1984, driving my daughter to daycare, holding it together until I'd dropped her off and then crying the rest of my one hour drive to my job that provided our family's health insurance. Or on the phone with a neighbor, begging her to look after my baby whose fever was too high to leave her at the day care center, knowing that my paycheck would be docked if stayed home with her myself and we couldn't afford that. I cried on the way to work on days like that, too, knowing that I had no choice. I was the primary breadwinner while my husband was in seminary and we both hoped our situation would be different once he graduated and got a full time job.

Today I watched a clip of Elisabeth Hasselbeck and company on Fox News discussing the Vice President's comments, saying women don't go to work just for the health insurance and it's insulting to say that they do. I'd go back and pull a quote out of that one for you but, frankly, I don't have the stomach to watch it again.

And I can't tell you what I think of them or their opinions because my mama taught me not to use language like that.

But it strikes me that comments like those shared by Hasselbeck and Crystal Wright show their ignorance of the lives of those whose experience differs from their own. Could it be that when they say that “people” don't do such and such they're actually saying “real people”, “right people”, “good people”, you know... “people like us”. Because those other people just don't matter. Not as much as “our kind of people” matter.

And this, to me, is the difference between conservatives and liberals.

Conservatives, by definition, are trying to do the least they can. Conserve your resources, your time, your energy. Don't spend anymore than you have to of any of it. Look after your own needs and let everybody else take care of themselves.

Liberals want to do the most they can for as many as they can. Find the money somewhere because there are people who need it. Change the laws so everyone knows their rights are protected because they've endured enough and we shouldn't make them wait any longer. Your success makes life better for me, too, because we're all in this together.

I guess that makes me a Liberal.

My 8th grade school picture

Puzzling

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Tue, 31 Dec 2013 19:27:00 +0000

I grew up in a family of puzzlers.Wherever two or three are gathered during the Christmas holidays you will likely see a jigsaw puzzle in progress. Hours are spent assembling the picture and bonus points are given for complexity.

My Aunt Becky is the Master Puzzler, picking out the most intricate, detailed pictures with the most and often oddly shaped pieces, accumulating a great collection of her own over the years. She has now begun to pass along the best of these to the rest of us to enjoy. The most challenging one I recall was a transparent lucite puzzle that included straight pieces in the middle, not just on the edges. You didn't know if a piece was part of the edge or the middle or even if it was upside down or right side up.

This year my family received from Aunt Becky a 1,000 piece puzzle with a picture of a giant, multi-layered hamburger. It looked delicious, but we soon discovered its particular challenges. Did that green piece belong to the lettuce on the bottom layer or the third layer? Was that red one part of the tomato on the second layer or the slice of bacon on the top? That yellowish brown piece might be part of the bun but was it the top, middle or bottom – or maybe a piece of cheese. It didn't help that the missing piece often turned out to be two or three oddly shaped pieces instead. It took about 4 days but we got it done.

As I spent hours pouring over the pile of pieces, making myself take time out from the usual routine, a few life lessons began to surface. I'm listing them here, in no particular order.

It takes many pieces to make the whole picture. And it wouldn't be complete if even a single one was missing.

Whether you're talking about an extended family or about the larger picture of your life, every piece has it's place. The shadows help us appreciate the highlights.

Small things can make a big difference.

Subtle color shadings or contours determine whether a piece is the one you need or just another one on the pile. Similarities in color or shape do not always guarantee a good fit.

Get help when you need it.

In life, as in jigsaw puzzles, we need each other. We can do more together than we can separately. Even when the progress seems slow, the journey is better because we're not alone.

Proximity can lead to unexpected conversations.

Just by being there, bending over the table, scrutinizing the pile of puzzle pieces, we may find ourselves talking about things we might never have brought up in the usual hustle and bustle of the holidays. Family memories are shared, details filled in about stories we thought we already knew, words of encouragement shared that we never realized were needed. Relationships can be reinforced in these “Oh, by the way...” moments, just because we were there.

Be patient.

Piece by piece, the picture becomes clear. Don't give up or you might miss it. When the picture begins to appear we can become too eager. But if we rush to fill in all the blanks too quickly something vital may be overlooked.

Last, but by no means least....

You know the missing piece is right in front of you. It just doesn't look the way you expected.

Let's hope we keep our minds and hearts open so we may find our missing pieces this new year, even when they come in unexpected ways.

That Day in Dallas

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Sat, 23 Nov 2013 04:57:00 +0000

I was five years old, watching As the World Turns with my mother the way we always did during lunch, when Walter Cronkite broke in to announce that President Kennedy had been shot.

I lived in Oak Cliff, the south part of Dallas, a few miles from where Lee Harvey Oswald was captured later that day at the Texas theater. My family was acquainted with the police officer who was shot and killed when he confronted Oswald on an Oak Cliff street.

I remember my mother crying. It was probably the first time I saw her cry. As she made up the beds after we'd gotten the news she punched the pillows harder than usual, as she said "Why would anyone want to do that to that man?!"

I went outside and climbed up to the top of our swing set in the backyard. From my perch I could look to the north and see the skyline of downtown Dallas on the horizon. I have a very strong memory of thinking how strange it was that the things they were talking about on TV were really happening, right over there.

For the next several days there was nothing but news coverage about the assassination on TV, including the murder of Lee Harvey Oswald and then the President's funeral. The images stay with me - Caroline kneeling with her mother beside the flag draped coffin in the rotunda, the caisson carrying the coffin, the grief-stricken faces of Mrs. Kennedy and the President's brothers, the horse with the backward boots, John John's salute and the eternal flame.

When I was a teenager I went on trips with my church's youth choir. Sometimes, after singing at a church in another city, we would stay in the home of the church's members. Once, I recall our host making comments about us being from Dallas, the "city that killed the president."

As I grew up in Dallas , I went to movies at the Texas Theater, worked a couple of summer jobs near where Officer Tippett was shot, and often drove along Stemmons Freeway overlooking Dealy Plaza and the Texas Schoolbook Depository.

But never without thinking of that awful day.

Rainy Day Memories

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Wed, 09 Oct 2013 04:20:00 +0000

The SD card in my phone died a couple of days ago. Fortunately, I've got photos backed up on Google+, Facebook, and Flickr with my best photos on 500px. But while checking to make sure I hadn't lost anything I really wanted to keep I ran across this one and I just had to stop and look at it again.

I took it while spending the weekend in New York City with some very special friends in July, 2012, when we were surprised by a summer shower. Ducking into a doorway to get out of the rain and wait until the storm had passed, I snapped this photo. I'm not even sure why but it's become one of my all time favorites.

Maybe it's because I've always loved rain and it takes me back to playing in puddles when I was a kid. Maybe it helps me remember to stop and look for the beauty and serenity that might be right in front of us when we're surprised by life's little inconveniences.

Or maybe it just reminds me of the company I was keeping that day.

Word Games

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Sun, 30 Jun 2013 21:12:00 +0000

It's not that the words won't come.

It's that they won't stop.

They chase each other around in my head
like kittens around a couch.

I never know when one will pounce

demanding my full attention

only to be nudged aside by another

squirming to take its place.

I see each newborn idea

take its first steps

standing tall

stretching out

reaching wide

gathering others in to join the party.

And there they go around the couch again
inviting me to come and play.

When Irish Bears Are Smiling

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Mon, 18 Mar 2013 01:46:00 +0000

I think my friend, Ali, is the most Irish friend I know so I wasn't at all surprised when she asked me about a special teddy bear project. Ali has ordered several of my handmade teddy bears before so she was familiar with my work. She also knows I enjoy a challenge.

Ali sent me her favorite old hoodie and ordered two teddy bears to be made with it. She's lost a lot of weight during the past year and can't wear the hoodie anymore, but she hated to just get rid of it. Turning it into teddy bears seemed to be a good way of keeping the old favorite around. The extra challenge was that she wanted me to take the shamrock off the hoodie and put it on one of the bears.

The soft green knit of the hoodie was easy to work with. I trimmed the fabric close to the shamrock and appliqued it to the back of the bear. Since the shamrock was so large it fit better on the back, which is flatter, rather than sewing it to the more rounded belly of the bear, which might pucker or distort the shape. For the second bear, I found a small gold shamrock patch and ironed it on the front. The finishing touch for each bear was blue eyes, just like Ali's.

So, Happy St. Patrick's Day! Enjoy the pictures!

If you'd like me to make keepsake teddy bears for you

leave a comment here, find me on Twitter

or check out my Etsy shop:

Two Special Bears

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Mon, 18 Feb 2013 18:55:00 +0000

This is the story of two very special bears. They were born the day my Twitter friend, Linda, asked if I could make teddy bears from an old bathrobe. I'd been making bears for years with recycled clothing so I said, "Sure, I can do that!" Then she told me what she wanted to do.

Linda and her sister lost their father about a year ago. I remember how we had talked on Twitter about the loss of a parent and our group of friends gathered around to encourage and uplift her.

Linda told me that she had her father's favorite robe with his initials on it and she wondered if I could use it to sew two teddy bears, one for her and one for her sister, and put one initial "L" on each bear. She even emailed me a photo of her father so the blue eyes of the bears would match his. I told her I would be honored to do a project like that.

I decided to complete the construction of both bears before trimming the initials close and turning the edges under to sew them on. I saved the faces for last, as I always do, and added ribbons around the neck matching the color of the initials.

When Linda received the completed teddy bears she tweeted me and said, "All I can say is...wow...amazing...speechless...they are just beautiful bears!" She also said her mother was "blown away". I do love a happy customer!

You can click on these photos to see them full size:

If you'd like me to make custom teddy bears for you

leave a comment and tell me what you have in mind

or you can find them in my Etsy shop.

Sparks of Life

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Thu, 31 Jan 2013 04:44:00 +0000

My mother often sewed clothes for me when I was a little girl. The hum of that old black, cast iron Singer sewing machine was the sound of comfort, security and love to me. It was an exercise in necessity for her as homemade dresses were cheaper than store bought ones. But it was also a creative outlet that taught me about the importance of planning, persistence and attention to detail.

I watched my mother put her imagination to work at the little fabric shop near our house. It was a cozy place filled with the fragrance of new fabrics, old dust and the talcum powder and perfume of the smiling salesladies who seemed to know my mother well from her frequent visits. Together they would spread out fabrics, compare trims and buttons, finding colors and textures that would, in a few days, become my new Sunday dress. I wandered among the bolts of fabrics while they talked and I might have crawled around on the low shelves under them a time or two when it seemed they were taking too long.

To begin a new project, my mother removed the tablecloth from our kitchen table and carefully spread the fabric to lay out the pattern for a new dress. With intense concentration on her face she took pins from her red tomato pincushion and pinned it in place, referring often to the pattern instructions, cutting around corners and curves with her heavy black handled scissors which were never used for any other purpose so they might be kept sharp and ready at all times. I still smile when I hear the rhythmic, crunching sound of scissors against a table top because it reminds me of the way my mother painstakingly cut around the lines and notches of a pattern, stacking each piece to the side and moving on to the next. This part of the process was fascinating to watch. I lost interest later, struggling to stand still, as she pinned up the hem while the voices of my brother and friends playing ball in the backyard drifted through the open window on the breeze.

I recall one visit to that little fabric shop when my mother took her black handled scissors with her to be sharpened. A little old man with a grinding wheel made occasional visits to local fabric stores to sharpen everyone’s scissors and I watched him sharpen ours. I’m pretty sure I held my hands over my ears because of the loud, screeching sound it made but the sparks that flew were beautiful, like fireworks.

I thought of that many years later when I came across this verse in the Bible:

As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. Proverbs 27:17

Some people have a gift for causing sparks. No matter how hard you try to understand them and get along sparks will fly. Whether you’re dealing with a contentious co-worker or your best friend, conflict is a part of life.

But every conflict brings an opportunity to learn and grow,

if we’re paying attention.

My mother and I certainly kicked up a few sparks from time to time. I’m still learning lessons from her and she’s been gone from this world for almost seven years now. Boxes full of her old patterns, buttons, trims are piled up in my house. I use them from time to time, finding just the right button or color of thread when I need it. Or the patience to help me finish a project.

As I thought about sparks today I recalled a scene in the TV movie, The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman. Cicely Tyson plays a 110 year old woman, recounting the story of her life to young reporter during the early days of the civil rights movement of the ‘60s. She begins her story by telling him about “two old rocks”, as the reporter calls them. Her story revealed that they were iron and flint she carried as a child on a journey to a new life, using them to light camp fires at night when she was freed from slavery.

For her, the sparks they produced meant

Life

Safety

Hope.

I haven't even mentioned the sparks that fly between two people when they're falling in love.

The next time sparks fly in your life,

for whatever reason,

pay attention.

Look for the lessons.

May those sparks lead to

Life

Safety

Hope

Love.

NYC 2012, Pt 2

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Fri, 28 Dec 2012 03:20:00 +0000

As the new year looms I remembered I still hadn't posted the rest of the story about my trip to New York City last spring for Jessica Leccia's fan luncheon, so here it is. I promise you, dear readers, that if I have the opportunity to attend another event like this I will not wait so many months to tell the story. (If you missed it or just want to refresh your memory you can read about it here.)

I concluded Part One of this story by telling of a very special dinner with Jill Lorie Hurst and a few friends. As we left the restaurant that night, Bettie volunteered to see me home safely and we had time to continue our conversation on the subway. She's a wonderful storyteller who has led an interesting life so be sure to check out her blog for her stories of her recently concluded two year sabbatical in NYC.

The next morning was colder than expected so Kathy and I decided to accept the offer of our Twitter friend @Nnn2u to share a cab to Brother Jimmy's instead of walking. Among the first to arrive we quickly found familiar faces and met new old friends we'd known for years online. Moving downstairs for the luncheon, Kathy & Julie (@julieluvsotalia) found our friend, Linda (@Medasst28) at one table while I found Denise (@jessiewolf) at another table down front near the band.

The best way I know of to describe an event like this one is to say it's like a family reunion. Not the ones you brace yourself and go to whether you want to or not, but the ones you can't wait to get to because you know you'll finally meet those cool relatives you've only known through frequently shared stories. Looking around a room full of strangers you can't deny there's something familiar about them, the way you can see the expressions of loved ones in the face of a cousin you've just met for the first time. Some have experienced great joys during the previous year, some heartaches and challenges, but we've drawn strength from each other through all those silly little conversations on Twitter and sought each other out for a little encouragement and hope when we've needed it most. For many, like me, these encounters have been life changing.

As the room fileds up Jeryl Orsino (@JerylMusic) and her band stepped up to play. Jeryl's music has been featured on Venice, the Series so if you've watched that wonderful webseries, you've heard her music. I began to take a few pictures as they played and when I looked behind me to the rest of the audience I saw that Jessica Leccia, herself, had sneaked in - she's good at that!

After the music, Jessica began to go from table to table, greeting everyone, signing autographs & posing for pictures. Fans got pictures with Jeryl, too.

After a while Jessica sat down for a Q & A session and we learned a little bit more about her. This always gets a lot of laughs because Jessica has great sense of humor and a quick wit. Really, somebody needs to get this girl a sitcom!

There was time for one more question and I raised my hand. Jessica had been telling us about her daughter, Ivy, and of course her stories made me think of my two daughters, now 29 and 20, what they were like at three years old that gave me a glimpse what they might be like when they grew up. I can't remember exactly how I worded the question but it concerned what she would someday tell her grown up daughter about what she'd been like as a child. As soon as I asked the question, Jessica exclaimed, "Donna, why'd you have to go and make me cry!" When the Q& A was over I gave her a hug and we had a little "mom" moment, marveling at the miracle of daughters before she went back to signing autographs and posing for more pictures.

Everyone had gotten a packet that included an 8x10 photo of Jessica for her to autograph and a "Jessica Leccia" shot glass and a few other fun things. When I opened mine I also saw a handwritten thank you note from Jessica (I had made pin back buttons for the packets) but that note somehow did not make it home with me. I'm guessing my packet got switched with someone else's by mistake. If you went to the luncheon and ended up with a note from Jessica that says "Dear Donna, Thank you..." please let me know! I'm glad I at least saw it and made it home with everything else in the packet!

One of the highlights of attending Jessica's luncheon is meeting her husband, Brian Malloy, who runs Brother Jimmy's. He's a sweetie and it's so fun to see the two of them together because they just radiate love and joy. Many of us had met him before so he renewed old acquaintances and made new friends and posed for photos with Jessica and with the fans. You should stop by Brother Jimmy's the next time you're in NYC because Brian makes everybody feel right at home!

Then Jill Lorie Hurst showed up, joining in for the picturing taking, too, and visit with Jessica and Alan Locher, another member of the GL family.....

Just a few photos with some of my favorite people...

It's always a challenge to get a good group picture at an event like this but always worth the time and effort!

When it was finally time to go a few of us took a little walk with Jill, first to Rockefeller Center, then up to the Central Park. Then it was time to catch the train back home. I can't wait till next time! Thank you to Brother Jimmy's and everyone who had a hand in planning the Jessica Leccia Fan Luncheon and a special thanks to Jill Lorie Hurst!

Thanks, Mom!

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Fri, 21 Dec 2012 22:14:00 +0000

Checked my mom's old tin of threads to find just the right color for securing this bow & look what was right on top!, originally uploaded by ddpool.

Checked my mom's old tin of threads to find just the right color for securing this bow & look what was right on top!

Newtown

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Sat, 15 Dec 2012 03:22:00 +0000

When I heard the news of the shooting in Newtown, Connecticut today my heart went out to those whose lives will never be the same. Along with my horror at the unfolding events came a growing concern for the life of one little girl, a friend of a friend of mine. As time went on and others had been accounted for, I prayed specifically for her and her family. This evening my friend could share no details with us except that this little girl is not among the survivors.

While we struggle to understand how something like this could happen I don’t know if we can ever really know. It makes no sense.

We are reminded that life is short and precious and that we should tell people we love them when we have the chance. Instinctively, I want to do something to fix this.

I was accused of being insensitive because I made comments on Twitter today about changing laws in ways that I believe might help prevent another school shooting.

This person made the assumption that because my comments were about political solutions I had no feeling for the victims. I should instead wait a bit, as a sign of respect. She assumed that I was just using the tragedy to further my personal political agenda.

I think the fact that I seek positive steps that might address the need for more mental health care and fewer assault weapons in our country shows that I do understand what the families of the victims are dealing with, at least as much as I can without having experienced it myself. I know they’re hurting and I hurt for them and I’d like to do what I can to keep other families from hurting. I’d like to do that as soon as possible.

If I say something now…

Do something now…

While people are paying attention….

Then maybe we can start to take some positive steps

Now

Before Honey Boo Boo comes back on.

Because we can’t compete with one of the year’s 10 most fascinating people, right Barbara Walters?

I don’t mean to be dismissive of people who watch Honey Boo Boo or Barbara Walters because I know smart, caring people who watch them both . I just don’t share their taste in television programming.

And that’s the problem we have to face… being dismissive of those who disagree with us.

Because there are no disposable people.

If we are all part of the problem then we must all be part of the solution.

Keep listening.

Tina Sloan's Charity Auction

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Wed, 12 Dec 2012 16:23:00 +0000

Great Guiding Light memorabilia is being auctioned for charity on eBay by Tina Sloan who played nurse Lillian Raines on the show. When Tina mentioned on Twitter that she had these items the fans suggested she auction them for charity and Tina made it happen.

After the pictures were taken for eBay, she autographed each of them and also had them autographed by Grant Aleksander (Phillip Spaulding), Beth Chamberlin, (Beth Raines Spaulding), Justin Deas (Buzz), Peter Simon (Ed Bauer), and Jill Lorie Hurst (Headwriter).

All proceeds go to the Commit Foundation for wounded vets, a cause close to Tina's heart as her son served in the Marines and she stars in the movie "Happy New Year" about a wounded veteran returning home.

Included in these items up for auction is a glass cube paperweight presented to her by the producer at the end of Guiding Light. Tina received two of these and is auctioning one, with the actor's autographs on the box.

You can see pictures of the actors signing the items in Tina's Twitter gallery,

And here's a link to the auction listings:

Tina Sloan's Guiding Light Auctions

Imagine the delight of your favorite Guiding Light fan if they received a present like one of these this holiday season! Better hurry as the auctions are up for only one more day!

Image copyright Tina Sloan

I See People....

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Tue, 06 Nov 2012 21:40:00 +0000

We, the People….

Which People?

My people?

Your people?

Surely not those people….

When our Founding Fathers wrote those words they surely didn’t mean those people whose skin was darker than their own, who planted and harvested their crops and built their buildings, whose names were not written in their ledgers because, after all, they were property, not people.

They surely didn’t mean their wives because everyone knew that women weren’t concerned with politics and power and important things like that. They just took care of their homes and raised the next generation.

I doubt they meant the Native Americans who had occupied the land first, either, considering the way they drove them from the land simply because they wanted it for themselves.

This Land is Your Land…. Yours… mine… but certainly not ours.

In the movie “Little Big Man” a white boy is adopted into the Cheyenne tribe whose word for their people is translated “Human Beings”. So when the characters mention someone who is not of their tribe they say, “He is not a human being.”

It’s all about who you see as people.

Who do you see as human beings who have wants, needs, families and dreams

Just like you?

I will never forget hearing Rep. Barbara Jordan’s eloquent speech to the Watergate Committee on the Articles of Impeachment in which she said ”… through the process of amendment, interpretation and court decision, I have finally been included in ‘We, the People…’.” I encourage you to take the time to listen to at least the first couple of minutes of this as she speaks of her faith in the Constitution:

I wonder if the Founding Fathers envisioned a time when a black woman would make such a statement, when she would be able to vote and herself be elected to serve in the Congress. I’m glad they wrote the Constitution in a way that allows America to grow and change as the world grows and changes.

I voted early this time, taking my daughter with me for her first experience as a voter a few days ago. We decided to vote early because we didn’t want to take a chance on Hurricane Sandy leaving our polling place without power on Election Day. I thought of women who fought to give me the right to vote, grateful that my daughter understands the significance of this responsibility and privilege. I don’t mind telling you how I voted. I voted for Barack Obama. I also voted for Question 6 here in Maryland because I support the right of all people to marry, regardless of sexuality.

Before another day has passed we’ll know who the next president will be. We’ll also know if enough voters saw gay and lesbian citizens of Maryland as human beings with hopes and dreams and rights to uphold the law that was recently passed by the legislature, giving them the right to marry.

Because that’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it?

Who do you see when you say

We… the people?

NYC March 2012 Part One

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Wed, 08 Aug 2012 17:26:00 +0000

I used to watch the soap opera Guiding Light which went off the air in 2009. It Introduced me to some wonderful friends online through message boards and Twitter and I met some in person at fan luncheons in New York City for Crystal Chappell and Jessica Leccia, two actresses from that show. Because I’m a writer and photographer I shared my experiences at those luncheons here so others who were not able to attend could know what happened there and what it meant to me and maybe feel, at least a little bit, as if they were a part of it all. Because they were. If I had a nickel for every time the name of an absent Twitter friend had been mentioned by someone at one of those luncheons I could probably afford to go to the next event! If you’d like to catch up on those stories you can read about them here:

NYC October 2010 Part One

NYC October 2010 Part Two

NYC: Lost and Found

NYC: Lost and Found, Part Two

NYC: Lost and Found, Part Three

NYC: Lost and Found, Part Four

The weekend of Jessica Leccia’s fan luncheon in March of this year began a couple of days early for me when Kathy (@Zoogirl) arrived to spend a couple of days with me in Maryland. We had been talking about our travel plans on Twitter and decided that she’d spend some time with me here in Maryland before and after our train trip to NYC where we’d split the cost of a hotel room. I put her to work helping me make the buttons that would be included with the fan packets at the luncheon. Then she got to watch me stress out as my computer started making strange noises and I frantically backed up everything, hoping I didn’t have a failing disk drive. (I’ll finish that story later.)

My husband dropped us off at the train station on his way to work Friday morning. Thank you, Amtrak, for wifi on your Northeast Regional trains so we could tweet all the way there! I had assured Kathy that we could easily walk to our hotel, having checked the map and compared the distance to other walks I’d taken around NYC on previous visits. I wanted her to get a feel for the city and see it up close, too, instead of speeding by in a taxi.

We met Julie (@julieluvsotalia) and her mom, Marcia, at the hotel. It was too early to check in so they had checked their bags and we did the same before heading out again to eat lunch. I had noticed we passed a burger place, a bar & grill and a pizza place on the corner near our hotel so we debated our choices as we walked and decided on pizza. I’ve been to a lot of pizza places in my day but I’ve never seen a guy bring his unicycle to one (and that’s a sentence I never expected to write!). I couldn’t resist taking a picture. Oh, and Marcia? Thanks for the pizza! (Gotta watch her… she deserves a gold medal for fastest check-grabber!)

After lunch I called Denise (@jessiewolf) who had arrived on a redeye flight the night before. She was staying at a hotel where we’d split a room when we came for Jessica’s luncheon in 2011. I led the way as we walked just a few blocks and found Denise and her friend, Natalie, in the lobby. We didn’t have too long to wait before Jill Lorie Hurst joined us. After introductions, hugs, a few pictures, and discussions about plans for the weekend we left Denise & Natalie to go to their show and Jill led the rest of us toward Grand Central Station where she and I parted company with the others. Kathy, Julie and Marcia had plans to attend an event for @nycwriterchick and Jill had plans for me....

Jill said she’d called a few friends and said, “Donna’s coming to town! Let’s have dinner!” We took the subway to the Upper West Side to a great little Greek restaurant, Symposium, and were soon joined by my friends Lisa 9@ColumbusNYC) and Bettie (@bettielavin). I’d met them when I came to Crystal Chappell’s fan club luncheon in October, 2010. They were followed by Mimi Torchin (@Mimi_Torch) and her partner, Liron Cohen (@SunshineLiron), whom I was delighted to finally meet in person after chattering with them on Twitter for a couple of years.

I wish I had set a tape recorder in the middle of the table to capture the evening’s conversation. I’m sure we solved all the problems of the world at least three or four times as we talked about politics and soap operas and families and politics and Texas (Mimi & I are both Texans) and writing and politics and pets and the economy and oh, did I mention politics? Mimi had been reading my blog and giving me wonderful words of encouragement for months so I shared with her my idea for a book. She thought it was a great idea and urged me to write it, just as Jill had done when I shared it with her. (It's in the works. OK, mostly in my head.)

At one point during the evening I took a deep breath, leaned back and let the conversation swirl around me, thinking, “How did this little Baptist girl from Dallas, now preacher’s wife, end up here, of all places?!” I felt honored to be in the company of these fascinating women who had courageously pursued their dreams and led such interesting lives. It made me want to reach for my dreams, too.

I had my camera with me but I hadn’t taken any photos since we got to the restaurant, choosing to be a participant in my own life rather than observer. But as we were getting ready to leave I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t document the moment. I asked everybody to gather around for a group photo, handed my camera to our gracious waiter and had him take a shot of us all together. I think it turned out great!

Stay tuned for "NYC, March 2012, Part Two".....

Up a Tree

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Wed, 11 Jul 2012 04:07:00 +0000

I was a tree climber when I was a kid. Not that we ever had trees worth climbing in my yard when I was of an appropriate tree climbing age. I had to go to the neighbors’ yards to find the good ones. My friend Kellye had a nice Chinaberry in her backyard a few houses up the street but my favorite was a mimosa tree right next door.

Mimosas had more entertainment value per square inch than any other tree in my neighborhood. The big fan like leaves were perfect for pretend servants to fan a pretend Cleopatra, and the seed pods were great for pretending to pick beans for supper or just tearing up and scattering to the breeze with the soft, tufted blossoms on a windy day. The end result of such play was that every yard on the block had a few mimosa trees of varying sizes, some small saplings, some large enough for not-too-big kids to climb easily.

My neighbor’s mimosa tree stood right in the middle of the back yard but the branches arched almost all the way over to the tall stockade fence between their backyard and mine. It was fortunate that a couple of little boys lived there for a few years when I was in my tree climbing prime. I’d bound out my backdoor, letting the screen slam shut behind me, and head straight for the fence where I’d scramble up to peak over the top and see if Vernon and Davy had finished their breakfast so I could come over and climb their tree with them. Once we’d shouted our greetings over the fence they’d wave me over I’d head straight for the tree.

I was big enough that with a good jump (it sometimes took two tries) I could reach the lowest branch, then walk my way up the trunk, throw my leg over it and hoist myself up the rest of the way. Vernon was shorter and required a boost but he liked to push his pedal driven tractor over by the tree and climb up on it so he could reach it himself (no safety inspector required). Little Davy was only three so we didn’t help him climb up, at least not after his mama caught him up there with us once. Okay, maybe twice.

Once up on that first branch, I saw a larger branch rising from the trunk at about an 80 degree angle to the left. This is the one that reached toward my house and I could lean my body against it, holding tight to smaller branches, and see the full expanse of my yard next door on the other side of the fence. To my right I saw the dog asleep on the back step of the house across the alley from mine, a sight I could only see from that perch because if it saw me in my backyard it started running and barking along the chain link fence. If I climbed a bit further up that branch I could even see a little over the fence on the far side of my yard into my friend Tony’s backyard, too. And I could always see the neighborhood kids taking a shortcut through my yard from the alley to the street, something they did often since we were in the middle of the block and our yard had no fence.

Extending in the opposite direction of that branch was a larger one sloping gently upward at about a ten or fifteen degree angle. It was broad enough to seem almost like the floor of a tree house with good strong limbs branching out from it, giving us several options for swinging down to the ground. We played Tarzan and Swiss Family Robinson and we could even sit cross-legged on this big, wide branch and play a game of checkers as though in a room with gently swaying green walls.

Climbing trees was something I could do better than the big kids. That was significant for me, the youngest of three children in my family. Yes, taller kids could sometimes reach those lowest branches more easily than I could but I could climb higher, up into the thinner branches that could easily hold my smaller body as they danced in the wind. My grip was sure and I knew the way to the best footholds on that mimosa. And once I’d found my perfect perch I could stay until I was good and ready to come down because the big kids couldn’t follow.

I had lunch with a friend this week. We don’t see each other that often. Months may go by without exchanging a single word but when that inevitable phone call or visit finally comes, the words tumble out for hours and the visit ends much too soon.

My friend and I have each had our share of challenges the past few years. Our children have grown up, loved ones have aged and passed from this life, our husbands have coped with professional challenges, and our families have struggled with the economy.

During our lunch visit we talked about who we are now, who we used to be and what we’re trying to do with our lives. We have each found it easy to see the good qualities and talents in someone else yet have difficulty seeing them in ourselves. So we spent a great deal of our conversation pointing out these things we’ve always known about each other. I say I’m just a doodler who likes to take pictures and tell stories. She calls me a talented artist, photographer, and writer. She says she’s trying to learn new software and marketing initiatives for their family business and I’m in awe at what she’s accomplished without ever taking a class.

We take turns heaping huge piles of affirmation on each other over plates of ribs and catfish, propping each other up until we can regain our footing, pointing out new possibilities our busy schedules and personal blind spots have prevented us from seeing before.

As I opened the door of her car after saying goodbye and bounded up the walk and into my house I thought, “There is something familiar about this feeling....” I didn’t know why at first. The same half-finished projects were strewn about my living room, the same To Do list in my notebook on the table, the same bills waiting to be paid.

And then I realized….

I felt like just like that little kid, bounding out the back door into a world of possibilities, secure in the knowledge that my grip was strong, that I knew the best footholds and that my dreams were carried on the breeze.

Bubbles

noreply@blogger.com (Donna Pool) — Thu, 05 Jul 2012 20:48:00 +0000

This is going to be a long and tiresome campaign season.

It seems to me that on one side we have people who want to move forward, making changes with an eye to the future and on the other side are people who want to restore the glory days of the past. Each of these approaches contains a little good and a little bad but I’m all for moving forward.

I understand why some want to go back, though. They look back and see a simpler, safer time when time itself didn’t move at the breakneck speed it seems to today. As parents, we want to protect our children. It’s our job. We sometimes wish we could place a bubble around our children to protect them from all the bad stuff out there: bumps, bruises, bad guys and broken hearts.

But we can’t.

I know this desire to protect loved ones motivates many political conservatives. They want their government to mirror the values they teach their children. They want to shield them from those who would teach them that any other way of life is acceptable. They want to preserve the world they’ve carefully created for their families and keep out the changes they don’t want.

But they can’t.

Life brings with it changes that cannot be anticipated. Some we are prepared for, some not. But change will come, with or without our cooperation. How you face that change is your choice.

When I was a teenager I sang in the youth choir at my church. Every year we performed a musical and sometimes we took it on tour during the summer. I often played my guitar, once sang a brief solo part, but always sang in the alto section.

And once, I danced a can-can.

The musical told a story about a youth choir rehearsing for the performance of a musical. One song was called “Bubbles and Fizz”, an energetic, enthusiastic number with a really boring alto part on the chorus. We girls in the alto section had no trouble pretending to be teenagers cutting up during a choir rehearsal. As we started to sing that one note that we knew lasted for an interminable number of measures, we linked arms and started kicking up our heels like Rockettes in formation. By the end of the note I confess there was more giggling than singing. We expected our choir director to tell us to knock it off and behave ourselves. But he decided to keep it in and told us to go with it and make the most of it since it fit the story. So we hammed it up, enthusiastically high kicking on the back row at each performance.

I remember the lyrics to that song like it was yesterday. Once you got past the rah-rah part the song slowed and came to a thoughtful resolution:

When it’s over and that’s all there is

Fading bubbles, disappearing fizz

Songs and words, you can forget them, said

Your commitment’s gone.

The feeling’s dead.

You can live in a bubble if you want to.

But bubbles won't last. They fizzle and fade and disappear.

The world will continue to change around you. As a parent I think the best thing is to try to give kids the tools they need to live in the world as it is and teach them how to change it for the better.

Maybe they can make the changes we couldn’t.