Reading, writing...that's what I do.

Love for the printed word, love and belief in ideas.

Our Early Loves Can Take Us Places

December 1, 2024 2 Comments

When I was in grade school, I wrote a story about an avalanche. What did I know about that frightening weather occurrence? Very little, except what I had learned from a short description in my geography book. But that’s how writers begin. Amazed by something I knew nothing about, I wanted to ENTER that experience, write about it as if I were a reporter. My version made sure that everyone was OKAY…a happy ending, reflecting what I was reading at the time: Little Women, biographies of English queens…books that carried me away from the couch in our living room.

THE POINT: I was writing. I saved that early work for many years, but then finally let it go. One piece of notebook paper, with a star on it…given to me by my teacher, who probably told her someone: I’ve got this student in my third grade class. She thinks this is what writers do; probably copied most of the words from our geography book, but it was an attempt, so I tried to encourage her.

THE AFTERMATH

And yes, I kept writing. I had a best friend and we created a story about ourselves: The Two Tornadoes of Wood Street and Our Country: Jean and Beth. And I TRULY BELIEVE….that is how a writer begins. You make stuff up. So I did, falling asleep at night, eventually keeping a diary, moving on to short stories when I was in high school. Was I good at this? My creative writing teacher did encourage me. BUT EVEN THEN, there were students in my class that eclipsed what I wrote. THE STRUGGLE had begun. And yes, I am still writing, still getting rejections, but also being told I have a voice and need to keep going. That I will do.

FINDING A PATHWAY

And Dear Readers, you probably remember a particular moment when the trajectory of your life took shape: you knew what path you wanted to explore. Sometimes it occurs out of necessity: you need a job, an income. I have friends from early years who became doctors, lawyers. But there were also nurses, researchers, artists, musicians, teachers, scientists, lawyers, rock music composers and entrepreneurs in so many different fields.

And it is definitely true, that what we are exposed to in our youth can often help create a final decision, though we are also allowed to change our minds. I went from teaching to nursing…two careers demanding lots of reading, studying, preparation…not to mention patience and love. My final take: both were awesome choices.

AND NOW? I write. Articles, book reviews, novels…I have written three, all unpublished. Two of them I have not read for years, but still think of their characters, their lives, asking myself: is there good writing in those early attempts? Maybe, probably.

But in this moment, I am fulfilled when you read my posts…thanks so much. Writing will always take me places. And as for the photos above: my book of short stories; also a novel and a nonfiction work that I highly recommend.

When You Don’t Get the Window Seat

November 24, 2024 11 Comments

This post recalls an experience many of us have had. And lately, when I fly, I never get a window seat–my husband is on the aisle, me in the middle…

But I have memories of being in the window seat, traveling alone from the Midwest to California to see my grandchildren…watching the land drop away, the green fields of Iowa, the mountains of the west. And when flying to Chicago, the sight of Lake Michigan and the skyline so thrilling…beauty from the air.

But on this particular trip, the woman in the window seat kept the shade down EVEN DURING LANDING. Nothing to do, I told myself. This is America, where tolerance needs to apply in many situations. Just let it go, even if travel might make you cranky and eager to say “Don’t you want to look out at Chicago, watch us glide over this amazing city and land?” But I stay quiet, though on some issues, maybe I need to offer some words.

So when flying from the west coast to Chicago–I did do something.

I read a book. I read Ta-Nehisi Coates, BETWEEN THE WORLD AND ME.

And the truth…I will never be the same.

BETWEEN THE WOLRD AND ME begins…

And one morning while in the woods, I stumbled suddenly upon the thing, Stumbled upon it in a grassy clearing guarded by scaly oaks and elms, And the sooty details of the scene rose, thrusting themselves “between the world and me”...(those words) taken from a Richard Wright poem.

We all know Richard Wright. We read NATIVE SON in high school. And in this particular poem, Wright comes upon the remains of a tar feathering/burning, only to grasp that his future might be the same. And Coates, writing this book to his son, leaps from the scene to the present day. Some things are now outlawed. Some are not.

This is a book about Coates’ fear for his black body. And for me, this book is a WINDOW on white privilege, on the impact of words that have come from my mouth: bad neighborhood, ghetto, white flight, gangs with guns and drugs, working the system…

SO WHAT ABOUT YOUR HISTORY, MY HISTORY…

Ask yourself what language you might unconsciously use to denigrate a group of people–and do it casually, like it’s really no big deal. Because it’s so a part of most of us we don’t hear it or see it.

In the past, the rhyme, Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, Catch a–the object of which was changed to tiger. And if at any time I knew or even thought the original word, it horrifies me.

Blame our culture, inbred in daily living. Life without thought. Ignorance! Do we ever stop to ask ourselves why we say or once said…. these things? No. Did my white body prevent me from digging through decades of pre-judgment, from seeing clearly that some of my choices smacked of fear? Yes. And then finally I had to ask, why?

Because it was ingrained by ancestors, forebears, the populace that came before me. They handed out a well-crafted picture–just handed it over and said: “Here, believe this, because this is how it is for you and how it will always be.” Were they good, loving people? Maybe. Were they ignorant, the product of the times, the whispered words, the judgments. Definitely. Christians also. (Think of the election of Barak Obama and how those old tropes played out, sometimes disguised…but certainly there.)

FIGHT WHAT IS HANDED DOWN

Separation. Fear. Build a wall–don’t drive there after dark; don’t shop there. Don’t take the bus. My husband took the bus to college. NEVER an incident. So now our grandchildren might ask WHY NOT TAKE THE BUS? And since reading BETWEEN THE WORLD AND ME, these phrases, these tossed off and accepted ideas that are still part of the nomenclature…they stand out in my mind like darts of poison.

But what can I do when my policeman relative used to toss it off casually–those Chicago neighborhoods, etc? I can try to understand, and he’ll claim experience, though that works on both sides–my black brother-in-law from South Africa, when he was still alive, saw the big picture. He was a physician, drove an expensive car, and thus was often stopped…DWB–driving while black.

AND WHAT DID I DO?

I taught in a high school with a diverse population (one of the best things that ever happened to me). But regardless, this being something I could not help…I brought a few pre-conceived ideas with me, until my dear friend Linda M. helped wake me up. Her mantra: WE NEED TO SHARE THE LAND. Yes!

And not just share a dying neighborhood or a crumbling public housing building, which was often scorned by those who had so much more. Better to wake up, understand the economics, never make general assumptions. Try to discern WHY some things happened to others, whey they were blamed, despite their every effort to change things.

My older daughter’s master’s thesis in Urban Planning examined the rationale behind housing projects in Chicago–many of which have been torn down, thank God, but some do still remain. I read portions of her reference books that pointed to a major fact: a human being needs to have a say, needs to identify with a dwelling, a doorway, a garden. That builds pride, leads to care. Pushed in one direction without agency of choice will present attachment. Ever read RAISIN IN THE SUN? Ever think about living in a building 20 stories high with no sunlight in the stairwell, one or two windows lighting your abode, and the inability to step outside on a deck or a patio, feel the sun on your face? Sounds a bit like a prison. It was.

Many of us believe we have struggled for safety. Coates writes: To survive the neighborhoods and shield my body, I learned another language consisting of a basic complement of head nods and handshakes. I memorized a list of prohibited blocks. I learned the smell and feel of fighting weather…I recall learning these laws clearer than I recall learning my colors and shapes, because these laws were essential to the security of my body.

Coates fears that someone will destroy his body, because he is black–and for no other reason. He references the firm and physical discipline of his parents. The LESSON all black mothers and fathers teach their children: avoid the police when walking the streets. Be careful. Watch yourself. Your life depends on it.

DID YOU ONCE SEE THIS?

What thoughts went through your mind, Dear Reader, when you saw a black mother scolding her child in a store, or pulling that child toward her? Negative right? Now read this from Coates as he addresses his son:

Now I understood it all…black people love their children with a kind of obsession. You are all we have, and you come to us endangered. I think we would like to kill you ourselves before seeing you killed by the streets that America made. That is a philosophy of the disembodied,of a people who control nothing, who can protect nothing, who are made to fear not just the criminals among them but the police who lord over them with all the moral authority of a protective racket. It was only after you that I understood this love, that I understood the grip of my mother’s hand. She knew that the galaxy itself could kill me, that all of me could be shattered and all of her legacy spilled upon the curb like bum wine. And no one would be brought to account…because my death would not be the falt of any human but the fault of some unfortunate but immutable fact of “race”…

Coates recounts his first trip to Paris, a joyful-sad experience for a man bursting from the historical bonds of American society. Sitting in a Parisian garden he writes: At that moment a strange loneliness took hold…It occurred to me that I really was in someone else’s country and yet, in some necessary way, I was outside of their country. In America, I was part of an equation–even if it wasn’t a part I relished. I was the one the police stopped on 23rd Street in the middle of a workday…I was not just a father but the father of a black boy. I was not just a spouse but the husband of a black woman, a freighted symbol of black love. But sitting in the garden, for the first time I was an alien, a sailor–landless and disconnected. And I was sorry I had never felt this particular loneliness before–far outside of someone else’s dream.

Yes, we all have dreams. But they have to be ours. SHARE THE LAND, let others have their dreams without a catch. J Beckett says in his Goodreads Review of Coates’s book: The tears came because Coates, in a few pages, captured, exposed, unlocked and translated what so many people of color, so many frustrated and frightened parents, and so many disenfranchised and nomadic youth found so difficult to dictate and explain. For them, the feelings were there but the words simply would not come. I wept because Coates’ story was my story..

And part of Coates’ story is my story–it’s my inability to fully see and understand. I have a bigger window now on that story, even though what I saw was not my plane landing at O’Hare in Chicago, but the words on the page bright and vivid calling out to me. Read this book. Let me know if his words touch you also.

Adjusting to New Developments

November 18, 2024 5 Comments

Dear Readers: some of you have seen this piece, as it was posted last week…but most of you have NOT, because of a glitch in the mailing process. So thanks for reading.

Photos of the meal you’re eating, the dress you might buy, the garbage cans left out on a neighbors’ driveway, the rash developing on your face–all are examples of photos that will probably be deleted from your phone, after they have fulfilled their purpose. Because now, in the age of the cell phone, the ability to carry a camera has changed the way we think about photos, and how we use them. It was a new development in our society, but now it is common to almost everyone. But is that always a good thing?

A BOOK ABOUT FACEBOOK PHOTOS and MORE

In his book, TERMS OF SERVICE, Jacob Silverman, (who has been cited as a “thoughtful critic of our evolving digital lifestyles”) points out the negatives (excuse the pun) in our picture-snapping culture: “Photos become less about memorializing a moment than communicating the reality of that moment to others.”

He expands this idea, claiming that often the purpose of the picture is not to live in and capture the moment, but to deal with the anxiety we may feel at that moment–others doing things more interesting, more fulfilling than we are. Thus the photo has entered into a timeless competition. Silverman also believes that party-goers may forget about experiencing fun, preferring to get into a Facebook Photo that announces online: YES, I’M HAVING FUN. LOOK AT ME!

And I find it interesting, that in this current time (which will probably become even more frenetic and not disappear) we feel the need, NOT ONLY to send photos of all that we do, BUT we ALSO go somewhere to practice MINDFULNESS, to be still, listen to our breathing, so we can learn to live in the moment. REALLY? How ironic.

A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE PHOTO

So let’s take a step back, because before all of THIS, the constant need to capture an action or a moment in time and shout it to the world–there was the mind, there was thought. So can we look at it this way:

1. The purpose of a photo was to PRESERVE a human’s image: to help us know that person and to remember them. Previously, those with wealth sat for a portrait painted by either a really good artist or an itinerant one–but the job got done, and thus we know what Elizabeth the First of England supposedly looked like, as well as George Washington etc. You get the picture!

2. The purpose of a photo also became its ability to record history. Yes, there are paintings of battles, coronations, but they took months. Photographs were more immediate and allowed for a variety of views. Think Mathew B. Brady (May 18, 1822 – January 15, 1896) a photo-journalist, one of the first American photographers, whose name became synonymous with photos of the Civil War.

3. As the decades progressed, the daguerreotype and the tintype gave way to a process where a dry gel on paper or film, replaced the photographic plate, so a photographer could take photos without the boxes of plates and toxic chemicals previously needed. Film was developed by George Eastman, of Rochester, New York, in 1884. As early as 1888, Eastman’s Kodak camera was available to consumers. His slogan: “You press the button, we do the rest.” By 1901 the public could take photos using the famous Kodak Brownie, a great little camera that took pretty decent photos.

4. And that truly was the beginning–because you didn’t need to hire someone to paint your portrait. Families could frame photographs, hang them in their homes, honoring grandparents, remembering weddings, births, or to help the aching heart missing those who were miles away. In some cultures, people even took photos of their loved ones in coffins surrounded by flowers. All of this being about remembering, preserving, honoring: but also BEING IN THAT MOMENT.

A TALISMAN OF MEMORY – MINDFULNESS ANYONE?

You could say that holding a photo of your sweetheart as a GI during World War II or glancing at one taped to your flight deck as a pilot during any conflict, became a moment of memory but also mindfulness. The photo carried you away from the trauma, and for brief moments you could be present to the person you loved. Photos were, and for many still are a talisman of memory. Photos ignite thought.

But maybe not as much now. The ability to take photos of things truly worthy of remembering, but also of things you might forget in 15 minutes–has changed our attitudes toward the photos themselves. We take a photo and delete. Why? Because we worry about how we look–we probably always did, but film was costly and you didn’t SEE the photo until after it was developed. Photo phones changed that process, and truly changed what picture-taking meant in the moment. Because it’s not a moment–it’s a photo-shopped or deleted moment until the right moment comes along!

THE POLAROID OR LET’S GET NAKED

First we had the Polaroid. Now we have the cell phone! The Polaroid saved folks from taking your roll of film to the local drugstore to be developed…and when you return for it, you have to meet with a manager or maybe even a policeman. (This happened to a friend of mine as recently as the 90’s. She took some photos of her children naked in the bathtub, too much anatomy showing. Her children, but they had to make sure…)

The Polaroid did allow people to take such photos–you developed them right in your home. Now the concept of privacy isn’t on anyone’s radar, some people having been labeled sex offenders, because they were not aware of the dangers of clicking without thinking first…their images being traced back to them. Such images could hardly fit into some nostalgia category or talisman of memory. Again–change change change.

PHOTO HISTORY

I have taken photos forever, and have been extremely grateful to my husband who’s a great photographer. I love our family, want to remember them at all their amazing stages. I also treasure the homes we have lived in. But I didn’t take these photos so everyone would say WOW. I believe photos of family should be protected and treasured. I don’t think everyone needs to see them, and I’m sure we are not that protected online.

Jacob Silverman would probably agree with me. He writes: Social networking is a staple of modern life, but its continued evolution is becoming increasingly detrimental to our lives. Shifts in communication, identity, and privacy are affecting us more than we realize or understand…(he discusses) the identity-validating pleasures and perils of online visibility; our newly adopted view of daily life through the lens of what’s share-worthy; and the…(ability of ) social media platforms—Facebook, Google, Twitter (X), and more—to mine our personal data for advertising revenue…POINT: (is invading our privacy)

I treasure the photo albums I have been keeping for years, and our children enjoy seeing themselves at any age, and in many different places. If I share online, it is infrequent, and I am judicious as to what I share. My photos mean something to me. They stir up memories, create thought. The photo leaps beyond to the smells, sounds and feelings of that day, that moment.

What do your photos mean to you? As a dear and wonderful friend of mine once told me in her practical and knowing way: if your house catches on fire, grab your photos albums. Everything else can be replaced. Well readers, maybe the message is: take better care of your printed photos, but also watch what you take on your phones!

Are We “Trailing Clouds of Glory”?

November 3, 2024 5 Comments

Sometimes I yearn for an answer, and thus would love your thoughts concerning this: why is it that as we age, our ability to accept change becomes harder and harder. Is it the long span of health and independence that we take for granted…or does our human functioning disallow us from accepting our mortality? As Wordsworth wrote in his poem, Intimation of Immortality, children might arrive in the world: But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!

Thinking of those words, maybe it is because children do not have as firm a stake in the world as adults do. Throughout life, all of us must compensate and adapt. Sometimes it is only for a short while. Example: At the age of five, after eye surgery, I wore bandages on both eyes for a week. But a friend who is in her sixties, recently developed MS, Multiple Sclerosis. Now her ability to compensate and adapt will color the rest of her life. If we lose an arm, we are still the same person, that hasn’t changed us, though for the rest of life we need to learn to compensate with a prothesis.

And even if we live with the scars from a traffic accident or a fire–we are integrally the same person, though often feeling great sorrow over our loss. And though we might struggle to adjust, learn to love the altered person we now present to the world, within we have not truly changed. Which makes it so wrong when someone might label us, the speaker doing so to distance himself or herself from what they might experience in the future–because it is there…that deep-seated human fear, some more than others disallowing it when they risk life and limb regardless.

DEALING WITH PHYSICAL DIFFERENCES

It is possible, that we instinctively know our bodies are fragile, and being human, we crave distance from the pain and suffering of others. But even as a child, I began to realize that I might give pain to someone else when I wanted to look away from their suffering. (Children know and often say right out…what happened to you?)

Maybe I found my way into nursing to better understand that human reaction, to acknowledge and be more caring. I believe each of us, no matter the shape of our body, the losses or problems we might live with, deserves the acknowledgement of a whole human being. And because I believe this, I have learned not to run and open doors for the handicapped, unless explicitly asked to do so. Once, I approached a blind man, telling him that the usual entrance to the mall was blocked by decorations. He whirled on me, told me he knew exactly where he was going. I learned that day that I had invaded his space, and in that particular situation, I was wrong.

BUT DO WE TAKE FOR GRANTED OUT BODIES, HOW WE CARE FOR THEM?

Like lingerie. Don’t even try being innocent in certain bras—immediately you’re a tigress. To push the fantasy, the models’ photos are air-brushed into perfection, revealing completely bared buttocks in thongs, and facial expressions that looked pre-, post- or in medias res orgasm. Now that’s some lingerie! And yes, the time-line has crashed over the edge of the flow chart.

So where do we go from here? A scary question that makes me acutely aware of the attributes I have or more accurately, don’t have. The women peering out from magazines, television, the internet have perfect skin, defined arms and legs, breathtaking décolletage, slim stomachs, firm breasts and buttocks, incredible flowing hair, sexy everything. How can I be happy with my aging self when the world around me has raised the bar to unattainable heights?

In my twenties, the bar just wasn’t that high. I wore ordinary bras. Everyone did. I can’t even remember the nondescript panties. If you did shop Fredericks of Hollywood, you were close to being a slut, though there was the trousseau lingerie you received at wedding showers—considered totally acceptable by your girlfriends. But Grandma Harriet? She’d have a seizure now. Because why do we have to look like we all work in a bordello? I’m aging, but also concerned as to how to encase my anatomy. What’s a girl to do?

GET OVER IT!

Maybe take the sad trip to VS or some other lingerie department. We’ve all been there, standing in the dressing room naked, looking at sagging breasts, and for some, baby-making tummies, and for others, I-like-desserts-too-much tummies. You check out the fine wrinkles in your knees and the occasional spider-veins, and either cry or just keep sighing as the fluorescent light transforms your skin into a lovely grey, revealing every facial flaw. (Advice: don’t ever bend your face over your mirror—gravity will allow you to see where you’ll be at 90, sans Botox. HELP!!! ) So you stifle the urge to break the full-length mirror, telling yourself: stay cool. Then you suck everything in and try on THE BRA. At VS it’s probably called the “I feel sexy bra,” though you don’t. Because this is the sad trip, the one you take when your lover drops you despite the surprise party you threw him complete with stripper. Or your longtime boyfriend was relieved to get transferred to Australia, or your husband has revealed he’s doing it with the dog trainer. JUST KIDDING! But you’re familiar with the drill. Time will always win!

P.S. My readers know, that the love and help you give those close to you is truly the beauty in your life. But ever so often, we look in the mirror…and just wonder. SO SMILE and thanks for reading

WHAT ARE YOU READING? 100 Best Books of the 21st Century

October 27, 2024 6 Comments

Like many others, I don’t have a trip to Europe or some exotic island cruise on my calendar. But I do have books. And I read, always.

And what a great time of year to pile up some wonderful reads, because I live in Chicago, and it’s fall, the leaves shouting out their autumn colors, though on our walk today I saw Lamb’s Ear (that’s a plant I love) roses, mums, marigolds, other annuals still holding on. But it’s getting late, and so we admire the brightness of pumpkins…they are every where, part of our Midwest autumn celebration.

BUT I HAVE TO ASK: WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN READING?

I’m curious, because The New York Times recently presented: BOOK REVIEW, THE 100 BEST BOOKS OF THE 21st CENTURY! And no one can resist flipping through 47 pages to see what books made the list and if you have read any of them.

HOW “BEST BOOKS” IS DONE

The Book Review sends a survey to hundreds of novelists, editors, critics, publishers, booksellers, and librarians asking them to pick the ten best books of the 20th Century. After going through all responses, the NYT creates a list of 100.

THE TOP TEN

And now I am wondering if you have read and enjoyed any of THE TOP TEN? So, here they are:

My Brilliant Friend, Elena Ferrante; Warmth of Other Suns, Isabel Wilkerson; Wolf Hall, Hillary Mantel; The Known World, Edward P. Jones; The Corrections, Jonathan Franzen; 2666, Roberto Bolano; The Underground Railroad, Colson Whitehead; Austerlitz, W.G.Sebald; Never Let Me Go, Kaz shiguro and lastly, Gilead, Marilynn Robinson.

OUT OF THE TOP TEN, HERE ARE THE ONES I HAVE READ and RECOMMEND:

The Known World (amazing); most of The Corrections; The Underground Railroad and Gilead–one of my favorite books of all time, that lead me to read everything else Robinson has written. Love her work.

Many of the others I am familiar with, especially Isabel Wilkerson and her research; Hillary Mantel and her life work, early death; and how amazing that Elena Ferrante seemed to come from nowhere, capturing the love of readers world-wide.

AND THE LIST GOES ON

Here are some of the others I have read, and my brief recommendation. THANKS FOR, well, READING!

Lincoln in the Bardo George Saunders

Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage Alice Munro

Atonement, Ian McEwan

Between the World and Me, Ta Nehisi Coates (a must read)

Small Things Like These, Claire Keegan (an absolutely must read!)

Olive Kitteridge, Elizabeth Strout (I fell in love with this novel that won the Pulitzer, and then read everything else she has written, as well as taking a class with her at the University of Iowa. I’m a fan.)

An American Marriage, Tayari Jones (I cannot say enough for this novel, beautifully written, fascinating story…worth reading again and again.)

And finally, Bel Canto, Ann Patchett (a wonderful writer who I admire. My favorite of hers: Commonwealth.)

WOULD LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU ARE READING or YOUR FAVORITES, Beth

I recommend joining Goodreads to see what others are reading and loving.

GOOD NIGHT, HAPPY PEOPLE

October 20, 2024 9 Comments

Our home in Chicago has two walls of windows that look out onto our garden(photos above). Those same windows also provide a view of our fence and the homes across an alley.

But every night, when I am turning out the lights to go to bed, I see the HAPPY PEOPLE. I call them that, because when I’m tired, eager for sleep, they are still up, going strong. I know this, because their widescreen TV is lit up, and they are watching a film, enjoying a story that keeps them going even when it’s midnight. And when I often see them moving about, I imagine it’s time for another glass of wine or some snacks, all of which convinces me that they are happy.

As a writer, this is not unusual for me…imagining the lives of others: does this couple sleep late in the morning, because watching a movie beyond midnight is part of their routine? My husband and I have met them, and they are both retired. So why not stay up until they become drowsy, and finally head off to bed?

I do believe they are HAPPY…their home casting light into the darkness, their TV big and bright…but also because they have a lovely garden with a large swing, the kind young children yearn for. It hangs from a tree, their grandchildren often visiting, heading for that swing, where they float up to the sky, shrieking and calling out with joy.

I do love that, it reminding me of the hundreds of times I pushed and worked my way into the clouds in my own back yard, using a simple swing that hung from our garage roof and a hunk of wood set in cement. Because it is true: memoires we make in our youth never go away…

I’m the swing and the swing is me—and day by day we work our way up the dimensions of the yard. The first few seconds my toes inside my shoes can stretch to the patchy grass by the apple tree, then to the gravel car turnaround under that tree, and finally, when I’m really going, they touch the high branches of the apple tree and the roof of our house. I’m alone, clouds moving along the border of my sky, as if I’m seeing the very earth spinning on its axis. But I keep swinging and singing, sometimes just watching the sky as I float back and forth, back and forth, my head held straight along my body, like an arrow hurtling upwards.

BUT ALSO, my Happy Neighbors…once had a party on a hot summer night…the kind that beckons anyone who happened to be walking by. There was music, and vodka…which of course you can chill on a hot summer night. And if they have that party again…my husband and I will wander over…maybe I could swing on that swing.

FINAL THOUGHT

I have never needed alcohol to be happy. Just seeing how people love and honor one another makes me happy…like another of my neighbors whose job it is to deal with troubled children..those in high school, truant, getting in trouble. It’s a constant, he being called because of a fight, someone upsetting a classroom, threatening a teacher, possessing drugs or worse…my neighbor always calm, always ready. This big man with a big smile who relaxes by riding a bike or cooking on his grill…he and his wife, happy.

Our street also has a BLOCK PARTY. This is truly a Beverly Chicago thing…every block does it…so that all summer long, as you walk or drive, one city block is inaccessible from one end to the other, with the city’s permission of course. There are bounce houses, taco trucks, magicians, and musicians, while bikes and balls, scooters and electric kid cars zoom from one end to another. The best part: good conversations with your neighbors over a beer or maybe even a Screw Driver.

But why am I remembering block parties and yard parties with autumn here, winter not far away? Because it is the warmth of the people who live here, Good People, Happy People…who will help you when your car won’t start; warn you when they see a mouse run into your garage; bring over a package or the mail if it somehow was wrongly delivered.

And then, in the coldest of winters, they will set out luminary lights at every house on the block to celebrate the season. Hot coca will also be served, because these are people, happy people, who live by the code of being truly good neighbors. All blessings.

Do you have gatherings or ceremonies where you live? Are you part of a group of Happy People?