The season for losing friends.

Do we just walk down the street, and start talking to someone we happen to be attracted to and the conversation becomes the key to a rendez-vous, a promise to meet again, an exchange of vital statistics?

Remember how easy it was to make friends in school? The person in front of you in line at the bookstore or lunch line, or the one sitting in the same classroom, perhaps with the same last name/
How easy!

In blogland, it starts easily enough. One visit, one comment. If the other reciprocates, another visit, another comment. We then sign up to follow each other and continue to visit and write comments for a while.

Do people we follow or follow us in blogland become life-long friends? Do they become as good as neighbors,  as close as those we meet at church? What attracts us and repels us? I know that in my writing group we never talk religion or politics.

Does the same rule apply in blogland?

On the shore.

Sometimes, while you hesitate to take the next step, it helps to know that there is a life-saving device nearby, and a perceptive and attentive lifeguard.

Families usually play this role. They are there when you need them. They'll throw you a life jacket, or ring, or pole, and keep you from sure destruction.  This assurance, this belief that no matter what I've done, how stupidly I've acted, when I'm in deep doo-doo, the family will throw me a life-saving device, this comforts us, and lets us forgive and forget all the trauma that exists in families.

Friends also play this role. They point out our mistakes and our idiosyncracies right to our face. We expect them to keep us out of trouble, for our own good. We expect them to drive us home after a beer binge, after a fight, after we have lost our ability to control our lives. They know enough secrets and weaknesses, that if they got upset with us, they could become our worst enemies. 

Writing buddies have the special role of encouraging and detecting. Sometimes, they become such good friends, that they tend to do one or the other. They want to detect all the time; or, encourage all the time.  Unlike teachers who tend to keep a distance, making sure mistakes are always noticed and corrected, writing buddies have to find this balance.  Too friendly, and the critical eye suffers; too critical, and the friendly blanket is dropped.

That brings me to blogging friends.  Without any protocols, we have taken up our roles and fit right in. We encourage, we sympathize, we add to the discussion, we visit often enough to pick out the patterns of each other's lives, and we socialize beautifully.   When we get tired, we drop out of sight.

Don't you wish life was always this easy?

"I get high with a little help from my friends..."

This post is dedicated to my writers' group and my blog-world friends who constantly amaze me with their support and encouragement. The awards above came recently to me, courtesy of Cheryl and Shadow. Thank you ladies, these symbols of friendship will support me for many months.

The Bandon group, pictured above in an unclassical pose, is the group that knows me best, knows my frustrations, my limitations, my ambitions. Each of us has gained immensely from participating in the group; and in turn, we have influenced others too.

My friend Lilly Mars presented a long essay to the group, in response to a prompt about what we learned from each other. Here is an excerpt from her essay, with her permission.

"What I learned in Monday School.

"In his book, The Courage to Write, Ralph Keyes claims: 'The esprit of good writers' group resembles that of neighbors battling a hurricane. Everyone is in equal jeopardy. Shared danger forges a bond...Writers' gatherings of all kinds are, or at least ought to be, settings where we learn not so much HOW to write but how to DARE to write. No single task is more important to the process of becoming a writer.'

"...I have arrived feeling doubtful and hopeful and anxious and proud. I have skipped aerobics class because I did not want to show up sweaty. I have been late because of the nocturnal pestilence of words, words, words. Emily Dickinson has shown up at 3 A.M. accusing me of plagiarism and demanding a credit line. I have laughed and cried along with members of the group. I have listened to many pieces of noteworthy writing, and also some gobbledygook. I have watched many lovely people come and go, three of whom have passed away. This is the only place I know where I can be with people who get passionate about semi-colons. These are the only folks who call me Lilly."

Lilly's words, (not her real name), reflect much of my sentiments. Every Monday I feel doubtful and hopeful and anxious and proud. Yet, after those two hours hearing others' words, sharing my thoughts, struggling to learn how to improve the output, struggling to keep my ego tucked safely away, I return home exhausted and elated. I have never felt more alive, more understood.

Thank you Lilly for capturing that feeling so well.

I wish for all of you who aspire to write, to have friends like these.

Curious phenomenon of Insane Proportion.

How can it be that among the millions of bloggers we run in the same circle? I responded to a new visitor, and discovered that all her other comments were made by people I know.

Here is what I think:
We stop at our usual ten, fifteen places a day to leave a comment. We are A. Someone else, B, does the same. They both end up at Z, a customary run for A, but a new one for B. B notices that A has appeared in a few places he frequents. So, he visits A and leaves a comment, not once, but twice. B returns the favor and finds that he and A have common friends, and they are all Catholic. How the...?

Now, that's not an explanation at all. There must be a scientific way to determine this. Someone in blogland must know a statistical method to apply here. Why do I want to know? Because I thought this whole thing was random all the time. I thought, as many still do, that we could just jump in and out of this train as though we were at Disneyland. Have you gone to Disneyland and met someone you worked with? It never happened to me.

I lived most of my life in suburbs of Los Angeles. Nobody knew you. Even if you frequented the same establishments week after week. If anybody did, we became friends for life. Now, finding people with similar backgrounds outside of your town, outside of your geographical area, outside of your country, even outside of your continent, or hemisphere is INSANE, but curious.

When did it become this easy to talk about politics, religion, family and sleeping habits with total strangers? We don't even know their real names, or....

I'd love to hear what you think is happening here.

Shining Light Award

Shining Light Award





This award is presented to Renee of circlingmyhead for her extraordinary and enduring spirit.

She is the lighthouse, helping mariners navigate the harsh forces of nature and maintaining their compass pointed toward home.



May she enjoy this on her birthday, March 28, and all the days and years to come.







This award is non-transferable.
Artwork by Roger Pool, Florence, Oregon. U.S.A.





Renee, for all the ways we love you: Happy Birthday! Tell me where to ship the painting!

Among friends.

Joyce and her mushroom friends greet me in the morning hours close to the lake where we walk. People around this neighborhood stop and talk. I met her this way a few years ago, when I had just moved in town.

She was walking her dog, an ailing fellow who was on his last legs, and was slowly encouraging him to keep moving. I slowed down, matched their pace, worried about adjusting to my new status as a retiree.

"You just took a good step," she said, and when I looked confused, she added, "you stopped and talked to us, me and Bobby. You'll have no problem making friends in town."

She was right. In less than a year, I ran for school board, joined the democratic party, and signed up to read in the SMART program. Within months, I had more work lined up than I could do in an eight hour day. I saw her around that first year and thought she was too old to be a good friend. I don't think she thinks I'm too young to be her friend.

I wish the relationship I have with my children could be this good. We are open and generous with each other. She reads my mind, divines my silences. When I am her age, I want to feel and act and look just like her. Did I mention that she drives to all her activities?

I was wrong. She has become a good friend in many ways. We walk together, are in a reading club, SMART, and the writers' group. She reads my stories and comments with candor and truthfulness. I read her stories and point out certain things. We are good for each other. My mother would be proud of me.

And to the Academy, from where I stand...

Yesterday, the gods of the BLOGOSPHERE, saw fit to nominate me for an award:

The Best Blog Thinker Award was handed to this blog by French Fancy.

(The actual image is missing because of my ineptitude. If you wish to see it, or if you scroll to the end and see your name as the new recipient, go to French Fancy and copy the award for yourself. This happens to be one of many technological challenges I'm trying to conquer in this lifetime. Sorry, for this long, tedious, but so very true technical interruption.)

This is what she writes:



"This award acknowledges the values that every Blogger displays in their effort to transmit cultural, ethical, literary, and personal values with each message they write. Awards like this have been created with the intention of promoting community among Bloggers. It’s a way to show appreciation and gratitude for work that adds value to the Web.”


I am speechless.
Thank you, French Fancy, for your generosity and thoughtfulness.
I in turn, will nominate the following blogs to receive this award:

-Sixtyup

-Absolute Vanilla and (Attila)

-LettersfromUsedom

-Picsandpoems

-Lizzyfrizzfrock

-Circlingmyhead

There are also, hundreds of you who have touched my life and expanded my horizon. For a few hours each day, or night, we reach across this Universe and share our experiences with each other, crying, laughing, opening new windows of opportunity, seeing the world with a new set of eyes. What a small world we have created.

Thank you FrancyFancy for your generous expression of friendship.

To everyone who reads this post, your perspective is priceless.

Tagged

We all played this game as children. On the blogs, it is played this way:someone tags you, you talk, you tag six more people.

Crystal from Be The Change you Want To See tagged me. Here are my
ramblings:

1. I have visited every state in the union, lived in three of them for more than five years and Oregon, where I now live, is my favorite. The other ones were California and Florida. I much prefer cooler weather and less humidity.

2.I still have not fulfilled one of my life's ambition to become a writer. This is my last frontier, a task that keeps me hitting the keyboard every morning at six. Because of this hunger in me, I've become more humble and patient with myself, forgiving and encouraging as well.

3. When I first came to this country as a teenager I thought all of America was like California. When we lived in Florida I realized that there are many Americas, many different strands and cultural pockets.

4. When I was seventeen I could speak five languages. Now, I barely remember Italian, my mother tongue, and totally forgot French and Latin. If something is not practiced, it is lost.

5. I finished my bachelor in four years, majoring in English. Considering that I could barely speak English when I first arrived in America, it was a major accomplishment. To those people who work with children from other countries, my advice is simple, show them that you care. They will learn English faster.

6. My wish is to travel in every continent. I have just begun.

Rules for this activity:write six random things,link to the person that tagged you, post the rules,and tag six more people.

The people I'm tagging today are:

1. Matawheeze
2. Cheri
3.Janis
4.Angela
5.Cheryl
6. Ruth

Good luck, and hope to see your ramblings soon.

Holidays-Fretting and Fussing, Oh My...

I'm a happy camper the entire year. As holidays approach,however, I begin to fret. When company is expected at any other time, I just run the vacuum and voila, the house is set.

But not around the holidays. Now, every room in the house has to be addressed-cobwebs and curtains and extra soaps. And the decorations have to be hung to set the mood-pumpkins and gourds, turkeys and pilgrims for one month, and then, quick change to poinsetta and fir, garlands and tinsel. There is so much fuss just dressing the house that I lose any desire to do anything else, see anybody, bake the traditional pies, or choose the Christmas tree for the living room.

And that's not even the half of it. Presents need to be bought and shipped to those who can't join us for the day, and stockings need to be stuffed for those who will make it to our house, literally over rivers, and woods. The children who are closest have to cross the Willamette, the Umpkua, the Smith, the Coos, the Coquille, the Sixes and the Elk, all wild rivers that might get too bloated during rainy season which starts in September and ends in May.

And then there are forests, the entire Coastal Range that might necessitate chains certain times.

If there is a big storm, as the one last year at the beginning of December that blew off the roof of our high school and shut down Highway 101 for a few miles up and down the coast, and flooded half of Oregon to the point that the National Guard had to help people evacuate,( unfortunately the National Guard and the Reserves are still in Iraq, so the lay volunteer force was called in), under those conditions even the local stores and gas stations and utilities are wiped out. Then, nobody can connect with anybody and we just survive.

Then the spirit of the holidays invaded everyone. People were out on the highway chopping trees and clearing roads, at the high school, packing books in the library that had lost a roof, clearing debris from playgrounds,churches,businesses.

Neighbors fired up their BBQ and cooked for anybody in their block that needed a hot meal. They finished cutting down the felled trees in their yards and started out on the neighbor's. The fretting and the fussing connected us all and heralded the warmest of holidays.

These are probably the ancient memories in the songs we sing, the rituals we bring out every year, to be reminded that we have survived, and we can celebrate yet another season.