The Lenten Triodion and Prelude to Spring

Yesterday was the Sunday of the Publican and the Pharisee on the calendar of the Orthodox Church. It’s the first of three Sundays leading up to Great Lent. For Orthodox Christians, Great Lent officially begins on Clean Monday, which falls on March 2 this year—just 3 weeks from today. Last week I was at our monthly women’s gathering when one of the women mentioned how glad she is that Lent is drawing near and I said, “Really? You’re looking forward to Lent?’

Her answer was better than I can paraphrase. It included being tired of her heaviness, her baggage, and ready for cleansing. I listened and wanted to feel the way she did, and now, with Great Lent only 3 weeks away, I will ask God to help me hunger after this time of self-denial and spiritual growth.

This morning I found something that helps: A couple of paragraphs from my blog post about this time last year:

There’s a wonderful essay by Metropolitan Kallistos Ware , in the book, Living Orthodoxy in the Modern World. The essay is called, "Lent and the Consumer Society." It's actually where I first read about flying kites on Clean Monday. Anyway, I love his approach to Lent:
We are encouraged to associate Lent with fresh air, with the wind blowing on the hills, with the coming of spring. Lent is a time for flying kites--a time for adventure, exploration, fresh initiatives, new hope.... It also has to do with freedom.... Lent is a time when we learn to be free.... As a human person in God's image, I am not truly free unless I have learnt how to use my freedom rightly, and this process of learning presupposes obedience, discipline and self-denial. Freedom is not only a gift; it is a task....Lent is concerned, first, with the offering of the world back to God in thanksgiving....

I love that. It's not about self-depracation and groveling. It's about seeing ourselves as God sees us. Yes, seeing our sins and repententing of them. But also seeing God's gifts come to fruition as we labor. Freedom means freedom from slavery to self and harmful passions, but also freedom to be all that we can be.

The complete services for Great Lent are contained in a book called The Lenten Triodion. The Lenten Triodion derives its name from the Greek word meaning "three odes," since the Canon of Matins is based on only three of the scriptural odes or canticles, instead of the usual nine. If you’re Orthodox (or just curious) and would like to know the readings for these weeks of the Church year but don’t want to buy a book, you can find may of them here.

The past weekend was full of beauty in so many ways. On Friday night I attended a reception for the students in the Masters of Art Education program at the Memphis College of Art.

Just visiting the building itself, especially at night, is a treat.

My invitation came from one of my Goddaughters, Julie Stanek, who teaches art at Rossville Academy. Julie’s work at the show included several groupings in oil… like these sunflowers.

And this piece, showing a beautiful butterfly on an interesting tree branch. Congratulations to Julie and the other students on an excellent show! It was fun to run into Andrew Dycus, a classmate of my oldest son’s back in middle school! And I also enjoyed a sneak preview of the Works of Heart Valentine Auction being held the following day.

My friend Daphne came over from Little Rock that evening, and the next day we took off for Oxford, where the Oxford Film Festival was in progress. We were too late to join our friends, Doug, Herman and Ginger at the 10:30 a.m. showing of “Neshoba,” so we did a little shopping at Square Books instead. I was excited to find Jayne Anne Phillips’ new book, Lark and Termite, and to learn that she would be reading and signing in Oxford on March 10. I also grabbed a signed edition of Francine Prose’s latest novel, Goldengrove.

We were honored to have lunch with the author, Jere Hoar,who had been one of the guest speakers at last summer’s Yoknapatawpha Writers Workshop. It was fun to talk with Jere about writing projects and buying land around Oxford and other pursuits.

Later we met up with Doug at Off Square Books, and the three of us headed out to the country looking at land. Doug wanted to show us Larry Brown’s property out in Yocona, just outside Oxford. Doug had attended Larry’s funeral back in November of 2004, and hadn’t been to the site since.

We felt like we were walking on sacred ground, as we explored the dock by the pond.

“The Shack,” where Brown did much of his writing.

And his grave. The smaller grave is from an infant daughter. (Brown has other living children.) Larry was four months younger than me, so he died when he was only fifty three.

I’ll just let these pictures speak for themselves, other than to say that I could hear the wind in the trees. I think the last time I heard the wind in the trees was two years ago when I was visiting a monastery up in Michigan. Yes, Daphne, I know I need to get out of the city more. I get that. I just don’t want to sleep on the ground in a tent.

Back in town we met up with Michelle at High Pointe Coffee, then joined Tom Franklin and his wife Beth Anne Fennelly for drinks on the balcony at City Grocery, and eventually walked three doors down to The Lyric where Beth Anne was master of ceremonies for the Oxford Film Festival’s Awards Ceremony. There were a few film clips and lots of champagne, but the food line was too long, so we left hungry but happy from another day full of friendship and art and nature.

This gorgeous weather, as well as the approach of Great Lent, are such complimentary preludes to spring. Yep, it’s 72 degrees on February 9 here in Memphis, Tennessee. I’m going to sign off now, and head down to Harbor Town, to walk by the Mississippi River, and maybe do a little reading or writing….

Prose on Memoirs and Interview with Jayne Anne Phillips

Remember my three New Year’s goals? Writing, Exercising, and Organizing? I’ll bet you’re wondering why you haven’t heard anything from me about my progress on “Operation Chaos” in the past week. Well, my “excuses” are: I was out of town for six days and I was sick most of that time and a few days after returning home. So, exercise and cleaning out junk have definitely not been options for the past couple of weeks, but yesterday I got back on track with writing, and drafted 10 pages of the next chapter of my book. I’d like to finish the first draft of that chapter today, so my blog post will mainly be quotes and links to two good reads:

First of all, a friend sent me the link to this interesting article about memoirs in Harper’s by Francine Prose titled “Books and Circuses: The politics of literary scapegoating.” Prose is author of many books of fiction, and the New York Times bestselling nonfiction book, Reading Like a Writer, which I enjoyed and found very helpful.

The article is rather lengthy, especially since she intersperses her political views throughout the piece, which is otherwise mainly about memoir as a genre in general, and a few well-known examples in particular. She talks about the levels on which readers read memoirs, and this part was especially interesting to me, as I continue to write my own truths, hoping that some day readers will read my words in a way that is, as Prose says, “not only extra-literary, but personal.” Here are two teaser paragraphs—if you want to read the rest of the article, click here.

The next level on which memoirs can be read involves our sense that a writer is telling the world something we might not confide to our best friend. This sort of reading experience is provided by the increasingly crowded subgenre of autobiographies that portray the outrageous exploits of parents who have remained, in the writer’s memory, larger than life, just as they would have seemed to a child. Some of the most popular recent memoirs—Augusten Burroughs’s Running with Scissors, Jeannette Walls’s The Glass Castle—fall into this group. The writer’s courage or boldness in making the private public may be part of the reason why so many first-person accounts (Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love is yet another example) may fulfill a self-help function, and why thousands of readers find their encounters with these intimate narratives to be less voyeuristic than therapeutic. The traumas of the reader’s own dysfunctional childhood or painful divorce seem suddenly less taboo, less isolating, less fraught. Hidden secrets may come spilling out in the supportive context of the book group—a less expensive alternative to psychotherapy—and the reader may feel heartened and encouraged by the fact that the writer (such as Margaret B. Jones) has not only survived but triumphed.

To read in this way is to enter into a relationship with a book and a writer that is not only extra-literary but personal, a phenomenon that may be partly responsible for the orgies of recrimination that have followed the exposure of memoirists with faulty recall or vivid imaginations. It’s less as if a writer has lied or exaggerated than as if one’s therapist has been found guilty of practicing with false credentials.

My friends over at the Creative Nonfiction Foundation would agree with Prose about the importance of not writing memoir with “faulty recall or vivid imaginations.” If you want to make stuff up, write fiction.

Which is what novelist Jayne Anne Phillips has been doing quite well for some time. She’s also teaching at the Rutgers-Newark Master of Fine Arts Creative Writing program, which she launched two years ago and directs. Her recent novel, Lark and Termite, just came out in January. Phillips is a fan of William Faulkner, and says, of one of the main characters in her latest novel, “Readers may compare Termite to Benjy. In fact, Termite is Benjy’s elemental opposite….” I’m hooked—can’t wait to read it. When I was a freshman at Ole Miss in 1969-70, I did a paper on The Sound and the Fury. I don’t think I understood much that Faulkner was trying to say in that strange work of fiction, and I remember making up lots of stuff in my paper, but hopefully Phillips’ novel will be an easier read. I’ll let you know!

I was interested to learn that Phillips’ husband is a physician at Harvard Medical, and to hear her talk about how she has juggled her life as doctor’s wife, mother, and artist. I love her words near the end of the interview:

Artists have never been respected in America; it’s just not an American tradition. Communal art, crafts, yes, but individual artists, working essentially alone, are outsiders, they’re crazy fools, they’re not doing real work, they’re suspect, they’re feared. . . . It’s wonderful!

Anyway, you can read the entire interview with Phillips at Narrative Magazine online, but you have to register (which is easy and free). Just click here and follow the quick instructions. (Or if you see the entire interview when you clicked, I guess you’re in on my password.)

Okay, back to work on Chapter 10, “Spandex and Leg Warmers.” Hmmmm…. This is going to make me want to go work out.

Or not.

In case you can't tell, I'm the one in black tights with a dark blue and black leotard. It was 1985, and yeah, even at 115 pounds I thought I needed to wear black....

2009 Yoknapatawpha Summer Writers' Workshop: June 5-7

It’s official—the 2009 Yoknapatawpha Summer Writers’ Workshop at the University of Mississippi in Oxford will be held June 5-7. The workshop is for anyone writing in fiction or nonfiction, and participants submit up to 12 pages to be critiqued during the weekend. In addition to critique sessions, there are amazing craft talks, panel discussions, open mic and lots of fun times at meals and happy hour!

This year's all-star faculty lineup includes:

Neal Walsh—Ole Miss alum and fiction writer, (right) now on staff with the MFA program at LSU, will again be master of ceremonies, reining in (or not) the creative energies of students and other faculty member, including:

Scott Morris—critique leader par excellent, (left) and author of Waiting for April and The Total View of Taftly. Scott was on staff in the MFA program at Ole Miss for a while, but is now living in California and working on getting his third novel published.

Rebecca Jernigan—returns again this year with her storytelling talents. (right, with Wendy on guitar)

New to this year’s faculty are:

Ace Atkins—mystery novelist, who lives outside Oxford with his family, (left) and

Bess Reed Currence—former literary agent (she was also an editor at The Oxford American) will be on hand to talk about the publishing end of the writing business. (sorry, couldn't find a picture of Bess)

All of this and more can be found here.
I’ve already registered, here.

This will be my third time to participate in the Yoknapatawpha Writers Workshop. You can read about last year’s workshop and see lots of pictures here.

They only accept about 15-16 participants, so register early!

Historic Photos of Memphis

I’ve been sick for several days, which is why you haven’t gotten a post since last Thursday. We were still in Atlanta over the weekend, visiting my husband’s relatives, but we got home just in time for the Super Bowl last night. What a great game! We aren’t huge fans of either team, but they sure put on a show last night.

So, I dragged myself out of bed a little while ago and thought, “Alas, I’ve neglected my blog readers, and I don’t think they’ll be excited about the pictures of my great niece and nephews and other family members in Atlanta, so what’s a sickly blogger to do?” And then it hit me: review someone else’s (professional and historic) photographs.

I recently received a really nice coffee table book called Historic Photos of Memphis by Gina Cordell and Patrick W. O’Daniel. It’s been out since 2006, but this was my first time to see it. It has 198 photographs covering 133 years (1860-1993) with helpful section editorials and notes on each photograph. Since I’ve only lived in Memphis since 1988, I really enjoyed this visual trip through my second hometown’s history.

It was especially fun to look at the Illinois Central Railroad—both the train cars and the station—since the first time I visited Memphis, when I was 8 years old, was by train. My best friend in Jackson (Mississippi) was coming up to visit relatives, and I rode with her, back in 1959. My next train trip to Memphis was in 1968, to visit my boyfriend, who was a freshman at Southwestern (now Rhodes) so I enjoyed the photo of Southwestern, noting how the architecture and buildings never change, only the coeds!

The views of the riverfront are fascinating, especially since we lived at the Waterford Plaza, overlooking the river, when we first moved to Memphis. And also the old Goldsmith’s Department Store (downtown) which was still open, but only briefly, when we came here. I was sad when it closed…. it felt like the end of an era, the excitement and buzz of shopping downtown.

But it’s heartening to see the historic homes which have been preserved and now function as elegant museums, restaurants, and bed and breakfasts, like the Hunt Phelan Home. Lots of “first” are captured by these photos, like the first interstate highway to go through Memphis, and the first non-stop flight to New York City.

Okay, I can’t help but try to scan this one… it’s just a street scene—on McLean Avenue—a few blocks from where I live, but it’s back in 1890. I've got friends who live on McLean now, and I'm sure they're grateful for the paved streets and sidewalks, but also the historic architecture, which has been preserved for the most part.

Visit Turner Publishing’s website or your local independent bookseller (links to a few of my favorites are here) to get your own copy of this treasure. (Yes, of course you can order it from Amazon, but you know I always like to plug the indies.) Okay, time for Tylenol and cough medicine and a nap.

Life is Good

Life is Good here at the Grand Hyatt Atlanta (in Buckhead) where my husband and I are spending a few days while he participates in a medical meeting. We’re on the 23rd floor with an incredible view… and a nice cozy office for me by the window.

When we arrived I set up my laptop and portable printer. And even though I can't get my wireless mouse to scroll, and I can't figure out how to turn off the touchpad on the laptop, those are minor inconveniences compared to how good the setup is here.

The next morning I ordered a pot of French press coffee to room and settled in for a rainy day of working on my book proposal and revising the recent chapters that had been critiqued by my writing buddies. I got an email from an agent I queried about two months ago, and she requested the full proposal and 60 pages of book chapters, so I spent about 7 hours in my “penthouse” office. Even ordered lunch in. Then about 4 I went down to the fitness center and worked out for 25 minutes on one of their elliptical machines.. which have their own television monitors, so I watched part of a Australian Open tennis match while exercising. After my workout, I stopped by the bar to pick up a drink to take to our room to enjoy while showering and dressing for the evening, Yeah, I could live at the Hyatt. Life up here is Good.

And Tuesday night life was good when my husband’s brother, Tod, who lives in nearby Marrietta, picked us up for supper at ESPN Zone… a crazy bar/restaurant for sports fans. It has a huge screen covering most of a wall, with 12 smaller screens, 6 on each side. At the individual tables and booths there are sound controls for whichever event you want to listen to. There are even tv screen in the bathrooms!

And down in front of the big screen there’s a row of lazy-boy type recliners with individual food trays and sound controls attached. Yeah, Life is Good at the ESPN Zone.

And Life was Good when I got an email from Nikki Hardin at skirt! Magazine saying she wants to publish another of my essays in the March issue. She requested a couple of edits, so I worked on them in my “office” and sent them off to her yesterday as well. I’ll post a reminder with links to the magazine when the March issue comes out in a few weeks.

Life was Good last night when my husband and I enjoyed a relaxing time with some of his friends who have been working together on a big clinical trial for the last ten years. After a nice reception at the Hyatt, a few of us went out for a few drinks and laughs at a nearby microbrewery.

(The pictures aren't great 'cause they were taken with my cell phone. )

This group includes folks from New York, New Jersey, Tennessee and Mississippi. As the work they’ve been doing together for almost a decade draws to a close, the buzz is all about “the next big thing” (the next big clinical trial) but also the fun they’ve had working together all these years.

I won’t name names, to protect the innocent, but the laughter was plentiful and the friendships were encouraging to me, the “outsider” in the group. (Not many spouses came to this meeting.) We’re looking forward to dinner at Houston’s tonight… my favorite Memphis restaurant, so we’ll see how the Buckhead Houston’s measures up.

But life isn’t always laughter and successes. This morning I woke early with a sore throat and throbbing sinuses. The sun is shining and I was looking forward to getting out and doing some shopping and site seeing, but it’s almost noon and I’m still not feeling up to it. I hate to “waste” a sunny day and the opportunity to get out and around in Buckhead. I keep hoping I’ll feel better as the day goes on, but room service and a movie are sounding more appealing by the minute. So even if I have to be sick, this is a good place to be!

A friend just called to let me know that a mutual friend in Memphis is near death… with Hospice care, she probably has 24-48 hours left. Her sweet granddaughter is in town helping with this dear woman’s care. I’ve been there with several family members over the years, and I know it is both the most difficult and most wonderful experience. This wonderful lady has lost her husband and has suffered much in her life, but has never complained. She’s always positive, always hopeful. Yes, if she could speak today, I’m sure that she would say that Life is Good.

The friend who called was on her way to a training seminar for writing resumes and doing job interviews. The seminar is part of her severance pay—she and quite a few others at her company were recently laid off. But like our friend who is dying, this friend just doesn’t complain She’s amazingly resilient and thankful for whatever comes her way. Her phone call reminded me to look beyond the comfort of a luxury hotel and even beyond the camaraderie of friends and coworkers. It’s easy for me to say, up here on the 23rd floor… but life is more than book deals and published essays and successful clinical trials.

One of the women we went out with last night lost her husband a couple of years ago, but enjoys the blessing of living near her grandchildren. The youngest member of our group recently married his college sweetheart. Throughout the evening we each shared stories of our lives beyond the work world, and it was there—in that circle of humanity—that I realized it even more strongly: Life is Good.

It's Not About Food

I’m reading a wonderful novel right now, Sing Them Home by Stephanie Kallos. I picked it up because I loved Kallos’ first novel, Broken For You. Like her first book, this one is a work of true literary fiction, which means it’s not a “quick read,” or at least not for a slow reader like me. I find myself re-reading sentences, just to relish the craft of her art. But I think I would be drawn to her work even if it clipped along at a rate more akin to commercial fiction, because she continues to chose subjects and craft characters that fascinate me. And that I can relate to.

Like Larken, the oldest of the three Jones children, whose mother, Hope, disappeared in a tornado in Emlyn Springs, Nebraska, in 1978. Larken is a history professor, who didn’t get parented well in her childhood, which results in her obsession with food and appearance. If you’ve been following my blog, you know my mother didn’t disappear in a tornado when I was a child. But for reasons of her own, she wasn’t able to parent me in a healthy way, or to make up for the emotional absence of my father.

So when I read these passages about Larken, I was hooked, and I wanted to read more, not only because of the literary prose, but because of the emotional truths embedded in her writing. First, Larken’s use of hidden chocolates to help her get through stressful interactions, like a faculty-student conference where she needs to fail the student:

“Larken makes a show of readjusting herself, rotating and leaning her body slightly so that she can dangle her arm into the bottom-right desk drawer, within range of the peanut butter cups; she brings her left hand to the front of her face, forming a kind of low-hanging awning over her mouth. While Misty regurgitates a predictable barrage of generalist postfeminist slop she’s undoubtedly plagiarized, Larken delicately fingers the peanut butter cups out of their wrappers…. And palms the first peanut butter cup and, with one flowing movement, bring it to her mouth. She leans on her hands now and lets the candy warm and soften, enjoying the way the delicately corrugated ridges on the side of the peanut butter cup contrast with its smooth top and bottom….”

This is either brilliant writing or the words of someone familiar with eating disorders, or both. And Kallos shows equal skill in describing her character’s obsession with clothing and skill with camouflaging her 5’2”175-pound frame:

“Larken always dresses in dark colors; today she wears loose black silk slacks and a maroon rayon shirt with its bottom three buttons undone. Her clothes are nice enough—she orders them online from Lane Bryant—but she spends most of her personal wardrobe and grooming budget on head and feet: salon haircuts, designer makeup, jewelry and scarves, expensive shoes.”

This and other passages about her practiced skills in dressing to hide her hefty size really hit home to me. And also this one:

“The air outside hits her like a boiler room blast. Instantly, she begins to sweat. Her thighs chafe together as she crosses the commons.”

And then the kicker—the beginning of revelations about the source of her body image problems:

“She thinks of her parents, of a conversational exchange she heard numerous times when she was growing up:

What a shame! Hope would say, sotto voice, as she often did when they passed a fat stranger. She has such a pretty face.

Pretty face, my ass, Larken hears her father counter scornfully. Pretty is pretty, Hope. Fat is fat.”

This description of Larken’s preparation for a social gathering she’s nervous about speaks volumes:

“She is stunningly accessorized: A beaded burgundy velveteen shawl is draped over her shoulders and she wears new earrings….Larken has spent the past two hours purchasing this confidence and satiety at a cost of just over $300…. These purchases are necessities. They’ve made it possible for her to survive the imminent hell of a university mandated schmooze.”

I’m only 2/3 through the book, and I won’t ruin it by telling you the story line, but instead I’ll jump to the other book on my bedside table, which isn’t a novel.

It’s Not About Food: Change Y our Mind, Change Your Life, End Your Obsession with Food and Weight by Carol Emery Normandi and Laurelee Roark, founders of Beyond Hunger, Inc. The book is ten years old, but I just discovered it (a friend shared it with me) recently, and if Larken Jones was a real person instead of a character in a novel I’d send it to her!

I’ve read countless books about dieting, eating disorders, addictions, etc., and some have even helped me understand why I have these issues, but none have actually shown a way to heal them. I’m not saying this is a quick-fix, or even a complete fix, but there are definitely some truths and exercises that are helping me at the moment I am stressed and therefore tempted to use overeating or overdrinking or other addictive behaviors to numb the pain. I’ve even been able to just let myself feel the pain, “be present with it,” and then choose healthier ways to soothe myself. Not always—I still use food and alcohol, but I’m hopeful that spending more time with the exercises and principles in the book will continue to help me. Here are few teasers from the book for those who might be considering reading it. Just read each one, and think about it for a few minutes. If it touches you, read the next one, and so on:

“Food and fat are not killing us, the obsession to control them is.”

“We believe that all of us who struggle with weight and food issues, whether it be anorexia, bulimia, or compulsive overeating, are strong, sensitive women who are mirroring these cultural wounds back to society and sending the message through our bodies that we cannot and will not take it any more.”

“Women who are struggling with weight and food issues stand at the threshold of an emerging new vision of what it means to be a woman in the twenty-first century. And as long as the issue of weight is treated as purely a behavioral issue, isolated from the cultural and spiritual oppression of women, it will never be healed and our society will never evolve from this dysfunctional place.”

“In order to stop using food or controlling food as a way to avoid uncomfortable or painful feelings, you need to take time to develop compassion for why you needed to escape those feelings in the first place. If you were not taught, early on, to trust and stay with your feelings, if you were never supported in accepting them and going through them, there’s no way you could know how.”

“We’ve found in our own experiences, and in the experiences of women in our groups, that much of the pain underneath our eating disorders is linked to emotional needs that weren’t met when we were children. This is understandable since it is impossible for a parent to meet every emotional need a child experiences. However, as adults we can learn to meet our own needs and be our own parents. This is extremely important in recovery, because we use food not only to stuff down our feelings but also to take care of ourselves emotionally (e.g., calming ourselves or controlling situations). When we can take care of ourselves through reparenting, then we can let go of the food.”

I didn’t start writing this post to be so much about this journey I’m on to reclaim my body, and my life, but I’ve been struck by the common ground I’ve discovered between the characters in a fiction novel and the stories of real women who are changing their lives through the wisdom of women like Carol Normandi and Laurelee Roark. If none of this interests you, check back with me in a few days and I’ll probably be writing about something completely different!

Or even now, actually. Tonight with dinner my husband and I decided to open a bottle of wine that our oldest son, Jon, gave us for Christmas. Jon has much more refined taste in wine than we have, and he loves to introduce us to new wines. Tonight we chose a bottle of “Sin Zin” 2006 Alexander Valley Zinfandel from California. The bottle is intriguing, and Zinfandel from this valley has been described as “a bright, expressive nose, bursting with red fruits and crushed black pepper and a palate loaded with rasberries, strawberries and black pepper.” I couldn’t have written that description myself, but the wine sure was delicious.

What brought Jon and his wine to mind tonight was a sobering phone call from him earlier today. Evidently two Kiowa helicopters went down in Iraq today, killing all four pilots on board. They were with a group stationed in New York, where Jon used to be before transferring to the unit stationed in Savannah. Jon hasn’t been able to find out who they were yet, but whether they were acquaintances or close friends from his old unit—either way—the grief is great. He asked for his dad and I to keep them in our thoughts and prayers. So tonight as we gave thanks for our meal, we offered a prayer for these men whose lives have been lost in the service of our country, for healing of our son’s grief, and for his protection as he continues his work as an army helicopter pilot. He’ll be deployed again later this year, and we’ll be listening, again, to every news cast. But tonight we raised our glasses in a toast to Jon, and gave thanks for his safety… and for a very fine bottle of wine.

Reality Bites: Granny Effie and Charles Wilkins Walker

Every time I visit my mother in the nursing home in Jackson, I take time to visit with the facility’s youngest resident, Charles Wilkins Walker. Sadly, Charles is only 55 years old. He appears to have had a stroke, but it could be something else. He uses an electric wheel chair, and his speech is difficult to understand, but his mind seems fairly alert.

The last time I was there, Charles said he was having trouble with his remote control and would I come look at it. I went to his room, just down the hall from Mom’s, and there he had a computer, lots of books, television, and shelves of photographs of himself with friends—which must have been taken before whatever tragic event landed him in the nursing home. Radiant smiles are on all the photographs, and the other people in the pictures are attractive, and appear to be active members of society.

So when I drove down to see Mom on Friday, sure enough Charles found us visiting in the front lobby and wheeled over to visit with us. My dear friend Sissy Yerger had met me for lunch and had gone with me to visit Mom. When I introduced Charles to Sissy, Charles said, “Are you related to Wirt Yerger?”

“Yes, he’s a distant cousin of my husband,” Sissy replied.

Now usually when I’m visiting with Charles, it’s hard to include Mom in the conversation for two reasons—for one thing, she can’t understand what he’s saying very well, and she can’t follow the conversation or remember most of the people we’re talking about. So, it’s always a balancing act, to be sure Charles doesn’t “take over” the time and attention I’m trying to give to Mom, but to also be sure I’m spending time with Charles, as he’s bound to be starved for company with folks his/our age.

“He was in the insurance business, wasn’t he?” Charles continues, talking about Wirt Yerger.

“Yes,” I interject, “and so was my father, Bill Johnson.”

I look at Mom, trying to draw her into the conversation, and she smiles a far-away smile but nods, so I feel that I’m succeeding.

“How long was your father in the insurance business?” Charles asks me, and also looks at Mother.

“Hmmmm,” I have to think about this. “For about thirty years, I think. And when he retired from that, he and mother opened Bill Johnson’s Phidippides Sports. Dad was a marathon runner, and Mom helped managed the store and organize the aerobics business.”

Mom is smiling and nodding, but not jumping into the conversation as I hoped she might. With each visit I realize I’ve lost more of her, fearing each time that she won’t know me. But she surprised me with what she said next:

“He was with the F.W. Williams State Agency of U.S.F.&G. Insurance Company.”

The words rolled off her tongue as though she said them several times a day. Dad retired from USF&G in 1982—27 years ago, and yet this information was such a big part of her memory that it’s not lost yet. Interesting how the brain works. She couldn’t remember if she had lunch or not, did physical therapy that day or not, but she could repeat this rather complex name of the company my father worked for so long ago.

As we walked up and down the halls a few times, as we do each time I visit—Mom “peddling” along with her feet in her wheelchair, me at her side—we ran into Mia, the nurse in charge of her wing. “Your mother is fitting in here perfectly,” were Mia’s words this time, which brought me great comfort.

A few minutes later one of the aids stopped and chatted with us—she and Mom exchanged a few light-hearted teasing comments to each other—and then the aid said to me, “Miss Effie tries to pretend that she’s a bad girl, but we know better.”

Interesting comment. Later Mom told me that she “got into a row” with someone that morning (probably the physical therapist) who wanted her to do something she didn’t want to do… and that later someone else “fussed at her” for not eating her lunch. I found her lunch tray in her room, so she must not have been in the mood to go to the dining room that day. I picked up the aluminum cover off her plate to see the stale French fries and sandwich, mostly untouched.

But she seems to have put back on some of the weight she’s lost since she broke her hip 3 ½ months ago, so I’m not worried about her nutrition. And each time I visit I pick up two giant cookies from McAllister’s deli and she inhales them as we visit, so she hasn’t forgotten how to eat!

This time when we were leaving, she came up to the front lobby to see us out, and it saddened me to see her watching us go through the doors to my car. She seemed more aware that someone dear had just left her world, whereas last time I left, she dismissed me as if I was another resident with a room down the hall. As much as I hate Alzheimer’s and what it does to the mind, there are times when it seems to cushion the difficult truths. The truths about all that she has lost—her life partner of almost 50 years, her independence, her physical strength, and significant portions of her mind.

And I look at Charles, trapped in a facility for old people because of his physical limitations, and I wonder whose truth is the most difficult. Yeah, reality bites.

It Takes a Village, or at least a Support Group

I’ve always been a joiner. In elementary school it was Brownie Scouts, Girl Scouts, and Music Clubs. In Junior High and High School it was choir, literary journal staff, newspaper staff, theater guild, and endless committees. College and young adulthood offered more opportunities to belong—sorority, PTA, and again, endless committees, some within our church and others within community organizations. Between the Society for Technical Communication, Home Builders Association (I was an associate member for a couple of years while I was publishing a magazine for builders and architects), Al-Anon, Toastmasters, and book clubs, my calendar was always full. (Not to mention the calendar of services at the Orthodox Church, and running three kids around to all their extra-curricular activities.)

The kids have been out of the nest for several years now, but nothing seems to have slowed down very much. Oh, I choose to slow it down from time to time, dropping off a committee here, not re-upping for a position there. For the past two years, as I’ve been concentrating my efforts on writing more seriously, I’ve tried to carve out more alone time. I think this will always be a struggle for me. The life of a writer can be lonely, and I feel that sometimes. So, I’ve continued to be a joiner, and this week it hit me that I’m a “member” of five “groups” that each meet once a month. The reason it hit me this week is that 4 of those groups all ended up with their meeting scheduled during this one week! Here’s an overview:

Women of Saint John—this is the one group that didn’t have a meeting this week. It’s my church’s women’s group, and while there are many committees and activities that flow out of its basic structure, the one “group” I enjoy each month is the one that meets in the home of one of our members for coffee, tea, and a time of teaching led by our pastor. Afterwards the ladies go to lunch. It’s a great way to stay in touch with women of all ages, from all parts of the city. The teaching feeds my soul, and the fellowship feeds my spirit.

Saint John Dinner Club (met Sunday night)—organized by a couple of women in our parish, these dinner clubs have been functioning for several years, with the groups changing every six months or so. Our current group has 9 people, marrieds, singles, young and old, from East Memphis to Harbor Town to north Mississippi. My husband and I have often remarked that when it’s time to start up new groups, we feel a sadness at leaving the old one! But we also have strengthened friendships with those folks now, so when we see them at church, our lives are more connected. We know what’s going on in each other’s lives, which increases our love and care for one another.

Adoptive Moms (met Monday night)—last April a group of women who have adopted children began meeting each month. Some of the women also have “home-hatched” kids, as one of our group likes to say. But we also have something in common that no one else can understand or relate to, and our support of one another as we try to hold together loving homes for these children who have suffered the loss of their birth families—and sometimes their birth countries—has been invaluable. Amongst the nine women who participate, we have 13 adopted children between the ages of 7 and 31, from five different ethnic groups and four different countries. I am extremely grateful for each of these women’s wisdom, love, and friendship.

Yoknapatawpha Writers Group (meets Saturday)—since September of 2007 we’ve been meeting monthly, usually in Oxford. The core group is 5 writers who met at a writing workshop at Ole Miss in June of 2007. Several others have come and gone from the group, but the core—the original 5 of us who live in 4 different cities—continue to critique each other’s works-in-progress and encourage each other’s efforts at getting their work published. Friendships have formed during this time, and we find ourselves traveling to workshops and festivals together from time to time, sharing our love of the written word.

Memphis Women’s Writers Group (met today)—4 women writers that also meet monthly for critique sessions. This group started up about ten months or so ago, and uses similar critique methods as the Oxford group. We met today, at a Starbucks, and helped each other polish memoir chapters, short stories and poems. Sometimes, like this week when the two writing groups are meeting 2 days apart, I submit the same chapter or essay to each group, and it’s really fun to see the differences and similarities in their critiques.

All that to say it does take a village… to raise kids, grow a church, or write a book, essay, novel or poem. And maybe even to grow into a balanced parent, church member or writer! So, even during a busy week like this one when I struggle to find time to write, I can’t image which meeting I would skip—the time spent with each of these folks is valuable.

I’ll close with some good news which I received this week from Kathy Rhodes, a writer from Franklin, Tennessee, whom I met at the first Creative Nonfiction Workshop I attended in Oxford in September of 2007. In March of 2008 I participated in a critique session with Kathy at the CNF Conference, again in Oxford. (That's Kathy and me relaxing after a day of workshopping.) Kathy is editor of an online literary journal called “Muscadine Lines,” and she’s going to publish my essay, “Are These My People?” in the April/May/June issue. I love it that this particular essay will appear in this Southern journal, since it’s about a memorable trip with some of my writing group buddies to the Neshoba County Fair last summer. I’ll post the link to the journal again in April when the issue comes out. Until then, visit Muscadine Lines and enjoy some colorful Southern stories and essays! Kathy has also edited a print anthology by the same name, which you can order here, and a book called Pink Butterbeans, which you can order here. And I couldn't help but notice that Kathy is a joiner, like me. She's a board member of the Tennessee Writers Alliance and President of the Williamson County [Tennessee] Council for the Written Word. And she's got an essay coming out in the next issue of The Best of Creative Nonfiction due out in July. Congratulations, Kathy!

Mattresses, Shelves and Armoires

I feel like a kid writing a paper about “How I Spent My Summer Vacation,” only instead it’s “How We Spent Martin Luther King Day.” It was a federal holiday, so my husband and I headed to Macy’s for the final day of their mattress sale. We usually purchase a new box springs and mattress about every ten years. But 3-4 years ago I led us down the wrong path by insisting we try a Select Comfort Sleep Number® Bed . We went to one of their stores and tried one out (for 5 minutes or so) and it felt wonderful and the concept made sense. But within a few weeks, I was sure it wasn’t working right. My side wouldn’t fill properly with air and my back was hurting from the slump on my side of the bed. Once we realized how bad it was, we were past warranty. Every time we called for help, we got the run-around by the company. What I didn’t know, until tonight, actually, is that lots of other folks have had similar problems. But the bed was expensive so I hung in there until my back couldn’t take it any more.

I had read about the Macy’s sale, and off we went on Monday morning. We were greeted by a knowledgeable saleswoman who showed us the full spectrum of what they had to offer. Within thirty minutes or so we had settled on this Sealy Posturepedic PurEmbrace® "Atlantic Cedar" Plush Euro Pillowtop Latex Mattress Set that felt like heaven. I know, I know, it’s also not a conventional bed, but it carries a 10 year warranty, so I think we’re okay. I did a search for complaints about this mattress and found none, and found some positive comments about latex beds in general and Sealy in particular at a mattress blog, so that’s encouraging. The bed will be delivered in a couple of weeks (our choice, due to busy schedule) and I’ll let you know how it’s working!

Back home with 2/3 of our Monday left, I continued the ORGANIZE part of my New Year’s Plan by organizing my sweaters into plastic drawers (from Target) and the space between them on my newly uncluttered closet shelves. There’s even space for my favorite small suitcase, for my frequent overnight trips to Jackson.

I bought some similar drawers for my husband, who happily got into the organizing plan with me. His closet shelves look great, too!

Oh, and last Saturday I finally found the jewelry armoire I’ve been looking for (on the internet and at stores) for about a year. This one from Target, which originally cost 79.99 then 59.98… then 39.99.

It was so much fun organizing my jewelry, and this newly cleared space on the shelves near my bureau is perfect for it. (The armoire comes with legs, but I chose not to attach them so it could sit on my shelves.)

I’m finding myself looking forward to my next project with great joy instead of dreading the work involved, because it’s all making my life so much easier.

Other folks seem to have the organization bug… today I got an email from Laura, a friend who is an artist, who just changed her blog address and sent it to me. I checked out her new blog and guess what I found? A post about organizing her studio! Check out her photos and description of how she even organized the fabric she uses in some of her crafts.

And a week or so ago, I heard from a Memphian I haven’t met, Sandi, who left a comment on my blog, and later emailed me and sent me a link to this article, “Clearing a Space For Change: The Weight of Objects,” which was inspirational. (Disclaimer: I’m not into astrology and tarot and much that is promoted on this web site, but I did like the article about the weight of objects… and I continue to make trips to the trash bin and the Goodwill store as I organize each area of our house!)

If this is making you want to get organized, be sure and check out Maryanne Macdonalds web site and her articles in the Commercial Appeal.

When I saw this picture and read about Maryanne’s plan for organizing attics it made me want to number the boxes my daughter organized in our attic and make an inventory list so I don’t have to search for things up there in the heat of the summer or the freezing cold nights of winter! But I can tell I’m going to have to avoid the temptation to obsess over any one area, or the rest of the house will never get organized!

Thanks to Sandi and Laura for their blogs and comments… I’d love to hear from others who are having success getting organized in 2009!

Watching the Inauguration with Sarah

It would almost seem irreverent to write a blog post today and not comment on the inauguration of President Obama. Some writers’ blogs that I follow have been full of joy over his election back in November, but also full of hateful derision for the outgoing administration. It saddens me to see so many jubilant Obama fans who seem unable to celebrate their victory without putting down their defeated opponents.

I wasn’t really a fan of either candidate, but in the end I voted my gut, which meant a vote for McCain. And, as spiritually slothful as I am most of the time, I found myself praying earnestly during the election, for God’s protection and guidance of our country.

And after Obama won the election, I continued to pray for him, and for our country, and for the world, as I will do for the duration of his presidency. I’m not saying this to pat myself on the back, but just to make it clear how I feel about being an American citizen. Once a candidate has been elected, I believe that all of us should support him with our respect and our prayers. I was saddened greatly during much of President Bush’s years in the White House by the lack of respect given to him by many citizens of our country. And not just lack of respect, but outright hatred. So, I approach this new administration with a prayerful spirit, holding them in my heart with hope.

But also with a degree of fear and trembling. Yes. There’s something a bit too rock-star-ish about the aura that surrounds our new President. And it’s not just the adulation of so many long-suffering African Americans. I don’t mean to take anything away from Obama’s followers’ right to celebrate, but there was something almost erie about the crowd’s rhythmic shouts of “Obama! Obama!” as President-elect Obama approached the platform for his swearing-in this morning.

In spite of my reservations about our new leader, I decided to watch the ceremonies while doing some paperwork and bookkeeping for my mother this morning. And yes, I wanted to be courteous and supportive when my African-American housekeeper arrived at 10 a.m. to clean my house. Sarah is a wonderful woman—and she's raising two grandchildren because their mother is a drug addict and is unable to take care of them. When she arrived, I gave her a few instructions about what needed to be done in the house, and then I told her that she was welcome to sit and watch as much of the inauguration as she’d like.

She shrugged her shoulders and mumbled something about not really being interested, and went about her work. A few minutes later, as she came back into the kitchen, where I had my work spread out on the kitchen table, I said something to her about the significance of Obama becoming President. Her response surprised me:

“Just because his father was Black, that don’t mean he’s going to be a good President.”

“No, it doesn’t,” I chose my words carefully, “but don’t you think it’s an important victory for civil rights in this country?”

“Not really. It just shows that Black folks care more about electing a Black President than they do about taking care of business. He talks a good talk and gets everyone riled up, but I don’t believe he can do half of what he promises.”

I was a bit stunned, but I walked through the door Sarah had opened in our conversation. “Well, I didn’t vote for him, but it wasn’t because of his race. It’s mainly because there’s something in his character I’m not sure I trust. And also his approach to fixing the economy. And I’d have a hard time voting for someone who supports abortion.”

“Me, neither!”
Wanting to end our conversation on a positive note, I said, “Well, all we can do is pray for him and hope for the best, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes ma’am. But I ain’t holding my breath. I hopes I’m wrong, but we’ll see.”

I hope you’re wrong, too, Sarah. I hope President Obama and the men and women he chooses to help him make decisions that will help our country become healthier in every way. And I’m thankful to be part of a church that prays for our leaders at every service of the Divine Liturgy, and encourages its members to pray for them.

So, tonight before I go to sleep, I utter this prayer:

Lord have mercy on President Obama and his family, and grant him wisdom and moral courage as he leads our nation for the next four years. Amen.

The 4 Box System

Today is Saturday. It’s 10:30 a.m. and it’s cold outside but I’ve got to get out to go to the gym and work out, or I’ll “fail” in my New Year’s goal of exercising 3X a week in the new year, so I plan to get out there. Later.

It’s actually a good day for writing, the second item in my goal, except for two things: (1) my husband is home today, and I can’t concentrate on writing unless I’m alone, and (2) I’m a little blocked right now. A little stuck between the psychological/therapeutic work that’s happening as I dig into the middle chapters of my book and the actual craft of writing. What’s a girl to do?

Step away from the computer and ORGANIZE another area of my house. Inspired again by Maryanne MacDonald’s column in the Commercial Appeal, , I’ll tackle the shelves next to my bureau in our bedroom, and maybe also the top of my bureau, and if I’ve got time, my bureau drawers. “Before” photos don’t really show how bad it is, because you can’t see the ridiculous mix of trash and useful stuff that’s piled up on those shelves over the past six years. But I know, so I’ll appreciate the difference.

Oh, for those who don’t want to read Maryanne’s article, the 4 boxes she recommends using for each area you clean out are:
Box 1 -- Give Away or Sell
Box 2 -- Goes Somewhere Else
Box 3 -- Inactive Storage
Box 4 -- Can't Decide or Emotional Withdrawal

My boxes (and trash bags) aren’t exactly the same as these 4. I don’t embrace the idea of Box #4 at all. If I can’t decide (and it’s rarely emotional withdrawal) I throw it away. So I replace Box #4 with Bag #4—trash.
And I don’t necessarily use a box for #2 – “goes somewhere else.” I think I’ll just toss those items on the bed and carry them to their new places throughout the house later. We’ll see. Here goes! I’ll be back later this afternoon to post the results and photos!

Okay, it’s 3 p.m.and I’m back with great results. Two bags of trash have been taken out; ½ bag filled for Goodwill; lots of items relocated to “Somewhere Else” (Box 2) in the house; and ½ storage box filled for the attic. The attic box has yummy items from our trips to Greece and Alaska. I'm happy to know where they are finally!

It was fun to discover some hidden treasures, like these posters that I hope to frame some day…

Like this one from the Southern Festival of Books in 2006, where I met some of my heroes, like Beth Ann Fennelly, Cassandra King, Lee Smith and Jennifer Horne.

The empty shelf space in the closet I organized last week provided the perfect home for several things on the shelves, and now I’ve got a space for my purse, daily calendar, and other items that need a place but that I don’t want cluttering up my neat bureau top!
And my newly organized office space provided a new home for a box of note cards and a few framed pictures. I’m loving how each space I organize helps me with the next one!

Oh, I forgot to mention, I never got a response from the folks at easy-hit-counters.com, so I got a new one, from statcounter.com/blogger, and installed it myself in about 15 minutes. Yeah, I’m feeling pretty good about that.

Okay, here's a view of both areas that I organized. And I think I used about a half bottle of Endust on those surfaces that hadn't seen the light of day for a while!

Only problem is I’m exhausted, and now I’m off to the gym to exercise. I think I can I think I can I think I can….

The Angels vs. The Shadow Government

I’ve painted several icons of angels over the years, (none of the images in this post are mine, however) and I’ve tried to cultivate a relationship with my own guardian angel, praying to him from time to time, but not very faithfully. So, when I heard that Joshua Armitage, a seminary graduate who works at St. John, was going to be teaching on angels on Wednesday nights, I was eager to hear what he had to say. Night One did not disappoint.

You see, on Wednesday nights at St. John Orthodox Church (some of the photos here are out of date, but at least you can see the schedule of events and directions to the church here in midtown Memphis… but the 2007 icon workshop is obviously over, as is the 2008 class) we have Vespers early, at 5:30 p.m., followed by a fasting meal (no meat or dairy on Wednesdays and Fridays) and a time of teaching. It’s all over by 8 p.m., very do-able on a school/work night.

Joshua used The Angels and Their Mission by Jean Danielou and David Heimann as one of the sources for his talk. He was quick to say that he didn’t like the book’s cover, with its Victorian representation of feminine-looking angels "with flappy gowns" that don’t inspire strength and courage. This is one reason I know I'll be picky about book covers for my own books, if they ever make it to press, but sometimes writers don't have much control over this.

In Orthodox icons, angels appear as protectors, like Holy Archangel Michael with his sword.

Or Holy Archangel Gabriel with his spear.

Or they appear as guardians, either holding the hand of a child,

Or actually holding and protecting a person’s soul, represented by the small swaddled being in the angel’s arms.

Angels are bodiless, so however we represent them, unless we’ve seen them ourselves (and I know some people have) we can only depend upon descriptions of the forms they have taken when they’ve appeared in Holy Scriptures or other sources of Orthodox tradition.

So, last night Joshua gave the first of a series of talks about angels, beginning by saying that “real knowledge about the unseen world comes from experience, not from a venue like this—a lecture hall or a classroom.” So, right up front, we know this is a mystical topic, as much of Orthodox theology is. This emphasis on the “unseen,” as Joshua went on to say, was passed on from the Jews to the early Christians, and was especially taught by the apostles, who wrote about the angels in at least the following places in Holy Scriptures: Romans 8:38; Ephesians 1:18-23; Colossians 1:15-17; Hebrews 1;1-14; and Hebrews 2:1-4.

Josh divided up his talks on the activity of the angels into three arenas: Heavenly, Cosmic and Earthly. Last night he dealt mainly with their Earthly activity, as messengers, guardians, patrons and God’s avengers. He explained that because angels are in a realm that is richer and deeper than our own-the unseen world—it is their task to lead us to true knowledge of God.

Each of us has our own Guardian Angel, but each nation also has a guardian angel.

The unseen world isn’t all good, though… Satan and his demons are still there, or as Josh put it last night, “The Devil and his shadow government.” Shadow government—what a great image of Satan’s realm. Josh said that each government also has a “patron demon” who works to destroy the angel’s work.

The abbess of a woman’s monastery that I’ve visited over the years once told me that monastics have two guardian angels assigned to them, because of how devoted they are to the spiritual life, and how much more fierce their spiritual warfare was. (I don’t remember if she also said that monks and nuns have two demons assigned to them or not, but that would seem to follow….) Anyway, during the years that I was more intensely seeking to live in that realm, praying more, spending more time at the monastery each year, and chasing down my own demons with greater vigor, she told me that she believed I also had two guardian angels, at least while I was at the monastery. I never asked her if one of them stayed behind when I went back out “into the world.” I hope not, because I really have a hard time believing that the struggles of lay persons living outside the monastery are less than those of the monastics within. Different, but not less. But what do I know?

I’d love to hear from my readers on this subject—your own personal experiences with angels or spiritual warfare, other good books/sources on the subject, etc. Please leave a comment (click comment, below) or send me an email and let me know if it’s okay to publish it. I hope to post about angels weekly while Josh is giving the talks… except that I’ll miss the one on January 28, as I’ll be out of town. Maybe someone else will pick up the thread and send me an email to use as a guest post that week!

Holy Guardian Angel, pray to God for me.