We had a long journey that day. We were two hours away from home, we had already traveled three hours. My husband, our horse and I were a bit weary, but the enthusiasm, and phenomenal service of the staff at both Brothers Pizza and Sweet Scoops energized each of us for the remainder of our travels.
Author: admin
The Centre of it all
He rode into town on a chilly spring day. The few that knew him called him Pete. He was tall, dark, handsome. Pete was a stranger in these parts; where he came from was unknown. The townsfolk of Centre Hall knew he’d be drifting off before the sun set, departing as mysteriously as he had arrived.
His quiet charm caused the women to giggle shyly, some blushed as his gaze swept over them, unabashedly assessing them from head to toe. The town of Centre Hall is nestled in the lush Penns Valley, smack dab in the middle of the Keystone State. This had been a pioneer town, founded 20 years after the end of the American Civil War.
The Frankford Milk wagon image courtesy of Historical Pennsylvania images via Pinterest.
In 1885, as this sleepy little town awakened during the gilded age, Grover Cleveland was inaugurated, the Statue of Liberty sailed into New York Harbor, and Laura Ingalls married Almanzo Wilder, setting up their little house on the prairie.
Our anachronistic hero had traveled with two companions, the reason they were in town was completely obvious: they were famished and had heard of the unparalleled hospitality proffered at Brothers Pizza.
The personal service we received was eccezionale (translation: we loved it!).
Pete, our Tennessee Walker, my husband and I were greeted by the gracious staff that delivered impeccable service at Brothers Pizza and Sweet Scoops Gelato, straight to our horse-trailer. Pete loved the attention and sampling the decadent soft serve ice cream. Pete was overcome by their Hospitality Nonpareil; he couldn’t get the words out, but if he could’ve, he would’ve remarked that they were the best and the cutest carhops he had ever encountered.
We had a long journey that day. We were two hours away from home, we had already traveled three hours. My husband, our horse and I were a bit weary, but the enthusiasm, and phenomenal service of the staff at both Brothers Pizza and Sweet Scoops energized each of us for the remainder of our travels.
Stepmom on Mother’s Day
It is the 12th year of the third millennium.
I’m excited. A family. To be connected. To share my abundant heart.
I stand at the window and gaze in.
Longing to be a part, anticipating joining them, to play a supporting role.
Respecting boundaries long before social distancing became fashionable.
I’m patient.
Supportive.
Understanding.
My heart overflows.
Time will be my friend.
They will get to know me through shared experiences.
They will recognize me by my heart.
***
2013-2019. I stand on the threshold, allowed on the fringe.
I watch, I role-model, I cheer lead.
My heart is guarded. My soul is in shadows.
The wall surrounding the home is old, built of stone, mined years ago. Solid. A fortress. I can see over it, but without assistance, I’m unable to reach the other side. I call out. Nobody hears.
I am invisible.
I try to climb, but some stones are slippery,
some crumble,
some have slithering creatures lurking in the footholds.
My heart hurts, but through pain, it has grown stronger. My naivety is abandoned.
May 10, 2020. Mother’s Day.
The door is barricaded, weeds grow and dust obscures.
A Do Not Disturb sign dangles.
It doesn’t look like guests have been welcomed inside in a while.
***
Note: I wrote this on Mother’s Day 2020. Two months into Covid-19 Sequestering. I went out for a walk to shake off sadness of missing my mom and missing an opportunity to have children. As I sat on a bench jotting down my idea, I heard laughter and voices behind me. Two women walking a dog. Perhaps mother-daughter-child. I smiled. Their cheerful voices sang a duet: Happy Mothers Day!
A few moments later, a mail courier, probably a mom, working despite the Hallmark Holiday and it being a Sunday, spied me on the bench. My head was down. I was typing on my phone. Her image was of a solitary woman, sitting alone on a bench, head down. She called out a cheerful Happy Mothers Day.
As I pocketed my phone, my head still bowed in contemplation, a male voice interrupted the quiet. “Are you ok?” I turned to see him, holding a handpicked bouquet of wildflowers, perhaps on his way to express his gratitude for someone deserving of the accolades.
I nodded and thanked him for inquiring. He was about to say something else, but he changed his mind; his step quickening towards the welcoming home across the street.
Only I can control my mood.
And yes, it will be a happy Mother’s Day damnit.
Scents & Sensibility…and time travel
Have you ever caught whiff of a scent that transports you back in time? The sweet aroma of ripened cantaloupe and peaches takes me back to my grandmother’s home in North Carolina, circa 1973. Grandma Pearl would keep fresh Carolina peaches and melons in her cellar. Today, if I wander through a farmer’s market or grocery produce section and inhale the sweet fruity perfume, the Proust Phenomenon smacks me between the eyes…actually between the nostrils. Suddenly I’m 9 years old again, I’ve selected a handful of juicy, velvety freestone peaches, the ones that you bite into and the sweet tangy nectar pirouettes across your tongue. I am taking turns churning homemade peach ice cream on the front porch with my brother and grandparents.
Our memories can capture vivid flashbacks. Sometimes they are so powerful, they contain sensory and emotional components.
Recently I spent a week of magical thinking and deep inhalation; I’m practically giddy at the potential memories that I will be conjuring up in the near future from our dulcet vacation. My husband, another couple and I spent our days traversing the French countryside, gallivanting through castles, gardens, D-Day beaches, bakeries and cafés, and our evenings were spent at the elegant Chateau de Courtomer, an exquisite 18th century castle tucked into 300 acres of picturesque Normandy park land.
Chateau de Courtomer, built on the eve of the French Revolution, 1789.
As soon as we drove our rental car out of Charles De Gaulle airport, we were accosted by gorgeous, sublime, inspiring landscapes, providing a catalyst for my beaucoup writing ideas. The week awakened my olfactories, whetted my writing appetite, and left me thirsting for more time to focus on reading and writing. I even cooked up an idea for a reading retreat at the chateau (my plan involves 10-12 guests, some may be members of book clubs, a chef, Anne Bogel, the modern Mrs. Darcy, and her literary matchmaking expertise…perhaps there will be yoga and cooking classes, bicycle rides into town for crusty baguettes and wine, and piles of fascinating books and enchanting conversations). Ah, I have drifted dreamily into my creative zone; I can hear notes of Claude Debussy’s Clair de Lune emanating from a pianoforte in the background. Let me return us to the Orne Valley.
It all started on Day 1 of our French Adventure, when I forgot to turn off my iPhone app, the one that encourages me to get eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. That little passive-aggressive device demanded that I wake up many hours before the sun even considered rising. Despite the jet lag, I practically leaped out out of bed, grabbed my book and iPad, and set off exploring Chateau de Courtomer in the delicious early morning hours. Like a cat stalking its prey, I slinked down the back staircase, tiptoeing along the parquet corridors. In the kitchen, I brewed a pot of coffee, sliced an apple and a baguette, and placed them on a tray. I had unwrapped a small bar of french milled soap, the delicate hints of lavender blended in with the morning breakfast fragrance. It was intoxicating. Absently, I had folded up the fragrant paper envelope, sans soap, and placed it in my pocket.
Balancing the tray, I slipped back into the library, which has now transformed into a writers sanctuary. A corner chaise became my epicenter; a steaming cup of coffee, my iPad, a spiral notebook, and a pen are my tools.
With the exception of the barely audible peal of a church bell in the distance and the soft cuckoo of a bird that I thought only existed in wooden German timepieces, Courtomer was silent.
This was idyllic. Alone with my thoughts, drinking in the sights, sounds, indelibly inscribed in my imagination, I envision this to be a perfect setting for a self-induced writers retreat. Or readers retreat, but I digress. Again.
Ideas streamed into my head, flooding me with the catalyst to transform the desert that my writing had become into the fertile & fruitful oasis I wish it to be. And the Cortez Peters speed-typing course of my youth comes in handy as my hands fly across the keyboard, mimicking the staccato beat of Mozart’s Rondo alla Turca.
As I reached for my coffee, I heard a soft crinkly-paper sound. I pulled the contorted soap wrapper out of my pocket and placed it on a settee beside the chaise. The fresh soap scent wafted upward, slightly more intense, since I had positioned it near the radiator. It is fresh, cottony, delicate, elegant, sophisticated.
What magic ingredients are manufactured into that petite bar of soap? I grinned like the Cheshire cat, realizing that whenever I breathe in the fragrance of L’OCCITANE en Provence bar soap, I will see this bucolic manor home and remember the precious moments that were lived in the past week
What the heck is an Idea Book?
We are formed by the narrative of our conversations, the books we read, the things that we say. Words give us the capacity to articulate our dreams, to express our feelings, to speak of the truth that forms us most deeply. – Sarah Clarkson
I have a deep-seated fascination with the elegance of words and linguistics. Ravishing prose can make me swoon. Perhaps the real reason behind my fastidious note-taking during meetings, while reading, or listening to a good book is this amorous affair with locution that I’ve been entangled in for years.
Which brings me to a simplistic tool that assists me in organizing all those words, notes, and ideas that I’ve captured in my playful lexicon romps.
As you can see via the photo above, a coffee stain and the vertical bendability* crease assuages the gimcrackery factor. I recommend both.
The Idea Book is the intersection of mindfulness and productivity. Along with my love of words and books, I love lists and organizations. Idea Books have changed my life.
Specifications:
- A college bound or a wide-ruled spiral notebook.
- 220 pages or less is ideal for me. I go by the bendability factor*.
Skip the first page and begin regurgitating notes, book & movie recommendations, quotes, jokes, gift ideas, reminders, running songs that you want to add to your Apple Watch, a reminder to call the dog-sitter about your upcoming long weekend, jot down notes from a phone call for a visual reminder and for conversation-starter-fodder for your next phone call, yada yada on the following pages. The first page and the inside cover will be where your index will be placed.
*Bendability factor is important to me because often an idea will seize my attention while I am driving. I need a notebook durable enough to handle me flinging it across the car in a hot second as well as to enable me to grip it in my right hand, while holding a pen and the steering wheel at the 11 o’clock position with my left hand. Depending on the turning motion of the steering wheel, the notebook might get caught in the middle and temporarily fold in half like a taco. If the notebook is too thick or isn’t pliable, it gets flung to the side. Safety first!
Some people call this a Bullet Journal, but let’s skip the violence. Idea Book raises your creative bar. It singles you out as a thoughtful intellectual.
You don’t have to leave blank pages in between disparate ideas and you don’t need to group various categories. Your index will point you where you need to go when navigating to that eccentric note scribbled three weeks ago.
An Idea Book organizes your items for easy retrieval whenever you need them.
While you’re sipping a cup of coffee, a cocktail, or when you are placed on hold with your dentist, number the right-hand pages in increments of two (start with page 2, 4, 6, etc). This simple activity is relaxing and has certain zen properties. As you’re numbering, breathe deeply. You can sit cross-legged in the chair and balance a book on your head; or ask a prepubescent child to practice their writing and counting-by-twos-skills on the pages (the illustrious Tom Sawyer tactic).
Note: you don’t have to enter all the page numbers, just get some pages started, or do the numbering later. If your notebook has multiple sections with a separator page, you may want to number the first section as A2, A4, A6; the next section can be numbered as B2, B4, B6. Take another deep breath. Relax. You are in the process of bringing organization to your chaotic world. Feel free to slip a blood pressure cuff on and watch your systolic and diastolic pressures plummet to remarkable levels.
Note to the above note: alternatively, you may want to do your page numbering in the privacy of your bedroom, bathroom or when nobody is looking. Witnesses may get judgey and think you’re a weirdo. But those viewing the final product will admire your genius. In the top margin of each page, I’ll write a category of what that page represents. I often put the date on the page too. I haven’t figured out why I do that yet, but so far, it’s working fine! Below are examples of some of my top-of-page categories:
Book Club (this page may indicate the next meeting date, what I need to bring, where the meeting will be held, summary of the book). Travel (I may jot down ideas for side-excursions relating to an upcoming trip; maybe the airline details, travel dates, car rental info, the AirBNB attributes, reference numbers…whatever I might need to book the trip). PDUs & CPEs (as a PMP and CPA, I need to track my personal development units and continuing professional education requirements). Podcasts (I jot down my favorite shows to review again later or ones that I want to recommend).
Phone calls (as I’m listening to my messages, I’ll jot down pertinent details). I do write on the odd-numbered pages too; I just don’t feel the need to number those pages, the arithmetic is simple. THE INDEX. After a handful of pages have been populated, I alphabetize my categories in a Word document, cross-reference the page numbers, print it out, and tape it on the first pages of the notebook. VOILA!, your thoughts, notes and ideas are catalogued in a simple, organized system. You can update the index and reprint it as your notebook expands. Or simply hand write in additional categories, page numbers.
Feel free to rip pages out, even if they are pre-numbered, the index stays intact.
Your structured tool is portable, let it follow you like your shadow, you’ll be ready for whatever life throws your way.
The Idea Book is deceptively simple and keeps you audaciously organized. Our brains behave differently when we go analog; our brains become engaged and our thought processes become more refined and thorough. When we write by hand, we retain more. And let’s not forget the beauty of the gel pen. Or perhaps a fountain tip is your preference. No technology can match that.
Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication. – Leonardo da Vinci