Early Days

Sweetie and Bobby

Photo Credit: Robert Janz, Sr.

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This is a classic photo in that it shows the tag-a-long nature of my childhood. Clearly in the middle of big shadows a little girl is skeptical of doing anything at all without her brother. This became so extreme that when I was put in a girl's convent school, I obstinately persisted in explaining to my parents that I needed to go to my brother's boys' school. Finally, I was allowed by the higher ups, who were tired of hearing my complaints, to be driven over to his school which ended later in the day to spend two hours in the chemistry lab (which was accessed by a secret staircase so I wouldn't be seen by boys) with a priest who strolled meditatively saying his prayers. First, though, he and I concocted a mixture of high falutin' elements in a glass beaker so that I could climb up into the dome and blow bubbles all over the city of Jerusalem. It was an exhilarating time and unforgettable. Characteristically, I gave my brother credit for this wonderful happenstance rather than my dad and Father Terence and Sister Marie Margaret who had all pulled strings. It was my brother who walked me to piano lessons, escorted me to movies, and showed me where the best rocks for my collection were hiding. At the age of ten, I was deserted (according to me) because my brother had the temerity to go away to school. However, all was not lost as I also went away to school four years later and, yep, it was to his school. Fortunately, by the time college came around I was spared having to attend the University of Chicago in bleak midwinters. I had learned to depend on my brother by remote control in a warmer setting. I seldom saw him after those days. Ten years would evaporate with postcards to remind me of our connectedness. I was very pleased last week to receive an announcement of his show in Ireland. Yes, I would very much like to tag-a-long to the place my dad called the most wonderful city in the most wonderful country but I am just as happy knowing all is going well. The shadows still loom large but we learned a lesson in childhood of optimism and perseverance. Wherever he is, there also am I. Antoinette & Bryan Murphy invite you to the Private View of SELECT The Peppercanister Gallery marks 10 exciting years with a very special show. SELECT brings together 15 gallery artists, each exhibiting a piece alongside 15 invited guest artists of their choice. Ranging between painting and sculpture, the exhibition will contain works of art by artists from Ireland, Britain, continental Europe and Canada. Nearly all of the exhibits will be for sale. Liam Belton | Bill Whelan | Breon O’Casey | Michael O’Donnell | Albert Irvin | Alan Davie | Deirdre McLoughlin | Rachel Parry | Neil Shawcross | Stuart Oxley | Graham Gingles | Andrew Stahl | Sonja Landweer | Hilary Orpen | Anne Donnelly | Camille Souter | Sarah Longley | Gina Ward | Joseph O’Connor | Eddie Mooney | Rosie McGurran | Gavin Lavelle | Ann Griffin-Bernstorff | Michael Quane | Robert Janz | Valentin Rothmaler | Jacinta Feeney | Basil Blackshaw | Ruth McHugh | Katharine West ...may the blessings of beautiful memories amidst the darkness be yours...

At Joey's

tees: from the mimsey collection

map: courtesy of the mta

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"Tiding?" She was a careworn middle aged woman with a New Delhi accent working in a store I had obviously been led to. My outing that day was to 34th Street to see if I could find some inexpensive souvenir tees to donate to Jan Hus Church's homeless outreach. I was standing in front of a window which clearly displayed, "t-shirts two for a dollar." I rubbed my eyes to make sure I had seen correctly. Even with my deplorable math skills I knew that translated to 50 cents apiece. Ten dollars would go a long way. I went inside and discovered more tables piled high with tees, one with a sign, "1 Dollar." These were decorated in a variety of New York themes. I said to myself, "Wouldn't it be nice for a homeless person to have a brand new t-shirt with a design of the city that was helping him or her get a foothold in society? I grabbed eight of the plain black fifty centers and four of the New York. On the way to the counter I saw a winter cap for a dollar and three pairs of cozy socks for two. Why not stretch the budget a teense while I was there? As I placed my purchases in front of the cashier I said, "This is wonderful! This can be part of my tithing." She stopped to ask what "tiding" was. I said,"It's what you give to God each month, the first part of anything you receive--money, time, gifts. God doesn't need it, of course, but it's a lesson in priorities. God first." She was intrigued by the idea so I told her the shirts would go to homeless outreach. I continued, "When I lived in Eureka, California where there was a large homeless population, I would buy from the St. Vincent de Paul Thrift Shop and take the clothes over to the Friends (Quakers) Thrift Store but those were used clothes. With these I can donate brand new ones!" She was caught up in my excitement and asked, "What God is this?" I replied, "The God of All Things Known and Unknown." "Ah," she said, satisfied. I hoped for eavesdroppers as I waved goodbye with a, "See you next month!"

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..may the blessings of radical generosity be yours...

Looking for the Good

In one of the Shire posts, I wrote about how much I admired the statue of Evangeline in Nova Scotia. A memory popped up after that post. It was a scene from the kindergarten class in Manhattan Beach where I was the volunteer Music Lady. The teacher would suddenly call out, "Statues!" and all of us in the room would stop in whatever pose we happened to be in. I loved this moment where is seemed the world had lurched to a stop and was captured in a symbolic, "This is who you are." Remember the ballerina in Central Park? The quick change from one "still" to another was wonderful. So you can imagine my delight when I came upon this statue on 34th Street of a painter painting a painting of a wall mural. If you examine closely you can see that the sculpture includes his painting.

Now--you will say it's taken me a long time (decades!) to discover a connection between statues and my philosophy of life but just yesterday, I noticed. Statues may have made me a "looking for the good" person. As a child I always had a little altar atop a chest of drawers. I'd put fresh flowers there each day and touch the faces of the "santos" I had been given. Santa Rita was my favorite. It never occurred to me she was gruesome with the spike embedded in her forehead, blood dripping. I would touch the smooth cool stone and marvel at her serene adoration. Clearly, she was a role model of sacrifice and gratitude. And how about those Nativity set sheep so glad to be near the Baby? From tender beginnings such as placing a bowl of hibiscus next to a figurine came my defining world view.

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...may the blessings of tiny /large revelations be yours...

Welcome Friends

photo credit: henry hobbs

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Greetings from The Treehouse in the Big Apple. This tree, of course, is not the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil that we have been warned against in myth and sacred text since history began. This is a welcoming green apple tree set by a river and a park on the Upper Green Side. The greeters at the Visitors' Center are shown above. Will, the keeper of the Treehouse; Robert, my esteemed brother; and Yours Truly, the Blobber. On my last outing in the Shire, I got an idea of who would be stopping by The City that Never Sleeps because of the encounters on the bus route. The first one was with I saw a young woman and her two children whom I had met during the summer and hadn't seen since. She told me I had inspired her to start volunteering in school and said shyly that she was learning to read. I said I would be leaving for New York on the next Tuesday so I was glad to know this. The older child said, "Maybe we'll see you at the Statue of Liberty!" Her mom laughed and explained, "You got her fired up to go there when you was telling us about Henry's adventure." Another encounter was because I had to wait for the photos at CVS so I decided to get a haircut at my usual place in Carrboro. There was someone new and much experienced working that day. We really hit it off. It turned out she was born on Staten Island and had moved out to Hollywood in her twenties. She proudly ran through the names of her customers: Johnny Carson, all the Fleetwood Macs, and several others I don't recall. I told her I had lived in Manhattan Beach and she said her husband had delivered the same newspaper as Erik. She said she was going to give me a "pretty haircut for a pretty lady." She had plenty of time to talk and at the end of our chatting she wanted a hug and said she was sure she would see me on the sidewalks of New York! Then, by chance, I got the New York bus driver and I said goodbye to him. He said, you guessed it, "I'll probably see you there some day!" It made me think I should do a blob about all the people who are coming to see us. I could call it the New and Improved Visitors' Center, which, as you see I have done!

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...may the blessings of kind companions on your journeys of discoveries be yours...

Hark! Angels Singing, Nudging, Exhorting

Brain studies fascinate me. Where do ideas come from? Who is it taps me on the shoulder with gentle suggestions, "Why not try this?" What brings to mind the perfect word I wasn't even looking for? Since childhood I have attributed it all to angels, fanciful angels, storytelling angels, with my best interests at heart. I don't take credit for my creative efforts. I am simply a conduit. You, perhaps, have another explanation. My brother is a fine artist. He can sketch in a minute what I would not do in a lifetime. Cheryl Dolby of Roanoke, Virginia does masterworks of color but that doesn't hold me back. I'm not comparing myself to anyone. I just like to draw angels. These drawings began in 1985 when a list of titles came flooding. 26 in one day! Titles such as Angel of Divine Assignments, Angel of Molecular Levels, Angel of Uninhabited Isles, Angel of Lined Paper Notebooks. And the twins, Angel of It Doesn't Matter at All and Angel of It Matters a Lot. I couldn't imagine writing 26 poems for the titles. I decided I was supposed to draw something. I didn't know what. I hope the Angel of the Christmas Rose above inspires you to a list of your own and a frenzy of doodles.

Petals in the snow?

Cardinals investigate.

Yes! It is Christmas.

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...as December deepens towards the solstice and the night when the angels gathered in song, may you be filled with the light of His coming...

Creche Amidst the Holly

...a house in the Bronx...

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In the 5th grade, I won the Quiet Contest. It wasn't difficult as I was at an all girls' school with chattering students who had known each other since infancy. I couldn't keep up with the cast of characters and knew that I wouldn't be attending for more than a few months Such was the traveling life. My desk was by a bank of windows looking out on a tropical garden with bright heaping cumulus clouds framing it like a ceiling in a wayside chapel. So I drifted off daydreaming the hours away. Nary a word was heard from me--quiet as could be. The prize was a white porous stone Nativity set complete with twelve lambs and seven angels. I was probably supposed to paint it but alabaster was one of my favorite word--"Safe in their alabaster chambers"--snowy was perfect for me. As far as holiday decorations go, a Nativity set beats all. In San Francisco, in Muslim shop selling Levi's, I saw the best ever and the first with an elephant the detail of which was fit for a raj. The photo that decks the high branches of the Treehouse was taken when Pasquale drove us past a house where the decorations were extravagant to the degree that they included a Liberace style piano and an electrical engineer's masterwork of embedded outlets. I focused on the roof scene with my camera as it reminded me of, "Peace on earth, goodwill..."

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Thinking Christmas 1964

A paling ornament of "Baby's First Christmas" is

likely a pun: the creche/1964.

Jennifer was sitting up then in her red smocked dress

ready for a stroller outing

along the pitching sidewalk of Clipper Street,

heading towards the bells of Mission Dolores.

Downtown, Woolworth's sparkled with specialty cakes; the

Emporium's expansive dome seemed to say, "All wishes

come true if you seek a place high enough and arched."

Some things have changed since that time.

She likes lime green now. Urban renewal dazzles

Market with shifting glass reflections, like searchlights.

Clipper Street is the same, though. The wishes I made

for goodness and mercy are still sent, and the promise

of the Prince of Peace continues to exhilarate me.

Come Thou to my heart.

Each year is a kaleidoscope clicking with losses and additions,

timeless fragments glimpsed quickly--

verse/refrain, into the middle and back again.

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...may your heart be as festive as your wreaths and garlands

and your souls light up the world...

The First Night of December

"Summer afternoon." Henry James said those were the most beautiful words in the English language. I do like them and I do like a summer afternoon but if I were to choose one word instead of two, I would probably choose, "December" as it houses many of my other favorites: madrigal, advent, childe, Prince of Peace, pine (and balsam, too). The photo above has ties to Roanoke and Zionville. "Mr. Robo" was a fan purchased for the cabin long before I knew there would be grandchildren coming. He has movable arms and large red eyes that light up as he turns. The cap he is wearing is from Gone CoCo Boutique. That's a great story for a January blob. Behind Mr. Robo you can see the tote bag Cheryl Dolby created using snaps from my childhood, one of my angel drawings, an e-mail about my faith, and my mother's favorite quote from a poet friend, Althea Bass, which reads, "How could you know the way to hold me was to let me go?" However, there wasn't enough room for the "go" so she said that meant I wasn't supposed to go! Speaking of Roanoke, here is a poem from Roanoke days.

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Christmastide on the #51

"Happy Holidays"scrolls on the destination box.

There is talk of the Farmer's Almanac with its

predictions for tall tale snows; the early bird sales

good for finding "something nice" to leave the paper carrier;

the schedule of events at Haven of Hope; and Kwanzaa.

"It's not religious. Each day for six days starting the 26th

you give a homemade gift" reminiscent, I think, of

Twelfth Night and the festive, undulating journey of the Magi.

When did the "partridge in a pear tree" go out of fashion?

A quiet greeting. A wave. A young man laughs at my socks.

He is conversant on many topics. I tell him what I need fixing.

He smiles and suggests, conspiratorially, I ask Santa.

I know about asking. I have asked before, of Someone else.

Long ago, in a stone sanctuary where ancient plaques hung,

written in languages unfamiliar to me, lit by flickering votives

in a country seeping from war, I asked. I asked

for companions to exhort and encourage me.

One prayer. One recurring answer.

The bell rings, "Stop Requested" lights up the screen

and is echoed cheerfully by an anonymous voice.

On. Off. Rejoice. Giving, receiving, asking,

we travel along. Emmanuel. God with us.

For diverse believers and non-believers alike,

Christmas rides the #51.

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...may the blessing of transforming words be yours this December...