It’s the Map; It’s the Map *

Titled borrowed from Dora the Explorer who always carries her map …

Perhaps you spent childhood Sundays as I did – morning church followed by delicious pot roast and veggies then an afternoon drive in ‘the country’ with the whole family in tow.

The back roads in Michigan are unparalleled rural beauty – hilly, curvy dirt roads with borders of massive tree trunks hoisting broad green canopies so thick it’s like riding through tunnels. Looking back to see the cloud of dust in our wake; following Dad’s finger pointing out a deer, a fox, a coyote in the field beside the road.

Occasionally as we backed out of our driveway, we kids would scrunch down in the back seat – below window level – with our eyes closed. Dad would turn out of the driveway and about 15-20 minutes later, he’d stop by the side of the road and we’d have to guess where we were. Although I suspect it might have been his ploy to keep us quiet for a stretch, his stated aim was to help us develop our sense of direction.

Dad’s ability to know where he was, and how to get home, was uncanny. It came from his years of living on a farm outside of town where he and his 11 siblings spent their time after chores wandering miles along streams and through woods, developing a sixth sense for navigational accuracy.

Despite Dad’s skill, we’d often end up on a road no one recognized. Alarmed, Mom or one of us would say, “Dad, are we lost?”

“No. We’re just taking a short cut.”

 No matter how convoluted that ‘short cut’ was, Dad eventually delivered us home without consulting a map.

I couldn’t internalize Dad’s directional aptitude in Michigan. My dilemma was three-fold. Because the terrain all looked the same and there weren’t any distinguishing markers on the horizon, I didn’t know where I was hence I couldn’t figure out which direction I should head and, even if I did, I couldn’t discern that direction from nature’s clues.

The sun, even when it wasn’t obscured by tree tunnels or cloudy skies, never seemed like a marker I could read. Sure sunrise was east and sunset was west, but during the daylight hours, I had a hard time discerning anything from the sun (or from the moss that supposedly grew on the north side of trees, for that matter).

Colorado is different. Not only does the sun more distinctly position itself in the northern sky in winter and the southern sky in summer, but WE HAVE MOUNTAINS! A mountain range I can see from anywhere on the plains. No matter where I am, I can head for the mountains and sooner or later I’ll come to a north/south road at the base of the foothills. I know which way to turn because I know which mountaintop rests miles above my next-to-the-foothills abode.

Nevertheless, my consistent use of maps – a stress saver in Michigan – has carried over to Colorado. Not so much because I need one, but because I have developed a fondness for maps that goes beyond finding my way from here to there.

Maps are both literary and visual art (more on that in a future post).

They lend themselves to time travel. Have you ever spent time at the library looking at old census maps or comparing a regional map from a decade ago with a current one?

Maps provide off-the-beaten-path routes. They invite exploration in towns with culturally intriguing names. Do you like to take ‘the back way’ down an unfamiliar road or spontaneously divert to a town whose name intrigues you?

They offer geographical lessons. Do you ever spend an evening with a map of your country – refreshing your memory about which states, provinces or regions border others? (I’m always flummoxed by where Connecticut and Rhode Island are in relation to the bigger surrounding states.)

 Maps jog our memories. Do you point with delight to a long-forgotten vacation spot and spend an hour reminiscing about the highlights of that trip?

Maps promote dreams of future travel. Who hasn’t browsed an atlas and identified several ‘musts’ for your bucket list?

I am very happy with my GPS, Silvia, who has reconciled herself to the fact that I often ignore her sage directions, even when I’ve asked for her help. Secure in the knowledge that Silvia  – like Dad – will eventually lead me home, I can even sneak in a stress-free, solo ‘country roads’ drive during my annual Michigan visit.

Silvia gets me where I’m going when that’s all I need, but there’ll always be a place on my bookshelves and in my travels for my maps.

What about you? What part, if any, do maps play in your lives?

 And finally … Can you fold a map along its original lines or does yours look like this?

 

Coming soon … Bemuzin on the artistry & creativity of maps.

 

Coffee on Mother’s Day

If we were having coffee, I’d say Congratulations and a Heartfelt Thank You to each of you Mothers undertaking the herculean task of raising children in today’s confusing and often contradictory societal norms.

Someday your children will thank you, too!

This I know because it took me years to understand and appreciate what my own Mother did for me. Not always what I wanted her to do, and I often wished I had someone else’s Mother for my own, but my Mother did her best and we all turned out ok in a relatively healthy and functionally, loving family.

Now I’m thankful she’s my Mom.

I’d also tell you this is why we don’t plant outdoors until after Mother’s Day.

Taken moments ago on Mother’s Day

I’d tell you that my physical therapy sessions have ended successfully  … for now. I’m not all the way over the hump, and I fear a return to my ‘crippled, painful’ state, although the therapist assures me another 3-6 months of diligent effort on my part will be the most effective preventative.

It was time consuming to attend the sessions and do all the exercises multiple times per day at home, but my postural muscles have strengthened and realigned. My pain, although much diminished, returns if I stay in one position too long so I have to limit myself with seated activities or those like computer and reading that pull me forward. No more than 30 minutes without a readjustment. (Gravity, people. It’s not your friend!). Moving, stretching and changing positions frequently (as well as standing rather than sitting) are the key. In fact, I’m standing to write this with my laptop resting on a Swiffer Wets box to achieve proper level for arms and eyes. (I knew those Swiffer Wets would be good for something!)

The past few weeks, I’ve chosen playing keyboard and reading for my ‘lead to pain’ activities, rather than being on the computer, so my blogging frequency is still diminished. I hope to increase the frequency … time will tell. Usually it’s ‘you’re not good enough writer’s block’ that trips me up. Now I’m brimming with writing ideas and it’s my body dictating my productivity.

The ‘brimming with ideas’ synchs nicely with one of my 2015 Envisions – Mapping and Footsteps.

Not writing for so long, but continuing to read and mull has overloaded me with thoughts that are tangentially connected. If I’d been streaming all along, they wouldn’t be so jumbled. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking with it.

Today Hub left on a weeklong golf trip … the perfect time for me to immerse myself in sorting the jumble and experimenting with an organizational tool – Mapping. Many of you use various forms of manual or computer mapping. It’s new to me.

Visual mapping – not lists and outlines in notebooks where I can’t find what I’m looking for when I want it – but foam boards where I can pin or tape whatever seems to apply whenever I think of it. (Pinterest for Geriatrics …).

Where to start?

At the beginning!

Notes left to right – progression of posts ideas.

Notes top to bottom – details for specific ideas.

Post-its – questions on where/how to fit, insert or connect.

Photos, trinkets, and other visual stimulants to remind me that if I want to practice art, I need to consciously incorporate it into my writing plans.

I have a second foam board, or can quickly rearrange this one, as the posts sort themselves out.

These are all the books I am currently reading that support my Visual Mapping intentions or relate to my writing topics. I will write about specific books, topics and authors. I will pay tribute to a few of my blogging buddy authors as well as reflect impacts on my own life and values.

I hope this results in some worthwhile posts for you and me.

If not, we’ll commiserate over coffee.

Friday Cuppa Joe

If we were meeting for coffee, I’d tell you how  tangled tickled I’ve been to read the daily posts from each of you A to Z Challenge participants. From veterans to newbies, you all have such humorous, thoughtful, educational – and varied – topics, and you write with such exuberance and confidence.

A tip of my mug, and Hearty Congratulations to all of you!

Hang in there; you’re nearly at the finish line.

I’m looking forward to your Reflections post at the end of the Challenge because that’s when I find out what this year’s Challenge meant to you. You all seem to be sailing through with nary an unsettling wave, but sometimes it’s totally chaotic behind your sails and we don’t find out until you ‘Reflect.’

Has this happened to you? You’re reading a news event about an ‘elderly’ person and, when the age is mentioned you think, “WTF?!? Elderly??  That’s MY age!”

I’ve been trying for ten years to decide what to call myself. I’m not middle-aged (not planning to live to130), yet I’m certainly NOT elderly. Dad and Mom are just shy of 90 and still relatively healthy and active. They might be elderly.

I am not.

So how do we label those of us past our mid’s but not yet arrived at our eld’s?

Good news!

Researchers at the International Institute for Applied Systems Analysis in Vienna, Austria have decided old age “should be measured not by age, but by how long people have left to live.”

And we are living a lot longer.

Statisticians say today’s average 65-year-old should live another 24 years. That’s 50% longer than the average for our parents’ generation. (I must congratulate my parents for being WAY above average!)

Those Viennese researchers suggest that Old Age should be defined as having less than 15 years to live.

Good news, indeed. I have a decade until I reach statistical Old Age. In the meantime, what do I call myself since I’m way past middle age?

Since Living Longer is the variable that turned researchers from ‘age-focused’ to ‘years-to-live’ focused, I think that’s what we should call ourselves … The Living Longers.

And I’ve heard that a second cup of coffee goes a long way to ensuring that outcome.

Loving Living Longer

Getting Creative With Creative Blogger Award

I’m woefully behind in acknowledging a few awards I’ve received. I truly appreciate the purpose of these awards and the generous support from my fellow bloggers.

As I’ve written, I have mixed emotions about accepting awards because the work can be quite time-consuming, and sometimes the thought of answering certain questions causes me discomfort. I’m responding to a fun one today while not officially following its rules.

Joey at Joeyfullystated nominated me for the Creative Blogger Award. Thank you, Joey!

This was certainly an apt award for Joey to receive herself. I think of Joey as my RR&R blogging buddy (surprise, Joey). She Rants, Raves and Reveals – I never know what I’ll be reading when Joey scrolls into view, but I’m always entertained, educated and excited by her writing.

Ever think so much could be written about doors? Just see what Joey has to say.

According to the rules, I’m supposed to tell you five things about myself. I decided to focus on five creative things …

Hear the sound of that screeching halt?

I rarely think of myself as creative. Capricorns plod; we don’t create.

But here goes:

I was a child prodigy as a contemporary artist. Remember those springtime wriggly worms that so fascinated me? Mom tells me  when I was about three and she’d send me out to play, she’d look up and find me breaking off pieces of fresh earthworm and ‘painting’ on our front window. When a piece would dry, I’d just break off another and continue my masterpiece.

Look at that HUGE earthworm. I’m not gonna touch it. YOU touch it!

When I was a kid, Dad taught me to ‘laugh’ like a loon. I was good at it. Every time we passed a lake or a pond, my siblings would turn to me in the car and say, “C’mon Sammy. Laugh like a loon.”

Loon Laugher on the Right

When I was in the fourth grade, I won the $10 first prize at the American Legion Halloween costume contest dressed as a little old lady. Now I am a little old lady.

Not my Halloween costume, but OLD clothing!

I owned and operated an Irish Pub with my first husband. Our pub offered Guinness Stout on tap and a menu of authentic Irish fare. Saint Patty’s Day – as you can imagine – was wild! As is so often the case, our restaurant venture was more successful than our marriage. I wonder how the Irish say “C’est la vie.”

Authentic Irish Patrons!

I took my first dance class (jazz) at age 31 and performed onstage.

Once.

To a recording of Elvis singing Jailhouse Rock.

Hub proposed to me anyway.

In subsequent years, I took classes in ballet, African, modern and – most recently at age 62 – tap. I like jazz best and in my next life I will be performing in Cats during its Broadway run. When that happens, you’ll see a photo.

I’m pleased to pass this award to four bloggers whose creations I look forward to every week – rich offerings that enhance my life.

I do hope you’ll take a peek at their Creativity.

Katie is in the midst of art journaling for International Fake Journal Month, and she has chosen to travel to Italy. Her daily posts are so whimsical and delicious, I’m tempted to try this challenge next year.

Elen is participating in the A-to-Z Challenge for her first time, and her F made me laugh out loud

Raye’s paintings make me green with envy (even when I mistake her figs for eggplant). As if that skill wasn’t enough, her writing stops me in my tracks.

I discovered Sand, Salt, Moon a few weeks ago. She’s picked up a long-lost watercolor practice … paint me green with envy. Again.

Remember, there’s NO pressure with these awards. In case you like rules, here they are:

 The Rules

• Nominate 15-20 blogs and notify all nominees via their social media/blogs
• Thank and post the link of the blog that nominated you (very important)
• Share 5 facts about yourself to your readers
• Pass these rules on to them

Five Favorites for Spring

It’s official.

After 64 years, I’m declaring spring my favorite season.

Quickly.

Before summer and autumn fool me once again into thinking I like them best.

Springtime in Michigan as a child was a time of joy and wonder; a time when each of my five senses came alive.

Robins chirping at dawn like a faithful alarm clock, and the ground springing to life as if stretching its giant arms after a long winter’s sleep.

What I remember most is the aroma of the newly awakening outdoors. The minute I stepped outside, the scent of rich, dark soil moistened by melting snow filled my nose. That raw, loamy aroma was as pungent as any singular bloom and lingered for several weeks, enhanced by occasional spring rains – the kind without wind, thunder or lightning when walking under an umbrella was novel and fun.

The sidewalks were littered with fat, juicy earthworms who’d wriggle their way out of the soaking soil, bringing with them an earthy scent all their own. The lucky ones made it back to the safety of their underground abodes before a robin gobbled them for lunch, or an inattentive human squashed the life juice right out of them, leaving a flattened, brown leathery string glued to the sidewalk.

While I can’t choose a favorite flora, I can pinpoint five that immediately transport me to my first spring memories. Just as the robins woke my ears and the soil twitched my nose, these plants gave me visual, touch and taste sensations.

Forsythia from Google Images

Forsythia – An early spring bloomer, growing in the southwest corner of our “near” back yard. A four-foot shrub with long, gently drooping limbs and tiny brilliant yellow flowers running up and down the branches. Such delicate blooms that a hard, windy rain shower or a late-arriving snowstorm would prematurely knock the flowers from the limbs, leaving shocked naked branches quivering for a green leaf robe.

Daffodils Google Images

Daffodils – another early bloomer. We had a large back yard. In the 50’s there were few fences, although we had a wire fence along the southern edge of our “way back” yard. Mom grew daffodils along that fence. What seemed like hundreds of daffodils. Plain yellow was the only available variety and they bloomed in such abundance it was like sunshine beaming from the ground. I’ve tried, in vain, to grow them; alas I don’t have the ‘daffodil touch’.

Spirea from Google Images

Spirea – these 4-foot bushes formed a hedge that separated our ‘near’ back yard from our ‘way back’ yard. They have an abundance of small whitish blooms and dime-size, scallop-edged green leaves.  I haven’t found a spirea here in Colorado, which is a shame, because I can’t teach Sparks and Raqi one of my favorite youth pasttimes – picking a spirea leaf; placing it front-side down on my tongue; and pressing my teeth against my tongue while blowing air in such a way that the leaf vibrated against my tongue producing a shrill whistle. Simple pure kid-in-nature fun. Tasted kind of bitter but worth it for the whistle.

Lilacs from Google Images

Lilacs – Giant shrubs, tall enough I could squeeze in between the vertical old-growth stems and the new shoots as a child and pretend I was in a mini-forest. Seven or eight lilacs formed the border of our ‘way back’ yard, with just enough space between them that I could scamper through for a short-cut to Teddy’s or Margie’s back yard; still within shouting distance if Mom needed me.

Many yards had lilacs – some white; some deep purple, but I liked ours best – the pale lavender ones with a fragrance so strong I’d get punch-drunk from the nectar scent and lie in the grass for hours … inhaling.

Red Buds

Red Buds – if you’ve never seen a red bud tree, you are missing one of God’s most beautiful gifts.

My maternal grandparents lived in a small town about twenty miles away, and the road between towns followed a river with undeveloped woods on both sides. That stretch was called ‘The Red Bud Trail’ because so many red buds grew naturally in the woods. They were quite small and fragile-looking, dwarfed by larger maples and oaks, but there was no mistaking that occasional flash of pink as we drove by.

People who don’t know might think – in landscaping – they are looking at a crabapple tree when, in fact, they are seeing a red bud in bloom. But for those who have taken red buds into their hearts, there’s no confusion. The red buds are much daintier blooms appearing well before any greenery and rationing themselves along the full length of their branches. From a distance, they have a distinctly fluorescent pink that no crabapple can imitate.

Red Buds Worth a 2nd Look

Red buds are also prized for their unique leaves – a light, bright green palm-size, heart shape that is all the more reason to love this tree.

I could name many more beloved spring blooms – magnolias, yes – but I’ll close with an anecdote about peonies because Luanne, poet and blogger at Writer Site, and I had a conversation about lilacs and peonies yesterday.

“Don’t you love peonies?” Luanne asked.

“Yes, Luanne, I do’”

But Dad isn’t especially fond of them. When we moved to a property that included a farmhouse, barn, out-buildings and ten acres, Dad had a lot to manage when he got home from work. The previous owner had planted three rows of seven peonies – 21 peonies to mow around, weed, prop up during flowering season, and trim every fall. All which took time away from Dad’s vegetable and fruit gardening. One night, he bulldozed the lawn mower across those peonies, shredding them to the ground. He kept doing it until they finally died.

That’s the only living plant (besides poison ivy) I’ve seen Dad purposely murder!