Apologies

When I began writing Sharing the Good Times, I committed myself to writing something for every Sunday. So far, I have been faithful to that commitment and I suppose this apology will count towards it as well.

However, this is extent of my post for today; an apology. An apology that I have nothing else prepared to post at this time. Time, and an upcoming change, were my enemy. 

Instead of writing yesterday, I chose instead to spend time with friends traveling to southern Kentucky for lunch at Patti's 1880's Settlement. It was the correct choice. I am also preparing to change employment. Beginning on March 5th, I'll begin working as the Executive Assistant to the CEO of The Hermitage, Home of President Andrew Jackson! The change required that spend a large part of my day preparing items for my departure from my present position. This left me little time to write.

So, my apologies for this short notice and I sincerely hope to resume writing in time for next Sunday.

Have a wonderful week everyone.

If I Were A Rich Man

     “If I were a rich man,

     Yubby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dum.

     All day long I’d biddy bibby bum.

     If I were a wealthy man.”

I played Tevye last year. I loved playing with that song. Great fun.

____________________

We took a drive yesterday to the Radnor Lake State Natural Area. Gerrie’s sister Karen is in town and Karen’s son, Josh, recommended we all take a Saturday morning hike at the lake. It was a brisk morning, slightly overcast, but still a good morning for walking.

The lake is located in the southern part of the county and in an area that is considerably more affluent that where we live. This prompted my nephew to ask from the backseat, “Does this make you think of ‘If I Were A Rich Man?’” My first thought was to say not really. Being wealthy, in the monetary sense, is something that I will never be. So I don’t give much thought to it. Yet, something about the question made me stop and think for a moment. What would I do if I were a rich man?

I continued driving towards the lake, pass some incredible homes. Then I thought, this isn’t what I’d want. Sounds odd doesn’t it. But it is true. I don’t think I’d live a big house or drive whatever car one drives when one is wealthy. No, I think if I were a wealthy man I would do quite well in a small house.

I’d use some money to purchase a good amount of land; wooded and pasture. I’d want a nice spring fed stream running though it with maybe a small pond. In a nice stand of trees, not far from the stream or pond, would be an old frame house or maybe a cabin. It would have a few rooms; a parlor, a dining area, one bedroom for Gerrie and I with a second one for guests, and then a room that would be where Gerrie and I would do the things we love to do. There we’d write or draw, maybe a small easel where I’d paint, and there would be a place for me to work on my photography and store my camera gear.

Throughout, our small house would be photographs of our family and friends, of places we’ve traveled and framed prints of some my better photographic efforts. Books would abound and setting about here and there would be the things we’ve collected. This would include those little curiosities that we find during our walks. 

Our front yard would be carpeted with soft green grass and scattered about would be daffodils, blue bells, and a host of other flowers in season. Wildflowers would be to the left and right of some of the paths we’d walk. A wide variety of trees would fill our woods.

This is where I’d live if I were a rich man. But I'm not a rich man.

No wait, I am. But just not in the sense that the world defines it. I am rich because of the family that I am a part of and because of the friends that I share life with. I am rich in the experiences that I had and my dreams are rich with the experiences that I hope to have. And, I am rich because of my faith. My faith keeps me focused on a goal; on a finish line, that is not of this world! With all this, I am a very wealthy man indeed. 

____________________

And about that visit to Radnor Lake, here are a few photos.

43 of 66

Gerrie and I try not to watch television during the week. We’ve too much writing, drawing and reading to attend to. But I was home sick not long ago. When this happens there isn’t a lot you can do except try to take care of yourself and get better as soon as possible. Well, that and maybe have the television on as you fall in and out of sleep.  

So I’d move from the bedroom to the living and turn the television on in search of films. Usually I’ll search for old movies that I’d like to revisit; films that really don’t require my staying awake since there is a good chance I won’t. This time I queued up some of the old Star Trek titles, Star Trek: Generations, Star Trek: First Contact and Star Trek: Insurrection. After a while I began better and I set out in search of something else engaging.

That is when I came upon Agatha Christie’s Poirot. This is a British television drama that airs on ITV. We would receive it here on the PBS series, Mystery, and now on some  of the video streaming services. Poirot features Dame Agatha’s detective Hercule Poirot and stars David Suchet. I was immediately taken by the program, watching quite a few installments during those few days. Now, being back to a Monday through Thursday sans television routine, Poirot has become a staple for Friday evening viewing. 

The thing that draws me to Poirot is an old, deep-seated, love for Agatha Christie novels. I’ve read a good many of them and sought many years ago to collect her entire works. Over her career she wrote 66 detective novels and more than 15 short story collections. Though my fervor to collect subsided, I still came up with 43 of the novels and eight of the short story collections. 

Christie stories for me are pure escapism. I read them without trying to piece together the clues and figure out who-done-it. I read them for the pure enjoyment of escaping into another time and another place. Being an avowed Anglophile I am especially drawn to those stories set in England. Whether it is manor home in “The Murder of Roger Ackroyd” or “The Mysterious Affair at Styles”, or an old familiar home in “Sleeping Murder”, I relish the settings. I read the story and have no difficulty placing myself there.  

I am not sure when my attraction to Christie stories began. I want to say it was in the early 1970s, though it could have been later. I remember there being a used bookseller in my hometown and I would visit there on trips home. I had a small notebook and I’d pencil in the titles that I already had, then scour the stacks for absent titles. What I do know is that this attraction was sealed during my first visit to England.

I first travelled to France and England in the Spring of 1975. Part of our group itinerary included three shows on London’s West End. Along with seeing Jesus Christ Superstar at the Palace Theatre and Macbeth at The Old Vic, we saw The Mousetrap* at the St. Martin’s Theatre. This certainly must have had an impact on me; my young mind seeing one her stories brought to life. A second event occurred during a coach trip to Oxford. We passed through the small village of Winterbrook. Though I have no way to document it, I have a memory of the driver pointing to his left and saying that was the home of Dame Agatha Christie. She was still alive then and most likely there. It is a  vague memory, and possibly inaccurate, but I claim it all the same. 

Being somewhat artistically inclined, I tend to look for connections to writers and artists that I admire or who have had some impact on my life. I am happy that I have visited Shakespeare’s birthplace and strolled through the streets of Stratford-upon-Avon. Our visit to Headington Quarry to see The Kilns was memorable as was taking lunch at The Eagle and Child (affectionally known as The Bird and Baby) and sitting the room that C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien and the other Inklings would meet and talk. Passing the Christie home was one of these moments.

As I read certain books and view certain pictures, I am curious about and inspired by the lives of the individuals who penned the words or who created the portraits, landscapes or abstracts. What must their lives have been like? When I think about Dame Agatha, I think about a lady whose life knew adventure and who was experienced at travel. She lived the quiet pedestrian life of the countryside, yet knew the bustle of the city. These are all things that I inspire me.

This all came back to me when I found Agatha Christie’s Poirot. I re-discovered an old friend; not only the little Belgium detective and his associates, but Miss Marple too. But more importantly I became reacquainted with a favorite writer. 

Maybe it’s time I sought out those other 23 novels.

____________________

* The Mousetrap holds the record for the longest initial run of any play in history. Opening in 1952, it celebrated its 25,000th performance on 18 November 2012.

Note:  Most all of our viewing these days, when it is not a film, focuses on British produced television.

Vera-Ellen and a Bottle of Red

 

When I was younger, say five or six, I had a crush on Vera-Ellen. My one hope was that she’d wait for me to grow up so that I we could get married. 

It is funny now to think back to those years. Oh the things that we thought could happen; would happen. At six you really don’t have a concept of time. It stands still. What you see before you will stay that way until you’re ready for it to move on. At least that was how I thought things should work. 

Those years were innocent years. We were just beginning to step up in the world with school. We were forming new friendships; learning new things. But there was still time to play. There was still wonder. There was still innocence. 

I remember riding my bike one day and the rain began to come down. It wasn’t a rain where the sky just opened up and it fell all around you. This rain fell like a curtain being drawn. We, my friends and I, were racing down N 31st Street in Paducah and we could see this curtain of rain coming towards us. Our little six year old legs were no match and the rain caught up to us. We were wet, but oh the excitement. We raced with the rain.

My friend Mike live just down the street. He had a really nice collection of Legos. His backyard backed up to a railroad berm. Late afternoons, when the freight trains would go by, we would run to the back of his yard. We’d go to the place where we could stand in the shadows cast by the passing boxcars, tank cars and hoppers. Then we would jump the light between the cars. You could stand in the shadow but you jumped in the light. You didn’t want to look and see a flatcar. Flatcars meant trouble.

Trains had cabooses in those days. Sometimes there would be a crew member setting at the window and he’d wave. We would wave back. In fact, we waved just for the sake of waving for you never knew if crew member would be watching. You know, maybe that’s why trains don’t have cabooses or crew members anymore; kids got too busy and stopped waving. Sad.

John F. Kennedy was assassinated in my sixth year. We didn’t really comprehend all that happened during that November. We only knew that someone very important was shot and that he died. In time we’d learn more. But I do remember two songs from the funeral procession. One was the Funeral March and the other was Fairest Lord Jesus.

     “Fairest Lord Jesus, Ruler of all nature,

     O Thou of God and man the Son,

     Thee will I cherish, Thee will I honor,

     Thou, my soul’s glory, joy and crown.”

This song is a favorite of mine to this day.

But, what of Vera-Ellen? 

It was around this time of my life that I first saw the film, White Christmas. Most of us know the song and the story. Vera-Ellen was one half of the musical act, The Haynes Sisters. She played Judy and Rosemary Clooney played the older sister Betty. We first meet them as they sing a duet, but really, Betty was the singer of the two. Judy, well, Judy was the dancer. And how she could dance. I once read where Fred Astaire said she was the best all around dancer that he ever worked with.

I fell in love during White Christmas. I wanted time to stand still so that when I grew up Vera-Ellen would be there, still looking like she did in 1954. Obviously that didn’t happen.  But I made it a point to visit with her whenever I had the chance. Whenever Christmas time came I’d look to see when White Christmas would air and then I would watch it. When video tape came out I purchased a copy of the film. Each Christmas Eve, after the children were in bed, I’d put the movie in the player and open a bottle of red wine. I’d set on the floor, putting toys together from Santa, visiting with Vera-Ellen, having a glass of wine and singing along.  

I still do. I don’t put toys together anymore and these days I am more apt to have a glass of iced tea instead of wine. But, every Christmas Eve, after the family has gone home, my wife and I put on White Christmas. When the four of them are in the club car we’ll look at each other and sing-along, “Snow, snow, snow, snow, snow! It won’t be long before we’ll all be there with snow.”  

Something about watching it makes me feel young again. The troubles of the world drift away and I live in a simpler time. I also think about how just once I wish I could have traded places with Danny Kaye. I’d excuse myself from Bing and Rosemary, stand up and walk across a room and through an open door. I’d take her by the hand, singing “The Best Things Happen When You’re Dancing.” Then at last I would dance with Vera-Ellen. 

     "Even guys with two left feet

     Come out all right if the girl is sweet

     If by chance their cheeks should meet

     While dancing

     Proving that the best things happen while you dance."