Sounds of Hope

As we drove up the muddy driveway, guided by the neon OPEN sign, we knew this was going to be an experience.  The day had already been more like the script of a movie with the familiar theme of city folk go to the country.  The country folk always seem to be the better in these movies.  This time, we were the city folk I suppose.   My beautiful Granddaughter on her wedding day. Disguised from my modest roots, I was in a dress from Macy’s with a flashy bracelet from Stein Mart – both were from the clearance rack.  Most everyone else, except the beautiful bride (more on that in a later blog) were in jeans and t-shirts or a variation thereof.  The groom did have a suit on and looked extremely miserable.  Even the preacher who would pronounce them husband and wife was casually dressed in khaki and polo.  It could have been a scene out of My Cousin Vinny , or New in Town .  And I was the butt of the comedy. That was behind us, a night at...

I don't know if this is the longest I have gone without writing.  I don't like to go this long.  Many things have grabbed my attention over the last few weeks.  I've been to both coasts of the United States, seeing the Atlantic and the Pacific, seeing the Hudson River and the San Francisco Bay.  I've ridden a subway, but didn't take a cable car.  Something I'll probably regret but the taste of sour dough is still on my tongue.  I brought some home. The bumpy air ride over the Rockies was something I'd never experienced.  However, very small in comparison to days on a wagon train as people pressed past their known world to the glories of the west, or in search of gold.  For me the gold of this trip was not panned in San Francisco but on the east coast.  I saw one of my beautiful daughters try on her gorgeous wedding gown.  I wanted to cry.  Not because the dress was beautiful, or even that she is - and they both were stunning - but...

I’ve been thinking a lot about getting old.  I guess I think about it too much.  But, a milestone birthday usually sparks such thoughts.  I came across a piece in the Huffington Post by Billy Graham .  He’s getting ready to celebrate 93 years.  Yikes, that’s old.  I always thought it interesting that Oral Roberts, Billy Graham, and my mother were all born in 1918.  He’s the last one remaining of this odd trio.  Waiting for the bus to take Norwegians to Madison Square Garden in 1957 to hear Billy Graham. As usually, Graham was inspiring.  I remember going to Madison Square Garden on a bus with lots of Norwegians from my neighborhood in Brooklyn.  I remember wanting to “ get up out of my seat ” and go to the front.  I was six years old and the power of his preaching convicted me.  Of what?  I don't know...  Instead, holding my mother’s hand I walked the opposite direction so as not to miss the bus back to Brooklyn....

Last week I had the glorious experience of reconnecting with a childhood friend. She sat with me in Miss O'Shea's class. She stood in line as Miss O'Shea put lipstick on our lips for the May Day Celebration.  The one that led to the consternation of my mother at my being unchristian because I had make-up on... Peering through the black bars of the school fence, she glared as I danced around the May Pole with lipstick.  I loved Miss O'Shea and yet it was the year of such horror . I imagine she was one that I would hope would accompany me to the girls bathroom in the basement of the school.  Always sent in pairs, one would raise their hand and be excused; the other would volunteer to go with you.  That meant a time to chat and giggle.  Later, she and I would walk together to PS 220 John J. Pershing Junior High School.  Of all my childhood school memories, Pershing was the best. It's odd the things you think about when you reconnect. Little tiny snippets o...