One woman's reflections of past and present - people, places and things that contribute to the joy and sweetness; the sorrow and hurt of an everyday ordinary life.
Before i saw his feathered red head, i heard the loud rat-atty - tat - tat as he rapped his his pointed beak against the trunk of the tree. So intent on the work he was doing, he paid no attention to me, the Blue Jay squawking, or the Swallow flying near by. i was reminded of Walter Lanz's famous animated character,Woody - but recognized right away this woodpecker was no silly cartoon figure, but a beauty of nature, so lovely to see
i close my eyes, and listen to the rush of wind making a swooshing sound rumbling through the trees; Sometimes like the
sound of tall grass blowing in the breeze; Sometimes clanging, banging like a constant knock on the old wooden door Softer now, like a softly played largo then crescendo building like the composer's musical score; Twirling and swirling like a wild Irish dance i close my eyes , and listen - to the rush of wind making a swooshing sound rumbling through the trees
He wasn’t
rich or famous like a powerful politician, big time movie actor, or rock star,
but he was very important and vital and uniquely special to his family and circle
of friends – some lifelong from the time of his youth; Walt was my cherished
little brother, Kerri’s longtime companion, Dad’s oldest son, and the apple of
our mother’s eye, the one she called her ‘Golden Child’.
While reliving the anguish
and horrible pain of learning
my brother had died does no good, reflecting on Walter's life, and the gladness
he brought to others, helps to lighten the empty feeling, and loss of one so loved ,
one no longer (physically) here. So today, on the anniversary of his death, each
of us who knew and cared for my brother commemorates his 55 years of life with
both tears of sorrow, and tears of joy for his presence in our lives, and all
that he gave us.
Walt was no saint, and could be full of the dickens, but he had
a kind heart and gentle spirit; He didn't judge people harshly, or hold grudges,
and loved to laugh. He was never overt in sharing his faith, but
often called our mother and asked for prayers for some special need. He told
her he liked to stop in at St. Joseph’s church (not far from his home) during
the week to ‘talk things over with God’.
A few weeks after his passing I was moved when Mother presented me with an edition of the New Testament, the one inscribed
to Walt from my husband Gary and me for his birthday in September, 1982. I held it in my hands, and remembered buying
this particular edition just for him at a religious education conference I attended
in Anaheim, California. What touched my
spirit more was to find passages and page numbers my brother had highlighted,
like the one from Revelation 5:11-13
As my vision continued, I heard the voices of many angels who
surrounded the throne and the living creatures and the elders. They were
countless in number, thousands and tens of thousands, and they all cried out: “Worthy
is the Lamb that was slain to receive power and riches, wisdom and strength,
honor and glory and praise!” Then I heard the voices of every creature in
heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea; everything in the
universe cried aloud: “To the One seated on the throne and to the Lamb, be
praise and honor, glory and might, forever and ever!”
It was as though , just at that moment while I
was still deeply grieving for him, my brother wanted
to share this passage with me, to help reassure me he was okay, he was worshipping in
the glory of the Lord with all the saints and angels; That all was well.
And it did help me through the grieving process. Not that there
aren’t times I still grieve, and miss my brother. I do. I will always miss him.
Not in an unwholesome way, but as one
misses someone so dear, once part of themself, the sweet days
of childhood and their lifetime of shared
moments, now forever
gone. It is then I pick up Walt’s New Testament
to read the verses he underlined so many years ago, and am reassured again. He is with the Lord, and the Lord is with him.
The truth is my brother wouldn’t want his mother or father,
his family or friends to be continually sad, he would want us to be happy and
embrace life with zest – to live and love and laugh. He would want us to think of him and smile.
What do i see sitting from my front door bench ? A doe browsing newly sprouted grass beneath the evergreen tree; A Bluebird, bluer than the pale blue sky fluttering its wings, then floating mid-air before quickly flying over two red breasted robins bobbing along the rocky ground, searching for seed; And in the field, green from spring rain, a brown rabbit with four white paws that look like socks on furry feet.
The bright of day slowly fades away - Dusk moves in to cast a shadowy grey over the forested land, and deep water lake. Darkness looms; It's blackness soon to fall upon us like a theater curtain signals the end of a Broadway play. Birds seek their rest, deer bed down The earth grows quiet; A faint whispering of wind the only sound
i sit and watch a flock of geese flying across the pale blue sky i listen to the happy sound of songbirds singing their melodious tune from high atop evergreen trees i feel the gentle breeze brush against my freckled arms, and am grateful for this moment in time; Sweet solitude, peaceful space to breath nature's beauty in my own special place
not just the telling of, but the doing day in and day out Giving of self and sharing the load To give encouragement, and kindly word to the other who is discouraged, broken and bent; Listening with an understanding heart To forgive a flare of anger after the heat of bad temperament Laughing together with joyful glee over some silly moment Steadiness. Faithfulness. Commitment, and trust.
Today, the Idaho sun
is warm and bright,
too bright to be outside
without wearing sunglasses
and a wide brim hat
covering my head
The lake looks smooth,
not solid in color
but with shades of
dark blue, light blue
and tint of gray
Evergreen trees stand
tall and still, not enough
breeze to sway even
one piney branch
Strands of feathery clouds
criss cross the pale blue sky
All is quiet, except
the sound of birds
and a wayward wasp
busy buzzing by
The past few months I've read several stories about hand writing no longer being taught in many school districts, and how the art of handwriting may even become extinct, giving way to technology - text, type and tweet. Just this last Sunday it was the lead story on the front page of the Spokesman Review . According to the article, The federal government's new "common core" standards include a composition component but leave out handwriting altogether, which has sparked much debate among researchers and educators.
Wow. Hard to believe. It seems to me not teaching students how to write, is paramount to denying them a new language , an important way to communicate way of the written word. I wonder, if students don't learn how to write , how will they know how to read the long hand letters written throughout history by philosopher, poet and politician? Or sign their name to an important document ? Just think how different our Declaration of Independence would look without the great signatures of those grand men.
Most of us of a certain age can easily recall the handwriting chart hanging above the blackboard in our elementary school classroom, and the joy we felt as second graders knowing we would no longer print our words but would learn how to write cursive, and how that seemed a small entry into the world of grown-up communication. I remember the good Sisters of Notre Dame who taught at the parochial school I attended , had the most perfect penmanship, and wanted their students to have the same. Penmanship was part of our curriculum, and time each day was given to the practice of writing letters of the alphabet. Our homework assignments included the same. When we wrote an essay for English or History, the neatness of our penmanship was taken into account.
The Palmer method - a system that dominated most of the 20th Century emphasized four qualities Palmer saw essential to good writing : Legibility, rapidity, ease and endurance. While Palmer's method set a standard and stressed conformity, each individual still has their own unique handwriting style. As example, when receiving a letter from friend or family member, I only need look at the writing on the envelope to know who it's from. In that sense, handwriting is part of our identification, like the way we walk or talk.
I think now of the lyrics to the once familiar School Days song
School days, school days dear old golden rule days readin' and writing and 'rithmetic taught to the tune of a hickory stick
and smile. I only hope handwriting and penmanship will not be lost to our nation's school children, but continue to hold a place of value, and importance in the educational system.
** NOTE: There are many on-line sites referencing penmanship & handwriting . I list one here
A month ago my mother suggested I write something about our
friend, Lawrance Mattix on my blog. We had just
learned from him that he had congestive heart failure, and the prognosis wasn't good. “I’m sure he would appreciate it,
Kathy”, said my mother.
I waited too long.
This morning my mother called the care center where Lawrance had been admitted and was told by the attendant he couldn't speak at this time, the nurse was sorry she couldn’t give my mother
any more information. A few minutes
later, Lawrance’s grand-daughter Patty emailed telling us her grandfather passed
away last night. I’m grateful both my
mom and I got the opportunity to speak with Lawrance during the last week. While
mother and Lawrance had a good conversation, and were able to laugh some together,
and share about things that connected them, by the time I spoke with
him, he was tired and his words were slurred.
I don’t recall all I said, but I knew
Lawrance knew it was me talking.
Lawrance and his wife, Patsy married when they were very
young. Patsy was only 17, Lawrance 19. Patsy and my mom were just 21 when we moved
next door to them on Gifford Avenue in Bell, California. From the moment they met Mom and Patsy were
simpatico and quickly become the best of friends. They would remain so until
Patsy’s early death at age 55.
Patsy left a huge void in the life of the people who loved
her, especially her husband. Lawrance
did remarry, moved to Wisconsin and had a good life with Iris. But all who knew
Lawrance, understood Patsy was his true soul mate, whom he often longed for - the
mother of his children, and the one who knew him best.
I knew Lawrance from the time I was 4 ½ years old. I'm 61 now. It’s hard
for me to think about my growing up years without including Lawrance. He was a good and faithful husband, a devoted
father, and loving grandfather and great –grandfather. He was always so proud of his family, he sang
their praises constantly, and didn’t think there was anything they couldn’t
do. He was also a strict disciplinarian.
I so well remember Lawrance telling us neighborhood kids how he left for work
every morning at 4 am, and when he came home at 5 pm he was tired, and didn’t
want to see our bikes laid out across
his driveway, bikes that he would have to move. It would be sad he said if he had to run over
them. Lawrance made his point and I can
tell you for certain, we kept his driveway clear of our bikes! Wasn’t that a good lesson for kids to learn? I
think so. Lawrance was teaching us responsibility and to
be considerate of others.
Another thing I remember is Lawrance telling his daughter Linda
- she was only 16, he would give her his car when he bought a new truck if she
would take AUTO SHOP. Linda argued she’d
be the only girl in that class. Lawrance said, “Then you’ll be the only girl
who knows how to fix her car if there’s a problem”. He was right. Linda was the only one of us girls who knew
how to fix a car. I know, because other girlfriends and I were with Linda when
the car we were in broke down, and it was Linda who got under the hood and
fixed the problem!
Lawrance was a good role model, a mentor to my brother, Walt. One of our favorite Mattix – Cooney stories is
how Lawrance and Patsy took Walt to buy him his first pair of cowboy boots when
Walt was only five years old. From that
day forward my brother loved cowboy boots, and when he passed away at age 55 was
buried with his boots on! Lawrance
wasn’t a big banker, lawyer, doctor or high ranking executive, he was in construction,
a blue collar guy who worked hard to provide for his family, and lived life honestly.
In my last email to Lawrance dated Friday March 23 , 2012 I
wrote:
I don’t know if you’ll see this email, but want you to know my
mother, Lenore and I are thinking of you at this very minute. We love you,
Lawrance and are so grateful for the cherished friend you’ve always been, and
the sweet memories we share. I just
looked at a picture of you and Patsy on
Southall Court standing in front of your
very cool Studebaker – you look pretty cool yourself. Last Saturday
my mom told her friends in Clarkston about how you would babysit Linda and Pam and me and Walt so Patsy and Mom
could go Christmas shopping, and how you’d
drive up to Cooney’s Donut’s on Florence Ave
at midnight to buy mom and Patsy fresh donuts while they were wrapping
presents. Please know you were a good example,
and made such a positive impact on my mother, brother and me – especially during
some of our hard times. You can be assured we will keep you in prayer, and in
our hearts. God Bless you always. Love,
Kathy.
And now, LAWRANCE TIMOTHY MATTIX Rest in peace, May Eternal Light Shine Upon You
+
Another night of rain and i quietly sit with book in hand, listening again to pellet size water drops hit rocky ground This night it doesn't remind me of falling tears from sad, lonely people, but God baptizing the earth, ready for Spring and new birth
i hear rain falling
from the clouded sky
it reminds me tonight
of tears falling
from the eyes
of one hurt and
lonely, broken from pain
and weary with life
But soon the rain
will stop, like the tears
Blue sky will appear,
the sun will shine
bringing hope and
renewal to our land,
and to the soul
of troubled man
Tis a day to be Irish and a wearin' of the green Lookin' to the rainbow for your pot o' gold dream St. Patrick's Lorica, and Celtic song; Shamrocks, a shillelagh and the wee leprechaun
Like a thief in the night
it comes unexpected
moving fast and furious
Like a mountain lion
ready to attack its prey
You can't see it, but
you feel its power
and hear its howl
as it slashes through
trees, breaking branches
and twisting limbs
The mighty March wind
Like the sound of ocean waves
crashing against a sandy shore
doesn't relent, but presses on
until it meets the calm
on the other side
of the storm
Carolyn Howard-Johnson, author of The Frugal Book Promoter and guest blogger for Writing North Idaho - a Web-Retreat for Writers in the North Idaho Panhandle wrote To Pseudonym or Not to Pseudonym listing reasons why authors like Nora Roberts, author of more than 150 romance novels choose a pen name .
Number one is marketing, and branding. A simple defintion of branding is when a writer becomes well known for the genre they write, i.e. romance or horror, then decide to write another genre i.e. children's stories - the author will often use a pseudonymn to help brand it for the reader, and to broaden readership.
Howard-Johnson got me thinking about other authors who chose to use a pseudonym - Mark Twain first came to mind. I wondered if his The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn would have found less success and popularity published under his given name, Samuel Clemens. And what about George Eliot (aka Mary Ann Evans) and George Orwell (aka Eric Arthur Blair )? How would their famed novels, Silas Marner and Nineteen Eighty-Four have fared if they hadn't used a pen name ? I guess we'll never know.
Then, with whimsical pondering, I considered what pseudonymn I might use if my book was to be published, and thought about the cards and emails my friend Phyllis and I exchange, and the letter writing pen names we have used over the years; Heckle (aka Phyllis), Jeckle (aka Kathy) or sometimes Calamity Jane (Phyl) and Annie Oakley (me). My cousin Shauna and I have done the same, Shauna aka Shaunneaqua Warrior Princess, and I'm Kathiawatha. While those pen names make me smile , and are fun between friends and cousins, I doubt they'd work for an agent or publisher. So, guess I'll stick with my own name, Kathy Cooney Dobbs. Now, just to write that novel !
Not fully awake, I was still laying
cozy and comfortable in my
warm bed when I heard the
cheerful sing song sounds of
an early morning bird coming through
the slightly opened window
My eyes opened wide to
see bright sunlight peering through
the slatted shade, I sat up as it
dawned on me, migrating birds
are back ! Spring is on the way
Being both a long time movie buff, and practicing Catholic with a penchant for traditions and things of the church, I looked forward to watching the Academy Awards this year. I was curious if the first silent movie since 1929 , The Artist would win the coveted gold statue, and God Is The Bigger Elvis , a short documentary about Mother Dolores Hart , the one time actress who left Hollywood to become a Benedictine nun at the Abbey of Regina Laudis , could claim the Oscar in its category. Happily,one did. Sadly, the other didn't.
I first became aware of Dolores Hart as a teenager when she starred in the popular movie from the 1960's, Where The Boys Are. I thought she was wonderful in that film, and make a point to watch it whenever it shows on Turner Classic Films. At some point in my younger life, when I too considered entering the convent, I remember reading Hart gave up her promising Hollywood career to become a nun, and marveled at her conviction of God's calling. Later I learned she entered the Abbey of Regina Laudis founded by Mother Benedict in Bethlehem, Connecticut - the same Mother Benedict and Abbey loosely portrayed in the delightful 1940's film , Come to the Stable , starring Loretta Young and Celeste Holm.
Another acclaimed actress to spend time at Regina Laudis was Patrica Neal, who gives sole credit to her spiritual and moral recovery (with the help of God's grace) to the influence of the nuns at the abbey, and the spiritual direction they provided. Ironically, it was Maria Cooper, daughter of actor Gary Cooper, and Neal's one time married lover who brought her there. Mother Dolores Hart was helpful in writing Neal's autobiography, As I Am. Neal eventually converted to Catholicism and is buried at Regina Laudis.
While this may seem a twist away from my opening paragraph, I share it because for me it shows how one person's generous, gracious act often leads to paths and people unimaginable, and the gentle way God connects us to another without our ever suspecting it.
My thoughts about Mother Dolores Hart. I admired her then, and admire her now for her example of faith and commitment to her vocational calling, and how she inspires others with her joyful spirit to remain committed and faithful to their calling , whether it be religious life, single life, or married life.
February days filled
with sleet and snow
make it hard for
deer to forage, and
birds take to flight;
Winter laden trees
sway with the wind
while providing shelter
from the cold
for wooded wildlife
The trail today
different than yesterday
when the sun was bright
and the sky so blue
It felt like spring, with
only patches of snow
and a glimpse of green
budding through wet,
muddy earth. I saw a
Robin a top a tree, and
birds fluttering by,
like happy children
in a playground. But this
day there is no sun,
the sky is grey, a
mist, otherworldly and damp
engulfs my view as I
stand and ponder
nature's changing beauty
An unexpected snow day today - I thought about slipping into my Sorrel's and snowshoes , grab my poles and funky fleece hat to do some shooing on the rim above the lake, but decided against it, and went for playing vinyl albums on the vintage stereo console downstairs instead. I collect vinyl albums like some people collect coins, or stamps, or buttons. I have hundreds, and organize into genre - rock, pop, folk, country and musicals. Many are displayed in album frames and decorate the walls. While album covers are part of the attraction, the real pleasure comes from listening to the recording. Not too long ago I read an article about vinyl albums making a comeback, even some contemporary songsters are choosing to record on vinyl first as it has a more pure sound. I have many favorites, including Peggy Lee, Ella, Patti Page, Frank and Bing, Bobby Darin, Bobby Rydell, The Brother's Four and oh, so many more.
Today, starring on the turntable is the great Mary Martin - the famed Broadway star from the 1940's and 50's. Long before Julie Andrews and Mitzi Gaynor filled the role in movie versions, this Tony Award winner sang her way into the hearts of millions as Maria in TheSound of Music, Nellie Forbush from South Pacific and perhaps her most endearing -the legendary Peter Pan, teaching Wendy,Michael and John how to fly.
Musical story lifts the spirit and gladdens the soul. Think about Oklahoma, Gypsy, Camelot, Hello Dolly, West Side Story, Man of La Mancha, Fiddler on the Roof. How wonderful it is to have these original recordings to listen to over and over again, and help us grow our own imagination
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