February 20 – A Big Red Bird is all that Remains of My Past

by Pat Bean

“It’s surprising how much memory is built around things unnoticed at the time.” — Barbara Kingsolver

Today, I hung all memories from the past on my wall.

The year was 1978 when I found myself single with two of my five children still left to support. It wasn’t an easy time, especially that first month when I had to borrow money to pay rent. Although there have been many difficult times since that day, as there are for all who occupy this planet, my life from this point forward only got better and better.

I spent the next 26 years finishing up a 37-year career in journalism, following it–and twice where my heart led me to go.

My career took me to the Star-Telegram in Fort Worth, Texas, for three years, then to Ogden, Utah, as features editor for the Standard-Examiner. I stayed for three years here before love took me to Las Vegas for eight months that included a stint working for the Las Vegas Sun.

When love betrayed me, I took myself away from the neon lights to Twin Falls, Idaho, where I stayed for two years as regional editor for the Times-News. It was then back to Ogden, where my former newspaper offered me a job as assistant city editor.

In 1987, I answered my heart once again and moved to Erda, Utah, and undertook a daily 56-mile commute to my job in Ogden. But in 1989, I moved back to Ogden alone, and happily stayed there until 2004, at which time I sold my home and bought my RV, Gypsy Lee.

With few exceptions, everything I owned was either packed into my 22-foot home on the road, sold or given away. The exceptions, mostly books, were eventually stored at my youngest daughter’s home here in Tucson, where I recently moved into a small apartment after almost nine years spent living on the road exploring America from sea to shining sea.

Sunday, my daughter brought me a few of those bins. And this morning, I hung the only remaining possession that remained from 1978 on the wall of my apartment.

As I stood back and looked at this simple sketch of a cardinal, which belonged to my grandmother, whom I adored and whom died when I was only ten years old, tears came into my eyes

The colored-pencil drawing, which even for a while accompanied me in my RV travels, held a lifetime of memories. It is the only thing I own that connects me to my past. As a person who prefers to look forward not backward, I have no regrets that there is nothing else.

But my heart tells me that this red bird may be the most precious thing I own today.

Pat Bean, who thinks of herself as a wondering-wanderer, is a former journalist who lived in an RV for almost nine years and recently moved into a third-floor apartment in Tucson. Her passions are writing, reading, hiking, birds, art, family and her canine companion, Pepper.

June 7 – Sprung

by Andrea Savee

Like many people, I spent much of my childhood playing outdoors and my adulthood working indoors. As a kid, I lived close to the ground–on sidewalks, dirt lots, and green lawns–skipping, cart-wheeling, and hop-scotching my way through the seasons toward summer.

Once there, I wanted to stay forever: climbing trees and hanging across their broad branches until the sun-heated sidewalk looked like the place to sprawl or the cool green lawn the spot to stretch out on our bellies in search of lady bugs and buttercups; bare foot on balmy nights; licking crèamsicles, playing softball, riding bikes; visiting Aunt Ramona Mae and Uncle Delbert’s Iowa hog farm.

The delicate and lively watercolor wash of spring didn’t stand a chance against the thick oily spread of summer in capturing and holding my attention. I took the full but subtle splendor of that sophisticated season for granted in the innocent way children can.

I continued to do so as an adult. In fact, for twenty some-odd years, I watched all the changing seasons through the windows of my coffee houses and celebrated them only commercially: Spring/ Easter; Summer/Independence Day; Fall/ Thanksgiving; Winter/Christmas. These were the years for production and acquisition; I didn’t mind what I was missing.

Career building behind us, my husband and I are now less doers than observers. No longer tethered to time schedules, we’re rediscovering the childhood freedom of unfettered days. We’re settling down and sinking into our patio chairs, regarding the world around us instead of being distracted from it. As such, this spring, my 51st, has been a months-long meditation on that heretofore under-appreciated season.

We’re in the robust years of retirement–we still have our original hips–and could be RV-ing. Instead, we’re journeying to our back patio for morning coffee and our front porch for evening cocktails. We spend much of a typical spring day in two green plastic chairs that we shimmy around the lawn in search of shade when we’re too warm and sun when we’re too cool. From these mobile virtual desks, we sort mail, chat on the phone, and visit with neighbors.

In between, I take Mary Oliver’s counsel and “keep my mind on what matters…which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished:” by the wind through the Golden Rain trees thick with shimmering leaves, kids laughing, and kitchen dishes clinking; the aroma of onions frying, burgers barbecuing, and freshly mown grass; Red Trumpet Vine and budding agapanthus standing ready to announce summer’s arrival; stately Chrysler Imperial roses and erupting Birds of Paradise; purple Sweet Peas, pink Mophead hydrangeas, and yellow irises; lavender and amaryllis; grasshoppers and mud wasps; and a second brood of Phoebes nesting in the eaves.

I cross the half century mark enriched by the company of my old new friend–spring–and reminded of the paraphrased wisdom of George Santayana: to be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with summer.

Andrea Savee lives in Lakewood, California with her husband, Mike, and their cat, Chico. Retired from a career in business, Andrea enjoys traveling and writing. Her work has appeared in SCN journals and anthologies.

February 6 – Blogging, Tagging & Drawing

by Betty Auchard

Twelve years ago as a new 68 year old widow, I started a to-do list: find out how to start the lawn mower, how to put gas in the car, and how to use the computer. I learned all that, and even won an award for writing it down in my first book, Dancing in my Nightgown.

Today after writing my second book, I’m still learning new things, such as how to act cool on a social network. Strange new terminology is sneaking into my vocabulary these days. Words like Facebook, blogging, bookmarking, and tags have replaced TV, pleasure reading, goofing off, and baking cookies. I have no time for these things because my days are filled with learning the language of cyberspace. I must say that surfing the net is the most convenient trip I’ve ever made—I don’t even have to get dressed or leave the house to reach my destination.

Although we hear that online marketing is the way to go when promoting a book these days, my heart just wasn’t in it at first. I was posting articles on my blog like a robot doing homework when it dawned on me that I had to find a way to blog cheerfully. The next thing I heard was a little voice saying “Illustrate your blog posts”. As a retired art teacher, I must say this felt invigorating to me.

The first drawing that came through was a Thanksgiving memory, and the image was so fun to render that I couldn’t wait to draw for my next post. Since then I’ve illustrated five of my blog posts. My new mission is to find the most popular tags and keywords and let them be prompts for new stories. I think I can do that. Can you?

At 75, Betty Auchard wrote the IPPY Award winning memoir, Dancing in my Nightgown: The Rhythms of Widowhood, endorsed by celebrity widows Jayne Meadows and Rosemarie Stack. Last November, she released her childhood memoir, The Home for the Friendless, endorsed by Josh Braff. Betty’s stories and essays have been published in the San Jose Mercury News, Today’s Senior, The Senior Voice, and Chocolate for a Woman’s Soul series. Blog with the author at www.bettyauchard.com and join her fans on Facebook.