Glimpses into Alleyways

Weren't we taught as children to stay out of alleys?  Alleyways could be sinister and we never knew who could be lurking in the shadows.  Although they often looked like a shortcut to someplace we needed to go, beware!  Don't even try it.  Don't even look. Walk the long way around.  Safety first. 

But I am drawn to alleyways.  One of my favorite glimpses down an alley was in Tallinn, Estonia.  A waitress in native dress was coming out of a restaurant whose doorway was in the alley.  I had to shoot quickly to get her in a photo.

                                                         






In Bratislava, Slovakia I got a shot of a man rolling a keg of beer down the alleyway.  There was quite a technique to it as he maneuvered it with his feet.

A walk around Stockholm's Old Town was a feast for the eyes.  After taking a picture of a bike next to a store window, I turned a bit and was struck by the light and shadow in the alleyway that intensfied the salmon and gold buildings.


 

 

Passau, Germany is a beautiful city on the Danube.  The center of the city is built on a hill and there are alleyways leading down to the river.  They are all a quick way to the water, nothing sinister about them at all.  The blue Danube beckons one to follow any of the alleyways.                                                     

 

Throughout my life I have been a follower of good advice I learned at my mother's knee.  I have been conditioned to take the long way around, the safe way.  But through the years I have glimpsed into places that have been fascinating and call me with their siren song.  Upon entering I have found there was no bogeyman waiting to grab me and take me to unspeakable places.  There is an excitement to the unknown, the forbidden.  But there is no one to forbid me anymore.  I am my own keeper.  I am so often rewarded with just a glimpse into alleys but if I see something fascinating further in, I will not hesitate to investigate.  I'm getting too old to walk the long way around.

 

Moon Dreams

Moon Dreams


If I experiment
with words
I can tell you
how my brother
returned one night
as the moon was rising

He came in full
strength of old
and not as I last
saw him
preparing to leave
this earth

We talked and
laughed as
siblings do
with memories
in common

Yet even in dreams
I knew he could
not stay as
I watched him move
through time
and space
with a joy at being alive

I awoke to see
the full moon
rising
and wished
my brother
safe travels
on the other side

                      -Joan Ramseyer

The Woman in the Side View Mirror

The first recollection of the woman looking back at me from the side view mirror of the car was when we were approaching the St. Louis Arch on a trip with my husband and children.  She seemed a bit strange to me all those years ago but at the time I was sure I should know her.

As the years have passed, her face looking back at me has changed dramatically until I really am not familiar and seem to have no connection with her.  I see the eyebrows of my father on her face and the Slovak nose that is part of my maternal heritage, but as for her, she is a stranger.

I wonder who the aged woman is who looks worn and tired.  Her neck sags a bit and her hair has lost its bounce even from the St. Louis days.  There are dark circles under her puffy eyes and she looks as if she knows this is only the beginning of a look that will get even more worn.

I am leery of this woman who looks back at me from the side view mirror.  I know she is not me because inside I am still 21, the age when I graduated from college and felt I had the whole world in front of me.  She can't be me because I do not feel as old as she looks.  Then I see her smile and the dimples that I have had since I was a little girl appear.  Can it be?

I long for her not to be me.  However deep down I know I must make peace with her.  But I am not quite ready to cross the divide between the passenger seat and the mirror.  Maybe tomorrow.....maybe next year I will join her and accept her presence.  In the meantime I will try not to stare and leave her alone to look back at me with her damn dimples. 

The Golden Day

Forty six years seems like a long time to be married.  Yet the years have flown by and I'm not sure if I would have changed much.  I was a young twenty year old bride, but the timing was right.  Except for one grouchy day while painting our first apartment in married housing at MSU, I never looked back.

I was finishing up my senior year at MSU and Hack was starting his teaching career in Lansing.  Our wedding was a simple one with the reception at the church and presents opened for everyone to see.  My mother made my dress with fabric of dotted swiss.  The bridesmaids wore sleeveless green dotted swiss dresses that were also handmade.

June 24, 1967

It rained on our wedding day and I had gone to Muskegon to get my hair done.  By the time I got home it was drooping so I combed it out and knew I would have been just as happy doing it myself.


We drove to the east coast on our honeymoon and that was the beginning of our years of traveling together.


Throughout our travels I have witnessed other brides.  It is always a delight to see a wedding in a foreign country.  This past year we saw a wedding party coming out of a church in Senica, Slovakia. 


There were several men pouring small glasses of vodka for guests and anyone standing outside the church.  People were coming off the street to get a shot.  I was tempted to take a drink, but everyone was drinking out of the same few glasses.


The wedding party walked through town with a three piece band and the guests followed behind.  Weddings, no matter where they are, have similar characteristics, but each culture brings out a different flavor.  There is a feeling of shared experience no matter what the country. 


Slovakian Bride

    




     Brides in Prague,

    Czech Republic

My Love Affair with Lake Michigan

When I was young and stayed overnight at my Aunt Ellen and Uncle Mart's cottage, my cousins and I all slept in a large upstairs bedroom that spanned the length of the house. At night when the lights were turned out and the windows were open I could hear the waves of Lake Michigan lapping at the shore.  It was such a soothing sound.  For me it was nature's lullaby before sleep.

I was probably about ten when I had an epiphany sitting on the beach in my bathing suit.  I scooped up a handful of sand and looked closely at the grains.  I realized that in the whole extent of the world, I was only as big as one grain of sand. It was a humbling thought.

We loved to go to that cottage on Lake Michigan and play in the waves. It was a happy place where other relatives came and we were able to spend time with cousins.  My aunt and uncle once hosted a family square dance in their big living room.

The big lake has always held wonderful memories for me.  I especially like the beach in the spring and fall when there is no one around except the seagulls and me. For those of us who grew up with the big lake in our back yard, it has often called us back from parts unknown.  I am content that my husband and I returned to live fairly close to Lake Michigan and I can visit its beaches whenever I please.

Now I watch our grandchildren have the same experience in the sand and water.  It will continue for generation after generation if those who follow us take care of our planet and keep our lakes clean.  I wish the same delight to continue that I had as a child and the beauty of the lake to forever remain a constant. 

The grandchildren enjoy a delightful day of sun and waves at Lake Michigan.

 

 

 

 

 

Naomi's Garden

Several years ago I stopped at a yard sale on a back road to Pentwater.  I was fascinated by the extensive flower and vegetable gardens surrounding the house and out buildings.  I asked the owner, Naomi, if I could come back at another time and take pictures of all the beauty. 

She was kind enough to let me come another day and even though I knew pictures could not do it justice, I snapped away to my heart's content.  Naomi let me have free reign.

I saw an Amish like quality to her clothes line and took a few pictures.  She told me she was glad she put her underwear in the middle lines so they didn't show up in the photograph.

I am not a gardener, but only an observer of other people's talents with the soil.  There is something special about those who can make things grow and enjoy the process.  My grandmother was such a person.

Naomi's garden was a work of art.  I have some of it captured with photographs, but most of it is just a memory in my mind. 






Beauty all around in Naomi's garden.  A lovely place to visit and enjoy the fruits of a sweet woman's labor. 

 

 

A Stranger's Act of Kindness

It was late and we had stopped at Meijer's after listening to the West Michigan Symphony play their last concert of the season.  I was tired and wanted to find a fast lane.  There were two carts ahead of me and the man just in front of me wasn't buying much.

As soon as I pulled my cart up behind him he looked at me and smiled and mentioned something about the weather.  It was raining.  I told him that we had gotten enough rain this spring, but it was better than the tornadoes they were getting in Oklahoma.

The woman checking out the person at the head of the line seemed to be particularly slow.  I noticed that she had trouble getting the bags apart and acted a little rattled.

The man ahead of me appeared patient and not in any kind of hurry.  As he was putting his groceries on the belt, he asked me if I had ever tried the particular kind of juice he was buying.  He said it was a great deal because it was buy one get one free.  He told me they were expensive, $3 a bottle, and the sale ended that night.  I could find them over by the vegetables if I was interested.

I noticed that he had all different kinds of flavors and at least 12 bottles.  I told him I had never had that juice before and maybe would pick some up next time I was in.  I had never heard of the brand name Bolthouse Farms, but there was no way I was getting out of that line to get some juice on a rainy night when I was tired and just wanted to go home. 

He chatted with the check out lady as she continued to have the same problem of getting bags apart.  I thought she was putting too few items in a bag thus using more bags than she needed.  Maybe it was her first day on the job.  The man helped her get more of his groceries in fewer bags.  He said something funny to her and I laughed at his joke.

Just as I thought he was walking away he stopped and took a bottle of strawberry banana juice out of his bag and set it by the credit card machine.  He said to the check out woman, "I'm giving this juice to her so don't charge her for it."

I was a little taken aback but thanked him profusely.  It was the kind of gift one doesn't refuse.  As he left I said to the check out woman, "That doesn't happen very often.  What a sweet man."

My husband was waiting with the car parked closed to the exit so I wouldn't get wet.  I said, "The most astonishing thing just happened."

He asked, "Did you win the lottery?"

I said, "No, something better."  The whole incident took less than a minute but it left me with a glow for miles down the road.  Such a little thing, but such a good feeling for I'm sure the giver and without a doubt for the receiver.

Memories on a Lawn

The auction notice stated the sale would start at 10 a.m.  It was a bright Saturday in June when I headed out to drive a few miles from my house to another country house where everything was to be auctioned off, including the homestead.

There were the usual tables piled high with possessions of a lifetime. Furniture to be sold covered the yard, both front and back.  Since I buy and sell antiques I couldn't help but feel the adrenaline flowing as I perused the tables and lifted china up to check for cracks.  Further out by the barn were the tools and rusty leftovers of a man who had once done some farming.

I hadn't come for the usual household goods.  I was looking for treasure.  As the patter of the auctioneer started, I knew I was in for a long day waiting for the items I was interested in buying to come up for bid.  A gleaming antique black Royal typewriter caught my eye.  I had learned to type on one of those behemoths in high school and I saw a similar one in Hemingway's writing studio
in Key West, Florida.  I even took an old Underwood to college which I had long since sold.  Now I wanted a similar typewriter back.  Why, I didn't know.

Next to the typewriter was an old scrapbook filled with ephemera from the 40's....valentines, birthday cards, Christmas cards, letters, vintage hankies and an old Hart Journal from 1947.  No one seemed to want the scrapbook more than I did and my bid of $15 made me the winner.

There were many hats in hat boxes and there was brisk bidding for those.  When all of them were taken, a lone hat box remained.  The auctioneer said there was no hat in it and I bought the box for $2.00.  A friend and I opened it and there was a real treasure inside, not a monetary treasure, but a memory.  The sweet things that come from a little girl's first communion in the Catholic Church were tucked into that old hat box.  There was a small white purse, a rosary, small Bible, a little frame in a plastic case with the name Nina and the date May 8, 1960.  A small white hat and two pearl like clips to hold her veil in place were also there.  A group of black and white negatives were slipped in with everything else. 

The estate seemed to represent simple people with many of the articles being useful country items.  However I bought a box of books for $2.00 which included Dante Alighieri's The Divine Comedy.  I have just finished reading Dan Brown's Inferno in which Dante's long poem is the backbone of the novel. The Divine Comedy was a 1947 edition and it made me believe there was a depth to someone in the family that wasn't evident in most of their possessions on the auction block.

What is presented for all to bid on at an auction sale is just the surface of some one's life.  When my possessions are put on the lawn for people to pick over, will they know who I was by my material goods?  Will my travel and personal journals be there for people to read or my photography stuck in boxes?  Will people find letters and notes I have kept?  Will my favorite poetry books be up for auction?  I hope not.


There are always clues to people's lives if one is looking and from this sale I found some memories in the scrapbook and first communion items.  I feel honored to be the keeper, for a short time, of a tiny part of this family's history.  And oh yes, the old Royal typewriter came home with me. 




































 

Light and Shadow

We play in light and shadow every day of our lives.  We see and feel it as a part of where we live and who we are.  The sun dappling on our creek wouldn't be as lovely if it weren't for the shadows from the trees blocking out the sun and casting darkness against the brightness.

We learn through living that though we need the light, shadows add dimension and depth.  Sometimes we want to forget the darkness that has surrounded us, but even then, the memories of a sadness can also make us recall the better times.

This past week was an example of that.  Honey, our son's family dog had been sick for over a month.  No amount of vet care, tests or medicine could change her condition.  One night she disappeared.  The next morning we hunted all over the farm for her, but realized that wherever she was, she wasn't coming home.  She was eventually found down a bank by our creek.  Honey was buried next to all the family pets that have died and has her own headstone.

Honey was our granddaughter's dog and they fit together because both were blond.  She was a protective dog and at only three years old had out grown her puppy hood and was very loving.  She would pick up a stick and want one of us to chase her to get it out of her mouth and then throw it for her to retrieve.  She would nuzzle and loved to be petted.  She would sit where my husband was working outside but just as often visit the neighbors.  She would bark if any stranger came into the driveway or down our dead end road.

I will miss seeing her at the spring and wading in to get a drink.  I will miss her soft fur and gentle eyes.  I will miss seeing my granddaughter telling her to sit and lie down and then rewarding her with a biscuit.  We know that pets are temporary.  However the light they can bring into our lives leaves us a bit in the shadows when they go. 

  

 

The Homeless Man and Me

When I was in second grade my teacher partnered me with a little boy to practice counting money.  In my mind I thought of him as the dirty boy. Maybe she knew I would not complain, but do just as she asked.  I never wanted him to feel bad so we practiced with our nickels, dimes and pennies until we had it right. 

On an 8th grade trip to Chicago I sat with a girl from a country school who my mother had told me was a foster child.  I knew very little about foster children in the late 50's so was very curious why someone wouldn't have parents.  There was the usual small town talk that someone was providing this girl with a nice dress to wear on the class trip.  I remember her being very quiet on our bus ride.  I wanted to be kind so did not pry into her life.

The teachings of being kind to those who have less came from my mother.  I remember when a man came walking by our house.  My mother was out raking and he asked if he could work for some food.  Mom handed over the rake and went into the house and brought him out some lunch including blueberry pie.

I came face to face with how far I was willing to go to help someone on a spring trip this year with my husband to Florida.  We were in the town of St. Augustine and walking on a shopping street in the historic district.

I noticed a man the first time down the street who I assumed was homeless.  He was sitting on a bench watching people go by.  At first glance I saw that he was wearing a gray shirt that had a burn hole in it.  His hair was long and scraggly and he had a beard.  He looked too skinny to be healthy and immediately I was concerned.

We passed him again as my husband wanted to go back to the car to see how much time was left on the parking meter.  I decided to stay and go into a jewelery store.  There I felt driven to do something I had never done before.  Even though I consider myself a giver, I was indeed stepping out of my comfort zone. 

I wanted to give the man some money, but didn't know what amount would be appropriate.  I opened my purse and looked at a twenty, but decided to stick a ten in my pocket.  After buying a piece of jewelry I was determined to at least talk to the man.  As I approached him I noticed a well dressed woman sitting on the bench beside him handing him a cigarette.  She moved away when I looked into his gray eyes and started a conversation.  It went something like this:

Me- Where do you sleep at night?
Him- In the woods.
M - Isn't that difficult?  Can't you get a room somewhere?
H - I have a sleeping bag.  I get some meals over at the homeless shelter.  It costs $7 for a bed.  I don't always have that.
M- Can you work?
H- I was in a construction accident and couldn't work.  No one will hire me now.
M- How old are you?
H- 61
M- You are close to social security age.
H- Yes, one more year,
M- You're pretty skinny - how are you feeling?
H- I had colon cancer,but I'm OK now...cancerous polyps.  One time I was on the beach and a little boy found a mussel.  I tried to open it with my fingers and couldn't so I put it in my mouth and swallowed it. It almost killed me.
M- What were you thinking? Were you born in Florida?
H- No, South Carolina.
M- Did you go to school?
H- I have almost an associates.
M- How do you manage?
H- Some people give me food and sometimes a bit of money.
M- I'm worried about you.
H- You can say a prayer.

I pulled the ten dollar bill out of my pocket and handed it to him.  The light in his eyes and soft smile made me feel very emotional.  "Bless you," he said.

I replied, "Get something to eat."  As I turned and walked away I knew I had only helped for a moment.  The money would be insignificant in his life.  There was an indescribable feeling of overwhelming sadness yet exhilaration that I had done something I thought I was incapable of doing.

Later a thought came to me after listening to President Bill Clinton being interviewed.  Clinton, who has established an organization called Global Initiative said that selflessness and selfishness can be the same thing.  One can give because it is a selfless thing to do, but at the same time it can be selfish if it is done to make the giver feel better about himself or herself.  He said he was selfish.  I don't think he is, but I knew exactly what he meant.

The Birth of a Philosophy

Family trips, when our children were young, usually included pulling a pop-up camper and traveling as cheaply as possible.  We left on vacation every year after school was out and one adventure took us to the Ozarks.  In Hermann, Missouri, a quaint town on the Missouri River with a German background, I wandered into a museum gift shop.  There I saw a number of quilts for sale and a blue and white double wedding ring pattern caught my eye.  Since it was the start of our vacation I was reluctant to part with the large sum of money it would have cost to purchase it.  I left it there.

A highlight of the trip was a visit to the Ozark Folk Center in Mountain View, Arkansas.  It was a delightful place to see the crafts that were so much a part of our history.  We watched basket weaving, broom making, weaving, quilting, soap and candle making.  An elderly woman dressed in late 1800's clothes stirred apple butter in a cauldron and told stories of the region.  The music of banjos and fiddles, that was so much a part of the Ozark Mountains, filled the air.  It was a wonderful trip back in time. 

Driving the hilly back roads of Arkansas showed us how people lived and eked out a living.  There were often hand made signs by driveways advertising different things for sale.  One that said QUILTS FOR SALE caught my eye. There were several colorful examples hanging on a clothesline beside a house.  My husband asked me if I wanted to stop and I said, "No," already having made up my mind I couldn't afford one.

As we drove mile after mile I couldn't get those quilts, flapping in the breeze, out of my head.  We were ten miles down the road when I asked if we could go back.  There was no easy place in the hills to turn our car and camper around.  "It's too far to go back," my husband replied and I reluctantly agreed.

That was the beginning of my no regrets philosophy to traveling
and life. Opportunities usually only come around once and must be seized or lost forever.  When we returned home I called the museum in Hermann.  They still had the blue and white double wedding ring quilt and I ordered it on the spot.....hang the expense.  No regrets. It is still one my favorites in a collection of quilts that has grown over the years.

Autumn's Child

I am a child of autumn.  Late September, when I arrived in this world, was the season of chilly nights and glorious days.  Dark purple and yellow chrysanthemums were in full bloom and the canning had been completed.  The colorful jars of tomatoes, peaches, pears, sweet cherries, corn, and string beans, along with my mother's wonderful grape juice were stored in the cellar.

There was always an excitement for me in autumn because I loved school.  It meant a new hand made dress for the first day and a nervousness at meeting my teacher.  The feeling of anticipation followed me through college and into my teaching career.  It was always hard to sleep the night before the beginning of a new school year.

The first day of school jitters lasted from 1951 when I started kindergarten to 2000 when I retired from teaching.  However the autumn excitement has continued as my husband and I travel to wonderful places and the learning outside of school is a constant.

It seems I have come full circle as I am in the autumn of my life.  The last five lines of Tennyson's poem Ulysses seem to fit me perfectly.

We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are, -
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

I am still seeking and thinking and writing.  There is much to accomplish before I have to yield.