Monthly Archives: November 2021

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Bone Weary With Gratitude

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Pace yourself, she said, you have three trains tonight and we are sold out. Three times to the North Pole and back. Keep the energy up. And then, during the second trip, power and voice -over audio went out a mile from departure and stayed out all the way to the North Pole and around the North Pole city and back. Hot chocolate was served in the darkness. Music and dance happened in silence – or to self-accompaniment. Sing-along flourished aided by the cellphone light shed on booklets by passengers willing to have a good time and make do with the tools at hand. Thirty-nine passengers and one attentive chef with a costume change in the script did their best to make magic happen in the darkness, at 7,000 feet, on an historic steam engine train turned Polar Express, traversing some of the most beautiful scenery in North America. Nevertheless, just like clockwork, Santa made an appearance. The ringing of silver bells was heard loud and clear to one more round of exuberantly sung Jingle Bells.

But there were some melt-your-heart moments that Saturday night. Dads who sang out loud and clear on all the Christmas songs. Teenagers who participated with a smile. And a beautiful three-year-old boy who wanted to give his silver bell to the chef. She took it. Yes, she did. She received it to her heart. Then she wrapped it back in the fingers of the child and said, “Will you take it home and keep it in a safe place for me?”

That chef rolled into bed bone weary at one hour and thirteen minutes past her usual bedtime. In the distance, she could still hear the train whistle. Others continued to work. Long hours. Railroad hours. Moving train cars. Readying for the morning. She was grateful. A chance to perform. An opportunity to ride the train. To serve and interact with others. To make people of all ages smile.  Well, you can’t beat that for a seasonal side hustle!

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Acts of Rebellion

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It is that time of year again. I am being reminded that Santa Claus is making a list and checking it twice. He is gonna know who has been naughty and who nice. In my book nice has always equated obedience and rebellion equals naughty. But, I must say, some of the priorities have shifted as my years advanced. 

I have been an adult for close to 50 years. Of age since the 1970s. Held responsible for my own actions and living with the results of my decisions. Yet there are many days I still hear the voice of a parent in my head, chiding or telling me what to do or not do, insistent I toe the line.

The rule about drinking directly out of the jug in the refrigerator? Be it milk or juice? I have no trouble following that rule. It is my own voice I hear, not that of a mother. Putting one’s mouth right on the lips of the jug where who knows who else has done the same is not tolerated. It is as repulsive as ham fat. Germy. It makes my skin crawl just to think about it. Probably the last time I drank directly from a pitcher or jug was 1964 – and then? I was not testing my mother’s boundaries, I only wanted to see how my lips curved around the innovative, supple, design of the latest Tupperware container – kind of like kissing the mirror. I was a child and I experimented.

But there is that rule that begins, “shut the door, what are you trying to do? Heat the whole outside?” Frankly, I have no desire to heat the outside but I do want to let the out of doors in, to freshen the entire house, to feel the breeze blow in one door and out the other, to breathe fresh air. There is also the matter of bracing the door open to transfer groceries from the porch to the inside whether scorching or freezing weather – especially freezing weather. Sometimes it just makes more sense to prop the door than to open it, bruise your behind, skin your heels and set down your packages to close it each time.

While I am confessing about broken rules, for many years, I grocery shopped hungry. How else would I remember to buy enough food for the growing masses? These days I have regressed to eating before I leave the house. No one needs an old lady fainting on aisle ten from lack of nutrition – they might think it was from shock at the food prices.

Another thing I do, ever so rebelliously, is fill the bathtub generously. It is a luxury. And let me tell you, it is cheaper to fill the tub and soak every day than to go to therapy or drive to the hot springs and pay the entrance fee every day.

But the crown jewel? The act of rebellion that causes me great glee every morning? Fixing my oatmeal. These days I eat deluxe oatmeal; organic rolled oats with raisins and almonds and dates (but no sugar) – not only for the taste, but for the hearty nutritional value. So, since it is such a decadent repast, let me tell you how to fix oatmeal rebelliously:

Remove favorite hand thrown pottery bowl from cupboard and place on counter. Open refrigerator door wide. No need to brace it with your butt or elbow, just let it rest on its hinges. Take the jar of almonds from bottom shelf and shake a few into your bowl. Exchange almond jar for chopped dates jar and sprinkle chopped dates into the bowl – all the while leaving the fridge door wide open. Do the same with the raisins. Close the door with a sigh of satisfaction, add oats and water and place in microwave for two minutes. You did it! You left the refrigerator door open for a full three trips across the kitchen without guilt – and with great enjoyment!

May your days be merry and bright – and may all your rebellions be non-life threatening!

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Compass Point – A Junior High Book Report

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It’s a book! A book with a beautiful, eye-catching cover. How can you possibly go wrong with a Randy Langstraatesque photo of Colorado National Monument on the front cover? Oh, and a compass? Don’t forget the compass. Compass Point is a brand new book written by an author I have known since junior high.  Actually, I have known many authors since grade school and read them well; Laura Ingalls Wilder, Louisa Mae Alcott, George Eliot, Harriet Beecher Stowe-the list goes on. But as far as I knew, the Barb of junior high was not a bard. And then, our paths crossed again about a decade ago and I found we shared common interests in both writing and hiking. As we hiked together, I learned Barb – the same old Barb from P.E. class and marching band- had several children’s books in print and one adult novel. Best of all, she was working on a novel set in National Parks. That National Parks novel has now come to fruition in the form of Compass Point. 

Who should read this book? People who love the cover. During the four years I worked at Colorado National Monument, hundreds of photographers (including the above mentioned Randy Langstraat) submitted breathtaking photos of Colorado National Monument to an annual calendar contest. There is a photographer character in Compass Point. She works at Colorado National Monument and she wears a flat hat and carries a big lens.

Who else should read this book? Folks who have worked at Colorado National Monument and Capitol Reef National Park. Rangers and bookstore managers who like Craig Childs and Nevada Barr but are not looking for a copycat of either.

What did I like best about this book? Hiking in Waterpocket Fold and enjoying the geological features and astounding red rock scenery of a couple National Parks; enduring and surviving weather and calamity and finding my moral compass and once again affirming whom I was meant to be. Oh wait! I wasn’t really there. I was only turning pages of a book.

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Wedding Snapshots: another one got away

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It was a wedding, so of course, there was a photographer – many photographers, actually. Everyone carries a phone camera these days. So there are snapshots and snapchats of the bride and the maid of honor and the flower girl and the ringbearer in his pajamas after the whole ordeal. There is an absolutely lovely candid photo of the bride and groom lifting champagne glasses and smiling, flutes parallel, the cake perfect. There are reverent photos of solemn moments, vows and communion and an impeccably well-dressed wedding couple of a certain age taking second chances. Risking all for love once again. There are photos of well-wishers and dancers at a wedding reception boasting a professional band and a quintessentially catered small-plates buffet. The reception cheffed and catered; it must be added; by the full-grown daughter of a friend of the bride – who also happened to be a former piano student of the wedding musician. Yes. It was a mature wedding, full of the richness of friendship and family and lives well lived regardless of bumps and hurdles thrown in the path. Most of the members of the wedding party were baby boomers – or children of baby boomers – even grandchildren.

She blew through the glass doors of the modern big box church building trailing a garment bag with the requisite black semi-formal wear of a seasoned wedding musician. Rushed, as usual, from one appointment to another. Band instrument load-in at the reception venue at 1:00 p.m. and now spiffy prelude at a church at 2:30 p.m. or whenever she could get changed and gracefully ascend to the piano bench. Zero to sixty in – well, yes, zero to sixty in 67 years with a few hitches along the way. As she could see, wedding guests had begun to arrive. An entire multigenerational family sat perched at a bistro table waiting for the auditorium seating to open.  A 15-year-old 2021 reincarnated version of a child of the 60s was twirling in the irresistible open floor of the atrium. She paid them no mind, but bustled on through the church fellowship kitchen and into an anteroom which she knew to be the dressing room for the women of the party. Women of all ages in all stages of dress lounged and chatted on padded Sunday School chairs while a cosmetologist finished gilding the bride. The musician gained entrance to the small restroom – shared space with the maid of honor – and slipped out of black stage crew gear and into a black performance dress. A designer dress, constructed with quality lines, flattering in fit and drape, and incidentally, with a side zipper. Alas, there was no mirror in the restroom, but she remembered seeing a full-length mirror propped just outside the door. Out she went, sidled up to the mirror and commenced the task of zipping without ripping the skin. From behind a winsome voice asked, “Can I help you, Miss Cherry?” She looked up into the mirror and saw herself encircled by a blond, slender, willowy wisp of a woman. Snap that picture, photographer. It is unforgettable, the two of them framed in the mirror. This is the very student to whom she used to say after hearing the C scale, “And G, and D – and when you grow up you’re going to have twins and name them Angie and Andy.” Now she only said,

“Oh Margie, I’m afraid your nose is having to be in my armpit.” “No problem, Miss Cherry. I’m a kindergarten teacher, I’m always in pits.” Slick as a zipper the wedding musician was dressed and shod and groomed. The former student tucked a flower in long wedding tresses and sent her aging teacher out the door to the waiting keyboard.

And the piano student? Yes, she is a kindergarten teacher – and a teacher of music. She has raised four children. One of them was twirling in the atrium. Another she named “Cadence.” But the portrait -that heartwarming snapshot that got away – lives forever in memory – that and the picture of the accomplished chef leaning in the doorway and reveling in the music of the reception band.

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NaNoWriMo and the month of November

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Welcome to NaNoWriMo – the month of November in which writers feverishly write and upload 1,700 words each day in order to push themselves to finish the rough of a novel in 30 days. Just the type of motivation that would set me up for stress and failure. The type of project that goes against the grain with me because I edit and correct as I go rather than roughing out 50,000 words. Besides, I have three novels in print and two in process on the back burner. Nevertheless, strengthened by the success of my daughter who drew 21 works of art during the 31 days of Inktober and was encouraged and polished by it; spurred on by my efforts in a Monthly class of immersive a cappella arranging under the tutelage of Pentatonix during September and October; I will greet November.

I will not sign up. I will answer to no one but myself, yet, I will answer! I will challenge myself to write something each day in November. Why? Because that is what I want to do.

By the way; what is done and in the past is now on sale! Limited time, November 1 – December 1, 2021; Only at cherryodelbergbooks.com each of the following select items $10.00! Complete your shopping now!

You Shop! I’ll Write!