The Magnificent Obsession?

 

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While stitching pieces of fabric on a Sunday afternoon, I kept tabs on a 1954 movie starring Jane Wyman and heartthrob Rock Hudson, titled Magnificent Obsession. The heartthrob enticed me to watch the movie, but the title drew me in and convinced me to follow through. I had to know what the obsession was.

All because of words on a page

 

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The clouds hid the sun, making it possible for me to sit comfortably in the car while waiting for him at an appointment. In my hands I held a book titled The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder, and the last three chapters remained unread. I had been saving the ending for this block of quiet time. With the windows down and cool breezes blowing, I delved into my reading, as people walked down the sidewalk and pulled in and out of parking spaces around me.

    I finished two chapters and began the last one. Right away, the author pulled at my heartstrings in such a way that tears began rolling. I reached for a tissue and dabbed my eyes, hoping that passersby would not notice a blubbering woman sitting in a car outside a medical facility and wonder if she had been given some devastating news. I kept on reading words and dabbing tears until I had read the last word on the last page. Then I closed the book and sat there, relishing.

It's not as ridiculous as you think

 

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Someone near and dear yet far away handed me a paperback to read and keep. My heart skipped a beat at the thought of him even thinking of bringing me one of his favorite reads. As handsome as he is intelligent, he lives miles away from me, and our paths cross a couple of times a year. He is a youngster. Well, actually he is in his third decade, but he is a youngster to me. 

    Standing with him in the sunshine that afternoon, I looked at the title of the book he had just given to me: Howl's Moving Castle. Uh-oh. I felt conflicted. Happy over his thoughtfulness; uncertain about the book.

Majestic and Mean

 

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Through the kitchen window, I spotted a big bird on the limb of a tree in the back yard. I grabbed my camera and clicked once before it flew. 

    I later posted the photo on FB where folks enjoyed seeing it. One described it as "majestic"; another said, "gorgeous," and another said I made his day. Someone else said something about hoping it would come back so I could see it again.

    In full disclosure, I do not welcome the eagle to land anywhere on my property, especially at this time of year. In a few weeks, there will be adorable little goslings scrambling all over the yard, trailing after their mamas and daddies. The last thing I want to do is look through my window and see a helpless, fuzzy, yellow baby goose writhing in the talons of an eagle. 

Is the eagle majestic and gorgeous? Yes. But I would rather it go away and not come back, at least, not until fall and not when it has a ravenous appetite.

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Are We Having Fun Yet?

 

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You might not believe this, but someone once told me I needed to lighten up and have more fun. 

Ouch!

    I will bet that Charlie Finley never heard words like those, because he wrote the book on having fun, and he shares his expertise in a compilation of short stories, Are We Having Fun Yet? Needless to say, it's a fun read. Charlie writes mostly about past pranks, the ones he pulled for no other purpose than the partaking of a few laughs and maybe to occasionally make a point.

    In full disclosure, I am not a prank puller, but I delighted in sitting on the sidelines of Charlie's narratives and witnessing his practical jokes. The world needs more fun. It's something we forget to do when the seriousness of life bears down on us.

Hell-bent on profanity? Think twice when writing for public consumption.

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This post might step on some toes, so put on your steel-toed boots. Pour a cup of coffee, too, because my tirade will take a while.

A Spin in the El Ranchero

 

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My friend and I were exchanging stories about the cars we used to drive. He's a car guy, and I mentioned having a funny story for later when I had more time. That was a while ago, and yesterday my friend reminded me that he is still waiting for the story, so here it is. It's about one of the cars I drove in my teens. Or was it a truck? The reader can determine the proper terminology after learning all the facts.

Not a bedtime story

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I'm not sure how the book In Cold Blood ended up on my reading list, but it had been there for years. I heard about the murders a long time ago, and I have vague memories of seeing the movie. When I ran across the paperback at the library, I checked it out in a hurry. Funny though, as I was reading it, I mentioned the title to two friends, and neither one had ever heard of it.

        A true murder is not exactly sweet dreams material for someone like me who settles down to read at night before going to sleep. This book is different from the ones I typically reach for, but I was curious enough about what happened to this family, that I gave in to the urge, and I prepared myself for a tough read. 

Time runs faster than I do

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My dear friend from high school and I reconnected after almost forty years, and we decided that for our birthdays, which are two weeks apart, we would celebrate with lunch at a restaurant. With that event in motion, we kicked it up a notch and invited other classmates to join us. We reserved a room, ordered a cake from a bakery, and spread the word. On a Saturday at noon, about twenty of us showed up for fried fish and hush puppies and remembering our teenage years. 

    The lunch idea took off and continues monthly to this day, but because I live in another state, I rarely attend. When I see the announcement of the next gathering, I sigh.

    I especially sighed when I heard that Mrs. Loggins, my tenth grade English teacher, popped in at one of the luncheons. Mrs. Loggins stands out in front of all my other teachers, and I would have given anything to see her.

    Considering that I would never have the chance to meet up with Mrs. Loggins, I settled on writing a letter, to tell her about such things as me sitting on the edge of my seat when she carried us through MacBeth, and that by picking my short story as the best one and reading it to the class, she gave me confidence in my writing. 

    Penning a letter to Mrs. Loggins was always the next thing to do. 

Minding my mindfulness in the New Year

 

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Mindfulness seems to be the buzzword of the day. It had been calling out to me here and there, when coincidentally, a mindful friend gave me a book about the art of watching birds, mindfully. Reading the book has been pleasant so far. Turning the pages makes me feel relaxed and calm, because the author's tone and the subject matter are relaxing and calming. It is also making me want to be more mindful, not only in bird watching, but in other aspects of my life. 

        The dictionary compares mindfulness to awareness. I already consider myself to be aware, or mindful, especially of my surroundings when out and about, but there are times when I am not mindful enough. 

    So, at the beginning of January and the start of a New Year, I resolved to be more mindful, partly because of the book given to me, and partly because being consciously mindful seems like an excellent idea. If I am more mindful, maybe I will not make as many mistakes, at least, that is a partial intent in seeking to be more mindful. 

        Only two days into January, despite my mission of mindfulness, I made my first big flub, because I was not mindful enough. I baked a chocolate pie for a friend's birthday, and when I sliced it, syrupy chocolate filling ran onto the plate. I should have baked it longer. If I had inspected it more carefully when taking it out of the oven, I would have known. Instead, I trusted a note from long ago that I had baked it for thirty-five minutes, failing to take into account that a new oven had been installed since then, and that different ovens deliver different results. Next time, I will be more mindful.

        Mindfulness is a two-way street. There are times when our mindfulness is overridden by someone else's mindlessness. No matter how mindful we are, mindfulness and mindlessness sometimes collide.