I found this photo and quote of our Mr. Rogers a few days ago on Facebook. My last post was about not judging a book by its cover, metaphorically speaking. Mr. Rogers was a man whose cover was his life. He was a man who sought to make the world a better place by reaching out through innocence to children. He started the program every time by putting on a sweaters hand made by his mama. A good friend of mine reintroduced me to this well known character Mr. Rodgers, and this quote, is one of my favorites.
Here in the States we just celebrated Thanksgiving. It is a time of family, friends, tradition, and the review of our blessings. Quite a few people lose sight of those blessings and run to the stores to buy things, quite possibly that they did not need. Now, I will admit that I took advantage of the holiday sales on the Saturday before Thanksgiving: I bought a new iPad case, one that is much better for my tool of trade and for my hands (typing novels on these tiny keyboards isn't easy); I also purchased a few pairs of shoes - I wear mine down to the ground, literally, so it was time to bite the bullet and buy new shoes. That being said, I was not seen rushing like madmen into the nearest department store to elbow and punch my way to the "sales". I did not stand in line for hours and hours to save my sacred 40%. No. Do you know what I did on everyone else's black Friday instead?
I found my peace. I went out on the water and breathed freely. Pearched proudly on my vessel in the cool breeze, I felt the wind in my face and the movement of the water beneath my boat. It was beautiful. Aside from the constant hum of the engine and the whistle of the apparent wind, all was
quiet and still. I wispered into the wind my many thanks for the countless blessings in my life; for wind, for the water, for sunshine. It's the small, ever present wonders in life that I admire and am grateful for the most. Well, for that, and the people in my life that make me laugh. There are so many times when I find I get caught up in this or that. But it's thanks to the people in my life who make me smile that everything seems right once more, no matter how blue or grey the day. One word or one quirky expression from them and I know it's all going to be alright. Do you have those people in your lifes? Or at least one person who makes you laugh? Let them know how much that means to you, even if you've told them a thousand times before. Let them know that they are blessings in your heart and that you will be forever grateful for the laughter no matter the tears in your here and now.
Hopefully this wasn't too philosophical for you all. More shorts are of course to come. I hope that you all enjoyed wonderful Thanksgivings and that you remembered to find your peace.
Like what you've read here? Have I got a treat for you: The Animal Court awaits.
For those of you who may be new to my blog, you may not be familiar with my peace-building background. To say the least, I've invested some time in trying to make the world a better place even though it is ever an uphill struggle. The current events that have been all over the news have been rather grim, but it is videos and messages like the one below that we must turn to to keep us strong:
The way we, the general public, can help fight cowards like ISIS is this: we must stand strong against hatred and fear and stand strong together in love and peace. Remember always, "they may have guns, but we have flowers."
Which brings us to this week's edition of your reading escape. Enjoy!
A Book's Cover
The bell above the door rang, singing the entrance of a new potential customer. The thin, late middle-aged keeper of the corner bookshop waved her heavily ringed hand over a stack of her wares to greet the incomer.
"Hi there!" her voice rang in welcome to the person that at first she could not see. The delightful clutter of numerous books on shelves and tables obstructed her view of the door. "Let me know if I can help you find..." her moment of warmth turned tepid once her eyes saw the character that entered her world.
Mom and pop book shops had the tendency of attracting colorful folks, but this young man took the cake. The two tattooes of hands latched on the skin of his throat were the first detail that she noticed. The silver ring in his nose like one would see on a bull was the second. His long blond hair pulled back in a pony tale, his strong build, and his blue eyes may have made him the hunk in a harlequin romance, but for the worn leather jacket and tattoos on his fingers that read: "Blood First." He was, to say the least, an intimidating figure to have enter a white walled book shop in a small, tight community.
The book keep with the glasses perched at the end of her nose figured that this man may have had more than books on his mind.
The young man did not notice any greeting or cut-off-thereof from the book keeper behind the counter. He appeared to be on a mission of some sort and with that, he looked relieved to see that no one else was in the bookstore. The same fact left the shop keep unnerved.
From behind her post, she watched him slowly circle the bookshelves and disappear behind the tall walls filled with colorful spines. She did everything to keep an eye out for him while keeping her cell phone's screen lit. So that she could quickly dial those extra ones and send out a message to save her shop, she pre-dialed a nine to give herself an advantage if he came at her with a knife or a gun. Anything could have been concealed in that lumpy jacket, after all.
The book keeper cringed with every sound that was made beyond her eyesight. She cursed herself for not installing a monitor with the security camera in the back of the store. He had been back there an awful long time. The cat shaped clock on the wall behind her clicked so loudly as every second passed, that it sounded more like the sharp beat of a drum.
The bell over the door rang again and the poor shop keep nearly jumped out of her skin from fright.
"Hi, Sally!" a long time regular with a smile as wide as the canvas bag he carried greeted loudly. "Did you get a chance to see the most recent Weekly Read?"
Just at that moment the young man reappeared with a small stack of books tucked under his arm.
The smile of greeting was swiped right from Mr. Drat's face as the pierced and tattooed man emerged. It was the scowl on the man's face and the mean look in his eyes that strung fear throughout the knitted-sweater-wearing regular.
With bold, strong strides the man approached the counter.
Sally was frozen with fear. 'Great,' she thought heavily, 'Now he has two hostages."
The man plopped the books on the counter and quickly reached inside his jacket.
Sally and Mr. Drat's faces went pallid, but before they could scream, the scowl on the young man's face turned into a light, pleasant smile.
"Afternoon," he pleasantly greeted. "This is a great little shop you've got here, ma'am." He pulled out from his jacket a humble, black pocket book.
Sally and Mr. Drat sighed dramatically. Neither had been so relieved in their lives.
"Thanks," Sally answered mechanically, "Did you find everything okay?" She reached for the books. She was so drained by this experience that she almost missed the titles of the book the man had picked up. There were three: two were about organic diets for breast-feeding mothers and the other two contained advice for parents that had children with Down Syndrome.
"Yes, ma'am," he answered. A proud, bright expression erupted on his face. "I've been looking all over town for these and you had them. My wife and I are new parents and she just gave birth to the most beautiful boy."
The man with the tattoos and gruff exterior proceeded to show Sally and Mr. Drat the hundreds of photos of his wife and new son. He explained that they had known for sometime that their boy would have challenges and that reading these types of books provided great comfort.
"You just be sure to bring that boy in here as often as you can, Nick," Sally invited as she walked the young man to his Prius. "After all, it takes a village." She smiled motherly and patted him on the shoulder.
"That's a promise, Sally," Nick assured. With a handshake to his new friend, Nick jumped in his white Prius and was off.
Standing out in front of her shop. Sally was glad for the cool November breeze. It helped to clear her head. With a sigh, she kicked herself. 'I'm perpetually surrounded by book covers,' she thought. 'I ofall people should have known better than to judge.'
FIN
Hope you all didn't find the blog plug too hokey. And I also hope/wish you all a very wonderful, family filled Thanksgiving. Take the time to remember all of the small beautiful things in your life without which the days would be a little less bright. Take time to remember the great blessings in your life and, after the friends and the family have cleared out, the dishes cleaned, and the leftovers neatly packed away, remember to take time to yourself to find a little peace. Who knows, maybe you can find that peace by curling up with a good read.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Your humble author,
S. Faxon
PS - A GREAT big thanks thanks is owed to Gwen who gave me a lovely lined notebook. That was very sweet! I can assure you, the pages will be filled. THANK YOU, GWEN!!!
As my loyal readers are likely aware, I was quite close with my grandma. She and I were the best of pals and we spent an awful lot of time together. For the first seven years of my life, my family lived at my grandma's house and every day was a new adventure, even the rainy days. (And I can recall quite a few of those as a child.) I remember grandma giving my sisters and me black plastic bags to use as rain coats. We'd cut out holes for our arms and head and then run around in the rain. We didn't have video games and had this remarkable thing called, "imagination," which allowed us to play without technology for hours and hours outside.
Of course, it helped that Grandma's house was a magical place. It was so beautifully furnished as grandma took painstaking care to ensure that everything was dusted daily, a chore she did while listening to swing or gospel music on her stereo. There were a great many pieces of handcrafted furniture in her home and all had been carefully selected to go with the colors of her home (when I was growing up, she had yellow and brown wall paper...it was about as interesting as it sounds), but eventually the walls were painted green. I remember after grandma had the house painted when I was a young teen, I said something to her that made her just laugh and laugh. The kitchen had just been painted green and at the time I was anti-green for some silly teenage reason (now it is one of my favorites). I turned to my grandma after evaluating the situation and said, "Grandma, I can't cook in a green kitchen." She thought that was hilarious. She had such a wonderful sense of humor and the cutest laugh!
At the end of the day, grandma would settle down in her green lazy boy rocking chair. My sisters will quickly tell you that this was the second lazy-boy that she owned, but this chair, this is the only one that I recall. This is grandma's chair. When I would spend Friday nights, she would sit in that chair and we would watch Frazier while eating home cooked dinners together. When I wasn't feeling well as a small child, she would hold me in that chair and rock me to sleep. When I'd lay across her lap, cat like, she used to sketch out images on my back with her finger to see if I could determine the shape she drew.
Our cats, Pepsi and Amy, would compete for space on her lap in that chair. She would shake her fist, yelling and screaming at the Chargers in that chair (yes, grandma was an ENORMOUS Chargers fan. I can specifically remember her yelling at Rivers in her later years.) She would watch her one half hour of soaps in that chair and never once missed an episode of The Bold and the Beautiful.
After she passed away, as we were preparing to sell my grandma's house, there was one piece I knew I would not let be donated: the chair. My folks thought it would take up too much space in our house, but by golly to me, that chair is grandma's love and as such, I could not let it go.
So we kept the chair. It has occupied many different rooms in the house of my parents and it has endured a bit more than your average wear and tear for a sitting spot. For starters, our old cats Pepsi and Amy fancied the chair as their high class scratching post as cats do.
There were dust stains and faded spots alongside the rips, but with some tender love and care, a spool of thread, two arched needles, canvas patches, and many ice packs for my back, (which now also needs some TLC), the chair is looking rather well.
Repairing the chair has been a nice meditative project for me. This January will mark ten years since my grandma passed. Memories and fabric fade, but there are some things that can be preserved if not for "forever", at the very least for a couple more weeks.
Hopefully that memory piece for you that you have buried underneath shoe boxes in the closet, or have stowed out in the garage will come to mind and you'll give it a little love and a little of your time. If there's a piece that's pulled at your heartstrings that you want to share, leave a line in the comments - perhaps you'll inspire others as well.
Craft on, dear readers, and we'll see you next week!
