There are two kinds of people in this world: those who like wind chimes and those who don’t.

I DO.

And apparently so do little old ladies and squirrels. Let me explain. My sister mentioned she once got behind a much older woman in a fast food drive thru line who had a wind chime suspended from the inside ceiling of her rusty Buick, visible from the back window.  It was Spring, windows rolled down, wind chime swaying in the breeze.

They tinkled. And tinkled. A mini symphony before the main cheeseburger and french fry act. This I thought charming enough to use. I don’t waste much. In my newest novel is the sweet yet spicy Dottie Campbell, who happens to drive a car with wind chime in tow. Life is stranger than fiction as we well know.

Regarding wind chime loving squirrels: my birdseed was disappearing at alarming speed, and I caught a particular squirrel, lets call him Greedy Gus, using my chime as a springboard to the bird feeder. First he climbed up the kitchen window. It was like watching a big pinball, pinging from window, to  chime, to feeder. Once there, he devoured seed as though he were a ravenous child attacking candy from a busted pinata.

The birds were glaring at me, so I moved the wind chime. That and I didn’t want to take on a part time job for seed money.

South Texas has a thing for wind chimes, too. When we first moved here, I did a double take when passing a cemetery on the way to the grocery store. Scratching my head, I mumbled, “What on earth is hanging from those trees?” On the way back, I did a triple gawk. Yep, wind chimes, just as I suspected. They were everywhere, dripping from trees.

Apparently being wild for wind chimes carries over to the hereafter.

Someone should tell the squirrel.

Yes, these are my children. An altered version of course, but there is something primitive here that captures their personalities. Now it may be fairly painful for me when they see this here.

I may have to relocate.

But as you might have already guessed, this post is about growing up and growing out. I’m actually going to use a bird illustration here, so picture them with wings. Is it working? Yeah, not for me either, although they are bird-like in the form of angels at times.

Don’t quote me on this as it depends on the day!

Last week I saw a flying lesson of the bird variety which reminded me how we all must begin as babes.  Outside, a few feet from me, a wee cardinal flopped into a bush. Immediately Mom and Pop were there. They chirped and coaxed. Then flapped higher and came back. This was a team effort.

The wee one hopped up a notch, then another. Flopped down and tried again. Slowly she grew confident enough to flap to the next highest tree, where parents waited, twittering for her to come. When she reached that level they flew higher and the process  repeated.

The sheer grit, faith and determination of that little bird reminded me of our own journeys, and those of our children. In nature you can clearly see how animals get nowhere without the help of others and without helping others.

This is true for us as well.

Now the story doesn’t end here. Just yesterday I was watering a potted plant, brimming with  mint and rosemary. That same baby bird zipped right out, startling me so bad I fell backwards. On further examination, a small nest had been constructed on top of the soil, mint hiding the bird. Apparently she was the runt of the litter.

The underdog.

She is still there, the parents bringing food and encouragement.  Don’t we all feel like that baby bird at times?  There are days we don’t feel much like flying, let alone teaching our children how to soar. We want to stay in our cozy nests. Other times we are like eagles riding the sky in a downwind.

Rather young, old, animal or vegetable, we all need people watching our back.  When ready, we’ll soar.

Cheers,

Dorraine

You know spring is here when winter slinks away, leaving a fresh scent clinging to your hair. People are grinning more, that old fire back in steps. The earth, hyper-charged once again. And the best perk is, you can sit outside without freezing your rear end off. That and step outside bare-footed.

On a recent trip to southern Louisiana, we stayed on the two hundred acre grounds of a plantation. The cottage digs weren’t fancy, one bathroom between three girls, but that ample back porch, complete with iron tables and soft sitting areas, was primo. Knew I’d gotten it right when a collective squeal went up.

The view from there was heavenly: two hundred year-old live oaks dripping with Spanish moss which resembled wiry hair. To the right, a pond, complete with ducks, quacking, flapping and gliding. And land to roam as far as your little eyes could devour.

The old Missouri farm girl in heaven.

Shoes popped off. Cards and books materialized. The good old days reincarnated. Maybe you had your own back porch growing up, or a grandparent did. Remember when people actually spent time outside, visiting with family, neighbors and friends, nothing more on the agenda than sipping tart lemonade and shooting the breeze? Call me old fashioned but this still appeals to me. Big time.

We wandered from the porch that day only to retrieve dinner and walk the grounds where we discovered an ancient family graveyard, complete with eerie stone wall and iron gate. Of course the girls wanted to visit at night, but the chicken in me squawked, No thanks, don’t want to. With flashlights wobbling, they took off, me sitting on the back porch clutching coffee, breeze in my hair, a sloppy grin on my face. “Have fun,” I yelled. “Say hi to the ghosts for me.”

Not two minutes later, lights flickered on and off. “Wait for me,” I whispered, lip quivering, but they were long gone. The next night they didn’t have to talk me into going. I was so there. I even took my cheesy camera, which turned up pictures that would make your hair stand on end. Stay tuned for that story in an upcoming series I’ll be weaving.

All the while the porch waited; for us to sit, savor, to make memories on. I do hope you’re out making your own memories. Life is short and that back porch is waiting!

An adventure filled life. Don’t we all want that? I don’t know about you, but when growing up Jonny Quest was high on my Saturday morning agenda. I’d sit glassy-eyed in front of the TV watching the Quest team explore the globe, using Dr. Quest’s particular brand of scientific genius to flush out Monsters and madmen.  Remember Dr. Benton Quest, ten-year-old Jonny, Race Bannon, mystical Hodji, and the extraordinary adorable Bandit?  Maybe, uh hem…if you are old enough, we shared those same lazy Saturday mornings.

This cartoon never played down to children. You could sit cross-legged in heart or bunny pajamas, climbing up sharp mountains of political intrigue in places you only drooled about in history books.

Now I’m not saying you must be a globe-trotting world explorer to snag adventures. My thoughts on this are as ordinary as a summer’s day, which isn’t ordinary at all when you really experience it. Every day is a adventure as long as you’re alive.

Sigh… now isn’t that great news?

Now if you do happen to be a writer like me, who has yet to visit most of the intriguing places the Quest team frequented, the news is not horrible. We have harnessed something that doesn’t require the almighty dollar or the tick of time to claim. As kids we already figured this out. Writer or not, if your imagination is keen you still travel right alongside Jonny, holding your breath when Bandit barks at shadows. You are right down the Nile River, fighting off unseen watery forces. A blooming imagination can and does take you places. And don’t look now, but one day, when you have college tuition payed off, and if you’re lucky enough to still see, hear and walk, you might visit those places yet.

What I’m really getting at here is we make our own adventures. When we’re knee deep in dishes and laundry,  kids rampaging through the house, or sassy pants teenagers claiming we know zero about life, all while spending our last dollar for clothes, flat irons, etc… it’s hard to yank up those adventures. But I swear, if you examine things closely enough, you’ll find them right smack in the swirl of activity.  And if that doesn’t work, go lock yourself in the bathroom with a bottle of wine!

Cheers,

Dorraine

Smile! People say that all the time. Here’s what I think they mean. It takes less energy to smile than to frown. Did you know that? Smiles are free. We can share them anytime, anywhere. We can toss them out like candy.  As a rule, mine stays well oiled but there are days when I don’t use it as much. For those of you who write fiction our words are meant to create emotion. It does our heart good to know we’ve made someone smile, laugh, cry or contemplate. This means we’ve drawn them in.

With that said, there’s an old man who walks around these parts. His smile has never been on. I made it my mission to flip the smile switch.  For two weeks whenever I passed, I’d smile and wave. Smile and wave. Smile and wave. Half the time he wouldn’t even peer at me, and when he did, I got the, “what the heck is your problem frown.”

I’m not one to give up, though.

In another week a miracle happened. Out of the blue he up and grinned at me. His smile looked like the sun.  Not only that but he waved too! And continued to do so whenever he saw me. The moral here is to never give up.  Share what you have and expect the best.  When you can get a crabby old man to smile life is sweet indeed.

Keep smiling,

Dorraine