Hello, world! I'm back!

 

                The title sounds egotistical, I know, but stay with me for a bit. From Valentine’s Day—after a trip to Conway for one of my writers’ groups—till Sunday, February 22, I didn’t get out of the house, except to retrieve the papers (when they came) and the mail (when it came).

                On Sunday, February 22, I accepted a ride to west Little Rock’s St. James UMC with a choir member who lives in the Congo-Avilla area. The liturgical season of Lent had begun—this was the first Sunday of the 40-day period of contemplation, prayer and preparation to coincide with Jesus’ 40 days in the wilderness.

                I needed to sing great hymns, to listen to the bells and the anthem, the sermon and the organ postlude, which was scheduled to be a Bach piece. Bach and organ equal heaven on earth for me.

                As soon as we walked into the sanctuary about 10:30, of the four folks already there, I knew three of them!  Talk about blessings! Felix and Martha Lynn Thompson, they who started the well-known and beloved hand bell program at St. James, were already seated.

I knew Felix when we both taught music in the schools. At that time, we were in the same Region, so we saw each other at Festivals (called Contests now) and at various music-reading clinics.

I knew of Martha through her hand bell arrangements, some of which I used during the first decade of this century.

The third person I knew was Joyce Potts Faulkner, who grew up in Benton, but who now lives in Little Rock with her husband. Though we attended different high schools, we both took piano lessons from Mrs. Lorene Houston. I had seen and visited with her once before at a concert. We visited again on this day and I met her husband.

Folks were coming in quickly by this time, so I headed back up the aisle and sidestepped into Martha and Felix’s pew. It filled quickly. People visited with each other as happens in all churches.

Long story short (so I can tell another story), it was an uplifting, praiseful, joyous service. But during the postlude, I sat while the other worshipers sidestepped beyond me to the center aisle.

Finally, I arose and moved down toward the choir door to wait. Lo and behold, here came another person up the same aisle. Not realizing until we got closer who we were walking toward, when recognition hit, we screamed (well…) each other’s names and hugged. Turns out that we had talked via email a day or two before. She’s a poet friend of many years.

A wonderful experience; a wonderful day.

Not until Friday, February 27 did I venture out again. The snow had melted except in north-facing patches of shade. This trip was to Bryant for the “Bryant Bunch Lunch,” a half-dozen friends who meet monthly.

While I had been hibernating, gasoline had risen by 25 cents a gallon; buildings at the monstrously-large Hurricane Village mall had gone up; streets had been laid and curbs built. 

Last Saturday, two outings were scheduled: one, a breakfast meeting of a group of 1954 Bryant girl grads, and in the afternoon, a meeting of the local poets. Since I was the speaker, I had to be ready before the breakfast excursion. After poets, I stopped at Sue’s to deliver some information, and we enjoyed a great, rare visit.

Again, a wonderful experience; a wonderful day.

                Bored? Cabin fever?  Not on your life?