Some of my “Summer’s favorite things”

    Photo by Thurman Couch            

               Earlier this month, writer friend and mega blogger, Talya Boerner, posted a list––with photos--of her favorite summer things and asked her readership to do the same. One of my favorite things, during summer or any time, is getting ideas for this weekly column-cum-post. So, Talya, and readers, here goes:

One of my favorite things during the summer is watching birds cavort in the birdbath––like a robin did today. It dipped and shook, pecked under its arms, uh, wing feathers, repeated the ritual, shook its wings at least a dozen times, whetted its beak and continued the grooming. It seemed almost physical—like a mom might scrub her dirty son harder than seemed necessary. Almost like the bird hadn’t had a bath in too long a time. Facing away from me, it shook its shoulders over and over, reminding me of a man trying on a new jacket and shaking to get it to fit right. Then, it sidled right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot a quarter of the way around the rim. Perhaps it was practicing for the next bird schottische event.

I also delight in digging shallow-rooted grass/ weeds from the side yard I’m calling the “patio,” an area I covered with white marble rocks. Then, sitting in said “patio” among lilies, bougainvillea, mums, oxalis, and Mom’s begonia—in the shady parts of the day and cool of the evening, with my journal and the day’s papers.

Another summer (or anytime) pleasure is receiving notes, sentences, replies of endearment/ encouragement from various folks I correspond with. At my age, any hint of a compliment always brightens my outlook. When I asked a friend if I could quote him in a larger piece I was writing, he said in reply, “Quote away, darling girl.”  Now, the word “darling” gets me every time. I smiled, remembering the visit we had at Dairy Hollow a while back.

Another “upper” came when an editor in Maryland confirmed my submission of poems, “Dear Pat: your work always a sheer delight, thanks a lot.” He probably says that to all the submitters, but, still . . . . Yet a third example: from a long-time poet, editor, and friend, this reply to an email I’d send him earlier: “Ah, Pat!  How delectable to hear from you.” 

Then, there are always encouraging words from my next-oldest California brother whenever I send out these weekly pieces. “You have a very active brain, gifted of course, but infused with a range of desire for all things curious… Keep it going!”

And from a newer but beloved friend on the same piece, “I loved this. It’s as if you were writing through my own heart. I am a lover of knowledge of all kinds, lighting first on one topic and then on another. Space always calls me back. My high school years were so tangled with the space program and the lives of the astronauts and their families. Thanks for this column. I saved it on my hard drive to look at again and again.”

And from a church member, “Pat, we all just love you so much! You add so much everywhere you go. Hope you have had one of your happiest birthdays ever! Love J & M”

Comments and validations like this keep me revved up and happy. Thanks to all who act as encouragers. You are my “summer favorite folks.”

And thanks, Talya, for the inspiration.

Talya's on the left in this group of residents at Dairy Hollow several years back.

An early-July day in my part of the planet

On the east-facing porch at 7:30 a.m. it's 78 degrees, but forecast to climb into the 90s before the day's over. I've been up since 6:30 this Sunday morning.

Noisy crows--
are they agitated
that their habitat's gone,
replaced by roads
and houses-under-construction?
Me, too.

While I read in the state paper about ISIS versus religious freedom, and the Clinton-Lynch meeting, I stop and realize that my part of the world is quiet. The only sounds are crows to the north, dogs to the south, trains beyond Benton, and the ubiquitous traffic--perhaps headed to early church.

The old cat lies on a porch rug looking over his domain--which is Couchwood's acre. Above him, the flag waves back and forth in the breeze. I sit nearby on the 2nd-or-3rd-or-4th porch swing on this 84-year-old house. The windchime, another peaceful sound, adds to the serenity.

Too early, at 8:00, to prep for a 10:30 choir- call time, I--in gown and duster--sit out while it's still cool.
Oh, I could be pulling grass from the zinnias, but don't want to get dirt under my fingernails (which I filed last night waiting for the computer to boot up [it never did, alas]). Pulling grass, grooming other spots in the yard will have to wait till later tonight around dusk.

I saw on Facebook a "memory of 1-year-ago" which showed my sidewalk project only half finished. Did it really take over a year to complete? (Does Facebook ever lie?)

The sun now shines on the swing, and I move to mid-porch in the shade of a column holding the roof. But before I settle in, I take and post a photo of new coneflower blooms.

Another note of news: In predominately-Buddhist Burma, extremists are persecuting Muslim Rohingyas, a minority.
By nine, the temp has risen, even in the shade, so I head inside. The crows are still noisy. In the yard, tall, yellow blooms of lance-leaf coreopis wave in the breeze, despite repeated mowings of the culprit. "Ha-ha-ha," they seem to say. "You can mow and dig all day, but WE are here to stay!" Okay for now, I say back to them. But just you wait. By Saturday, you'd better be gone or hidden.

After church, a lunch of chicken salad, Cheetos (for "bread," don't you know) and lemonade, then a nap, I return to the Sunday papers.

By 11 p.m. after buying a PDF Suite for the Vista computer so I can access the book-in-progress manuscript, I work on the BIG PUZZLE until midnight. Only three words left to fill in.

And so ends a day in the life of a person who turns 80 years old on Saturday.

[Written July 3 2016 ]

The Couch siblings sans Thurman, July 5 2015

One value of campmeetings: renewal

 

from www.mtlebanoncampmeeting.org

                   Summer is the season for outdoor revivals. This year, Salem Campmeeting-- near where I live --began in late June. Ben Few and Davidson-- farther south-- have either just finished or are in progress. Salem’s pastor is the evangelist at both of those meetings. Travis Langley, from farther south, preached the Salem revival.

                  Having grown up attending campmeetings, and having been away from the Salem UMC choir for nearly a year, I asked the director if I could sing with them on opening night. Of course, he said yes and even made me a folder with all the music in order. Nice man, Curt.

                 Walking out of the new concrete-instead-of-sawdust-floored arbor afterwards, I was stopped by an older woman. “Are you Pat Laster?” I admitted it. She was the mother of our state representative, and asked me if I knew a Carlene who used to live in Blytheville. I said, yes. Carlene had told her that when this woman moved to Benton to be sure and look me up. Not one of us three can remember how long ago that was.
Afterwards, we exchanged names, telephone numbers and addresses. She lives farther north on the same road I do. Renewal # 1.

Earlier during the service, I’d spotted a man friend who drives from across the river to attend services. During refreshments, we locked eyes and headed toward each other. A hug and “you’re looking good”greetings ensued. We would see each other again during the week. Renewal #2

That was Sunday. The next time I attended was Tuesday. After service, while visiting with a colleague, James, a brightly dressed and coiffed woman came to the row ahead of us. She waited till a break in our conversation, then asked me if I was a music teacher. Again, I admitted it.

It turns out that she was in the 6^th grade when I taught music in all four elementary schools in Benton. Now, folks, that would have been between 1958-1961!

If that wasn’t “renewal” enough, it turns out that sometime between 1986-87, I dated her widowed father! He was an avid dancer and we always went to the VFW.

I invited her to the fellowship hall where homemade hot rolls were “refreshments.” She declined, saying she had enough rolls around her own body. Renewal # 3.

James, a 6^th grade student of mine more recently, enjoyed the dialogue between us. He’s already in his 30s.

On Friday night after service, a beautiful, delicate woman stopped me. She looked familiar. When she told me her name, we embraced—hugged sounds too harsh, though that’s what it was. I taught school with her late mother, and then met her again in divorce court. She was the judge’s secretary. We seemed to hit if off way back then, and I was thrilled to see her again. We connected further on Facebook. Renewal # 4.

Other renewals were the joy of singing the old songs from the Spiritual Life songbook. Plus, using a newer hymn written by a former pastor at Salem, who, coincidentally, married my parents in 1934. The first line is, “Once more, we’ve come to this old Salem Campground/ Where Christ is lifted up to save the lost.”
Another renewal I needed: to be reminded to live as Christ-like as possible as the person I am now—this very day.