In the Details

This morning I think a walk around the village is in order. It’s not a big one I bet I could pass every building in less than an hour. That’s if I take it slow. Slow is exactly how it should be. I want it slow. Slow and easy that’s Tuscany. I slide in and out of the shower and then into my clothes. Funny, my dislike for transitions seems to fall away from me here.

I grab some fruit off the table in my room. There’s always fruit in Italy. It’s something to do with their connection to each other and to the land.

I walk out into the yellow Tuscan sunlight, eating a banana. I’m wearing a yellow shirt. The clay stucco buildings look old and new at the same time. Me I look uncompromisingly new—a neophyte by comparison. I’m a kid with much to learn. The windows have been replaced and fitted as if young professionals have moved to town. A look alongside each house and that image in struck to dust. The gardens tell the real stories. The Italian kitchen gardens stand replete with vegetables outside the windows, so that the cooks can go out to pick exactly what they need. This is a life I know so little about. I try to picture myself here, to wish me here. It’s like wishing I were Cinderella at the ball.

It’s no wonder the food tastes wonderful when the gardens look like that.

I stop at a café al fresco for a latté. I want to be with the local people. I ask for a latté and that’s what I get—steamed milk. I had done it once by accident, and found that I liked it. So now it is my traditional “while in Italy” morning drink. No one seems to think it’s weird. No one here seems to think anything I do is weird.

I first saw the wine wall over the top of my latté. It’s one more detail that makes me feel that someone cares. I set my book aside and have my latté, drinking in the lovely wall. It’s a work of art. It’s where they keep the wine. They know how to make art of life.

I leave some lira on the table and decide to explore some more.

On the way down the street I see the window. It has wrought iron bars. On the sill sits a red geranium, a full blooming plant overflowing its ceramic pot. The pot is hugging itself into the corner made by the block of the stucco sill and the window wall. There between the iron bars someone had stuck a pair of boots. Were they hiking boots? They were stuck there to dry in the sun. It’s another picture of life—a still life as life really is. Two details left for me to see.

I passed a couple walking. They must be 80. They smile and say, “buon giorno.” I say the same. It sounds like music. Who says it’s not? I don’t speak their language, nor do they speak mine.
It’s how they catch my eyes and hold them with their own. The smile in their eyes is a detail, but it makes me feel that I am home.

—me strauss Letting me be

Two of a Kind, Each on Our Own

To be honest, how I arranged it, I’m not quite sure. I don’t really like travel that requires working on someone else’s schedule—unless it’s planned well in advance. That gives me plenty of time to make friends with the idea that I have to be at an appointed place at an appointed time. I guess this was one of the “kick in the adventure mode and see what happens” kind of things.

I had really needed to be on an airplane. We’re two of a kind—airplanes and I. We both travel alone through a silent sky. It’s not a choice. It’s just what we’re built for. Call it fate. Call it psyche. Call it DNA. It’s not a gift. It’s not a problem. It’s not something that’s anything. It’s just what is. Airplanes and I will always be slightly over-sized and ungainly when we’re on the ground and in one state too long.

It’s not that we mind having passengers or that we don’t get damn close to some people and certain places. People fill us up. Then they’re gone again. Places hold us close. Then we have to leave. That’s the way it works. It’s how it’s supposed to work.

I found an airplane that was going the way that I seemed to be going. Somehow I seemed to have the right kind of miles and the right kind of smile on to talk my way onto it. I even got a seat with enough leg room. I settled in with my headphones, and this time I was the grandchild of Richard Strauss, the composer. I drank wine, and listened to music.

The airplane and I landed. We were two of a kind coming down together. I always feel a little sad when I get off an airplane.

I was through the airport and into a rental car. They drive on my side of the road here. I thought I could find my way. I had time to get lost. What’s lost when you’re not really going anywhere? I breathed in the countryside, driving slow. I had traveled across an ocean and my eyes could believe I had traveled back in time.

I passed a man riding a bicycle in a suit on a back country road. I’d say he was sixty.

A couple was working in their garden. The garden was rich and dark. Garden. The garden was larger than half a city block. He wore a vest and a white shirt with buttons. She wore a green dress with an apron over it. Their hair was going gray. They made me think of the farmers in Van Gogh’s painting “First Steps.”

Welcome to Tuscany.

I drove a bit further. Then I pulled the car over to watch the sunset. I saw a boy walking through a large open field. He was an airplane too, I suppose. We were alone in our thoughts far apart, together, the same, yet different. We were two of kind, each on our own.

At sunrise, I was on a beach with bountiful clouds by an ocean of love.
By sunset I was by a bountiful field in an echo of solitude.

The world offers so much, if I see what I’m looking at.

—me strauss Letting me be

Key West Sunrise

I got up before the sun on Saturday as is my wont. I just can’t seem to sleep late anymore—not that I seem to mind. I don’t. I’m getting to be a morning AND a night person. Who would have thought it? I never would. It’s nice to have the world at peace at both ends of the day.

I got myself up and took a shower. I sat with the stufffed pup and wrote for a while. Then I took the pup out to the beach to see the sun come up together. I was thinking this might be my last day in Key West and a sunrise was on my list of things that were not to be left behind as a memory I forgot to have.

The Key West sunrise isn’t about color. It’s about space, and clouds, and wonder. It’s about thinking what creation must have been like way back when the world began.

That’s what I was thinking when I looked left and saw a mother and her daughter.
They were walking, talking, playing. The mother was all in a purple dress—a jumper—a lavender t-shirt and no shoes. Her hair was lightest ashy brown with blonde streaks that made it look lighter. Her daughter had on big short pants in pale pink and a white t-shirt, no shoes either. She was busy seeing how far her feet would sink into the wet sand. She was a little girl of about three out test driving her feet.

Every now and then, one or the other would run into the water and send a splash backto the one who stood on the beach.

An invisible arc went between them. It was love. You could almost see it glisten, shimmering there beside the sea. Strains of that silly war song came to mind, “By the sea, by the sea, by the beautiful sea . . .”

I started to wonder whether I had ever had a feeling like that with my mother. Then I realized, of course, I must have. We all must have.

If we had not, we’d not know it when we saw it. Would we?

I looked up at the breathtaking sunrise and thought to myself I’d seen creation through God’s eyes by watching the love of a mother and her child.

—me strauss Lettingmebe

The Word Man

Photo by Jim DeLillo

Some days even the introvert in me needs to come out.

On the fourth day anywhere I know the land. The room is mind. Usually the room staff has given up trying to convince me that the wastepaper basket and the phone should be where the hotel decides, and he or she begins to leave them where I want them to be.

The staff in this hotel was special indeed. I’d bought a small, stuffed floppy dog for company while I was there. Each time when I returned to my room, the dog was placed somewhere new upon my bed—on the corner looking at the door as if waiting for me, on the pillow as if asleep. It was fun returning to see where my invisible housekeeping friend would place my inanimate pet next.

On this fourth day, Kelley had gone to speak with a woman who had worked with kestrels in North Central Florida. I grabbed my book and went out to the beach to read. Well actually, not om the beach, but to a bar along the beach.I thought I’d be with people while I was alone with my legend, my view, and a nice pina colada in the ocean breeze. It allowed me to imagine that I was anyone I might want to be. I did. I made myself the heir to the Levi Strauss family fortune. That made me sit slightly taller in my bar stool.

I read and listened for a while, until finally the bartender could stand it no longer.

“How can a lovely miss be reading with so much sun, sand and beauty around?”

“I like the book. I like the drink. I like the air. I’m happy.”

He cleaned the bar around where I sat. He placed a bowl of snacks near me. It was obvious that he felt that I was wasting a good day reading. I looked up at him. He said he called himself Mike and that he was a writer.

“What do you write?”

“Words, mostly,” he said. A clever one, I thought, this Mike is a clever one feeling bored and wants to play with me.

“That’s good. Words are good things to write. Do they make sentences that make sense?”

“Sometimes they do. Sometimes they do.”

“Does anyone read what you write?”

“Why yes.” He then pulled out a book, It was a book that I had read.

“Your name isn’t Mike,” I said, “It’s Lee and I love your books. I’ve read this one and all of the others. Let me buy you a drink for the days like this you’ve kept me company in bars when I was far from home and I had your words to read.”

He surprised me and said, “Yes.”

We talked most of the afternoon about what makes a book a book, about how words come together and make sense. I think we’d both been hungry for that kind of conversation. I know I had been. I stopped off at the party at Crabby Bill's to meet up with all of my friends. We shared some drinks and danced on a few tables. I'm not sure Key West will be the same.

Later, I walked back to the hotel with them having finished only five pages in my book. My stuffed dog was waiting, legs up over the arm of the chair, looking at the door for me. I picked it up and sat down on the giant feather bed with it. “You know, pup. People are like words. You put certain ones together, and they make sense, They make something new and meaningful.”

—me strauss Letting me be

Meeting Merlin

I headed back to the hotel. I thought I might meet Kelley there, get something to eat, maybe swap adventure stories. I took my time walking. I had no reason to rush. No clock was calling. I figured I would get there when I got there. I did.

I wandered in the wood door with the brass handles. Kelley was still out. So I talked awhile with Marilyn in the restaurant. She lived just on the edge of Key West until she took over this little hotel. Said she had been running the little beauty—that’s what she called it—for just over two years now. It was her life, her love, her hobby, and her heartache. I said I knew about all of those.

Marilyn served me up a piece of the lightest, the most complex Key Lime pie I ever tasted. It was a perfect sliver on a plain white plate with just a silver fork and damask napkin alongside it. I smiled, thinking this was a woman who understood that things done well don’t need a lot of gooey, gourmet decoration.

We talked over my piece of pie and two decaf cappuccinos from her brand new machine. How could I say no? She had already told me the whole story of how her brother bought it as a hotel-warming gift. He had saved two years to pay for it. Her little brother loved her. You could tell their bond was something pretty special.

After the conversation I went to my room, filled with pie, sand, and sea, ready for that giant feather bed and those perfect pillows. I read myself to sleep. The book was T.H. White’s “The Once and Future King.” I'd read it three times before. I'll probably read it six times more.

That night I dreamed of the forest that the young Ward wandered and flew as a peregrine falcon. For a while, I flew with him hunting. When I landed I was alone and lost among the trees. I didn’t know which way to go to find my way back. I didn’t know where I had been going. I didn’t know where I was. Then a light shone through the trees.

An old man approached me, I knew him. It was the magician, Merlin. My thoughts of being lost left me. My curiosity took over. Merlin was someone I’d always wanted to talk with. I felt we had a lot in common. It wasn’t that I thought I was magical. It was that I felt that I had done so many things in life backwards. He knew a little something about doing that.

“Merlin,” I said. “What do I do to put my life back into some kind of order?”

We talked through the entire dream—through the mist and fog, through the darkness into the light of day, as he got younger, and I got older.

I awoke at sunrise, I got up to watch it through my window. As I looked toward the sky changing to the colors only Key West can deliver, I could only see the misty forest of my dream. My mind was filled with every moment, every image, every look on Merlin’s face, but only 11 words. I remembered only one question that he asked me.

“What makes you think that life is supposed to have order?”

Somehow that question answered everything. I sent a sunrise thank you to my friend, Merlin. Then I went back to giant feather bed, read T.H. White some more, and fell back to sleep on those perfect pillows again. I was looking for the forest.

—me strauss Letting me be

The Pirate Ship from Days Long Ago

I sat under the clouds for most of the afternoon. I hadn’t any place to go, not a thing to do, it was the joyous wealth of time, in the expanse of forever. My legs had room to stretch to their fullest. I could lay back and watch the sky or roll over and roll over on my side as if I were a pencil rolling down a desk in school. I didn’t care if my hair, my shirt, my pants were completely filled with Key West white, white sand. I knew it wasn’t Chicago snow. This sky was widest, wildest blue not gray. If was going to be without, then I was glad to be without. . . here.

Mom used to talk about how the summer sun used to wear us out. She said the breeze and sun and would instill and take it out of us. She knew her stuff, because sure enough, I found myself soon pushing sand like an animal, making a space where I might fit. I was literally burrowing in for a small nap out in the fresh air. A nap in the fresh daylight air—that is so not like me. I like dark when I sleep, and lots of blankets and air conditioning, but sleeping by the ocean is a special treat that I wanted again—all stretched and free on the white, white sand.

I woke with the chill of the oncoming evening, and I figured that it was the sign that I needed to head back for some food. The oncoming darkness make me think of days long ago—before electricity when times were more wild. I felt like an explorer, and I suppose in a way I was. I wasn’t quite sure just which way I should go.

I headed in the general direction of where I was most likely to find my hotel and what stuff I had waiting there, I thought of the magical things that naps and dreamy skies, sand, sun and space could bring to mind a mind wasn’t filled with too many details of grown-up worries not worth worrying about. I was pondering the quest of Ponce deLeon and the Fountain of Youth when I came up behind a tree on the ocean side of the beach.

Then I saw it. A pirate ship.

I was sure of it. It was small and what else could it be, hiding there by the tree in the almost dark right there? It was a pirate ship from days of long ago. I knew it. It was owned by good pirates who’d just come home from a swashbuckling pirate adventure. They’d saved a whole colony from an evil king and had won the king’s treasure fair and square in a dangerous, but heartfelt and gallant swordfight. A princess swooned. A dragon died. The people cheered. The flags flew and the horns played when the pirates finally left the shores of the grateful people they had saved.

That’s the beauty of a nap on the beach under the widest, wildest blue, blue sky in the fresh are on the white, white sand. You get to see the pirate ship, when the rest only get to see a boat.

—me strauss Letting me be

Hope and Smiles

There’s something about sleeping next to the ocean that clears my mind and frees me from the world of worries I tend to carry. I woke up early and decided a walk a to visit the water was just what I needed. I took a quick shower, threw on some jeans and a t-shirt, grabbed my journal, and set out for some solitude in the wide open space. It was nice to think about a whole world waiting for me rather than one hanging over my head.

I walked until I found this beach where I could sit back and see nothing but water and a blue sky filled with the most amazing clouds. I sat with my thoughts and watched the clouds go by and listened to myself thinking. The clouds made music for me. I wrote a while in my journal. I walked a while down the beach. I stood a while just breathing in the open. I walked a while longer, pushing my feet into the wet sand like a little kid trying out a new pair of feet.

Just about the time I was thinking I might sit a spell. a sandy-haired young man walked up alongside me. I have no idea where he came from. He introduced himself. I introduced myself as well. He looked to be about my son’s age, maybe a little older. We walked a while down the beach. I told him I had been looking for a place to sit and watch the water. He said he knew a perfect spot and showed me that he did indeed.

We found ourselves talking under a palm tree watching marvelous clouds as they made shapes along the widest sky. We talked of life and things. The young man said he didn’t have a job. I said I didn’t have one either. I asked him where he found his hope. He said he found it in the air, and in the sand, and in the water, and in the faces of people like me who smiled back at him when he smiled at me.

That made me smile.

He asked me where I found hope. I said I found it inside my heart each time I was with someone who made me smile.
I didn’t think I said it out loud. I sure don’t remember saying it. I really think that I only thought it, wished it really. I wanted to find a marker so that I could make my way back to this beautiful, peaceful place where we had talked of hope and smiles.

As I had that thought, he pointed to the sky and smiled. The clouds had made a marker for me.

X marked the spot.

—me strauss Letting me be

Key West Sunset

It was settled then. The winter gloom had taken it’s toll on all of us. We needed time away from the things that drag people into the slush and the cold. So we made a plan to change the weather. Who says you can’t, if you really need to? We made a plan and that was exactly what we’d do.

I packed my stuff in an old case. I didn’t need much—my jeans, a couple of t-shirts, some socks and underwear. I’d wear my shoes and jacket there and once I took them off—they’d be off. I put my wallet in my back pocket, my journal in my pack, my keys in my jacket, and I headed out the door. When I reached the first floor, I asked the guy at the desk to flick the taxi light on. I watched it blink with my heartbeat.

I thought about my credit card that didn’t need the weight of one more charge to take me anywhere. Then I thought about my soul that didn’t need the weight of staying here. That second thought brought a smile, just as the shiny new taxi that drove up. How a new taxi came to be in the city in winter, I’m not questioning. I took it as a sign—like a red bird, or a shooting start—that I was on the right path.

In almost no time the taxi became a jumbo jet. Hardly seconds later, I was on my way into Key West just in time for a late lunch. I checked into this little hotel. It was more like a bed and breakfast with a restaurant, and called the folks to tell them where I was. They’d be showing up in the next day or so. I dropped my jacket on the bed and took up my journal. I grabbed a sandwich at the restaurant. I went looking for some story, some thought I hadn’t thought yet. Maybe I'd find a special rock.

I must have walked for miles around, and in and out again, until finally I settled on this one secluded spot on the pier. There I sat and wrote and ate my sandwich until I saw the Key West sun set gently on the water. Then before my eyes a sailing ship came to take my cares out to sea.

The world is made in exactly the right proportion for living in. I just need to remember not to stay in one corner of it. My soul is so joyful when it gets the slightest glimpse of what’s real.

—me strauss Letting me be

An Idea

It’s February. Cabin fever has started to pick at me. I’m tired of it. Everyone is. It’s like we’re stuck in the gray, gloomy muck of it, but we’re not. At least we don’t have to be. I have an idea to beat it, but it would take everyone’s cooperation. Everyone would have to help it work.

What if we just packed up the whole northern part of North America and went on vacation?

It wouldn’t be such a big deal. Would it? For the next two weeks any state or Canadian province north of the Mason-Dixon Line could close our doors. We’d batten the hatches and tie everything down—well almost everything, we’d bring our pets with us and our kids, if they promised to behave. We would take our most favorite stuff and head south, south to warmer weather, bluer skies, and people who are smiling. We would become them.

I wouldn’t think a little trip should be so hard to arrange, if we pulled together and made plans for it. We could put a hold on the newspapers. Stop the mail. Leave our keys with the neighboring states and ask them to keep an eye on things—feed the fish; water the plants; do stuff like that. Sure we might have to return the favor sometime, but it would be worth it. Two long weeks in the sparkling sunlight with sandy beaches and palm trees might be just what we need to get hold of our hope again. We might even find a sense of humor and learn to dance and sing again. I know it would do wonders to make me lose sight of my cranky gene.

I can hear the whole country talking about it, “Leave it to the Midwesterners and Canadians to pull a stunt like that and to bring the other northerners along with them.”

Yeah. We’d give them something to talk about. That alone would be worth the trouble of packing, and traveling, and getting back.

That’s my idea. I think we should do it.

Are you in? Or are you sticking with cabin fever until it makes you crack into tiny slivers?

—me strauss Letting me be

Bear Feet

When I was young, walking around at night in my pajamas. My mom would say, “Put some socks on those bare feet.”

“I would say, “Mom, those aren’t bear feet. Those are human feet.”

I’d watch TV with my socks on. Later, she’d tuck me into bed.

In bed with my teddy bear, I’d think about his feet and mine. Soon enough I’d be thinking about how he’d sleep all winter . . . sleep all winter . . . sleep all winter. Then I’d pretend I was doing the same—going to sleep for the winter. Soon enough I’d be asleep.

Now I face another February. I still have a stuffed bear on the night stand by my bed. He has bear feet. I still wear socks. When I go to sleep each cold night, I think about hibernating under blankets for the winter. Each morning when I get up to gray sky and cold winds, I feel just like a grumpy, grizzly bear.

I see the wisdom of hibernation. I have no patience with anything. Ask me. I’d say I’d as soon be sleeping all winter, sleeping all winter like a bear. I bet the folks around me would just as soon I were sleeping too.

Even now when people say “bare feet,” I can’t help but think “bear feet,” and see them in my mind.

If you’re at all like me, don’t try to climb Mt. Everest in February. Don’t go on safari either. Learning curves and big adventures are meant for other times of year. February is meant for hibernation for people with bear feet.

—me strauss Letting me be

Work and Play

It's as if the child in me wants to run away from my writing work to play all day. Yet when I can play, the games I choose look exactly like my work. What does that mean?

—me strauss Letting me be

Midwinter Sun

Have you ever had a day when it seemed everything went your way? A grand idea came and you worked on it. You made it happen—exactly as it should. It glowed. All day long doors opened. People said nice things—really cool, unusual compliments. You won a prize. Up was up. Little things were good.

Ever had a day like that . . . in the middle of a time when your whole life seemed wrong?

Everywhere my brain goes, it’s running into walls.

Hold onto hope. Take the chair by the fireplace. Have some tea.

I’ll soon be coming home.

It's hard to stay warm out in the midwinter sun.

—me strauss Letting me be

White Sands

You might have thought it was a dream. Even if you saw it, it would have seemed just that much ridiculous and that much not quite possible that so many white things would come together in the same place, White Sands, at once.

We were two fully grown women driving across country from Texas to California. We had brought with us a white stuffed lamb. I can’t remember what we named him. It bothers me that I can’t. Every place we stopped we took a picture of him and sent it with a letter from him to a grade school back home.

The car we traveled in was a white two-seater Miata. It looked stunning parked next to the dunes at White Sands near Los Cruces, New Mexico. We took a picture with the top down. In the picture the lamb was behind the steering wheel. He was about to drive up the dune. Just as we took the shot a guy drove a white golf ball down from the top of the dune. It landed not far from us. We looked up and saw six guys up there, each with a driver in hand.

We were driving the dunes at White Sands with six guys and a lamb.

The guys said that they had always wanted to do that—drive the dunes at White Sands.
We said we didn’t know it, until just then, but we had always wanted to do that too.

—me strauss Letting me be

Rhapsody in Blues

Today is that day. That one day in February that pretends it’s spring, when spring is still such a long way off. I know that and I’m not missing it. No not this time. Not this year—nuh-uh—this year I am going to be part of it. I jump right on it.

Before you can say blue sky, I’m out of my jacket and in my little blue car. Before my blue eyes can blink, my keys are in the ignition. I’m out on a fabulous road trip. For whatever time I have, my little car and I are going to be on some mountain road with the top down under the biggest, bluest sky with my heart wide open.

I know exactly how few spring-like days come at this time of year and how few years we get to enjoy them. I’m not letting this one go anywhere without me.

I put in my CD of Rhapsody in Blue, turned up to blasting, and leaned back into the drive, knowing that life is just one long open road. It’s hard to keep my hands on the wheel. Gershwin almost demands directing or dancing—two things that don’t really go well with driving. I pulled the car over and pull up to some trees and a blue mirror lake. The view is genuinely beautiful. It makes me feel alive, authentic, exuberant. A real-life Rhapsody in Blue shining back up to the sky. I sit back and enjoy it.

How they came to be there, right where I wanted them. That’s how things work on spring-like days that come long before spring is supposed to. The breeze sliding through them moved with the horns wailing Rhapsody in Blue. I’m grateful there was a Gershwin. Today I love all things blue. Today I love all things any color. I love all people too.

The song ended, but the spring-like day is still here—in the sunshine, in the music playing through the sky above me, playing through my eyes so filled with life and beauty. I just hang around the lake for the longest time. What a lovely thing it is to have spring fever in February. I hope it’s some kind of contagious. More people should feel like I feel this very minute. My mom would say I am a kissing fool, and I haven’t even kissed anybody.

Finally, filled up and refueled. I start the car again and drive more slowly. This time I head back homeward, enjoying all I see. This time the music is Louis Armstrong.

And I say to myself. It’s a beautiful world.

—me strauss Letting me be

“Prego,” “Grazie,” “Prego”

I went to Catholic School. From what I hear of Catholic Schools it seems it was the only one on Earth where all of the nuns were beautiful, sang like angels and had perfect handwriting. They also had impeccable manners. The Sisters made sure to teach us those manners. It was their duty.

Manners, they told us, were a sign of respect for other people. So we learned them well and formally. We said things like “Pardon me,” whenever we passed in front of someone and stood whenever a grown-up entered the room. I didn’t realize that the manners I was learning weren’t the manners of everyday people.

I guess I lost my formal manners the day at dance class when I asked my dance instructor, “May I please use the lavatory?” She didn’t know what I was talking about. I was so embarrassed I could hardly get the word bathroom out. Luckily I made it there in time to get my leotard down.

Years later I went to Bologna, Italy. Bologna, where the 6’5” black haired, blue-eyed cab driver drove all the way back with a smile because I gave him to many lira. I said, “Grazie,” He said, “Prego.” My adrenaline made my heart beat faster. Eye contact is something in Bologna. Go there. You’ll see.

My Aussie friends and I went to the little bar in our hotel, where our young bartender, Luca was. He was 30. He had no English. He needed none. He welcomed us. “Prego,” said Luca. “Grazie,” we said. “Prego,” he said again. There went my adrenaline. Eye contact one more time. I started to realize that Americans don’t say, “You’re welcome,” anymore and thinking it was a shame, because I was liking how good it felt to hear it.

We got out the phrase book and shared simple phrase. I pointed to my head and said in Italian, “The battery’s dead.” Luca laughed. He got us a drink. “Grazie,” we said. “Prego,” he said again. Adrenaline. Eye contact all over again.

It was the same in every restaurant, coffee shop, art gallery, taxi cab, bar, bookstore we visited. “Prego,” “Grazie,” “Prego,” with an occasional Scuzí, if you happened to bump someone on the way in or out of a doorway. Each one always came with a smile and that eye contact. Go there. You’ll see.

I lost my manners in dance class and found them in Italy.

How they got there I’m not sure. But I made a point to bring them home with me.

—me strauss Letting me be

Situation Uncertain

Situation uncertain
and I come to feel myself
falling (or is it floating?)
into an attitude.
Patience gives way to disgust
and yet, beneath it
I feel fear and melancholy
like that which I embody
when someone says
"I don't love you."
Tightly my armor raises
and I display qualities
that I abhor
while quietly forcing
my own interment.
In milliseconds
my life becomes a vacuum
minus the security
of even my self
Until
I am allowed
to realize
the intrinsic humor
of my uncertainty
And through my laughing
I am released.

—me strauss Letting me be

Scribbles: Undercover Cat Busts Vet Scam

This Just In from The 65th Crayon:

The 65th Crayon broke the exclusive story this week about the 8-month-old kitten who went under cover to pose as a would-be patient to help police catch a college student impersonating a veterinarian. The student, who has been treating pets without a license, was set up for the sting with the charming little kitten as the bait.

“The story began when Burt the Boston terrier was victim of a botched operation at the hands of this alleged hack veterinarian, college student Stephen Vassal,” said our colorful reporter. “Burt’s companion, Raymond Reid, contacted authorities. “Mr. Reid commented that he should have been suspicious of a vet who only made house calls and did surgery in an undisclosed location. Still Reid said he felt sorry for Vassal.”

Vassal was arrested last week and is being held on $2500 bail.

“Vassal was caught when a police investigator posing as the companion of Fred, the kitten contacted Vassal and asked him to visit an apartment that was rigged with hidden cameras,” the 65th crayon reported. “I was playing a toy on the table. So I saw the whole thing go down. The college brat agreed to neuter the boy kitten for $135. About then I was thinking I was glad I wasn’t a kitten.”

At a news conference yesterday afternoon, both Burt and Fred wore badges from the Police Department. The tapes of the sting were shown on local news later that same evening. Our reporter friend can be seen pointing directly at the accused. Later a complete price list of services was recovered from Vassals belongings.

“Fred the kitten said he was glad that he was able to do something to save animals from being hurt by this person,” our rainbow writer told us. “Fred is now considering a future in law enforcement.”

"That’s disgusting," a cat lover said about the college student performing such operations.

"Doesn’t surprise me in the least. He was probably a liberal arts major," remarked a Harvard professor.

“You’d never see a crayon do such things to a living being,” the 65th crayon said. “We aren’t allowed sharp objects.” Then he tied the belt on his trench coat, picked up his miniature briefcase and walked off to have lunch with his friends Fred the kitten and Darth Tater.

—me strauss Letting me be

Crayon Tries His Point at Poetry

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The Learning Curve

They say when you learn to drive you should go slow into the curve then speed up when you’re full into it. That will take full advantage of centrifugal force and pull you around and push you on. But that’s a curve in a road . . . not a learning curve. A learning curve goes up.

A learning curve is more like having to climb a mountain without the proper training. No centrifugal force will pull you up. It’s more likely that gravity will call you back. But even climbers on the way to the top of Mount Everest stop at predictable points to set up base camps. At camp they refuel. They check their equipment. They prepare for the rest of the climb ahead—the change in altitude, the next set of challenges that lay ahead.

I think I’ll take my cue from the mountain climbers. I’m setting up base camp tonight. I’ll rest my mind in Deek’s beautiful photo. Let my brain refuel.

Tomorrow I’ll start learning again. Tonight there's a really good book with my name on it.

—me strauss Letting me be

Gazing at Saturn

I sit gazing at Saturn, wondering what it’s like to be her, out there detached, unfeeling, giant, beautiful, cold and alone. At times I wished to be her. At times, I suppose I still do. The power of saying to the world, “I don’t care. I don’t even see you,” is attractive, downright appealing. I gaze at Saturn and I wonder what it must be like. I imagine not having thoughts or feelings, not to worry, not to wonder. Sometimes feels it would be a relief to leave this world. But that feeling doesn’t last.

I can gaze at Saturn, but I can’t go there. There’s no air for me to breathe. My heart would die without deep feelings. My mind would wither without thoughts. My ears would never hear my soul sing in soundless space, and without people I wouldn’t feel much like dancing. I’d just feel far from home. All the colors Saturn shines with wouldn’t erase the velvet feeling of one wild violet in my hand.

Some things are only attractive when they are far away.

—me strauss Letting me be

Cars

A glimpse of the dashboard in my dad’s car comes to mind. I am eye to eye with the radio. I’m sitting right next to him. The sun’s shining through the windshield onto my lap. We’re traveling south. My father’s strong hands on the wheel are all that I see.

Sitting in the backseat, I listen as my mom tells my brother to spell the word stupidity. S-t-u-p-i-d-i-t-y. S-t-u-p-i-d-i-t-y. S-t-u-p-i-d-i-t-y. I don’t even know what he did. He was a teenager. I was a little kid. I still spell think of that ride when I spell that word.

I’m by the back door of my mom's car waiting, watching, as raindrops swell until finally they run, making fast tracks down the window. The shadows they make look like leprosy. I find myself bored and fascinated at the same time. My mom is inside the house leaving food for the people who live there. Something bad has happened to them. Food is how you show you care.

On a road trip through the Blue Mountains with my best friend, the radio is playing Bill Withers’ song, “Lean On Me.” We sing along to that and some others. The asphalt was pristine black. The blue-green mountains were food for the eyes. We didn’t need to talk. Sharing hours of silence with someone and knowing that everything’s right with the world is closest you get to feeling like you know who you are.

Buying dinner for the boys we didn’t know in the car behind us at the drive-in window at Taco Bell. Just to see what they would do.

A slide show of meaningful moments drive through my mind.

Cars do more than move people from point A to point B.

—me strauss Letting me be

Colorful Dancing Stars

Some folks are just joyful. They celebrate life. They want to grow like the grass on the prairie, stretching lean and tall in the summer sun. They want to be all that they can. They’re always looking, searching, becoming. They are friends who fill me with life and bestow me with energy. I smile to think of them. My fingers dance as I type these words. When I look at the sky with these friends, we see magic things. We talk about the colorful stars that dance when we’re sleeping.

Some people don’t want to grow. They sit like rocks in that field, breaking the plow blades. They won’t see the summer sun. They don’t search, won’t open their eyes. They don’t fill me with anything. They are empty of energy. I don’t smile when I think of them. They live a frown, and ask, and ask. They ask so much.

They ask me to feel bad because they look for the rain. They ask me to pretend I don’t dance, because they won’t try. They wish I would stop smiling because they want to be sad. It’s not my fault that they choose to look down. I can point up, but I can't make them look. Some people won’t celebrate life. They never will.

Why would I invest myself in a lost cause?

I choose the ones who make spring come back early. I cherish my friends who dance with me. We dance through our days—even the hardest ones—dance because we know that crawling makes everything worse. We hold on and dance closer when someone hurts. I like to be with them, hope to be like them. I wish the world for them, because in my heart I know. They are the colorful, dancing stars here on Earth.

—me strauss Letting me be

The Sun Again

Today the sun came out soft upon the skyline, sort of sneaking up over the lake. It was there, though. It was like a sign of hope. The air seemed to move out of the way for it. The clouds that might have covered it, gave way or disappeared. It’s as if the sun was simply saying, “It’s time that you remembered that I am here. Yes, I am here.”

It was stunning, soothing. It was something to see.

I didn’t think much about it as my day came and went. Yet things were lighter, brighter. People seemed to have more cheer. The pace of life seemed slightly brisker, in a nice way—as if a lethargy had lifted. Maybe there is a chance that winter will end. Maybe spring is coming.

Today I saw the sun again. Today I remembered about hope.

—me strauss Letting me be

I Needed That

It’s so easy for me to get used to a gray sky. A habit forms and I find myself planning for dreary days without end. I assume that people on the street won’t be smiling, so my own smile goes away. I get lost inside my thoughts, preparing for the next thing that will go wrong. I’m not really sad, not depressed, not really anything. I’m just moving forward, just making time pass. The saddest part is I don’t know I’ve switched off. I’ve no clue I’m doing it, but everyone around me most certainly does.

Then out of the blue, I should say out of the dreary old gray, some unexpected thing goes right. Something happens that is good, fine, and just as it should be. It’s not a lottery win or a big present from my mother-in-law. It’s just something that went nicely, a kind thing with a little bit more. A person who treated me like a person, who acted with fairness. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am.

Then the clouds start to move, and the gray makes room for blue in the sky. I remember to smile, and I feel lighter. My insides keep saying, “Isn’t life a good thing? My mind keeps repeating “I needed that. I really did. Thank you, God. Thank you, God.”

My soul can get hungry for good things to happen. Kindness and sunshine nourish my spirit. No question about it.

—me strauss Letting me be

Scribbles: Crayon Tries His Point at Poetry

This Just In from The 65th Crayon:

While in-between shoots, the 65th Crayon was able to sneak some time at a friend’s Malibu Beach home. He enjoyed himself drinking colorful summertime drinks by the pool overlooking the ocean in reclining chairs.

At one point during a particularly restful afternoon, the literary bug overtook him and he waxed poetically. He sent back his work to share with you.
It appears his classes in the Method Acting originated by Konstantin Stanislavski (author of Acting is Believing) has had some affect on his writing.
Coloring
Seeing red
Blue with needing
Green with insecurity
No love or money
Find the silver hiding
Midnight moonlight shining
Golden pink and purple sunrising
Brilliant saphire skies returning

We suggested he not quit his day job as a reporter.

—me strauss Letting me be

Scribbles: 65th Wins Movie Role as Invisible Crayon

For links to additional Scribbles Reports by the 65th Crayon see the sidebar.
Scribbles Reports by The 65th Crayon appear Sundays in Letting me be ...
The 65th Crayon is a copyright of ME Strauss. All Rights Reserved

Rollercoasters Go Outside

Rollercoaster . . . rollercoaster . . . rollercoaster . . . rollercoaster. . . How many times have I heard people use that word this week?

How many times have I felt the rattle of a rollercoaster shake things up in my own heart? How well I remember that little voice inside me whisper as the rails click by, “Don’t give up. Don’t give up.” Oh I didn’t. I don’t know how to give up. Giving up wasn’t an option. It’s the worry of giving out that wore at me and wore me down.

How well I remember that damn rollercoaster. I was up. Then I was down. Sometimes it was minutes apart. I hardly knew what was going on. My eyes were blurry. Strapped in, pushed back to the seat. How did I get there? Who took my control? That was one ride I could have done without.

I like my feelings and my feet in one place standing, firmly planted on the ground. I don’t have to be smiling, but I don’t like being twisted, turned and up-side down. . . . rollercoaster . . . I never paid for that ride. I never asked for it either. I’m still not sure how I got off, but it took weeks before I felt right using my legs again.

Rollercoasters are supposed to be in lush green places under bright blue skies. They belong in places where children have happy smiles, and summer sun shines down. They don’t belong inside people in winter, making them feel all out of control.

Yet this week, I heard so many say that word rollercoaster. It makes me sad just to think of it.

Tell those rollercoasters to go outside.

—me strauss Letting me be

My Planet

I tell people my brothers think I come from an alien planet.

According to reports I was born in a hospital in small town Illinois, but most of my life I’ve figured that must be some sort of cover story. I’ve always not quite understood people. I didn’t get how they talk to each other or why they care about the things that they do—things like the latest outfit or going bananas on a bad hair day. To be fair they didn’t get me either, like why I want to talk about how somebody got an idea instead of what the idea is. It didn’t make for good conversation so I didn’t talk much.

My mother often told me I had too many feelings. Sometimes an hour later she would say I think too much. She was right, but that didn't make it any less confusing. I remember once in fifth grade I was going to write to Ann Landers about it.

Dear Ann, My mom says I cry at the drop of a hat. My brother says I turn on the tears like a faucet. What’s wrong with me?

But in the middle of it I wondered whether it would make the paper and whether my mom who read Ann Landers everyday would recognize me—I decided probably not. Then I got thinking about how maybe I should tell Ann how much I wanted a puppy for my birthday instead. I found myself caught in this major decision loop and gave up the project entirely. I really am not like other folks. Normal people just don't connect up thoughts that way.

Somewhere around eighth grade, I realized what the problem was. I came from another planet and no one had let me in on the secret. Except unlike Superman, I didn’t get any special powers with my alien status. I only got weirdness like a penchant for brown kneesocks and obliviousness to anything cool or appropriate to a kid my age. I didn’t even know you were supposed to want to fit in with the other kids that’s how out of this world I was—my genes were purely alien.

Since then I’ve managed to pick up the language and a bit of the culture. You get that if you live in a place long enough. If people don’t look too hard I pass as a normal person with a normal person’s attributes. It's easier now that I accept that I’m from an alien planet.

I used to dream that on my own planet my feelings and thinking were Goldilocks’ “just right,” that an incredible rainbow would come down from the sky whenever I had a bad hair day or wore the wrong outfit to school. Oh yeah and being oblivious and wearing brown knee socks are both incredibly cool on my real home planet. If you came to visit, you'd see that lots of things that seem sort of strange and out of context here fit in like tailored gloves. It's a reverse Superman story. I have magic powers when I finally get back to my own planet—the place where there are people who are like me, people who wear their feelings on one sleeve and their thinking on the other.

Maybe that’s why I like going to Australia and to Europe, they can’t tell which parts of me are alien and which are just American. So they just take the whole package in stride and figure that's who I am and let me be.

I hope one day to visit my real home on my real planet. On second thought, maybe not. What if they think I’m slightly skewed there too?

It would be crushing to feel like an alien among aliens of my own kind.

I guess this world is stuck with me. The same way I’m stuck with me. We have that in common. We’ve made it work this long. I can’t see why we can’t keep it going. There’re rainbows here too, after all.

Okay, I’m from this planet. I’m just not your usual specimen.

I have too many feelings, and I think too much.

—me strauss Letting me be

NFTV: The Texas Map Mystery

When my son went to first grade I waited three weeks, then I met with his teacher. She was a fabulous lady and perfect for him. I brought her some books so that he might be a person in a classroom of kids, but the gesture wasn’t needed. I saw as soon as I met her, he already was. We spoke a short time—the usual mother and teacher stuff. Then the conversation began.

It was always hard for me, being an educator with such a brilliant child, to talk to teachers about my son. I was ready for them to say Of course you think that, you’re his mother. That was the reason I always waited at least three weeks before I met with them. I wanted them to have time to find out for themselves.

When the small talk was out the way, I said, “I think there is something you might not know about my son.”

“Yes,” Ms. C. said.

“He’s been reading since he was 2 and a half, and I don’t think he wants you to know.”

“He’s done a good job of keeping his secret,” she smiled. “I didn’t know.”

“I kind of figured that when he was bringing home ABC books from the library, when he’s reading the Doubleday Children’s Atlas at home. He doesn’t like people noticing him. ”

“I understand,” Ms. C. said. “Tell me everything I should know.”

So I did. We talked for about an hour. I told her about his fascination with maps, and countries, and states. How he’d papered his room with maps of the world. I said if she ever needed a geography teacher, she had one right there sitting in the third row. She made a point of writing that down.

From that day forward doing free time, my son was allowed to use the overhead projector to draw maps. Soon he had a small group of boys who made maps too. They called themselves the Map Club of First Grade. Unknown to me they cajoled their parents into buying them copies of a then available Road Atlas for kids, a small softcover book, so that they could play school at school.

I found out all about this when the there was a fair at school. The mother of one son in the Map Club joined me to talked by the punch bowl.

She said, “My son is in your child’s Map Club and he loves it. He pours over that map book every night." She went on to describe maps all over their house and map questions day and night. "But I do wonder about one thing," she said. "We live in Texas and he’s always drawing Alabama. Can you tell me why?”

Boy was I glad I wasn’t about to take a drink of my punch just then. Sure I knew why.

“Oh that’s easy to explain. Alabama is the first state alphabetically. With my son in charge, they won’t get to Texas until somewhere around Grade 3. Tell your son it’s okay to skip ahead.” Shortly after we parted company. She had the information she had come for. I had my story to tell.

Oh that child of mine and his letters . . .

Some things in life change and change. Some things always will be.

—me strauss Letting me be

Bother

Bother 1.to annoy, worry, perplex
Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary 7th edition

There are days that
I refuse to let people bother me

And so I pass my time
Involved in more constructive things
I sew
I sleep
I write endless letters to people I hardly know
I try to read books or magazines
or even yesterday’s newspaper
I make myself a sandwich
And then I find myself
—annoyed, because I want to hear an explanation
—worried because there may not be one
—and perplexed because I really don’t understand what’s going on

And still I sit
refusing to let people bother me.

That was Webster's 7th edition. Now I think they're up to 10 or 11.
I no longer get that bothered. These days we have medicine.
When I feel bothered now, I get involved in something incredibly productive, or I go take a nap.
Getting older does have payoffs. Not getting so bothered is one of them.

—me strauss Letting me be