Holy Spaces
They are the social centers of a small town–
our excuse to get together
for as long as is comfortable
for both of us.
We trade hellos or more,
all on our way to someplace else, eventually.
No one has to worry about anyone
leaving too soon or staying too late.
Bars, churches and post offices–
places to meet those
you’ve known for a lifetime.
Each a holy place in its own right.
Note: This is very hurried–more later! On the road again.
My camera conked out completely today so my sister insisted that we stop for me to buy a new one at Best Buys in Sioux Falls, SD. I snapped a few pix with my new Canon as we neared my home town of Murdo, South Dakota, where I was born and attended first through twelfth grade.
We made it!!! As this picture will prove:
I took more pictures when we met old friends in the Buffalo Bar and Restaurant. Others soon joined us and there was lots of laughter over old tales.
The salad table was much as it was fifty years ago—orange salad dressing and lots of choices to add to chopped up iceberg lettuce. Potato/hamburger soup, chicken fried steak and a chocolate creme de menthe sundae followed.
During dinner CJ, Patti and Loretta kept me entertained and I reciprocated…Nothing more satisfying than belly laugh after belly laugh. I needed this. Wish I could remember the stories. Perhaps tomorrow?
Afterwards, we retired to the bar again and Richard strolled in and joined us to regale us with more stories of moving two entire churches 45 miles down the wrong side of the Interstate to his 1880’s town outside of Murdo. I’d heard this story 4 years ago from another person’s perspective and although the story varied, it was funny and interesting both times. Then home to rest up for tomorrow’s drive and more visiting along the way. Some of these stories will make it into future blogs but for now sleep is called for.
Late Check-out
The camera battery left in its charger in a motel in St. Louis,
my batik sarong left gracing a hostel bed in Jakarta,
my only pair of shoes in Timor.
A pair of Levis in Singapore,
my diary in Tanjung Pinang,
my swimsuit in Sri Lanka.
I am lost all over the world,
and this is why, five minutes after
my sister has gone down to check out of the St. Paul hotel,
I am rechecking the beds and desk tops of our room.
My bag packed and zipped at the door,
my purse and computer case propped next to it,
I sift through soggy towels in the tub,
open the closet door once more
to rattle empty hangers,
check each plug socket on each wall.
The Prompt: Baggage Check–We all have past histories. When was the last time something from your past influenced a decision you made in the present?
Small Reunion
At the piano, the music chords easily.
The soprano’s voice slides smoothly from her throat
while we others strain until “Dear Heart” syrups our vocal chords
and we slip with less effort up and down the scale–
old friends singing even older songs.
The small dog snuggles in,
balancing on the plush chair back.
The mother of the pianist and the soprano
observes from her frame atop the piano.
All husbands out and about other business.
Old letters reread, old memories pulled from forgetfulness,
each of us left at the end richer–hearts refilled
from a shared past. Every word
a song of its own.
Our notes blending together
into perfect harmony.
Disclaimer: I obviously haven’t mastered the art of taking pictures with my cell phone, so these are terrible, but they do convey a bit of the action and mood, so I’m including them. Unfortunately, I had the camera on video during the entire singing session, so no photos…too bad.
With no time to wait for the prompt, please excuse this bit of sentimentality in lieu of following a prescribed theme today. I’m still in Minnesota. Yesterday we saw my older sister. Today we go for brunch with the childhood best friend of my sister–moved away from our small town over sixty years ago. Impossible.
Meeting an Old Friend
Sixty years since you lived one block away.
In one hour we meet for brunch and memories.
Really my sister’s friend,
but in small towns, so devoid of much else to do,
people still living and moved away
become legends.
Your mother the nightclub singer
with the distinctive whistle that called you home
from behind trees and low in ditches at night,
the rest of us still caught in the thrlll of “ditch ‘em”–
our version of hide-and-seek.
I was the tag-a-long, the watcher
to your games of Tarzan
and the neighborhood plays
raising nickel-after-nickel for a memorial plaque
for the small boy killed from a fall from the tallest slippery slide.
That slide gone soon after, the plaque never installed,
as you were gone to a larger town
and voice lessons translating your pure high voice
to the more studied operatic perfection
of a sweet bottom in a tight girdle.
Still a small town girl at heart
now, all these years later,
you pull our somewhat
off-tune unschooled
voices to you
over years
and miles
to sing
the
old
school
song.
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/nightmares/
Actually, as I am ready to walk out the door, today’s prompt to write about a nightmare came through. Since I published a picture and short write-up of my childhood nightmare two days ago, I guess that qualifies. You can read about it HERE. (Look for the picture of the bridge and the words below it.)
A poet and a chiropodist walk into a bar. What do they have in common?
When 5 people have guessed via comments, I’ll give the answer. Judy
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/fill-in-the-blank/
Yes, I took pictures the whole way today. And, my camera broke, so these are from my iPhone, which like the PC I was forced to learn how to use because of an equipment malfunction of my regular device. Fate has a hand in my education. Please click to enlarge these.
I was as drawn in by their love songs as they were! They brought me out of the house and into the street to try to find where the beautiful calls were coming from. (More)
https://sundaystills.wordpress.com/2015/05/24/sunday-stills-the-next-challenge-the-letter-l-3/
Six hundred miles in driving rain and fog! Needless to say, we were so relieved to roll into Sioux Falls after ten hours of hard driving. This is what it looked like for the first hour or so:
Actually, it was often worse than this…especially when trucks and cars passed, splashing a spray of water that totally covered our windshield and made it impossible to see.
Can you see the horse far up on the hillside? Patti insisted it was a sculpture. I insisted it was a tree. We argued for minutes. It was a tree! Wish it had been clearer and I’d gotten a better picture.
There are 97 more pictures culled down from 300 or more that I took, but it is nearly 11 and Patti is already in bed and I know I’m disturbing her, even though I’m sealed up in the bathroom trying to post, so I’m going to try to find a few more pictures to post and I’ll leave them uploading overnight…Perhaps I can post them in the morning before we have to take off again.
600 miles with no cruise control!!!
I took dozens of photos of the windshield. Finally gave up trying to pick my favorite. Just eenie meenie minie moe!!!
This old bridge over the Missouri River near Chamberlain, S.D., figures prominently in one of my recurrent childhood and teenage nightmares. In it, I am driving over the bridge when the section of roadway in front of me falls away. When I think about turning around, the one behind me falls away and I’m trapped. To my knowledge, I stopped having this dream when I left home, but I remembered it again for the first time when I was 30.
Pastoral with hay bales and cow. I augmented the color to reflect the color it would have been without the fog and mist.
I’m actually sitting in the motel bathroom posting. My sister is fast asleep and i should be also. The 90 other pictures that escaped the delete button will have to wait for another day of fame…It’s bed for me, then another 1/2 day of driving tomorrow before we reach St. Paul. I’ll catch up on my blog reading one day soon. Sweet dreams or Good Morning to thee!!!
Our reward for our hard day’s drive was pizza and wine and homemade beef jerky with friends Mick and Marilyn. Lots of stories of growing up in Murdo traded between Mick and Patti and me . Marilyn put up with us!!!
Music is a mirror, not a map. Looking in it we may see what we are and what we were, but looking at someone else’s song as a prediction of our own future is like looking in a fun house mirror and believing it is reality. All representations are a fun fiction–a hope, a faulty remembrance. If you want to know your future, just live it.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Mix Tape” –-Put together a musical playlist of songs that describe your life, including what you hope your future entails.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
