MAYBE IN JUNE . . .

Lately I've been giving some thought to leaving Minnesota, at least in my dreams.  You see, last night I dreamed that we were about to be bombarded with another 21 inches of snow.  I woke up in a

 
panic.  Even my favorite meteorologist had called this "a horrific winter."  How could we possibly get another two feet of snow, on top of the 70 inches we had already, I wondered. It seemed ridiculous, but yet so real.  I called my friend Angela, who was in disbelief.  We had often commiserated on the test of a Minnesota winter, but I assured her, that however real it seemed, IT WAS ONLY A DREAM--we would be spared this time around!

Ah yes, winter--the season of endurance, frustration, natural beauty beyond compare, and squealing delight, as one witnesses children

 
rollicking in snow, totally oblivious to the subzero temperatures.  After 65 years of living in snow and cold, I shake my head, but admire their love of what many children think is the most wonderful season of all.  My granddaughter takes great pride in being one of those kids.

In summing up my varied feelings about winter, I discovered others who expressed their thoughts much more eloquently, and often with good humor.  Mae West was one of those:  "I used to be Snow White, but I drifted." Carl Reiner said it another way, "A lot of people like snow.  I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water."

And then there were those who wrote about snow and cold in a much more serious vein.  Samuel Taylor Coleridge was one of those:  "Advice is like snow--the softer it falls, the longer it dwells upon, and the deeper it sinks into the mind."  Langston Hughes put it another way--"Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go, Life is a barren field Frozen with snow."

Tonight as I walked gingerly across treacherous patches of ice, I thought of Yoko Ono's words about the seasons, and winter in particular: 

     "Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence.
     Summer passes and one remembers one's exuberance.
     Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence.
     Winter passes and one remembers one's PERSEVERENCE."

Realizing that another six weeks of snow and cold may yet be part of our landscape, I'm challenged to remember the words of Stephen Cosgrove: 

     "So when you're cold from the inside out
     And don't know what to do
     Remember love and friendship
     And warmth will come to you."
    

A CHANCE ENCOUNTER!

     Sometimes an unexpected whirlwind adventure comes knocking at your door in the form of an intriguing new friend, and you jump at the opportunity to meet.  Rarely do people look at me and expect bold initiatives.  I seem to have that "settled in, accept what life has to offer look."  But looks are deceiving.  The truth is often, that although I can do routine things as well as anyone, I yearn for a whole lot more.  So, when the opportunity presented itself to spend six days hanging out with a new friend I'd only met months before, I jumped at it.  As crazy as some of my friends might have thought me to be, although never expressed, I knew intuitively that it would be a wise and wonderful choice, and it was.  The laughs were never ending and the chats were priceless.  The poignant and humorous book shared and read out loud late at night and early in the morning was a new and gratifying experience.  It brought up thought-provoking discussions about life and choices we make. We read the last chapter on the morning of my friend's departure.
    
     From trips to the Mall of America, Minnehaha Falls, the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum, nature centers and beautiful parks, thrift stores, a boat ride on the St. Croix River, and a stroll down main street of a historic Minnesota town, it was one of the most treasured weeks of my life.  Of course I shouldn't forget to mention the "lost" factor.  At times I know my friend Sandy thought I was perpetually lost, and not just in direction--sometimes in focus as well.  Otherwise how could I explain a trip to a professional baseball game that never existed?  I had talked the week before about the Minnesota Twins playing Cleveland at Target Field during Sandy's visit.  Not even close!  Not only did the Twins game at Target Field not exist, but they were playing against the Yankees in New York.  How could that be?  I had even checked the paper for the time.  So sure I was!  So we ventured to downtown Minneapolis and found ourselves wondering how it could be so quiet if there was a Twins game.  Sandy figured it out, but I came around slowly, and a little too stubbornly.  They wouldn't postpone the game, I said.  It was a perfectly beautiful day.  Pulling into the ramp parking lot told a different story.  We could have parked anywhere we wanted since there were only three other cars visible. I was still in disbelief.  As we walked the short distance to the stadium, we couldn't stop laughing, wondering how this was truly happening.  But Sandy had already figured out that I was more than a little quirky, and definitely not as organized as she had once thought.  Real life meetings tell far more than online stories.  But there was more . . . As we looked at the empty stadium seats and former Twins stars, we spotted two ticket windows.  The one gentleman we noticed confirmed the obvious--there was no Twins game; they were in New York.  He must have thought we'd been drinking heavily because our laughter had reached a fever pitch, and all that time both of us were desperately in need of a bathroom.  Thankfully there was one still open on the premises.  Saved in one respect, at least.  On the way back to the car, Sandy found a bright red hat just lying aimlessly on the grass.  It matched her colorful shirt perfectly.  A nice, unexpected memento from an unexpectedly non-existent game.  The statues on the plaza of famous former Twins made inviting poses for the zany, mischievous friend from North Carolina.  Even Calvin Griffith, the former Twins owner, was pose-worthy.  At one point, Sandy, fully joking, said to me, "Lynda, you're going to owe me all day for this."  Knowing I could never live down the embarrassment, I decided to embrace that part of me that's sometimes hard to explain.  Luckily, Sandy took it all in stride and had plenty to tell when she returned home.  That story merits countless retelling.  We filled up the afternoon with trips to thrift stores and a fine Italian restaurant.  It was almost comforting to see that our waiter was also in the midst of an error-prone day, for which he offered numerous apologies.  He completely forgot my entrée and never bothered to check back with us after taking our order.  I didn't complain much, knowing that I had screwed up more than anyone that day. 

     And now it's all a wonderful, treasured memory of six delightful days with a newfound friend.  And that special friend sometimes reminds me that "life is an ever changing canvas."  We proved it that week.
    

THROUGH THE MAIL. . .

"Lynda, can you see the red in my face?" Those were the opening words in a letter from my longtime friend and pen pal Ellen. She went on to say, "I found your letter of April 2 that I thought I had answered. See, the mind does go first!"  Although I didn't write nearly as often as I would have liked, I truly looked forward to her letters, and she responded much more quickly than I did.  To this day, I have real regrets about that.

I was thinking about Ellen recently because it was near the time of her sudden death three years ago. I was on my way to a library with my grandchildren for a fun summer event, and picked up the mail as we were about to leave.  I saw that it came from Connecticut, but noticed that the handwriting was different from hers, which confused me.  When I opened it, I was heartbroken, and so was the person who wrote to me.  It was her husband of over four decades, telling me that she'd had a massive stroke and died a few weeks earlier.  I just stared at the letter and cried for several long minutes. She had always seemed very healthy and full of life, and then suddenly everything changed.  I couldn't believe that I would never hear from her again.  How quickly life sometimes changes, and how cruel and difficult it is to adapt.  I had a hard time focusing on my grandchildren's activity, but somehow I needed to.  I told them about the loss of my friend and they understood as well as they could. 

Now I want to share some thoughts about Ellen and what made her unique and memorable.  I saved all her letters over the last twenty plus years and re-read them once again.  How I wish I could go back and respond quicker and more fully to her letters, but I can't, so this is my tribute to her. 

Several years after we first started writing, my oldest son attended college in New Hampshire.  During that time my

former husband and I drove through Connecticut on our way to visit our son.  Twice we stopped at Ellen's home in Milford, Connecticut, which was right near Long Island Sound.  She loved showing us around, and when we were back home, she wrote to me:  "I'm so glad that we met, even if it was for just a little while.  I just felt as if I'd known you for years.  And we have--through the mail.  So pen pals really are valuable friendships.  I'm looking forward to hearing from you again.  Take care." Those kind words mean even more to me now.

Ellen was a quiet, reserved person with a wonderful sense of humor.  She was also incredibly kind, and always seemed to find the right words as I was going through my divorce.  She was always full of questions and curious about how I was getting through life, and I appreciated that. She was very curious about life in general.  And boy, did we 
share common interests!  She lived near New Haven, Ct., where my ancestors had first arrived in 1636.  She was very interested in genealogy, as was I, and offered to go to New Haven to gather more information about my family.  She loved history, and we often talked about famous people and places that fascinated us.  We also loved sending postcards back and forth, and I still have many beautiful ones of Connecticut.  I once sent her a postcard from 1926, and she was thrilled!

Ellen was an avid reader, and did something quite amazing to share her love of books.  She started the first and only volunteer library in Connecticut.  It still uses the old card catalogue system.  I can remember how she loved talking about the children's books and activities that the library had added. Although she had no children of her own, she enjoyed sharing her love of reading with the children at the library.  One day I'm going to go there, take some photos, and pay tribute to Ellen in my own way.  That small, wonderful library has now been named after her.  I cried when I read that, because somehow I knew that Ellen was smiling somewhere.

Ellen also had a passion for history, and was proud of being a member of the local historical society.  She often wrote about it and spent many hours helping organize different events.  She once told me about an incredible experience that she'd had at a historic home nearby, which had been empty since the 18th century.  It was owned by the local historical society.

Although she had no prior beliefs in ghosts or spirits, Ellen, following a day of cleaning on the second floor of that historic house, told me that one day she heard her name called, and there was no one around.  She also wrote that several times something brushed her hand when she started to close doors.  She said, "I looked all over for who it might be, but there was nobody in the house."  Other members of the historical society spoke of unusual experiences at that house as well. Ellen mentioned the experience several times in subsequent letters and was quite curious and perplexed.

I loved telling Ellen things about Minnesota since she had never been here.  And of course she shared many things about the state she loved--Connecticut.  In one letter she wrote, "Gee, is everyone in Minnesota "happy go lucky?  Send some of those people to Connecticut."  Perhaps I'd spoken a little too much about "Minnesota Nice," which isn't always true anymore.

In looking back over the letters Ellen wrote, she talked about someday wanting to give me a private tour of the houses in the area from the 17th and 18th century.  How I would have loved that, especially knowing that my ancestors, (the Tuttles), had lived in that area nearly four centuries ago.

Milford, the city where Ellen resided in Connecticut, is known as "The Small City with the Big Heart." That must be why Ellen lived there.  She had a huge heart and a curious mind, and I will always think of her, whether I'm passing through Connecticut or entering a library that she would have loved.  What a gift she was to many, and how fortunate I am to have known her!

LOOKING BACK, MOVING FORWARD!

This winter's often bitterly cold and snowy weather hasn't exactly inspired me to get out and go on long walks, or test my endurance levels, but yesterday (Super Bowl Sunday) was an unusually bright and beautiful day. So, bucking my own recent tradition of laying

 

low on weekends, I opted to check out some regional parks and trails.  What I discovered was a blend of unique and different and thoroughly enjoyable experiences.  Fish Lake Regional Park in Maple Grove, Minnesota is beautiful any time of year, but the recent seven inches of snow showed the splendor and elegance of winter that I often forget about.  It was also an important time to spend by myself, at my own pace, and think about the direction of my life.  I think of myself as an introvert, but I'm also one who believes in the value of solitude.  Thoreau once said, "I never found a companion that was so companionable as solitude."  Words that speak to my heart!

After I left Fish Lake Park, I wanted to continue my little adventure, so I headed to West Medicine Lake Park.  I had myself psyched up to follow the trail near the lake and beyond, but there was one minor problem.  The trail that I searched for didn't exist, because of huge snow drifts.  I would have been testing my leg strength and jumping ability, but my balance isn't quite what it used to be, so I imagined that I'd spend more time lying in snow banks, rather than walking alongside them.  I found plenty of humor in that thought, but left it at that.  Ironically, the large lake had plenty of paths, but these "roadways" were for cars and trucks traveling about on their way to fishing splendor.  And of course there were plenty of cross country skiers who seemed thrilled at the new batch of snow.  Reluctantly I left that area and moved on to French Park.

French Park had several hundred people who appeared to be euphoric about the recent and substantial new snow.  When I got out of the car, I discovered skiers everywhere.  I couldn't take my usual trail to the lake because it didn't exist, except for those who'd waited a long time for a superb skiing day like this. I felt a little left out, but if I'd truly been in shape, there were plenty of long trails that led to the lake.  As I said, MOVING FORWARD. . .that's my goal--to get in better shape and make that trek easily, instead of whimpering about it. 

What brought back memories for me was discovering a giant hill nearby, which was perfect for anyone who loves sledding.  That included children and adults on this day.  The joyful squeals could

 

 

be heard from hundreds of yards away.  It reminded me of my own childhood and how much fun it was growing up near a skating rink and going on sledding adventures with my friends and family.  I realize more than ever what treasured times those were.  Looking back, I'm grateful--for a glorious day like I'd just experienced, for rich memories of magical times over 50 years ago, and for LIFE itself. Gabrielle Roth once wrote, "It's really not that hard to stop and luxuriate in the joy and wonder of being.  Children do it all the time.  It's a natural human gift that should be at the heart of our lives."  Well said!

 

Me (on left), skating with my friends over 50 years ago--