Literally Letty is a collection of personal and original stories focused on touching each reader's life with stories from the heart. If you are looking for life stories and not the daily news or reality tv drama, then these are the stories and pictures you will enjoy.
I read this
gem, tucked among the words of Louise Penny in her novel The Beautiful
Mystery which takes place in a monastery in the wilderness of North Eastern Quebec, Canada:
“I hope we learn from it,” the abbot said turning to Inspector
Gamache, after the Chief Inspector had solved the mystery of a recent murder in the monastery
of the Saint-Gilbert-Entre-les-Loups. “What lesson will you learn?”
The abbot thought about it. “Do you know why our emblem is two
wolves intertwined?” Gamache replied with his theory, only to be corrected by
the abbot. “No, the emblem is from a native story of the Montagnais.”
“Don Clement relates it in his diaries. One of the elders told
him that when he was a boy his grandfather came to him one day and said he had
two wolves fighting inside of him. One was gray, the other black. The gray one
wanted his grandfather to be courageous, patient, and kind. The other, the
black one, wanted his grandfather to be fearful and cruel. This upset the boy
and he thought about it for a few days then returned to his grandfather. He
asked, ‘Grandfather, which of the wolves will win?’ “
The Old Man in the Tree, Dodgeville, Wisc.
The abbot smiled slightly. “Do
you know what his grandfather said?” The Inspector shook his head. “The one I feed,”
replied the abbot.
Gamache looked at the monastery; he’d mistranslated the emblem.
Not Saint Gilbert among the wolves, but between them. In that place of
perpetual choice. (chapter. 34)
Inspector Gamache, I pondered this story then smiled. This is why I enjoy Louise Penny’s books so
much. Many of her explanations are lines from poetry, mythology, Bible,
folklore, and literature. She asks her readers to think about the problem, the
mystery, or an aspect of life that the characters must also deal with. As Inspector Gamache knows, each of us deals with
myself thinking ahead to choices I need to make and then smiled. There’s something about giving a
situation a story that makes it easier for me to solve and think through. I can see
more clearly what I’m feeding and what I’m denying. Perspective and choice! So many ways to relate to this story.
During the week of making funeral arrangements and preparing for family visits, I couldn't sleep much. One night, however, the noises of the house stole the hours of sleep from me.
Tossing from one side to the next, my body tired and wrinkled from near exhaustion and heartache, I could hear a nearly pulsating sound, like a fart! I questioned my mind and body. Was I so tired that my own body was giving out on me?? One more worry to add to the ever present aging process.
Now, if my father had 'tooted' he would have blamed the dog, immediately pointing to Ticky or Tootles. As a child I laughed at Dad's tricks, and then watched the poor dog hang his head in humiliation. Of course, my father, being a trickster, owned a hand held rubber tube that fit in his pocket. On ladies day or for golf tournaments, Dad would put the fart ball, as we called it, in his pocket and casually walk by golfers and squeeze his toy in the middle of some one's back swing. No matter what type of fart he made, the long slow "toot toot buzzz......" or the pronounced "Toot" without odor, the victim tucked his or her body in embarrassment, then followed that move by outrage or laughter when the group figured out what had happened.
Shifting in sleep mode I once again heard the squeezing
sound of a fart. With one eye opened I rolled to the side of the bed and sniffed. The air was clean. The dog could not be blamed. Now I rolled closer to Jack, so as to rub his shoulder the next time he farted! Not Jack! The early morning hours arrived and I heard the fuzzy vibration. In sledge hammer mode I arose and walked around the bedroom searching for some unknown fart machine or dying animal. At last when sunlight flooded the house, and my awareness returned I heard and saw the noise. There on my dresser lay my Fitbit with notifications ON! With each notification or reminder
to get up and move the Fitbit quietly buzzed, but the fart noise came when it actually vibrated on the dresser top. My emotions ranged from laughter to anger at my loss of sleep, but the mystery was solved, and my dad would have laughed. FOOTNOTE: For those who wear Fitbits to help motivate or count steps, I must say I've learned a new trick. After complaining week after week that I must surely walk more than it counts, I discovered that it truly counts steps when I attach it to my tennis shoe laces and walk. Then my steps each count, when walking through stores with a basket being pushed or on the treadmill when I'm resting my arms at the sides instead of swinging them.