Sunbeams Before the First Frost

On a yesterday decades ago I read a short story by Ray Bradbury "All Summer in One Day." It told the story of a girl, Margot, living on a planet where people had moved after nearly destroying planet earth. On this planet the sun only shined once every seven years, if they were lucky. 

"It had been raining for seven years; thousands upon thousands of days compounded and filled from one end to the other with rain, with the drum and gush of water, with the sweet crystal fall of showers and the concussion of storms so heavy they were tidal waves coming over the islands. A thousand forests had been crushed under the rain and grown up a thousand times to be crushed again. And this was the way life was forever on the planet Venus, and this was the schoolroom of the children of the rocket men and women who had come to a raining world to set up civilization and live out their lives."

"Margot stood apart from them, from these children who could never remember a time when there wasn't rain and rain and rain. They were all nine years old..." All Summer in One Day

That one short story has never left my soul. The blessing Bradbury gave me was to appreciate every day and every ray of sunshine I could absorb. Along with my love of the sun comes warmth, the cold hurts my bones.

The day before the frost, on this warm extended fall season in Oklahoma, I quietly sauntered, not a walking gait that I am accustomed to, around the neighborhood and found roses in bloom. Not just a rose but bushes as red as spring spreading across gardens prepared for winter's blast. 

The sunbeams pulled me along the sidewalks.  We go hand in hand, the sun and I. I hadn't planned to go far that day when my eyes fell on the yellow roses reaching out from under a tree limb to feel the sun on its petals. I knew how it felt, as the sun facing me warmed my bones. 

I smiled. Reaching downward I gently touched the soft petal, thanking it for this moment.  

Hiding in the corner of a home with an imposing driveway, my eyes were drawn to this Clematis in full climbing mode. The man who cares for his weedless perfectly lined and measured flowers was standing outside, like I, admiring the sun and bending backwards to stretch. I nodded and thanked him for always having flowers in bloom no matter the season and complimenting his Clematis. He beamed like a proud grandfather, "Isn't she gorgeous? I nearly killed her this spring when I cut her back nearly to ground level and now look at her. She's a true beauty queen." 

I asked to take a picture to share with others. He smiled and nodded yes, "I want to make sure my wife sees......" Just then his wife pulled in the driveway. As she stepped out of the car he hollered, "Honey, Honey, come over here, now please." She hesitated seeing me there and watching him pull out his cell phone and wave her over. 

"I want to take your picture beside the Clematis in bloom. She matches you favorite silk blouse." The wife smiled. I offered to take the picture of the two of them with their beauty queen, but he only focused on his lovely wife. I walked away as she walked towards her husband and his cell phone. Was her name Honey, or is it springtime for these love birds? I wondered. 

Impatiens

Another block over I spied a wall of Impatiens, hiding under the trees. By November they had filled in the entire space between trees and bushes. Did the people who live there ever see the beauty on that side of their house. I wanted to knock on their door and brag on their flowers....but I hesitated and moved on. 

I read through a winter as many Lisa See novels as I could. One of the quotes by Lady Tan in the novel Circle of Women has stayed with me:

     "Human life is like a sunbeam passing through a crack."

Shasta Daisies 

Even in a garden that didn't grow flowers, these daisies caught my attention like the sunbeams passing through a crack. I wonder if Lady Tan and her circle of women ever enjoyed a secret walk on a warm fall day before the first frost or were they held captive by their place in life never experiencing the beauty that springs out of season. 

For some of us it is easy to walk through life looking straight ahead, not glancing downward nor listening to the world flying by. I believe if we keep our eyes and ears open and pay attention to the fine details surrounding us, we can find inspiration, clear our minds of cobwebs and clutter, or find a hidden muse between the leaves. 

Butter Daises

Returning home my glorious freely seeded Butter Daises, that traveled from Hutchinson, Kansas to the clay soils of Oklahoma greeted me at our walkway. Thanks to the wind and the birds these tiny flowers grow wherever dropped. From early spring to the last very last day of fall these tiny yellow blossoms attract bees, birds, and people walking by. 

The last to shrivel and drop away are the Mexican Petunias that grow as tall as sunflowers in the meadow. From our kitchen table we enjoy their purple blooming essence from morning till night fall from June until the first frost. 

Some people prefer not to plant such an invasive flower, but others of us appreciate the gaps they fill with beauty. When they outgrow their boundaries I dig them up and find homes for them. They can handle extreme heat, high humidity, drought, and five inches of rainfall in one hour. Like me, they prefer full or partial sunlight. 

My mother would have loved this thought by St. Francis of Assisi--

 "A single sunbeam is enough to drive many shadows away."

and so is a flower in bloom....

Not a Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving Feast

Thank you Liz Russell Fugate for sharing your Tabletop Tuesday photos. 

Stories come in all shapes sizes and locations. The other day a friend shared a family funny story that put me in stitches. I thought we were the only family who had aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, in-laws and more who arrived on their own time clock. Otherwise, known as the family who arrives late, sometimes after the meal when they were the ones responsible for the appetizers. Yes, we learned that bacon wrapped jalapeno Poppers" tasted as good after dinner as before. 

Kari's story holds the "Really" trophy. It seems as though many of us have family members who are not cooks, in any way shape or form. In her case, the niece, who was happily married with three children who looked well fed and a husband who, too, enjoyed his meals. With the Thanksgiving meal out of the oven, the turnkey cut, and the food being spread on the table, the niece arrived who was to bring the sweet potato casserole. 

Thank you Liz Russell Fugate for sharing your lovely Tabletop Tuesday photos. 

A knock on the door, Kari saw the niece and family behind her  bursting through the front door and hallway, saying over and over, "I'm here. I'm here." All the while swinging a plastic bag of four large sweet potatoes fresh from the potato bin at the grocery store--not cooked, not peeled, not ready to eat in anyway, shape, or form. 

Needless, to say Kari's family did not eat sweet potato casserole that Thanksgiving. 

Ben's story. He laughed before he could even tell it, leaving those of us listening to laugh with him without knowing why. "I was ten years old the year I saw my ninety-eight pound mother take down my one- hundred and twenty-three pound black lab. 

She had baked two turkeys for her large family. One shoved to the back of the kitchen counter and the other near the ledge, too near the ledge. Mother turned her back and in that instant my lab grabbed the turkey and ran. Mother at the top of her voice screaming, "Drop! I said, Drop." The lab wasn't listening. She ran after him, tackled him in the living room in front of her family and wrestled him to the floor putting his head in a choke hold. I heard her growl, "I'm not eating this turkey but you are not either. Now drop."

The dog knew he'd been beat and to this day every living member of our family loves to retell that story. 

These stories came about as I told a friend last week that the parts for oven had not arrived, thus, the repair man could not fix our broken oven. It's not broken completely but it has a mind of its own when it comes to heating up. It might say that the temperature is at 350, when in reality it is sitting at 200. Most recently, it heated itself to 490 and as the food began to turn black and crisp I pulled it out of the oven. 

We are planning to smoke out meats on Wednesday, weather provided, and avoid the panic breakdown of one uncooked turnkey on Thanksgiving. 

Which reminds me of another story.

Bob invited us over for a Sunday meal after Thanksgiving to relax and reflect. We always enjoyed Bob's meals as they were quite tasty. Our job was simple...bring the wine. 

Thank you Liz Russell Fugate for sharing your Tabletop Tuesday photos. 

We arrived thirty minutes early for a drink or two, like our parents before us did. However, as we approached the kitchen there was a riot of words spewing from Bob's mouth. We stopped short of the kitchen and looked at his wife who was ready to break into hysterical laughter. 

"Can we fix someone a drink," I asked innocently. 

"Please do," smiled his wife. Stepping around Bob as he danced a devils jig, we filled four wine glasses and hoped he would settle down. 

The food was all arranged and nothing looked amiss. After a few quiet sips of wine Bob announced that we were having a vegetarian meal. We nodded our approval, looked to the table and his wife for directions when she burst out with the story. 

"Bobby forgot to turn the smoker on this morning. When he checked it before you arrived the pork lay there raw and bloody on the grill." 

Silence surrounded the table until one by one our eyes drifted to Bob, and suddenly we all gushed with laughter and snorts. 

The marinated pork tenderloin probably would have been delicious, IF ONLY. Throughout the meal, we could hear Bob muttering to himself. "I can't believe I did that." "Glad it wasn't Thanksgiving." "I can't believe I did that." 

If only he could understand how good his disaster made that rest of humanity feel about hysterical kitchen disasters. 

Confessions are good they say, and Ann's disaster proved that she had more patience for life than I had thought. 

Her large kitchen, dining, and den area could easily seat thirty people for Thanksgiving. With her husband in cooperate business, they often entertained large groups of salesmen and other representatives. Ann loved to cook.

Thank you Liz Russell Fugate for sharing your Tabletop Tuesday photos. 

About an hour before the guests and family were to arrive Ann turned on the garbage disposal to clean up, when suddenly it erupted like a pea green volcano gurgling potato skins and more.  My one word name for women like Ann would be "pluperfect." By my definition that means someone who walks with perfect posture, speaks with grammatically  correct English, sets the table perfectly, and knows exactly when to speak. 

At that moment, she recalls, yelling at her husband to get into the kitchen NOW. When Ed saw the sink, distress rose in his voice, "I can't fix that, not with company coming."

"Do something. Now." The perfect face and demure melted into tears. 

He went to the bathroom for the plunger, but first used the toilet and discovered that he needed the plunger in the bathroom and worse yet, how could he tell his wife that the plumbing was erupting all over the house. He wisely stepped in the bedroom, found the telephone book and called a local plumber. It took several calls before one could be located and willing to come out immediately on Thanksgiving day. 

As only a "pluperfect" woman could do, Ann greeted the plumber with all smiles as he walked in the front door with the guests. 

That Thanksgiving Ed prepared a special drink for the guests as they waited for the meal to be served. Ann and her daughters worked in the kitchen arranging the foods and last-minute items. The plumber went straight to work.

The Thanksgiving meal began a an hour late with warm turkey and dressing but no one gave notice. Desserts were served and the guests retired to various spaces in the house. 

Before evening the plumber finished and Ann, in her gracious manner, asked the plumber to stay and have a Thanksgiving meal at her table. 

Murphy Versus the Rains of November

 

I  am having a long boring day, and letyty says that some days are like that, even in Australia....whatever ? that means??

lettty laughed when she said it so,',',',',',' it must be good;

 look at the new lettters i am finding on the big keys;

;;;;;; this looks like my tail with a dot; i think i will use it instead of a black dot

I have black dots on my chest and bellly and that is where they belong, not on a piece of paper;;;;;;; these letters make me think that i am waggging my tail;;;;;;;

it is raining and i am not wagiging my tail====

I cannot go outside and chase the squirrrels out of my yard and we sure have tooo many of those long tailed varmits====

i played with my toys yester night when it rained //////

 I have been playing with my chews and my bouncy ballls and my bones! then lettty said NO MORE

jack says that i look pitiful but i do not look pitiful enough or he  wood take me for a walk>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

now i am having fun on this computer and letty is laughing;;;;;;

she says that i must really be bored to play on the key bored like this][ or look i can make a box [] 

I can make <><><><><><> a doggie lease

guess what????????

letty and jack have to drive somewhere and it is not raining, so i can go with them;;;;;;;

this is so much fun;;; look at me run,;,;,;,;,;,;,;,; splash splash

Now i am home and dry and happy

maybe the sun will come out tomorrow

BLAM letty hit some keys and i watched a girl named Annie sing this song that i LOVE 

 The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow

The Golf Gypsy, Will Rogers, and Clint Eastwood

Will Rogers is quoted as saying, 

  “I guess there is nothing that will get your mind off everything like golf. I have never been depressed enough to take up the game, but they say you get so sore at yourself you forget to hate your enemy.” 

Miami News Records 1931, February 8. 

Rogers had a chance to play golf when he landed his plane due to foggy conditions, in Miami, Oklahoma February 8, 1931.  I gather he'd rather talk to people than play such a frustrating game, even when George L. Coleman Jr.  came to his rescue.

George L. Coleman, Jr. wins Oklahoma State Am. 

Golf has been a frustrating and important part of my life since the day I learned to walk.  My father, the pro, drilled into my head that I should not expect to win if I did not practice. At seventy-six it hurts too much to practice like I know I should, so I am learning to adapt, to adjust, revamp, rethink and accept. Accept that this is my game. (Currently, I am not doing a very good job of that, meaning my game and my acceptance that I now shoot in the 90's.) 

/.Letty Stapp, 1954 Miami Golf and Country Club

This fall, I partnered with Donna to play in the WOGA CUP. It felt like my game faltered with every swing. I played as well as I could, my competitive spirit and ability to laugh did not let me down even when my tee shot on hole 14 hit a tree and came right back to the rough near the tee box, where Donna then had to hit it. Alternate shot means you had better play with someone understanding and who can laugh.  

"I could have spit I was so disappointed in my swing and inability to hit the golf ball more than 140 yards. It truly stunned my ego, which made me laugh to think that I had grown up to be just like the men who quit playing golf because they could no longer play to their great expectations."  Letty

My lower back continues to compress and twist as I age. The fall from the horse at age ten that first broke my tailbone, has been scarred over. Falls are nothing new to me, as I sought adventures across fences that were meant to keep children out. 

In my forties I fell on an ice-covered frozen asphalt road one winter's day when I was walking the dog. It took weeks of feeling bent and in agony to heal. It would take another fall on broken busted asphalt before I found physical therapy and at last some relief from back pain.  

The final blow may have been when I slid off "Stormy" the Buffalo. Luckily, James ran to my rescue and saved me from a broken back, but my tail bone felt too sore to sit on.  

Stormy the Bison, Sandy Springs Farms 

All of which reminds me that I have totally enjoyed my seventy-six years of living and have done my best to par-take in every adventure that has come my way. So, yes, I will go out all used up, but until I do, I still push and workout in hopes of swinging that golf club for one more time, one more month, one more year... 

Wait didn't I say earlier that I am learning to adapt? Yes, I am accepting that I cannot hit the ball as far as I would like, but I can hit my short irons straight down the middle without pain. Adapting and accepting take on many forms as we age. 

Clint Eastwood said, 

"You should never give up on your inner-self." 

Eastwood is ninety-four years old and has to deal with the inevitable aches and pains of age. He doesn't play as much as he used to, although he never stopped. Sometimes he indulges in a couple of holes, "just to take the ashes out of the embers and let the passion for the game crackle once again." 

**Clint Eastwood story

If and when the day comes that my back will no longer support a golf swing, I will turn to my inner child and find a way to playfully enjoy life.

 **footnote 9/28/24 I climbed into the pilot seat of a Boeing CH-47  Chinook ... and another  small plane at the Air Show. I laughed out loud at how difficult simple things had become, like sliding into a small pilot's seat or better yet figuring out how to climb out without falling all over myself. and bruising my legs.  The inner child is still there, but she is growing stiffer with the years.