Archive for the ‘Events and news’ Category
Cindy on August 22nd, 2010
“There’s nothing half so pleasant as coming home again.” — Margaret Elizabeth Sangster
Last Sunday, Doug and I drove across the state for a film shoot in Grand Rapids, then clocked nearly 60 hours of work, Monday through Friday. Totally pooped but satisfied with our “film fix,” we drove to our summer place in St. Joseph to meet our son and his girlfriend for a short-but-sweet visit yesterday.
This morning we returned to reality in Royal Oak: a huge pile of snail mail, lots of phone messages, a painfully slow computer, and two lonely pets who’d obviously missed us.
Being a homebody, I nearly wept at the sight of my own house and garden when we pulled into the driveway today. First thing I did was call my mom, then I started attacking that bottomless pile of mail…
I’m looking forward to sharing some reflections on our latest film adventure in my new “Sunday column” on August 29. This will launch my return to a regular blogging schedule. From now on, I will post a new column/essay every Sunday. I’ll also post occasional “midweek updates,” including news on writing workshops, conferences, and other special events I’m involved in. Until then, enjoy these final days of summer freedom! –CL
– Garden photo by Cindy La Ferle –
Cindy on August 15th, 2010
Ah summer, what power you have to make us suffer and like it.” — Russell Baker
I’m booked for a five-day gig as a background extra this week, so I’m rerunning a favorite end-of-summer column that ran in The Daily Tribune in 2004. Speaking of columns and summer breaks, I’ll resume blogging regularly at the end of this month. I’ve got some new pieces started already! Thanks for your patience this summer while I’ve taken time off. Readers of my old Sunday “Life Lines” column tell me they still miss those weekly columns in the newspaper. So I think Sunday is a fitting day to post new essays — and keep me on a deadline. Stay tuned…
The Lost Art of Loafing
The sad reality always hits us mid-August: Summer is on its way out the door. Taking inventory of what we’ve done since June, we realize how precious little time we’ve spent relaxing. Wasn’t there a song about “the lazy, hazy days” of summer?
For me, the first half of June exploded like a bottle rocket into thin air. When I wasn’t planning Nate’s graduation party, I was attending parties for other terrific kids. The whole season, in fact, ballooned with joyful events and ceremonies, including a couple of weddings, which is why it seems as if we’ve all been riding an emotional roller coaster non-stop.
Before summer packs up its beach bag and clears out for a new school term, I’d like to indulge in a few non-eventful pleasures. Many Europeans, for example, take the entire month of July or August as vacation time. While such a long holiday isn’t possible for industrious Americans, I’d like to borrow a shorter page from a Parisian friend. Joie de vivre isn’t complicated, she says, but you have to make time for it.
Here’s the plan.
*Guilt-free, I’m going to chill out for a week and remember how the words “summer” and “freedom” used to hang together when I was a kid.
*With or without a hammock, I’m going to watch more sunsets, spot fireflies, nap with my cats, and contemplate my world by moonlight.
*I’ll brush up on the names of wild birds and constellations.
*Instead of pulling weeds or pruning, I’ll sit back and admire what I’ve planted.
*With or without company coming, I’ll cut fresh flowers for the dinner table. At least once, I’ll steam corn on the grill and make lemonade from scratch.
*Heading for the beach with my family, I’ll hunt for Petoskey stones, skipping stones, beach glass, and perfect pieces of driftwood. Maybe I’ll organize a group to float downriver in tubes. Later, if I can stay awake, I’ll go for a midnight swim.
*If I can remember the right titles, I’ll rent videos of movie classics I haven’t watched in ages.
*Just for one afternoon, I’ll read a novel that has no redeeming social value while I sunbathe without fretting about skin cancer.
*I’ll ride my bike for an entire morning without checking my watch. After pedaling around a local park, I’ll rest under a thick canopy of trees and admire the view.
*Most of us schedule our lives too tightly, then rely on “nostalgic flashbacks” to appreciate blissful moments, says Veronique Vienne in The Art of the Moment: Simple Ways to Get the Most from Life (Clarkston Potter).
“As you embrace the here and now, don’t be surprised if you suddenly feel lucky – lucky to be blessed with a good mind, lucky to have friends who love you for who you are,” Vienne advises. “The ultimate gift of the moment is a deep sense of gratitude for simply being alive.”
It’s always fun to anticipate and celebrate the major milestones. But we need a break from “special” events, not to mention a reprieve from all the speeches about beginnings and endings. We need ordinary time.
Come September, I want to say good-bye to summer knowing that I’ve squeezed every last drop of its sweetness and savored it all. How about you? – CL
Cindy on August 11th, 2010
And that’s what this whole thing is all about. Calling home. Instinctively.” — Kelly Corrigan, The Middle Place
As much as I enjoy a good novel, my first love has always been the memoir. When a talented writer spins a life-altering experience into a heartfelt work of creative nonfiction, I usually can’t put it down. Kelly Corrigan’s The Middle Place is a fine example.
Corrigan was bathing her two little girls in the tub when she discovered a lump in her breast. From that moment on, her cozy family life started spinning off its axis, sending the 36-year old newspaper columnist on a heart-wrenching trip through cancer country.
Corrigan was still undergoing her treatment when she learned that her beloved father, who had just recovered from prostate cancer, was diagnosed with bladder cancer. With humor, courage, and insight, the author shows us what it means to find ourselves in “the middle place” — the rocky territory where we’re called to be a good daughter to our parents as well as a strong mother to our own kids.
Tomorrow (Thurs., Aug. 12), as part of my commitment to community service, I’ll be leading a book discussion on
The Middle Place for members of
Sharing & Caring, an educational support group for breast cancer patients, survivors, and their families. The group meets at
William Beaumont Hospital’s Rose Cancer Center in Royal Oak.
If you’re a breast cancer survivor (or a b/c survivor’s family member) who has read the book, you’re welcome to join us at Rose Cancer Center tomorrow at 2:00. Corrigan is scheduled to be the keynote speaker for Sharing & Caring’s annual Symposium this fall. Call 248-551-8585 for more information. — Cindy La Ferle
– In photo above: author Kelly Corrigan –
Cindy on August 4th, 2010
Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul.” — Samuel Ullman
My birthday rolled around again this week. As I do annually during the first week of August, I take stock of everything that’s happened over the past year. I ask myself where I’ve fallen short or succeeded — but mostly consider what I’ve learned along the way.
Smack in the middle of my fifties now, I’ve finally accepted my imperfections and my weird streak. It’s been a struggle, but I’m also at peace with the idea that not everyone on Earth is going to like me or my ideas. A woman whose political views I admire once pointed out that if everyone adores you, it’s likely that you don’t have a spine — or any opinions worth defending. I’d rather keep my spine and my opinions.
That said, I don’t ever want to stop growing, changing, and attempting to improve. With that in mind, here are a few things I want to keep working on in the coming year….
Curiosity. One of my favorite quotes from Ray Bradbury goes like this: “Life is trying things to see if they work.” Enthusiasm and curiosity demand a lot of energy — but they keep everyone young in spirit. I’m finding that it helps to hang around with creative people who take risks, seize their passions, try new things, and encourage others to do the same.
Patience. Growing up in the age of instant gratification, I have to keep reminding myself that waiting isn’t such a bad thing. Sometimes I need to chill. Anything worth its salt — including well-written articles, durable relationships, and a great marriage — takes a fair amount of time. And patience. The older I get, the more I appreciate the things I’ve earned through sheer perseverance. But I still need to learn to wait patiently for answers, and to keep the lid sealed on the slow cooker.
Being silly. When I’m at my lowest, it’s usually because I’ve started taking myself way too seriously. And I never cared much for humorless people who take themselves too seriously. I was lucky enough to be raised by a boatload of whimsical Scots who believed that acting silly — really silly — keeps you sane when nothing else makes sense. Now that I’m almost grown up, I know they were spot on.
Listening skills. I’m a talker and a teacher by nature. But as I mature, I hope to become a more accomplished listener and thoughtful conversationalist. My biggest pet peeve is other people who deliver self-absorbed monologues in social situations. I wish I had a dollar for every hour I’ve had to spend with tiresome folks who ramble on and on about their their own stuff — and never ask a single question about my stuff. My new rule of conversation: I must never leave a party, family gathering, lunch date, or interview without knowing at least three new things about the people with whom I’ve spent a few hours. No matter how well I think I know them.
Reality checks. One of my favorite scenes in The Wizard of Oz is when Toto pulls back the curtain and reveals the goofy old guy pretending to be Oz. I’m grateful for every opportunity that serves to zap false illusions and expose the naked emperor. As I age, I hope to have more of these opportunities. This year, I’ve been booked to work as an extra in several feature films and TV episodes. I’ve learned a lot about filmmaking — and human nature. I’ve learned, for instance, that Hollywood is synonymous with hard work, long hours, and sleep deprivation. I’ve met some of the nicest people behind the scenes, and also discovered that real movie stars aren’t quite as glamorous up close as they appear on film. Of course, I knew that all along, but wanted proof. Movie stars are (mostly) regular folks with a knack for high drama. I prefer to be a regular person without the high drama, and I’m ever so grateful I came to that conclusion in my own backyard.
Authenticity. I believe this is the highest quality anyone can aspire to. As surely as I continue to seek it out in other people and experiences, I must continue to nurture sincerity in myself, in everything I do.
Reading the fine print. I hope to live a healthy life, well into old age, and to die clutching a book in one hand and a real newspaper in the other. I appreciate the Internet and all its wonders, but there isn’t a blog or site in cyberspace that can top or replace the scent of fresh ink on paper, or the discovery of a wonderful novel at my favorite bookstore. This year I must, and will, continue to support the printed word by purchasing newspapers and books and magazines. The employment of many of my dearest (and most respected) friends depends on the endurance and triumph of the printed word. I believe that civilization itself depends on it too.
Appreciation. This has been a year of loss and worry, laced with many reminders to cherish and appreciate the people I love. My father-in-law died in June, and my mother’s health is in question. Meanwhile, a very dear friend is recovering from cancer surgery. Appreciation is the incomparable thrill I get each time I walk through my side door and am reminded of my day-to-day blessings. It’s the sense of comfort that washes over me when I hear my husband breathing next to me, or my son’s voice on the phone. Or when I flip through my address book and glance at the names of the good people I could easily call on for help any time of the day or night. I appreciate every single day and every friend I’m given, and I need to send a thank-you note to the Universe. I really do. — Cindy La Ferle
– Photo: “Crazy Science” by Doug La Ferle –
Cindy on August 1st, 2010
Every spirit builds itself a house, and beyond its house a world, and beyond its world a heaven.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson
Riding my bike on a beautiful day last week, I noticed very few kids playing outside. Made me a little sad. The following piece from my memoir, Writing Home, chronicles a late-summer memory of my son’s childhood. First published in the Christian Science Monitor, it still gives me that “end of the summer” feeling every time I reread it . . .
Summer Home
It began in June with a large cardboard box, just roomy enough to house my wiry eight-year-old son, Nate, and a scrap of old tweed carpeting.
“The fort,” as Nate dubbed it, was expanded throughout the summer to include several new rooms, each designed from salvaged appliance boxes of various shapes and sizes. By the time it was finished, the fort curled like a corrugated snake across the entire lawn. Other kids in our neighborhood added their own flourishes — round windows, paper awnings and banners, plastic pipes and tubes. (Whether these served functional or aesthetic purposes, only the children knew.)
By the end of July, Nate’s cardboard Xanadu had become something of a local landmark. It was such hot property, in fact, that you had to write your name on the official SIGN-UP SHEET to be admitted inside, a bit like the exclusive restaurants lining Main Street downtown. Since we live on a corner lot in a carefully maintained suburb, I worried that our neighbors would object to the ever-growing mountain of boxes in our yard. If you had no imagination and didn’t know you were looking at a playhouse, you might have guessed we were careless about storing our trash.
But no one complained. Other parents who had watched the fort’s progress were amazed to see that something as simple and economical as a stack of empty appliance boxes could keep so many children amused for so long. One afternoon, a local building contractor even stopped his truck to admire the fort’s design.
“Hey there, that’s quite a place!” he called out to Nate and his pals. “Are you renting space in your cardboard condo?” But the kids insisted they weren’t looking for more tenants.
“Every spirit builds itself a house, and beyond its house a world, and beyond its world a heaven,” wrote Ralph Waldo Emerson. We’re born with the desire to create a home, to build our own retreat. And while home can mean something different to everyone, the need for a sense of place is universally human. To a small boy, a discarded carton contains unlimited potential for a playhouse or a fortress of his own.
But to the homeless man who camps near the railroad tracks at the edge of our town, a cardboard box might be his only refuge.
Nate and I first spotted the shelter a few weeks after his fort was built. We were heading toward our favorite fast-food restaurant downtown, taking our time as we walked along a gravel service road flanking the railroad tracks. We noticed a crude assemblage of large boxes almost hidden behind a tangle of wild thistle and Queen Anne’s lace. Torn blankets and soiled clothing were strung on branches nearby; long sheets of blue plastic encircled the base of the boxes like small rivers. We agreed that the makeshift shelter looked remarkably like his cardboard fort back home.
“What’s all the plastic for, and why does the man live there instead of a real house?” he asked as we walked past the encampment. I explained that the homeless man probably used the plastic to keep the boxes dry when it rained. But I didn’t know how to explain the complexities of being homeless to a suburban second-grader who is tucked securely into bed on a full stomach every night.
Following a heat wave later that week, a powerful evening storm rolled in. It brewed so quickly that my husband and I didn’t have time to pull Nate’s fort into the garage. By morning it was scattered across the lawn. Even “the turret,” a sturdy refrigerator carton in its previous life, had toppled like an uprooted tree among the soggy ruins.
At first I was secretly relieved that we could finally dismantle all the boxes that had taken over our yard. But Nate was fighting tears as he tried to salvage parts of his handiwork, and I couldn’t help but feel his loss. Together we folded the sheets of rain-soaked cardboard and piled them near the trash in our garage.
Since then, school has started again. But we haven’t discarded a cardboard box without seriously considering its possibilities. And we often wonder about the homeless man who had set up camp near the railroad tracks. The last time we walked there, we noticed that his shelter, like Nate’s fort, had collapsed in the hard summer rain. – Cindy La Ferle
Last Sunday, Doug and I drove across the state for a film shoot in Grand Rapids, then clocked nearly 60 hours of work, Monday through Friday. Totally pooped but satisfied with our “film fix,” we drove to our summer place in St. Joseph to meet our son and his girlfriend for a short-but-sweet visit yesterday.
