I have very few friends who

understand me as well and tolerate me as patiently as does Florence, my former neighbor. Within ten minutes of walking into her kitchen for an overnight visit, I asked, "Would you mind if I take a few pictures of your garden before lunch?"

"Of course not!"

And so I did.

I do love tulips, but I love Florence so much more.

Morning!

Glorious!

I can always count on F for beautiful flowers, great overnights, and lasting friendship.

Slow Travel

Florence takes Prince (ailing) and me on a golf-cart tour of the B. B. Park, downtown (with stops for snaps), and Billy's tree-crushed house, before returning to the prettiest garden I know.

Travel should always be like this: slow, in the company of a loved pet, and guided by a good friend.

Bell Buckle Arrival

At my friend's gate, morning glories, starting to close. Inside, I greet her, apologize, take the camera from the bag, head back outside.

Happily, she is used to me by now.

The pleasures of her company are many.

Reprieve

through another's
windows elsewhere
blinded and curtained
faint light
darkness
welcome silence

Sacred Hearts

I
On Highway 41, a bit more than halfway down to Valley Home, a spring bursts out of the mountain, water flowing though PCV pipe for anyone who wishes to fill a jar. Above, on the private property (so posted), stands a statue of Jesus.

I like to think of him as the Sacred-Heart-of-Jesus-of-the-Woods.

II
I confess that I do not "know" Jesus, as I have not taken him for my personal savior, although I was christened as a baby and can be assured that "nothing can separate [me] from God's love in Christ."

III
Today, during my visit with her, my friend F choked up when telling me about the young father at J's memorial who said, "I want to be the kind of father he was." 

He has given himself a tall order: J's heart was open to all, regardless of belief, background, barrier. 

I miss him, and I count myself "blessed" to have known him.

And the Cat Came Back

10:07am Email (from F in Bell Buckle)
"Robley...a delay...12?

"I accidentally let the kitty out and we have been trying to find her...my very bad!

"A had invested a lot in that kitty already."

11:25am Skype (from Sewanee)

"Hey, babe!"

"F," I said, "If I'm to get there on time, I need to leave now."

"We're leaving now, too!"

12:35pm Cell Call (Cracker Barrel parking lot, Manchester)

"Flo here! Leave a message!"

"I don't have your cell number, but I've been here since noon. We talked an hour ago. Where are you? I'll wait another ten minutes and then leave. I'm guessing something must have happened since we spoke!"

12:45pm Conversation (Cracker Barrel parking lot, Manchester)

"Sorry! We drove to Tullahoma!" A said.

"We always meet there for the movies," F said, "so I just said, 'Go that way!'"

1 - 2:30pm Chat (over lunch in Manchester)

"How did the cat get out," I asked.

A answered: "I came downstairs, and Mom had all the chairs up on the table, the floor stripped, and she was bent over mopping, the TV on at stadium level, and the door outside wide open. She had been blowing the leaves with the loud thing, too."

"And the cat just ran out!" F added.

"So I went out in my nightgown, coffee cup in hand, and went over to the fence next to the church, calling , "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!'" A said. "Can you imagine what people thought?"

"Nothing," I said, "it's Bell Buckle."

Blustery Sunday! Eating lunch with Robley Hood in Manchester

7:57pm Email from A

Subject: Look who came back . . .

Text: this cat came to the door and wanted inside.

9:30pm Facebook

A's post: I think this kitty is getting real comfortable around here. In two days, she will be just as comfortable in Manhattan, Kansas.

10:37pm Home

So pleased that the lost ones all found their way today.

Kitty Karma

The day after Jere died, a young cat popped her head up out of a floor vent in the kitchen (the hub of the house). Jere hated cats, and he probably would have done what his family did: push the cat back down the vent.

However, the cat came back.

When she popped up again, Florence and her daughters let the cat stay. A granddaughter in vet school has already found a family for the kitty, who will travel back to Nebraska in the family car.

Florence laughs and says that "It's Jere's spirit come back!" 

I'd like to think she's right: he was wide of spirit with respect to every living thing but one. It would serve him right!

Celebration of Life

My friend Jere died at midnight, not unexpectedly and peacefully, at last. Today, I have no words but these, which I have previously published in this blog.

End-of-Summer Blooms
September 15, 2008

This afternoon, I visited my friend Florence, who with her husband grows magical flowers. When I pulled onto the gravel driveway, I was struck by the clematis weighing down the arched gateway into a nearly forgotten garden where zinnias bloom nearly shoulder-high, a small rabbit snoozed, grape tomatoes ripen, and a dog and cat lie buried next to a sundial. It's one of several vignettes, as Jere describes the different gardens composing their yard. It's a place of life, and of death that renews life.

When my cat Grady (a nickname for her official name, Gray Drawers) dragged herself into my den and yowled one evening six years ago, I called my vet who agreed to meet me and then my friends who agreed to take me. Grady died in the car, mid-yowl. I had never before witnessed a dying animal's suffering , although I had been part of putting down another cat, Poor Pitiful Pearl. She, however, had purred as the vet administered her final dose.
Most upsetting was that I couldn't bury Grady the next day because I had to go to Chattanooga, two hours away, for the entire next day where I was to present two sessions at a teachers' conference. In my place, Florence and Jere conducted a private service, complete with a few words, singing, and flowers. They buried Grady near their beloved dog Buddy.

Their small kindness and their beautiful blooms serve as fitting memorials to our pets.


Friendship
November 7, 2009

Jere has rescued me many times.

During an especially bitter winter, in an old and drafty house, with a heating system involving gas and a tank totally foreign to me, I called him for help. He came, took the temp inside, hovering only a bit above freezing, investigated the tank, and announced there was no gas. He walked home across the street and came back, with space heaters and an invitation to come on over.

Another time, when a squirrel ran under my tires and I felt the thump of death, I called him, crying. I drove a block out of my way for a week just so I wouldn't see the corpse between our houses. I hadn't needed to make my detour. Jere had removed the squirrel immediately after I called.

He and his wife drove me to the vet one Sunday evening with my dying cat, comforted me when I sobbed, and buried her the next day in their garden because I had to leave town at 4:30 in the morning. They said a few words, sang a hymn, and placed flowers and a stone rabbit above her little body.

Just this past Saturday, he rescued me again when my car stopped on the Interstate, where I stood, nervously for an hour, before his arrival. He called a tow truck and gave me much-needed auto advice and let me rail and cry. He later said he knew I'd get over it.


This is Jere the next morning, enjoying his daily routine. His smile says it all. He's a mensch.

And I love him.

Overnight Visit
September 14, 2013

At one point during dinner, Florence interrupted me and said, "You're not a guest!" 

She made that Florence face, tilting her head down a bit and raising her eyebrows, the "locking look" of "you-hear-what-I'm-saying?" that requires no answer.

She continued, "You're family!"

In Florence and Jere's house, I sleep as I don't sleep in my own home: soundly, without tossing or turning, settled as naturally as the spider, who spent the night in this zinnia, waking as this spider did to sun and warmth, still ensconced in the comforts of home.

I am grateful for them, and for my having found them in a strange place at a strange time in my life, and for their large generosity, and for their making me one of their own.


A Long Good Day,
February 18, 2014

I
Another night of vomiting and diarrhea for little Cleo meant no sleep for all three of us. Another visit to the vet, this time with a fever, a bit of dehydration, and the mystery of Cleo's unbalanced gut.

When my vet came into the exam room, she said, "What happened? You got a dud?"

I laughed, just as she knew I would.

"Let her spend the day," the doctor said. "I'll have a chance to run some diagnostics and observe her."

So I did.

II
Then I drove up to Bell Buckle to see my friends F and TJ. 

Home now from hospital and rehab, TJ holds court in his "command center" (the kitchen): birds outside, Prince the semi-poodle at his feet, his wife F busy cooking or cleaning or arranging the next visit or opening mail and paying the bills, his phone in his hand. 

Desmond Tutu said, "You don't choose your family." Well, OK, your birth family, maybe, but I've spent a lifetime choosing my families and they me in the places I have lived.

These two come closest to blood relatives. Even when they're having a hard time, they make me laugh and they enjoy a dog with a ball, sun on skin, and the gift of friendship.

III
It seems that Cleo had a negative reaction to the antibiotic prescribed for last week's bout with iffy digestion. She will eat a special diet for a couple of days, laced with probiotic.

This evening, both she and her sister Doodlebug snuggled for a good long time, one on my lap, one slung over my shoulder, happy to have the Human home and each other.

IV
Love.

For better or worse.

Day 7 of 40: Another Day That Changed My Life

I opened the door to flowers and behind them smiling faces. "We're your neighbors across the street. Come to supper tonight!" I did and by the time I left (late) I was -- Yes Jesus! as he likes to say -- fambly.

 

Birthdays

Some birthdays are definitely worth noting, my friend's for instance.

Today, the birds and the bees and the flowers join all who know Florence in wishing her health and happiness. May others give her as much joy as she lavishes on all who know her.

The Cardinal

Tennesseans from west to east had snow Sunday, some more than others. My friends Florence and Jere had about four inches some 30+ miles north, while I had about two.

When I woke, I wasn't surprised by the snow, but I was by the fog accompanying it and the impossibility of photographing it.


My friends Florence and Jere sent me a photograph later in the day far more beautiful, largely because they feed legions of birds just outside their kitchen window.Living in their garden all winter are at least five pairs of cardinals. Once, I saw dozens of pairs in their trees and grass, on feeders and stones, perching like satin bows.


If I were a bird, I'd be a cardinal, bringing much warmth and heart to a cold and bitter day.

At Home Elsewhere

It's strange, isn't it, to feel at home in someone else's house?

I've been lucky of late to have a second home in which good friends live. No matter when I arrive, they make me feel missed and welcome. Best of all, they don't vary their routine, truly making me feel like one of the family, as much a family member as my niece, Lady.











Thanks for a home away from home and for those who live there.

Italia

It's almost a week into January and I have finally replaced my 2008 kitchen calendar with a 2009 one. I didn't really want to (even though I like my new calendar), for one simple reason: 2008 featured breathtaking photographs of Tuscany, the location of the most beautiful landscapes I've ever witnessed with my own eyes.photo from Tuscany 2008 Calendar, published by Graphique de France

Twice in the false millennium year, I traveled to Florence, where my oldest brother lived and wrote while a visiting professor at Harvard's Villa i Tatti. With others in my family on the first trip and by myself on the second, I reveled in the unfolding vignettes of farm, ancient buildings and stone piazzas, olive groves and undulating hills, golden villas and purpling horizons.

At times, I find myself -- without reason -- revisiting Siena's glorious cathedral where cats lay on marble floors and where a fabulous grocery featured huge wheels of varieities of panforte in the front window. Other times, I am walking aimlessly through narrow streets spiraling around Florence's Duomo; chancing upon a small bookbindery and a pietra dure artist's studio and gallery; sitting on the terrace at the Villa Papiniana, drinking hot tea, eating McVitie's Digestive Biscuits with Nutella and clementines, and staring at Florence below with villas dotting the hillsides between.

I may, perhaps, never be able to return to Tuscany, but I will always hold it in my mind's eye and in the calendars I have kept.

Attenti al Gatto

The plaque on my porch reads, "Attenti al Gatto," or beware the cat. Purchased in San Gimignano as a gift for me by my oldest brother in 2000, the plaque is a reminder of Florence, where the family celebrated the false millennium. I will always remember

• the heavy pungency of hot bean soup, dry flakiness of pecorino romano, tearing crackle of crusted bread
  
• the biting slap of wind
  
• the smell of leather and glue inside Giulio Giannini e Figlio bookbinders and marblers across from the Pitti Palace
• the lingering buttery film of hot chocolate
• heavy wedges of pan forte, nutty and spicy and hard, the leftovers of which my sister-in-law and I fought to take home
• thundering fireworks spewing from the tower of the Palazzo Vecchio and from all up and down the Firenze valley
• the dignified avenue of cypress at the Villa i Tatti
• glorious art, everywhere glorious art, but especially on the plain walls at San Marco, where Fra Angelico's frescoes present theatrical silence forcing visitors to whisper and where my brother gave us a fascinating lecture (he's written a book about these frescoes) in the courtyard
  
• the laughter of a family in love with Italy and each other