Image of Elmo 

    

    

Where was Elmo going?

    Elmo was a long way from Sesame Street when I saw him rolling by on top of a pink suitcase boarding my plane. His head bobbed, his arms wrapped with bungee cords to the suitcase handles, and his long legs dangled along, making for an odd sight.

    This celebrity Muppet known for his contagious chuckle seemed subdued. His bright eyes looked     dull. His cardinal red fur coat, once thick and fluffy, appeared faded and thinning.

    Too many hugs? Or was he weary and ready to return home? I didn’t ask.

    A young wisp of a girl pulled the suitcase. She wore a shiny smile and her shiny blonde hair pulled    back in a ponytail. She trailed behind two adults looking or their seats.

    Elmo’s traveling companion carried herself with an air of confidence, which made me think wonder her age. Elmo, her constant companion, likely knows her age and her dreams.

    Many adults might consider Elmo a perfect travel partner because he doesn’t get hungry, tired, or mad. Plus, he can go anywhere without a passport. 

   I wondered how many places Elmo had wandered, and if today he was going home like me.

Won’t you be my neighbor? 

         Fred Rogers, a role model of kindness, was the celebrity of my childhood. Although I lost my autographed fan photo, I have kept many memories of Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood, which first aired out of WQED-TV in Pittsburgh. 

        His long-running program offered guidance for children. Rogers wanted to help children “feel accepted.” He addressed their questions, concerns, and fears through his puppet plays, interviews with  songs. Rogers considered himself a musician and held a degree in music composition. He wrote the  melodies and lyrics for 200 songs. (I can still sing some of the catchy tunes today.)

          I have a surprise guest blogger today whose inspiration comes from the multi-talented Mr. Rogers.                     What follows is a piece written by my mother that first appeared in the Court Street Methodist newsletter. I have her permission to share it with you. 

        Words from one of Mr. Rogers’ song: “Sometimes people are good and do just what they should, and the very same people who are good sometimes are the very same people who are bad sometimes. It’s funny but it’s true.” “It’s the same for us. There is a scripture verse that expresses our constant struggle between right and wrong.

        When I want to do right, I sometimes do wrong. Of course, none of us are perfect. All have sinned and fallen short. All are in need of foregiveness. So we need to have tolerance for those who may be in need of forgiveness and also  have patience with ourselves as we struggle to do what is right. 

         We are not all good or all bad, but a mixture of both, and will always struggle with good and evil. So I wish you God’s help and blessings in your daily struggles with good and evil, and right and wrong, and love and hate. 

            Let love prevail in your life. 

Footnote: For further reading, check out “I’m Proud of You,” by Tim Madigan. It’s an account of  the author’s friendship with Fred Rogers. This unlikely friendship blossomed after Madigan profiled Rogers for the Star-Telegram. 

 

 

    Do you know your local librarian?

     Last week, while wandering around the library in the children’s section, I met a former school librarian who worked in my township library.

    “Do you have questions?” she said. Her eyes lit up. She recommended several series of books, sprinting to and from the shelves, with me tagging behind her. Her knowledge was impressive.

    “Children’s books are for all ages,” she said, explaining why they didn’t separate out books aimed at ages 1-4 from those geared for ages 4-8.

    “Sometimes students [who could read] asked me to read books to them,” the librarian said. She knew her students were trying to avoid listening to the lesson that day. But she’d read to them, anyway.

    While I was sitting at the low table, stacks of plastic covered books in front of me, I heard a woman’s low, gentle voice reading aloud. Moments later, that woman asked me if I would watch her kids while she went to the restroom. I must have looked puzzled because they weren’t with her.

    “They’re wearing the green shirts. I’ll be right back,” she said, pointing at the all gender restroom door.

    I agreed, happy that I looked like a trustworthy human to this stranger. No stranger would leave their kids unattended in a park, but a library is safer place. Then, the next moment, I felt anxious, unable to concentrate on my book—one geared at 4-8-year-olds. Egads, what if these children ran out the back door? Where is the back door? I planned to stand up and look at the kids behind me, but she emerged from the door, thanked me, and walked back to the reading area with comfortable couches.

    I walked by the three later, a boy and a girl wearing Kelly green shirts, seated on each side of their adult caretaker, maybe? their grandmother. These kids weren’t squirming or looking bored—nope — they had their eyes on the pages following along.

    An hour later, when I checked out my books, my new friend, the librarian, gave me a come-back-again smile. She also offered that their children’s librarian was also available too.

    “You’ll get more comfortable each time you visit the section,” she said.

    Recently, I visited the post office and received unsolicited help from the clerk whose trained eye zoned in on my two brown envelopes holding my passport renewal materials. She told me it was safer and cheaper to use one envelope instead of two. When I agreed, she pulled out the forms and examined them. She got to work—reviewing the content, stapling another corner of my photo, and adding info on the check.

    How did I miss that? In a matter-of-fact way, she admitted the government issued instructions weren’t as clear as they should be. Then she continued correcting the missing information that could delay our passports. Surprisingly, she didn’t make me feel embarrassed. She didn’t scold me, instead she smiled. She told me I should see my new passport in six weeks, maybe sooner.

    It’s always worrisome to mail anything, especially a passport. However, my friendly, efficient, passport certified clerk was terrific. I practically skipped out of the post office, glad that she was on duty that day.

 

Where will you be during the eclipse?

This year’s eclipse has wider appeal than its predecessor in 2017 because its path covers populated areas allowing more than 31 million to experience the event.

    During the last eclipse, I stood on the sidewalk with about 60 colleagues, put on those funky special glasses, and gazed upward. I witnessed this eerie event. For me, it was reverent experience and one I knew I’d always remember, albeit a brief interlude from a busy work day.  

 I lived in Cleveland then, and the last time I stood in a crowd was watching a manmade marvel the year before. It felt like the whole city came out to celebrate this rare occurrence that had last occurred 52 years ago – the Cleveland Cavaliers won the championship series defeating the Golden State Warriors. The Cavaliers delivered a win, and the city kept their promise to host a parade. Packed streets, noisy crowds, and a long, slow procession filled with impromptu speeches was memorable. Everyone was "All in," to quote the fans' mantra to celebration. 

    But I had a more meaningful experience standing with the small, quiet group who spent less than 15 minutes outside observing nature. I don’t even want to consider a contest between natural events and sporting events. ( I hope we have an innate love for our natural world.)

    I have always been awed by celestial events, whether it’s a falling star or a meteorite shower. Because I have trouble staying up late enough to enjoy a meteorite shower, I was thrilled that there was a comet visible during daylight hours. Enter Hale-Bopp. Hale-Bopp was an extraordinary and friendly comet greeting me each morning during its short stay in 1997.

Wherever you are next week for the eclipse wear those special glasses and bring your sense of wonder.

 

 

Image of a yellow pickleball 

Pickleball anyone?

    Nearly 5 million people play pickleball. It's a mashup of a game: badminton, ping-pong, and 
tennis. Players use a small paddle and a hard
plastic wiffle-like plastic ball.

    This popular game with the weird name was invented in 1965, according to my research.
Where'd the name come from? Take your pick of two stories. Pickleball, which combined several sports, was akin to the pickle boat in crew where the oarsmen were picked from extra crew members from other boats. Or, the quirky name came from the inventor's family dog Pickles. 

    Recently, I met an avid tennis and pickleball player. (I’m not sure if it’s as rare as having seen a red-footed dodo bird, but pretty close.) I also play both racquet sports, and our fast-paced conversation was like ping-pong but nobody was keeping score.  

    In high school, I played on the girls’ junior varsity team. In fact, I didn’t really want to advance to varsity level because that’s when everything became more cutthroat. Friends are friends on and off the competitive court in my book.

    That said, I’m not a tennis purist whose afraid pickleball might ruin my serve. So, when several friends raved about this racquet sport, I wanted to learn how to play.  I was also fortunate to find  friends willing to teach me to play. (Thank you Kay!) Unlike tennis, it's been easier to find someone to play a pick-up pickleball game. 

    My top reasons to try pickleball.

·             It’s accessible. Pickleball is cheap compared to other games like golf. All one needs is a racquet, decent court shoes, and balls. The plastic balls (one design for indoor, the other for outdoor play) can take a beating longer than tennis balls, which lose their bounce after a couple hours of court time.

·             It’s social. One can opt to play singles or doubles. Despite the shorter court, doubles is doable. Personally, I like to team up with another player. And the chances of getting hurt by your partner’s fast serve is slim. Tennis balls sting, trust me. Pickleballs, not so much.

·             Age doesn’t matter. Young or old, all age can play.

·S    Serving is simple, and there are two acceptable ways to serve. Drop the ball and plunk it over the net, or toss the ball in the air and hit it, like tennis.  

·         One can play year around on indoor or outdoor courts.

·         It’s fun to shout, “Get out of the kitchen,” at your partner. Don’t be discouraged by the quirky nicknames. Just embrace it. Yes, there are rules, lots of rules. I downloaded 80 pages. But the best way to learn is to get out at play!

·         Finally, it’s fun! 

Featuring: Tales from the trail 

Sparkle on a fence. 

What will I discover on my walk? 

    Every day, the trail holds many surprises and here I tell the tale of innocent smiling Sparkle whom I met on the trail. The ending is for you to imagine.    

    LOST: Queen’s unicorn, last seen prancing atop a rainbow. Answers to Sparkle. Adores carrots or marshmallows. Reward offered if returned unharmed.   

    Magical unicorn looking for a loving home. Must love purple, pink, and  sparkles. Children who give big hugs and read fun stories every night will
be eligible to adopt. 

    WANTED: Two human fugitives (an adult and child) escaping from kingdom on bikes. Child had purple backpack with Sparkle held captive. Do not attempt to engage with these humans. Summon the Kingdom's Guards.  

    Mythical kind creature seeking immediate medical treatment. Sewing experience required.

    HOMELESS: Will grant wishes for stable home life and steady employment. All subjects whose wealth comes from wisdom rather than riches will receive top consideration.     

    Ms. Purple Prancy desires delightful company. Knows how to frolic in fields. Only discrete adults considered.

     

 

   

 

  

 My First Stamp Album 

 In today’s era of e-mail, why do I care about postage stamps?

    I still relish receiving real mail with decorative stamps. Yet, I see far too many forever flag stamps (always in style) proudly waving and promptly ignored by the recipient because it’s a bill or junk mail. Surprise me and send me envelopes carrying miniature pieces of art, picturesque waterfalls, and     portraits of real-life heroes like the notorious RBG.

    Stamps reflect what we as Americans value—our heroes, artists, writers, athletics, and landscapes. Our history. Our integrity. Our innovation.

    In fact, the USPS stamp program suggests stamp subjects should “celebrate the American experience” but only positive experiences, please.

 People of all backgrounds and professions make ideal stamp subjects such as Willa Cather, Louisa May Alcott, John Muir, Langston Hughes, Sally Ride, and Harry S. Truman (I’m a writer and poet from the Show Me State.) Candidates for stamps are eligible three years after their death. On the upside, the person lives forever once they are on a stamp.  

    I am curious about who decides what goes on our stamps. According to the USPS, there is a stamp selection committee that votes on the subjects submitted. How tough is the competition? (The Post Office issues around 35 stamps each year.) What would those committee member debates sound like?

   "We must focus on threatened species this year.”

    “Gray fox?”

     “Humboldt penguin?”

    “What about the manatees?”  

    Well, I’ll let you imagine the topics and the time.

    The average person will never know because the committee meetings are secret. Guidelines and goals are in place to serve the public and the collector.    

    Which brings me to why I started thinking about stamps. I found my stamp collection books.  The earliest one features my 10-year-old handwriting on faded construction paper with red, white, and blue sparkly star stickers. Open it up to find white-lined notepaper pages displaying cancelled stamps from around the world: Ghana, Malaysia, Peru, Indonesia, Italy, and the Netherlands. All these stamps were so exotic.     

    Beside the books, I pick up a stack of thin, lightweight air-mail envelopes with German stamps. These are my cousin’s letters during her career as a musician playing French horn in a German orchestra.  

    So many stamps with stories. I am grateful my family supported my passion and obsession for stamps.  

    I was a nerdy kid who loved saving stamps and using a magnifying glass. Collecting stamps is a wholesome hobby judging by the cover of “My First Stamp Album” featuring a boy scout carrying a flag, a girl scout cadet, and a dog. I can also vouch that this activity is safer than roller skating, bike riding, or playing soft ball.  

    "Through stamps you can visit the courts of kings and queens, take a safari through the jungles of Africa, ..." claims the book. 

    My interest in stamps collecting is thanks to a family friend who worked for the post office – Mr. Oliver. He was an avid outdoorsman, a gardener, beekeeper, and Christmas tree farmer. (I still picture him tilling the garden with my father.)

    But Mr. Oliver’s influence is evident because I have three books full of stamps. Although I treasure them, they hold little value to a philatelist. According to my internet search, the pristine album is worth about $11. Real life isn’t like the movies.   

    One of my favorite movies is “Charade” with Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant. Why? Spoiler alert: Stamps have a surprisingly worthy role in this 1963 mystery.   

    As for the role of stamps in my life, it’s no mystery. I’ll keep using the latest stamps with the hope that the recipient receives my decorated letter and smiles.