Archive for June, 2009

Art is a Verb: A My Town Monday Post

Debra and Stephen Bures's daughter performed at the Cleveland Museum of Art's Parade the Circle celebration.So there we were, driving up to Cleveland Saturday morning, hoping we’d find a parking spot. #2 daughter was already there; she’d been in Cleveland for a couple of days interning at the Cleveland Museum of Art. For 20 years, the 2nd Saturday of June has been devoted to the Parade the Circle celebration. If you’re thinking of politicos riding in old cars, waving and throwing bad candy to potential voters, you ain’t seen nothing!

Two thousand people joined in the celebration this year: musicians, dancers, stilt walkers, puppeteers, and just folks who came out to share in the magic that is Parade.   This is the first time I have actually seen the Parade; I have always been in it, usually sporting a giant puppet.  I was among about 70,000 other people who came out to celebrate the arts.

Parade the Circle is a living entity; it demonstrates that the arts transcend differences, and that they create connections between people who would otherwise probably never meet.

The creative energy is palpable, during the workshops that precede the event and before and during the celebration.  The photo shows #2 daughter performing at Parade. Take a look at at a video, imagine yourself there, and smile. I’ll post some more photos as I have time to edit them.


My Town Monday’s main man is Travis Erwin, who, this week, writes about a county in his home state of Texas, that bears his name. Take a trip on over there to see links for sites of bloggers who live all over the place.

Comments (14)

‘Tis the Season for Swimming

Comments (8)

Wordless Wednesday: Reflections

Comments (4)

My Town Monday: To Honor the Fathers and The Mothers

Saturday was the 65th anniversary of D-Day.  Many men and women on both sides of the Pond, from all walks of life experienced things that changed their lives in ways they could not have imagined. They were from all walks of life; from cities and from villages. They wore olive drab and navy blue, uniforms, work clothes and house dresses. They lived in the dark at night, and spent hours in shelters.  They experienced shortages of food, clothing and fuel.

Their courage and their stories have no boundaries.  They teach us that we do live in the same town, on this beautiful blue planet we call Earth.

Please click here and here to read about my family’s experiences at that time.

**********************************************************************************************************

Travis Erwin runs the My Town Monday marquis. Wander on there to see what he has to say.

Comments (4)

And To Honor the Mothers…

I have written that my mother-in-law was an English war bride who came to this country after WWII.  During the war, she worked in a factory, making gun sights. Fear, she says, wasn’t an option.  Survival was the only choice.

Memories are shared: hiding under the dining room table during air raids, riding her bicycle home from the factory at night in the dark—no lights allowed during the blackout, the scream of bombs—listening for the the drones since no one ever knew where they’d land.  When the air raid sirens sounded when she was at work, my mother-in-law had to run across an open field to the shelter, hearing bullets hit the metal roofs of the buildings and the train tracks that were like beacons in the moonlight.  My mother-in-law remembers her father being a member of the Home Guard,  his rake and hoe his weapons.  She recalls that the English never would have been able to defend their land if the Americans hadn’t been involved in the War.

A young girl named Rose was placed with my mother-in-law’s family, a safe haven from the industrial city where she lived.  The child wouldn’t sleep in a bed at first;  she’d sleep on the floor. She hadn’t been bathed in a very long time and was fearful of the tub.  It took quite a long time for Rose to feel safe with my mother-in-law’s family. One day,during a lull in the bombing, a woman came to the door. It was Rose’s mother. She had come to claim her daughter and take her back to the city.   Shortly thereafter, the bombing resumed. The road on which Rose and her mother lived was destroyed. There were no survivors.

Comments (4)

To Honor the Fathers…

They are fathers, grandfathers and great-grandfathers, old men now. They are forgotten heroes, many of whom as boys really, witnessed the horrors of genocide, the stench of death. grandpaandgigi

They signed up to help the war effort. To fight for their country, for what, in their heart of hearts, they felt was right. Hastily trained, they went overseas, on ships that were floating cities. My father was an optometry student, my father-in-law, an architecture student. Both were sent to Europe. My Dad had been tested to be a fighter pilot. He rated highly, but his air sicknesses changed that direction, and he was sent to work in a hospital in England. He never talked much about his experiences there, choosing only to relate humorous ones.

My father-in-law was in the engineer corps. They were sent ahead of the rest of the troops to clear mines and to build roads and bridges. He had no idea that when he was sent to the town of Buchenwald, Germany, that he would witness the some of the evils of human nature, horrors he has relived in the years since.

Neither man talked much about what they witnessed and how they felt about it, sharing only snippets of these experiences that shaped their lives. It seems to me that sometimes the quietest people have the most to say; we need to take a moment to listen, with our ears, our eyes and our hearts.

Comments (10)

Wise Words

Bitphoto courtesy Laura Weldon

My good and wise friend Laura Weldon sent me Paul Hawken’s commencement address to the Class of 2009, the University of Portland.  It resonated deeply with me and I pass it on to you:

Published on Saturday, May 23, 2009 by CommonDreams.org


Article printed from www.CommonDreams.org

Comments (3)

Musings on a Cold Rainy Night

It’s been cold and rainy here in the Valley these past few days. Not exactly seasonal for early June.  I made a pot of soup last night. Also atypical for June.    It reminded me of a date I had many many years ago. We went to a restaurant, and I asked the server what the soup of the day was. “Lethal soup,” she reported. “Lethal soup?!?!?”  I asked. “Yes,” she responded. “You know, with those little round flat lethals.”   I guess it’s something you only eat once.

Comments (5)

Wordless Wednesday: A Walk in the Woods

Comments (2)

« Previous Page « Previous Page Next entries »

All content is copyrighted. Use only with permission.