babyboomerette

A life well lived . . .

Last night my friends Albey and Alicia had a few people in for dinner, and to meet Alicia's stepmother, Heddy, from Chicago.

There were several new people I enjoyed meeting but none as much as Heddy herself.  Heddy is one of those older women, who carries with her not only a wealth of experience but of old world elegance. The story of her life would make an excellent memoir.

In Paris as a young woman, having arrived from Sweden, she studied French and became the curator of the Swedish Art Museum, meeting diplomats and artists and connoisseurs from around the world.  She designed her own clothes, buying, cutting and draping the fabric before sending it out to a seamstress.  A couple of her drawings ended up walking the runways of Balmain and Jacques Frere.

Later she came to America at the invitation of Oberlin College to become the curator of their museum, despite warnings from her Parisian friends that "those Americans are crazy," an excellent reason, she thought, to come.

She traversed the Atlantic twice aboard the Queen Mary, the original Queen Mary.

Her career and the man she fell in love with and married, Alicia's father, took her to live in some of the more interesting cities in America - New York, Cambridge/Boston and now Chicago.

Now at what must be about 80, or so, she remains soignee, dressed in a black and white pants outfit last night.

We talked about all the wonderful architecture and the arts scene in Chicago (where I once lived briefly as well.)  She's up on modern dance and it was fun to chat about the Hubbard Street and Joffrey troupes, which we're both fans of.

At the end of the evening I was left refreshed by Heddy's elegance and wisdom, and of witnessing a life well lived, one consisting of a series of brave and fascinating journeys. 

This morning, as the sun shines down the red rock canyons around me, I'm inspired by her example, to live my own life as she has, based on those things that are of true importance to me - and of taking some new journeys of my own.

Show Down at The End of the Road . . .

Black Bart and me, Memphis Red, are at The End of the Road, better known as my driveway, when we face off.

We're both known gunslingers on a par with those ol' boys from the O.K. Corral.  Only we're even meaner and scarier than them.  We don't have guns, too hard core to need 'em.  My six shooter is the leash waiting to be drawn from my pocket.  But Bart's got his freedom and he's aiming to keep it.

Black Bart is a twelve month old schnauzer whose real name is Beatty.  I am a supposedly adult woman whose real name is Elizabeth.

Bart's a tough customer.  He may be a lot smaller than me but then he's quicker - and a hell of a lot smarter too.

I walk toward him humming The Good, The Bad and The Ugly theme, making the high pitched parts even higher to try and distract him, but it's no good.  He cocks his head, ears perked up but just like Clint Eastwood, his steely eyes never leave mine.

My sneakers, uh - I mean boots, crunch on the gravel.

I walk sideways, then stop, trying to confuse him.  He walks sideways too, keeping his distance.  I run toward him.  He runs toward me, then past me, then around me in faster and faster circles before racing back down the driveway to stand and stare at me again . . . the face off before I give the command to come like we learned in Obedience Class.  Which he, of course, ignores.

Then, dang it, I forget everything else and start to play with him.  We start, stop, start, stare in unison and I can't help laughing.

Black Bart smiles up at me as though he owns me.  Can make me forget all about obedience training and leashes.  Can make me play whenever he wants to.

Yep.  He can, that little son of a gun.

Short and sweet inspiration . . .

I wish I could tell you more of the particulars of the following story, but it's so inspiring I have to pass on what little I heard.

I had CNN on the car radio yesterday.  Darren Kagin, a former CNN anchor, was being interviewed about a new show she's producing that spotlights inspiring people. 

She mentioned a gentleman whose name I didn't get (I wish I had.)  He's a 90 year old blind sculptor, whose work is quite amazing and garnering much attention.

He didn't begin sculpting until he was 80.

He didn't begin sculpting until he went blind.

In a soundbite from the show, he said,(paraphrasing but close)  "God in His grace took away the sight of my eyes, so I could begin to see with my hands. What a blessing."  His voice was alive with energy and excitement and pleasure.

This story speaks for itself without me saying another word.