True Stories Well Told

An excerpt from a reminiscence first published on Mixed Metaphors, Oh My!

By Linda Lenzke

One can already see the sun’s position in the sky changing and its effect on daylight. Soon too, the leaves will change from their verdant hues to vibrant shades of carmine, crimson, burnt orange, golden yellows and finally tawny browns before they fall to the ground. Like most mothers, I’m sure Mother Nature doesn’t have a favorite season, yet I do, and it’s fall.

Living in Wisconsin, our lives ebb and flow with the changing seasons, sometimes winter is unrelenting and it’s a struggle just to get out the door for our day-to-day lives. We are restored in the spring when the changing weather brings us hope and quells the itchiness of spring fever. Summer is our reward, a time for leisure and vacations. In the autumn we reap the harvest of the land and prepare for the long, cold nights again, the cycles of change repeated.

In the Midwest, we reap the harvest and bounty of the season, apples and cider, pumpkins and peppers, all the canned preserves and pickled relishes of our Northern European heritage, farm-raised meats, both fresh and smoked, cheeses and baked goods and in Madison, available each week at our Farmers Market on the Capitol Square.

Dane County Farmers Market

Since the weather changed here overnight from highs in the 80s earlier in the week to yesterday’s high of sixty and the evening temps dipped from the sixties to the forties, I decided to make my first batch of chili for the season, for me the first sign of fall. It was a beautiful day to visit the market. Dane County has one of the largest and most renowned Farmer’s Market in the nation. Award-winning, locavore chefs pull their red wagons and fill them with the ingredients for the menu they design based on what the market offers and their culinary ingenuity designs.

Farmer’s Market bounty

The first chili of the season

There are mundane rituals too that happen this time of year, swapping out summer bedding for winter’s down comforters, and rediscovering that favorite jacket, sweater or sweatshirt to bundle up in after work or on the weekend — simple, comforting, seasonal rituals. Nesting urges grow, as we prepare to spend more time indoors, yet road trips to orchards and pumpkin patches and Sunday drives to see the changing trees are on the rise.

With the changing season, the cycle of holidays begins, leading to winter. I wrote this poem inspired by a journal entry: 

The Solace of Ritual

“There is comfort in repetition and wonder in change.” Journal entry, 9/23/12

September’s sun filters through blue translucence

day and night becoming equal.

Temperatures rise and fall like tides;

ebb and flow between dawn and twilight,

gears of my Circadian clock adjusting.

Nesting urges permeate my behavior.

I swap out summer for winter bedding,

prepare for long nights and cold days.

Cupboards are filled as I squirrel away provisions.

I can smell leaves and home fires burning.

The changing season, trees ablaze,

transformation before dormancy, so begins

the hibernation of winter.

Golden, auburn, crimson, tawny shades of brown

fade to a grayscale palette.

I can hear the crisp sounds of leaves

dancing on sidewalks, and the wind begin to whistle.

Soon the swan song of September surrenders

to a calendar of holidays: Halloween, Thanksgiving,

Hanukah, Christmas, Kwanzaa, Boxing Day and the New Year.

Memories recycle of seasons past

of people absent and places far away.

I soothe myself with the solace of ritual.

There is comfort in repetition

and wonder in change.

To read other reminiscences from Linda Lenzke, visit Mixed Metaphors, Oh My!

Another musing on the changing of the seasons, Seasons/Change

A poetry chapbook by Linda Lenzke of the same name, Seasons/Change

© 2019 Linda Lenzke

Linda is a Madison-area writer, poet and playwright who blogs at Mixed Metaphors Oh My! She is a founding member of LGBTQ Narratives Activist-Writers, writer and producer of Conceal & Carry: Queers Exposed, a  monologue play, and also the author of  Jenifer Street, a short play in three scenes. Linda is the creator and co-producer of a web series in production, Hotel Bar. Earlier in her writing career, she wrote and performed stand-up comedy and was a member of improvisational performance collectives.

Thank you, everyone who responded to my recent “Story Harvest” call for submissions! – Sarah

By Suzy Beal

This is the 14th episode of a travel memoir that is unfolding, one chapter each month, here on True Stories Well Told. Stay tuned for more of the adventure as teenage Suzy’s family moves to Europe, builds a sailboat, and takes up life on the high seas circa 1961. Click here to read the earlier episodes.

Carnival, just prior to Lent, was an exciting time for us.  We spent weeks making costumes and planning our activities.  The local bars had an open house all evening.  We had parties at the club, El Circulo, before heading out to the bars to dance.  I made Scottish costumes for Conrad and Frank andour maid’s little daughter, Catita.  They each had a Scottish kilt, hat, belt and chest banner. Frank won a prize, but Conrad wantedto be a pirate and felt silly in a skirt.

Catita, Frank and Conrad

The Gang

I chose to go as an American Indian and spent days working on my costume, Hank picked a pirate costume, the one Conrad wanted to be, and Tom and Juanita chose Romeo and Juliet.

A young man named Juan Aguilar began to show up on my radar. He attended school in Palma, so he wasn’t around all the time like the other kids.  He came home on weekends or for holidays.  At El Circulo in the evenings, we talked and sometimes walked together, always with other kids in the group. We danced together several times during Carnival.

That spring, friends of Mom and Dad’s from Newport contacted him about a wedding in Madrid.  Their daughter, Jimmy K., was marrying a Spaniard she’d met at college in Oregon, and they wanted us to attend.  The bride’s father unable to attend asked Dad if he would give her away, and they asked me to be her bridesmaid.    There was much discussion about who else would go.  Mom and Dad decided Carl and Jan would go with us.  I was excited about being a bridesmaid or, in this case, the Maid of Honor, since there weren’t any other girls attending.  I had never attended a wedding before.   I’d just turned sixteen and the aura of romance of a wedding held me in its clutches.  We flew to Madrid from Palma and Dad got us rooms in the same hotel as Jimmy K. and her mom.

Carl, Jan, and Suzy – Madrid 1962

Upon our arrival in Madrid, Mom and Dad, the bride, and her Mom, Jane, made the plans for the wedding and the banquet.  Left to our own devices, Carl, Jan, and I explored Madrid. We spent many hours wandering around the city on our own.  We never got lost because, by then, we understood how to use maps. During one of our outings, we spotted a pet store.  In the window we saw the sweetest Irish setter pup.  We knew we needed to have her and take her back to Puerto for Conrad.

Jane purchased a new dress for me with matching shoes.  I’d never seen pastel green shoes before!  We met the groom the night before the wedding, when Dad took all of us out to dinner.  Miguel didn’t speak much English and his family spoke none.  He wanted his wedding to take place in Madrid so his mom could attend.  It was a tough night for everyone.  I spoke some Spanish, so I ended up doing a lot of translating.   Unhappy about the impending nuptials, Miguel’s Mom never smiled, but not until the day of the wedding did I realized why.

Since Jimmy K. wasn’t Catholic, their marriage couldn’t take place at the church altar.  They held the ceremony at the end of the aisle while the church was being decorated for a different wedding, a Catholic one.  It was a sad scene.  The only people in attendance were the bride’s mom, my family, and six members of the groom’s family.  After the wedding, Miguel, Jimmy K., and I got into a taxi to go to a photographer’s studio to have pictures taken.  Once at the studio, the photographer and Miguel got into an argument about the cost of the pictures.  I tried to translate for Jimmy K., but they were talking too fast.  Miguel insisted that we leave the studio.  He ran off to get us a taxi.  A bride in her wedding dress and a maid of honor standing on the street corner attracted lots of attention.  Soon, Miguel returned with a taxi and we rode it back to our hotel where the banquet waited for us.  We didn’t know Dad had planned to have a photographer do the pictures at the reception, so they got their photos in the end.

We arrived in Madrid during the Semana Santa (Holy Week),just before Easter.  I didn’t understand the importance of Holy Week for the Catholic people in Spain.  After all the wedding festivities, we went out that night to watch the Procession ofSemana Santa.  It was a somber, scary, and dark affair, with strange music. Everyone in the parade walked with bare feet, hoods like the KKK over their heads.  Some had chains on their feet and moaned as they walked past. There were gold statues carried by people dressed in black.  As they passed us, everyone around us made the sign of the cross.  Towards the end of the parade, someone dressed as Jesus came by with a crown of thorns on his head and blood running down his face.  Shocked and uncomfortable, Mom suggested we go back to the hotel, which we did.

The next day, Carl, Jan, and I began to press our parents about taking a puppy back for Conrad.  They agreed to go to the pet shop.  That evening we flew back to Palma with a puppy.  We also had the mother of the bride, Jane, with us.   She stayed with us for a while on Mallorca.  Friends for many years, Mom enjoyed having someone with whom to share this new life.

Just before she headed home a month later, Jane bought a Siamese cat for Jan.  Jan named her Anitra from the Peer Gynt’s Suite “Anitra’s Dance” because she flew around the house dancing up a storm.  Mom called the puppy “Rusty” because of her color.  Anitra and Rusty became best friends, and we often caught them asleep together by the fire.

Rusty and Anitra

Note, no photo of the wedding party accompanies this story because Suzy has no way of contacting the people for their permission.

© 2019 Suzy Beal

Suzy Beal, an occasional contributor to True Stories Well Told, has been writing her life story and personal essays for years. In 2016 Suzy began studying with Sheila Bender at writingitreal.com.  Watch for new chapters of her travel memoir to be posted! Please leave comments for Suzy on this post.

By Melodee Leven Currier

After having writers’ block for several months, while driving to an appointment I asked my angels to give me a sign about what I should write for my next article.  

My thoughts quickly darted to one of my pet peeves – the crazy number of people on television who cry about seemingly nothing.  By the time I arrived at my appointment, Roy Orbison’s “Crying” was playing on my car radio and I instantly knew that was the sign I was waiting for.  

It seems you can’t turn on the television any more without seeing someone cry.  I always wonder – why in the world are they crying??  Usually it’s something that wouldn’t make me cry. And often they aren’t even crying at all — wiping “dry” eyes, pretending they’re crying, trying to elicit sympathy. Three reality shows that seem to encourage pretend crying are Dr. Phil, Paternity Court and The Bachelor.  

According to the NY Post, the average woman will cry six times a month, twice as much as men.  The last time I remember crying was four years ago when I heard that Dr. Wayne Dyer died.  He had been my guru since the mid-70’s when I started reading his books.  I even met him twice — once he sat next to me in church.  When I told him he was my guru, he replied, “No, you’re your own guru.”  

The hardest I ever cried (Oprah’s “ugly cry”) was thirteen years ago when our 18 year old cat, Shibui, died.  And the most I ever cried was in high school during my first serious relationship.  I’m sure I cried a lot more than six times a month then, more like six times a day.  

People cry because of sadness, grief, frustration, nervousness and joy – even hormones play a part.  And some payoffs for criers are that people might feel sorry for them and they may get their support or sympathy, it can soothe and relieve stress, it aids sleep and you can feel better afterward.  When I’ve cried, it is usually without warning because of grief or frustration.  

Your unique perception of a situation will determine if you cry.  For example, often people cry at the thought of losing their job, but I see it as a new beginning, often as a blessing and an opportunity for a new adventure.   Finding another job can be a stepping stone to more money, meeting new people and learning something new.  

Hundreds of songs have been written about crying and I have even been known to cry, or be on the verge of tears, while listening to some of them – Tears in Heaven, Big Girls Don’t Cry, Cry Me A River, Crying in the Rain, Lonely Teardrops, Tears On My Pillow and Don’t Cry Outloud are just a few.  If we listen to Dr. Seuss who said, “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” the crying average per month would drop considerably.  

As for me, chances are I’m not going to cry as long as no one I know dies.  I guess I need to listen to Dr. Seuss and not cry because they died, but smile because I knew them.

© 2019 Melodee Currier

Melodee Currier left corporate America in 2008 where she was an intellectual
property paralegal.  Since then she has devoted her time to writing and has
had three eBooks (www.amazon.com/author/melodeecurrier) and numerous articles published on a wide variety of topics.   Her articles can be read on her website www.melodeecurrier.com.  Mel is an occasional contributor to True Stories Well Told.