Mine? Since 2006 Pop and I have partnered on “Harvesting: Heritage and Lineage.” This project continues as I trot along after him in Daddy Trailer fashion. Aunt Mim’s (Amelia’s) music from the 1890s to 1920s found a home at Alton’s Hayner Library’s Illinois Room. We’re exploring Berea College as a place for Pop’s sheet music collection for the songs from his youth. Pop’s commissioned me to make cover art for his photo-documentation books How the River Road Was Made, The Bluffline Railroad, Glad Acres, and A Man Before His Time. Western Illinois University is starting a Thompson collection. And on and on.

As I work on harvesting the wealth of my father’s experience and wisdom, I turn to harvesting my own. Papers and journals are strewn across the floors of my apartment. One day I’ll combine my wheat field and store my crop in silos. It’ll take awhile

I met Davide and his wife Juliette at the Laumeier Sculpture Park–96 acres of outdoor sculpture that rivals anywhere in the world.

All three of us went there for a Fire Artists Meet-up. We were, however, the only ones. So, we met-up with one another and found a surprising array on similarities in our life paths. We think of our lives in episodes or chapters as we explore places and cultures. They met in Zimbabwe, next to Botswana–one of my heart homes.

I look forward to seeing Davide’s work in person. Let’s cross our fingers for an exhibition very soon.

Graphic by Dry Icons.

Women of Letters in a Sidewalk Cafe

Walking back from Sante–my health club in the Chase Park Plaza Hotel–I see writer Ruth Miriam Garnett relaxing at a sidewalk cafe. We’ve had bumping into each other luck for years now. (Read other posts related to Ruth Miriam Garnett with a Riehlife search.)

This night I find out she’s working with children in “turn-around schools.” She fills me in on national educational policy, the poignancy of working with at-risk children, and how her creativity is now channeled into this work. From there Ruth moves on to broaden my world with a synopsis of “sookie-sookie na: and the opacity of culture.” I suggest she write an article on this topic for Harper’s or the Atlantic.

Spontaneous Children’s Play Dates

Two neighborhood children popped by to play. What fun!

One is bored during this gap week before her private school starts back up. There’s a knock on my door. We make lemon aid from scratch, and pick some playthings from my Frog Collection. Outside sitting in the shade on the cool courtyard grass, we read about frogs, tell frog stories, invent frog games. Have you ever seen frog softball before? Neither had I until we made it up. half-an hour.

A bit later her brother shows up swaggering like a West African trader offering his wares. I’m one of their favorite customers. Every child loves to earn their own money. The price for the origami planes and bunnies is right. They’ll make grand presents for my great nieces and nephews.

Sante…om shanti

I love my health club. The Chase Park Plaza’s 1920s beauty and elegance shifts me into a world of luxury and grandeur. The valets and the concierge for the Private Residences great me as if I lived in one. Then, at Sante I’m greeted by name as one might have been at an exclusive English Club in those BBC mysteries.

One evening there’s a sunset yoga class on the 11th floor of the Chase Park Plaza on the terrace outside the Starlight Room. Breezes waft over us under the large sky and birds overhead. While the sounds of the city reach us up high. Vast views of St. Louis on every side complete the feeling of being a small part of the whole.

On Friday morning several women in another of Sante’s group classes convene for a coffee klatch in an unoccupied sidewalk cafe. It’s a new experience for me to hang out discussing what we’re reading, volunteering, dating, grown children, pets, and clothes. Every once in awhile it clues me in to what women of a certain age are doing and thinking.

Art History Lecture: Michaelangelo–the art and the man

Free culture abounds in St. Louis. I bop over to the Missouri History Museum in Forest Park to hear an art history lecture on Michaelangelo’s. I leave with new perceptions on his creative process and place in society.

Deshabille at home

At home I relax. Perhaps read books from the library either poolside or in my gathering room. Cook for one. Converse with friends around the world via email. Ah, yes…and that secret vice: watch TV.

In Forest Park

I could walk for days here across the beautiful bridges and fountains. Or stop to enjoy cultural institutions like the art museum, history museum or zoo. Then, rest under a tree to look at the sky. Sit on a bench next to Jefferson Lake to take the day in and watch people fish.

All this for free or nearly so in the Central West End.

Show: “The Monte Carlo Years”
Opening Reception: August 20, 2010 7-10 p.m.
Show dates: August 20-September 2010
Phone: 314-351-2929
email: grand4140@att.net
website: http://www.grand4140.com

Then read Sports Illustrated moving article about Stan Musial.

The last poem of “Sightlines: A Poet’s Diary” is “Anniversary.” You can listen to it on the audio book “Sightlines: A Family Love Story in Poetry and Music.” Just scroll down and click. The poem begins like this:

ANNIVERSARY

August 16, 2005
Julia’s one year anniversary.
You’ve been in the world of my ancestors for a year now.
Six years older, you always went before me.
Then, last year, you passed through.
I can’t say “passed on.”
No. You’ll never pass on.
You’re too fierce and present for that.

You passed over the waters in the famous boat.
Probably rowed it yourself.
Come on, confess. Didn’t you?
Said to the helmsman.
“Sit down, take a rest.
Let me take over for a little while.
You look like you haven’t slept in a million years.”
And, while you were at it, redesigned the boat
for greater comfort and speed.
Sewed some new boat cushions on the way over,
in-between oar-strokes.
Then, docked, stepped out on that far shore.
Claimed it as your own.

A year. How can that be?
I woke up a year ago:
Not knowing
my life was about to be changed forever.
Not knowing
this date would be carved in flesh and blood.
How innocent I was that morning.
That morning when I woke up,
not knowing…

To learn more about my sister Julia A. Thompson on Riehlife type her name in the search box at the top of the home page on the right.

For the four of us, it was definitely McDonald’s only a few blocks down the street in Alton, Illinois darkness. Safety in numbers with more laughs to boot. Lloyd–noted professor and author. George–doctor with creativity to burn in all the arts. Liz–a brave woman who is no stranger to fighting for miners’ rights because she’s been in the mines herself. And me.

The question of the night was: “How do you tell the truth in memoir?”

Here’s what we figured out. Don’t think that the readers will think what you think they will think. Projection, yes. Also, “responsibility entanglement.” As in “Oh, my mother would just die if she found out that…” This isn’t your fault or your look-out. Fret not.

Surrender to the work. Let the work lead you. It’s not about it. It’s a larger story. It’s about the work and making it the best it can be.

You have to own your dance, as a friend taking Tango told me. You have to own your life and how you write it.

What are your favorite things of summer? For me, it’s the ripe peaches and tomatoes of August, swimming and kayaking in natural bodies of water, those summer trips & family reunions, staying in the shade with a Southern Belle fan at the ready, reading fiction without redeeming social value…

What about you?