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WP9Patch

To highlight Ninepatcher's creativity, we've created a unique online presentation from their contributions, including a collection of themed-letters, a collection of book-related writings, and our Ninepatch poems. We hope you'll enjoy them all!       THEMES - BOOKS - POEMS       Please note that these collections can always be found in our side MENU too : )

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Editor's Note: Following is my fifth story from my '07 Bus Ride - a spiritual journey.

From end of Chapter 4: I had not been paying attention … Did I miss my bus departure? Glancing around, I didn't see anyone I recognized. Bigvoice was going all the way to my Grand Rapids, Michigan destination and beyond. A balding man in a green silk shirt had mentioned Detroit. Oh oh! I had better find my fellow passengers.

Eyes wide and senses alert, I scanned the terminal for someone I recognized. Seeing no one I began touring the room with my suitcase like a kid pulling his Radio Flyer, inspecting the neighborhood.

When I discovered my own gate, I sighed in relief. Tucked behind a half-wall, Gate 9 was beside the glass double doors where I had pushed into the terminal hours earlier. How did I miss this? Frowning, I mentally replayed entering, then nodded. The room was so packed then I was overwhelmed. Looking only at the back wall, I pushed through the crowd without seeing the gate right here. OK, OK. Easy does it.

Surveying the assembled band I noticed many waiting postures. Leaning against duf-fle bags, several folk had their eyes closed. A Wrangler-clad couple who narrowly made the bus in Florida exchanged words. The young man was bending solicitously over his wife as she sat sulkily on the floor leaning against a suitcase and clutching a pillow. She shook her head dully and shrugged listlessly, refusing whatever it was he offered.

Beyond them, Bigvoice sat alone, head back and eyes closed. Unfamiliar others sat with their backs to me on a wire bench, faces tilted up to David Letterman on the giant TV screen hanging from the ceiling. At my end of the bench I noticed the slightly balding head and silk shirt of the man who had sat in front of me all the way to Atlanta. I'd watched him at our dinner stop.

Different from other blue-jeaned riders, the Detroit-bound man wore designer denims sparkling with leg and pocket stencils. Stylish gold wire-rims perched on his nose in addition to the smooth green whose sleeve I had noticed on the bus. Tall and sounding educated, I heard he tell a seat partner, "I've been in Miami, visiting my daughter and a new grandchild."

Behind the bench where Silk Shirt and others relaxed, a little train of suitcases stood ready in front of the gate's door. It must be OK to leave your things here. No one looks concerned. Adding my green suitcase as caboose to the others, I sat down on the end of a second bench behind Silk Shirt and Bigvoice. I'll keep on eye on them. They are going my way and seem to know what to do. Sitting behind Silk Shirt as I had for more than two hundred miles, I breathed more easily.

Looking up at him from the end of the bench, I turned up the corners of my mouth and nodded. As he sat down next to me, I looked down at my open spiral-bound. Want-ing to keep my commitment to a silent journey, I hoped to discourage casual chat.

Taking my cue, Silk Shirt turned away from me and started a conversation with a couple seated there. Before long, an unexpected voice from the ceiling blared: "Attention Gate 9 passengers! Bus 35 scheduled to depart at 12:20 to Dalton, Knoxville, London and Cincinnati is delayed."

I caught my breath, Oh no, a delay! Exhaling slowly, I shook my head, My friends warned me!

Like stumbling into a puddle along my path, suddenly I was wet with "what-if's." "What if I'm stranded here? What if I don't make my Cincinnati connection? What if I don't get my Detroit bus? What if I arrive at my Grand Rapids destination after the last City transit bus run?"

Frances Fritzie, Editor says, "Telling my story is healing."

Frances Fritzie, Editor

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Dear Frances,

Many thanks to all Ninepatch readers who sent along compassionate comments and for your prayerful words of comfort during our family tragedy.

The family situation continues to unfold. Keely, the surviving twin, is living with her father's mother a mile or so from her dad and in the same school district. Since my daughter Cate's partner is also culpable in this case, he has just one hour a week physical supervised time with Keely.

Our family seems to be on the outside looking in as Cate awaits court dates and charges. However, three of us have offered to take custody of Keely. We are hoping that my son will be chosen. He may be smiled on because he and his wife are involved with their church and scouts.

According to her other grandmother, Keely is doing better than "the rest of us." Eventually, I'm sure her frozen feelings will come out. (God only knows how, when and where.)

It is a sad, sad situation. We are trying to accept what we cannot change and do the loving thing. It's not easy.

God bless.
Gail

Gail (April'08) adds, "Our family is in the process of set-ting up a trust fund for Keely's welfare."

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Dear Frances,

I have read books by Jan Karon and Beverly Lewis. Right now I am reading mys-teries. In fact, my life is a kind of mystery. It goes around and around. It seems to come back to the same place and starts over again. Like a confusing mystery, my clues never seem to go anywhere.

Today I have the day off and the house to myself for a change. My husband lost the part-time job he had, then he lazed around the house for nearly two weeks eating and sleeping. He said nothing. I had to take care of everything, alone.

That went on until last week, when I took my dad and went to look at apartments. (My pay can cover an apartment better than this house, which I never wanted in the first place.) Anyway, that's when my husband started looking for work again and now he's got a job.

Yesterday our troubled daughter Anita, showed up where I work. She was full of anger. She said she is tired of staying in shelters. My husband had said to ignore her… easy for him to say! He's pushed her away from the day she was born.

I think of what James said, in the Feb.'08 issue, "Love is the key to happiness." I don't agree. I've had love and it doesn't seem to be accompanied by tender feelings of good will. (Maybe it did at one time, but it has faded.)

Instead, hope is happiness, God's love is happiness, and peace for myself and the world is happiness.

LindaSue (April, '08) adds, "For me, today, sharing life and goals would be hap-piness. I feel very isolated now my husband doesn't talk to me anymore. If he isn't sleeping, reading the newspaper or watching TV, he is at work."

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Hi Fritzie!

I think about you a lot, my friend. I often miss Florida and our home there. However, I do not miss the hot weather.

Though I like the cold weather in Ohio, I have to admit, that I am glad to see winter finally leaving us behind. This has been a long one. I like it chilly, but last winter was too cold for too long!

The thing I like the most about Ohio is the spring time smells: grass and the fields when they are planted. In fact, I love our storage shed because of its odors of dirt and fertilizer. I also like to visit Lowe's because of the aromas in their garden shop.

I can see our asparagus peeking through straw covering our garden. Soon my hus-band and I will pull the straw off my plants so they can have the sun.

My son, who's in process of divorce, is still living with us. (We have given him until the end of May.) He is making some progress putting his life back together and now really needs to get his own place.

Going to close now, my friend. Take care. I will talk to you later.

Patricia

Patricia (Feb.'08) adds, "Mr. Gray is still full of energy. He is the cutest cat, Fritzie. My husband and I laugh at him all the time. He has such big eyes --they look at us in such innocence.

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Dear Frances,

As you know, during the last several months I have been on a sabbatical in Canada. It has been a life-giving experience for me as it gave me time to do some inner work, spiritual renewal and relax.

My congregation has asked me now to go to New Mexico. I will be there toward the end of next month. We are still working on establishing some mission work in Mexico and Colombia. However, first there is a lot of collaboration necessary with other governments, church arms and missioners.

Meanwhile, I will work with the very poor in the inner city and rural surroundings of Albuquerque. I am very pleased about this.

Much love to you.
Patience

Patience (Apr.'08) adds, "This is turning out to be quite the adventure as I will learn much about New Mexico and its people."

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Dear Frances:

In answer to your email question, yes, we still have my horse Katie, though I no longer try riding her since she threw me. I intend to take her to a young Amish man we found through acquaintances, for evaluation and further training. Then I'll decide whether to keep her or sell her and buy a different horse. Right now, tending to her needs gets me out of myself during the day and keeps me active.

My partner is definitely back to himself after his eye surgery. He is and has been driving for a while now, has new glasses and life is back to normal, whatever that is. He seems very happy and I am happy for him. To be able to see again is a great gift.

It's also a relief not to do all of the chores. Yet that experience and Bill's reconciliation with his father has shaken loose a lot of stuff for both of us in an extremely positive way.

I haven't even looked at the latest Ninepatch yet, either, and I usually get to that right away. I so enjoy them.

Be well and happy,
Linda

Linda (Apr.'07) adds, "I'm back to myself, and feeling centered though I think I have been missing a spiritual connection with a faith group. It is difficult to find a group because my beliefs are complex. Nevertheless, I am considering a couple of options."

I was substituting in an ESOL (English Spoken as Other Language) class on May first. A student from Mexico asked me if this day were a special holiday here.

"Not that I am aware of," I replied. "Why? Is it a special day in Mexico?"

Gabriella told me that in her country, this day is a festival for children.

I replied, "When I was a child in England, we used to dance around the maypole on May Day."

I recalled somewhat fuzzy images of us, primary school students, prancing around a tall pole that magically appeared every year at this time. Then more memories percolated up from the depths.

This pole was festooned with long, wide ribbons attach-ed to its top. Each child held the free end of one of these ribbons. We stood in a circle around the maypole -- every other child facing in one direction while the counter-parts faced opposite. As we danced our hora -- we wove our ribbons in and out of those held by other children. Thus it was: step one - ribbon under, step two- ribbon over and so on until the adults told us to stop.

Was there music playing while we hopped and skipped our merry way? I don't re-member. What lingered are the sensations of joy, excitement and freedom as we scampered happily around the proscribed circle.

When we finished, our maypole was crowned in the glory of a multicolored weave of ribbons whose ends fluttered in the breeze.

Liz/Moscar (Jan.'08) adds, "What a wonderful day! No wonder I used to look forward to going to school in those heady times."

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As Mother's Day approaches, I am in no doubt as to what I am thankful to my mother about. But, which mother am I thankful to?

I do indeed have two mothers. In modern times, it is no longer odd to see a child in a store calling two women motherly names. Nor is it unusual to see a child alternate between two women for motherly affection. It is clear the child has two mothers.

It has not always been so clear in my life. Modern life has changed greatly and were I a modern child, I doubt I would have been blessed with two mothers.

I am positive my life would have been completely different. Would it have had more texture? Or perhaps would I have had other skills than I hold now?

Certainly I would have had different experiences, but I don't know that life would have been any better.

You see, I am adopted. It was never hidden from me. I was never made to feel the shame that I see other adoptees try to assuage. I grew up with the notion that I was chosen by the parents who raised me because I was special.

My birth mother gave me that most unselfish gift a woman can give a child. She gave me the gift of life. I am ever so grateful for the life I have had so far. In addition, my birth mother gave me a chance to live a life she could never give me.

The mother who raised me gave me another unselfish gift. She gave another woman's child a chance to live a life the child would not have otherwise. I am grateful to her for all my many advantages.

Like children I see in supermarkets, I call more than one woman "Mother." Thus I know it isn't that name or the blood relationship that matters. It's the love and gratitude you have in your heart.

Devora is single and has one grown son. She has many interests, in addition to writ-ing, she plans and maintains gardens, and enjoys weaving. She adds, "When I take time to be still and quiet, I prepare myself so that when I close my eyes and jump, I'll know where I'm landing."

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Dear Mom.

It is just about time! In a few minutes you will be back from breakfast with "the girls." I will make my 10:00 AM Saturday phone call to Florida.

This is our special time to chat. Our conversations tend to wander: small things: "Why do pickles have to cost so much?" and big ones: "What is the purpose of war?"

If we ask each other a question, the truth will be told. Once in a while, the truth will not be pleasant.

I am getting excited. Then I remember-- you won't be answering the phone this Saturday. You won't be answering the phone any Saturday.

Calls won't work any more. But our connections will never end.

The Universe knows.

Love,
Dorothy

Dorothy (Apr.'08) adds, "It's important to take care of oneself and remember to schedule an annual physical."

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As I became a young teen in the 1950's, my father frequently expressed his opinion that women should not go to college. His reason for this was that women who graduated from college and had careers did not make good housekeepers.

As I neared the end of eighth grade, I thought about what course I would take in high school. What career path would I choose?

Being a housewife did not appeal to me, al-though I assumed that this is what I would do. I also knew I did not want to be a secretary or a nurse.

Becoming a teacher was a possibility, but this could not happen because my father did not approve of women going to college. Thus, I was quite confused. My father had made his pronouncement. In my family we did not discuss these things. Neither did we disagree with our parents.

Toward the end of that school year, I received a piece of paper which listed my options for our high school course: academic, business (secretarial), home economics, or general. What would I "choose?"

The day that the paper was to be turned in, I still did not know what I would mark -- and hadn't discussed it. I got up that morning, dressed, and went down to breakfast. Over cereal and milk, my mother said to me, "You are going to sign up for the academic course."

I would be able to go to college! (I never again heard my father say that women should not go to college.)

Not only did I graduate with a degree, I went on to graduate school and got another. Not in teaching, either. I chose Social Work as my profession.

Years later I even returned to study and earned a doctorate. I began those studies while my father was still alive, but by the time I graduated, he had died. When I received my degree, my mother said, "I wish your father were alive. He would be so proud of you."

As an adult, I thought back to that day when my mother told me to choose the "academic course." I realized that she had stood up to my father so that I could choose a career other than housewife, teacher, nurse, or secretary.

I think that this was the greatest gift that my mother ever gave me. So many times I have thought about how grateful I am for that gift that my mother gave me that day.

Jane (Apr.'08) adds, "My mother was one of five sisters who grew up in poverty. When they graduated from high school each sister helped the next pursue her career. How-ever, by the time my mother graduated from high school there was not enough money for her to go to nursing school, which was what she wanted to do. I appreciate the step she took for me!"

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James (Apr.'08) says, "From sunrise to sunset, each day is a microcosm of life."

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