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| Heavy clouds over the blue mountains |
I go to physical therapy twice a week and I enjoy it. Many might think that is unusual, but my therapists are friendly, kind, and competent. We chat and that makes the work go more easily and quickly.
For ten minutes I ride the bicycle (the one that goes nowhere) and I often listen to a book while I pedal. I am listening to Barack Obama read his book about his childhood and his African father. Dreams from My Father is a memoir about Barack's early life. This book was written in 1995, years before he would become the American President. Not only is Barack Obama a fantastic writer, but he also reads his work so well I feel he is sitting beside me telling me his story.
As my readers know, I thrive on true stories about people and the lives they live or have lived. Obama writes about how he imagines the meeting of his father and his white grandparents. He writes about how his grandfather had not had much reason to consider race until he moved to Texas where he was told how he should treat black people. "Don't ever call them mister" and his mother, as a girl, was taunted by other children for having a black girl over to play.
I wonder, if those who hold racist feelings about Barack Obama, read this book, would they see him as they would see any little boy growing up in the sixties. Being a brown child in Hawaii, the color of his skin might not have been such a challenge as it would be in the mainland of the United States. This book is entertaining, informative, and enlightening, three things I believe a memoir must be for me to enjoy it.
This weekend found me on the telephone for hours at a time. An old friend called on Saturday and since we have not talked in a long time, we just kept thinking of things to say.
Friday evening I hosted a Zoom writing event, Writers' Night Out on my Zoom account while Karen Holmes introduced and talked with a fine poet from Seattle, Washington. Several members of her family joined us for the reading, including her parents. Once again I marveled at the opportunity to meet and hear this writer who lives on the far western side of our country while I sat here in the North Carolina mountains.
On Sunday I had another long conversation on the phone. This time I talked with my sister, Gay, about the progress made this week on the apartment she is creating at her house. I am excited about having this nice place to go to where I can stay as long as I want. Where I can see and visit with family members anytime. I will have a home away from home.
Here at home, my writing friends are so supportive of me and helpful. One of my students, Raven, has gone to the grocery store for me a couple of times. A former student, Nancy Rowland, and Jay, her husband, came over and took care of some issues I had with my house that I could not do for myself. Jay even thinks he can replace the door handle for my microwave and plans to come back later this week. These kind people don't want or expect any payment from me. They are simply good people who want to help. It is this kind of generosity and caring that keeps me hopeful that our country will overcome the anger and division we face now.
Monday I will teach a writing class on Zoom from my own chair and my own computer at my house. We have a terrific class of writers who are eager to tell their unique stories. I hope they enjoy it as much as I.
Visit www.glendacouncilbeall.com to read my latest post on writing a memoir.
I love to read your comments, so please let me hear from you.
Tell me if you have experienced kindness and generosity or if you have shown caring for others lately. Do you see a kinder and gentler nation rising from the ashes of COVID?
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