Friday Tidings

In late September of 1978, President Jimmy Carter designated Good Neighbor Day as a national holiday—a chance to do something for our neighbors and in our communities. It seemed like the special day never really caught on, but I like the idea. Years ago, a bunch of neighborhood kids would routinely come down the road and play in our woods. We’d have extra bikes and several dogs in our yard. It felt like we lived in a neighborhood. Then the kids grew up, the trees got taller, and more gates were installed along the dirt roads of our neighborhood. Knowing our neighbors got tougher.  But not for Patricia. She has always been our neighborhood matriarch and made it her mission to know everyone. Every couple years she’d put flyers in our mailboxes inviting us for a Neighborhood Pie Party. Many of us would show up at her small home, crowd around the dessert table, and catch up like neighbors need to do more often. We might not see each other’s homes through the trees, but we all ha...

My granddaughter walked in front as we made our way down the steep hill to the beach. Her excited voice resonated in the woods surrounding us.    “I see blue water!” she exclaimed as we came through the forest near the beach. But then, with the highest level of disappointment that five-year-olds have perfected, she cried out, “Where’s the creek?”  Most of the year, the creek runs into the bay. When she’d visited in late June—we still had enough creek to have driftwood boat races. Now it was completely dry. “How am I going to play?” she wailed. She’s also at the age that if something was fun before, then you must repeat exactly everything you did. I explained how the summer had been so hot that the creek dried up. It needed the autumn rains to fill it again. She folded her arms and frowned disapprovingly.  She wanted her creek—but a change of season is needed first.  Doesn’t it seem that more than the weather is dry? It feels like humanity is a bit...

During my childhood, my father traveled a week at a time for business. Grandma would frequently come help my mom—who was in college at the time. Grandma brought two large bags on the Greyhound bus—her knitting was always in the large one. She slept on the living room sofa and made herself a workstation in my dad’s big chair. Mom had a pile of clothes stacked by Grandma. She would carefully repair holes in my pant legs and hem dresses so I could wear my sister’s hand-me-downs. When she wasn’t sewing, she was knitting, or busy in the kitchen canning gallons of homemade applesauce. Each morning she’d have breakfast ready and send me out the door in time to walk the short distance up the street to my school. She wasn’t afraid of driving our car, but seldom did. If we needed something for dinner, she had me walk alongside her the few miles to the store. I remember being bundled up, and Grandma telling me, “Cold air and a brisk walk will put beautiful roses on your cheeks.”  I l...

Pia lives in a park near my granddaughter. She’s a huge troll built by Thomas Dambo; a Danish recycle artist. He and his small crew used scrap wood they found at the park to create this 18-foot troll. Dambo’s artistic mission is to prove that we don’t need shiny new things or plastic toys to impress children. And if enough kids and adults agree that new isn’t better, then it will keep us from throwing out so much stuff in our landfills. He and his team have built a hundred trolls around the world and several of them are in the Seattle area. He wants us to rethink how we are using our planet. But for children, something special happens around Pia. They were using their imagination in ways I hadn’t seen in awhile. Two boys pretended they were in troll land and Pia was their protector. A couple others started building a nearby hideout beneath the trees. Kids were interacting with one another. It was a make-believe scene—with a troll in the center. But Pia is rustic and rough. You can stil...