Tag Archives: friend

Alexandria Living Magazine – Our Common Language

Just a little announcement:

I’m excited to let you know I have another essay appearing in the current issue of Alexandria Living magazine!

It’s always a thrill to work with the kind folks at the magazine and as an Alexandria, Virginia resident it was especially fun to contribute.

Below is the link to my piece in the online version of Alexandria Living. Check it out, and if you like, please comment on the magazine website in the space they provide just below the essay.

We would love to hear your feedback!

https://alexandrialivingmagazine.com/lifestyle/our-common-language/

Thanks to all those who’ve asked what I’ve been up to lately. Blogging continues to be great fun and has proven to be an exciting pathway to opportunities like this. Exciting!

Stuart M. Perkins

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The Best Day

The wind was brisk as friends and I plodded through crunchy snow to the top of the hill. Heavy snowfall during the night ended and now in the morning light it appeared as though someone sprinkled glitter across the accumulation. We blew into cupped hands to warm them as we surveyed the glistening slope.

Snow doesn’t fall often in Richmond and if it does it’s rarely deep. Today a good snow had finally come, so we had headed to Forest Hill Park with sleds in tow. We hoped to get in several early rides before crowds reduced the snow to slush, but already we heard muffled voices approaching from across the park.

A group of excited kids, probably half our ages, led two men and a woman in our direction. The children dragged sleds and pulled eagerly at the adults who were stepping through the fresh snow at a painfully slow pace. They said nothing to the kids, just sipped slowly from travel mugs, oblivious of their children’s urgency.

Eventually stopping beside us, the kids immediately split off from the three adults, their youthful shouts and shrill cackles fading as they launched themselves downhill. The adults struggled to juggle discarded gloves and stocking caps tossed aside in the excitement. As the kids squealed in delight the adults stood by solemnly. Already impatiently checking watches, they were motionless except for the irritated shifting of feet. It was clear they were not thrilled to be there.

“Not staying long,” the first man said determinedly.

“Same here,” the second responded. “Anyway, it’s Richmond. Snow will be gone by noon.”

“It’s too windy!” the woman snipped as she pursed her lips and tightened her scarf.

The rosy-cheeked kids, having already taken several frosty rides, appeared back at the top of the hill for another. I moved aside as the woman in the scarf took a few hurried steps towards one little boy to get his attention.

“Just one more time!” she said sternly, tightening her scarf again.

In spite of the warning, the exuberant gang managed several more uninterrupted runs, laughing all the while. On one return trip the little boy yelled to the woman in the scarf. “Ride with us!”

She frowned a “no.” When the boy sailed down the hill she yelled after him, “Just one more time!”

Although my friends and I had arrived early hoping for a hill temporarily to ourselves, we were soon enjoying the frivolity of the young bunch. We challenged them to races and began to time our returns to the hilltop with theirs. At each return one child or another invited the adults to join. At first the grown-ups hardly noticed the invitations, so intent on being miserable, but one by one the kids’ laughter won them over.

I watched the adults finally begin to grin as sleds jetted down the slope—after one hilarious collision at the bottom the three actually howled. Finally, their reluctance was fading.

“They’re having fun,” the first man said. “We might stay a little longer.”

“Same here,” the second man responded. “It’s Richmond. They should enjoy the snow while it lasts.”

The woman casually touched her scarf. “It’s not so bad since the wind died down.”

Drawn in by the children’s joyful whoops, the three adults edged closer for a better view of the kids who now ran and belly-flopped onto their sleds to gain more speed in the already melting snow.

Minutes later as the sleds were being aimed downhill, one of the men, to the surprise of all, tossed aside his mug and rushed the kids. Hopping on the back of a sled, he startled one boy who shrieked with complete joy as the man’s momentum catapulted them both down the slope.

We all laughed. Next time, both men joined the kids.

“Just one more time!” the woman with the scarf yelled when the entire group slid away leaving her alone. In spite of herself, she laughed as they zipped downhill. On their return she needed no invitation. She hopped onto a sled, pushed off and screamed all the way to the bottom. Adults and children, together, took several rides until they agreed that the best of the snow was gone.

When the exhausted children dropped to the snowy ground to rest, I watched as the adults looked at each other in agreement, grabbed sleds, and headed once more for the slope. The kids held on to discarded travel mugs and car keys as they watched the older folks slide down the now-slushy hill. When the exhausted adults returned, panting but smiling, one tired little boy stood up slowly from the snow. Worn out and sweating despite the cold, he called out to the woman in the scarf that he was ready to leave.

The woman looked at him, tightened her scarf, and yelled over her shoulder, “Just one more time!” And with that she sailed down the hill alone, scarf trailing behind in the chilly wind.

Stuart M. Perkins

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Alexandria Living – Life is Like a Loaf of Bread

Just a little announcement:

I’m excited to let you know I have another essay appearing in the current issue of Alexandria Living magazine!

It’s always a thrill to work with the kind folks at the magazine and as an Alexandria, Virginia resident it was especially fun to contribute.

Below is the link to my piece in the online version of Alexandria Living.  Check it out, and if you like, please comment on the magazine website in the space just below the essay. We would love to hear your feedback!

https://alexandrialivingmagazine.com/lifestyle/life-is-like-a-loaf-of-bread/

Thanks to all those who’ve asked what I’ve been up to lately. Blogging continues to be great fun and has proven to be an exciting pathway to opportunities like this. Exciting!

Stuart M. Perkins

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Alexandria Living Magazine – Something Small Is Big Enough

Just a little announcement:

I’m excited to let you know I have an essay appearing in the current issue of Alexandria Living magazine!

It was a thrill to work with the kind folks at the magazine and as an Alexandria, Virginia resident it was especially fun to contribute.

Below is the link to my piece in the online version of Alexandria Living.  Check it out, and if you like, please comment on the magazine website in the space just below the essay. We would love to hear your feedback!

https://alexandrialivingmagazine.com/stuart-perkins-something-small-is-big-enough/

Thanks to all those who’ve asked what I’ve been up to lately. Blogging continues to be great fun and has proven to be an exciting pathway to opportunities like this. As their newest columnist I’ll be writing a piece for each issue of Alexandria Living. Exciting!

Stuart M. Perkins

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Nadine

There was a chilly mist in the March air, but I love my early morning walks and this gray gloom wasn’t going to keep me from today’s. I stopped midway on a bridge over the creek to watch a pair of mallards silently pick and poke along the muddy bank. Nothing could ruin this perfect serenity.

“Hey!” the shrill voice called. “Beautiful, right?” The spry old woman pointed towards the ducks as she marched enthusiastically onto the bridge to stand beside me. She twirled her arms in several rapid circles, stretched her back, then leaned on the railing and began doing standing push-ups. Dressed in sweat pants and jacket, baseball cap and sneakers, she had all the markings of devoted walker.

“Hi.” I said tentatively, unsure of what was happening.

“You’re from the South, aren’t you? Hiiiii. That’s how you said it. Hiiiii.” She spoke with her back to me as she stretched her calves. “I’m betting from the South. Keep talking until I say stop and I’ll know if I’m right, but I bet from the South?”

“Yes Ma’am.” I answered.

Her head whirled around towards me.

“No need to say more.” She laughed and raised her arms over her head to bend from side to side, counting slowly to herself. “Hiiiii” She said again. “I won’t forget that!”

She stood straight and adjusted her cap. “I’m from Wisconsin.”

Introductions seemed in order. “My name is Stuart and…”.

“Oh, I won’t remember your name.” She stopped me. “But I won’t ever forget what you said.”

A quick set of jumping jacks, a couple of leg kicks, and she stopped to stretch again. “Walk much?” She asked as she jogged in place.

“Most days. And I always see something interesting.” I nodded towards the two ducks now swimming in the creek.

“Love them.” She said. “I see a lot of birds out here.”

The old woman told me about her own morning walks and rituals. Each day she got up and tried to find ways to keep herself busy. She retired thirty years ago, bought a home in the area, but now at age ninety-three had watched all her friends “move away or pass away”.  She looked down at the creek.

“Old age was ok for the first twenty years!” She giggled slightly. “I used to wonder what the point was because nothing new ever happened.”

“I understand.” I said in my most empathetic tone. “I’m fifty-six and getting older can be rough.” I awaited her sympathy.

“Fifty-six?” She adjusted her cap again. “Why, you’re just a little squirt!”

Forced to defend my comment I agreed with her that I wasn’t elderly, but she herself said the older she got the more she wondered why. She couldn’t see the point.

“I said I used to wonder.” She corrected.

“But it dawned on me.” She continued. “I can walk and move and see and enjoy. I shouldn’t start the day just waiting for good things to come and find me. That’s the wrong approach.”

She took off her jacket. I held it as she finished a final set of standing push-ups.

“It’s like this.” She took back her jacket and stared me in the face. “I woke up this morning and that’s more than some people did. The rest is up to me.”

At ninety-three years of age this little whirlwind of a woman had the perfect attitude. I was impressed at the start by her jumping jacks and push-ups, but now she had captivated me with her words. I wanted to hear more. I listened for the next nugget of advice but she clearly had places to go. She put her jacket back on and zipped it up.

“My name is Nadine and…”

“Oh, I won’t remember your name.” I smiled as I interrupted. “But I won’t ever forget what you said.”

Stuart M. Perkins

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Strangers?

It was early morning when we stepped quietly into the cozy dining area of the bed and breakfast. A quick glance told us we were first, so we took a seat at one of the several small tables arranged intimately throughout the room. Soon other guests trickled in and sat where they liked, usually leaving the empty “buffer” table between themselves and those already seated. A few “good morning” nods were traded but no one spoke. We were, after all, strangers.

Each table solemnly eyeballed the others to see just who chance had decided they spend that particular weekend with. No one in the room knew the other guests, but by luck of the draw and an online reservation we were about to share breakfast. Bad hair, puffy eyes, and all. It’s an awkward silence that wins as strangers size up one another.

That silence was broken when the friendly owners burst from the kitchen. With genuine smiles they floated gracefully from one table to the next informing each of the breakfast menu, asked how we slept, and were sincerely interested in our plans for the day. As they spurred on discussion at one table, another listened in, and then another. In their wake, the owners effortlessly seeded conversations between tables which grew through breakfast.

Though brief and somewhat formal, as conversations between strangers generally are, we all slowly began to open up. Where are you from? Where do you work? What will you do while here? Suggestions from one table spilled over to the next which prompted ideas from another which resulted in recommendations from one more. Conversations dwindled as we began to eat, but cracks had formed in that initial awkwardness. Still, when breakfast was over, we parted ways to go separately into the day. We were, after all, still strangers.

The next morning’s breakfast shaped up a little differently. “Good morning” nods were replaced by the real thing called across the room. People sat beside each other to compare notes on the previous day’s adventures and “buffer” tables ceased to exist. Conversations were lively as common experiences were discussed. Oh you went there too? We must have just missed you! Where are you going today? Several invitations were offered to join in another’s day or perhaps meet for dinner. The awkwardness had vanished.

People who otherwise would have never crossed paths met in that cozy dining room as strangers. Conversations ultimately revealed the cities and states each had traveled from to be there. One woman, I learned, was from my own hometown. We talked about our high schools, how things had changed over the years, and wondered how many times we’d probably crossed paths on the streets around home. Yet, the one and only conversation we were likely to ever have took place miles away from home in that dining room over breakfast. A weekend of relaxation and fun was surprisingly enhanced, for all of us, because of a few chance conversations over breakfast.

In the end, none were strangers.

Stuart M. Perkins

 

 

As a special note: The bed and breakfast was The Hope and Glory Inn in Irvington, Virginia. I couldn’t write a proper review even if that were my intention – so I won’t try here. I enjoy watching what goes on around me, seeing stories unfold, and telling them in my own words. That’s what my blog is about.

In this case I watched unfold the story of a group of strangers who became, through the power of simple conversation, friends for a weekend. Conversations that were often initiated, always encouraged, and certainly made more entertaining by the participation of the owners of The Hope and Glory Inn, Peggy and Dudley Patteson. I’m not sure a friendlier or more down to earth pair exists!

I’m from Virginia and my extended family has ties to the Irvington area that started before I was born, so I’ve spent a lot of time on the Chesapeake Bay. Some of my blog posts center around family time there. The Hope and Glory Inn has a long history. That history, combined with the obvious beauty of the place, first prompted my interest to stay there even though it was just down the road from the family cottage where I’ve spent many happy vacations. So glad I did.

Rather than repeat all that I love about the Inn, the area, and the people, I’m attaching the Inn’s link below. It’s so much more than a bed and breakfast and Peggy and Dudley are happy, and certainly able, to point guests in proper directions so they’ll not miss what that beautiful part of Virginia has to offer.

Or you just might learn all you need to know over breakfast.

http://www.hopeandglory.com/

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Goodbye, Friend

One of my best friends passed away.

Over the years I’ve experienced the passing of people related to me and have attended quite a few funerals. I’m from a large family with an even larger extended family so deaths and funerals are part of that reality. Not until now have I lost a friend. The loss isn’t any more or any less, but it’s different.

With family, you love them all but treat only a few as friends.

With friends, you love them all but treat only a few as family.

Mary Dell Grey was family.

Mary Dell suffered a stroke several months ago and sadly things went steadily downhill. During those awful months she was watched over and cared for by her son Greg Eversole (my friend since fourth grade), her sister Brenda Taylor (my friend for years now), with help from their family and friends. When Mary Dell passed away everyone was understandably devastated.

A small group of friends and I knew Mary Dell for nearly forty years. In all of that time we remained close, bound by the glue of her loyal friendship with each of us. It was an honor when Mary Dell’s family asked if we, along with others, would speak at her service.

There was little prior discussion between those of us asked to speak. There was no planning, coordinating, or comparing notes, yet it was amazing to hear each of us in turn highlight the same great qualities of this remarkable friend of ours. Over the years she moved from being our second mother to being our best friend. She was forever smiling and always laughing – especially at herself. Those and other heartfelt comments were common themes when each of us spoke.

I’d never spoken at a funeral service and it was difficult for many reasons but she would have done the same for me without hesitation. More difficult than speaking was the process of picking just a very few things to say about our many years of friendship. I hope I did her and her family justice as I tried to recognize her loyalty, sense of humor, and devotion to God. I asked Greg and Brenda before writing this blog post about Mary Dell and I thank them for instantly agreeing. Mary Dell pushed me to blog and was a constant source of encouragement. I wanted more people to know what a friend she was. She was an incredible friend to so many.

Below is what I said at the service.

It’s hard to sum up thirty-eight years of friendship in just a few minutes. I’ve known Mary Dell since I was just fifteen. I’ve known Greg and Billy since fourth grade and I still remember Mary Dell’s very first words to me: “Why on earth do you have your feet on my sofa?”

I was at her house because she’d allowed Greg to invite Billy and me to the beach with them for the week. We, and other friends along the way, repeated that beach trip every summer for over a decade. Mary Dell’s generosity provided Greg, Billy, and me with some of the happiest memories we’ll ever have.

During those early years Mary Dell was mother not just to Greg but to me and Billy too. She watched us grow from kids to young adults. She advised us, guided us, laughed and cried with us and soon became the person we called when we needed to work through problems. At a moment’s notice one of us might call her to a “meeting”, which is how we referred to our coffee talks at Aunt Sarah’s. No matter which one of us called her she’d say “Of course I’ll be there!” and in she’d walk, high heels and a smile, “Hello boys!”

Years passed and she morphed from parental figure to friend. Our best friend. She grew older and we grew up and many times it was she who called a meeting about problems of her own and off we three went to meet her. Some of the deepest, silliest, and funniest conversations I’ve ever had were with those three. The four of us were inseparable for a time.

When life got busier we didn’t hang out quite as much but she was only a phone call away. Whether I called her or she called me I could count on a good hour of laughing. She was always smiling and laughing. She loved to laugh, especially at herself, and loved it if you laughed at her too!

One day she called and started the conversation in typical hilarious Mary Dell fashion:

“Save us all, you will not believe the hideousness I have just been through!”

Of course I laughed knowing a good one was coming. “What happened?”

“Well, I was reading in bed when something on the leg of my pants caught my eye!”

“What was it?” I asked.

“Something hideous!”

“What was it?” I asked again.

“I couldn’t tell! I didn’t have my contacts in and I didn’t dare move for fear the loathsome creature would bite me!”

“Was it a spider?” I asked.

“Ohhh Stuart, it appeared to be the mother of all tarantulas so I screamed and jumped out of bed and stomped my feet to dislodge the beast!”

“Did it fall off?” I asked.

“No! I shrieked and flailed and it didn’t budge so I ran outside and stripped off my pants right there on the deck! Call the law!”

“Did you kill it?” I asked.

“Well, I dropped my pants on the deck and stomped them. Stuart, I nearly stomped a hole in the deck making sure I killed the evil thing!”

“So what was it?” I asked again. I’d been laughing hysterically all along.

“Well bless, I’d gotten so out of breath from all of the stomping that it took me a minute before I could shake my pants out.”

“And what was it?” I asked.

“Well, I unfurled my stomped pants and there it was. It fell out right onto the deck!”

“A spider?” I asked.

“Lordddd no, it was one of my false eyelashes that had gotten stuck to the back of my leg.

Mary Dell was always poised, always looked perfect, but never, ever, took herself too seriously.

A few years ago she asked if I would help her make a cottage garden in her yard. I jumped at the chance and we spent an entire summer making it happen. There were days we intended to work but instead sat on her deck talking. It was over the course of those months working outside together that she and I had a lot of deep conversations. She spoke openly, always smiling, about how much her faith and love of God meant to her.

She had watched me grow but I watched her grow too. She confessed regrets about things she had or hadn’t done in life, just like the rest of us. She wondered if she’d been a good person and hoped to become a “decent Christian” as she would say. I saw a calmness come over her that I hadn’t seen before and I think it was directly related to her faith. She credited her sister Brenda with guiding her in the right direction. Mary Dell often mentioned that she knew in the end she was going home to heaven.

One morning during that gardening summer I called to let her know I was on my way. No answer. I tried several times and still no answer. Knowing she lived alone I worried a little and called Greg. No answer. I just thought ok, she’s busy, she’ll call later. And she did. She’d been out of town and laughed at the anxiety in my voice in all of the voicemails I’d left.

It was no big deal. She said she and Greg had gone up home to see Mamaw, that was all. Since I’d worried, she said she’d let me know ahead of time from then on . She kept her word. From then on she left the same voicemail for me before every trip, “Hey kiddo, if you’re looking for me, don’t worry, I’ve gone up home.” After each trip she’d call and we’d catch up and laugh. She was one of those people you could actually hear smile over the telephone.

During all of these past thirty-eight years, when schedules aligned, Mary Dell, Greg, Billy, and I would meet up. Regardless of the amount of time that had passed in the interim, we’d fall right back to where we’d left off, just like we’d done for decades. Just the four of us.

I saw Mary Dell for the last time this past Christmas Eve.

I went to her house and Greg walked with me to her bed to tell her I was there. She had her eyes closed but when Greg said “Hey Mom, look who’s here.” she looked up. In spite of the stroke, in spite of the awful things it had done to her, she looked at me and smiled. She was incredibly weak but she lifted her hand towards me. In all the years I knew Mary Dell I had never held her hand until that night.

Greg and I spent some time with her and soon Billy arrived.  Mary Dell mostly slept but we made sure we joked and laughed and I’m sure she heard us and was glad. Later on that evening at one point she opened her eyes and looked at us. In that quiet room with her was only Greg, Billy, and me, like a thousand evenings before. I’ll never forget that few minutes.

And I will never forget Mary Dell or her influence on me. I will miss her. She was unique, funny, and always one of my best friends.

But Greg and Brenda, when we look for her and can’t find her, we can use her own words for a little comfort:

“Hey kiddo, if you’re looking for me, don’t worry, I’ve gone up home.”

Stuart M. Perkins

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