Good Old Days

Greatest Love of All

Posted on by cdjcollings

Sung by one of God’s greatest treasures for us, the amazingly gifted and beautiful Whitney Houston.

“Find your strength in love!”

So true!

I wish that we all achieve this for ourselves, sooner or later; to guide with everything of this life.

It is the understanding that helps in every choice that you make, in every relationship..

If you don’t have self-love, how could you love anyone else?

How could you know how?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As a significant note, I would like to share more about this beautiful song.

In 9th grade at junior high school, my classmate, Linda Creed was the center of attention for her buoyant spirit, her out-going nature, and ability to lead. At lunchtime, she would go to the middle of the gym floor and invite us all to dance and sing to the latest music. I always thought it odd how completely immersed in the music she seemed to be, and her insistence for us to come together to dance in the gym after lunch at school. She made it happen just about everyday, if I recall correctly, breaking racial barriers and other irritating issues we faced in school.

Our school was in a neighborhood comprised of predominately Jewish people. So the school was a reflection of the neighborhood and was populated of 50% Jewish and 50% everyone else. I make these facts known as they indicate how all encompassing Linda’s influence actually was. Linda insisted we all come together to have fun dancing, and we did. She was infectious, beaming and so happy being able to create with music and dancing, a moment that would bring us together like nothing else could.

Linda was Jewish so at first one might wonder how and what part of her felt so compelled to rouse us all to dance to rhythm and blues at lunchtime. We could feel that she was special somehow.

Years later, I learned that Linda had became a standout songwriter, creating some of the best lyrics and music of our era and in collaboration with Gamble & Huff, a significant part of what would come to be known as “The Philly Sound” of the 1970s.

Linda is the composer of this amazing song. Not long after writing this song, Linda would die of cancer in 1986.

RIP dear Linda, you “crazy diamond”!

Thank you for bringing us together in junior high school.

And a bigger thanks for all of the incredible lyrics and music.

Your classmate,

Char

Mother and Father

Posted on by cdjcollings

There are times when life defies understanding, the information we want, that we think we should have while experiencing a moment. Understanding may come later, unexpectedly, inconveniently. We may have settled with our current knowing so this revelation can also be obtrusive. But it is undeniable. We recognize a solved mystery revealed, but now we also have long ago adapted ourselves to make up for unanswered questions. We are fine now. But this understanding comes just the same.

Along with this, I think of my parents today. They were so very down to earth, no nonsense. I wanted a little more fluff, like I saw with my friend’s families. But Mother and Dad would have none of that. They were completely aware and not without aspirations but theirs were completely customized to fit their lives and not a carbon copy of anyone else. Eventually Mother and Dad moved our family into a big, stone house on 1/4 acre in a wonderful town. It was the envy of many, including the “fluffy” people. That’s the way that they were, patient and determined in reaching their aspirations.

Mother was highly admired for her leadership, her strength, her drive, her vision. She was unique. She envied no one. She set her sites on a thing and off she went in that direction., fashionably dressed, striking and confident, beautiful. People wanted to know her.

My Father was a quiet giant. He was strong in his beliefs and resolve. When he spoke you listened, you remembered because he wasted no words. He was quite handsome and he adored my Mother. Both strong individuals, my parents, but quite different in their approach in maintaining their strengths.

Looking back now, what has come to mind today, the understanding, is my parents approach to teaching discipline, responsibility, character and integrity; not with so many words, but by the way in which we were left to decide how to behave. They laid down the law and gave us the freedom to follow through. And having garnered our admiration and respect for them, my brothers, my sisters, and I seemed most times to come to the right decision that kept us in line and taught the tough lessons.

My parents were not averse to using the strap. I could tell a couple of stories about that, maybe later. (Spare the rod and spoil the child.). But I realize how intelligent they were. The simple way that they had with teaching and with most everything. They often told me just to look and listen. Don’t ask so many questions. Now this was completely in opposition to what we were taught in school. I often felt that I needed to ask more questions; how I might not be as smart as the ones in class who were constantly asking questions. But as it turns out, my parents were so right in their approach. Most of my questions were answered and in the most significant way. Those answers came during the course of a lesson if I just paid attention. And because of allowing myself the time to receive the answers, they were so much more valuable as the process involved only me. I received the information in the way for my mind to comprehend (we all have our unique way) instead of having to try to understand someone else’s interpretation or significant take on a subject. It was mine and will continue to be mine, foundational, solid, but open to further clarity and substance. I am not purporting that questions should not be asked in class at school, but only if one is inclined to ask, after listening. And at that point in time, more often than not, you may not have questions. I hope this makes sense.

And as always, with love,

Char

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We tend to forget many of the experiences that we’ve had, and easily so as some are truly forgettable, others regrettable, and still others simply because we must get on with our lives.  Some events, though we may not think of them when they occur as pertinent or relevant, remain with us somewhere deep inside.

For months I’d been struggling with a perplexing issue which seemed to defy resolution.  I was bound on all sides with thinking about it, when suddenly a forgotten memory emerged.  Shapes, colors, and details became part of the air around me, dancing in concert to form a story that I would tell in a little book that I would write.

This extraordinary experience of my childhood took place in 1957 in Virginia. As I wrote the words, I felt warm and comforting support for a time that I spent with my grandparents, so very dear to me now. Until the time of writing, I was unaware of how much meaning that summer had brought to my life.   How impossible that it was safe in my heart all along!  It is a story of love and an ever-growing appreciation for my family.  It might well have been entitled , “The Gift”.

Here is an excerpt from my novelette:

Two Little Girls

Chapter 1

As far as I was concerned, summer began with the day my father installed the screens in the windows. Early that morning, Mother would have taken the summer sheers from storage to the clothesline in our backyard. By the afternoon, she swooped up the freshened bundle and brought them back indoors to hang on the rods at the tops of the windows. When the transformation was complete, I’d run from room to room to see the curtains flying on the breeze that raced in through the windows of our big old house. Like a magical invitation to adventures possible only with summer, when one day melted into the next and no one asked about the time, I felt that I could fly too and that anything could happen.

There were 5 children in my family. My brother Lionel was the oldest; my sister Cecilia was next, followed by my sister Rose, then my brother Isaac, and me. We spent summertime totally absorbed in keeping pace with our friends as was our Mother in keeping up with us. She mended our scraped knees, our bruised egos, and the holes in my brothers’ dungarees. I remember lemonade and tuna sandwiches, cotton sun dresses and hair ribbons; the pennies I collected for the corner candy store, and my ankle socks that never stayed up. Summers seemed much longer then when hopscotch and jump rope, hide-and-seek and tag, dress-up and make believe, with my bicycle, my dolls and friends filled the days until supper time. When August finally came around, among the five of us someone would be chosen to vacation with our grandparents in the country. It was in the year 1957 that I was to spend my first summer there.

I’d thought so often about my first trip to the farm. But like the landing of a cascading boulder, my mother’s cheerful delivery of this summer’s plan completely shattered my vision of it. Leaving little room for the way that reality alters things but similar to most events concerning “the children”, I was quite certain of my unvarying reverie. It was always the same.  My brothers and sisters are running through a country field with me, very happily and as usual, following close behind. But everything had been arranged and I alone would spend two weeks on the farm that year.

My family had gathered in the living room when Mother made the announcement. But my frustrating lack of enthusiasm was like a call to dinner in emptying the room of everyone and I found myself alone, save for the dog. While I struggled with the concept of being on my own, Spiky jumped onto the couch next to me. Placing his head upon my foot he kept a concerned and watchful eye over my disposition until we both fell asleep.

Later that day, I listened to Dad’s recollections of farm life adventures while Mother prepared supper. As she filled in with the finer points and particulars she’d taken note of my mixed feelings with her knowing smile that always took the sharp edges off of things. “Don’t forget that your cousin Joanna is just about your age and lives close to Grandpa‘s”, she nearly whispered. Then I thought of the pocket inside the little green suitcase as the place where my Jacks would find a perfect fit.

                        ~~~~~~~ Truth is Beauty is Love ~~~~~~

You are amazing.  Create something beautiful today!

Two Little Girls by Charon Diane

Available through my publisher, Booklocker:  

http://booklocker.com/books/4718.html

also

Barnes & Noble

https://barnesandnoble.com/w/two-little-girls-charon-diane/1022157163?ean=9781609101374

and

Amazon.com

Kindle only. Type in “charon diane”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Troy

Posted on by cdjcollings

Today I am thinking about someone who I haven’t thought of in a very long time. I will call him Troy. I pick this name to suggest his appearance because his style reminds me of Troy Donahue, teen idol from the 60’s.

Troy always wore denim jeans, penny loafers (with no pennies) and white tee shirts. And like Troy Donahue, he was tall and lean. We shared everything. He was my neighbor, living just a few houses from mine so we were together almost everyday. We understood each other. We shared so much. We spent hours just lying beside each other on his bed, drinking sodas and watching tv or just being happy and feeling the comfort of having someone with whom no explanation was necessary. We looked at each other and smiled, laughed at how it seemed that actually, nothing needed to be said. We recognized how we may have seemed to others. We laughed at that too. We shared rites of passage that we both protected each other from, somehow.

A Call of the Wild written by Jack London, was a grammar school reading assignment. The story inspired us so Troy and I decided to take a walk during a gently falling snow. We ventured toward the woods, imagining the storyline for ourselves. Troy wore a denim jacket and boots. I was more appropriately dressed for the season. We talked and walked until at some point I realized the snow was more intense and that we would have to walk as far as we had come in order to get back home. We headed back as the snow intensified. Troy took the lead as the space between us grew. But we remained focused on each other. He waited for me to catch up so that he could wave good bye as I passed his house. My house was just ahead. I collapsed in front of the heater in the foyer, cold and exhausted. Glancing in my direction with a hint of knowing I’d been up to something, Mother only reminded me to be prepared for supper. And as usual, I was.

When the Beatles came on the scene, Troy and I were totally blown away. From my black and white radio, one night before school, I heard The Beatles for first time on the Hy Lit radio program. I was sure Troy was listening too. The next day, as soon as school was over, I ran to his house. When he opened the door he knew why I was there. We had the same response. “Who are these guys??” We were hooked.

Troy and I knew each other’s heart. We were so much alike in so many ways. We were together as much as our parent’s would allow. We didn’t annoy each other like friends can do at times. We never had an argument. As close as we were, our relationship never ventured beyond friendship. We never seemed curious about or the need for anything more. Most relationships are based on something specific, it seems. But with us, it was everything about him and everything about me. We truly understood and loved each other, untarnished, pure, and innocent. We laughed about everything and shared our dreams. He wanted to become a cowboy and he eventually moved to Montana and became a cowboy. I wanted to be a ballerina. Starting late in life, I became a ballet dancer. I remember wanting to share this with him but by then so much of life had transpired and we lost contact. But I know he would have smiled that wonderful smile and hug me if he knew.

When I heard this song by Bruce Springsteen I thought, “My gosh, this is us!!”

Bobbi Jean:

https://youtu.be/iGR_Rk74tOk?list=RDiGR_Rk74tOk

Char

“When Bad Things Happen”

Posted on by cdjcollings

Picture0802201333_1

photo by William from his tent fighting fires in northern California

*******
You are constantly given proof,
You are always invited to believe,
You are eternally being supported.

                                    “Is any among you in trouble?  Let them pray.”  James 5:13

Be Love
everything else

is

distraction.

As you live your life, bad things will happen…to you! What else will coax you from your carefully maintained comfort zone of limiting possibilities?
So what’s really happening when the baaaaad things intrude?
Upon reflection, personally, I would have to admit that I was pretty high on myself.  I felt sure of and satisfied with my life and rather proud of my accomplishments; creative, active, big thinking problem solver, go to person, answer lady, whatever it takes (so said my ex) big time doer, never sick, etc., there was always something going on, something that I needed to do. I always wore the most intriguing outfits and was fairly certain that I was personally responsible for a few trends. “You’re where you should be all the time and when you’re not you’re with…..”
Well, then I became ill.
For the next two months I lived in my office scouring the internet and printing out pages of reports and findings on suspecting causes.
Doctor after doctor and no one could tell me why or give a cause for “my condition” other than anxiety. So of course I was prescribed medication. Once on impulse I thanked a doctor for his insight because I could feel his growing frustration and impatience with me, and because I so needed at least a feeling of something constructive to come of this latest consultation.  He seemed pleased with himself and very condescendingly sent me on my way, sure of his victory over my presentation.  Just Imagine, feeling the worst you’ve ever felt and the only action available to you was to alleviate the stress in the person you rely upon to help you!  It was clear to me that I would have to find my way to the answers through my own efforts.

What you need is always there for you

On a day that I shall never forget, with one particular specialist, I answered yes to a question all doctors ask during consultation. Up until then, each time, with each doctor, I’d answered no. The question was, “Do you have a headache?”
Driving home from yet another perplexed doctor, I wondered, after 3 months into my investigation of my illness, and so many visits to doctors and emergency rooms, what was different this time? Why had I answered yes?

I started going backward with all of the details of that day. Everything was unremarkable except for how, uncharacteristically, I had closed the windows of my car leaving only the sunroof open because it was chilly from the night before when it rained. No air, all windows open is my usual. Was there anything else about the car? Yes there was. The engine has recently been replaced. Moving slowly to the front of my mind, an ethereal suggestion hinted, “Could carbon monoxide be involved?”

Once at home I immediately I called my general practitioner’s office. I spoke to the nurse and told her I needed the doctor to know about my suspicions regarding my car and carbon monoxide. She called back minutes later to ask if I meant to say carbon dioxide. Really?  I started to cry. I had never been so completely frustrated or felt so entirely lost, alone, and desperate. I fell to the floor and prayed, “God in heaven, please help me. Down here no one seems to know anything!” Then, I sensed  a clear, authoritative directive, to take the carbon monoxide detector from the wall and to place it in the car. I was stunned for a moment. Then I followed through placing the meter in the driver’s seat, I closed the windows, started the engine, got out of the car, and closed the door. After 10 minutes waiting on my porch, I returned to the car to get the meter reading which registered a very high level of carbon monoxide. I was being poisoned by my car’s exhaust fumes!

Stress slipped away and I felt a warm comforting Presence all around me. I didn’t want to stray from it so I continued to lie there enjoying the most amazing sense of security and love and acceptance. I could have been taken away on a breeze. My prayer was answered and I felt safe for the first time in months.

Recovery from this kind injury takes a long time and patient, consistent self-care. What a challenge it is for a previously impatient me!

I am different now.  I can’t do it all these days but with Grace, I’ve learned in exchange, that when I allow others to do for me I get to experience the beautiful gift of connection existing between us all. I was surprised to find that people seem to gravitate to the opportunity to experience that connection, to express the Love!

For a take-charge personality the biggest challenge has been a simple one; to allow others. Though it continues to be my first response, I just don’t need to take charge anymore. My good fortune has been that I’ve established some incredible bonds as well as rid myself of a couple of fair-weather-friends (after so many years, who knew, though they have always been rather difficult.) Because of my illness I know some of what’s been missing. And each day I discover more, i.e. my love of writing!

So could it be that the bad things that happen are just an invitation to experience your life from a different perspective, to see what becomes of you? And perhaps it’s all part of the grand design anyway, in revealing the wonder of you, your self, your most precious and amazing gift!
Wow!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My book!

Two Little Girls by Charon Diane

http://booklocker.com/books/4718.html

https://barnesandnoble.com/w/two-little-girls-charon-                                              diane/1022157163?ean=9781609101374

https://www.amazon.com/s?                                                                          k=two+little+girls+charon+diane&ref=nb_sb_noss_2

We tend to forget many of the experiences that we’ve had, and easily so as some are truly forgettable, others regrettable, and still others simply because we must get on with our lives.  Some events, though we may not think of them when they occur as pertinent or relevant, remain with us somewhere deep inside.

For months I’d been struggling with a perplexing issue which seemed to defy resolution.  I was bound on all sides with thinking about it, when suddenly a forgotten memory emerged.  Shapes, colors, and details became part of the air around me, dancing in concert to form a story that I would tell in a little book that I would write.

This extraordinary experience of my childhood took place in 1957 in Virginia. As I wrote the words, I felt warm and comforting support for a time that I spent with my grandparents, so very dear to me now.  Until the time of writing, I was unaware of how much meaning that summer had brought to my life.   How impossible that it was safe in my heart all along!  It is a story of love and an ever-growing appreciation for my family.  It might well have been entitled , “The Gift”.

                                                            Here is an excerpt from my novelette:

Two Little Girls

Chapter 1

As far as I was concerned, summer began with the day my father installed the screens in the windows. Early that morning, Mother would have taken the summer sheers from storage to the clothesline in our backyard. By the afternoon, she swooped up the freshened bundle and brought them back indoors to hang on the rods at the tops of the windows. When the transformation was complete, I’d run from room to room to see the curtains flying on the breeze that raced in through the windows of our big old house. Like a magical invitation to adventures possible only with summer, when one day melted into the next and no one asked about the time, I felt that I could fly too and that anything could happen.

There were 5 children in my family. My brother Lionel was the oldest; my sister Cecilia was next, followed by my sister Rose, then my brother Isaac, and me. We spent summertime totally absorbed in keeping pace with our friends as was our Mother in keeping up with us. She mended our scraped knees, our bruised egos, and the holes in my brothers’ dungarees. I remember lemonade and tuna sandwiches, cotton sun dresses and hair ribbons; the pennies I collected for the corner candy store, and my ankle socks that never stayed up. Summers seemed much longer then when hopscotch and jump rope, hide-and-seek and tag, dress-up and make-believe, with my bicycle, my dolls and friends filled the days until suppertime. When August finally came around, among the five of us someone would be chosen to vacation with our grandparents in the country. It was in the year 1957 that I was to spend my first summer there.

I’d thought so often about my first trip to the farm. But like the landing of a cascading boulder, my mother’s cheerful delivery of this summer’s plan completely shattered my vision of it. Leaving little room for the way that reality alters things but similar to most events concerning “the children”, I was quite certain of my unvarying reverie. It was always the same.  My brothers and sisters are running through a country field with me, very happily and as usual, following close behind. But everything had been arranged and I alone would spend two weeks on the farm that year.

My family had gathered in the living room when Mother made the announcement. But my frustrating lack of enthusiasm was like a call to dinner in emptying the room of everyone and I found myself alone, save for the dog. While I struggled with the concept of being on my own, Spiky jumped onto the couch next to me. Placing his head upon my foot he kept a concerned and watchful eye over my disposition until we both fell asleep.

Later that day, I listened to Dad’s recollections of farm life adventures while Mother prepared supper. As she filled in with the finer points and particulars she’d taken note of my mixed feelings with her knowing smile that always took the sharp edges off of things. “Don’t forget that your cousin Joanna is just about your age and lives close to Grandpa‘s”, she nearly whispered. Then I thought of the pocket inside the little green suitcase as the place where my Jacks would find a perfect fit.

                                          ~~~~~~~ Truth is Beauty is Love ~~~~~~

You are amazing.  Create something beautiful today!