Reflections by Katie Butler Johnson

Remember that old saying: “May you live in interesting times?” We’re there right now - soldiering through - one day at a time. 
Future generations will study the Covid 19 Pandemic and wonder what living during it was like. Books will be written about us, about how our first responders rose to the challenge and about how the world changed.


We never had total control over our lives.  But, like many, I assumed I’d get to live my carefully planned tomorrows. This Pandemic has shaken up everything.  It’s like we’re spinning in the whirl of a snow globe.  I wonder what life will look like when it settles down. Until then, I’m learning I have to be flexible to get through it all.


Instead of trips away, I plan treks to Kroger; Instead of sharing a meal with friends at Cheddar’s, I meet them on Zoom for face time; Instead of exercise class, I walk the neighborhood; Instead of days filled with activity, I’m settling into periods of reflection. 


I’m challenging myself to see just how long I can postpone grocery trips to Kroger. I’m making it 3 weeks!  By then, most meals are composed of orphan frozen foods and leftovers.


Yesterday it was Christmas leftovers - sweet and sour meat balls – served on riced cauliflower with that remaining half bag of steamed Italian veggies.  Not bad!  I’ve discovered generous amounts of butter and cheese plus a dash of Kroger’s Mild Tomatillo Salsa Verde greatly enhances random combos. (Unfortunately, the addition of a generous amounts of dairy is also greatly enhancing ME!)


 Before the virus, I did water aerobics and Drumba for exercise.  Both are on hiatus. So, I’ve started walking in my neighborhood.  Seeing the dappled sunlight filter through the leaves of massive oaks that meet above as I walk beneath makes me feel I’m walking down the center aisle of nature’s cathedral. 


It had been years since I walked those streets.  Neighbors have changed and houses look different. I’ve noticed many of the red brick houses have been painted white with dark brown trim. I feel kind of like a Rip Van Winkle – waking up to familiar yet altered surroundings.
 At first, I would huff and puff as I approached the mile mark. Then I made it two miles.  Now I’m almost up to 3.5.  I’m getting in fighting shape in case I have to battle the virus! 


The Internet has been a blessing during this time.  I play bridge on the computer each afternoon.  If you’re a bridge player, I hope you’ve discovered Bridge Base Online. I’ve also been meeting to socialize on Zoom with the Evening Stars - my performance group, with my book club and with family members. 


Speaking of the book club, I’ve a recommendation for you: “The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek!”   It’s a novel, set in the Kentucky hills in the 1930’s, about a woman with a rare genetic condition that turns her blue.  She brings library books to the rural people through Roosevelt’s WPA in the 1930’s. It’s well worth the read!


As I live through these days, I’m trying to adjust to what is.  When I can’t do what I’d planned, I’m planning to do what I can!   It’s the same basic advice Dolly Parton gave us, but she said it far more poetically: “We cannot direct the wind, but we can adjust the sails.”
I’m trying to adjust those sails!
How about you?

June/July 2020

Reflections

Does the name Frank Gehry ring a bell?  


He’s the architect whose projects - like the Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles and the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, Spain -  brought world acclaim. 


On a Smithsonian trip in Panama City last February, I visited one of Gehry’s newer buildings - a museum called “Biomuseo.” He designed it to highlight Panama’s biodiversity and to please his wife, a proud Panamanian. 


Panama’s vast variety of plants, animals, fungi and micro-organisms can be traced back to around three million years ago when the isthmus of Panama rose from the sea, connecting the North and South American continents.  That geological bridge allowed biodiversity to flourish: animals and plants passed between north and south; ancestors of the opossum, armadillo and porcupine emigrated to North America; forerunners of Llamas, raccoons and horses traveled to South America. 


Gehry’s Biomuseo houses a three-story cube-shaped theater which has screens covering all sides including the glass ceiling and floor onto which video is projected.  When you enter the space, you become immersed in a virtual rain forest experience. You see leaf cutter ants walking beneath you; a lush jungle trail open before you; birds fly above; and waves break on a Pacific beach.  It’s amazing! 


The Biomuseo is different from the Gehry buildings I mentioned above. Instead of the smooth, shiny metallic finish they have, the Panama Museum has brilliantly-colored roof panels jutting out at all angles. The vivid primary colors are a striking reminder of the colorful animals and plants found in Central America. 


The same day we visited the Biomuseo, we also stopped at the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute.  Dr. Matthew Larsen, the director of that institute and one of the Smithsonian experts accompanying us on our trip, welcomed us and introduced us to his researchers who showed us around. 


One research project that Larsen himself described caught my interest – a possible cure for breast cancer!  Apparently, there’s a substance found on fungus that grows on the fur of sloths that holds promise in the fight against breast cancer.  With the abundant number of those languid critters hanging out in trees throughout Latin America, there shouldn’t be a shortage of research material.


After leaving Panama City, we boarded our ship, Le Dumont D’Urville, for the trip east through the original or “classic” Panama Canal.  
At the end of our voyage, we took a bus from Colon to the Panama airport - but made a brief detour to the Panama Canal Expansion Observation Center/Agua Clara Locks Visitors Center.  We watched a gigantic cargo ship inch through the expansion canal.  There wasn’t much wiggle room between the sides of that post-panamax ship and the edges of the canal. The tug boat assigned to guide it through looked like a child’s toy next to the huge container ship.  Somehow, that tiny tug ramped up its energy and slowly pulled the overstuffed behemoth through the locks.


It’s been a couple months now since I traded the first week of February in Texas for a week of warmth and sun in the tropics.  I got to see a tribe of monkeys swing through the trees in Costa Rica; negotiate for molas with the Guna people under the coconut trees on a San Blas Island; learn about biodiversity, volcanoes and plate tectonics from Smithsonian lecturer Dr. Kirk Kempter; climb on and off  a Zodiac (never gracefully) during wet landings; survive several hours of hiking in Costa Rica’s Curu National Wildlife Refuge (my knees complained loudly about that one;) and arrive home safely with a deeper knowledge of that part of our planet. 


My trip was like what I imagine “semester at sea” might be - except it lasted nine days rather than several months and the “students” were grandparents not college kids.  Happily, there were no exams to white-knuckle through at the end.  Instead there was just a deep appreciation for where we had been, for the things we learned, for the people we’d met and the memories of it all that we carry with us.•

April/May 2020

Reflections

Remember when most people kept in touch through handwritten letters?


Sadly, those times are past. 


These days, we hardly ever find a handwritten letter embedded in our bundles of mail. It’s just bills, magazines, newspapers, and that ever-increasing stack of ads. 


Before computers, we used to take pen in hand to communicate with each other.  We’d share our thoughts and dreams - one on one.  Today, we get typed messages on various electronic screens. They’re no substitute for the personal touch of a handwritten letter. Handwritten letters are one of a kind creations that can be savored for years.


I’ve been doing a lot of that kind of savoring recently. You see, while cleaning out the attic, I found a large box containing all sorts of letters my late husband sent to his wide range of correspondents:  his family, my family, friends, teachers, business contacts, “gals who came before me” and me. It also includes responses written to him from all those correspondents. 


The box doesn’t actually hold the original letters he sent. It holds carbon copies of those. He wrote so many letters that he started carbon copying them early on so he’d remember what he said and not repeat himself.  His letters read like conversations and those conversations are often humorous, definitely entertaining and at times quite emotional.  I’ve been eavesdropping on all those conversations between him and all his correspondents – including me.  


Remember that movie starring Christopher Reeves and Jane Seymour: “Somewhere in Time?”  I feel like that when I read his letters to me, like I’m a time traveler. The letters transport me back to when I was a college student in New York and my guy was in grad school in California.  We wrote each other long letters nearly every day for more than a year.  When I hold his letters to me and read his words in his distinctive handwriting, I can hear his voice in my mind telling me, once again, how deeply I am loved.  


Not only have I been reading our letters, I’ve been reading all of his other correspondence to and from his family, my family, his friends and those “gals who’d come before.” I have read what he told his friends and old flames when he met me and what he thought about this new girl.  In a nutshell, I’ve been reliving our beginning.  He was very ill for many years at the end of his life. I remember how difficult those years were.  Now I get to paint over that time with fresh memories of our golden beginning. 


Ever wonder what a handwritten letter might bring at auction? I have.  If it were a letter between world leaders, or perhaps a love letter between notables, I’d guess it might bring a hefty sum.  I looked up which letter had sold for the most at auction. The answer: a letter written in 1953 from Francis Crick to his son Michael.  It sold to an anonymous buyer on April 10, 2013 for $6,000,000!  Why was it worth that much?  And just WHO was Francis Crick?  Well, Crick, together with his colleague James Watson, discovered the DNA molecule.  He wrote that letter to his son just weeks before announcing the DNA molecule discovery to the world.  In it, he told his son: “My dear Michael, Jim Watson and I have probably made a most important discovery.” Then he went on to describe the working of DNA and include a rough diagram of its structure.   


I can understand why Crick’s letter went for so much, but that doesn’t stop me from declaring my letters are worth so much more than that to me.


My take away from all this rambling is to encourage you, for Valentine’s Day this year, to pen heartfelt letters to your special people.  Those letters will be gifts only you can give that may very well outlast you. 


Your letters probably won’t wind up at an auction house going for millions, but they will wind up in the hands of those you treasure and be considered by them to be... priceless. •

February/March 2020

Reflections

When we moved to Fairview in 1987, we stored several old cardboard cartons in the far corner of our attic. Those boxes stayed there - taped shut - for over 32 years.  I thought they each contained outdated periodicals and old financial records.  


Over the years, both our attic and garage had filled with “stuff.” Those old cartons got hidden behind subsequent boxes and forgotten.  
This past September, my son Clay and his wife volunteered to clean both the garage and the attic, separating the contents into “keep, donate and toss.” Clay ordered a dumpster and the purge began.


I wasn’t to help for fear I’d “second guess” their decisions. 


Towards the end of the process, Clay came and told me: “There’s something you should see.” One of those cartons was labeled “packed in 1969.”  It held files of old letters, news clippings and a moisture damaged photo album.  That album was filled with Polaroid pictures of Claiborne and my first year together – pictures of us at the Grand Canyon on our 1961 cross-country honeymoon, of our new friends at UC Berkeley and our firstborn, Beth.  The pictures were stuck to their plastic covering which may be why the album was packed away – too damaged to display but too precious to toss. I don’t remember that album or how it got damaged. I do remember our Polaroid Camera.  It was a wedding gift. We’d used it to capture the moments in time that album holds.


Edwin Land invented the Polaroid Camera in 1944.  He always said he got his idea from his three-year old daughter.  She’d asked him why she couldn’t see the picture he’d just taken of her right away. That sent him on the quest to create a camera so she could.


Land had dropped out of Harvard to set up a research operation in a Cambridge garage. (Sounds like Steve Jobs and Apple.) From that beginning, he went on to build his Polaroid business into a billion-dollar company.


 The first consumer Polaroid Camera was sold at Boston’s Jordan Marsh for Christmas 1948.  It promised to deliver a “picture in a minute.” Remember Steve Allen’s TV ads for those cameras in the 50s?  


Picture taking has changed dramatically since those days. We’ve gone from analogue to digital. Today we whip out iPhones to capture full color snippets of our everyday life. 


Photography always fascinated my friend Kay Griffith.  With five children at home and a job in finance, she had no time to pursue it.  But, she knew there would be time when she retired.  As she began to think about her eventual retirement, she started to prepare for it by taking photography classes at Richland College. 


Kay stood out at Richland in the 60’s -  the only senior citizen in a class of youths aspiring to be the next Ansel Adams. She took all the photography classes Richland offered; went on photoshoots and field trips; joined the Heard Nature Photography Club; displayed her photographs at artist galleries and showcases; sold many pictures; and won many awards.


We spend years in school preparing for the first part of our lives, but how many of us spend time preparing for that second chapter?  It may last as long or longer than the first did. Kay had the foresight to prepare herself for her retirement. And today, at 88, she is, as Joseph Campbell would say, “following her bliss.”


As for that damaged photo album, I treasure it.  it holds images of who I was and what my life was like over a half-century ago.  What advice would I give my 21year self as she looks up at me from that album? I’d tell her life can be like a roller coaster.  Hang on and enjoy your ride.•
 

December 2019/January 2020

Reflections

My in-laws inherited a section of timberland in East Texas. 


Family stories say my husband’s grandfather won the deed to it in a poker game! 


Each fall, when the temperature dips, I remember our long-ago camping trips in those piney woods. October always brought great camping weather and the woods offered a whole new world for our family to explore. 


My father-in-law loved to drive his sedan on the property’s bumpy roads. The fact he didn’t have a four-wheel drive never deterred him.
One day, when he and my mother-in-law were there, alone in the middle of the nowhere, they ran over a large tree stump. It punctured the gas tank. Gas began leaking onto the red clay. They brainstormed how to stem the flow. Then it came to them: MONTEREY JACK CHEESE!  It was right there in their cooler. They carved a plug out of it, stuffed it in the hole and drove miles to the nearest gas station. I wish I could have seen the auto mechanic’s face when they told him the engine needed to be flushed to get the cheese out! That engine survived the cheese and my in-laws added another anecdote to our family’s story. 


We seniors are the keepers of those family stories. Over our lifetime, we’ve heard dozens of family anecdotes. With our help passing them on, they become part of our family lore - adding color to our family history while helping the younger members of our tribe get to know those who came before them. 


Did I ever tell you the story about grandfather and the black pearl?  Grandfather McManus passed away long before I was born, but I got to know him well through family stories. He was a diamond trader and a jeweler. In the early 1900’s, he’d acquired a large black pearl. When he showed it to his fellow jewelers on West 57th street in NYC, they said it was probably dyed. To prove it was real, he sliced the pearl in half. It was black to the core, but cutting the pearl sliced off much of its value. 


When a wealthy man came looking to commission a significant piece of jewelry to present to his wife to commemorate an important anniversary, granddad thought of that broken pearl. 


He suggested making a unique broach using the half pearl as the centerpiece, surrounding it with diamonds. He placed the other pearl half in the vault and left it there. The man was delighted with it as was his wife. She wore it for years. 


Many years later, that same man returned. His wife was distraught. She’d lost the broach. Could Granddad search and find another pearl to duplicate that broach? That client never knew the second half was just resting in the vault. As a result, the woman was overjoyed with an identical copy of her cherished broach and grandfather made more from that pearl than he would have had it not been sliced and just been just a single . . . perfect. . . . black. . . . pearl! 


Enough of those past stories. I have a new one I want to add to the family list. 


About nine years ago, my California daughter Norah and I were visiting while her daughter, Meghan, about 4 at the time, was playing quietly in the next room - a little too quietly. 


Norah went to investigate. Meghan had found my new lipstick on the bathroom counter and had taken a piece of copier paper from the printer. She made lipstick blots all over that sheet. When Norah asked what she was doing, she immediately responded that, since they lived so far away, she wanted to give Grandmommy (me) enough kisses to last till she visited again. 


And that’s why I treasure a piece of copier paper covered with random lipstick blots. To me, they are Megan’s thoughtful. . . . beautiful. . . . lipstick kisses.

October/November 2019

Reflections

Have you ever been to Tuscany?  


If you’ve read Frances Mayes’ memoir “Under the Tuscan Sun” or seen the movie based on it, you have some idea of the area’s beauty and charm. 


The movie version spins a romantic tale of a woman, played by Dianne Ladd, who travels to Tuscany to recover from her recent divorce.  On a whim, she buys a dilapidated 16th century villa (symbol of the shambles of her current sad post-divorce life?)  and takes us along as she transforms that villa into her own Valhalla - finding love and happiness in the process. 


When my daughter Beth called last winter and asked me if I would like to go on their family trip to Tuscany and stay in an actual restored Tuscan villa for a week of Italian cooking lessons, memories of Mayes’ book and the movie played in my head. I said “YES!”


On June 9th, we drove from Rome to Tuscany and Torre Del Tartufo - our home for 7 days.  


Torre Del Tartufo sits at the top of a long, narrow, twisty, dirt road through the forest and just past a strand of stately Cyprus trees banking the entrance. The whole place could be a movie set: ivy covered villa with storybook tower; roses everywhere; and lavender beds poised to burst into purple blooms. 


We were met by a gracious lady, Lena, who welcomed us and showed us to our rooms.   Granddaughter Eden’s room was in the Rapunzel-like tower at the top of a flight of narrow winding stairs. Daughter Beth and her husband Lowell were on the second floor with a spectacular view of the infinity pool and the distant hills with their olive trees.  Grandsons Logan and Trevor roomed next to me on the first floor. All the rooms were beautifully appointed.


After meeting fellow guests and our Chef at a welcome dinner, we retired to our rooms.  I opened my window which overlooked a rose bed and breathed in the fragrance. Then laid down on the bed.  Last thing I remember was looking through that window at a slice of moon and stars scattered across the night sky.  Next thing I saw was daylight. I’d slept longer and deeper than I had in years!   


We had 4 days of 4-hour lessons -16 hours of Italian cooking instruction. We gathered around a massive black marble slab that topped our work table in the center of a fully equipped kitchen.  There was an impressive herb garden steps outside where we picked herbs for recipes and eyed luscious strawberries just begging to be tasted.   We even went on a truffle hunt with trained truffle dogs, not pigs as I thought were used.  Seems pigs make a mess of foraging and then often eat the truffle before their trainer can get it.  Dogs aren’t that keen on truffles and prefer the trainer’s treat to the truffle. We collected 7 truffles that were added to that evening’s risotto.


Our Chef taught us how to bone a duck, a chicken and a fish as well as how to prepare la rack of lamb.  We made many Italian dishes:  pizza in a brick oven, ravioli and pasta by hand, limoncello, saltimbocca, tiramisu. . . . . . 


Four hours might seem long for a cooking class, but it was so packed with fun and activity that time sped. We had much to learn from our Chef, Franko Palandra. 


Palandra had retired as Chef with Cunard Cruise lines where he’d traveled the world and found his Paola.  She assists in the classes. We got all sorts of tips from our Chef who always had a twinkle in his eye, a great sense of humor and a gracious manner.


During lessons, we made our lunches and dinners for the week. Each dinner course was perfectly paired with a different Italian wine. By the end of the week, the guests and the staff had bonded into one happy family. And we got to tour around the Tuscan countryside in our downtime.  


When I left Tuscany after my week of gourmet meals, not only did I take home my course textbook (the 3lb “Tuscookany” cookbook) and the memories of a special week with family and new friends,  I also took home seven extra pounds that were . . .very . . .deliciously . . acquired!

August/September 2019

Reflections

Did you know reading books may lengthen your life?


I just stumbled across a recent Yale University study of the reading habits of 3,635 seniors which determined those of us who read books, especially novels, appear to outlive our non-book-reading peers by as much as 23 months! 


The study never deduced that reading books CAUSES longer lives, but, that, perhaps because it keeps the brain active and helps one develop emotional connections to others, reading books leads to longer life.


Here’s what I find most intriguing:  3.5 hours of book reading, essentially a sedentary activity and sedentary activities usually aren’t associated with longevity, was found to be as beneficial to long life as 3.5 hours of EXERCISING! 


I dare say many of you out there would rather be cozy on the couch with a novel in hand than dripping with sweat on a treadmill -   especially if the benefits were  a swap!


Along with getting to meet diverse characters and experiencing the thrill of traveling through time and space on an author’s words and with our imagination, it can now be said that books not only bring life to our days but also add days to our life!


Do you remember the first book that mesmerized you?  Mine was James Mitchener’s “The Source.”   I envision Mitchener in his Doylestown study in the 1960’s.  I can almost hear the rhythm as he pounds the keys of his manual typewriter while documenting the epic story his characters are dictating. 


Then there was “Clan of the Cave Bear.”  Did you ever read that series?  I discovered it in the 80’s.  I’d tuck the latest volume into my carryall so I could sneak in reads whenever time allowed. 


I never thought much about what life must have been like before recorded time. I’m glad Jean Auel did.  She introduced me to her vision of it as she spun her tale about Ayla and possibilities in the age of Neanderthals and Cro-Magnons. 


If you’re a “bookie” like me, you have both a stack of books you’re eager to devour plus a stack you’ve read and just have to share with others.
 There are many venues in Dallas for great book reviews.  If you are new to our area, you may not have discovered the following two.
The programs at Highland Park United Methodist Church are free and open to the public.  All you need to do is ask to be put on their email list to get notice of the lectures. Contact Richard Stanford: stanfordr@hpumc.org.    


The HPUMC 2019 Rejebian Summer Series starts in June and will feature our beloved Rose-Mary Rumbley on July 31st.  Don’t miss Rose-Mary!  She’ll review “The Library Book.”  (If you haven’t read it yet, it’s well worth the read. it’s a fascinating history of the origin of libraries and their far-reaching programs plus a well-researched account of the disastrous 1987 LA library fire.)  


The Dallas Museum of Art sponsors a series called “Arts and Letters Live” which brings in well-known authors for ticketed events.  A while back I heard Salman Rushdie speak at one such event.  He was under a fatwah. There were police guarding the cordoned off perimeter of the Museum as well as two burly body guards on the stage and some in the back of the room to protect Rushdie.  All that added a touch of danger to an already exciting evening.


Just days ago, I attended an Arts and Letters Live program co-sponsored by the World Affairs Council of Dallas /Fort Worth held at Temple Emanu-El. It featured David Brooks, the NY Times journalist, and his book - “The Second Mountain.” Brooks’ book is inspirational. It’s waiting for me on my bedside table right now.


I could go on and on about books, but, I’m running out my allotted column space.  So, I’ll end by saying:  When you’re at Celebration’s “Love, Laugh and Learn” this July, come say hello and bring along some titles to share.  I’m always on the hunt for my next great read.

June/July 2019

Reflections

Office: (469) 532-2622   info@celebrationmag.com

1350 East Arapaho Road suite 126   Richardson, Texas 75081

 www.celebrationmagazine.com

© 2020 Celebration Magazine.

All rights reserved.