First and Only Ski trip

Snowmass Colorado - ski resort 

This hot weather has me thinking about a very cold vacation Barry and I took years ago when we were newlyweds.

It was Christmas day and we were sitting at the table at my parent's home where we always gathered for holiday dinners. My brother, Rex, and his wife, Mary, said they were going out to Colorado for a ski vacation. "We are meeting my cousin and his wife at Snowmass where we have a free week at a condo right on the slopes," Mary said.

Rex headed up the purchasing department of Hercules Bumpers, the family business, and met salesmen from many different companies trying to gain his favor. They offered Rex perks hoping to gain contracts with Hercules. One company owned a condo at the ski resort, Snowmass, just a short distance from Aspen.

Barry asked questions and soon we both said how much we would love to go to Colorado to a ski resort and Rex invited us to go with them. Barry and Rex had a wonderful relationship which made my life better and I knew Rex really wanted us to go.

Within a few weeks, we had bought ski outfits and warm clothes that we would never wear in south Georgia where we lived. The only problem for me was my horrific fear of flying. Barry kept telling me it was safe and I would love it once I was in the sky. 

On the plane, a 747 with three aisles of seats, I had a window seat. Barry had begun plying me with tasty drinks even before we entered the airplane. Once we were seated he immediately got me a glass of champagne which was free. Yes, back then flying was very different from today.

We were on a champagne flight to Denver from Atlanta. Barry was right. I put on headphones and filled my ears with loud classical music, not rock and roll. Closed my eyes and forgot where I was for a few hours.

When we reached Denver we found snow. Not just a little bit of snow. We found that the Colorado mountains were in the midst of a blizzard. No flights were going to Aspen or any area near there. We were told we would need to stay over and hopefully get a flight out the next day.

Well, Rex Council had plans and no blizzard was going to stop him from getting to that condo. He didn't want to miss a single minute of his time there, must less an entire night and day. Mary's relatives were already there.

Against my advice and in spite of my fears, Rex rented a car and said he would drive to Snowmass. If you knew Rex,  you would know he thought he could drive anywhere at any time. He loved to drive his big car, Buick or Town Car. But this time he had to rent a car. I don't remember what kind of car it was, but I think it was a four-wheel drive. That drive through a snowstorm so thick we could not see the road ahead or the sides of the road was the most frightening thing I had ever been a part of.

In the curving mountain two-lane roads, Rex managed to keep the car going and we did not run off the side in spite of a lawman who appeared behind us somewhere calling on his megaphone, "Stay on your side of the road."

Rex didn't change his driving but muttered out loud, "I'd do that if I could see the road."

It was dark when we finally made it to Snowmass and found our condo. I was exhausted but we had to go down the mountain before it was too late to get our skis and instructions. I was young and in pretty good shape. I rode horses and rode a dirt bike, but had no idea what was wrong with me when I became so breathless I had to sit down on the way back up to the condo. It frightened me. I felt like I was about to die. I just couldn't breathe. A kind soul stopped and let us ride with him up the mountain. I was put to bed and everyone huddled around me worried. 

In time, I felt some better, but I was not ready to go out the next morning and try to ski. Once I learned that the thin air in the high altitude was hard for me to breathe since I came from the flatlands where the air is thick and humid, I was less afraid but was told to take it easy until I acclimated to the altitude.

The condo was outstanding in comfort and had astounding views. Rex, Mary, and Barry hit the slopes early. They simply skied out the front door. Amazing to me as I had never even seen snow like this. Barry had lived in California and in Germany where he learned to ski. Rex and Mary were beginners but both were anxious to get out there and try it. Not me.

By the second day, I was up to taking a skiing lesson. We first practiced falling and getting up. I fell just fine, but could not get up. It was horribly embarrassing. My instructor used me as an example for the others to show them what not to do. He laughed at me and I wanted to become invisible. He was cute and funny. He said I was a mogul. When I asked, "What is a mogul?" He said it is a south Georgia girl who falls and can't get up.

My short experience with the ski instructor was my last one with any instructor. I flew to Colorado for skiing but never skied. However, I had a wonderful experience that week, one I will always remember.

While the others hit the slopes, I walked down to the village and found the ski lodges, restaurants, and bars where I could sit and write, take photographs and blend in with the other people there. The heady air played a game with my brain and I found myself getting a crush on my smart alec ski instructor, watching him laughing and talking with girls, looking so handsome in his ski clothes. He was the model on the Snowmass brochure. 

I wrote a poem about him and it was my first publication in a slick magazine. 

High in Colorado
                   By Glenda Council Beall

He poses, hip cocked in red and blue,
sun-glistened face of Eros turned to me,
a fledgling atop the icy slope. My
breath quickens in foolish adoration

at the sound of my name from his mouth.
Knees bent, I push on poles and slide
down to him, past him, racing for the edge.
Sit down, Glenda! My legs collapse,

long shoes shoot sidewise. I try to rise,
but can't. He twirls, zips toward me,
digs in. You know a mogul is a South
Georgia girl who falls and can't get up.
He laughs, his teeth like sparkling icicles.
Giddy Aspen air heliums my brain,
overflows my heart that dances in triple time.
He yanks me up, skims powder to the lift.

At sea level, snow dreams
melt into arrogant soap bubbles
as his smiling face yellows
on a faded brochure beneath my ski apparel.

skiers in Colorado but I am not one of them

LET ME INTRODUCE YOU TO DANA WILDSMITH

WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE HUMAN?

Do you want to hear both sides of the border issue? Dana Wildsmith teaches English as a second language to immigrants to this country. She takes us inside the hearts and minds of those who struggle to make it to the United States and safety from the dangers in their homelands.

We hear so much talk of building walls along our borders to keep people out but seldom do we hear the migrants' stories that accompany such dangerous journeys--like the vulnerability of giving up your child to a stranger, the tragedy of dying in the desert, or the constant fear of getting caught. Dana Wildsmith's Jumping captures the experiences of what happens when "illegals" try to cross into the United States, "jumping" the border. 

Cesar, the main character, is especially powerfully portrayed with his humor, intelligence, and desire to provide a better life for his family. Read this novel for a good story, for a better understanding of our neighbors, and to know what it means to be human.

Dana Wildsmith’s writing has its roots in literal soil: the earth of the old farm she works to keep alive, as documented in her collection of poems, One Good Hand, and through her environmental memoir, Back to Abnormal, or along the desert sands of our southern border, as told in her novel, Jumping, a story which grew from Wildsmith’s work as a teacher of English Literacy to non-native speakers. 

Her most recent collection, One Light, follows the journey of her mother, Grace, down dementia’s rocky road. Wildsmith has a new book forthcoming from Madville Publishing which took root as the pandemic flourished and we all searched for tools to help us cope with this unprecedented epic. With Access to Tools explores the role of tools in our lives: traditional farm tools, tools of the digital age, and cerebral tools such as patience and memory. 

Wildsmith is a highly sought-after teacher of creative writing and has garnered residencies at the Hambidge Center, the Lillian E Smith Center, Grand Canyon National Park and Everglades National Park. Her website, www.danawildsmith.com, is the home of a widely read blog mostly centered on teaching and writing.

Wildsmith's books are available on Amazon.com 

A Poet I cannot stop reading - Scott Owens

Scott sent me an email telling me his newest book is out. 

I promptly ordered it. Strange, maybe, because the book is for children. Scott wrote a book of poems with illustrations for children.   Worlds Enough: Poems for and about children (and a few grown-ups)

I am intrigued and must read this book. Maybe I will then pass it on to a child, but because I think Scott is one of the best poets of today, I look forward to reading this book. Take a peek at the cover here.

 

He is a very busy man with so much on his plate, that he had to give up one of my very favorite blogs. Musings - https://scottowensmusings.blogspot.com/ some years ago.

But I spent much time tonight going back to Musings and reading his words about poetry.

Scott says the art of poetry

“is what won’t sit still inside your head 

what wakes you up at night 

what calls memory back from darkness 

what gives words the shape they take  

what makes you wonder how much more you could do  

and just why you haven’t been doing it.”

Scott Owens will be the featured guest for Mountain Wordsmiths July 28, at 10:30 AM on Zoom. We will enjoy his time with us and hope you will join us. Contact me or Carroll Taylor for a link.

I wish we felt safe to have him here in person, but COVID is back in all its vengeance in Clay County NC. 

I was told back in January when I got COVID in spite of wearing a mask all the time, "You need a better mask." I agree. I try to wear a much better mask now, but at this time, I am not going out to indoor meetings. I can't afford to take the risk.

But you can enjoy Scott Owen's books now. I enjoyed this one so much:

Sky Full of Stars and Dreaming poems by Scott Owens. This was published by Red Hawk Publications.  copyright 2021. Click here to see what others are saying about this outstanding poet and his poetry in this book.

He wrote a poem about teaching during a pandemic. He observes how quiet people are, hardly talking as if that will keep the virus from spreading.

To me, this book is about life, how we live, how we want to die, how to survive during a pandemic, what is really important in life, who are our heroes, and what he notices in his daily life. It is also about Hope.

Only One

My wife won't let me speak

of being old, but I don't mind age

or dying. In all my favorite movies

the good guys always die, heroically, 

of course, fighting to the very end,

seizing every moment, making

whatever has come before, worthwhile.

Like them, I think that must be

what matters most. And like them I think

if I'm busy enough, distracted by what

I am doing, doing for what I believe in,

for living, then it will be worthwhile

to the very end, and the end itself

might pass without me noticing at all.

Thanks, Scott. I feel the same about this living and dying business. Having watched loved ones die, I am not afraid of dying, just the process that can take a long time. I am a member of Compassion and Choices which I hope will help me go without "noticing at all."

Learn what writers need to know from Kristen Lamb

Author, Kristen Lamb, writes a blog that is packed with good writing advice and she uses humor as a way to keep the reader interested in her long articles. She is a fiction writer, but most of what she writes on her blog is excellent advice for any writer.

Often new writers want to break the rules they are taught or wonder why we even have rules for writers. Kristen explains this so well in the two blog posts I refer to here today.

https://authorkristenlamb.com/2022/06/formula-writing-to-formula-vs-being-formulaic/

I subscribe to Kristen's blog and want to share her with you, my students, and anyone who is learning to write, who has questions about writing, and who want to publish their writing.

The following are some quotes from two of her most recent blog posts about the rules of writing and why we should follow them.

"The rules were not for ME, they were for the reader.

The rules, like the component parts of what we call a ‘car’, assisted in the experience. I—me, personally—knew every character in my story. I’d created them, knew their backstories, their secrets, their issues. I had cried when they suffered, laughed at their witty dialogue, glowed with pride when they finally found true love or whatever.

The problem was, while I knew and understood ALL these things, the reader didn’t.

.....So today, we will focus on POV, since most newbies have no clue what it is, how to use it or even that POV is the core way readers ‘follow’ our story. We need to understand what makes sense to them on an intuitive level (as in BRAIN STRUCTURE stuff).

Point of View

Through which character’s perspective is the reader experiencing the story? I have an oldie but goodie post of Point of View and why POV Prostitution (a.k.a. head-hopping) is bad for those who want further explication beyond what I’m giving here.

POV is the most fundamental ‘writing rule’ we must understand if we want readers to not only want to set out on a journey but finish it and love the experience. We must ‘follow the reader’ in that we need to think through their perspective, not just ours.

How is the reader being fed information? What details are important? Who’s story is it? Why is this a story worth money, time, and attention?

Writing Rules for First Person:

Uses the pronouns ‘I/me/mine/my’ and is the most psychologically intimate of the perspectives. This is why it’s been a super popular choice for the social media generation who’s used to being all up in someone’s biz.

First-Person breaks into two camps: The I Remember When and the Come Along with Me. Other than beating the hell out of the pronoun, ‘I’, this is where most writers will run into trouble."

I advise my memoir students to write in first-person point of view. After all, if I am writing about my life, I am the narrator so the reader must be in my head as he/she reads my stories. I want to tell the reader what I remember and how it made me feel. I can't tell you what another remembers or how the events made them feel unless I interview that other person. Then I can tell you what he/she said about the events.

Kristen Lamb has a huge following and she teaches writing classes. Check out her blog and website. You might find that she can help you with your writing.

Virtual writing classes end for now.

The writing class I am teaching on Zoom each Tuesday evening for the past six weeks will end tomorrow. 

It has been a joy to meet the students in this class. None of them are from my local area, but from the writing they have done, I can see some of them grew up in the same kind of environment I did. 

I felt the love between Kim and his grandparents who helped raise him. They lived a simple rural life much like my parents on the farm. Other writers shared their cast of characters, family members, in short memoirs each week. 

One student wrote about her beloved grandmother. I could see the woman who kept safety pins attached to the front of her dress just in case they were needed. I could picture her helping the elderly lady who was sick and getting her ready to go to a nursing home. This grandmother was a person who taught life lessons by the way she lived. The writer used all the senses to make the reader feel present. 

One of the students lives in southern California and she didn't relate to the rural life stories, but she had her own interesting personal essays that informed and entertained as well as enlightened us. She said she liked the stories about rural living in the last century.

I am always pleased when more experienced writers take my classes. We enjoyed Celia Miles, author of many good mystery novels, taking part in the classes. She has a new book out now: The Secret at the Little Lost Mill. She is wonderful for other students because she comments on their work in a helpful manner. She has learned to be open and free to write the real stories of her life and her family. Writing memoir is different from writing fiction, and Celia is learning how to do that.

Abbie Taylor

We also had Abbie Taylor, author of several books, in this class. She lives in Wyoming. Abbie is a delightful person and she has been a blogger friend for many years. You can find her online at https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/AbbieTaylor

She is well-published and knows how to promote her writing. That is often the biggest hurdle a writer must overcome. She is helpful to the other students in the class. I think she takes my classes because she has to write something new every week.  I like to take classes to get motivated and often find I have done my best writing in a class. 

Three of my students have visual disabilities, but that did not slow them down. Each week they sent me their work usually based on a prompt I gave them. They taught me so very much. Some of their stories I will keep and read again after the class closes. I hope I gave them as much as they gave me in the past six weeks. 

Teaching virtually is not something many teachers and students enjoy. 

They prefer face-to-face meetings, but for now, I will only teach online and I am delighted that my students from all over the country seem to enjoy what we do. 

Even though many of us want to think the virus is gone away, I learn every day about someone else who has been infected with COVID. Tonight I learned that a member of my church who was at the service on Sunday has come down with fever and tested positive for this awful virus. The use of masks in public has lessened and I think that might be a problem. 

With all my latest health issues, I still wear a mask when I am out in public.

I will continue to wear one. I have realized that I am suffering from long-haul symptoms of the virus which I had in January. I have lost my sense of smell and taste. It is said it could go on for 12 - 18 months and it might never come back. 

Now I am trying to retrain my olfactory system to smell again. 

Eighty percent of what we taste comes from smelling first. Only five tastes come from the tongue. Sweet, salt, bitter, sour, and savory.  Those are the only things I can taste now. 

I wish I had started earlier working on this retraining. Doctors say that the sooner you begin the treatment, the better your chance of gaining it back.

Well, I hope you, my readers stay well and hope you are enjoying your precious life. I love to hear from you so leave a comment or email me. I will respond.

Ron Hill’s life has been a timeline of service to country and community.

Like so many of my friends here in the mountains of North Carolina and North Georgia, I met Ron Hill when he attended a writing class I taught over a decade ago. We have kept in touch although we have not seen each other in all these years. 

Ron is a veteran of Korea, Viet Nam, and even Desert Storm. He has been given many honors for his service to our country. I want to honor him here today.

Ron Hill - SAR Magazine Fall 2021[9646].pdf

Ron is shown here after returning from serving during Desert Storm in 1991

Eighteen year old Ron Hill ready for action in Korea

Now in his eighties, Ron continues to work for the good of others. 

He has long been active in charities in his community. 

For my readers who live in western NC, Ron is originally from our area and held the position of Director of the John C. Campbell Folk School many years ago. I believe he said he was the first local person to hold that job. 

In the past 20-plus years, I have met some of the most interesting and genuine people through my writing classes. Ron is one of those people. When we write and share the fabric of our lives in a class with others who are doing the same thing, we form a bond that is almost like family. 

In a world where so many families and friends have developed a chasm due to political beliefs, I am grateful that the friends I have made in my classes don't let that happen. We don't talk about politics or religion in my classes.

Thank you, Ron Hill, for being my friend and for all you do for your community and what you have done for our country.

First Love

Where I spent two years as a college student

Do you remember your first love when you were young and not ready for a serious relationship? 

I was a college student at a girl's school. He was in a military school across town. We were together as much as possible for two years, walking on the beautiful campus, sitting under the giant oaks, and enjoying being with each other. That was love back then. But it was not to continue. I was going away to the university and he would be attending another military school as he planned to make the Army his career. I knew I didn't want to be a military wife. 

This poem is about our last date.

In Love Too Soon

Your aftershave still lingers on my skin,
the smell of bruised spring grass. Raindrops, 

like falling tears, track the glass that separates us.

I see you by the streetlight
as you walk away, your boots
careless of the puddles.

You stop, turn, look up. I glimpse
the anguish, the disbelief I etched
on your dear face.

You can only see a black hole 

in a red brick building filled

with other students like me.

I covet your embrace, your kiss,
but fear I’d not be strong enough
to send you away this time.

Our hearts meshed much too soon.
Love crept in while I was unprepared,
still trying to find the woman in the girl.

You grow smaller in the murky light.
Past the movie house where holding
hands on Saturday afternoons, we barely 

watched the screen.

Past Ray's diner where we first met,
where you gave me your captain's pin,

marked me yours for all the world to see.

I cannot turn my eyes away until, like
an apparition, you’re gone, vanished
into darkness and forever.

                --- Glenda Council Beall

 

 

Six Week Writing Course has Begun

I am happy to say I have an interesting class that started last Tuesday. 

With six adult students from California, Colorado, Wyoming, Asheville, NC and Winston Salem NC, I know this group will be a joy for me.

Once again, I am thankful for Zoom and the technology that allows those of us from differing states and towns, to come together and work together to help each other become the best writer each can be. I always learn from my students and that is why I enjoy my work.

This class is unlike my other classes because we only have one man in the group, and we have three people who are visually impaired. One of my students is Abbie Taylor whose blog I have followed for years. I admire her so much because her disability doesn't slow her down.

I have taught people who had visual issues in the past, but this is the first time I have had three students who could not see normally. The wonderful thing I am learning is how through new technology they don't miss a thing. Each of them is equipped with products that enable them to read what I put on my screen and they handle their computers with ease.

Writing has always been my favorite way to communicate, and now I can meet and talk with and share writing with people from far away places while I sit in my little cabin in the Appalachian mountains.

It is particularly important to me now because I can't travel and hold classes in different places like the local college campuses. My home is my classroom and my computer brings these writers into my house. For ten years I held classes in my downstairs studio where some of the best poets and writers came, taught, and slept overnight. Those are happy memories now. 

When I move to Roswell, GA I will be able to continue to hold my online classes. That is a comfort to me. 

In spite of all the stress lately, I am a very fortunate woman and I count my blessings every night.

I hope you have a good week. It will be too hot for me but I am grateful I have air conditioning. How did I ever stand it growing up in southwest Georgia with no AC?