What We Think About Surrounds Us.
What we think about is quickly mirrored in the outside world. You know what I mean. That trip to Maui you decided you wanted to take as you got in the car this morning. You stepped on the gas, rounded the bend and the next billboard you saw advertised flights to Maui, cheap! Or, you daydreamed in the afternoon about meeting Nelle Harper Lee, and that evening at a business dinner met someone who once lived down the street from her.
About five years ago, when we still lived on Lake Travis, I picked up a copy of The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd. Every night I would take it to bed, and propped up against several down pillows, would savor each word. Then before we turned out the lights, I would give my husband a summary. My favorite image in the story was of bees filling the walls with honeycomb. Just as a miser might stash cash in the walls, so had the bees hidden liquid gold. Oh my.
On the third day, guests and their young children dropped by to visit. The kids, we were told, wanted nothing more than to eat and swim. After a lasagna dinner, we all filed outside—just four adults and three gleeful children. We heard the sounds of cicadas, barking dogs from across the cove, and the murmur of voices wafting from a neighbor's house. And there by the hot tub, came the sound of a jillion approaching bees. Oh, this army of bees was an organized bunch and they just didn't feel friendly—not to the bare-armed likes of us. There was no swimming that night, not even a toe dip. We had been licked before the war even started. We were cowards, through and through.
Our bee problem continued at the lake. We were afraid to walk outside our own home due to the sheer numbers of bees, and more than a few had found their way into our bedroom where I read. Desperate for help, and knowing fully well that we were matchless against what seemed like an entire Pacific fleet of kamikaze bees, I combed through the Yellow Pages and found the number of a beekeeper. Yes, it is a real occupation, thank heavens.
The beekeeper treated the eaves of our home, our attic and anyplace he thought would help. He was a man of few words, no doubt from years spent communing with flying insects. After I paid him, he finally spoke. "You know, there's probably honey in your walls."
My husband turned to me and said, "I'm just glad you weren't reading about tornadoes."
—Marci Henna
About five years ago, when we still lived on Lake Travis, I picked up a copy of The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd. Every night I would take it to bed, and propped up against several down pillows, would savor each word. Then before we turned out the lights, I would give my husband a summary. My favorite image in the story was of bees filling the walls with honeycomb. Just as a miser might stash cash in the walls, so had the bees hidden liquid gold. Oh my.
On the third day, guests and their young children dropped by to visit. The kids, we were told, wanted nothing more than to eat and swim. After a lasagna dinner, we all filed outside—just four adults and three gleeful children. We heard the sounds of cicadas, barking dogs from across the cove, and the murmur of voices wafting from a neighbor's house. And there by the hot tub, came the sound of a jillion approaching bees. Oh, this army of bees was an organized bunch and they just didn't feel friendly—not to the bare-armed likes of us. There was no swimming that night, not even a toe dip. We had been licked before the war even started. We were cowards, through and through.
Our bee problem continued at the lake. We were afraid to walk outside our own home due to the sheer numbers of bees, and more than a few had found their way into our bedroom where I read. Desperate for help, and knowing fully well that we were matchless against what seemed like an entire Pacific fleet of kamikaze bees, I combed through the Yellow Pages and found the number of a beekeeper. Yes, it is a real occupation, thank heavens.
The beekeeper treated the eaves of our home, our attic and anyplace he thought would help. He was a man of few words, no doubt from years spent communing with flying insects. After I paid him, he finally spoke. "You know, there's probably honey in your walls."
My husband turned to me and said, "I'm just glad you weren't reading about tornadoes."
—Marci Henna
Just loved the bee "wish" story. We must be careful what we think about! See you tomorrow at Forum.
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Thanks, Ann, for taking the time to read my first blog. I'm so glad you enjoyed it!
Marci
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I hadn't heard that story, but it's so true! The other night, I
was reading a book about Navy ships to my aircraft carrier-obsessed
child, and it had a page about the littoral combat ship. The
very next night, that exact ship came up in the presidential debate!
I screamed at the tv that I knew about that ship, because, really,
what are the chances that I would have known about it if I hadn't had a son?
Elizabeth
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Hi Marci!
I am still chuckling. You have a real gift of capturing moments and putting them on paper. A true art! Looking forward to more! Love,Phyllis
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Dear Phyllis,
Thanks a million for taking the time to read my blog!
Marci
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Marci, I'm having a similar experience, but in the reverse! In September, my husband and I took a road trip from Austin to St. Louis. It was a wonderful drive through the piney woods of east Texas, the beautiful mountains in Arkansas (I never knew!), through the green, lusch forrest in southeastern Missouri, and on to St. Louis. We stayed at the Ritz-Carlton on Cardondelet Plaza, attended mass at the Cathedral, and went to Busch Stadium to see the Cubs play the Cardinals.
Recently I picked up a book by Paulette Jiles entitled "Enemy Women". I had just read her work "Stormy Weather" and liked it, so didn't pay much attention to the backcover copy of "Enemy Women" when I bought it.
Now begins the reverse of your experience, Marci. The heroine is young Adair Colley who lives where? Southeastern Missouri. During the Civil War, Adair is arrested and transported to a prison in, of all places, St. Louis. The streets mentioned indicate that the institution sat where Busch Stadium sits today. From her prison cell, Adair hears the cathedral bells. In the escape narrative, she hides in a doorway there. As Adair makes her way home, she steals along the Carondelet Road! Now she's finding her way home through the lusch mountains of southeastern Missouri.
Marci, of the thousands of books I could have selected after returning from St. Louis, it is beyond stunning that I "blindly" selected one set there. I just shake my head in amazement when the author mentions yet another street I saw on my car's navigation screen when we were touring St. Louis. Even now, Carondelet Plaza is still among my "marked points." Think I'll just leave it there! Don't you just love things that can't be logically explained?
Linda
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Oh, Linda,
I loved reading about your experience. The way the universe works is so fabulous. Thanks for sharing your beautiful prose, too.
Marci
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What a treat for me to share it! I'm really enjoying your blog.
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Dear Marci,
From the deepest part of my heart, thank you so very much for such a wonderfully witty/insightful blog, and that's no beeswax!
Congrats and best cheers,
Marc
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Thanks, Marc!
I appreciate the fact that you took the time to read my blog, and for your kind comments.
Marci
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Marci,
Thanks for the link, I am enjoying your blog. Can you tell me something about the artwork at the top and how you selected it. Art generates so many thoughts and ideas.
Lamar
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Dear Lamar,
Thanks so much for taking the time to read my blog. The artwork was selected because of the imagery of the wild print and hair in an attempt to symbolize the name of the blog, The Mind Pantry of a Wild-Haired Southern Woman. I did not want the picture to have a face in it because I wanted the focus to be on the writing overlay.
Marci
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Hey Marci: Your theory is so true! I have always thought that that when you learn a new word you will often read it or hear it within 3 days, even if it's a really odd word. It has happened to me so many times, it kind of freaks me out. Great blog! I'm getting inspired... -karen
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Dear Karen,
Thanks so very much for taking the time to read my blog and to send a comment.
I hope you're all doing well!
Marci
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