Follow the Red Brick Walk

The Freedom Trail begins in Boston Common and is a self-guided tour that meanders for several miles through Boston’s historic neighborhoods. I’m familiar with it having followed the red brick walkway several times since I was in my teens. Last November I walked the trail for the first time with Steven, my youngest. My husband and son Eric were visiting Berklee College of Music. Steven and I were free to explore the city. It was his first time seeing the historically significant places in Boston. We began at the beginning, just like the yellow brick road, except we picked up a map full of “points of interest” at the tourist kiosk in the Common. (I don’t remember Dorothy finding a tourist kiosk in Oz.)…… We walked by historic buildings and churches, entered ancient graveyards (at out own risk) and visited Paul Reveres house in the North End. We learned when Mr. Revere bought the house it was already 100 years old. Two hundred forty years later it is surrounded by Boston’s Italian neighborhood and it is a couple of blocks away from the Old North Church. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow immortalized Paul Revere and the Old North Church with his poem of “Paul Revere’s Ride”. Also, the oldest bells in North America are at the Old North Church. They are rung every Saturday morning. We left the Historic Revere House and continued to follow the red brick walkway toward the church. The approach is through a rear courtyard to the front entrance. It is a brick lined, park like area with an enormous statue of Paul Revere on his horse. We had been on the Freedom Trail for four hours and my expectation was to quickly tour the church with Steven and end the trail there. We walked quickly because the sun was beginning to set and the wind had begun to grow stronger. As we walked a few people looking at something near the garden caught my eye. Curious, I automatically went toward them and that was when I first heard the sound. It was kind if a jangle and I didn’t recognize it. I was also unsure of what I was approaching. The small group there was quiet. After a moment they stepped aside and I read the sign that stated simply it was a Memorial to each of the fallen soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan. Every dog tag represented someone who had lost his or her life in these wars. The dog tags chimed and as they did I realized that the same breeze moving the dog tags and caressing my face my have been the same breeze that was in Iraq or Afghanistan on the day when these soldiers spirits moved on. The same sun that touched upon them blessing them with a new day was now setting and softly illuminating their memory with a hazy glow. The same moon now rising shares the secret of the pain of those who loose loved ones.

Standing in front of the memorial was the most profound moment of 2009 for me. Reflecting on the constant chiming of the dog tags in the shadow of the church that held the oldest bells in North America gave me chills. Let freedom ring. “America”, was first sung at another of Boston church, on the steps of the Park Street Church, across from the Common where we had started. I had learned that earlier in the day when I read about it on the map. The Freedom Trail that I had walked several times before this time walked me to a place unknown in my heart. I didn’t notice a destination of the heart on the tourist map or the change in the pattern on the walk way or how it got me there. I did however recognize how heart wrenching and poignant this memorial was and I was aware I wasn’t in Kansas anymore…

Spirit of Christmas

I never met Rina however I met and knew a little of the woman Rina later became. Mrs. Cross lived two doors up from my family’s home in a tiny English Tudor style house. I don’t remember speaking to her unless the holiday was Halloween and I was in costume standing on the brick patio that over looked her sleepy October Garden. The garden is really how I think of her and may represent what she really was, a flower unknown to me. In place of her front lawn, Mrs. Cross had created little brick and stone pathways around which different flowers bloomed throughout spring and summer. In a wide brimmed straw hat she was either tending the garden or sitting on her porch with her husband reading the paper. Years later, after she, her husband and son were gone and the house was being sold, my mother acquired an antique writing desk from the family. There, in a secret drawer, very neatly folded was this letter she wrote to her parents on Christmas Day in 1905 when she herself was a little flower……It is framed now and I hang it every Winter in my family room. It has become one of my favorite holiday things maybe because it prompts me to slow down during the holidays. Each time I read it I wonder about this woman as I glimpse into her own long ago childhood…..To think that each Halloween dressed as my usual witch or ghost I would trick or treat at her house as a child and now each year her childhood haunts me with the sweetness of a childhood garden and the spirit of Christmas past…..The postscript here is that even though I scanned the letter and the original is easily readable, this was too pixilated, and so it reads..........

December 25, 1905

My Dear Father and Mother,

As Christmas is here I thought I would write you a short Christmas letter. I hope you are glad that Christmas is here, and hope that Santa Claus brought you many presents. I am not very old and cannot write a very long letter. I am glad you both told Santa to bring me so many presents. I wish you both a very, merry Christmas and a happy New Year.

Your loving daughter, Rina

JOYEUX NOEL MES AMIS ~Helene

Code Talkers

Last week the telephone rang jarring me out of a daydream. I reached for it with reluctance until….my eye caught the area code that had appeared on the caller id. 605. A happy rush flooded me as I was greeted with “Hello”. Cheryl Between Lodges was calling to shoot the breeze from Pine Ridge, South Dakota. Pine Ridge is the heartbeat of the Oglala Indians of the Lakota Nation. The reservation is in Shannon County, the poorest in the United States. Due to some crafty politicking it is not identified as such with the census because Independent Indian Nations are not included in the census statistics. The photo on the left was taken by Hector Emanuel. More of his work can be seen at www.still-standing.com. Recently photographer Aaron Huey visited and the link on the right will bring you to his photo essay. Please visit these sites to learn what teachers never taught you in school. Anyway, I have never met Cheryl however I consider her a highlight in my life and believe we became friends through an unseen code of the universe.

In the early winter of 1997 I was in Barnes and Noble with my kids so they could spend their Christmas gift cards. Through a miscellany of means, actually Russell Means, I bent down to tie my youngest child’s shoe and when I looked up on the shelf was a book entitled “Where White Men Fear to Tread”. I remembered news reports of the author Russell Means. Back in the day, before TV was censored, the Vietnam War raged daily, protests shed light on “everyday” peoples perspective and Wounded Knee unfolded on the TV screen in my mothers kitchen. The book ignited my desire to filter through my childhood memories and to hear his story. The book captivated me and I was unable to put it down. I finished it a week later feeling angry and lost. I needed to hear more stories. I went through the “Mom motions” at home but my thoughts wandered to Pine Ridge wondering constantly what it was like. On the third day after I finished the book, just as the sun was setting, my phone rang. It was before caller id. I picked it up and a woman identified herself as Violet Means. She was calling from the Native American Heritage Association looking for money to help with their fuel drive to heat the homes of elders. I was stunned and said yes to everything she asked. She seemed stunned that I was so agreeable. The next day I sent a check for $25 to NAHA. Several months later South Dakota called again. This time I asked how they got my number and was told they have a list that they call seeking donations. To this day I have no idea how I got on the list. I had asked my Ramsey friends and none of them were ever called. Also, I had paid for the book with the gift card so there was no way to track it….

“Mean” while I began to look on line and found a woman seeking toy donations for the Head Start Program in Pine Ridge. I had many things to send having four children and working in an area preschool. I sent along boxes and from then on did so almost obsessively. Cheryl left Head Start but fosters 3 boys slightly younger than my own so I have sent new and gently used books, toys, clothes and food for about 13 years now. She calls me from time to time and we share stories of family, work and life. I feel so lucky to be able to send things and fortunate to share the code of friendship with her.

To me, area code 605 is synonymous with the Universe sharing its very own code of Love. It’s another story of serendipitous magick that can reach anywhere and tie together heartstrings, not shoe strings. And now I have to go, I hear the phone ringing…It may be area code 605. Can you hear me smile?

A Candle Burns Bright

Serendipity…….By definition it is “an aptitude for making fortunate and magical discoveries….unexpectedly”. Seredipitous moments have surrounded me always and it is here where I intend to collect them and send them out into the world hoping that I will receive some back in acknowledgment of the generosity of the universe.

The spark for this forum came by surprise during a recent astrological consult with Stephanie Azaria. Stephanie is a certified professional astrologist who uses not only her expertise in the field but her intuition as well. One of the issues she addressed in my natal chart is my twelfth house. Neptune rules the twelfth house and among all it contains is the house of dreams, of spirit, of sacrifice and secrets. In my chart that is where the planet Mercury is placed, in Capricorn. Mercury is the planet that rules communication. Stephanie’s enlightened comment regarding my constant inner dialogue was liberating for me. I have always had something to share but often keep it to myself for a myriad of reasons. Through our discussion I admitted that I write stories, poetry and scribble in merriment. She encouraged me to share and that lead me here. The true beauty of her readings lies not only in her skill, insight and sensitivity but her delivering it all in a way that empowers her clients to be who they are without fear.

That said, it is my great pleasure to launch this on December 11, 2009. This is the eve of the feast day of the Virgin of Guadalupe. She represents a Marian apparition and is known as the patron Saint of the Americas. My tie to her is new and woven into the fabric of the Dakotah Blue Music Company that I began with my business partner Rennie Pincus in 2007.

The year we created the company we worked primarily handling classic rock bands for private parties and corporate events. Toward the end of that year we had decided to co produce several shows in the spring of 2oo8 at The Shea Center, a 900-seat venue at William Paterson University in Wayne, NJ. Our first choice was a Brooklyn based singer songwriter who I adore however was reluctant to commit to pursing because of the size of the space. Rennie and I went back and forth about the idea for several weeks. One day while at the market I found myself in front of the religious candles. I picked up the candle of the Virgin of Guadalupe not knowing anything about her but thinking she looked beautiful, robed in a cloak of stars. I brought the candle home, lit it and said the prayer on the side of the candle. I continued to do the same each day when I was home. My intention was general for the business not specific to my thoughts on the booking. Later that week Rennie called to let me know that the musician we were interested in had taken another gig however we did book Los Lobos. He knew I loved that band. David Hidalgo is one of my favorite voices ever. I had no clue that was an option but apparently it came up in speaking with the agent.

Now just in case you are unaware, the Virgin of Guadalupe is a symbol of significant importance to Mexican Catholics. Los Lobos is a band out of East LA and of significant importance to me and to American rock music…..Los Lobos was booked for Friday, March 7, 2008. It was the one-year anniversary of losing my brother Michael to pancreatic cancer. I thought of it as a Blessing itself to be able to present a show with a band of this caliber and one of my most favorite lead singers, so special to me on a day that was so painful. The day the show arrived, it was hectic and I was setting up the catering in the green room when Rennie called to tell me to meet him onstage. He was standing by the guitar stands that held about 10 guitars all tuned up and silent, waiting for the chance to express their own inner dialogue. He motioned for me to come closer and look. The first one in the stand had a guitar strap with a beautiful pin of the Virgin of Guadalupe…..It was David Hidalgo’s guitar. Remember serendipity? An aptitude for making fortunate and magical discoveries……..unexpectedly.