20 Years

December 21 was a special day. Since I wasn't in school, dates weren't so very important and I didn't think much about this one -- didn't really even realize it was the 21st, or contemplate why it was special. Lucky for me someone did. I knew Shane had something up his sleeve. He was adamant that we had to be in Georgia by a certain time on the 21st -- not a little challenging, by the way, finishing school, working in Nights of a Thousand Candles and picking up niece and nephews for traveling with us. And not only that, but I was a little anxious as I had discovered that whatever he had planned involved me and formal wear. Thankfully, he did finally concede and show me the dress he had purchased earlier for me; allowed me to try it on and make sure it fit and that I had all the proper embellishments, etc. It was beautiful --mid-calf length, deep garnet with cut glass black buttons all the way down the front; shirt collared at the neck, and with a wide fabric sash. Black hose, black dress shoes and a shimmery black wrap completed the ensemble. I never did catch on to what he was doing, but when we got to his parents, dropped off the niece and nephews, visited with the in-laws; then had to get dressed and run. We had quiet romantic Christmas music playing in our Dodge Durango as we drove to Atlanta (Kenny G, Jim Brickman, etc.). We held hands and talked quietly, with nothing said about what we were doing (Not that a million different things haven't crossed my mind -- Michael Buble in concert, Riverdance, Nutcracker, a Broadway style show. . . . )But when we turned the corner in Atlanta, and I saw the Shane Co. sign, it all became ever-so-clear. I realized when it was and where we were and why we were where we were. Twenty years ago to the day, Shane asked me to marry him -- with a diamond ring from the Shane Company, a wonderful jewelry specialist in Georgia. We were here to celebrate a twentieth anniversary. He whisked me inside, had them clean my rings, told them why we were there and asked to look at some diamond earrings he had first looked at on-line. They were 1/3 carat, and he purchased them for me right there, and I was able to wear them out of the store. Everyone was so sweet and impressed with our twenty-year celebration. The diamonds were beautiful -- the 1/3 carat was significant. My engagement ring is 1/3. A couple of anniversaries later, Shane bought me an anniversary ring which was 1/3 carat, so now, with my earrings, my carat is complete. But the evening was not done. From there, he took me to the restaurant where he proposed. It has since changed hands, but the building remains. 20 years ago, it was the Lark and the Dove. Now it is Ruth's Chris Steakhouse. He had made reservations months ago. Everyone called us by name, and it was a lovely evening. I felt decadent dressed in the beautiful dress he had bought me (which fit perfectly, by the way). The food was expensive, but absolutely delicious! We held hands often, and after we finished our dinner, our waitress brought out a heavenly mile-high chocolate mousse pie with a candle in it, which we shared. The evening was full of reminiscences of earlier evenings together-- and the romance, which sometimes flickers dimmer than once-upon-a-time shone as brightly as that single candle. We laughed, smiled, looked at Christmas lights and remembered how we began and how far we've come. What an evening!

Night of a Thousand Candles 2008

So every year brings something new and unexpected at Nights of a Thousand Candles.  This year was no exception.  Our holiday season gets more and more crowded with activity, but this is one I just cannot let go.   It is just too precious.  Last year, it rained, and there were soggy bags.   The year before that it was freezing cold.  This year, it was unseasonably warm -- almost muggy.  Lots of visitors were there in shorts, short sleeves, etc.  For me, personally, it makes it a little harder to be festive, but, oh, well. . . .The environment was no less engaging, and you just can't control the weather.  This year, soggy bags were replaced by plastic ones.  Now, I don't mean to wax sentimental or old-fashioned, but there's just something not quite right about luminary bags made out of plastic.  My husband laughed at me because he perceives that I complained about the soggy bags, and now I complain about the plastic bags because they can't get soggy.  I TRIED to explain to him that it was not the sogginess, but the ability to be soggy that was endearing.  He doesn't really understand.  It may be a man thing or perhaps I am just incredibly fickle, indecisive, and hard to please.  Which might make it a woman thing :~0

At any rate, it was another beautiful evening.  There's never enough time to enjoy all the music, but it was a pleasant surprise to walk past the bagpiper along the candlelit paths this year.  And while I didn't enjoy the warmer temperatures, I thought the nude sculptures in the garden were probably not as uncomfortable as in years past.  We especially enjoyed Vocal Edition (as always -- they are standbys!)  and a new group -- a brass quintet (Market St Brass?)  They were incredibly adept and fun to listen to.  The "leader" and first trumpeter lived up to trumpets' reputation for being a little full of himself, but all in good fun, and they were GREAT to listen to! My hearing of the Biblical account of the Christmas story will forever be colored by the Gullah version we heard, which was wonderful!  We ended the evening, as we regularly do, with Rocky Fretz and his bassist, Patrick O'Leary.  It just seems a fitting end.  Rocky always manages to make us feel like his friends -- sharing little tidbits of his life (this year, it was his 50th birthday jumping-out-of-airplanes story. . . check it out on YouTube.)  But most of all, it's the evident friendship and mutual appreciation between him and Patrick and the sheer joy they glean from doing what they're doing.  It must be a nice way to make a living -- hanging with a friend and playing music you love.  One thing is for sure, it is hard to sit in his audience and not smile and be filled with joy -- at Christmastime or anytime.  And if there's one thing the world could use more of, it's joy!   And, if there's one Christmas venue I am thankful for, it is Nights of a Thousand Candles, and whether the candles be real fire or not, white or colored, and the bags paper or plastic, I hope the candles continue to burn and that we're able to share the joy it brings with others for MANY years to come!

The Bridge

This was the entry that finally won out to be my submission for the NCRA Young Author's project.
New note (2/09/09) My poem won at the state level as well and will be included in the Young Author's project 2009 compilation book! Thanks to all who voted and helped me choose!

The Bridge
Standing on the bridge,
I am 11, exploring a new neighborhood
With my family:
The pond, the woods, the neighbors,
Staring off one side to the deep water,
Dark and foreboding
To the other side,
A simple waterfall,
Splashing down to rocks below.

Standing on the bridge,
I am 12, adventuring
With my brother:
Bologna sandwiches in hand,
Stepping across gaping holes,
Wicked and empty
To find the perfect spot
For a picnic, a picture, a quest,
Talking about everything and nothing

Standing on the bridge,
I am 14, going fishing
With Grandmama,
Digging worms, Baiting hooks,
Watching bobbers disappear
Fading into the oblivion of the pond
Until we slowly pulled up
A catfish, bass, or perch,
Quietly enjoying the peace.

Standing on the bridge,
I am 16, trying to impress
Matt and Wayne,
Maneuvering the idiosyncracies
Of the familiar bridge,
Hoping my bravery and daring
Will be appreciated
And true love
Will be mine

Standing on the bridge,
I am 18, loving and in love
With Steven,
Celebrating my birthday –
Kisses, pictures, friends, and brother
Waiting to enter the adventure
Of adulthood
And independence
Forever

Standing on the bridge,
I am 41, remembering
With my husband,
Recalling old memories
Of old boyfriends, childhood adventures
Fishes caught and ones that got away,
Moments of relaxation
And peace-- And love
And bridges.

Tonnye Williams Fletcher
Union Chapel Elementary School
Forever Young
Robeson County

Friendbridges

(This was one of two entries I wrote for the NCRA's Young Author Project)

Friendbridges

I am a bridge builder. I don’t use lumber and nails and hammers and drills. I don’t fashion my bridges from metal, wood, concrete, or steel. I build bridges between people – they’re called friendships, (though perhaps they should be called friendbridges instead. . . .) The best friendbridge I’ve ever built began over 30 years ago. I was in fourth grade, and met a girl named Rachel. I don’t remember our first words or how the friendbridge began exactly. What I do know is that pretty soon we were sharing everything – string games (“Show me again how to do Jacob’s Ladder. . .), French fries, popsicles (Those were the days of the doubles and we’d each break ours in half and have half grape/half orange.),and favorite books (at the time, dog books, horse books and Nancy Drew books). Once, our teacher even caught us sharing a lollipop (although she discouraged that). It was a good year for friendbridges.
Fifth and sixth grade saw us separated into different classes, but by seventh grade we were together again: sharing pizza, crushes on boys, and school projects. She was my best friend when I had mono, when my baby sister was born. Eighth grade we shared the responsibility of putting up the flag every morning, giggles and class conversations that sometimes got us into trouble. Friendbridges grow by sharing.
High school brought more incredible experiences and memories; getting drivers’ licenses, proms, football games. We were very different – I was a trumpeter in the band; she was on the annual staff. I was wide open, with wild abandon; she was cautious, soft-spoken and shy. Yet, we still found things to share. Participation in drama club brought us memories that would last a lifetime – including a week-long trip to New York City, where we even shared getting lost. (I wonder if that mounted policeman still talks about those two southern girls who were trying to find “Forty-eighth and eighth”. . . .) There was boy trouble and family trouble. There were rocky times in our lives and in our friendship, but we discovered that friendbridges grow stronger by weathering adversity.
Now, Rachel and I are “all grown-up”. We are still incredibly different. I am colorful and eccentric, chunky and loud. Rachel is thin, still soft-spoken, and very normal. I am a teacher --she is a mom. I’ve lived in three states and love to travel – Rachel loves to stay home. Every time I’m with her, I learn something new about her. She has taught me so much about learning to see beauty in simplicity, using strength that comes from deep within, the joy of giving and the grace in receiving, and so much more. We live five hours from each other, so now our sharing is often done via email and cell phones, although we visit in person at least twice a year. After thirty-plus years together, we have learned that friendbridges grow longer and stronger with time.

Meditation on holidays and death
How would our Thanksgiving be different if we knew it was our last one all together? Would we have said a longer prayer? Would we have hugged each other even though we live across the field from each other? Would we have gone around the table, saying nice things about each other and how thankful we are to have each other? Would we recount memories of past Thanksgivings, and people we loved who are no longer with us? Would we have spent less time rushing and more time just being together? Would we have been more patient? Would we have cried together? Laughed more? Watched old family movies? Read the Bible? Held hands? The thoughts of it being our last are truly unthinkable with the assumed promise of so many more to come. And yet, startlingly, I have been smacked in the face with the possibility recently that, truly, this one could have been our last. And how should that change how we celebrate? For some, this was their last. Unexpectedly, unwarranted, came death, and stole a part of some families – right here between Thanksgiving and Christmas. How will their Christmas change this year? Will it be overwhelmingly sad or will they find a joy to press on through and live this Christmas in such a way that they will have absolutely no regrets, in case this might also be their last Christmas together. I pray that somehow we will all learn how to live so in the present that when death comes we will have no regrets.

For Larry

We lost someone who used to be a dear friend to our family this week. Our families have grown apart in recent years, but I still have very fond memories of early times together. My prayers are constant for this precious family.

For Larry
I think of presents, already bought, maybe already under the tree,
With your name on them --
And Christmas morning without you in your home.
I think of grandchildren who will never know their grandfather,
Probably have no memories whatsoever.
I think of a wife whose grief must be absolutely inconsolable,
And pray this experience will turn into an exercise in gratitude
And living in the moment
Rather than carrying grief and anger that are way too heavy for her heart.
I think of children who are too young to lose their father
(Is there ever an age when you’re not too young to give up your daddy?)
I think of your pew at church and the empty spot you will leave;
I think of a few Sundays ago, when we sang all the songs
You used to lead and we called it Larry Sunday.
I remember when you and Bonnie were dating,
Then married,
I remember when Rex was born.
I remember ya’ll trying repeatedly for a girl, and finally getting one.
I remember yard conversations after church
It seems so numbly unbelievable that you could be gone.
Moreso I’m sure to your family, who loves you so much.
I am saddened by how our families grew apart,
But I harbor no ill will for you or yours.
My prayers are for your family right now,
How I hope they will cherish the time you had together,
That they will remember the good times,
That they will channel the sadness of losing someone in the middle of Christmas
Into happy memories of Christmases past. . . .
And hope for happy Christmases to come.