What is it about purple socks? I began wearing purple-colored socks and only that color, at least 10 years ago. I first came across them at the Columbus Farmers’ Market in New Jersey. They have a huge flea market outside covering acres of new and used items on Thursday, Friday and Saturday. The Sox Lady there makes her own socks and brings them to the market each week. I bought a dozen pair, all the same; all from the same dye lot. No longer would I have to go searching for a mate. Just reach into the pile and pull out two socks. Voila`. A matched set.
I have no idea where the idea of wearing purple socks came from or why I chose that color and not pink, orange, or my favorite color, green. If you know, please let me know.
A few years ago I went to our local radio station, WARR 1520 AM to do an interview with Sherman Johnson. As I waited my turn in the foyer, a gal walked in…..wearing purple socks. She glanced down at my feet and smiling, said, “Hi, I’m Sharon.”
I liked her instantly. Was it the shared love of purple socks? Did it mean more than two people liking the same thing? We chatted casually, half listening to Mr. Johnson on the air. We met again briefly, a year or two later, at a Warren Artists’ Market (WAM) poetry slam in the Warren County Memorial Library. Her teenage son Noah was reciting that night. He sounded like a natural, words rolling off his tongue without effort. At least it seemed to me to be without effort.
Another few months passed before our next meeting at the Senior Center where I had arrived a bit late. I say a bit late because Sharon had invited me on that first meeting, to come to the Center and give a workshop on writing. Stuff kept cropping up, getting in the way until the invitation faded in my mind. Now I was there to team-teach writing, poetry mixed with memoir.
I realize that when a path is laid out, I may drift away from it, but I will get back on it because the path is still there, waiting.
And I was delighted to see Sharon was still wearing purple socks, as I was, too.
Category Archives: women
Purple Socks
Pssst……..in case you haven’t heard:
Sherman Johnson has invited me to his radio show to talk about ghosts….& things that go bump in the night and maybe more….wow! ….on the radio! WARR 1520 AM or on your computer….on Wednesday, 27 March at 10 am. Who knows what subjects may come up……it’s a month for women’s history! Join us, expect the unexpected………..
AND
Thursday 28 March 2013, at 5 pm at the Warren County Memorial Library….a Reading, Signing and talking about: Ghostly Spirits of Warren County & Beyond. Question & Answer period to follow. I’d love to see you. C’mon out and we’ll talk…
Filed under American History, Bordentown, paranormal, women
Surreal or Preview?
Friday, 28 December dawned like this. It was the day of the most amazing experience. I visited Ed McKay’s Used Book store to exchange some books for a few CDs and DVDs in Raleigh. Mostly the trip was for just getting away from the computer for a day. And what better way to relax than being surrounded by books & such. Content with my exchange, I was driving home to Macon heading north on Hwy 401 in Wake County, NC.
Cruising along listening to an audio book, not a day to be in a hurry, when I heard a ‘pop’ and wondered if a stone had flipped up from the road to hit the car. I thought no more of it until I heard a soft thump, thump, thump. “Oh, no,” I thought. Here I am out in a rural area, knowing I had just blown a tire. Darn. At least I wasn’t flying down the road speeding.
I started to coast toward the side after clicking on the hazard lights. But the shoulder looked like it may be soft. Knowing I had most likely ruined the tire anyway, I crept up to a driveway where I could at least pull out of traffic.
Yup. It was a blowout. The tire looked mighty sad. ‘Darn,’ I thought again. I called Triple AAA on my cell phone, got the message asking for my ID number, hung up because I’d have to look for the card, yadda, yadda, yadda. I got out again noting the mail box number so I could also give them some kind of location. That’s when the mini-miracle began to happen.
Two young men came walking down the driveway with a weed trimmer in hand. Guess they were going to trim around the entrance to their property. Smiling, one fellow came over to check things out, sweet as could be. They invited me to pull up the driveway to their garage about 100 foot away.
Within minutes they had the tire off the rim and my spare off the back of my tracker, zip, zip went the power drill, bolts off, deed done, new tire on and old tire in the back of the car. It was surreal. I barely had time to pet the dog! It only took a few minutes! They wouldn’t accept any money but they each got a very hearty hug from me and they sure have my gratitude.
Those two darling men turned my day from becoming an awful one to a wonderful one. I would not have been shocked if I saw halos floating over their heads, but I did not. I did see two gentlemen in jeans that will be in my thankful prayers of gratitude tonight and many nights more.
I didn’t even get their names!
But I’ve had strange experiences like this before and I would not be surprised if we meet again in the future, that this was a mini introduction to something bigger. We’ll see.
The Kiss of Gustav Klimpt
The painting draws my attention
like a casual stroller at the lower left hand
corner of the local garden.
The softly draped yellows and flecks of color
falling from their shoulders,
while kneeling, down to their feet
where hers are bound by ropes of gold,
making her flight impossible.
My eyes gaze upward to the fold of their robes
blending in, one with the other,
then I notice her face turned away
from his kiss placed so tenderly
on her cheek.
Boredom is her expression;
being
the adored one,
lonely,
no passion there.
His hands cup her face,
gently,
his neck bends
to kiss
his beloved.
Her arm circles
his shoulder,
hanging on
while the other
pushes him away.
Stars are in her hair
adornment,
reflecting
the absence of
stars in her eyes. © Arlene S. Bice, 2008
Major Fraser’s
Back in the 80s when the mortgage rates dropped to an all-time low, I trained and became a real estate appraiser, thanks to Ed MacNicoll owner of the business of that name. Architecture had long been of interest to me and that position fueled my passion for it. I often got the assignments for the big, old Victorians or farmhouses that took more work and time to appraise. I loved the challenge and still do love it .
Little did I know that what I learned in that profession would be called on when I wrote Major Fraser’s, but expanding in a different sense. Yes, the house is the basis for the story but Major Fraser and his family are the heart of it carrying the story from Bordentown to South Carolina and into France.
He came from Scotland in the 1700s, reason unknown to me but many families lost all they had after the Battle of Culloden in 1746. Even if they fought against England during that conflict, many that took the forced loyalty oath, adhered to it and fought for England during our Revolution. Thomas Fraser did, fighting his way up to the rank of Major.
During the War he married Southern belle Anne Loughton Smith. After the War they lived in Charleston and Philadelphia. They came to Bordentown during the dangerous summer seasons to get away from big city killing diseases.
Major Fraser’s, whose daughter married Napoleon Bonaparte’s nephew, is a dip into the past history of our country revealing the personal stories of people who lived before we were a country and on up until the present.
Filed under American History, Bordentown, women
Malala Yousafzai, A Leader For Our Time
In all nations brave women and girls,
through the ages have shown courage
during battles and long wars. They have fed the warriors,
carried messages, fought off the enemy, suffered rape, disfigurement,
and healed the wounds of others.
As the world progresses in time
as we inch toward respect;
understanding cultures and ways of countries different,
the feminine teach, nurture, carry the burden and the waving banner
toward freedom of education.
Timid maiden, traditional matron
carry on the fight for their rights
of speech, of choice, of life productive, of developing
their talents and gifts varied from the masculine in their families,
special in their own footsteps.
Malala, leader of your time,
of your place, may you continue
without violence against you. Know you are a leader,
an international symbol admired by many for your determined beliefs;
willing to stand up for them.
© Arlene S. Bice, 2012
Christmas & Holiday Recipes & Remembrances
“CHRISTMAS TASTE ‘N TELL”
Community Room at
Warren County Memorial Library
119 So. Front Street
Warrenton NC
Tues.4 Dec. 2012
12:00 to 1:00 pm
Come tell your tales & taste our foods made for you by the women who contributed to the
Warrenton Woman’s Club Cookbook the “Recipes & Remembrances” Cookbook
will be available for purchase at $15.00
This was a fun event when we introduced it in the spring. The planned program took on a life of its own. So this time we are going to just run with it, let ya’ll tell your Christmas or your Holiday stories that have food memories in them.
Please, come out and taste the wonderful array of recipes made with Christmas in mind by those who submitted to our Warrenton Women’s Club cookbook, Recipes & Remembrances. Enjoy!
Women Friendships
I began reading through my old journals looking for references to psychic moments and experiences I’ve had over the years, researching for my next manuscript. I found wonderful memories of times spent with the best of women friends. I found what I was looking for and so much more.
I grew up in what was an all boy neighborhood until I was about 9 years old. I had two brothers, our dog and cat were both males. I married while still a teenager, had four sons, a male dog and a husband who was a mason contractor. This means that I was surrounded by men showing up to go to work or showing up on Fridays for their pay envelope which I had prepared because I set up appointments for estimates and did all the paperwork it takes to run a business.
When the marriage fell apart after 15 years, I worked in fields dominated by men, i.e. wholesale liquor sales rep, bartender, real estate sales followed by real estate appraiser and then a new, used and rare bookseller. All men dominated fields at the time. In the early years I was usually working two jobs sometimes three to keep the bills paid and the kids fed. Who had time for women friendships? Not me.
But time passes and when all those struggle years passed too, I went off into a different direction. I fulfilled my desire to be a writer not realizing that I was always a writer who just had not written anything. It was a woman, InSuk who must have seen that in me and pushed me in the right direction. I will always remember her even though I have not seen her in many years.
So my wonderful women friends first came to me first through my bookshop then through my pen. Well, I also write on my computer. But came they did. Thanks to my years attending the annual conference of the International Women Writers’ Guild I now have women friends from various parts of our country and a few from Europe, the Caribbean and Africa. Who knows? Next I may make friends with women from Asia, Australia and South America. The world is open to me.
Filed under women
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