Posted: January 2, 2012 | Author: Elisabeth Crisp / @crisplyspoken | Filed under: Joined at the Heart, Writers Write | Tags: BJ Naegelin, debate world, flying lessons, high school kids, Lanny Naegelin, Speech and Debate, writers, writing |
Lanny and BJ Naegelin, October 1990
The high school kids I used to teach called her The BEEJ. Not to her face of course. Mrs. Naegelin wouldn’t have liked that any more than having one of her grandchildren call her grandma. Coiffed in an amazing honey-hued bouffant and spangled in gold-nugget and diamond jewels, she was BJ, a force of nature.
Twenty-five years ago, I was the new kid, who took a watermelon to a barbeque at a co-workers house. The hostess served each of us a garnish-sized sliver. Later, I knew I’d found a soul mate when I caught BJ, leaning over the sink slurping on a giant wedge. I hacked off a slab and slurped along with her.
I’d been hired to fill the shoes of an icon in the Speech and Debate world, her husband Lanny. I took the job without knowing about the betting pool wagered against me. BJ’s money was on me. She became my champion.
Once, she stomped into the principal’s office, calendar in hand, “On what night are you planning to see Liz’s play?” I was directing The Diviners. The boss him-hawed something about being busy. It was football season. In Texas. BJ held her ground, and he showed up on opening night. No one said no to Mrs. Naegelin.
BJ was a lady. A Texan. A person who pushed the top off of any box used to label her. I’m a better person because I knew her.
Like this:
One blogger likes this post.
Posted: February 24, 2011 | Author: Elisabeth Crisp / @crisplyspoken | Filed under: Writers Write | Tags: flying lessons, Trusting Your Instincts, writers, writing |
I was working at my dining room table when another bird hit the window. I had a similar experience a while ago. This time, the bird was red, a cardinal. I have a special relationship with red birds. When my mother was dying, they landed by the dozens in her yard, eating from her bird feeder. I called them her pets.
Bacon and I have always considered cardinals our good luck charm. Our children can recognize the trill of a male calling his mate. Last year, a pair nested in our rose arbor. So . . . we’re attached.
The bird was snacking on the red berries that grow next to the house when he slammed against the glass. Our neighbor has a cat, Lucifer. The big tabby hangs out in our yard so, I couldn’t leave the little guy there. He didn’t look hurt, but he was too stunned to move.
I scooped him up with a box lid. He grabbed the edge with his feet. I’ve never been so close before. He was too stressed to be scared. I put the lid in the fork of a live oak tree. Since he was perched on the top edge, the cat would have to knock the lid down to get him.
The bird sat there for more than an hour while I half-held my breath waiting for him to fly away.
Like this:
Be the first to like this post.
Posted: June 18, 2009 | Author: Elisabeth Crisp / @crisplyspoken | Filed under: Housekeeping, Joined at the Heart, Mouths of Babes, Writers Write | Tags: family, flying lessons, garden, loss, memory, Mourning Dove, perception, writers, writing |
I can’t get the image out of my head. A week ago, a mourning dove flew into our closed window. It was a bright day. The tinted glass captured a mirror image of our backyard in vivid detail. The bird smacked into it, crumpling into a pile of feathers and sinew. The death disturbed my girls, particularly Coco. She is tenderhearted toward all forms of wildlife.
Cherry explained, “It was just a dove and they don’t have very big brains. He must have thought he was flying into another part of the yard. Bird Brain.”
I shoveled the dove into a Walgreens bag and tossed it into the dumpster behind the house.
When I came back to the patio, I saw it. The bird in flight left a smudge. The detail of wings and feathers and beak, and the body language of distress, then death, looked like a photograph on the glass. I couldn’t look away. The image was interesting and disturbing.
I wanted to protect my family from the memory. So, I grabbed a bottle of glass cleaner and spritzed the image. Although, I wiped it down with a clean cloth, I haven’t been able to get that dove’s imprint out of my head.
Like this:
Be the first to like this post.
