Writers at the Table: Meet Betty Sydow

IMG_0872Once a month, I meet with writers at Harwood Place retirement living center, and every so often I get to share one of their storiesToday, I’m excited to introduce Betty Sydow.

Because last month was National Poetry Month, I asked the writers to come to this month’s class with a poem.

Betty is known for bringing in wonderful short fiction, stories about an eclectic group of folks living in an old apartment building. But, turns out, she’s an excellent poet at well. 

~

Then and Now, Sweet Treats
By Betty Sydow

Then

Pastel candy dots
On a paper strip.
Pink Double Bubble lumps
Twisted in a comic.

Licorice whips, jaw breakers, red hot hearts.

Sugary cigarettes
With bright lighted tips.
Gum drop reptiles,
Malted milk balls.

Wax ruby lips and vampire teeth.

Three pennies in my pocket.
This will take a while.

Now

Chocolate truffles,
Macadamia nuts.
Pecan turtles,
Petit fours.

Chocolate covered cherries and creamy fudge bars.

Marzipan fruit,
Mint melt aways.
White chocolate drops
And crunchy fairy food.

Bittersweet chocolate almond bark.

Plastic in my wallet.
I’ll pay tomorrow.

 

Writers at the Table: Meet Richard Borchers

IMG_0562Once a month, I meet with writers at the Harwood Place retirement living center, and every so often I get to share one of their storiesToday, I’m excited to introduce Richard Borchers. 

Richard is a long-time member of the group and a committed writer. He always brings great stories to the table, including this one inspired by a prompt from Patricia McNair’s daily prompt list. 

. . . .

He was never good with the camera.

Graduation from high school was the occasion for getting his very own camera. Congratulatory gifts afforded him a moderately priced “Argus.” Somehow, he just knew it could produce very good slides and prints.

The first roll of film he purchased was returned to the drug store and exchanged for one proper for the camera. With help from a few more experienced “shutter bugs,” he mastered the trick of opening the lid and getting the precious capsule into the little box. He found “f-stop” but wondered, Where is the “f-go?”

The strange, new technology seemed almost beyond comprehension. He thought, If this little machine is going to be my friend, I guess I’d better read the manual.

After several months of shooting pictures, it still was no surprise when a roll of twenty frames would come back from the developer with three or four undeveloped. Did he leave the lens cover on? Was it a double exposure? Why were so many blank? It must be the drug store’s fault!

Sometimes, his camera was left sitting on the shelf, not really forgotten but more like just neglected. But when he was traveling or on vacation, the Argus was always with him. He found joy and satisfaction just to have a few pictures to share when he got home and memories to store away in albums. After some time, his photography skills improved a little bit. Still there were plenty of heads cut off, or legs, or arms, or that favorite uncle who had come a thousand miles just to have his picture taken. Too bad he was at the end of the row instead of in the middle.

However, he has this one incredible shot when everything came together just right.

The occasion was on the trip back from Seattle on the Amtrak. Attempts at taking scenery pictures from a moving train are not likely to be very good, he thought. But there was the camera, lying on the chair next to the bunk where he was sitting. It was primed with the toggle set for taking a panorama. It was beginning to get dark, and the train was speeding through Glacier National Park away from the sunset. Looking out the window over his shoulder, he grabbed the Argus and clicked the shuttle.

Putting it away for the night, he wished he were good with the camera.

. . . .

Over the shoulder and out the window: Glacier National Park
Photo by Richard Borchers

photo

“Happy accidents are real gifts….” ~ David Lynch

 

Writers at the Table: The Big Event

It rained on Saturday, poured really, and I didn’t carry an umbrella. But as I parked my car, turned off the engine, and ran inside, I thought little about getting wet and more about the Anthology reading that afternoon. I’d arrived half an hour early, and I was nervous, unsure what to expect but hoping for a fun and well-attended event for the Seniors whose work was printed in the book.

I wasn’t the only one anxious and eager. When I walked into the lobby, Betty, one of the writers, was there as well. She had her story in hand and a frustrated look and said the room wasn’t set up yet. What we discovered upon talking with the manager was that the room had been prepared, but for a tiny audience of five. The manager asked me how many people I anticipated, and I looked to Betty. We both shrugged. I said at least ten. Betty said fifteen. We were both wrong. The room filled up with at least thirty.

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The majority of those in the audience were fellow residents of Harwood Place, which added to the energy (and maybe the nerves) of the readers. I love the Seniors’ stories from the perspective of a writer and someone interested in the experience of past generations. The other residents, though, seem to appreciate them on a deeper, more personal level, breaking out in a laughter that was clearly from a place of total understanding and falling into quiet during a serious moment of shared experience.

It was then I knew that all the work in the past months, weeks, and days, was worth it, and this event was exactly as is should be.

Valerie Reynolds
Valerie Reynolds reading Good Neighbors.
Richard Borchers
Richard Borchers reading And Then It Happened.
Ted Johnson
Ted Johnson reading The Flannel Shirt.
Clyde Rusk
Me reading The Political Kettle for Clyde Rusk, that distinguished fellow in the red sweater.
Betty Sydow
Betty Sydow, our flash fiction writer, reading The Storm.

What happened after the reading came to a close made the event even more special. Those audience members? They lingered well past the applause. Not just for the coffee and cookies either. They sat in circles and visited with each other, and the writers worked the room. Clyde, who has lived at Harwood Place for several years, said to me, “Look at everyone still here! This is unheard of. We’ve hit a hot button, I tell you.”

He’s right, as every bit of this experience–the writing class, these stories, the reading–speaks of the importance in gathering at the table.

In Community.

I’m so grateful to be a part of such a wonderful group.

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Just look at those smiles!

You don’t have anything / if you don’t have the stories.
~ from CEREMONY, Leslie Marmon Silko