I Just Wanted to Be Sure of You

My grandparents are long gone, my mother died in 1963, daddy died in 1986, and my stepmother died in 2010. I guess that, technically, I am a 66 year old orphan – but I am lucky enough to have a big network of friends who have become my family.

I often take time to reflect on what a fortunate person I am. But no more than when I spend time with my friends. As Elbert Hubbard (who?) said, “A friend is someone who knows all about you and still loves you.”

And I have gathered them from so many different parts of my life. Six of them gathered for a birthday dinner for me recently and we commented on that very thing. All six of us are linked by theater: five by Board membership at the Remy Bumppo Theatre Company and another friend who is a supporter of Remy Bumppo.

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And then I Heard the Weaver

Sitting in a big hotel in Lusaka
Very Western
Pleasant but sterile
Sitting by a lovely “water feature”
With koi and papyrus and purple flowers
And water lilies

Relaxing with a bottle of Boschendal wine
And a new book.
Served by an attentive waiter called Jeffrey

Looking forward to my safari
Tomorrow!
Wishing the time would evaporate
So I could be in the bush
Tomorrow!

And then I heard the familiar,
If exotic,
Bird song
And looked up
To see small birds
Flying into their intricate nests
In some nearby tall palm trees

I smiled wistfully
The palm weavers have welcomed me back
To my beloved Africa

(20 March 2009)

When the Golden Years Turn to Gold Dust

by Nancy McDaniel

The saddest part to me is that she seems to be disappearing in front of my eyes. The woman whom I have loved for over 40 years, the woman who married my beloved Daddy and who became my sweet step mom, my dearest Ginny, is vanishing. In her frail old age, she is becoming a fragile piece of paper, a puff of smoke. She is diminishing daily and seems to be evaporating.

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The Spirit of Christmas Passed

by Nancy McDaniel

What a curious Christmas this last one was. I didn’t think it all mattered so much to me, but I guess it did.

It’s All About Traditions for Me
I’m not religious. I don’t go to church any more. I believe in something but I don’t even know if I believe in God. So for me, personally, Christmas isn’t about religion. Of course I know it is for millions of people and I respect that. But for me, Christmas is about family and dear friends and children and caring and kindness. And being together with people you love. For me, Christmas has always been about traditions. It’s about the whole thing.

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The Death of Innocence

by Nancy McDaniel

September 11, 2001 started out for me, as it did for most, as just an ordinary September day. Just an ordinary Tuesday. Oddly enough, it was the 15th anniversary of my father’s death. It was the morning after the opening night of a wonderful new play I attended. It was the day before I was to fly to Los Angeles for a walk on role on the hit TV show CSI. The day started off expectantly hopeful. It changed dramatically.

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Even the Address is Gone

by Nancy McDaniel

I don’t get out to the suburbs very much. Physically, and attitudinally, they are far removed from my current life. I really just go out when it’s time to visit my step-mom every now and then. But I was invited to a bridal shower, at a golf club “out there.” (Turnabout is fair play, I guess. I used to make fun of suburban friends who thought the city was just “too far to drive.” Have I become a reverse version of them now?)

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A Trio of Peaceful Pachyderms

by Nancy McDaniel

The first thing you notice about him is, of course, his immense size. But then you see his eyes: lovely, kind and liquid. His name is Jabulani, which is Zulu for “Happiness.” He is an adolescent male elephant, whom I met and fell in love with in Botswana.

An Elephant in My Former Life?
I have often said that I believe I either was an elephant in a former life or will be one in my next. I am hopelessly attracted to them. They are intelligent animals, with a strong and complex social and family structure. When left undisturbed, at their best they embody many of the characteristics I most admire in humans: loyalty, sensitivity and gentleness. I personally believe they have a sense of humor as well.

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But It’s Just a House…

by Nancy McDaniel

It wasn’t something I planned to do. I just happened to go to a board meeting in a new (to me) and magical neighborhood. I saw the house with a For Sale sign and that’s how it all started. My life was turned upside-down and became a “looking-at-a-new-house episode” of the past three weeks. It was an emotionally turbulent and extremely thought-provoking time for me.

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Beach Musings

by Nancy McDaniel

Back on the beautiful beach on Florida’s Gulf Coast, I walked. And thought. And thought. And walked some more. It’s quite lovely here and I am bored out of my mind. The city girl in me rebels against resort-ism. The wilderness girl in me rebels against the over-the-top trappings of extreme affluenza. So, as usual, my mind raced and raised questions I hadn’t thought about in a long time. If ever.

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Alone but Not Lonely

by Nancy McDaniel

Gabriel Garcia Marquez wrote of “the restorative idleness of solitude” in his excruciatingly beautiful novel, Love in the Time of Cholera. I was profoundly struck by the poignancy of those words. How beautifully, if incongruously, they flowed. However, it was more personally important to me, how apt they were in describing a certain phase of my life.

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Meeting Dr. Ian Player

by Nancy McDaniel

How many of us are fortunate enough in our lives to meet someone who has been a true hero of ours? Not a known hero such as a parent who selflessly raised us safely and successfully. Not an unknown but “everyday” hero such as a firefighter who risks his or her life everyday to protect us, but a larger-than-life hero whose books are twinkling stars of words that light up the pages and whose accomplishments in the natural world make life better for all of us. Even for those of us who don’t even realize it.

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Angels in Fur

by Nancy McDaniel

An important thing to know about me is that, as a child growing up in the suburbs, I was a “dog person.” And nearly everyone I knew was also a dog person. “Cat people” were different; I didn’t play with them (neither the people nor their cats). Actually, I thought I hated cats. That seemed to be the politically correct opinion to hold in my homogeneous, affluent suburb. It may well have even been a question on the mortgage applications for houses in 60′s Hinsdale:

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