Why Scribblings?

If the truth be known, I was working so hard to get the blog started in the workshop, that my brain turned to mush. Naming my work stymies me, but you can only have so many pieces in an art exhibit listed as "Untitled" before it gets really confusing. My writing clubs also expect titles on work submitted. Naming things is so daunting to me that it's a wonder that my sons even have names. (There is a story there too. Perhaps I'll tell at a much later date.) Anyway, during the blog workshop Scribblings popped into my head, and that became the name. Not that I'm trying to defend it, but the more I consider it, the more appropriate it seems.

One definition for the word scribble is "to write quickly or in a way that makes it hard to read." If you've seen my handwriting, you know that mine won't win any penmanship awards. On the computer my writing is fraught with so many typos that sometimes it's also hard to decipher. There is also an implication that scribbled writing might not make a lot of sense. I can't deny it - that applies to me as well. I view the blog as a more immediate way of writing than a manuscript, something short, and an excuse to ramble without following a plot. I'm learning lessons along the way. Reading over my few attempts reiterates that there is a reason publishers have editors. 

Another definition of scribble has to do with marks that children make when they first put pencils or crayons to paper. In the most influential art education textbook for decades, Creative and Mental Growth, author Viktor Lowenfeld, defines the stages artistic development. The first stage is the scribble stage, from two to four years of age. Within that stage are steps, the last one being when the child begins to name the scribbles. Lowenfeld considered this a very important stage, even calling it one of the "great occasions in the life of a human" because it marked the "change from a kinesthetic thinking in terms of motion to imaginative thinking in terms of pictures.....the ability to visualize in pictures."

So here I am, a beginning blogger, fledgling novelist, trying to develop more imaginative thinking. Perhaps Scribblings fits me just fine. We all have to start somewhere!

Simple Gestures

My father would have been 97 this past Saturday. Although he died 20 years ago this past August, some things surrounding that time are still very clear in my mind. We had lived in Montgomery for over 35 years at the time, but it was his wish to be buried in the family plot in the town where he grew up. An evening memorial service was held in Montgomery, and then family members and friends gathered at the funeral home in Crenshaw County for a last viewing and prayer. As the procession made its way to the cemetery about 20 miles away. Along the way an overall-clad man, probably taking a break for lunch from work on his farm, was getting his mail from the mailbox at the roadside. When he saw the procession approaching, he turned toward us, removed his well-worn cap, and stood respectfully until we passed. This simple gesture for a stranger remains one of my most vivid memories of the day. I am touched by his kindness each time I remember it.

Yesterday the service for my father's 95 year old first cousin's was held at the same funeral home. Although her burial was in a different cemetery, we traversed much of the same route. Although I did not see that farmer, it made an impression on me that for the entire route, with the exception of three vehicles, all cars in the oncoming lanes pulled to the side of the road and waited until we passed. You might say, well, in the country..... but part of our route was along a divided 4 lane highway with a 65mph speed limit. Yet people stopped, because that's what people there still do.

Earlier when I mentioned a visit to that small town an acquaintance asked "Do you feel like you are stepping back in time when you go there?" in a tone of voice implying that people there are backward. I answered "no," but did not elaborate. Yesterday I realized what my answer should have been "When I go there, I do not step backward. I step into a place where customs are respected, and the common courtesies and simple gestures extended even to strangers still mean a lot.