Tag Archives: Amy Lyles Wilson

MayBelle Encounters Wildlife…Or Goes Around the Bend, Depending on Your Perspective

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MayBelle realizes the chances are slim that she actually saw a beaver dashing into the hedge as she finished her walk in Richmond, Indiana, last night, but that’s what it looked like to her. It was not, she told Precious when he questioned her after she reported the rare sighting, a cat or an opossum or a raccoon. It was bigger and bushier and browner. She’d really like to say it was a platypus but she knows that would give Precious reason to suppose she’d gone around the bend for sure, having been separated from him for so long and all. So instead she simply asks that you not harsh her buzz, and allow her this foray into her imagination. She quite likes it in there, even if she is seeing things.

Because MayBelle couldn’t snap a photo of the rapidly moving, mysterious wildlife in the hedge, she offers you this picture of goldfish in a pond, which she took outside the Warm Glow Candle Company in Centerville, Indiana. At least she thinks they’re goldfish…

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MayBelle Unloads Her Guilt (or at least some of it…)

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IMG_1625MayBelle is not one of those people who can never say she’s sorry. (Please excuse her double negative, if that’s indeed what that was.) In fact, MayBelle is the kind of gal who apologizes early and often, even for things she had no part in, maybe didn’t even witness. Just hearing about some atrocity on the news is enough to make MayBelle consider taking the wrap.

She’s not sure how this habit began, but she suspects it’s related somehow to the time when she was a kid and her parents lost sight of her while they were touring the battleship over in Mobile. Is it MayBelle’s fault her mother and father weren’t paying attention to her, so taken were they with the maritime history of Alabama? No, it is not MayBelle’s fault, but she’s been glad to carry the guilt as if it were for some thirty years now. Oops, make that forty.

And so it was that MayBelle found herself apologizing yet again over the weekend, for something for which she was not remotely responsible. Everybody in the room looked at her like she was nuts when she spoke those two words: “I’m sorry.” (Please note: This is not the time to debate whether MayBelle may, indeed, be nuts.)

The difference, though, is that MayBelle is catching on. She is realizing, after lo these many years of self-examination, therapy, and misplaced utterances of regret, what’s “on her” and what’s not. What she can be held responsible for and what she has no control over. What she can claim and what she can cast off.

MayBelle had rather err on the side of politeness, naturally, as she is her mother’s daughter. But now that MayBelle has reached the age of gray hair and bifocals, she’s grown tired of lugging around stuff that doesn’t belong to her. So if you’re in need of some extra guilt, just let MayBelle know. She’s getting rid of a batch of hers, and it’s going cheap.

MayBelle Pictures Friendship

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IMG_2415In MayBelle’s early years, friendship looked like chasing fireflies in her grandmother’s backyard in Oxford, Mississippi, with Anne, whose grandmother lived across the street. During high school, it looked like going out on the houseboat with Ashley’s family on the Ross Barnett Reservoir. In her Millsaps College days, it looked like a number of things, including dreaming big dreams with Lauri in “the bowl” and listening to great music with Karen wherever they could. In middle age, MayBelle’s friendships look like low-fat lunches, trips to the beach, and long, catch-up phone calls. Last week, though, friendship looked like this tray.

MayBelle, who is living some 350 miles away from her husband, Precious, for a temporary teaching gig, became ill and had to call for help. MayBelle was in pain, and scared. And alone. So MayBelle called a new friend, a precious young woman she’s known about three months, who took her to the emergency room even though it was late at night. Sat with her through the repetitive questions and the needles (also repetitive, as multiple “sticks” were required). Said “yes, of course,” when MayBelle looked over at her in a panic when the nurse asked for a local emergency contact. Knew just when to rub MayBelle’s back and speak soothing words and when to leave MayBelle be. Thought to ask the nurse for socks, which MayBelle was grateful for, having forgotten to put any on. (MayBelle also didn’t have on any makeup; please don’t tell Martha. But she did run a comb through her hair before leaving for the ER.) After three hours of medicine and lab results and monitoring, the friend took MayBelle to her own home, where she gave MayBelle hot tea and an extra blanket. Made sure she was comfortable. The next morning the friend brought this tray to MayBelle to see if she could eat anything. It might not look like much to you, but to MayBelle it was a love offering. With gratitude—and while trying not to apologize too much for having bothered her friend—MayBelle took, and she ate, and she gave thanks. 

MayBelle Makes Peace with the Middle of the Road

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Precious Hannah, who did not make moaning noises in yoga class.

“Be where you need to be,” said the yoga instructor last night, as MayBelle let out a yelp while struggling to keep her balance. Relocated temporarily to Indiana for work, MayBelle is working with a new instructor, one who doesn’t know MayBelle feels compelled to moan when she does anything remotely related to physical exercise. Back home in Tennessee, her friends call her the “moaning yogi” she makes so much noise.

MayBelle pushed through to a respectable twisting triangle pose (probably not its technical name), and managed to finish the class without many more outbursts. She wasn’t the most coordinated woman in the room, nor was she necessarily the least fit (if she does say so herself). Smack in the middle, really, which is where MayBelle usually finds herself in life. Extremes are not MayBelle’s strong suit. She often thinks back to the time her father said to her, probably when MayBelle was complaining about how all the girls at school were prettier/smarter/more popular/insert your comparison here: “There will always be someone prettier than you, and someone less attractive. Someone smarter, and someone dumber. Richer and poorer.” His approach might have lacked tact, but MayBelle got his point. She loved that about her father, how he shot straight to the heart of things.

And so, on the floor of the BeaTree Yoga Studio in Richmond, Indiana, legs crossed and eyes closed, MayBelle offered up her “Namaste” and gave thanks for being right where she needs to be, even if she’s not always sure exactly where that is.

MayBelle Notes the Passage of Time

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Word has come that two friends of MayBelle’s have died: a male college classmate, just 51; and a 92-year-old woman named Jeanne.  She hadn’t seen the man in years, but remembers him fondly. They kissed once after a fraternity party. He was graduated with honors and then went on to become a doctor. The woman she knew several years back when they attended the same church, and MayBelle came to love the woman, who was a fine example of what it means to live with faith and gratitude.

MayBelle is shocked by the news about her college friend, cognizant that time is scooting by with seemingly increased vigor now that she is in her fifties. And she is grateful that she hears of Jeanne’s death in time to make it to her funeral, which turns out to be a celebration of life indeed.

Lately there have been other reminders of what it means to age: a nephew turning thirty and getting married; her mother’s health in rapid decline; MayBelle’s List of Dreams still calling out to her. Sometimes it is almost too much for MayBelle. But one thing growing old has taught her—and there are many such lessons—is to reach out for help when she needs it. She has learned, over and over again, that going it alone is not all it’s cracked up to be, and most of the time no one’s paying attention to how independent you think you are anyway.

So she calls a friend, and they tell stories from their college days, remembering their classmate with kindness. And MayBelle feels better, at least for now.

Tomorrow she’ll write the man’s parents a note, telling them she is glad to have known their son and that she is sorry for their loss. She’ll make a donation to charity in Jeanne’s memory. She will check on her mother. And MayBelle will meet her trainer at the gym for their hour-long workout, in the hopes she can develop the strength–and the abs–to get one more dream accomplished.

MayBelle Cries Her Heart Out. A Couple of Times.

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MayBelle spent a good deal of the weekend in tears. It started on Friday, when she opened the card and gift from her husband, Precious, in honor of their tenth wedding anniversary. It’s not really unusual for MayBelle to tear up when she thinks about Precious, because it still surprises her when she finds him next to her in bed in the morning. On occasion, the first words out of her mouth are “What are you doing here?” That’s how convinced MayBelle was that she’d never get married; remnants of her single life still creep in now and again.

The tears continued later that day, when MayBelle walked into their room at the fabulous Stone Fort Inn in Chattanooga to find flowers, and chocolate-covered strawberries, and champagne, waiting for her.

Saturday was a tear-free day, unless you count the minor meltdown MayBelle had when she saw a man on a street corner who appeared to be homeless. Sometimes MayBelle does not handle reality all that well.

And there were a few more sniffles on Sunday morning, when MayBelle entered the dining room of the inn and Van Morrison was playing on the sound system. One chorus of “Have I Told You Lately,” and MayBelle was a goner.

“It’s like they knew you were coming,” said Precious, smiling because he knows what a fan MayBelle is. In fact, with all due respect to her fellow Episcopalians, MayBelle likens the time she heard Van Morrison at the Ryman to a religious experience. Really, it was that amazing.

And when, on the ride home to Nashville on Sunday, MayBelle was overcome with a feeling of sadness she couldn’t quite place, it wasn’t until her stepdaughter called to wish Precious a Happy Father’s Day that MayBelle realized it had been eleven years since she’d had the pleasure of calling her own father, the first love of her life. Eleven years since she’d heard him thank her for whatever gift she had sent, certainly a token too small to honor all he did for MayBelle over the years. (MayBelle is reminded here of Billy Collins’ poem poem “The Lanyard,” which celebrates the idea that a lanyard made at camp might be enough of a thank-you to his mother for giving him life. Read it, please, if you haven’t already.)

So the Sunday tears were a little sadder, a tad saltier, than the ones MayBelle shed earlier in the weekend. But they represented a lot of love, just like the joy-filled tears, and for that MayBelle is one grateful middle-aged goober indeed.