Month: July 2018

Posted in Blogging

July 10: High Summer

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A pictorial of high summer around northeastern Kentucky, on the fringes of Appalachia. The middle of July is definitely seen as mid-summer. Another few weeks and the “dog days” arrive, which mean the end of the summer is approaching. It’s been an extraordinarily hot summer here. 90s almost every day and high humidity. HIgher than usual. As I sit at my desk typing, it’s 91 degrees. Tucker, my puppy, refuses to go out in the afternoons. The deck burns his paws, so I have to carry him.

I have very few flowers blooming this summer, even though I live in the middle of the forest. It’s just been too hot for them.

It’s a slow day here at my house. Tucker and I got in some outdoor time very early this morning. I sat on the deck with him while he played a little and chewed on his bone. I like slow days. I don’t have many of them. They give me time to relax a little. More importantly, they give me time to reflect on my writing. What direction do I want to take with my current writing projects? Are there new projects I want to undertake?

I write a little about Appalachia. There is a book some of you may have read called “Hillbilly Elegy.” A bestseller. J.D. Vance is the author. I saw J.D. on television recently. On a news station giving his opinion, which I thought odd. I grew up here and even though this book is a bestseller, I don’t agree with most of it. I have been pondering my own version of Vance’s story of Appalachia. His family migrated from the area. Most of my family stayed here. I don’t like the picture he painted.

Have any of you read “Hillbilly Elegy?” What do you think?

The photos are the area around where I live. My property has been declared a National Wildlife Habitat. Enjoy!

 

Posted in Uncategorized

Making Some Changes to This Blog

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I’m going to be making some changes to this blog. I want to be more responsive to my subscribers and develop a more personal relationship with all of you. My writings and stories will still be posted as always. I’m going to add some daily, or semi-daily (read: when I have time or something interesting to write about) writings just about life, goings-on in my life, interesting vignettes, photos,….well, you get the picture!

These daily writings won’t be shareable on social media. They will just be between us. My stories and posts will be shareable as usual. This is just an experiment to see if everyone enjoys a more “blogging-like” environment here.

If you have any comments on my upcoming experiment, please feel free to leave them. I’d love to hear what you think!

Rosemary

 

Posted in Non-fiction

Jonathan Livingston Seagull(s)…Perhaps?

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A comment. Seagulls remind me of my mother. Even though most people see them as the birds who clean up garbage on the beach, my mother saw their beauty. When I was a very young adult, she showed me their beauty in the series of short stories published by Richard Bach about a seagull who seeks life outside the typical and flies off to seek self-actualization.

Our family took a trip shortly after that to Isle Royale National Park in the northern part of Lake Superior in Michigan. A seagull spent the week we were there sitting on the window seal of my mother’s motel room. No one else’s room. Just her’s. It was the time she was heavy into reading the “Jonathan” stories and books. Coincidence? Perhaps. I’ll let you decide.

I read the Jonathan stories even now. They help a non-conformist like me. Try them on for yourself! You can read about them here,

 

Thank you Priceless Joy for the wonderful prompt!

Photo Credit to wildverbs

Posted in Fiction

Love and War – #sundayphotofictioner

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It was 1943 and World War II was raging. His Destroyer Escort had docked in New York City after a long stint in the Atlantic. She was a girl from Appalachia who had left home for the first time. She had traveled on the train to the City to meet him, her new husband, when his ship docked. They had three weeks together to look forward to. He had rented a tiny apartment.

It was her first time out of the hills of Kentucky. The bright lights of the City astonished her. Her husband and his Navy buddies pooled their money and decided to treat their wives, who had spent months not knowing if they were dead or alive. They bought tickets to see The Rockettes.

She thought the show was the best she’d ever seen. Afterwards, clutching her new husband’s hand, they all went to a club and danced the jitterbug. She was star struck.

They knew their happiness was fleeting. The ship would soon pull out again to go back to war. They returned to their apartment and made the most of their time together, knowing it might never happen again.

 

Thanks to Susan and #sundayphotofictioners for the prompt!

Photo credit to Susan Spaulding

Posted in Politics

Donald Trump, Immigration: Next?

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By now, we all know about the issues with Trump’s immigration policy at our southern border such as family separation, detaining children in camps, and, in general, causing an uproar across America. Right on the heels of that fiasco, we learn that Trump is asking the U.S. Army to release any soldier who is serving in the Army with the promise of citizenship at the end of his or her service. This has released some excellent soldiers from our Army who will now be deported.

One has to ask, “What’s next?” or maybe “Who’s next?”

Has Donald Trump forgotten, or did he ever know, that the United States of America is a nation of immigrants? I am only third generation in America. Trump, himself, is only second generation. I had to wonder exactly what Trump is trying to accomplish after I heard him ask, “Why can’t we get more immigrants from Norway?” I suppose he meant as opposed to south of our southern border. That statement reeked of racism and bigotry. Clearly, he meant more white immigrants instead of brown immigrants.

We should (and so should Trump) remember the lessons of history. Hitler was striving for his Aryan race. A race of what he called white, superior beings. His brand of politics was called Fascism. As Trump wishes for more white immigrants and fewer immigrants from countries south of the border and from Muslim countries, all who have browner skin, I wonder what he’s trying to achieve. It can’t be that he wants to conserve resources or he would not be wishing for any immigrants at all. Could he be trying to “whiten up” America?

What should we expect next? Should we expect that all people with brown skin might have their citizenship revoked and be sent back to the countries of their ancestors? Or that all African-Americans or Asian-Americans might suffer the same fate? Perhaps he’ll just take a short-cut, and since our Congress is no longer serving as a system of checks and balances and because he is going to pack the Supreme Court to his liking, he’ll just build gas chambers as Hitler did.

I know you think I’m exaggerating. I would imagine the German people didn’t expect millions of Jews to be killed either. At least, not at first.

Maybe Trump will decide that no one is worthy of living in America but his “base.” At least that’s what I hear from some members of his base. Some of them say there will be a revolution and, for example, there will be no Democrats left. I wonder where they got that from? Trump takes the Democratic Party’s name in vain, and badly, at every Trump rally. No wonder he has riled up “his people” into thinking such a thing. Now his “base” wonders why the Democrats are filled with hatred and fear. Talk to some of the members of his base or go to a Trump rally and you will figure out why.

It could be that Trump will decide no one should live in America but “true Americans.” Of course, he thinks that is his base or he tries to make us think those are his thoughts. If he goes that far, the jokes on him. America is a nation of immigrants. The only “true Americans” have red skin. The Native Americans. #NotMyPresident

 

Recommended Reading: “Fascism: A Warning” by Madeleine Albright

Posted in Non-fiction

#SoCS – 7/7/2018

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A COMMENT ON GENEALOGY RESEARCH

Off and on for a lot of years, I’ve been studying my family’s genealogy. Back in my 20s, I did a rough genealogy of my father’s family. One side of his family was from Sweden and I had to actually write the priest from the parish from which my family came and ask for family records. It took a long time, but I finally received some records from that priest. I felt like I had struck gold. I was able to put together some semblance of a genealogy of my dad’s family.

After that, life happened and it took me years to get back to studying genealogy. I’ve been playing with it for a year or so now. Since my first feeble attempts all those years ago, websites like Ancestry happened and the vast databases of information that you can access through them, not just for America but all across the world. I’m still learning to use Ancestry and similar sites, but I have some of my paternal grandfather’s information in place. Since he was first-generation in the U.S., it’s been fascinating to trace him back to Sweden. I’m almost ready to start on my paternal grandmother’s line.

Genealogy got more interesting when DNA testing came about. Not only can you trace your family tree, you can actually find DNA matches amidst your family tree if you and others have tested your DNA. I have made contact with several third and fourth cousins using this feature.

It has been a superb experience to not only see my family tree on the computer screen but also to get to talk with cousins I didn’t even know existed. Coincidentally, at the same time, a long-lost first cousin found and contacted me and that prompted the first cousins on my dad’s side of the family to get in touch with each other and even discuss planning a reunion at the place from which we all came.

In these days of social media and so many of us being relatively isolated from family members, I think this is a wonderful thing. I know I am so enjoying getting reacquainted with my close cousins and getting to know more distant cousins. We’re putting together quite a family story!

Posted in Fiction

Crossing – #writephoto

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They approached the old bridge silently, hand in hand. They had taken this trip together, knowing it would probably be the last time either would be able to travel this far. It was one of their favorite places. They both had a lot on their minds. He was experiencing the first wave of dementia, caused by another illness. It only cropped up occasionally. It was apparent in his map-reading and directional skills. He was depressed, morose. He knew he would never pass this way again.

An illness was not plaguing her. She was concerned about him. She was also concerned about her age, her level of fatigue. She couldn’t do what she used to do. She was terribly fatigued from this trip and had become increasingly introspective. She wondered where you crossed from middle age to being old. Everyone liked to quip that age was only a state of mind. If they could feel how she felt right now, they would know better.

She also liked to think, most days, that the crossing was in your head and she felt young almost every day. Maybe 30. Some days even younger. That was in her head. When she looked in the mirror, she wondered who was looking back at her. Surely that couldn’t be her. Someone must be standing behind her. Some days, her body failed her and she knew she couldn’t be the 30 years of age she felt in her head. She must be that chronological age number that she hated so badly. When she felt like that, she felt guilty. Many didn’t ever have the opportunity to live as long as she had.

She wondered if, in today’s world of modern medicine, the crossing occurred at 50? Maybe 60? 70? Older? Perhaps it was specific to the person. The same mysterious feeling that always arose grabbed her. She was determined that her crossing had not yet occurred. She was still middle-aged, not old. She was going to fight the forces in her body that told her otherwise. She was going to keep her mind sharp and healthy.

She had to do this. For herself and her husband next to her. He could no longer do it for himself. As women have done for eons, she had to do it for both of them. She would stay young. Her crossing would not occur until the last second of her life.

 

Thank you to Sue Vincent for this incredible prompt.

Posted in Fiction

Wave – #writephoto

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The Native Americans called it Gitchee Gumee. The lake that seems as big as an ocean. Lake Superior that straddles the Michigan-Canadian border. With its rocky beaches and big waves. She walked along the beach and climbed over the rocks where she had to. It had been twelve years since she’d been here. Since she’d been home. It was a summer day, but the water was cold and the wind was brisk. She loved it.

She could be at home in Kentucky. At the island in Florida. Nowhere was she more at home than at the big lake. Do we have cellular memory? That’s the only explanation she had for it. This is where her roots were. She’d never spent much time here. Her father left here before she was born and her family seldom returned. Every time she came back, she knew this was where she was supposed to be. When she saw the relatives she had left here, it felt right. They seemed like she felt. She felt at home with them even though she didn’t know them well.

Her bond with her father, who was from this vast, sparsely populated, beautiful region, had been strong. Every time she came here as a child and later, as an adult, that bond extended to her relatives and the population here, as well as to the big lake. She had tried to write when she was on the island at the ocean. She tried repeatedly. It never worked. There was something wrong there. Something missing. There was no inspiration.

Here, there was an utter solitude and she was always better alone. She could hear the muse singing in her ears, touching her skin. She could see it with her fading vision, flying over the big lake, touching the pictured rocks, raising up the big wave, giving her the inspiration she craved. She felt she could write forever.

The Native Americans thought Gitchee Gumee was magical. They had been right about so much.