Freelance writer, blogger, aspiring novelist. Former career as a college prof in finance. Encore career as freelance writer for a number of financial websites.
Alice stepped off the pavement onto the sand, looking around for children at play on the beach. Nothing.. She held a lone children’s sneaker in her hand that she’d just found in the parking lot.
Alice strolled down the beach hoping to find the shoe’s owner.
She turned to walk back to the parking lot. Suddenly, someone ran up behind her and grabbed the shoe from her hand.
The young man walked along the street, head down, hands stuffed in his pockets. He didn’t know if he could continue to do his job as a public defender. New laws were passed every day that gave the government more power over every aspect of life.
He passed the old Greyhound Bus Station. A few buses still came and went from the old station, but taking a Greyhound bus was almost a thing of the past.
He slowed as he passed the station. What were all those people doing there? He didn’t think they appeared to be travelers. It dawned on him. They were homeless and were seeking shelter from the hot sun and the police. It was now against the law to be homeless. The punishment was fines and jail time.
He slowly walked into the bus station and chatted with each homeless person there. Their stories were heart-wrenching. He told each of them he would represent them if they were arrested and how to find him.
The young man left the bus station with a renewed sense of purpose. He had a reason to go to work each day. He would help the homeless. He would become an expert on their issues. As regulations increased, he would not let them come to any harm.
When he got home that night, he was smiling. There was at least something he could do to help in this new normal in which the people found themselves.
Quilting is an old Appalachian tradition that arose in the Appalachian Mountains out of necessity. The region was, and still is, quite geographically isolated. When there is little business in an area, the people have to become more self-sufficient. Self-sufficiency is one of the characteristics that define the Appalachian region and people.
Quilting has a rich cultural heritage in many countries and among varied ethnicities.
Since the maternal side of my own family came from Appalachia, I’m part of that quilting culture although I don’t quilt myself. The women of that region quilted in order to have warm bed clothing for their families. Since families tended to be large, most required a lot of quilts. There weren’t many “store-bought” bed clothes to be found.
My maternal grandmother, and the women who came before her, all quilted. She had six girl children, all of whom were educated and most worked outside the home teaching school. My oldest aunt is the only one of the children who quilted.
Each quilt is as unique as the quilter who made it. The quilting traditions came from the Scots, Irish and German immigrants, but it also had touches of the influence of the Amish, the Quakers, and the Native Americans.
Some of the early quilts, in particular, were made from old feed sacks. Other materials used were pieces cut from old clothing. I have a plethora of handmade quilts I inherited from my grandmother and aunts. The oldest one has a top layer made of pieces of colorful feed sacks and the stuffing is just cotton batting, which bunches up terribly. That quilt was just as warm as any other and I still use it in my bedrooms.
The tops of quilts sometimes told a story, often of family history. There were also popular patterns that were used along with variations on those popular patterns. Many, perhaps most, of the American quilts have geometric designs which came from the Native American culture. African quilts are different and each tells a story, often of a tribe’s heritage. Many European quilts are patchwork quilts. All are usually colorful. All you have to do is an internet search and you will happen upon endless quilting patterns.
Quilting is also a communal activity with quilting bees and quilting circles held in communities. Not only did the quilts tell a story, but it was an opportunity for the women in the community to get together and chat. That is still true in many areas of Appalachia.
In the modern day, quilting has become very popular. There are quilting classes and quilting shows available if you are interested in learning the art of quilting. It is an artistic endeavor, along with practicality, just as much as painting a picture if you had a canvas and a paintbrush. Quilting can also, now, be done on a machine, but somehow the tradition is lost if you machine quilt. Hand stitching is the old, and valued, way.
She had not expected age to creep up on her so unexpectedly. Now that it had, she found herself at loose ends. Many things she had enjoyed were beyond her now.
Books, learning, teaching. Those things had always saved her. She saw the summer learning signs and the adults gathering.
She needed something to engage her. She wasn’t aging gracefully, but she had to try.
She’d always wanted to study anthropology. Maybe she could find a class and meet some people along the way.
A wave of hope washed over her as she walked toward them.
Enough pain. Enough emotional turmoil. Enough violence. Just enough. This wasn’t the way her life was supposed to go.
She was only 24, but she’d been with the old man for four years. Back then, she was searching for a way out of her family situation. Now, she was searching for a solution to her ill-advised solution back then.
She knew he would eventually kill her if she didn’t escape him. He had seemed so kind and gentle at first. As time passed, there were still moments of that, but most of the moments he saved for abuse.
It started with verbal abuse. He would say terrible things to her about her appearance and temperament. He ramped it up with emotional abuse. He would withhold any affection for weeks at a time. He would do horrible things just to make her cry. As he got older, he couldn’t stand that she was still young and jealousy sprung up.
He insisted on a sparkling clean house no matter how she felt. She hated the sight of that mop in the corner. She wanted to chop it up and throw it away. He had started hitting her in the head with it along with his fists. She swore to herself never again.
When he came home that night, and hit her again, she was ready for him.
The mop had one more use. She had to mop up the blood before the police came.
Introduction: Way back in the day, everyone loved Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Sound of Silence.” It was an anthem for the baby boom generation, including me. Flash forward to about 2016. I heard a cover of the song by the band Disturbed and it knocked me off my feet – and still does. This story is about that song, but the Disturbed interpretation of it. Maybe I should say my interpretation of their interpretation.
Here are the lyrics for those of you not familiar:
Hello darkness, my old friend I’ve come to talk with you again Because a vision softly creeping Left its seeds while I was sleeping And the vision that was planted in my brain Still remains Within the sound of silence
In restless dreams, I walked alone Narrow streets of cobblestone ‘Neath the halo of a street lamp I turned my collar to the cold and damp When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light That split the night And touched the sound of silence
And in the naked light, I saw Ten thousand people, maybe more People talking without speaking People hearing without listening People writing songs that voices never shared And no one dared Disturb the sound of silence
“Fools” said I, “You do not know Silence like a cancer grows Hear my words that I might teach you Take my arms that I might reach you” But my words, like silent raindrops fell And echoed in the wells of silence
And the people bowed and prayed To the neon god they made And the sign flashed out its warning In the words that it was forming Then the sign said, “The words on the prophets are written on the subway walls In tenement halls” And whispered in the sound of silence
The Sound of Silence
No one talks to each other anymore. At least not in America. Not in other countries either or so I’ve heard. All we hear is the sound of silence. People who are alone and lonely. Families who have broken apart. Friendships that have been destroyed. Neighbors holding grudges against neighbors.
When people do talk to each other, it is with raised voices and it is a tirade of hate, misunderstanding and evil. So silence has fallen upon the masses.
We’re afraid to disturb that silence. Our society has become so fragile we can hear our world coming apart. The ripping of those societal bonds is silent, but we know and hear it anyway.
We try to talk with them, to reason with them. We might as well stay silent as their neon god has convinced them that it is us against them. All we want to do is save ourselves and our country. They don’t seem to see that we will be destroyed if the silence prevails. How have they been blinded and deafened? Can’t they compare the current state of affairs to history? Instead of dialogue, there is the well of silence.
That was decades ago. I can’t imagine why one has popped up in our neighborhood. Who reads anymore?
People say they are visual learners now. Pictures, videos, multimedia. I wonder if many books are even published anymore. I haven’t seen one until that mobile library in many years.
I know many books, back in the day, were banned and burned. They say it was for our own protection. I do remember they were protecting us from the Others who don’t think like we do.
The elderly lady looked up and the shutters were open. Her heart skipped a beat. She had waited for this moment for 50 years.
She tried to pull open the door of the old, dilapidated building, but it was stuck. She pulled as hard as her old bones would allow and it popped loose.
The memories came flooding back. This corridor used to be light and airy and full of dancing children, including herself. That was so long ago that it left her breathless.
She got to the stairs and began to pull herself up by the railing. With every step, the past flashed before her eyes. Her father and mother waiting for her at the top of the stairs., Her sister racing up the stairs by her side.
The air was musty and the old woman had a hard time breathing. She tiptoed inside the sunny apartment.
Ghosts. She saw them all. Her family. Laughing and talking. She and her sister, so happy, so innocent in those days. She came here because she wanted some of it back, the innocence. Maybe it would bring joy to her life.
She found the boxes in one of the bedrooms. Her dolls. Her puppets. Her childhood books and records. As she looked at each item, she smiled and cried at the same time.
All that was left that was important were the ghosts.
It descended upon her while she was walking through the woods. A giant web of some sort, but it didn’t seem to be finished. She heard something weaving.
She was frightened. It felt like it was grabbing at her and she tried to swipe it away.
She was coming to what seemed to be the end of it. The web had gotten smaller. The sound of weaving had gotten louder.
She fought it and tried to pull it off her. It seemed to tighten and then wrapped around her.
Welcome to my #weekendcoffeeshare #167! Please join us and pour yourself a cup of coffee or tea. There are lots of varieties on the bar.
If we were having coffee, the first thing I would share with you is that I have revamped my contact page. If any of you would like to contact me, please feel free. Just click on the link!
It’s been a busy week, both on the blog and in other parts of my life! Summer has begun here in Kentucky, U.S.A! The temperatures are heating up and the vegetation here in Daniel Boone National Forest, where I live, is lush. We had so much rain in the spring that the forest responded and the vegetation is especially lush this year. It’s like living in the rain forest!
Early in the week, my husband was doing some yard work and came across a timber rattlesnake. He was far enough away from it so it couldn’t strike, but it tried. They are quite poisonous. He took care of that problem. Here is an image of a timber rattler in case you need to know.
Timber Rattlesnake
If you see one of these guys, be calm, back away slowly, and either leave it alone or end its life as this snake is very poisonous. It’s also very common in this part of the U.S.
This week, we also attended a Celebration of Life for a friend who just passed away. She was one of my best friends and it’s been a sad time. We met when we were 6 years old and have stayed close our entire lives. I will miss her always. The Celebration of her Life was so nice with a huge turnout. It was nice because I got to see a lot of friends who I seldom see. Carol would have enjoyed it.
The cupboard was bare here at the beginning of the week so we made a trip to a couple of places we shop for groceries. One place was the local vegetable market, only open in the warm months. They have wonderful fresh vegetables and fruit. Since we try to eat healthy, we frequent this old-fashioned market often.
Fannin’s Vegetable Market, West Liberty, KY, USA
We’ve had good and healthy food to eat this week!
I’ve spent a lot of time with my two dogs this week, engaging in some dog training. Sophie, my German Shepherd dog, is already trained in obedience and protection, so I spent some time teaching her to play fly ball, which she loves. The next task is to teach her to play frisbee! Sophie likes to play fly ball with her squeaky chicken!
Sophie and her squeaky chicken
Hazel, a Pembroke Welsh Corgi, is my other dog. She will be two years old soon, but she got a rocky start in life. We rescued her and she has some health challenges, so she is a little behind the curve. We love her and have to protect her from too much activity. I’ve started taking her on short walks, getting a bit longer each day. She loves her walks!
Hazel
We went out to dinner this week which we don’t often do. There is a wonderful restaurant in a little town about 40 miles away that is right on the Ohio River. We had dinner with our friends there and we really enjoyed seeing them.
If we were having coffee today, I would very much enjoy seeing you and sharing my week!I look forward to reading your #weekendcoffeeshare.
The Write Scribe 