Tag: #SoCS

Posted in Challenges

#SoCS – Dec 10/16

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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When I saw Linda’s prompt this week, all I could think about were the East Tennessee fires of a couple of weeks ago and the little baby bears who were left homeless in the wake of the terrible, wind-driven fire in the Great Smoky Mountain National Park. [Image here]. So many baby bears were left motherless and homeless, their mothers either perishing in the fire or fleeing from the fire with no chance of reuniting with their babies. A rescue center was opened and each baby bear is going to be saved and raised.

The prompt brought that terrible night back to me. I live north of the fire area but Gatlinburg and the Park is a vacation spot for all of us who live where I do. Many of my friends were married there. We all have a soft spot for that area in Tennessee. It was so close to being destroyed. Many people died – there is not a final death count yet. The last I heard was 40. Thousands of homes and business structures were burned. Tens of thousands of acres of one of the most beautiful National Parks in America were burned. Then, there is the wildlife like the bears. The deer. The small animals. The loss simply cannot be calculated.

The worst part. It was arson. The suspects are, the last I heard, two teenagers. I can’t think about that or I want to start screaming. I also can’t look again at that picture of the baby bear or I will cry – again. Please give what you can to wherever your heart leads. The people who lost their families and homes. The families of thousands of domestic dogs and cats, killed in the fire because their owners had to run fast to get away and couldn’t take them. The bear rescue. The Facebook page for Clarence the Pig, a domestic pet, who dug himself deep in the mud as the fire swept over him and survived. He is in the University of Tennessee Veterinary Hospital with burns and his vet bills will be in the thousands of dollars. In fact, call that hospital if you are an animal lover and see what you can do. Give to the businesses that depend on tourism and tourism will be severely diminished for a long time to come. Give to the National Park Service. Just give.

There isn’t much more I can talk about in this Stream of Consciousness post. Thank you for reading and doing what you can do. #amwriting #amblogging #writing #Gatlinburg #SoCSDec10/16

*This post in response to SoCS Dec 10/16 Challenge.

Thanks, Linda!

 

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Sheepdogs. When I saw Linda’s prompt for this Saturday’s stream of consciousness challenge, that’s the word that popped into my mind. I’m a dog lover and the type of dogs I’ve had most in my life have been sheepdogs of one type or another. My mind really started working overtime, remembering my wonderful sheepdogs.

After the death of a beloved dog, I researched the type of dog I might want and came up with the Pembroke Welsh Corgi or the Cardigan Welsh Corgi. After a little more research and a search for breeders in my area, I settled on the Pembroke Welsh Corgi and suddenly, I had my first sheepdog. I named her Kelly and she is still one of my two heart dogs. I’ll never forget Kelly. She was bred in Wyoming by a breeder who became my friend. This was way back in the 1980s.

Kelly was the most wonderful companion for 14 years. Yes, Pembroke Welsh Corgis originally herded sheep in Wales and still do in some places in America. They are long, very low dogs. They even nip at the heels of their humans and try to herd us. They herd sheep in precisely that manner and are too low for the sheep to kick. They kick right over their heads. Kelly was soon joined in my household by two other corgis. One was another Pembroke Welsh Corgi, Zachary. They are the most wonderful little animals with unbelievably winning personalities and great herding skills. Kelly is on the far left in the picture below and Zachary is on the right.

 

 

I also raised two Cardigan Welsh Corgis at two separate times. Katy and Eliza. Katy grew up with Kelly and Zachary. Katy was a black and white Cardigan and Eliza was a black and white with brindle points Cardigan with one brown and one blue eye. Eliza was a dog that came later in my life. Cardigans are slightly larger than Pembroke and they are the corgis with the tail. In Wales, they were usually used to herd cattle as opposed to sheep as they have the larger bone structure and are slightly taller and stronger dogs. They are still short enough for the cattle to kick over their head. In the U.S., they are also used to herd sheep. Cardigans, in my opinion, are the ultimate fireside dogs. Yes, they can work and herd, but they adore their “people” and want to guard their home. Katy is in the picture above with Kelly. Below is a picture of Eliza, who was with me until she was 13 years old. Eliza, like Kelly, was my heart dog. She was with me through some hard times and I will always be sad she is gone. I miss her every day.

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I haven’t had another Pem since Kelly and Zachary. But, I was introduced to another herding breed by my friend, Anne, who breeds Pulis. The Puli may not be as well-known in the U.S. as most herding breeds, at least not to just the average person. They come from Eastern Europe. I was fortunate enough to be able to have a Puli that was of Anne’s breeding. His name was Bear and I will never forget him. Pulis herd by actually jumping on the backs of the sheep and they are very effective herders. They are one of the corded breeds. You can see Bear and his dreadlocks in the picture below. I found the Puli to be strong, determined, and very, very quick. I can imagine that they are very good herding dogs. Bear had to be content with herding us. He spent his days keeping track of me and my Cardigan Welsh Corgi mentioned above, Eliza, and was the sweetest boy ever. I secretly think that Bear would have been happiest had he been given a real herding job. Bear occupies a very special place in my heart. He loved hugs more than any dog I’ve ever had.

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I don’t have a herding dog now. I have a little spaniel who thinks she owns me. As much as I love little Betsy, I miss my herding dogs. Maybe I’ll have another one yet. Another corgi, another puli, or maybe I’ll go further afield and opt for a herding breed that can also serve as a guard dog.

This was a long stream of consciousness post. But, the letters “sh” inspired me about my precious sheepdogs. I have experienced a lot of the sentiment “they don’t live as long as we do” and it has been painful to lose each and every one. But, they have brought great joy to my life. I hope you have enjoyed reading this. #amwriting #amblogging #writing #dogs

 

*This post is part of Linda Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Challenge

Thanks, Linda!

#SoCS December 3/16

Posted in Flash Fiction, Horror, romance, Writing

#SoCS November 26/16

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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What an interesting two weeks it has been since I last posted a stream of consciousness post! My psyche is all over the place so I hope I can write, and you can follow, this post. It may not be pretty.

Of course, November is the start of the holiday season. I don’t really do the holidays or I should say I do it on a very limited basis. No reason to go into all the reasons but I will say that I lost both my parents at Christmas so that sort of did me in regarding the holidays. I do still like Thanksgiving, but I don’t have much family around anymore. I suspect many of you can relate to me when I say that my friends have become my family although I do still have a few close family members. I hate to say it but I am usually glad when the holidays are over. I really don’t mean to be a Scrooge.

I have some really fun events coming up during the month of December with my friends. I’m looking forward to those. I love to spend time with them. Several lunches. I’m also going to watch a performance of The Nutcracker with a friend later in December at a wonderful venue at a city nearby. Can hardly wait for that.

The last half of 2016 has been difficult for me. I had a really bad experience in my personal life. Actually, that is an understatement. It was a devastating experience. The kind that affects you for the rest of your life. I’m starting to get over it or maybe I should say get past it. I’m realizing that I was duped. My part in this was that I was too innocent and trusting. That is my nature, perhaps unfortunately. At my age, I don’t understand how I still remain so trusting but that seems to be the case. So I certainly own my part in this bad experience. I was not told the truth and even worse, I was convinced, over and over, of a lie. When that was revealed, it was humiliating and demeaning. I have had a really hard time coming to terms with it. It is starting to happen and I’m feeling better. To be honest with you, there was a long period of time when I didn’t think I’d ever feel better. I’m very grateful to my friends who were such a great help.

Here in the Ohio Valley, Kentucky to be precise, it is finally late fall and cold. Our weather has been unusual and very warm for fall. We’re supposed to have more warm weather on the way. The weather is definitely changing. I can remember, as a child, we had snow by now and snow on the ground until February. Now it’s 50 degrees and we are supposed to have weather even up to 60 degrees soon. No rain to speak of and we are in a moderate to extreme drought. November used to be a wet month here.

I have been doing a lot of writing and a lot of thinking about what I’m going to write. I have fiction on my mind although I also have some pieces I want to write that are non-fiction. I like to write non-fiction for the WordPress Discover Challenge. I’ve been participating in a lot of flash fiction challenges which are quick and fun. I really enjoy Chuck Wendig’s horror challenges though I never imagined myself writing horror.

Linda, I read your post about your call from the supposed Microsoft technician. Obviously a scam. I’ve had a call like that and I just hung up but your idea about having some fun with this guy is a great idea. Someone made the comment that you should work with him and pretend you are on an Apple computer to confuse him. I think that’s a great idea!

Have a good week, everyone! #amwriting #amblogging #writing #ChuckWendig #FFfAW

*This post is sponsored by Linda G. Hill

Thanks, Linda!

Posted in Creative Nonfiction Essays, Eastern Kentucky, education, Higher Education

#SoCS November 12/16 Remembering my Dad….

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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Yesterday was Veteran’s Day. Linda reminded us that it’s also Remembrance Day in Canada. I have remembering on my mind, particularly remembering my dad. He fought in World War II. It was his side of the family from which my Canadian relatives came. The Ottawa and Thunder Bay areas.

I was a Daddy’s girl. He was my hero from the time I have any memory. He had a big voice, a big laugh, big arms, and a bigger heart. He wasn’t home a lot. In those days, when a man couldn’t find work at home, he left home to find work as close as he could. It was the late 1950s when my memories of him start. The supposed halcyon days in the U.S. except they weren’t. Times were hard in northeastern Kentucky where I grew up. My dad worked hard.

He tried to come home on the weekends. That was my favorite time because no matter where he had to go and what he had to do on Saturday and Sunday, he took me with him. I went to lots of lumber companies, sawmills, and hardware stores! I learned about lots of things little girls didn’t often know. But, no curse words, nothing bad. My dad’s friends would never say or do anything bad in front of me. I wore little pairs of blue jeans and flannel shirts, just like he did. We took these weekend trips until I was 15 years old or so. Sometimes even after that. If he was going to work on someone’s house, I would even go with him to do that.

When I was in the third grade, my dad left home to work in Wisconsin. He was gone for an entire year. That was one of the hardest years of my life. I found out many years later that my parents had actually separated that year. I’m glad I didn’t know that then or I would have been terrified. I wrote him thousands of letters and he responded to every one. They apparently worked something out because, at the end of that year, he thankfully came home.

When I met my first boyfriend, I think it hurt him. He worried. I was only 15. He was 16. But sending me off in a car to be with our friends scared my dad to death. I see that now. Of course, I didn’t then. It turns out that he was right to be scared.

I went to college in my hometown and lived with my parents. That’s all they could afford and there really weren’t scholarships to go to the Ivy League like I wanted to do and like you can find now as a high school student.  I graduated from college early. I was 20. I moved to Frankfort, KY, the state capitol, and worked in state government for six months. I’ll never forget the day I moved. My dad cried. That was before the days of cell phones. My dad gave me a telephone calling card. He told me to call him daily – more than daily if I wanted. I still had that credit card, and used it, the day he died about 10 years later.

I, then, moved to Lexington, KY, the second-largest city in the state. A wonderful city. As a girl from the country, it was pretty overwhelming. Daddy helped me find an apartment where I would be safe. I worked a few years but I wasn’t satisfied. I needed to go back to school. I was interested in teaching in a university. My dad had paid for my education as an undergraduate student. He then paid for me to get my Master of Business Administration (MBA) degree even though I was working and had married in the interim. He wouldn’t even discuss letting me pay for it myself.

My dad was a blue-collar worker. My parents weren’t exactly rolling in money. They got by. Financing several college educations for me could not have been easy in any way. There was no arguing with him.

That wasn’t all he did. My husband and I were married very young. We bought a small home in a nice section of Lexington. Not only did my dad fix everything that was wrong with it, he insisted on making the down payment and helping us with house payments until we got on our feet.

I finished my MBA at the University of Kentucky and was recruited by the Director of the doctoral program to go into that program which would lead me, if I wanted, to a career in college teaching and research. Since I loved living in Lexington, I decided to start the doctoral program there, at the University of Kentucky in 1981. Once again, my dad insisted on paying for it.

My area was finance and it was hard work. I studied a lot and when I wasn’t studying, I was teaching classes. I didn’t see my parents much, even though they only lived 70 miles away, during the next couple of years. They understood.

Then the unthinkable happened. My dad was 63 years old. He became ill. He was diagnosed with lung cancer the second week of November, 1983. I spent as much time as I could with him. It was hard. I was in denial. He wouldn’t talk to me about it. I was in school and working. A horrible time.

From the time he was diagnosed until the time he died, only six weeks passed. My mother called me on December 20, 1983 and told me to come home as soon as possible. My dad had surgery but the cancer had spread and he was home but in pain and having trouble breathing. As soon as I got there, we called an ambulance to take him to the hospital in Lexington. My dad, who loved Christmas and who had made me love Christmas, died on December 22, 1983 and was buried on Christmas Eve.

He talked to me some, as much as he could, those last two days in the hospital. I remember every word of those conversations. He was in a coma at the end, but if I would speak to him, he would nod his head and open his eyes. It must have taken a super human effort.

I was in shock and incredibly sad for a long time. When I went back to school in January, I found that he had already paid my tuition for the spring semester. I took incompletes in my classes that semester. I just couldn’t do it. By fall semester, 1984, I had pulled myself together and finished up the class work for my doctoral degree.

I’m retired now from my career as a Professor of Finance. I had a wonderful career. It was thanks to my dad.

Someday, I’m going to write a book about him, but probably a funny book because he could be a hilarious guy, especially when he was with his brothers and sister. He was the son of immigrants from Sweden, fought in the WWII, and had a really interesting life. It’s been 33 years since he died. Maybe, by then, I won’t cry when I write about him. #SoCS #family #amwriting #amblogging #writing #WWII #USSBlessman

*This post is sponsored by SoCS Nov 12/16

Thanks, Linda!

Posted in Creative Nonfiction Essays, Uncategorized, Writing

#SoCS – Oct. 29/16

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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Sometimes I struggle with stream of consciousness writing. I have stuff in my head that is private and must remain private even though it would be cathartic to speak about it. I also have stuff in my head that I can speak about but it all gets mixed up together. I want to keep it in, but I want to get it out! Especially today. I’m dealing with a situation that I suspect some of you may have dealt with so I’m just going to put it out there and see if anyone has experienced something similar.

Someone is trying to steal my identity. I suppose that’s what she is trying to do unless she is simply trying to torment me, which is possible. Identity theft is the most horrible thing. In my case, the person I suspect is a computer hacker. So she plays with me as if I were a mouse and she is the cat. She thinks it bothers me a whole lot more than it does as I simply deal with each instance of possible identify theft as it happens. It is a lot easier to deal with than she thinks as companies, banks, other financial institutions have become more savvy about this problem and notify their customers immediately if anything at all suspicious occurs.

So as Ms. Computer Hacker attacks one account or a social media site, I simply close them. I figure she is doing me a favor. I don’t need as many credit cards as I have so, poof!…..they are gone. That much less for her to attack. She started this onslaught with my PayPal account. It’s closed. Somehow, she opened a new one in my name. It’s closed. I’m wondering how many times I will have to do that. She’s attacked my Facebook Messenger site. She wiped out many of my contacts and kept me from getting any Message Requests. Well, ok. I can restore my contacts. I have reported this to Facebook and we will see what happens. I would like to get my Message Requests. I’m hoping Facebook will go after her. I don’t think this kind of thing amuses them.

Then, she made a charge on my American Express card. That charge has been taken off. I’ve been issued a new card. I guess she will also try to hack it although American Express is now after her. There have been other things she has tried to do or done as well.

If you ever find that someone is trying to steal your identity, the thing to do is be vigilant. Check your bank account daily or more than once a day. Look at your credit card statements frequently. If you see anything strange on your social media sites, check it out.

You see, in my humble opinion, computer hackers, especially those people who do malicious things like create viruses. Or hack into other people’s lives such as what I’m  experiencing, don’t have a life of their own. They sit all day and stare at a computer screen and have the screwed up idea that is a life. We all know it is not. In my case, working at a computer is my job. Of course, I do spend other time on the computer – shopping, talking to my friends, researching. The things we all do. What I don’t do is try to destroy other people’s’ lives.

These identify thieves enjoy that. I wonder what they would do if they actually had to live a real life. Oh, I know. They couldn’t. They wouldn’t have a clue how to live a real, fulfilling life. Would they try to destroy people’s lives in person as opposed from behind a computer screen? Probably not. They don’t have the guts. The fragile computer screen protects their fragile egos from the world. I hope my computer hacker winds up in prison. If she crosses the line and I can manage it, she will. #hackers #amwriting #amblogging #writing #SoCS

Sponsored by #SoCS

Thanks, Linda!

Posted in romance, Uncategorized

#SoCS – Oct. 22/16 The Healing Power of the Ocean

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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Most of the time, stream of consciousness posts don’t have a subject as you simply write whatever comes to mind. My thoughts today are on one subject and that is the healing power of the ocean and how, this past week, that healing power helped me.

I spent some time this week at the Atlantic Ocean. My favorite ocean because it’s the rough one, the wild one, and probably because it’s the first one I ever saw. I felt an affinity with the sea from the first moment I saw it, heard it, smelled it, and this week, that bond came right back to me. Do you know how I first react when I see the ocean? I cry. Every single time.

When I went to visit the ocean this time, I went with some very specific thoughts on my mind. They are still there although the power of the ocean has helped me at least partially resolve these thoughts. I’ve been feeling anger and confusion. Hurt and grief. All that will take a long time to go away, particularly the hurt which I suspect I will carry with me the rest of my life. Research supports that the sound of crashing waves has a healing effect on our minds and bodies as it causes us to enter deep states of relaxation. For weeks now, relaxation has escaped me. While at the ocean, I kept my oceanfront balcony door open, even all night, so I could hear the crashing waves. Somehow, I knew that would help me. Even though the nights were very cool, I slept listening to the sound of a rather rough Atlantic’s waves hitting the shore. I felt better every day.

The philosopher, Plato, said, “The sea cures all ailments of man.”

As I sat on that beach in Virginia and looked at the horizon, I felt a very fundamental shift in my thinking. The anger and confusion I’ve felt for so many weeks started to drain away. I started to understand, not what had happened, but my own reaction to it. The grief I felt didn’t seem quite so deep and gut-wrenching.

As I walked barefoot on the sand and waded in the sea water, I remembered what I had read about the healing powers of the sea. Not only can the ocean produce calmness, but it can actually change our perception about our lives, restore harmony in our souls, and restore our hope and open-mindedness. It is grounding. Looking at the horizon, on the other hand, provides us with a view of our future. That it is endless and limitless. I needed to feel all of these things and the Atlantic didn’t let me down. By the time I left, I had a new perspective and new hope. Before I arrived, I didn’t feel like I would ever have any hope again.

I’ve only been back home a couple of days but the feelings I got from being by the big, beautiful Atlantic haven’t left me. Although the hurt from the events which caused me to need to seek the solace of the ocean will always be with me, now I feel I can move forward with my life in a positive manner.

Grief is a process that you move through in stages. Sometimes, it takes a long time. Other times, not so long. You are never quite the same after you grieve someone or something. Grief changes you in a fundamental way. Time does not help, unlike the old saying alleges. What does help is understanding your grief and coming to terms with it. You have to accept you’ll never be quite the same ever again and find ways to live your life to accommodate that. The deep hurt that accompanies grief is what, I think, makes us who we are as people. What we can’t do is let that hurt stop us from living our very best lives.#amwriting #amblogging #writing #grief #SoCS

This post is part of #SoCS.

Thanks, Linda!

Posted in Creative Nonfiction Essays, Travel

Serendipity

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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I was thinking tonight about serendipity. Just simply deciding to do something on the spur of the moment and having it turn out to be a really desirable and fun thing to have done. In my life, I’ve found that the less you plan and the more you do things on the spur of the moment, the more fun you have. At my age, fun is important. In fact, at any age, fun is important! Just going with your gut and getting out in the world and doing something you want to do is what fun is all about.

It’s interesting. I know people who, as they age, seem to plan more and do serendipity less. I don’t know why. Perhaps they feel more of a need to control their lives, control their destiny. But, I think you lose some of the joy of youth when you forget about serendipity and plan every activity down to the last detail. Some seem to have to screen every thought they have about possible activities they might like to pursue. I guess I am youth-obsessed. As I age, I want to keep that joy that we feel when we are young, even the joy we have as children. Of course, I have also been accused of having the Peter Pan Syndrome, but I think that is a good thing. Doing serendipity allows me to keep that joy in my life.

I’ve had some interesting experiences by doing serendipity. Once, a friend and I were presenting a paper at a conference in Mesa, Arizona at Arizona State University. We had a free day so we took a drive (a long drive!) over and around the Grand Canyon. We  went off the beaten path to the northern edge of the Grand Canyon. To give you some perspective, the tourist area is on the southern rim. The northern rim is pretty deserted.

As we drove toward the northern rim, we felt totally lost. We were hungry and needed gas in the car and there was nothing around. Suddenly, we ran upon a restaurant with gas pumps so we stopped there to eat. It was a restaurant that was run by the Native American tribe who lived in the area. The menu was interesting and we didn’t know what to order since we didn’t really recognize any of the food on the menu. We told the server just to bring us something good. I still don’t know what it was I ate.

We set out, after eating and getting gas, for the northern rim. We drove down this straight, long, lonesome road, assuming that the northern rim would be at the end of it. We were literally the only car on the road. Suddenly, I had to slam on the brakes as a huge heard of elk ran out of in front of us. They were crossing the road and it was a beautiful site. There had to be 50 or 60 of them. We drove on and soon, we saw a parking lot. We parked and walked a bit and there was the Grand Canyon, but it looked different than it does on the southern rim.

There are not even any guard rails around the northern rim. It is steeper and more raw. It’s absolutely beautiful but in a different way. We spent some time taking pictures and drinking in the beautiful sight.

It was a long way back to our hotel in Mesa so we started back. On the way back, we saw a herd of wild horses. Being a horse lover, I wanted to jump out of the car, but they aren’t exactly longing for a pat!

When we got back to our hotel, we talked about our day. Serendipity was good to us that day. We would never have had those experiences if we had meticulously planned something.

I hope I can keep my joy in experiencing new things on the spur of the moment for the rest of my life. #SoCS #amwriting #amblogging #writing #GrandCanyon

This post is part of SoCS.

Posted in Travel

Traveling to my Homeland of Sweden

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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I’ve had travel on my mind lately and a trip I took to the land of my father’s birth has been front and center. I was excited about this trip and feeling quite awkward as I didn’t speak even a little bit of the language. Not even thank you, hello, or where do you find the bathroom. But, off I went with a girlfriend and we explored Scandinavia one hot summer. I’ll save some of the trip to write about another time as it was full of adventure, but I was anxious to get to Sweden, the land of my father’s birth. He was an immigrant to the United States as a child and I am a first generation American on his side of the family.

We passed through the Netherlands, specifically Amsterdam, on the train. Then, through Copenhagen. Both wonderful adventures. Then, we crossed over into southern Sweden on that train on our way to Stockholm. My family came from a tiny town southwest of Stockholm called Finspong. It was high summer, which in Sweden means it never really got dark. The train was full so I gave up my seat to an older lady and I stood between cars just so I could see the scenery and commit it to memory, not knowing if I would ever have a chance to return. I was anxious to see the land of my dad’s birth.

My grandparents and great-grandparents who came from Sweden were not wealthy people. They were middle class at best and worked as farmers. The land that I saw heading toward Stockholm on that train was a lot of rolling farmland. It took most of a day to arrive in the city.

We got to Stockholm in the late afternoon. As I looked at the people, I realized I no longer felt awkward. I felt at home. They looked like me. They were blonde, some brown-eyed, some blue-eyed. In our very nice hotel, a little English was spoken but not very much. I found myself wishing I had learned the language. Swedish is not an easy language to learn. We ate dinner in the hotel dining room and I realized how different the Scandinavian food was. Mostly fish, fortunate for me, as that is what I liked. But other odd delicacies that I had never eaten. After dinner, we went to our room as we were tired from traveling.

Both my girlfriend and I took a nap. We woke up later as the sun was still shining at 11 p.m. People were milling about on the streets so we joined them. As dusk started to fall, we were treated with the most awesome display of the Northern Lights you could ever imagine. I had seen them before in Northern Michigan. But seeing the Northern Lights in Sweden put that experience to shame. After that, we went to our room for the night. We were advised to close the blackout shades as the sun only went partially down from about midnight to 3 a.m. We slept, but only for a few hours as we were excited to get up and explore the city.

Downtown Stockholm is the most modern of cities and the architecture is something to see. I, however, was anxious to go to the old city. Old Town Stockholm was considered a slum until the 20th century but is now the hot spot of the city. It is on an island and a couple of islets and that is where you will see the baroque-style Royal Palace and Royal Chapel. Old Town was founded in 1252 and the Royal Palace is 600 rooms. Sweden is still, actually, a monarchy. Old Town is medieval and has the winding cobblestone streets and narrow alleys you find in other medieval old cities in Europe. There are the usual restaurants, night clubs, galleries, and museums. You can watch the changing of the guard at the Royal Palace. But, there is a lot of culture as well and you can see what Sweden is all about. Don’t go to Scandinavia and miss Old Town Stockholm!

Museums like the Moderna Museet for a fabulous collection of 20th and 21st century art. There is theatre, dance, photography, and a famous auction house for antiques. Of course, Sweden is famous for its glass-making and you can watch demonstrations of glass blowing and buy fine Swedish glassware on the spot. I shipped some of it home.

For all of us techies, it may be a surprise to learn that Stockholm residents are the most wired (or wireless) people in the world. They spend their lives in cafes with their electronics and they are always connected.

Yes, the climate is cold. Even in high summer, we had to wear jackets. But the Swedes never let that stop them. They revel in the cold and Sweden is one of the capitals of Nordic sports.

After several days in Stockholm, we jumped back on the train and headed north from Stockholm to visit northern Sweden and cross over to Norway. Our visit to Lapland was fascinating. More about that in another blog post. We had a wonderful visit to land of my father! #SOCS #amwriting #amblogging #writing #travel #Sweden

This post is part of #SOCS

 

 

Posted in Creative Nonfiction Essays, Uncategorized, Writing

#SoCS – The Fall

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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Eliza had passed away three weeks before. She had suffered from pancreatitis for the almost 14 years of her life, off and on, but that wasn’t her cause of death. I suppose her cause of death was a combination of old age and canine dementia. You’re in danger of inducing canine dementia in your dogs every time you put them under anesthesia when they are old. Eliza had a tooth that was infected and it had to be extracted. There was no choice but to use anesthesia. When she came home from the veterinarian, I knew she wouldn’t live long when she collapsed into the middle of the living room floor for the next 14 hours.

When she finally got up, she was never the same again. She barked at closet doors to go out. She thought night was day and day was night. She forgot that she was hungry. But, I knew her. I could keep her safe and comfortable, at least for awhile. At least that’s what I told myself. That lasted a few months until one morning I saw the look on her face. Somewhere in her little confused mind, she knew things were very wrong. That day, I told my heart dog goodbye and had her gently put to sleep. It didn’t take much. She was mostly gone already.

I felt very alone. She had been with me through many trials and tribulations as well as through good times. She centered me. I had anticipated her death and had started to think about another dog, not being able to imagine being without a canine companion.   I started making some phone calls and heard about a breeder who had two puppies. One needed to find a home. Her sister was going on to be a show dog. The puppy who would come to be my Betsy didn’t have a purpose. Her purpose was to be my companion.

We drove five hours to see the puppy. To a house that was new construction. There was no question that Betsy would come home with me. We spoke at length with the breeder. Dark was coming and we were far from home so we got ready to leave and take Betsy with us. We stepped out onto the porch of this new home. It was dusk and the porch was high off the ground. I stepped forward as I had noticed the wide steps down to the ground. I stepped off the porch……into thin air. There was no railing around the porch and the steps were not the width of the porch. I hit the concrete flat on my face.

I thought at first I was fine. Then, I watched in horror as my vision drained away out of my right eye. The next day, I found out I had suffered a complete detachment of my retina.