Rescue you we ask?
Five days into the answer
Rephrase the question

Labor Day.
The last holiday before the official end of summer.
And this is a steamy one for sure.
Humidity levels are through the roof so if you venture into the sun, you’ll braise…not bake 🙄
It is a day to celebrate the working person.
A day to ‘not’ work [as long as you don’t work in retail, then it’s a day to go Christmas shopping].
I know, right?
Anyway, since I don’t work outside the home, it is just another laundry day, with the added bonus of baking turtle brownies. (turtle brownies: nuts and caramel in the brownies, um yeah mama)
Baking? Today? In this heat?
Ummm, my indoor thermostat says 68, and as he knows me well…he knows that should his digits read below 68, I shall haul off and punch him in the face!
So yeah, it’s a baking day 🙂

As happens in the summer, more bloggers are out living life rather than inside writing about it, hence, less blogging more jogging. At least it seems so to me.
And while I wasn’t out there jogging (God forbid!) I was ‘out there’.
So Labor Day does tend to remind me that it’s time to come in once in a while and ease back into the fall yarns (get it?) so when winter comes, I’ll be knitting stories with the best of ya!
I don’t have any particular “What I did on my summer vacation” tales to weave, but I do have a snap or two that do paint (crafty eh?) a pretty picture of some of the fun we had.
Like…the time Matty spent back in the lower 48. Three weeks of sun and disc golf and beachin and boozin (ahem) and cousins and Grandfolks and…well, you get the idea

For myself…most of my time was spent in the same places as the boys…I just had my hands on something other than a beer bottle.
[Ah shit, that’s a lie. I had one hand on a bottle and the other on the camera.]
Okay? Geesh! Can’t get away with crap around here!
So my time was spent catching mountains and moonlight…

then rivers, lakes, and lilly pads, roads and bridges too.

I had a couple days where the pickens were slim; a tree and some deer, and an old car pullin in. A whirlygiggly butterfly and dead people’s ground; a downpour and a pond sign for an absconded pond.

But you all know what I’m like, always a barn or two; then Supe with his sidekick, and a damsel lunching, eew eew…

This is a glimpse of what I’ve been laboring with. And if I do say…
Life is Good!
Hope you all had an enjoyable, relaxing, family and fun filled summer.
I look forward to seeing more regular attendance now that Blog U is back in session.
🙂 R
Ah…the good ol’ summertime.
A time for beaches and bicycles and picnics and bbqs and vacations and staycations and more likely than not… family.
Whether you’re a nut from a towering oak, have a touch of sweetness like the magnificent sugar maple, are tart and tangy like the bounty that falls from the fruit trees, or run more to the quiet strength of the whispering pine…we are all branches of our family trees.
As it will, nature steps in to prune our branches. Our leaves fall through the natural process of age and death, or in times of storm and disease, we sadly lose precious limbs way before their time.
Nature will…have its way.
But because our roots are so deep, we continue on…new saplings sprout from new seeds and new blood.
Often, we are stronger and more resilient for it. Having richer hues and sweeter fruit.
Or, as is common enough in my family to be the rule and not the exception, (leaves fall too close or too far, whichever the case may be) we end up with nuttier nuts and fruitier fruits.
Which leads me to:
“The Family Reunion”
For the good folk up here in the extreme north, the best thing to be said about summer is …NO SHOVELING!
Next to that…there is reunion season, which in my case, consists of the following:
Mother’s Mother’s side
Mother’s Father’s side
Two distinct and unique trunks of my maternal grandparent’s tree.
Let’s say it’s where the Spruce meets the Elm.
Now, the Spruce and the Elm don’t share the same patch of ground. Perhaps because the Spruce is pretty rigid and doesn’t change much, and the Elm, while close when push comes to shove, has a history of infection and being hard to find (much loved all the same).
But…two distinct and separate genus with two distinct and separate reunions.
Which brings me to the other half of my tree:
Father’s Mother’s side
Father’s Father’s side
Or, as is our case…
ONE trunk for my paternal grandparent’s tree
(It’s a damned big tree!)
This is where the mighty Oak meets the Sugar Maple and rather than remaining as such…they became a whole new tree.
The Maple Nut Tree (Don’t Google it…no sucha thang)
Here’s the roots…
The George boys had a thing for the Smith girls…
Brothers marrying sisters…
(No, not their own sisters…we may be hilly people, but we don’t all play the banjo!)
Anyway…because more than one George married more than one Smith, the reunions are Smith/George amalgamations rather than just Smith or just George.
We even have Smiths who married other Smiths and those Smiths married Morrisons who in turn married other Morrisons…
EEE GAD, it’s enough to make you dizzy!
Anyway, the reason I started this, besides having just attended above mentioned gathering of Maple Nuts, is to do with names.
😆
It really is about names.
But not just any names.
Old names.
One would think, with sir names like Smith and George, the given names would be rather vanilla, wouldn’t you?
Tom, Dick, and Harry kind of names. But no.
And it just tickles the shit out of me to sit around listening to the older folk talk about their parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles, bandying around some names not heard 100 years from here.
Kids my age, and those after, hear these names and think
“What the hell were they thinking?”
But I disagree. I think there is something strong, and connective in these old names.
It speaks of family more than the color of our eyes or the shape of our nose.
Names that are passed down in an obvious attempt to keep a loved one alive are beautiful names.
Shall I?
Okay, I shall.
Just a tiny sample.
Promise.
Great Grandfather Smith (ok…the next part is a sing along)
M.U.R.D.O. M.U.R.D.O. M.U.R.D.O. and M U R D O was his nameo!
Now, farmer Murdo Angus Smith married the lovely Rose La Brecque. They had 11 children (that’s Family #1).
Norman George, Mary Ethel, Eva Maude, Christie Rose, Margaret Leona, Clara Esther, Gladys Irene, Pauline Mae, Paul Angus, Walter Robert, and Baby Girl.
These names that don’t quite rrrrrrrrrrrroll off the tongue like names do today, but, it was all about continuity.
The lovely Rose died at the tender age of 36 (she needed a rest I think), whereby farmer Murdo married Marion who had another 5 children (that’s Family #2).
Murdo Harold, Joyce Ann, Fred Donald, Gerald Lloyd, and Virginia Maggie.
Again, these names don’t effortlessly fall off the tongue, but suggest a ‘reason’ behind them.
Nothing trendy here.
Great Grandfather George
Elmer Eugene George
(The only other Elmer I know lives in Cartoonland!)
Now, Elmer married Sophi (pronounced so-feye) Laundry and they had two sons
Raleigh Royal Eugene George and Morton Guy George
(So much packed into two little boys right? Oh, and a side note on Sophi~she had sisters…Mary, Maude, and Mert. LOL. Great huh?)
Both these George boys married Smith sisters:
Raleigh Royal Eugene George married Mary Ethel Smith (my grandparents) and had two children
Roy Eugene and Betty Rose
Morton Guy George married Christie Rose and had four children
Stanley Morton, Philip Dale, Beverly Ruth, and Harvey Elmer
Sadly, after my parents’ generation, the names became more normal(?)
Gone are the Murdos, Elmers, Mortons, and Raleighs.
No more Claras, Maudes, and Gladyses (Gladi?)
I’m as guilty as the next gal. I named my kids rather trendy names, but I think if I’d spent more time sitting under that big ol’ Maple Nut tree, I’d have found the courage to be different in the pride I feel when I’m sitting in that big pile of leaves.
Had that been the case, perhaps I would be the proud mother of Raleigh Murdo Elmer Roy?
Or if I’d had a girl…Mary Clara Maggie Rose?
Perhaps…
And the groaning you hear in the background is my husband who has NO room to talk…he is the son of ELBO.
But THAT is another mango tree altogether!
I hope you’re enjoying the summer, and hoping too, that you’re gathering round the base of your own magnificent family trees. There’s nothing quite like it.
And for those nuts that are part of my Maple Nut Tree…here’s a reminder of the beautiful day spent reminiscing about the old times and creating new ones. (Thanks Debbie and Henry)
-Click on a circle to bring up the full size photos-

She waits, as she always does, on the south side of the room
The same chair, straight, hard
The only softness is the faded paisley upon the seat
But that comfort is not for her
The oak warms in the sun
But remains cold and hard against her black skin
As she hangs on its back, waiting
For her special someone
To notice
The beams streaming through the door beside her
Unseen but felt
Tickling her, bathing her, tempting her
With promise
The promise of adventure
Oh how she wishes she had the wings of a bird
Like the one she paints
In the dark
From memory

She’d fly through that door
Out there
The sun, the clouds
Fire and rain
She misses them
She almost remembers
Diluted, like watercolor
She draws the lily as she remembers it
A light spot in the dark
Of her memory’s eye
The myrtle that should be blooming by now

Longing to set her gaze on the ordinary
That she may set her sights to the extraordinary
This Is what she was born to do
Nothing else
But she has no control
Not over when, not over where
Hers is not to ask why
Hers is but to seek the truth when it is asked of her
Truth in beauty and the beauty in truth
So she waits
Today?
Tomorrow?
As long as she is here
In the same room, on the same chair
She is blind
So she begs
“Uncover my face. Raise me up so that I may whisper in your ear
Be my wings so I can soar over field and stream
Capture the beauty of now
To keep with me for then
Our adventure is out there”
“Let me teach you to see the beautiful in the ugly” she pleads

“Let me show you the extraordinary ordinary” she whispers

She feels
Familiar hands, comforting hands
She’s flying, lifted and carried outside
It begins…today is the day
Eye open wide, taking it in
Capturing life as it happens
Not perfect…

Not posed…

Just life…

Tomorrow, she’ll wait again
But today…she flies
Today she is…
Awake

Today’s forecast
Pain with a chance of happiness
Life
It hurts
Our first breath
Born in and out of
Pain
Our last breath
Born in and out of the fear of
Death
Beginning to end
The human struggle to keep moving
Beyond the current pain so we may
Endure the next
To begin again
The circle, the cycle
Of life, of pain
To reach our destination
Death
So
What is the point?
When one ends where one begins?
What is the point?
The middle
Is the point
To feel the heart beat
Of a lover
To hear the laughter
Of a child
To know the touch of another
The touch that completes
Our circle
Ones who will rejoice with us
And for us
And those who will mourn us
But more
Remember
That we were here
That we mattered
That we made the difference
That we closed a part of their own circle
And that they too
Closed a part of ours
To gather
At the end of the day
To hear the sounds of silence
The human sounds
We make without knowing
The sounds of love
And life
The middle
Those sounds our ears miss,
But that our hearts hear
These are the sounds of silence
So loud we are compelled to
Listen
Struggle to keep moving
From one pain to another
For in the end
It is not the pain
We Remember
It is
Love
Our circles have no true beginning
They meld
With our ending
We only have what is in
The middle
Today’s forecast
Pain with a chance of happiness
Take an umbrella if you must
Wear your raincoat
Wear galoshes if you have to
But
Prepare more for getting swept
Into the middle
‘Cause that’s where life happens
In the middle
Never be afraid to get wet
So
Put the fear aside
Go beyond the tropical storm of prologue
Fear not the hurricane of the epilogue
Walk into the wind
Get pummeled by the rain
Get to the eye
The middle
Where the calm allows us to hear
The human sounds of silence
The sounds of Love
For My Father
My First Love ~ My Only Hero

As we approach our nation’s day of independence, I had a thought or two that I’d like to share. In honor of all who fought, died, survived, and still fight so we may enjoy…our country’s ultimate day of freedom…Happy July 4th America

seventeen hundred and seventy six
this day in that year our fate we did fix
we rallied and warred and we bled the fields red
all for the right to our freedom instead
of the yolk from an empire determined we bow
to king and to country, the collective high brow
we started ignorant, starving, and poor
equipped with nothing but freedom’s allure
one hundred times two add to that thirty-eight
the years then to now, the days fate to fate
our beginnings were humble, and not always sainted
to think what we’ve done to the darker and painted
all we can strive for is continu-ed learning
to treat all as equals, we all have that yearning
for the freedoms hard fought and hard won from oppressors
it’s not up to us to now be the aggressors
but when those who still fight for the simplest of freedoms
can’t live and can’t love and can’t grow their own kingdoms
I will not say war is always the answer
but fight we should still against any agenda
that takes away rights to live free and live true
a war worth waging, battles must ensue
to live in a world that allows you to be
everything imagined, the power of we
I hate that our country is still fighting wars
but hate more would I if we sat on the shores
of our own piece of heaven, at the same time deny
the same to others who’d enjoy it but by
the happenstance of geography
but for that they’d be me
but for where I was born
I could easily live in a country that’s torn
should I feel guilty? should I feel blessed?
to one I’ll say no, to the other I’ll say yes
I won’t lay claim to guilt not my doing
but nor condone I, those who hope our ungluing
a believer am I of “get what you pay” for
but not when one has and the other is dirt poor
if you cannot fight for the basic of rights
then why should we feel bad for fighting their fight?
goliaths are bullies, and davids are smaller
but bigger’s just bigger, not better, just taller
the true winner wins when the heart is the weapon
big losers lose when they continually lessen
the right of the people, equality all
pride goeth ‘fore the mightiest fall
in honor of our freedom, in honor of our fight
a prayer I’ll say ‘fore this morning is night
may all who seek peace and all who seek freedom
know you’re not alone as long as we are one
nation of davids, scrappers are we
a nation of davids, who’ll fight ’til you’re free

Let Freedom Ring
Want a better way to
get off the street?
beat the heat?
spare the feet meat?
Do you like
impressionists?
expressionists?
nationalists?
Are you turned on by
rarities?
deities?
barbarities?
Can you relate to
Athenians?
Egyptians?
Romans and Africans?
Are you into
modern art?
classical art?
primitive art?
Do you want
historical?
mythical?
or maybe prehistorical?
There is a way
to spend the day
with those that walked before us
That is to say
if you head that way
you just might spot a ‘saurus
Whatever you dig
or if digs are the fig
inside your personal ‘newton’
Then take a trip
aboard the ship
of the old masters, monsters, and Teutons
And as is my way
to share the day
maybe too my duty
To showcase one spot
that you’d otherwise not
experience the beauty
Of reeds so red
rising from the bed
with nary a thing shielding
While waters dance
and winds advance
the fragile stand unyielding
*Chihuly’s Glass Red Reeds at the Virginia Museum of Fine Art
today she wakes
and looks in the mirror
again
she notices first
the remnants of last night’s all too familiar routine
fully clothed still
with bruise colored footprints left where mascara met shadow
during the waltz of silent tears
evident again in the echo of wine and spit
that mixed and mingled in the dark
leaving traces of their orgy in the corners of her mouth
she raises a limb as heavy as any redwood branch
to touch the nest of bad dreams atop her head
she stares blankly at the woman before her
youth still lives here, but it wears an old coat
to look at the ghost of auburn that was once a crown
a flaming glory that framed her naturally pretty face
is now to look at a reminder
of yet another step further from who she was
another step closer to who she is becoming
where once there was silk and cream
her face is now but a road map
to anywhere but where she wants to be
no distinction can she find
between the sleep weary blouse
and those roads leading everywhere but back
she draws breath and holds it while she raises her gaze
could those eyes really be hers?
the once vivid seas of blue now faded and dull
surrounded by tributaries of red
brooks and streams of guilt, anguish, worry, pain, and sorrow
clouding the windows to her soul
where once there shined such joy and true passion
eyes that burned so bright, they lit the path to his heart
like no man made torch ever could
but
her passion lies miles away
alone, crooked, and silent
his windows too
mostly cloudy with a slight chance of sun
a chance she lives for
but the light thief will return
and she won’t be ready, can never be ready
for that one moment the thief becomes a murderer
the villain of darkness called dementia
her love waits, unknowingly, for that day
she waits with him, but she knows he’s coming
and it’s killing her
part II – Opening a Window
In preparation for Memorial Day, May 26th, I’d like to share with you an event that happened in September 2013.
In France.
An event that was not overly (if at all) publicized in the US, though it should have been.
Thankfully, we have friends here and abroad who believe we need to see.
To visualize…just what it is we are memorializing.
Excellent History Lesson
A large percentage of our country doesn’t know of (or therefore, care) about Normandy during WWII.
Has it been removed from the History Books? Do they still teach about D-Day?
British artist Jamie Wardley, Andy Moss, and nearly 600 volunteers, took to the beaches of Normandy with rakes and stencils in hand to etch 9,000 silhouettes representing fallen people into the sand.
Titled: The Fallen 9000 [http://thefallen9000.info/]
The piece is meant as a stark visual reminder of those who died during the D-Day beach landings at Arromanches on June 6th, 1944 during WWII. The original team consisted of 60 volunteers, but as word spread nearly 500 additional local residents arrived to help with the temporary installation that lasted only a few hours before being washed away by the tide.
9,000 Fallen Soldiers Etched into the Sand on Normandy Beach to Commemorate Peace Day on September 25, 2013
A visually stunning reminder of why.
Don’t you agree?
Save a moment during the upcoming ‘Holiday’ to say a word of thanks to all who have, do, and will…serve their countries with one thought in mind…
Our Freedom
God Bless and Godspeed
R
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