Laboriously Laboring and Languidly Lingering this Loathingly Liquid Labor Day

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  🙂

brownies

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

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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…

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

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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.

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

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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

The Barn Dance

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There are some things that are just so much better when you do them in a barn!

Whether it’s squarein’, folkin’, cloggin’, or stompin’, the dances are da bomb.

It could be fiddlin’ or pickin’ and grinnin’ too, the music hits all the right notes.

If stichin’ and bitchin’ is your thing, a quilting bee could be the answer.

Meeting your sweetie on a Saturday night, or cruising and schmoosing at a Sunday social? Both could land you smack dab in the middle of a damned good roll in the hay.

Not that I had any such experience, but when the gals of the FHA ‘colluded’ with the boys of the FFA…there was usually chaff involved. (Chaff – the technical term for ‘honey, brush your britches off!)

No matter what it is, it’s just better in a barn.

This love affair with barns isn’t geographical. No matter what part of the world you live in…you’ll see evidence of local customs and ethnic traditions in the barns that dot the countryside. And whether there’s a floor (or sumpin’)being laid or a roof (or sumpin’) being raised, chances are you’ll find it’s for/with the community (or sumpin’).

That’s the draw for me, and it has been a life long one. The architectural type and features give us the biggest clues as to the who, the what, the where, and the when.
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But it’s the condition of the barn that gives us the why.

Is it a model for advances in the industry, surrounded by shiny equipment and smelling of fresh mown hay and odor d’cow?
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Or is it a sad landmark of better times? Rusting tractors, broken fences, over grown pastures and paddocks with just a whisper of what once thrived there?
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Why is that barn falling in on itself…

Seen better days
Seen better days

…and the one down the road a bright red beacon of hope?
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Why is the barn so big and the house so small?
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And so on…

Growing up in dairy country, barns were as common a sight to me as high-rises and tenements are to city dwellers. But common or not, I’ve been drawn to them for as long as I can remember.

Maybe it was the stories my father would tell of life on the farm; drinking the milk raw, taking the cream right off the top, smokin’ corn silk in corn cobs, telling of things one did ‘behind’ the barn?
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Or my own memories of tire swings hung in the space between the giant barn doors, or pushing my oldest brother (I swear he jumped) out of the hay loft doors ’cause there was a bee headed my way? I think perhaps being around folk who didn’t think “What, were you raised in a barn?” is an insult, may have had something to do with it.

One day, when I’m better equipped to do so, I’d like to tour our beautiful country just to photograph farms and barns. Or parts of barns. Or things that go in barns. Or…you get the idea.

When traveling, my driver is always saying “Look Babe, there’s a silo”. He gets me.

Or when I’m running the dirt roads with Supe, he’s always suggesting this path or the other because “There’s a great barn down here”. He gets me too.

This is not a unique idea by a long shot…I’m sure if I Googled it, I’d come up with thousands who’ve done that very thing, and done it extremely well. But that does not daunt me. I know what I like and I know taking snaps in a drive by is not very professional, but it’s what I do.

One lesson I’ve learned in the time it’s taken me and my third eye to become better acquainted is that, we each have our own perspective; we each see the beauty and the ugly in our own way; we each do what we do for our own reasons; and our eyesight is but a tool…

It is our hearts that are our true guide to what we capture and why.

So, if you’re keen on barns and the like, or just want to see the barn dance so far…you can see it on through link

Just remember…where there’s a barn, there’s a barn dancer.

And I’m one of ’em.
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It’s all in a name

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.

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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.
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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-


The whole gang

She Waits

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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
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She’d fly through that door
Out there

The sun, the clouds
Fire and rain
She misses them

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She almost remembers
Diluted, like watercolor

She draws the lily as she remembers it

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She can see it

A light spot in the dark
Of her memory’s eye

The myrtle that should be blooming by now
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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

This…is what she remembers…
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This…is what she’s missing…
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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
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“Let me show you the extraordinary ordinary” she whispers
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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…
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Not posed…
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Just life…
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Nothing is too small
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Tomorrow, she’ll wait again
But today…she flies
Today she is…
Awake
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The Cup Runneth Over

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As I anxiously await the next matches of the quarter finals, sending my silent plea to the footie gods for Kompany to kick ass and Messi to go home (he soooo good!), van Persie’s persistence outplaying Acosta, I can’t help wondering if I’m the norm when it comes to World Cup fans or if hanging in and routing teams NOT my own, is a rarity.

Of course I would have liked the USA to have kicked that same Belgian arse (1 minute of overage time? really?)
But we didn’t, so no use crying over spilt beer!

(Though HUGE props to Tim for an astounding performance in the cage!)

I like to think tournaments like the World Cup attract fans that hang in to the end…much like the Olympics…regardless of where their own countries finish. I think the host country’s fans have been a shining example of cheering the game for the game’s sake. Though the fact their team is still in it may have something to do with it, I do think they’ve been excellent hosts.

And as for me, I also feel this has been one of the best World Cups I’ve ever seen, with the caveat that the officiating has been rubbish!.
Even so, The Cup runneth over with surprise advances and superior substitutions

(not to mention ‘minutes and minutes’ of theatrical drama played out for our viewing pleasure 😉

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So…for any of you still hanging in and routing on…enjoy the rest of the tourney.
If things continue as they have…it promises to be as good a final as there ever was.

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GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL

David and Golliath – Thoughts on Independence

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
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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
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Let Freedom Ring

History Beats the Heat

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

VMFA view

Of reeds so red

rising from the bed

with nary a thing shielding

In the Reeds

While waters dance

and winds advance

the fragile stand unyielding

Red Reeds and propellers

*Chihuly’s Glass Red Reeds at the Virginia Museum of Fine Art

Fridays with Murphy and Me

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I’m sure this image spoke to me the day I snapped it

Was it the flowers the drew my eye?

Was it a feeling of being on the outside looking in?

Vice versa?

Getting my head caught in the ropes (a.k.a. arghhhh)?

Swiss cheese being what it is…I’ve forgotten it or lost it or maybe I just thought it was pretty at the time

However you look at it…I’m damned if I know now

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So…as I often do when this happens, I just sit and stare at it.

Sometimes I fuss around with it…change a filter here, contrast there, funk it up a bit to see if it yells something out.

The funk didn’t help, as it is not telling me what it wanted to say, but it did put me in mind of something…

Murphy

Don’t ask…as I haven’t a clue

Just Murphy

You know…that fabled and famous guy that no one seems to be able to say exactly who or where or when or why…

There are as many stories as to how Murphy came to be associated with the worst luck ever as there are variations of the language of the law itself

Anyway…Murphy’s Law as I know it

“Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong”

Okay…well, if you think about it, it’s not so bad really

Without things going wrong, we wouldn’t use our noggins to figure shit out

Right?

Even those folks for whom everything seems to go wrong (ahem), it’s still not always a bad thing if those ‘wrongs’ turn into learning opportunities.

Learning to do things a different way, a better way, an easier way, the ‘right’ way?

Seems so to me anyway…and I consider myself in a good position to say so, considering the shit storm my life has been the last couple years

But hey, that’s Life and Life comes with just one promise…

Your Life promises to be your greatest adventure

Yes, it does

Where else can it be said that every minute of every day has the promise to be different from the one before?

If it isn’t, it’s not because it’s Life’s fault…it’s ours

We have the choice…sit in one spot, don’t move, don’t think, don’t eat, don’t drink, don’t sleep…die

OR

Get up, move around, go up, go down (sure…that way too), get outside, go inside, walk, drive, sing, love, laugh, cry, pout, clean, drink, eat…

Need I go on?

Every single one of those things is part of the adventure promised with each new second

Every promise can be fulfilled if we choose to make it happen

So…Murphy?

Sure, why not

But let’s go one better…

How about adding some new laws?

Just to keep us on the ‘that’s Life where every second promises a new adventure’ track

And to absolutely keep us on those ‘things on our feet that help us find furniture in the dark’….TOES

So in keeping with that…

Anytime you have a 50-50 chance of getting something right, there’s a 90% probability you’ll get it wrong.
The things that come to those who wait, may just be the things left by those who got there first.
If the shoe fits, get another one just like it.
Change is inevitable, except from a vending machine
A day without sunshine is like, well, night
He, who laughs last, thinks slowest

Got more?

Good, I was hoping you did

Share them here so we can all add them to our ‘Today’s Problems are Tomorrow’s Opportunities” catalogs

And now…I’m venturing off to enjoy this second’s adventure and it involves a date with a certain “John”

haha

Happy Adventuring…xo

Reflection

Today’s Reflection comes…why?
Because it’s Friday?
Because it’s the 70th Anniversary of D-Day?
Because it’s the last day my baby boy will live in his 20s?(eek)

Maybe
Maybe not
Why then
Why Reflect
Why Reminisce
Why Record
Why Remember

Why not?
Does there have to be a Reason?
Do we need an excuse?
Does there have to be a catalyst?
Why not just because today is as good a day as any?
Better yet, why not just because I feel like it?

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A double edged sword, to be sure
As many will make us weep as make us smile
Some take us to unhappy times in unhappy places
Some remind us of simple pleasures, small joys, and the blessings we enjoy
While others bring back the people, places, and things, that helped shape who we are, for better or worse

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I like to think they are all of value in our lives
Lessons in patience and tolerance?
Lessons in loving and winning or losing and letting go?
Lessons in living in the moment so we may appreciate what we have and not focus on what we don’t?

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Sure…all of those things, and more
It could be said there are as many Reasons as there are Reflections
And it could also be said there are as many Reasons not to

But I’m a survivor of the past…yet I believe in ghosts
I may have my windows open in the present, but the back door is still unlocked
Should I close and lock that back door?
Set my sites strictly on what’s ahead?
I could, but there’s just something…in spite of it all
That I can never and will never, leave behind

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I’m an old soul
And that’s okay
I’d rather see and know where I came from
Appreciate where I am today
Than worry about where I am going
Because one thing is for sure…

We all end up here, in some form or another…we all end up here

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And it all matters…it’s all worth
A Reflection

 

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I wanted to share some of the beauty I found while in London during the fall of 2012.  One of my favorite days was spent wandering the winding paths through Abney Park Cemetery with probably the only person I know who appreciates it as much as I do, but perhaps for different reasons.

I did feel the history as well as the sorrow of what once was, yet was at once at ease in my surroundings.  I saw nothing ugly in the tilted and tipped over stones; felt no outrage at the lack of care for each individual plot.  It felt as natural, and looked as beautiful, as any place I’ve ever seen.  Most laid in that hallowed ground, have been there longer than my own country has existed.  Imagine.  The moments of reflection and wonder spent there will be with me forever.