On Friday, as I fretted over a column for the weekly paper, I blogged about my frustrations and inability to find a topic.
Since a number of my gentle readers offered suggestions, I thought I would share what I ended up with. I wrote this Sunday night and it is in The Fincastle Herald today (the issue printed early because of the holiday).
***
Botetourt County has a great deal for which I am thankful. I thought for the upcoming turkey day I would run down a list. Here you go, in no particular order:
Great views. There is hardly a place here where you can’t see something lovely. You might have to look over the rooftops of a few buildings to see a mountain, but they are there.
I include the towns and the many communities in with the great views. They all offer something unique to see. Aside from Fincastle (the county seat), Buchanan and Troutville, check out Eagle Rock, Glen Wilton, Daleville/Amsterdam, Blue Ridge, and Cloverdale. You’ll be amazed at what you find.
Rural landscape. The farmland we have remaining is a blessing. I am very grateful to the farmers who continue to till, plow and keep the fields. If it were not for them, we would have rows and rows of homes and scarcely a bucolic plot to play in. Thankfully, the rural nature remains in many areas of the county. There are even a few fields in southern Botetourt.
We also have a National Forest land, which is wonderful for protecting the land and the rural nature of the county. Can we ever have too many trees?
Locally owned. I am very glad we have locally owned restaurants and shops. I can spend a whole day shopping here if I want, and come away with unique items. While I’m doing it, I can eat at a unique restaurant.
Some places to check out include Meggie’s Mercantile, the Tin Roof, the Apple Barn, Three Li’l Pigs restaurant, Three Graces, and the new Pomegranite restaurant in Troutville (haven’t eaten there yet but it’s on my list). You can also try Ikenberry Orchards and the Botetourt Family Farmers Market, have a snack at Blue Collar Joe’s, buy gifts at Southern Past Times, visit the county’s floral shops, patron a number of arts and crafts people, including galleries in Buchanan, and spend money at many other places, more than I can list.
Historic properties. I am glad that in the 1960s some folks had the foresight and courage to begin preserving the ancient structures in the towns and elsewhere. Had they not done so, many of the buildings that look so Botetourt would not exist. These places tell tales and help us remember where we came from. They give the place character and keep it from looking like any ol’ exit off the interstate.
Kudos to the Town of Buchanan for the great job they’re doing in keeping its Main Street alive and thriving. Every time I go into town, I see something I think is cool. I am thankful the town has survived.
The people. Folks in Botetourt are great. They give wholeheartedly, they care about one another and they keep each other straight. When Mary Lou Mullis at Social Services called me last week to tell me they had received an outpouring of love and support for their Angel Tree and the Fuel Assistance program, I nearly cried. How great is it that when there is a need, folks respond?
My ancestry. This is different from the properties and more personal. My family has been in the county for 200 years. My roots here are deep and long. I have cousins and great-aunts and uncles and all kinds of family living here. Some of them I don’t know and some might not claim me, but we have a blood line and there’s a bond there whether it’s acknowledged or not.
It’s the kind of thing that can create a surprise when you realize you share a great-great-grandmother with the person you’re talking to.
I am particularly grateful for my ancestry because it brought me my husband, in a round about way.
I will never forget the day my husband’s great aunt, Lenna Etzler, told us we were cousins. We laughed about it and then dismissed it.
Then I did our family tree. Gads, there we were on the same line, sharing a set of great-great-great-great- grandparents. Cousins sure enough, though a very long way back.
If folks have lived in the county for any length of time, most likely they share a common ancestor or two. It can make for a fine hour of conversation.
It’s just another thing I’m thankful for while I live in Botetourt County. I hope you’re thankful that you live here, too.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Villanelles & Sestinas
I do not have time for poetry much anymore. One of my favorite poem styles is the villanelle.
Probably the most famous villanelle Dylan Thomas's Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night, a poem about his father's passing.
Here are the poetic stanzas for a villanelle:
Refrain 1 (A1)
Line 2 (b)
Refrain 2 (A2)
Line 4 (a)
Line 5 (b)
Refrain 1 (A1)
Line 7 (a)
Line 8 (b)
Refrain 2 (A2)
Line 10 (a)
Line 11 (b)
Refrain 1 (A1)
Line 13 (a)
Line 14 (b)
Refrain 2 (A2)
Line 16 (a)
Line 17 (b)
Refrain 1 (A1)
Refrain 2 (A2)
I have always enjoyed trying to write poetry to a form. Free verse certainly has its place but there seems to me something musical about a poem written with rhyme, half-rhyme, repeating words, etc.
Another favorite poem form is the sestina. It doesn't rhyme, usually, although it can, I guess. Generally what happens is the last word is repeated in various places along the six-line stanzas, like this:
Stanza 1: 1 2 3 4 5 6
Stanza 2: 6 1 5 2 4 3
Stanza 3: 3 6 4 1 2 5
Stanza 4: 5 3 2 6 1 4
Stanza 5: 4 5 1 3 6 2
Stanza 6: 2 4 6 5 3 1
Tercet: Variable.
Ezra Pound wrote some setinas, as did Rudyard Kipling.
Sometimes I have poetry run through my mind, or maybe just a line, and I think, that would make a good sestina. Or a good villanelle.
These kinds of poems can take a long time to write. My poetry never seems finished to me, so I don't often share it.
Maybe one day soon I will find some time to try to write a few poems. I think that would be divine.
Probably the most famous villanelle Dylan Thomas's Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night, a poem about his father's passing.
Here are the poetic stanzas for a villanelle:
Refrain 1 (A1)
Line 2 (b)
Refrain 2 (A2)
Line 4 (a)
Line 5 (b)
Refrain 1 (A1)
Line 7 (a)
Line 8 (b)
Refrain 2 (A2)
Line 10 (a)
Line 11 (b)
Refrain 1 (A1)
Line 13 (a)
Line 14 (b)
Refrain 2 (A2)
Line 16 (a)
Line 17 (b)
Refrain 1 (A1)
Refrain 2 (A2)
I have always enjoyed trying to write poetry to a form. Free verse certainly has its place but there seems to me something musical about a poem written with rhyme, half-rhyme, repeating words, etc.
Another favorite poem form is the sestina. It doesn't rhyme, usually, although it can, I guess. Generally what happens is the last word is repeated in various places along the six-line stanzas, like this:
Stanza 1: 1 2 3 4 5 6
Stanza 2: 6 1 5 2 4 3
Stanza 3: 3 6 4 1 2 5
Stanza 4: 5 3 2 6 1 4
Stanza 5: 4 5 1 3 6 2
Stanza 6: 2 4 6 5 3 1
Tercet: Variable.
Ezra Pound wrote some setinas, as did Rudyard Kipling.
Sometimes I have poetry run through my mind, or maybe just a line, and I think, that would make a good sestina. Or a good villanelle.
These kinds of poems can take a long time to write. My poetry never seems finished to me, so I don't often share it.
Maybe one day soon I will find some time to try to write a few poems. I think that would be divine.
Friday, November 21, 2008
It's the Columns
My job is to write.
Every week I pound out not just one but a lot of articles.
This week I wrote six. Last week I wrote eight.
The hardest stories are not the ones about government or poverty (though the latter can be terribly heart wrenching) or the features on people who do noteworthy things.
No, the hardest stories are the ones I am supposed to write about me. I have column space to fill and I find that to be the hardest task of all.
Because what is there to say, after all? I've not been up in space or climbed mountains (unless you count a drive over Caldwell Mountain or Catawba Mountain on occasion). I've not jumped into a freezing pond to rescue a child, or breathed life into a heart attack victim.
I do drink tea and chew gum and breathe air, which means that I generally focus on the finer, minute parts of living for my lifestyle column. Those things that folks who are busy often forget, perhaps. I can do that.
But some days (and today is surely one of them) I can't think of a darned thing to write.
It's 4:20 p.m. I have a 5 p.m. deadline (self-imposed; it's really Monday morning but I didn't want to work this weekend).
I need a topic!
Every week I pound out not just one but a lot of articles.
This week I wrote six. Last week I wrote eight.
The hardest stories are not the ones about government or poverty (though the latter can be terribly heart wrenching) or the features on people who do noteworthy things.
No, the hardest stories are the ones I am supposed to write about me. I have column space to fill and I find that to be the hardest task of all.
Because what is there to say, after all? I've not been up in space or climbed mountains (unless you count a drive over Caldwell Mountain or Catawba Mountain on occasion). I've not jumped into a freezing pond to rescue a child, or breathed life into a heart attack victim.
I do drink tea and chew gum and breathe air, which means that I generally focus on the finer, minute parts of living for my lifestyle column. Those things that folks who are busy often forget, perhaps. I can do that.
But some days (and today is surely one of them) I can't think of a darned thing to write.
It's 4:20 p.m. I have a 5 p.m. deadline (self-imposed; it's really Monday morning but I didn't want to work this weekend).
I need a topic!
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Books: A Redbird Christmas
A RedBird Christmas
By Fannie Flagg
Copyright 2004
Read by Fannie Flagg
I really like Fannie Flagg's work, and this was no exception. Oswald Campbell lives in Chicago and his doctor tells him to go live somewhere else or the air will kill him.
He moves to Lost River, Alabama, where he meets Roy, Frances, Patsy, and Jack the redbird who lives in the grocery store.
The characters are great and the book is very well written.
This is a sweet and warm book, very heartwarming for Christmas time. If you're looking for something that says the world will be okay, this book will do it.
Highly recommended if you like books about small town folks.
4 stars
By Fannie Flagg
Copyright 2004
Read by Fannie Flagg
I really like Fannie Flagg's work, and this was no exception. Oswald Campbell lives in Chicago and his doctor tells him to go live somewhere else or the air will kill him.
He moves to Lost River, Alabama, where he meets Roy, Frances, Patsy, and Jack the redbird who lives in the grocery store.
The characters are great and the book is very well written.
This is a sweet and warm book, very heartwarming for Christmas time. If you're looking for something that says the world will be okay, this book will do it.
Highly recommended if you like books about small town folks.
4 stars
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Our Silver Anniversary
Today I have been married for 25 years. That's more than half of my life.
We have been very happy. I think we knew almost from the moment we met that we would end up together.
We met on October 15, 1982 at a Lord Botetourt High School football game. I had graduated from high school a year earlier; he graduated in 1977. We stood under the goal post and chatted. He asked me out that night.
Our wedding day, November 18, 1983, was a cold Friday; I remember snow flurries. Our nuptials took place at the Daleville Church of the Brethren with a reception at the Botetourt Country Club.
The honey moon was at a B&B in Warm Springs; just two nights. We were back by Sunday.
In 1987 we built the house we live in now. And I mean we built it, hammer in hand. Mostly James built it, so his heart and soul is in every nail. He made us a good, strong home.
In the last 25 years he has moved up the ladder at the Roanoke City Fire-EMS where he works. With his help I went to Hollins College and received my B.A. in English in 1993. He encouraged me to quit my job with an attorney and try freelancing. I never looked back.
We are not rich in the monetary sense of the word but we are exquisitely happy with one another. Our biggest shadow was my inability to have children; those six years of trying to conceive remain our main sorrow. Thankfully we have four nephews and a niece to spoil. It eases the sadness most of the time.
We argue some, but we usually resolve our issues. Mostly we just love each other. To this day we hold hands when we are shopping.
We even hold hands when we're sitting on the sofa watching TV.
I consider myself blessed to have met this man and married him. I am so thankful we have been together all of these years.
Happy Silver Anniversary, my wonderful guy!
We have been very happy. I think we knew almost from the moment we met that we would end up together.
We met on October 15, 1982 at a Lord Botetourt High School football game. I had graduated from high school a year earlier; he graduated in 1977. We stood under the goal post and chatted. He asked me out that night.
Our wedding day, November 18, 1983, was a cold Friday; I remember snow flurries. Our nuptials took place at the Daleville Church of the Brethren with a reception at the Botetourt Country Club.
The honey moon was at a B&B in Warm Springs; just two nights. We were back by Sunday.
In 1987 we built the house we live in now. And I mean we built it, hammer in hand. Mostly James built it, so his heart and soul is in every nail. He made us a good, strong home.
In the last 25 years he has moved up the ladder at the Roanoke City Fire-EMS where he works. With his help I went to Hollins College and received my B.A. in English in 1993. He encouraged me to quit my job with an attorney and try freelancing. I never looked back.
We are not rich in the monetary sense of the word but we are exquisitely happy with one another. Our biggest shadow was my inability to have children; those six years of trying to conceive remain our main sorrow. Thankfully we have four nephews and a niece to spoil. It eases the sadness most of the time.
We argue some, but we usually resolve our issues. Mostly we just love each other. To this day we hold hands when we are shopping.
We even hold hands when we're sitting on the sofa watching TV.
I consider myself blessed to have met this man and married him. I am so thankful we have been together all of these years.
Happy Silver Anniversary, my wonderful guy!
Monday, November 17, 2008
Another Q&A Meme
I swiped this from someone's blog; I've lost the link, though. I found it while I was blog-hopping.
1. What do you do before bedtime?
I read. The TV is usually on but I am not the one watching it.
2. What is your favorite sound?
My husband's voice. There is something about the way he calls for me that makes a lump form in my throat.
My non-human favorite sound is... silence. The absolute stillness of the day, when nothing is moving but you know that if you breathe hard something will happen - thunder will clap, the leaves will shake.
3. What were your childhood fears?
I feared my parents were going to put me in the crazy house and leave me. Unfortunately this was one of my mother's favorite threats; I think it is akin to being told the raggedy man is going to come and get you, a ghost story told around these parts after the Civil War. This was just an updated version.
4. What place have you visited that you can't forget and want to go back?
New York. I am not a city girl but I visited this metropolis when I was teenager and was entranced. I would love to go back as an adult and see it all over again. I visited China Town and have never forgotten the sweet and sour shrimp I ate there; nothing in this area has ever duplicated that taste.
5. What has made you unhappy these days?
I worry about the economy but that is out of my control. I also fear growing old and dying; I think the deaths this year of three of my great aunts has brought mortality home to me in a very strong way.
I also fret about my weight which I know needs to be, well, less.
6. What websites do you visit daily?
Blue Country Magic and Botetourt County News Blog, which are my own blogs, Spatter, Roanoke RnR, Loose Leaf Notes, Peevish Pen, sweetfluttersby - most of the bloggers in my blogging list who write daily or near daily. I recently added my Facebook page to my list of "visit every day" sites; I still can't decide if I like Facebook or not.
7. What’s the last song that got stuck in your head?
The Space Cowboy aka The Joker by Steve Miller Band. Here's an interesting youtube version of it. Here's a video of the whole song.
8. What’s your favorite item of clothing?
I have an aged blue sports jacket that I have worn out to the point that the sleeves are nearly gone from it. I call it "blue thing." My husband recently bought me a gray sports jacket to replace that one; I call it "gray thing." I'm still breaking it in.
Aside from that, I love to sit around in sweats and a t-shirt. Give me comfort over looks any day.
9. What is your dream for the future?
To publish a book. That is probably a silly dream but there you go. One day I want to walk into Barnes & Noble and find myself on the shelf.
I would also like to be healthy and live a nice long life with my husband. When we are really old I want us in the same room at the old folks' home so we can always hold hands.
For the nation, my dream is that we find our common ground again. I know it is there somewhere if we could all only get past our egos long enough to look.
My apologies to whomever I lifted this from. I am not tagging anyone, but if you'd like to give it a try, be my guest.
1. What do you do before bedtime?
I read. The TV is usually on but I am not the one watching it.
2. What is your favorite sound?
My husband's voice. There is something about the way he calls for me that makes a lump form in my throat.
My non-human favorite sound is... silence. The absolute stillness of the day, when nothing is moving but you know that if you breathe hard something will happen - thunder will clap, the leaves will shake.
3. What were your childhood fears?
I feared my parents were going to put me in the crazy house and leave me. Unfortunately this was one of my mother's favorite threats; I think it is akin to being told the raggedy man is going to come and get you, a ghost story told around these parts after the Civil War. This was just an updated version.
4. What place have you visited that you can't forget and want to go back?
New York. I am not a city girl but I visited this metropolis when I was teenager and was entranced. I would love to go back as an adult and see it all over again. I visited China Town and have never forgotten the sweet and sour shrimp I ate there; nothing in this area has ever duplicated that taste.
5. What has made you unhappy these days?
I worry about the economy but that is out of my control. I also fear growing old and dying; I think the deaths this year of three of my great aunts has brought mortality home to me in a very strong way.
I also fret about my weight which I know needs to be, well, less.
6. What websites do you visit daily?
Blue Country Magic and Botetourt County News Blog, which are my own blogs, Spatter, Roanoke RnR, Loose Leaf Notes, Peevish Pen, sweetfluttersby - most of the bloggers in my blogging list who write daily or near daily. I recently added my Facebook page to my list of "visit every day" sites; I still can't decide if I like Facebook or not.
7. What’s the last song that got stuck in your head?
The Space Cowboy aka The Joker by Steve Miller Band. Here's an interesting youtube version of it. Here's a video of the whole song.
8. What’s your favorite item of clothing?
I have an aged blue sports jacket that I have worn out to the point that the sleeves are nearly gone from it. I call it "blue thing." My husband recently bought me a gray sports jacket to replace that one; I call it "gray thing." I'm still breaking it in.
Aside from that, I love to sit around in sweats and a t-shirt. Give me comfort over looks any day.
9. What is your dream for the future?
To publish a book. That is probably a silly dream but there you go. One day I want to walk into Barnes & Noble and find myself on the shelf.
I would also like to be healthy and live a nice long life with my husband. When we are really old I want us in the same room at the old folks' home so we can always hold hands.
For the nation, my dream is that we find our common ground again. I know it is there somewhere if we could all only get past our egos long enough to look.
My apologies to whomever I lifted this from. I am not tagging anyone, but if you'd like to give it a try, be my guest.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Jumping the Shark
I do not watch much TV and I make no apologies for that.
If I have to relax or just waste time, I would rather do it while reading a book. If I must do something else, then I prefer the computer to the TV. At least playing a video game gives you the illusion of doing something.
I am loyal to just a few shows. At the moment, I am watching Ghost Whisperer, Legend of the Seeker, and Survivor.
Ghost Whisper has jumped the shark, or so it appears. I am withholding actual judgment on this until I see how the latest story line, which involves the death of Melinda's husband and his return as a ghost and now as a ghost in the body of a dead man, is completed.
This is looking pretty shark-worthy, even if this story line has apparently increased the show's audience.
Ghost Whisperer is in its fourth season.
Legend of the Seeker is based on Terry Goodkind's Sword of Truth fantasy series. The show is brought to us courtesy of Sam Raimi and Rob Tapert, the Renaissance team that gave us Hercules and Xena: Warrior Princess.
I was a great fan of both those shows. I don't know that Hercules ever really jumped the shark although I recall that several of its last seasons were rather dark.
Xena jumped the shark in season 3 by some estimates and for sure in Season 5.
Legend of the Seeker is not staying true to the books, a fact which rankles my husband. We listened to Goodkind's books over the last 10 years on audiobooks and my husband enjoyed them. To my knowledge they are the only works of fiction he has "read" since school.
He has been unhappy with the show's inability to adhere to the books. I told him book readers deal with this all the time when their stories are transformed to screen.
"The books would have made a good series, they didn't have to make all these changes," he growls on the nights we watch the show.
Legend of the Seeker reminds me of Hercules more so than Xena. Xena's music creator, Jo LoDuca, has done the score for this show, and I recognize many of the names from casting and directors when the credits role. It has the same feel as Hercules in its characters.
I guess that is what happens when you are Xena:Warrior Princess fan and you read the credits. There was a time when I could have named a long list of people associated with that particular show though I thankfully have forgotten most of that trivia now.
As best I can tell Legend has only nine episodes created. I suppose if the show has decent ratings it will move forward.
I have always been a fan of fantasy shows (as opposed to SF shows like Star Trek, though I like those, too). There hasn't been a fantasy that I really enjoyed since Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Xena were on so I have been looking forward to this new Legend series. So far it is okay although I am not engaging with the characters as much as I would like. Still, I recommend it to fans of the genre in the hopes it will grow on me.
Survivor has been around forever and I have watched every season although I honestly don't know why I do. The shows are so unremarkable that there are only a very few contestants that I recall with any clarity.
Yet I make a point of watching it every Thursday night, so there must be something to it. It is the only reality show I watch.
This year I am not a fan of any of the contestants, which means I am rooting more for people to get tossed out of the game than I am for someone to win.
I think Survivor probably jumped the shark long ago but I couldn't begin to identify when that was.
Anyway, those are my current TV-watching habits. Three hours a week. I also have the news on when I'm cooking dinner and I sometimes sit down to watch a movie, but not very often.
It takes a very good movie to make me put down my book.
If I have to relax or just waste time, I would rather do it while reading a book. If I must do something else, then I prefer the computer to the TV. At least playing a video game gives you the illusion of doing something.
I am loyal to just a few shows. At the moment, I am watching Ghost Whisperer, Legend of the Seeker, and Survivor.
Ghost Whisper has jumped the shark, or so it appears. I am withholding actual judgment on this until I see how the latest story line, which involves the death of Melinda's husband and his return as a ghost and now as a ghost in the body of a dead man, is completed.
This is looking pretty shark-worthy, even if this story line has apparently increased the show's audience.
Ghost Whisperer is in its fourth season.
Legend of the Seeker is based on Terry Goodkind's Sword of Truth fantasy series. The show is brought to us courtesy of Sam Raimi and Rob Tapert, the Renaissance team that gave us Hercules and Xena: Warrior Princess.
I was a great fan of both those shows. I don't know that Hercules ever really jumped the shark although I recall that several of its last seasons were rather dark.
Xena jumped the shark in season 3 by some estimates and for sure in Season 5.
Legend of the Seeker is not staying true to the books, a fact which rankles my husband. We listened to Goodkind's books over the last 10 years on audiobooks and my husband enjoyed them. To my knowledge they are the only works of fiction he has "read" since school.
He has been unhappy with the show's inability to adhere to the books. I told him book readers deal with this all the time when their stories are transformed to screen.
"The books would have made a good series, they didn't have to make all these changes," he growls on the nights we watch the show.
Legend of the Seeker reminds me of Hercules more so than Xena. Xena's music creator, Jo LoDuca, has done the score for this show, and I recognize many of the names from casting and directors when the credits role. It has the same feel as Hercules in its characters.
I guess that is what happens when you are Xena:Warrior Princess fan and you read the credits. There was a time when I could have named a long list of people associated with that particular show though I thankfully have forgotten most of that trivia now.
As best I can tell Legend has only nine episodes created. I suppose if the show has decent ratings it will move forward.
I have always been a fan of fantasy shows (as opposed to SF shows like Star Trek, though I like those, too). There hasn't been a fantasy that I really enjoyed since Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Xena were on so I have been looking forward to this new Legend series. So far it is okay although I am not engaging with the characters as much as I would like. Still, I recommend it to fans of the genre in the hopes it will grow on me.
Survivor has been around forever and I have watched every season although I honestly don't know why I do. The shows are so unremarkable that there are only a very few contestants that I recall with any clarity.
Yet I make a point of watching it every Thursday night, so there must be something to it. It is the only reality show I watch.
This year I am not a fan of any of the contestants, which means I am rooting more for people to get tossed out of the game than I am for someone to win.
I think Survivor probably jumped the shark long ago but I couldn't begin to identify when that was.
Anyway, those are my current TV-watching habits. Three hours a week. I also have the news on when I'm cooking dinner and I sometimes sit down to watch a movie, but not very often.
It takes a very good movie to make me put down my book.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Desperate Need
The weather’s colder. Money is tighter. Appalachian Power just announced a major increase in the electricity bill.
This time of year is downright hard for folks who are having trouble with their finances. Add a predicted recession to that and you have a recipe for cold feet, ill health and plenty of woe.
The Fuel Assistance Program run by the Botetourt County Department of Social Services currently has no money in it. Folks who need a little help with their light bill or their heat have nowhere to turn.
Donations are way down.
“We are in desperate need. We have no money,” Social Services Director Mary Lou Mullis said.
The program helps people out with a one-time payment for fuel. Companies will only bring 100 gallons of fuel at a time, so with prices running high the coffers are quickly depleted.
This program does not use state or local dollars. While there are some state funds available for emergency uses, the crisis program does not begin until January and funding for that program is limited.
The Fuel Assistance Program often helps people who fall between the cracks. These are folks who may normally work but have recently lost a job due to illness or lay off. With no money coming in, they are at risk of losing their electricity or heat.
“The government does not give us money for those people,” Mullis said. Everyone who receives funds is checked out and the need is verified before dollars are handed over, she said.
These folks simply need a hand until they can get back on their feet. Most recently a woman who had been very ill called saying she had a $10 balance on her light bill; the electric company was on the way to shut off her power.
A call from Social Services kept her electricity on. However, the woman has no family in the area and her illness has kept her from work for a number of weeks. Mullis worried that she would suffer until she could get well enough to return to work.
Senior Social Worker Brenda Holdren worries that even with government assistance money will be tight. The state is looking at a shortfall and she expects assistance dollars to be less than last year.
“We are desperately in need of money to help people to buy oil or pay electric bills,” Holdren said. “Just to keep these things going.”
Social Services is receiving several calls a day from people who are in need. They do their best to help but often can only make a referral to a local church or other organization.
“I anticipate its going to get worse,” Mullis said. “It’s not even cold yet.”
There are many folks in the county to worry about – the elderly, the disabled, next door neighbors who may be needy but not speaking up.
To donate to the Fuel Assistance Program, send funds to Department of Social Services, P. O. Box 160, Fincastle, VA 24090.
I wrote this article for The Fincastle Herald. It appeared in the November 11, 2008 edition.
This time of year is downright hard for folks who are having trouble with their finances. Add a predicted recession to that and you have a recipe for cold feet, ill health and plenty of woe.
The Fuel Assistance Program run by the Botetourt County Department of Social Services currently has no money in it. Folks who need a little help with their light bill or their heat have nowhere to turn.
Donations are way down.
“We are in desperate need. We have no money,” Social Services Director Mary Lou Mullis said.
The program helps people out with a one-time payment for fuel. Companies will only bring 100 gallons of fuel at a time, so with prices running high the coffers are quickly depleted.
This program does not use state or local dollars. While there are some state funds available for emergency uses, the crisis program does not begin until January and funding for that program is limited.
The Fuel Assistance Program often helps people who fall between the cracks. These are folks who may normally work but have recently lost a job due to illness or lay off. With no money coming in, they are at risk of losing their electricity or heat.
“The government does not give us money for those people,” Mullis said. Everyone who receives funds is checked out and the need is verified before dollars are handed over, she said.
These folks simply need a hand until they can get back on their feet. Most recently a woman who had been very ill called saying she had a $10 balance on her light bill; the electric company was on the way to shut off her power.
A call from Social Services kept her electricity on. However, the woman has no family in the area and her illness has kept her from work for a number of weeks. Mullis worried that she would suffer until she could get well enough to return to work.
Senior Social Worker Brenda Holdren worries that even with government assistance money will be tight. The state is looking at a shortfall and she expects assistance dollars to be less than last year.
“We are desperately in need of money to help people to buy oil or pay electric bills,” Holdren said. “Just to keep these things going.”
Social Services is receiving several calls a day from people who are in need. They do their best to help but often can only make a referral to a local church or other organization.
“I anticipate its going to get worse,” Mullis said. “It’s not even cold yet.”
There are many folks in the county to worry about – the elderly, the disabled, next door neighbors who may be needy but not speaking up.
To donate to the Fuel Assistance Program, send funds to Department of Social Services, P. O. Box 160, Fincastle, VA 24090.
I wrote this article for The Fincastle Herald. It appeared in the November 11, 2008 edition.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Thursday Thirteen
1. The feel of the strings beneath my fingertips
2. The vibration as the note holds
3. The sound of the chord as the right hand strums
4. The rhythm of the music tapped out on the bass strings
5. Tonal changes as the right hand moves from the sound hole to the neck
6. Words that inspire even if sung off-key
7. Chords that combine to create epochs of power and a collective memory of the history of the world
8. The agility of fingers that fly over six strings and up and down the neck
9. The tranquility of soothing sounds that lull the soul into a space akin to intense meditation
10. Joy of perfection when a song has been mastered
11. A way to emote without ever giving voice to unspeakable feelings
12. A pathway to rejoicing and celebrating the splendorin life and the love of the heavens
13. Some of the reasons why I've gone back to playing my guitar
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Remembering A Veteran
To honor all the veterans, I am printing here, made public for the very first time, another piece of my Grandfather Joe's writings about his service in World War II.
This is a little long and this is not all of it.
You may read the first part here, if you like.
The Push: February 11, 1940
By Joe Bruffy
After two days of forced marching and hitting small pockets of resistance, the Company came to a small bombed out village that had been held by a company of SS German soldiers. They had traveled approximately 50 miles through mud and rain and without food except K rations. The commander, Captain Scott, ordered a rest stop.
Joe, John, and Tony found an old dugout cellar filled with moldy hay - at least it was dry.
They hung a wet blanket over the entrance, got out their K rations, built a small fire by burning the K ration wrappings, and with water from their canteens made themselves a cup of hot instant coffee. Joe opened a can of canned heat that come from K rations. He laid a piece of heavy string cut from his undershirt in the top of the can and with his trench knife pushed it in to a slit in the canned heat, lighting it with his cigarette lighter, and made a small candle. John had found three sugar beets somewhere along the way. The men cut them open and scrapped out the pulp with their trench knives. Tony said he had never eaten a better salad.
Orders came down from the C.P. for everyone to dig in for the night, that they were staying all night. Lt. Nolan came by and told them to put out a guard and stay where they were, that their position was as good as any place along the line.
Joe took the first watch, standing just outside the entrance. Tony and John went to sleep. Joe woke Tony up in four hours to relieve him, and he took Tony's bed. The night passed without action.
The next morning, Joe had contracted some type of a cold and was coughing and sneezing bad. He figured it was caused by sleeping in the moldy hay, but it caused an asthma reaction for years after that.
About 7 a.m. the Company kitchen had caught up with them and had sent up hot pancakes with apple butter and the kitchen Jeep. There were three pancakes to the man packed in clean garbage cans. John said he had never eaten better pancakes and he didn't know he loved apple butter so well, especially out of a garbage can.
That afternoon orders came down to get ready to move out; the Germans were driving out of France across the ziefrig line into Germany,and we were going in after them. After 3:30 p.m. the company moved out. Hitting some small resistance, accompanied by tank destroyers, they traveled approximately 60 miles.
The company had lost approximately 20 men wounded to K.I.A. on the advance. On the last 10 miles the going was very rough, as it had started snowing and had fell about four inches deep. Third squad had lost three men just before dawn. They had come out of the woods into a small meadow. There was a rock wall around the meadow.
Don Cory, the squad leader, gave orders to cross the meadow to the woods on the other side. The moon was in full and with the light snow it was like daylight. Joe told Don that it would be suicide to cross the meadow by going through.
Don said we haven't met anything in the last four hours. So in a staggered group of three they started across, Don and Spitler and Oads in the front, Joe, John and Tony were to follow, with McBeen and some others bringing up the rear.
After Don and the other two guys got approximately a third of the way across, John said let's go, but Joe said give them a little more time. No use all of us getting knocked off by STS. When Don was about half way across the Germans spotted them and opened up with 88 mortar artillery. All three of the first guys got hit.
After the artillery stopped they could see the three soldiers laying on the ground. By that time it had clouded up and began to snow heavy, plus it was beginning to get daylight. Joe told the others to go out one by one with five minute intervals. He would go first.
He came upon Spetzler, who was hit in the thigh. Motioning John to come on, they carried him to the other side. Don was dead, with a piece of shrapnel between his eyes. Oads was hit in the shoulder.
Joe motioned for the rest of the squad to come on. A couple of the guys got Oads, and Don's body was carried across by the rest of them. After getting across and giving Oads and Spetzler first aid the best they could, they finally located the platoon.
Joe got in touch with Lt. Nolon, and gave him an account of what happened. Lt. Nolan told Joe you are to take over the squad with the rank of staff sergeant. Joe said in no way will I be responsible for this squad. I have a hard enough time keeping myself alive, and I am not a glory hunter. After some cursing and raising hell, the Lt. sent Sergeant Clem Crawley out of the second platoon over to replace Don.
Sergeant Crawley was an old combat infantryman coming out of the 45 infantry and had seen lots of combat. He was a very soft spoken low key guy that never done anything without discussing it with Joe, John and Tony, as they were his three right hand men. The push continued on through the day without too many casualties and not too much excitement.
During the day several young replacements had been sent in to the Company. One, a young guy by the name of Bumgardner, was sent to the third squad. Clem put him under Joe's care. That night the Company was halted and told to dig in. About the time they started digging in the Germans opened an artillery barrage.
Bumgardner was helping Joe to dig a hole. The shells were hitting the trees and shrapnel and tree bursts were flying everywhere. Joe pulled Bumgardner down in a rootwall tree hole and waited until the shelling stopped. After a while it quieted down. They finished the fox hole and Bumgardner got sick and turned pale.
Joe asked him what was wrong and he said his left arm was numb. Joe split the sleeve of his field jacket from shoulder to wrist; Bumgardner's shirt and sweater was soaked with blood. Joe called the medic, who came and administered first aid. A piece of shrapnel had went through the bicep of his left arm. He was sent back to a field hospital and never did get back into combat.
After about 8 hours rest, the company was ordered to move out. They had now crossed the ziefreig line and was in German territory. The T.D.S. came up and the combat infantry was loaded on them and into Germany they started. After about ten miles they had caught up with the retreating Germans and a battle started.
Lt. Harris was hit in the legs with machine gun fire trying to cross a railroad. He was pinned down between the railroad ties. Ferrier, the little yankee boy from Brooklyn, zigzagged his way under heavy fire and pulled him back to safety. He was awarded the silver star. After several hours of heavy fighting and severe company losses on both sides, the Germans retreated. The CO gave orders to move out to the next village. The squad moved out without out incident, traveling about 20 miles. The company was halted for a rest and to eat K rations. The third squad stopped by an old barn. Everyone was worn out. The men all sat down, leaning against the wall of the barn.
Sergeant Crawley leaned his rifle against the wall and went to sleep. He slept for a while and woke up. He started to stretch out his legs and kicked his rifle; it fell down and accidentally went off, hitting him in the leg. The third squad never saw him no more after that. He had been a top notch sergeant. Again Lt. Nolan approached Joe, Tony and John, wanting one of them to take over the squad. All three refused.
The squad was kind of looked after by Lt. Nolan after that, without a squad leader. The three men kind of took the squad under their wing and it went along without a leader for a few days.
Finally Frezer was sent out of the second platoon to lead the squad; he led it until the end of the war. About the middle of March the snow was melting and spring was beginning to come; the apple trees and peach trees was in full bloom. They were in the Rhine River Valley and pushing on into the heart of Germany.
The company moved on to the top of a ridge. The third squad was on the extreme left, advancing up the hill. Just before getting to the top, they had hit some small arms fire. John and Joe were approximately 30 feet apart, crawling on their bellies. There was a small bush about one inch thick in front of John's nose, and he looked over at Joe and said he wondered how he was going to get around it.
When he turned his head back, the bush was gone. A German rifle bullet had cut it off at the top of the ground, and John went into one of his praying spells. After getting up the hill, the third squad dug in. A couple of young recruits not over nineteen was sent in to third squad as replacements. One of the young men was put with Joe, the other went with Tony.
Joe, knowing from past experience the first watch was the safest, put the young soldier on guard duty the first part of the night while he tried to get a couple hours of rest. After 12 o'clock he got up, and the young recruit laid down in the hole and went to sleep. About 2 a.m. the Germans opened up with 88 mortars and screaming mimmies. The shells were going over head as they did not have the range yet. The young recruit woke up and, hearing the shells and artillery, he went completely berserk and started out of the hole screaming.
Joe hit him in the jaw and got him quieted down. The young fellow sat sobbing. Joe went to the next hole to the phone, called the CO, he said to bring him down to the C.P. This was done by Joe and Tony; they never saw the young guy no more. They didn't even know his name.
This is a little long and this is not all of it.
You may read the first part here, if you like.
The Push: February 11, 1940
By Joe Bruffy
After two days of forced marching and hitting small pockets of resistance, the Company came to a small bombed out village that had been held by a company of SS German soldiers. They had traveled approximately 50 miles through mud and rain and without food except K rations. The commander, Captain Scott, ordered a rest stop.
Joe, John, and Tony found an old dugout cellar filled with moldy hay - at least it was dry.
They hung a wet blanket over the entrance, got out their K rations, built a small fire by burning the K ration wrappings, and with water from their canteens made themselves a cup of hot instant coffee. Joe opened a can of canned heat that come from K rations. He laid a piece of heavy string cut from his undershirt in the top of the can and with his trench knife pushed it in to a slit in the canned heat, lighting it with his cigarette lighter, and made a small candle. John had found three sugar beets somewhere along the way. The men cut them open and scrapped out the pulp with their trench knives. Tony said he had never eaten a better salad.
Orders came down from the C.P. for everyone to dig in for the night, that they were staying all night. Lt. Nolan came by and told them to put out a guard and stay where they were, that their position was as good as any place along the line.
Joe took the first watch, standing just outside the entrance. Tony and John went to sleep. Joe woke Tony up in four hours to relieve him, and he took Tony's bed. The night passed without action.
The next morning, Joe had contracted some type of a cold and was coughing and sneezing bad. He figured it was caused by sleeping in the moldy hay, but it caused an asthma reaction for years after that.
About 7 a.m. the Company kitchen had caught up with them and had sent up hot pancakes with apple butter and the kitchen Jeep. There were three pancakes to the man packed in clean garbage cans. John said he had never eaten better pancakes and he didn't know he loved apple butter so well, especially out of a garbage can.
That afternoon orders came down to get ready to move out; the Germans were driving out of France across the ziefrig line into Germany,and we were going in after them. After 3:30 p.m. the company moved out. Hitting some small resistance, accompanied by tank destroyers, they traveled approximately 60 miles.
The company had lost approximately 20 men wounded to K.I.A. on the advance. On the last 10 miles the going was very rough, as it had started snowing and had fell about four inches deep. Third squad had lost three men just before dawn. They had come out of the woods into a small meadow. There was a rock wall around the meadow.
Don Cory, the squad leader, gave orders to cross the meadow to the woods on the other side. The moon was in full and with the light snow it was like daylight. Joe told Don that it would be suicide to cross the meadow by going through.
Don said we haven't met anything in the last four hours. So in a staggered group of three they started across, Don and Spitler and Oads in the front, Joe, John and Tony were to follow, with McBeen and some others bringing up the rear.
After Don and the other two guys got approximately a third of the way across, John said let's go, but Joe said give them a little more time. No use all of us getting knocked off by STS. When Don was about half way across the Germans spotted them and opened up with 88 mortar artillery. All three of the first guys got hit.
After the artillery stopped they could see the three soldiers laying on the ground. By that time it had clouded up and began to snow heavy, plus it was beginning to get daylight. Joe told the others to go out one by one with five minute intervals. He would go first.
He came upon Spetzler, who was hit in the thigh. Motioning John to come on, they carried him to the other side. Don was dead, with a piece of shrapnel between his eyes. Oads was hit in the shoulder.
Joe motioned for the rest of the squad to come on. A couple of the guys got Oads, and Don's body was carried across by the rest of them. After getting across and giving Oads and Spetzler first aid the best they could, they finally located the platoon.
Joe got in touch with Lt. Nolon, and gave him an account of what happened. Lt. Nolan told Joe you are to take over the squad with the rank of staff sergeant. Joe said in no way will I be responsible for this squad. I have a hard enough time keeping myself alive, and I am not a glory hunter. After some cursing and raising hell, the Lt. sent Sergeant Clem Crawley out of the second platoon over to replace Don.
Sergeant Crawley was an old combat infantryman coming out of the 45 infantry and had seen lots of combat. He was a very soft spoken low key guy that never done anything without discussing it with Joe, John and Tony, as they were his three right hand men. The push continued on through the day without too many casualties and not too much excitement.
During the day several young replacements had been sent in to the Company. One, a young guy by the name of Bumgardner, was sent to the third squad. Clem put him under Joe's care. That night the Company was halted and told to dig in. About the time they started digging in the Germans opened an artillery barrage.
Bumgardner was helping Joe to dig a hole. The shells were hitting the trees and shrapnel and tree bursts were flying everywhere. Joe pulled Bumgardner down in a rootwall tree hole and waited until the shelling stopped. After a while it quieted down. They finished the fox hole and Bumgardner got sick and turned pale.
Joe asked him what was wrong and he said his left arm was numb. Joe split the sleeve of his field jacket from shoulder to wrist; Bumgardner's shirt and sweater was soaked with blood. Joe called the medic, who came and administered first aid. A piece of shrapnel had went through the bicep of his left arm. He was sent back to a field hospital and never did get back into combat.
After about 8 hours rest, the company was ordered to move out. They had now crossed the ziefreig line and was in German territory. The T.D.S. came up and the combat infantry was loaded on them and into Germany they started. After about ten miles they had caught up with the retreating Germans and a battle started.
Lt. Harris was hit in the legs with machine gun fire trying to cross a railroad. He was pinned down between the railroad ties. Ferrier, the little yankee boy from Brooklyn, zigzagged his way under heavy fire and pulled him back to safety. He was awarded the silver star. After several hours of heavy fighting and severe company losses on both sides, the Germans retreated. The CO gave orders to move out to the next village. The squad moved out without out incident, traveling about 20 miles. The company was halted for a rest and to eat K rations. The third squad stopped by an old barn. Everyone was worn out. The men all sat down, leaning against the wall of the barn.
Sergeant Crawley leaned his rifle against the wall and went to sleep. He slept for a while and woke up. He started to stretch out his legs and kicked his rifle; it fell down and accidentally went off, hitting him in the leg. The third squad never saw him no more after that. He had been a top notch sergeant. Again Lt. Nolan approached Joe, Tony and John, wanting one of them to take over the squad. All three refused.
The squad was kind of looked after by Lt. Nolan after that, without a squad leader. The three men kind of took the squad under their wing and it went along without a leader for a few days.
Finally Frezer was sent out of the second platoon to lead the squad; he led it until the end of the war. About the middle of March the snow was melting and spring was beginning to come; the apple trees and peach trees was in full bloom. They were in the Rhine River Valley and pushing on into the heart of Germany.
The company moved on to the top of a ridge. The third squad was on the extreme left, advancing up the hill. Just before getting to the top, they had hit some small arms fire. John and Joe were approximately 30 feet apart, crawling on their bellies. There was a small bush about one inch thick in front of John's nose, and he looked over at Joe and said he wondered how he was going to get around it.
When he turned his head back, the bush was gone. A German rifle bullet had cut it off at the top of the ground, and John went into one of his praying spells. After getting up the hill, the third squad dug in. A couple of young recruits not over nineteen was sent in to third squad as replacements. One of the young men was put with Joe, the other went with Tony.
Joe, knowing from past experience the first watch was the safest, put the young soldier on guard duty the first part of the night while he tried to get a couple hours of rest. After 12 o'clock he got up, and the young recruit laid down in the hole and went to sleep. About 2 a.m. the Germans opened up with 88 mortars and screaming mimmies. The shells were going over head as they did not have the range yet. The young recruit woke up and, hearing the shells and artillery, he went completely berserk and started out of the hole screaming.
Joe hit him in the jaw and got him quieted down. The young fellow sat sobbing. Joe went to the next hole to the phone, called the CO, he said to bring him down to the C.P. This was done by Joe and Tony; they never saw the young guy no more. They didn't even know his name.
Monday, November 10, 2008
A Good Day for the Nephew
My 17-year-old nephew shot his first buck on Saturday. He was using a muzzleloader.
While I hate to see the animals take a bullet, I also know that if they weren't hunted we would have no alfalfa left for the cattle.
The meat won't go to waste and so the deer won't have died for naught.
The nephew shot it in front of my house. I saw him kill it, as did his parents and one of his friends.
I am thankful he dropped it with one shot. It died instantly and there was no worry about having a wounded animal roaming the place.
This is not my favorite past time but I do recognize the importance of it to the hunters and the ecosystem, etc. But this is the time of the year when I wish I could afford a second house at the beach or something!
Saturday, November 08, 2008
Green Living
Today we went to the Green Living Expo at the Roanoke Civic Center.
While there are a lot of interesting things there, I was dismayed that it was all so expensive. Aside from changing out your light bulbs, everything costs thousands of dollars.
However, we don't want to make our house completely solar. There seemed to be this all-or-nothing mentality going on that I found disturbing.
We just want to run the well pump when the power is out. And if we could manage to take a few things off the power grid and run them all the time, so much the better.
That shouldn't entail a $16,000 solar panel. Not when we can run a battery for a fence charger off a tiny little solar panel. That is enough charge to zap a cow for thousands of feet. So surely there must be small solar panels that would run say, the dryer, that don't cost so much.
I am not an expert on these things, however, and the experts don't seem to want to deal with the small stuff.
We also have considered windmill power. But the new windmills again cost many thousands. We would prefer an old-fashioned type windmill, also, not a turbine. I think a windmill on the farm could be very useful.
The Green Living Expo had a lot of good exhibits; I don't mean to sound negative. It just didn't meet our needs very well at this time. I am sure that at some future date it will, when we are looking at different things.
Many websites dealing with homesteading and similar topics cover these items. They are generally out of the mainstream. I think the expo, which is of course attempting to make green living mainstream, has to be more "acceptable" at the present time. Some of the green items can be really out there.
While there are a lot of interesting things there, I was dismayed that it was all so expensive. Aside from changing out your light bulbs, everything costs thousands of dollars.
However, we don't want to make our house completely solar. There seemed to be this all-or-nothing mentality going on that I found disturbing.
We just want to run the well pump when the power is out. And if we could manage to take a few things off the power grid and run them all the time, so much the better.
That shouldn't entail a $16,000 solar panel. Not when we can run a battery for a fence charger off a tiny little solar panel. That is enough charge to zap a cow for thousands of feet. So surely there must be small solar panels that would run say, the dryer, that don't cost so much.
I am not an expert on these things, however, and the experts don't seem to want to deal with the small stuff.
We also have considered windmill power. But the new windmills again cost many thousands. We would prefer an old-fashioned type windmill, also, not a turbine. I think a windmill on the farm could be very useful.
The Green Living Expo had a lot of good exhibits; I don't mean to sound negative. It just didn't meet our needs very well at this time. I am sure that at some future date it will, when we are looking at different things.
Many websites dealing with homesteading and similar topics cover these items. They are generally out of the mainstream. I think the expo, which is of course attempting to make green living mainstream, has to be more "acceptable" at the present time. Some of the green items can be really out there.
Friday, November 07, 2008
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Thursday Thirteen: Dona Nobis Pacem
1. Let there be Peace now.
2. A hush all over the world.
3. Quietness inside that spills over
4. Into the heart and soul
5. Of every man, woman and child.
6. Let there be Peace now.
7. No division, no war.
8. No poverty and no pain.
9. May gratitude and love
10. Find each soul and swell it
11. Until only goodness and joy abide
12. If tears must fall, fill rivers
13. And let us all drink each other's sorrows.
Today is the Blogblast for Peace, which I have participated in before. I think it is always a good time to hope for Peace.
*Blogblast for Peace comes from Mimi Writes.*
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
Monday, November 03, 2008
Hmmm
I received in the mail a post card from a Toyota dealer for a service clinic.
The service clinic takes place in Houston, Texas.
I live in Virginia. Bought my car (which is a Toyota) in Virginia. Haven't been in Texas since I was 12 years old.
Also, the card, which I received on November 1, is only good from September 8 to September 30.
What is up with this?
Did someone really think I would drive to Houston for a $12.95 tire rotation and a complimentary car wash?
The service clinic takes place in Houston, Texas.
I live in Virginia. Bought my car (which is a Toyota) in Virginia. Haven't been in Texas since I was 12 years old.
Also, the card, which I received on November 1, is only good from September 8 to September 30.
What is up with this?
Did someone really think I would drive to Houston for a $12.95 tire rotation and a complimentary car wash?
Sunday, November 02, 2008
The Shelf Life of Yogurt
Yesterday afternoon I visited Hollins University, my Alma mater, for a panel discussion with Lee Smith, Jill McCorkle and Natasha Tretheway.
The event was a kickoff celebration of a $125 million funding campaign.
The university wants to use the money for scholarships, adding to the endowment, student items, renovating or replacing specific buildings, conservation easements, and funding day-to-day operations of the university.
The last time I attended a Hollins event with Lee Smith, Danae Science Building auditorium was packed. The alumnae panel with these authors was advertised as being in the DuPont Chapel which holds a great crowd.
When I arrived I found the event had been moved to the theatre. Turnout was quite low for such well-known Hollins alumnae writers. I was disappointed in that for I had hoped to see professors or other alumnae I know. Instead I saw no one.
The topic of the day was "Writing and Publication: When Art Meets Commerce."
Natasha Tretheway, a 1991 graduate of Hollins' master of arts in creative writing program, in 2007 received the Pulitzer Prize for her poetry. She presently teaches English at Emory University. Her take on the whole "money versus art" thing was that money cannot be the reason for writing, particularly if you are a poet.
Poets do not make much money. She cited figures of less than $5,000 for most of her books.
I have not read her poetry or heard her read her work, something I will rectify in the future. I know her dad, Eric Tretheway, who is a professor at Hollins, but not well. I never took a class from him so I am not a student he will remember.
I went to the panel to hear Lee Smith and Jill McCorkle talk. I have read both of these authors and have enjoyed their work.
Lee Smith graduated from Hollins in 1967. She has written 11 books. I read On Agate Hill this year; previously I have read Oral History, Saving Grace and Family Linen. I forgot to take my books with me so she could sign them.
Saturday was her birthday. I overheard her telling someone prior to the event that her birthday was really October 31, as she was born just a few minutes before midnight, but her mother begged the doctor to say her daughter was born on November 1. "No lady can ever be born on Halloween," Smith said.
She did not tell that story from the stage but did note that it was her birthday.
Smith has a great sense of humor and she's very enthusiastic about her writing. However, none of these writers were very enthusiastic about the future of the book nor were they encouraging about making a living as a book writer, especially a fiction writer.
She told a humorous story about how her work fell flat when she worried about the dollars. She once sent off to Silhouette for writers' guidelines and proceeded to attempt to create a romance novel. The book was set on Pawley's Island and featured an orphan (as required by the guidelines) and a dark and swarthy artist.
The book was rejected.
Jill McCorkle, likewise, said she feels her art suffers when she is writing under contract. She prefers to write the book and worry about selling it later. Smith nodded her head in agreement.
McCorkle graduated from Hollins' masters program in 1981. She has written five novels and I have read three: Carolina Moon, Tending to Virginia and Ferris Beach. She is currently on the faculty at North Carolina State University.
McCorkle said trying to write for money is definitely hit or miss. She likened the time period for a book to sell to be about the shelf life of yogurt. If a book doesn't make it in that short span, then it's pulled from the shelves and that's that.
I came away feeling a little wistful and a bit sad. Writing as art is always a lofty goal and I have attempted for the "art" title. However, writing as craft is more what I do. Those are two different things, I think. The first seldom pays and the latter pays some. Neither pays very well.
Which isn't to say the two aren't interchangeable; I think they are. Otherwise there wouldn't be that ever-present hope of being the next Lee Smith or Kurt Vonnegut. Or even the next Janet Evanovich, who, while more a craft writer, does have a little bit of art about her work.
It makes me sad that our society does not value intellect or ideas or the ability to write good story. For example, I have never understood why the actors, who would have no work without screenwriters, tend to come out ahead financially. Shouldn't it be the other way around?
The ability to tell a story should have value. We should encourage young writers. In this society that means writing must be a commodity because we are so market-based. The arts suffer under capitalism, perhaps because art cannot be calculated. It is ephemeral and subjective and the value in capitalistic terms then because incalculable. Apparently being incalculable makes you either priceless or worthless, depending on your point of view.
The event was a kickoff celebration of a $125 million funding campaign.
The university wants to use the money for scholarships, adding to the endowment, student items, renovating or replacing specific buildings, conservation easements, and funding day-to-day operations of the university.
The last time I attended a Hollins event with Lee Smith, Danae Science Building auditorium was packed. The alumnae panel with these authors was advertised as being in the DuPont Chapel which holds a great crowd.
When I arrived I found the event had been moved to the theatre. Turnout was quite low for such well-known Hollins alumnae writers. I was disappointed in that for I had hoped to see professors or other alumnae I know. Instead I saw no one.
The topic of the day was "Writing and Publication: When Art Meets Commerce."
Natasha Tretheway, a 1991 graduate of Hollins' master of arts in creative writing program, in 2007 received the Pulitzer Prize for her poetry. She presently teaches English at Emory University. Her take on the whole "money versus art" thing was that money cannot be the reason for writing, particularly if you are a poet.
Poets do not make much money. She cited figures of less than $5,000 for most of her books.
I have not read her poetry or heard her read her work, something I will rectify in the future. I know her dad, Eric Tretheway, who is a professor at Hollins, but not well. I never took a class from him so I am not a student he will remember.
I went to the panel to hear Lee Smith and Jill McCorkle talk. I have read both of these authors and have enjoyed their work.
Lee Smith graduated from Hollins in 1967. She has written 11 books. I read On Agate Hill this year; previously I have read Oral History, Saving Grace and Family Linen. I forgot to take my books with me so she could sign them.
Saturday was her birthday. I overheard her telling someone prior to the event that her birthday was really October 31, as she was born just a few minutes before midnight, but her mother begged the doctor to say her daughter was born on November 1. "No lady can ever be born on Halloween," Smith said.
She did not tell that story from the stage but did note that it was her birthday.
Smith has a great sense of humor and she's very enthusiastic about her writing. However, none of these writers were very enthusiastic about the future of the book nor were they encouraging about making a living as a book writer, especially a fiction writer.
She told a humorous story about how her work fell flat when she worried about the dollars. She once sent off to Silhouette for writers' guidelines and proceeded to attempt to create a romance novel. The book was set on Pawley's Island and featured an orphan (as required by the guidelines) and a dark and swarthy artist.
The book was rejected.
Jill McCorkle, likewise, said she feels her art suffers when she is writing under contract. She prefers to write the book and worry about selling it later. Smith nodded her head in agreement.
McCorkle graduated from Hollins' masters program in 1981. She has written five novels and I have read three: Carolina Moon, Tending to Virginia and Ferris Beach. She is currently on the faculty at North Carolina State University.
McCorkle said trying to write for money is definitely hit or miss. She likened the time period for a book to sell to be about the shelf life of yogurt. If a book doesn't make it in that short span, then it's pulled from the shelves and that's that.
I came away feeling a little wistful and a bit sad. Writing as art is always a lofty goal and I have attempted for the "art" title. However, writing as craft is more what I do. Those are two different things, I think. The first seldom pays and the latter pays some. Neither pays very well.
Which isn't to say the two aren't interchangeable; I think they are. Otherwise there wouldn't be that ever-present hope of being the next Lee Smith or Kurt Vonnegut. Or even the next Janet Evanovich, who, while more a craft writer, does have a little bit of art about her work.
It makes me sad that our society does not value intellect or ideas or the ability to write good story. For example, I have never understood why the actors, who would have no work without screenwriters, tend to come out ahead financially. Shouldn't it be the other way around?
The ability to tell a story should have value. We should encourage young writers. In this society that means writing must be a commodity because we are so market-based. The arts suffer under capitalism, perhaps because art cannot be calculated. It is ephemeral and subjective and the value in capitalistic terms then because incalculable. Apparently being incalculable makes you either priceless or worthless, depending on your point of view.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
Here We Go Again - Up in the Air
Two hot air balloons flew over our house this morning around 9 a.m.
The cows stampeded to the other end of the farm.
The balloonists were flying too low. They are supposed to be a certain height over the area and these fliers were not.
It is the "whoosh" of the propane gas burners that scares the cows. This noise like a dragon sets them off and they will run from one end of the farm and through the fence in order to get away from it.
My husband ran outside and began calling the cows to try to calm them. "Whooo cow... Whooo" he cried.
They were not reassured. They ran off like they had Satan on their heels. I took pictures of the low-flying hot air balloons which I will deliver to the Commonwealth's Attorney's office on Monday.
We also yelled at the balloonists. The balloon operators hit their burners and quickly went higher (where they should have been to begin with) and then the wind currents took them in another direction.
I know they heard us because I went up in a hot air balloon once. You can hear everything on the ground, even conversation at normal volume. Sound apparently travels up.
My husband jumped in the truck and went after the cows. They were on the other side of the farm, huddled in the corner at the fence. He had to fire up the tractor and take them a large round bale of hay to coax them out.
After my husband calmed the cows, we called the sheriff.
If the cows go through the fence or if one breaks a leg while running away from these balloons, we are the ones incurring the loss. Not these hot air balloonists. As it was it cost us time, gasoline and a bale of hay that we can ill afford in these times of drought.
Cows are not cheap. We have many thousands of dollars invested in these animals. I understand horses also go nuts at the sound of a hot balloon. I was told last year that one horse badly injured himself trying to jump out of its stall when a balloon went over.
One of the reasons this is so vexing is that if these people would go just 10 more minutes down the road, they could fly over thousands of acres of public National Forest land and not disturb anyone. With all of that National Forest you'd think they could find some place down that way to take off and land that did not inconvenience others. Not all of the National Forest is wooded; there are open fields.
This is the problem with the world today. Everyone is "hooray for me" and "screw you." I don't think for a moment that these balloonists care that they cost my husband an hour of his morning or that he is very upset.
We have had problems with a balloonist in the past. So this is not new, nor is this the first time we've filed a report. We know the drill and that is how I know to take my photos to the Commonwealth's Attorney.
If I were a hot air balloonist and I knew I had people yelling at me, when I landed and was able to locate a computer with the county's GIS on it, I would figure out who those landowners were and I would contact them and apologize. Even if I had to make several calls to get the right farmer.
However we have never had any contact with any of these balloonists and of course we don't have any way to know who they are. I think one of them operates a ballooning business here but I have never seen the multi-colored balloon before.
I wish people would think about their actions. Hot air balloons are lovely but like everything they have their place.
And that is not over a farm full of scared and frightened cattle.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Happy Halloween!
My great aunt and uncle’s home in West Virginia supposedly was haunted.
When I was a child, we would visit and I remember my mother talking about the strange things that happened in the old house.
She did not like to stay there.
My mind is misty as I try to recall these spooky stories. Legends tainted with the eye of an imaginative youngster can often take a turn otherwise unexpected. I lay no claim to the truth herein.
The trip to Canvas, West Virginia was a long trek through the mountains, over winding roads that threatened us all with carsickness. It was always a relief to emerge from the vehicle into the sweet West Virginia air.
The house sat back in a hollow, shaded by huge old trees. The yard was a children’s paradise, with rocks covered with moss and beech and sassafras trees from which we would strip the bark. It tasted sweet and was a treat to us urchins.
Inside, Aunt Helen was always baking. The place smelled like a heaven of bread and fried chicken. The food spilled off the table in great abundance the entire time we were there.
Uncle Carmen and my father spent their day together picking guitars, singing bluegrass until the late hour forced my mother to ask them to be quiet so we could all get some sleep.
I have a teasingly faint memory of the sounds of a banjo playing late at night. Maybe it was my uncle or my father – but both men play guitar and mandolin. As a young musician myself, I knew a banjo when a heard it.
I rose and went to investigate. I hit a creak in the stair and the music stopped. Something rattled, like the sheathing of paper. I slipped on down the steps, shivering in a sudden chill. When I cut on the lights, there was no one.
The next morning I asked Uncle Carmen at breakfast why he played his banjo in the dark. Aunt Helen’s spoon froze on the way to her mouth.
“I don’t play the banjo,” Carmen said. Out of all my visits to his house, those words are the ones I most remember.
They told me I had dreamed the sounds.
On another visit, a clock in the living room where I slept on the couch that had never worked started chiming for no reason at all, waking me up.
It struck thirteen.
Suddenly the pipes in the bathroom sang, rattled and moaned with a fierce desire that made my hair stand on end.
And the rocking chair at the far end of the room began to creak as it rocked.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Then the water in the bathroom just off the living room turned on. The faucet handles apparently moved all by themselves, sending a splash of cold water down the washbasin.
This was a lot worse than a banjo singing out in the night.
If you think I sprang out of that room and hightailed it into the guest room where my parents stayed, you would be right.
**This originally appeared on October 29, 2008 in The Fincastle Herald under my column, Country Crossroads.
When I was a child, we would visit and I remember my mother talking about the strange things that happened in the old house.
She did not like to stay there.
My mind is misty as I try to recall these spooky stories. Legends tainted with the eye of an imaginative youngster can often take a turn otherwise unexpected. I lay no claim to the truth herein.
The trip to Canvas, West Virginia was a long trek through the mountains, over winding roads that threatened us all with carsickness. It was always a relief to emerge from the vehicle into the sweet West Virginia air.
The house sat back in a hollow, shaded by huge old trees. The yard was a children’s paradise, with rocks covered with moss and beech and sassafras trees from which we would strip the bark. It tasted sweet and was a treat to us urchins.
Inside, Aunt Helen was always baking. The place smelled like a heaven of bread and fried chicken. The food spilled off the table in great abundance the entire time we were there.
Uncle Carmen and my father spent their day together picking guitars, singing bluegrass until the late hour forced my mother to ask them to be quiet so we could all get some sleep.
I have a teasingly faint memory of the sounds of a banjo playing late at night. Maybe it was my uncle or my father – but both men play guitar and mandolin. As a young musician myself, I knew a banjo when a heard it.
I rose and went to investigate. I hit a creak in the stair and the music stopped. Something rattled, like the sheathing of paper. I slipped on down the steps, shivering in a sudden chill. When I cut on the lights, there was no one.
The next morning I asked Uncle Carmen at breakfast why he played his banjo in the dark. Aunt Helen’s spoon froze on the way to her mouth.
“I don’t play the banjo,” Carmen said. Out of all my visits to his house, those words are the ones I most remember.
They told me I had dreamed the sounds.
On another visit, a clock in the living room where I slept on the couch that had never worked started chiming for no reason at all, waking me up.
It struck thirteen.
Suddenly the pipes in the bathroom sang, rattled and moaned with a fierce desire that made my hair stand on end.
And the rocking chair at the far end of the room began to creak as it rocked.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Then the water in the bathroom just off the living room turned on. The faucet handles apparently moved all by themselves, sending a splash of cold water down the washbasin.
This was a lot worse than a banjo singing out in the night.
If you think I sprang out of that room and hightailed it into the guest room where my parents stayed, you would be right.
**This originally appeared on October 29, 2008 in The Fincastle Herald under my column, Country Crossroads.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Thursday Thirteen
For today's Thursday Thirteen, I present a list of things I like to drink:
1. Irish breakfast tea (decaf)
2. Root beer
3. Coca Cola (decaf)
4. Water
5. English Breakfast tea (decaf)
6. Lemonade
7. Hot chocolate
8. Apple cider
9. Icees/Snow cones
10. Ginger tea
11. Ginger Ale
12. Gator Aid
13. Cranberry Juice
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here.
1. Irish breakfast tea (decaf)
2. Root beer
3. Coca Cola (decaf)
4. Water
5. English Breakfast tea (decaf)
6. Lemonade
7. Hot chocolate
8. Apple cider
9. Icees/Snow cones
10. Ginger tea
11. Ginger Ale
12. Gator Aid
13. Cranberry Juice
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Politically Pooped Out
Are you as tired of this election as I am?
I have stopped watching TV because I don't want to see the ads. I can't stand the smears, the attacks, the fear-mongering, the horrible warnings that doom is nigh.
Blech.
I have stopped commenting on some of the blogs I normally read because they've turned too political. I don't care about the cost of clothing or lobster dinners or who said what when where and how because none of that, not one little tiny iota of it, matters. Smoke and mirrors.
You will notice I have not mentioned a party. That's because I hold them both to blame. I dislike negative campaigns and campaign messages. Although I will say I see the negativity coming more out of the McCain camp. Obama has had a few positive commercials; they are always a relief.
I want to know what the person who wants my vote will do. I don't particularly care what he thinks his opponent will do. I can figure that out for myself, thank you very much. So positive messages always get my attention while the negative ones simply turn me off.
The negativity has corroded this campaign to the point where I am looking at alternative candidates.
I am Miss American Moderate, and frankly neither one of these candidates meets my criteria for president. They both have their faults and they are pretty big faults in my mind. One comes a little closer than the other to being somewhat what I think I want in a president, and I lean in that direction. But the margin is so thin that a good third party candidate could send me sliding along without too much trouble.
Of course there isn't such a candidate, not in this media-led world. Not when the media wouldn't let a good third party candidate through, wouldn't give them the time of day, wouldn't move to make it a fair playing ground for someone not of their choosing.
I want a discussion about things that really matter, not emotional hot-button issues that in the long run have nothing to do with anything.
Some of the topics that need to be discussed are education, health care, jobs and job security, and care for the elderly. Those are issues that matter a great deal to me. There is not enough talk about any of them.
I don't care what religion someone is. I don't care what color they are. I don't care about his suit or her shoes or who said what when talking "off the cuff." I don't care if they are pro or anti or if they want to cut or raise my taxes. None of that matters to me. Those are all scare issues, big bad boogies used to make people think with their emotions and not use the logical part of their brain.
I don't worry about national security, either. We will always have an army and we already have enough stuff to completely destroy the world if we want. What more do we need?
What does matter? What do I want in a president?
Intelligence. I want someone who is smarter than most everyone, including myself. If I think I can beat that person in chess then he or she has no business running for president. I want someone super sharp. MENSA material.
Affability. I want someone who knows how to handle people, from the very rich to the very poor. Someone who has compassion and empathy and the ability to make decisions based on the best information.
Class. I want someone who can meet with the best the world has to offer. Someone who doesn't throw up in the Japanese emperor's lap or faint or hug the German prime minister or squeeze the boob on the queen or feel up Josephine Sixpack. Someone who knows why there are two forks on the table and how to handle his or her soup spoon. Someone who knows the difference between a Monet and the black velvet painting of the dogs playing poker and has an appreciation for both.
Listening ability. I want someone who will listen. Someone who will listen not only to his or her advisers but also to the public. Someone who will hear and understand the issues that you and you and I face every day. Someone who will hear and then act with dignity, intelligence and compassion.
*Independent. I want someone who has the strength to break away from the corporations and the lobbyists. Someone who is beholden to no one and nothing except the U.S. Constitution.
*Respects my Civil Rights. That includes not listening in on my phone calls or reading my emails.
I honestly don't understand this need to have someone in office who is "just like me." I don't think I could run the country so why would I want someone just like me making the effort?
I want only the very best running this country. The best president and the best in Congress. Not the person who best pushes my emotional hot buttons but the person who will best ensure that the playing ground is fair and even and that those who are in need have a little bit of a helping hand because one day that person in need could be you or you or me or your mother or my father.
I want the highest office in the land to be held by a person who thinks things through and comes up with the best solution to the problem, not the most partisan solution to the issue.
I would elect Jesus but he isn't running. I don't think he could get on the ballot in this country anyway.
My disenchantment is such that I may not even vote for president. I might just let that one go unmarked.
This will be my only rant on the elections, so feel free to come back tomorrow for the regular farm and freelancing stuff.
I just had to get that off my chest.
*I added these about 8 hours later, after sleeping on it and realizing I hadn't put them in.
I have stopped watching TV because I don't want to see the ads. I can't stand the smears, the attacks, the fear-mongering, the horrible warnings that doom is nigh.
Blech.
I have stopped commenting on some of the blogs I normally read because they've turned too political. I don't care about the cost of clothing or lobster dinners or who said what when where and how because none of that, not one little tiny iota of it, matters. Smoke and mirrors.
You will notice I have not mentioned a party. That's because I hold them both to blame. I dislike negative campaigns and campaign messages. Although I will say I see the negativity coming more out of the McCain camp. Obama has had a few positive commercials; they are always a relief.
I want to know what the person who wants my vote will do. I don't particularly care what he thinks his opponent will do. I can figure that out for myself, thank you very much. So positive messages always get my attention while the negative ones simply turn me off.
The negativity has corroded this campaign to the point where I am looking at alternative candidates.
I am Miss American Moderate, and frankly neither one of these candidates meets my criteria for president. They both have their faults and they are pretty big faults in my mind. One comes a little closer than the other to being somewhat what I think I want in a president, and I lean in that direction. But the margin is so thin that a good third party candidate could send me sliding along without too much trouble.
Of course there isn't such a candidate, not in this media-led world. Not when the media wouldn't let a good third party candidate through, wouldn't give them the time of day, wouldn't move to make it a fair playing ground for someone not of their choosing.
I want a discussion about things that really matter, not emotional hot-button issues that in the long run have nothing to do with anything.
Some of the topics that need to be discussed are education, health care, jobs and job security, and care for the elderly. Those are issues that matter a great deal to me. There is not enough talk about any of them.
I don't care what religion someone is. I don't care what color they are. I don't care about his suit or her shoes or who said what when talking "off the cuff." I don't care if they are pro or anti or if they want to cut or raise my taxes. None of that matters to me. Those are all scare issues, big bad boogies used to make people think with their emotions and not use the logical part of their brain.
I don't worry about national security, either. We will always have an army and we already have enough stuff to completely destroy the world if we want. What more do we need?
What does matter? What do I want in a president?
Intelligence. I want someone who is smarter than most everyone, including myself. If I think I can beat that person in chess then he or she has no business running for president. I want someone super sharp. MENSA material.
Affability. I want someone who knows how to handle people, from the very rich to the very poor. Someone who has compassion and empathy and the ability to make decisions based on the best information.
Class. I want someone who can meet with the best the world has to offer. Someone who doesn't throw up in the Japanese emperor's lap or faint or hug the German prime minister or squeeze the boob on the queen or feel up Josephine Sixpack. Someone who knows why there are two forks on the table and how to handle his or her soup spoon. Someone who knows the difference between a Monet and the black velvet painting of the dogs playing poker and has an appreciation for both.
Listening ability. I want someone who will listen. Someone who will listen not only to his or her advisers but also to the public. Someone who will hear and understand the issues that you and you and I face every day. Someone who will hear and then act with dignity, intelligence and compassion.
*Independent. I want someone who has the strength to break away from the corporations and the lobbyists. Someone who is beholden to no one and nothing except the U.S. Constitution.
*Respects my Civil Rights. That includes not listening in on my phone calls or reading my emails.
I honestly don't understand this need to have someone in office who is "just like me." I don't think I could run the country so why would I want someone just like me making the effort?
I want only the very best running this country. The best president and the best in Congress. Not the person who best pushes my emotional hot buttons but the person who will best ensure that the playing ground is fair and even and that those who are in need have a little bit of a helping hand because one day that person in need could be you or you or me or your mother or my father.
I want the highest office in the land to be held by a person who thinks things through and comes up with the best solution to the problem, not the most partisan solution to the issue.
I would elect Jesus but he isn't running. I don't think he could get on the ballot in this country anyway.
My disenchantment is such that I may not even vote for president. I might just let that one go unmarked.
This will be my only rant on the elections, so feel free to come back tomorrow for the regular farm and freelancing stuff.
I just had to get that off my chest.
*I added these about 8 hours later, after sleeping on it and realizing I hadn't put them in.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Halloween Facts
BOO!
Some Halloween factoids for your edification and amusement. These came from the U.S. Census Bureau in a press release. I put my own twist on the information.
Halloween observances date back thousands of years to Celtic rituals.
The day is associated with witches, ghosts, devils and hobgoblins. Not to mention presidential politics, pillowcases and pumpkin pails.
In the U.S., the first official citywide Halloween celebration occurred in Anoka, Minn., in 1921. (That's a long time for something that is thousands of years old to have government sanction.)
There are 36 million potential trick-or-treaters in the United States (that's kids age 5 to 13).
They could hit about 110.3 million houses if they visited every home. (That's a lot of bellyaches!)
The pumpkin-producing states produced 1.1 billion pounds of pumpkin in 2007. Illinois produced the most with 542 million pounds. Other top producers are California, New York and Ohio - those states produced at least 100 million pounds of pumpkin.
All of those pumpkins were valued at $117 million.
Here are some scary-sounding place names:
Transylvania County, N.C. (29,984 residents) - the major drink is red in color, of course.
Tombstone, Ariz. (population 1,562) - plus several hundred ghosts.
Pumpkin Center, N.C. (population 2,228) - where they eat a lot of pie.
Pumpkin Bend, Ark. (population 307) - where they toss a lot of pie.
Cape Fear in New Hanover County, N.C. (15,711) - where they people often tremble.
Cape Fear in Chatham County, N.C. (1,170) - where the people often shake and quake.
Skull Creek, Neb. (population 274) - where the headless horseman roams.
In 2006 there were 1,170 chocolate and coca product manufacturers. They employed 39,457 people and shipped out $13. 9 billion in goods (I ate my share.).
California has the most chocolate and cocoa manufacturing plants: 128, followed by Pennsylvania with 116. And here I thought Hershey, PA had the most.
There were 473 non-chocolate making candy facilities in the U.S. in 2006. These factories employed 18,733 people and shipped $7.2 billion worth of goods that year. California again led the nation with 72 establishments. I guess this would be gum and hard candy.
This is why I am fat: Americans ate 24.5 pounds of candy in 2007.
Some Halloween factoids for your edification and amusement. These came from the U.S. Census Bureau in a press release. I put my own twist on the information.
Halloween observances date back thousands of years to Celtic rituals.
The day is associated with witches, ghosts, devils and hobgoblins. Not to mention presidential politics, pillowcases and pumpkin pails.
In the U.S., the first official citywide Halloween celebration occurred in Anoka, Minn., in 1921. (That's a long time for something that is thousands of years old to have government sanction.)
There are 36 million potential trick-or-treaters in the United States (that's kids age 5 to 13).
They could hit about 110.3 million houses if they visited every home. (That's a lot of bellyaches!)
The pumpkin-producing states produced 1.1 billion pounds of pumpkin in 2007. Illinois produced the most with 542 million pounds. Other top producers are California, New York and Ohio - those states produced at least 100 million pounds of pumpkin.
All of those pumpkins were valued at $117 million.
Here are some scary-sounding place names:
Transylvania County, N.C. (29,984 residents) - the major drink is red in color, of course.
Tombstone, Ariz. (population 1,562) - plus several hundred ghosts.
Pumpkin Center, N.C. (population 2,228) - where they eat a lot of pie.
Pumpkin Bend, Ark. (population 307) - where they toss a lot of pie.
Cape Fear in New Hanover County, N.C. (15,711) - where they people often tremble.
Cape Fear in Chatham County, N.C. (1,170) - where the people often shake and quake.
Skull Creek, Neb. (population 274) - where the headless horseman roams.
In 2006 there were 1,170 chocolate and coca product manufacturers. They employed 39,457 people and shipped out $13. 9 billion in goods (I ate my share.).
California has the most chocolate and cocoa manufacturing plants: 128, followed by Pennsylvania with 116. And here I thought Hershey, PA had the most.
There were 473 non-chocolate making candy facilities in the U.S. in 2006. These factories employed 18,733 people and shipped $7.2 billion worth of goods that year. California again led the nation with 72 establishments. I guess this would be gum and hard candy.
This is why I am fat: Americans ate 24.5 pounds of candy in 2007.
Monday, October 27, 2008
5 Things
Sweetfluttersby had this meme and since I am trying to write every day in my blog but sometimes I am brain dead I thought I would give this a shot.
So here goes! Feel free to do it yourself. Or not.
5 Things Found In My pocketbook
my checkbook
business cards
ink pens
those little cards you have to have to get the discounts at various stores
Chapstick
5 Things I would do today if I could
take a nap
eat chocolate
take a long walk in the woods
spend time with my husband
spend time with a friend
5 Things I love about my life
my husband
my work
my surroundings
my extended familyl
my friends
5 Things I’ve Always Wanted To Do
travel to Ireland and Scotland
write a novel!!!!!
have a child
go back into the past and meet my many-great grandparents
know that I mattered
5 Things I enjoy the most
my husband
reading
writing
silence
music
So here goes! Feel free to do it yourself. Or not.
5 Things Found In My pocketbook
my checkbook
business cards
ink pens
those little cards you have to have to get the discounts at various stores
Chapstick
5 Things I would do today if I could
take a nap
eat chocolate
take a long walk in the woods
spend time with my husband
spend time with a friend
5 Things I love about my life
my husband
my work
my surroundings
my extended familyl
my friends
5 Things I’ve Always Wanted To Do
travel to Ireland and Scotland
write a novel!!!!!
have a child
go back into the past and meet my many-great grandparents
know that I mattered
5 Things I enjoy the most
my husband
reading
writing
silence
music
Sunday, October 26, 2008
On Writing, Sort Of
I cannot remember when I decided I wanted to "be a writer" as my life's work.
Maybe when I started reading and discovered the joy of story. Or perhaps it was because my teachers always told me I could write and that it was what I should pursue.
It seems to me like I have always wanted to write.
It has not been easy. My parents were sure that writing was not a real career and encouraged me to look elsewhere.
I remember when I was about 11 I told my mother I would grow up to write for the weekly paper. Only I would do it better, I said. I don't know about the "better" part but that is indeed what I have grown up to do.
I never wanted to write for the daily and aside from a several articles about graduations in the last 1980s and features in the now-defunct Neighbors section, that did not happen.
These days I write the equivalent of at least a book a year, only it's in articles that cover local government.
I wanted to write poetry for a while, and so I did. I published a few pieces but nothing substantial.
I wanted to write fiction and I have published a very few short stories.
Several unfinished novels lie on my shelves or buried in drawers. I have never been able to settle on a genre. I like to read mysteries, sort of, mainstream fiction, and fantasy.
Growing up I thought I would write a children's mystery series a la Nancy Drew. Then I wanted to write Gothic novels like Phyllis Whitney or Victoria Holt.
It would be nice to come up with a savvy character like Stephanie Plum but I don't seem to have that ability.
Surely I could come up with a story about a small town, with a small town hero in a small town world. That is what I know.
I learned in school and by studying other writing all about plot and pacing, characterization, denouement, delighting and destroying. I learned to write about what I know and I had it drilled into my head to SHOW DON'T TELL.
I can do all of that if I can find the time. Or I used to be able to.
Sometimes I think that maybe I have a way with words but no ability to tell a story. This is something I've wondered about for a while now.
Or maybe I simply don't have the time to spend on a long piece, since I am so busy writing short articles in order to pay the bills.
I have read Dorthea Brande's Becoming a Writer, John Gardner's On Becoming a Novelist, Brenda Ueland's If You Want to Write and Zinser's On Writing Well, along with many other books about writing, both as a way of life and as craft.
These books all fired me up and I generally sat down and pounded out ... something... after reading them. Who knows what the something was.
There are many days when I feel like my creativity has taken a back seat to the work of writing. Can one find art in a government meeting, after all? Where is the joy and delight in a turn of phrase when one is writing about supervisors and town council meetings or upcoming elections?
I think so, actually. Sometimes the magic of living, of watching the public's work being performed before my eyes, makes my heart dance with wonder. I don't know that this is conveyed to the reader, but I try sometimes, if I have the time.
I often don't have the time for flourishes of phrase, however. Deadlines loom. Laundry must be folded. Work work work work.
I wonder will I ever write that piece of fiction? Will I ever finish my fantasy book, my story of magic? Will my mystery ever move beyond Chapter 2?
Maybe when I started reading and discovered the joy of story. Or perhaps it was because my teachers always told me I could write and that it was what I should pursue.
It seems to me like I have always wanted to write.
It has not been easy. My parents were sure that writing was not a real career and encouraged me to look elsewhere.
I remember when I was about 11 I told my mother I would grow up to write for the weekly paper. Only I would do it better, I said. I don't know about the "better" part but that is indeed what I have grown up to do.
I never wanted to write for the daily and aside from a several articles about graduations in the last 1980s and features in the now-defunct Neighbors section, that did not happen.
These days I write the equivalent of at least a book a year, only it's in articles that cover local government.
I wanted to write poetry for a while, and so I did. I published a few pieces but nothing substantial.
I wanted to write fiction and I have published a very few short stories.
Several unfinished novels lie on my shelves or buried in drawers. I have never been able to settle on a genre. I like to read mysteries, sort of, mainstream fiction, and fantasy.
Growing up I thought I would write a children's mystery series a la Nancy Drew. Then I wanted to write Gothic novels like Phyllis Whitney or Victoria Holt.
It would be nice to come up with a savvy character like Stephanie Plum but I don't seem to have that ability.
Surely I could come up with a story about a small town, with a small town hero in a small town world. That is what I know.
I learned in school and by studying other writing all about plot and pacing, characterization, denouement, delighting and destroying. I learned to write about what I know and I had it drilled into my head to SHOW DON'T TELL.
I can do all of that if I can find the time. Or I used to be able to.
Sometimes I think that maybe I have a way with words but no ability to tell a story. This is something I've wondered about for a while now.
Or maybe I simply don't have the time to spend on a long piece, since I am so busy writing short articles in order to pay the bills.
I have read Dorthea Brande's Becoming a Writer, John Gardner's On Becoming a Novelist, Brenda Ueland's If You Want to Write and Zinser's On Writing Well, along with many other books about writing, both as a way of life and as craft.
These books all fired me up and I generally sat down and pounded out ... something... after reading them. Who knows what the something was.
There are many days when I feel like my creativity has taken a back seat to the work of writing. Can one find art in a government meeting, after all? Where is the joy and delight in a turn of phrase when one is writing about supervisors and town council meetings or upcoming elections?
I think so, actually. Sometimes the magic of living, of watching the public's work being performed before my eyes, makes my heart dance with wonder. I don't know that this is conveyed to the reader, but I try sometimes, if I have the time.
I often don't have the time for flourishes of phrase, however. Deadlines loom. Laundry must be folded. Work work work work.
I wonder will I ever write that piece of fiction? Will I ever finish my fantasy book, my story of magic? Will my mystery ever move beyond Chapter 2?
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Thursday Thirteen
1. A two lane highway
2. North and South
3. A house .... cannot stand.
4. Cells
5. Black and White
6. Right brain and left brain
7. Israel and Palestine
8. East and West
9. Blue and Red
10. 50 (x) 2 = 25
11. Good and Bad
12. ... we fall.
13. Republicans and Democrats
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here.
2. North and South
3. A house .... cannot stand.
4. Cells
5. Black and White
6. Right brain and left brain
7. Israel and Palestine
8. East and West
9. Blue and Red
10. 50 (x) 2 = 25
11. Good and Bad
12. ... we fall.
13. Republicans and Democrats
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Extended Family
Several people have commented on my extended family. I had not considered this unusual but apparently it is.
My mother's side of the family was rather prolific. She had a sister and four brothers. My grandmother had three sisters and two brothers. My grandfather had seven siblings. They all had children and their children have children.
Some of them had children when they were quite young and their daughters followed suit, making them grandparents at the age of 40. Before my grandmother passed away last year there were four generations living at the same time. And if you add in the fact that my great-grandfather's sister passed away earlier this year at 107, there were actually five generations going strong at once.
I think that is pretty remarkable.
Another thing is that the family history goes way back. The family settled here in the late 1700s. That's 200+ years of cousins.
In fact, my husband and I are 5th cousins, which we did not know when we married. His great aunt kept telling us we were kin but we didn't believe her until I did the family history thing about a decade ago.
I am kin to a great many people who have long roots in this valley.
The thing about family and knowing all of these people is that it doesn't happen by accident. Well, accident of birth, perhaps, but it takes a little time and effort to get to know all of these folks.
I have gone out of my way to meet distant cousins. Sometimes we click and stay in contact, sometimes we don't. When we do I am grateful.
My Christmas card list is about 50 families large. If nothing else I stay in touch this way. I don't do the long letter thing but instead I generally hand write a note in each card. It is a short note but it's personal.
I do not know my father's people very well. They do not live here and I don't see them. That is a post for another day.
My great aunt's funeral is this afternoon. I have a ton of work and I really don't have the time to do the family get-together afterwards, but I will.
Relationships are more important than work. Family is more important than anything the money I earn can buy.
I don't know how we have managed to let this slip away from us. We need to bring it back. We need those connections with aunts and cousins. We need family, all of us.
May you find family wherever you are. The world is what you make it.
My mother's side of the family was rather prolific. She had a sister and four brothers. My grandmother had three sisters and two brothers. My grandfather had seven siblings. They all had children and their children have children.
Some of them had children when they were quite young and their daughters followed suit, making them grandparents at the age of 40. Before my grandmother passed away last year there were four generations living at the same time. And if you add in the fact that my great-grandfather's sister passed away earlier this year at 107, there were actually five generations going strong at once.
I think that is pretty remarkable.
Another thing is that the family history goes way back. The family settled here in the late 1700s. That's 200+ years of cousins.
In fact, my husband and I are 5th cousins, which we did not know when we married. His great aunt kept telling us we were kin but we didn't believe her until I did the family history thing about a decade ago.
I am kin to a great many people who have long roots in this valley.
The thing about family and knowing all of these people is that it doesn't happen by accident. Well, accident of birth, perhaps, but it takes a little time and effort to get to know all of these folks.
I have gone out of my way to meet distant cousins. Sometimes we click and stay in contact, sometimes we don't. When we do I am grateful.
My Christmas card list is about 50 families large. If nothing else I stay in touch this way. I don't do the long letter thing but instead I generally hand write a note in each card. It is a short note but it's personal.
I do not know my father's people very well. They do not live here and I don't see them. That is a post for another day.
My great aunt's funeral is this afternoon. I have a ton of work and I really don't have the time to do the family get-together afterwards, but I will.
Relationships are more important than work. Family is more important than anything the money I earn can buy.
I don't know how we have managed to let this slip away from us. We need to bring it back. We need those connections with aunts and cousins. We need family, all of us.
May you find family wherever you are. The world is what you make it.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
More Autumn 2008
The photos I posted Sunday were actually taken in Craig County. It's a higher elevation and the trees turned more quickly there.
I took these pictures yesterday during a short walk on the farm. These better represent the colors where I live. I don't think they are quite as lovely as the trees in Craig but perhaps they will be in a few days.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Up In Heaven
I am sad to report that my Great Aunt Susie passed away last night around 10 p.m.
She was living at The Oaks in Salem, where she has stayed for nearly the last two years.
Aunt Susie's real name was Alma Bryant. We called her Susie and she told me not long ago that the reason she had that nickname was because of a double date she and my grandmother went on. The two gentlemen insisted on calling my grandmother Rosie (her name was Melba) and Alma "Susie".
The names stuck and forever after they were known as Rosie and Susie.
Susie was 88 years old. She never had children but instead raised her husband's brood. His wife has passed away and Susie took over as substitute mom.
Those folks were all grown by the time I came along. She babysat me for a while. The first time I took my husband over to see her, she insisted he go in the dining room and look at the window sill.
I had cut my teeth on the wood and left marks where I gnawed on it. She loved to tell me the story of how I climbed up on a chair and stood looking out, chewing on the window, and how she found me. How she enjoyed sharing that story with my fellow.
As I grew from toddler to child, Aunt Susie's house was a wonder. She and my Uncle Carl spent a lot of time at auctions. They collected things like salt and pepper shakers, dolls, and model cars. There was always so much to see when you visited that you didn't know where to start.
All of her things were sold when she moved to the retirement community, including her home. She mourned that terribly. She had spent about 60 years there and the place had become a part of her. I can't imagine how hard it would be to give up all of those memories, particularly when you're not quite ready to do so.
My mother and Aunt Susie had a special bond. After my mother passed away I started visiting Aunt Susie more often. As she grew more frail I visited more frequently.
I always took her apples from Ikenberrys' Orchards. She wouldn't eat apples from anywhere else.
I will miss my visits with my great aunt. She was the last of that generation. She was a wonderful woman and I know that when she went to heaven her husband Carl, my mother and my grandmother were all there to take her in.
I want to thank you, my readers, who have helped me with your words of comfort during this time. I have greatly appreciated the encouragement. Many blessings upon you all.
She was living at The Oaks in Salem, where she has stayed for nearly the last two years.
Aunt Susie's real name was Alma Bryant. We called her Susie and she told me not long ago that the reason she had that nickname was because of a double date she and my grandmother went on. The two gentlemen insisted on calling my grandmother Rosie (her name was Melba) and Alma "Susie".
The names stuck and forever after they were known as Rosie and Susie.
Susie was 88 years old. She never had children but instead raised her husband's brood. His wife has passed away and Susie took over as substitute mom.
Those folks were all grown by the time I came along. She babysat me for a while. The first time I took my husband over to see her, she insisted he go in the dining room and look at the window sill.
I had cut my teeth on the wood and left marks where I gnawed on it. She loved to tell me the story of how I climbed up on a chair and stood looking out, chewing on the window, and how she found me. How she enjoyed sharing that story with my fellow.
As I grew from toddler to child, Aunt Susie's house was a wonder. She and my Uncle Carl spent a lot of time at auctions. They collected things like salt and pepper shakers, dolls, and model cars. There was always so much to see when you visited that you didn't know where to start.
All of her things were sold when she moved to the retirement community, including her home. She mourned that terribly. She had spent about 60 years there and the place had become a part of her. I can't imagine how hard it would be to give up all of those memories, particularly when you're not quite ready to do so.
My mother and Aunt Susie had a special bond. After my mother passed away I started visiting Aunt Susie more often. As she grew more frail I visited more frequently.
I always took her apples from Ikenberrys' Orchards. She wouldn't eat apples from anywhere else.
I will miss my visits with my great aunt. She was the last of that generation. She was a wonderful woman and I know that when she went to heaven her husband Carl, my mother and my grandmother were all there to take her in.
I want to thank you, my readers, who have helped me with your words of comfort during this time. I have greatly appreciated the encouragement. Many blessings upon you all.
Books: Dance of the Gods
Dance of the Gods
By Nora Roberts
Copyright 2006
Audio Book 10 hours
Read by Dick Hill
This is part two of the Circle Trilogy by Nora Roberts.
The trilogy covers an apocalyptic moment between worlds as a vampire queen tries to take over this world and the world of Gaell. Six have gathered to stop the evil: Hoyt, Blair, Glenna, Cian, Larkin and Moria.
This is mostly Blair's story, and she is quite a Buffy the Vampire Slayer character.
Dick Hill does another great job of reading, although I wearied at times of the affected Irish accent. However, it went with the story so I mostly didn't mind it.
If you like magic and Buffy the Vampire Slayer you will probably like this trilogy, although Blair isn't featured much in the first one. The first one features Hoyt and Glenna, who are both sorcerers.
3 stars
By Nora Roberts
Copyright 2006
Audio Book 10 hours
Read by Dick Hill
This is part two of the Circle Trilogy by Nora Roberts.
The trilogy covers an apocalyptic moment between worlds as a vampire queen tries to take over this world and the world of Gaell. Six have gathered to stop the evil: Hoyt, Blair, Glenna, Cian, Larkin and Moria.
This is mostly Blair's story, and she is quite a Buffy the Vampire Slayer character.
Dick Hill does another great job of reading, although I wearied at times of the affected Irish accent. However, it went with the story so I mostly didn't mind it.
If you like magic and Buffy the Vampire Slayer you will probably like this trilogy, although Blair isn't featured much in the first one. The first one features Hoyt and Glenna, who are both sorcerers.
3 stars
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Remembering Aunt Ruth
Note to my readers:
This year has not been kind to my elderly relatives. My Great Aunt Susie lies near death in the nursing home. In the spring my Great Aunt Elsie passed away. Over the summer, I lost my Great Aunt Ruth.
This is a tribute to Aunt Ruth. It was published in the October 15 edition of The Fincastle Herald under my "Country Crossroads" column.
***
Remembering Aunt Ruth
Blueberry pancakes always make me think of my Aunt Ruth.
When I was a wee lass back in the late 1960s, she operated the Blue Jay Restaurant near Dixie Caverns.
On Sunday mornings, we’d pile into Mom’s blue Dodge Charger for the long drive. What a time of anticipation!
Aunt Ruth greeted us with a happy smile and her tinkling laugh. She joked with my parents and patted me on the head before kissing my brother, who sat in a high chair.
That’s because I was five years old and certainly too big for such a seat.
Once we were settled, Aunt Ruth handed out menus and asked us what we wanted to eat.
I always ordered blueberry pancakes.
They were exquisite kid-sized flapjacks, smothered with butter and covered with pure maple syrup. Plump juicy blueberries were cooked into the batter, not piled on top, just the way I like them.
Aunt Ruth was the cook, you see. And she must’ve made those pancakes with some kind of love to make them taste so good.
I don’t know how many Sunday mornings I spent eating Aunt Ruth’s blueberry pancakes. Maybe we went there for several years.
And then one night we went there for dinner.
My parents ordered fish – seems to me like maybe it was fish fry night – and when the time came, Aunt Ruth looked at me. “And what will you have, darlin’?” she said.
“Blueberry pancakes!” I announced.
Aunt Ruth broke out in a whoop. My father was not amused. “You will not have blueberry pancakes,” he said. He turned to my mother. “They’ll make her throw up this late at night.”
I am very sure that is what he said.
I pouted, a talent I believe I have outgrown. “I will not throw up, Daddy. I won’t!” I cried.
I imagine I was very endearing, sitting there with bows in my hair and a pretty little red dress on. I probably had tears in my eyes and everything.
Aunt Ruth laughed again. She was always laughing. “It’s no problem, I’m glad to fix them for her,” she said over my father’s protests.
When dinner came out, there they were. A stack of piping hot blueberry pancakes, made especially for me.
I was in heaven. I even remembered to say thank you to Aunt Ruth before I dove into my special treat.
Aunt Ruth surely had other customers and many other things to cook on those times we visited, but I remember her checking on us frequently. She always asked my mother about my grandfather, who was Aunt Ruth’s brother, and she followed up on other family members. The place might have been overflowing with people to feed but she always found time to spend with us.
My great aunt, Ruth Harris Morris, passed away on August 24, eight years to the day that my mother died. I now have double reason to mourn at that particular time of year.
Aunt Ruth lived a long and bountiful life. She had hardships and tears but she seemed to find more laughter and joy in the world than anyone else I know.
She had a family, my cousins, whom I am sorry to say I barely know, who she loved and pampered and cared for up until the end.
I saw her last in July at the family reunion, an annual affair she had insisted on for the last 15 years. She looked frail and she told me she thought it wouldn’t be long before she went on to be with Uncle Ted and my mother.
“When you eat blueberry pancakes, you be sure to think of me,” she told me before I left, because she remembered what I liked to eat, too.
I will never forget you, Aunt Ruth, or the wonderful kindnesses you paid to a small child who loved your fluffy blueberry pancakes.
This year has not been kind to my elderly relatives. My Great Aunt Susie lies near death in the nursing home. In the spring my Great Aunt Elsie passed away. Over the summer, I lost my Great Aunt Ruth.
This is a tribute to Aunt Ruth. It was published in the October 15 edition of The Fincastle Herald under my "Country Crossroads" column.
***
Remembering Aunt Ruth
Blueberry pancakes always make me think of my Aunt Ruth.
When I was a wee lass back in the late 1960s, she operated the Blue Jay Restaurant near Dixie Caverns.
On Sunday mornings, we’d pile into Mom’s blue Dodge Charger for the long drive. What a time of anticipation!
Aunt Ruth greeted us with a happy smile and her tinkling laugh. She joked with my parents and patted me on the head before kissing my brother, who sat in a high chair.
That’s because I was five years old and certainly too big for such a seat.
Once we were settled, Aunt Ruth handed out menus and asked us what we wanted to eat.
I always ordered blueberry pancakes.
They were exquisite kid-sized flapjacks, smothered with butter and covered with pure maple syrup. Plump juicy blueberries were cooked into the batter, not piled on top, just the way I like them.
Aunt Ruth was the cook, you see. And she must’ve made those pancakes with some kind of love to make them taste so good.
I don’t know how many Sunday mornings I spent eating Aunt Ruth’s blueberry pancakes. Maybe we went there for several years.
And then one night we went there for dinner.
My parents ordered fish – seems to me like maybe it was fish fry night – and when the time came, Aunt Ruth looked at me. “And what will you have, darlin’?” she said.
“Blueberry pancakes!” I announced.
Aunt Ruth broke out in a whoop. My father was not amused. “You will not have blueberry pancakes,” he said. He turned to my mother. “They’ll make her throw up this late at night.”
I am very sure that is what he said.
I pouted, a talent I believe I have outgrown. “I will not throw up, Daddy. I won’t!” I cried.
I imagine I was very endearing, sitting there with bows in my hair and a pretty little red dress on. I probably had tears in my eyes and everything.
Aunt Ruth laughed again. She was always laughing. “It’s no problem, I’m glad to fix them for her,” she said over my father’s protests.
When dinner came out, there they were. A stack of piping hot blueberry pancakes, made especially for me.
I was in heaven. I even remembered to say thank you to Aunt Ruth before I dove into my special treat.
Aunt Ruth surely had other customers and many other things to cook on those times we visited, but I remember her checking on us frequently. She always asked my mother about my grandfather, who was Aunt Ruth’s brother, and she followed up on other family members. The place might have been overflowing with people to feed but she always found time to spend with us.
My great aunt, Ruth Harris Morris, passed away on August 24, eight years to the day that my mother died. I now have double reason to mourn at that particular time of year.
Aunt Ruth lived a long and bountiful life. She had hardships and tears but she seemed to find more laughter and joy in the world than anyone else I know.
She had a family, my cousins, whom I am sorry to say I barely know, who she loved and pampered and cared for up until the end.
I saw her last in July at the family reunion, an annual affair she had insisted on for the last 15 years. She looked frail and she told me she thought it wouldn’t be long before she went on to be with Uncle Ted and my mother.
“When you eat blueberry pancakes, you be sure to think of me,” she told me before I left, because she remembered what I liked to eat, too.
I will never forget you, Aunt Ruth, or the wonderful kindnesses you paid to a small child who loved your fluffy blueberry pancakes.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Thursday Thirteen
1. What is the allure of Facebook? I started setting up a page but I don't get the point of it. The thing won't let me see anyone else's page even if I'm signed in, I guess because I'm not their "friend". But I'd like to look first to see if I want to be their "friend". What is the point here?
2. Why does David Letterman wear white socks and slippers with a $1,000 suit?
3. Why is it that when I am not dressed up and I just run into the grocery store for a single item, I see 10 people I know, all of whom want to stop and chat?
4. How many licks DOES it take to get to the Tootsie Roll Center of a Tootsie Pop? I remember licking one and counting when I was a child but I don't recall the number.
5. How lucky is it for the four-leaf clover if you find it and pick it?
6. Same goes for the rabbit... how lucky is that rabbit if you've cut off its foot?
7. If Trix are for kids, are Frosted Flakes for grown ups?
8. If banks are receiving billions to shore them up, will that money eventually be loaned out to citizens? Is this another part of the trickle down economic theory?
9. If you are a vendor and you see a rat in your establishment and you don't set a trap or put your food up out of the way, or at least report it to somebody, how is that the building owner's fault? Don't you as a businessperson have a little responsibility for ensuring the safety of what you feed the public?
10. If you are a multi-million dollar retirement community and you can't pay your bills, how is handing everything over to another company going to fix anything or reassure the residents that they aren't going to end up in the street?
11. If you wear blue all the time, does that make it your favorite color by default?
12. Why are little Styrofoam pieces called peanuts? And why does my vitamin company ship me a tiny little bottle in a too-large box full of the things?
13. Why do some people always feel the need to question everything?
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here.
2. Why does David Letterman wear white socks and slippers with a $1,000 suit?
3. Why is it that when I am not dressed up and I just run into the grocery store for a single item, I see 10 people I know, all of whom want to stop and chat?
4. How many licks DOES it take to get to the Tootsie Roll Center of a Tootsie Pop? I remember licking one and counting when I was a child but I don't recall the number.
5. How lucky is it for the four-leaf clover if you find it and pick it?
6. Same goes for the rabbit... how lucky is that rabbit if you've cut off its foot?
7. If Trix are for kids, are Frosted Flakes for grown ups?
8. If banks are receiving billions to shore them up, will that money eventually be loaned out to citizens? Is this another part of the trickle down economic theory?
9. If you are a vendor and you see a rat in your establishment and you don't set a trap or put your food up out of the way, or at least report it to somebody, how is that the building owner's fault? Don't you as a businessperson have a little responsibility for ensuring the safety of what you feed the public?
10. If you are a multi-million dollar retirement community and you can't pay your bills, how is handing everything over to another company going to fix anything or reassure the residents that they aren't going to end up in the street?
11. If you wear blue all the time, does that make it your favorite color by default?
12. Why are little Styrofoam pieces called peanuts? And why does my vitamin company ship me a tiny little bottle in a too-large box full of the things?
13. Why do some people always feel the need to question everything?
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
A Phone Company Puzzler
Let's say you're a nTelos customer and you're calling long distance within the same area code.
The call doesn't go through.
You try again numerous times. Occasionally you get through but just as frequently you do not. Sometimes the phone doesn't ring but someone eventually picks up.
Hello? Hello?
You respond but they can't hear you so they hang up, of course.
Now, who do you report this to?
In the old days you would have dialed 0 for operator and reported the problem. You told the operator what problem you were having. She said thank you very much and told you she would take are of it.
So now you call your phone company.
Your phone company (nTelos) says sorry, it's not on our end. You need to call the phone company that services that area.
Like you know what company that is.
Fortunately the helpful nTelos phone company people figure this out- it's TDS Telecom - and give you a number to call.
You call and attempt to make a report. After speaking to several people, the final helpful TDS phone company person says, essentially, so what do you want me to do about it?
Fix it?
He suggests putting in a "trouble ticket" but you don't know if that will cost the people you're trying to call anything, so you don't respond.
So what do you want me to do, he says.
You don't know. You are just calling to report that there is a problem. You aren't a telephone company repair person. You aren't even their customer.
A long time ago it didn't matter which company had the phone service (perhaps this was because it was all one big company) and you didn't have to turn into Sherlock Holmes to try to track down a phone number to report a problem.
Now you wonder, what exactly is the O for operator for? What does it do these days?
When you dial 0 in this day and age, what happens?
The call doesn't go through.
You try again numerous times. Occasionally you get through but just as frequently you do not. Sometimes the phone doesn't ring but someone eventually picks up.
Hello? Hello?
You respond but they can't hear you so they hang up, of course.
Now, who do you report this to?
In the old days you would have dialed 0 for operator and reported the problem. You told the operator what problem you were having. She said thank you very much and told you she would take are of it.
So now you call your phone company.
Your phone company (nTelos) says sorry, it's not on our end. You need to call the phone company that services that area.
Like you know what company that is.
Fortunately the helpful nTelos phone company people figure this out- it's TDS Telecom - and give you a number to call.
You call and attempt to make a report. After speaking to several people, the final helpful TDS phone company person says, essentially, so what do you want me to do about it?
Fix it?
He suggests putting in a "trouble ticket" but you don't know if that will cost the people you're trying to call anything, so you don't respond.
So what do you want me to do, he says.
You don't know. You are just calling to report that there is a problem. You aren't a telephone company repair person. You aren't even their customer.
A long time ago it didn't matter which company had the phone service (perhaps this was because it was all one big company) and you didn't have to turn into Sherlock Holmes to try to track down a phone number to report a problem.
Now you wonder, what exactly is the O for operator for? What does it do these days?
When you dial 0 in this day and age, what happens?
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
$516,000 and climbing
So what is $516,000? That's the debt per household that we're currently carrying thanks to the Bush administration's efforts to bankrupt the country.
Individually, then, for a household of four, that's over $129,000. That number, by the way, takes in most everything. Some estimates say the debt per capita (individually - what you and I would fork over) is $32,000 but that doesn't include full numbers. I also suspect these are both low numbers because I daresay the numbers the public actually hears are the right ones. I don't believe anything the government tells me these days, and that includes its debt figures.
Anyway, whatever the number, do you have thousands just laying around to hand over to pay for poorly planned wars, Wall Street bailouts, and tax breaks to the oil and gas companies?
I didn't think so. If I managed my household like this administration has managed finances, then we'd be declaring bankruptcy. Is that what is happening, do you think?
I don't know. I'm no economics major. I just know I have XX coming in and if I don't have it in the bank I don't spend it. I don't need the latest doohickey or thing-a-ma-bob. So I think the government doesn't really need the big boy toys it buys up either, all those bombs and bombers and tanks and all that other stuff that makes up the Pentagon budget. That's because we don't really need to be out making wars. We just need enough for defense and I think we have plenty for that.
We have 305.4 million people in this country. My calculator won't even go as high as this debt. Neither, apparently, would the national debt clock in New York, which was taken down so they could add another number to the trillions in debt that with which this administration has saddled you and me and our children.
If the people who own this debt (whoever that may be) suddenly said, pay up, I wonder what would happen? Would they come knocking on our doors asking for the pocket change? Would they say, no, I don't care if your mortgage is paid for, we own your house now? We own your roads and everything else. Go on now, there's the soup line.
Is this coup by paper?
Bill Clinton, for all his faults, didn't leave us looking for soup lines. I did well under Clinton. Maybe it was just timing and he had nothing to do with it, but give me the 1990s and Blue Dress Gate over what's happened since 2000 any day.
Here's an interesting note:
"For every dollar a Democratic president has raised the national debt in the past 63 years Republican presidents have raised the debt by $2.84."
Almost triple the debt.
How about this:
"Debt has been on a steady incline ever since the Reagan presidency. The only exception to the steep increase over the last 30 years was during the Clinton presidency, when he brought spending under control and the debt growth down to almost zero."
Or this:
"At no time since 1945 when Republicans have been in total charge of both elected branches of government have they ever reduced spending."
I do not understand how people can vote against their own economic well being. Maybe someone can explain that to me. Are those single issues that emotionally compelling?
I do not believe for one moment that this great country cannot get a hold of its budget. I think with thoughtfulness and prudent use of time, money and resources we can get out of this hole. But will it happen in my lifetime?
I am not so sure.
FDR, where are you?
Individually, then, for a household of four, that's over $129,000. That number, by the way, takes in most everything. Some estimates say the debt per capita (individually - what you and I would fork over) is $32,000 but that doesn't include full numbers. I also suspect these are both low numbers because I daresay the numbers the public actually hears are the right ones. I don't believe anything the government tells me these days, and that includes its debt figures.
Anyway, whatever the number, do you have thousands just laying around to hand over to pay for poorly planned wars, Wall Street bailouts, and tax breaks to the oil and gas companies?
I didn't think so. If I managed my household like this administration has managed finances, then we'd be declaring bankruptcy. Is that what is happening, do you think?
I don't know. I'm no economics major. I just know I have XX coming in and if I don't have it in the bank I don't spend it. I don't need the latest doohickey or thing-a-ma-bob. So I think the government doesn't really need the big boy toys it buys up either, all those bombs and bombers and tanks and all that other stuff that makes up the Pentagon budget. That's because we don't really need to be out making wars. We just need enough for defense and I think we have plenty for that.
We have 305.4 million people in this country. My calculator won't even go as high as this debt. Neither, apparently, would the national debt clock in New York, which was taken down so they could add another number to the trillions in debt that with which this administration has saddled you and me and our children.
If the people who own this debt (whoever that may be) suddenly said, pay up, I wonder what would happen? Would they come knocking on our doors asking for the pocket change? Would they say, no, I don't care if your mortgage is paid for, we own your house now? We own your roads and everything else. Go on now, there's the soup line.
Is this coup by paper?
Bill Clinton, for all his faults, didn't leave us looking for soup lines. I did well under Clinton. Maybe it was just timing and he had nothing to do with it, but give me the 1990s and Blue Dress Gate over what's happened since 2000 any day.
Here's an interesting note:
"For every dollar a Democratic president has raised the national debt in the past 63 years Republican presidents have raised the debt by $2.84."
Almost triple the debt.
How about this:
"Debt has been on a steady incline ever since the Reagan presidency. The only exception to the steep increase over the last 30 years was during the Clinton presidency, when he brought spending under control and the debt growth down to almost zero."
Or this:
"At no time since 1945 when Republicans have been in total charge of both elected branches of government have they ever reduced spending."
I do not understand how people can vote against their own economic well being. Maybe someone can explain that to me. Are those single issues that emotionally compelling?
I do not believe for one moment that this great country cannot get a hold of its budget. I think with thoughtfulness and prudent use of time, money and resources we can get out of this hole. But will it happen in my lifetime?
I am not so sure.
FDR, where are you?
Monday, October 13, 2008
Blue Blue Blue
I'm sad tonight.
I just received word that my great aunt is failing fast. Poor Aunt Susie.
She is the last of that generation. When she passes, the aged will be - I suppose they are - my mother's brothers and sister and her cousins.
And then it will be me.
Death is hard and we don't do it well in this country. We don't honor it or accept it as a part of life. We fight it and flail against it. It seems to me we act like it's a dirty bad thing that means someone has done something wrong.
Three days to mourn and then get back to work. What is up with that?
All we do is grow old, or be in a car wreck or a war or do something perfectly normal and there you are, choking on a pickle. And death finds you and takes you, whether you are ready to go or not.
Tomorrow is my parents' wedding anniversary. It is also the anniversary of my first date with my husband. The former ended tragically, with my mother passing away of pancreatic cancer at the age of 56. She was only days away from divorcing my father when she moved on to the other side. Their last 10 years of marriage were bitter and fraught with angst. I have always thought the stress of it added to her early grave.
Aunt Susie is my mother's aunt, my grandmother's sister. When I visit with her I always think of my mother, who I guess will be waiting to greet Aunt Susie when her times comes.
I suppose it is natural then for me to be thinking of my mother tonight, too.
But I don't want to think morose thoughts, not when I still need to write a column for the paper, and it needs to be something... well, not morose.
So here is my happy thought:
I am so thankful for my husband, who 26 years ago was a single fellow and completely unaware that he was about to meet me and so have his life turned upside down and backwards.
He is such a wonderful man. It brightens my mood just to think of him. He is warm and sweet, caring and kind. And strong and sturdy and everything any princess could ever want in a shining white knight.
I am so grateful.
I just received word that my great aunt is failing fast. Poor Aunt Susie.
She is the last of that generation. When she passes, the aged will be - I suppose they are - my mother's brothers and sister and her cousins.
And then it will be me.
Death is hard and we don't do it well in this country. We don't honor it or accept it as a part of life. We fight it and flail against it. It seems to me we act like it's a dirty bad thing that means someone has done something wrong.
Three days to mourn and then get back to work. What is up with that?
All we do is grow old, or be in a car wreck or a war or do something perfectly normal and there you are, choking on a pickle. And death finds you and takes you, whether you are ready to go or not.
Tomorrow is my parents' wedding anniversary. It is also the anniversary of my first date with my husband. The former ended tragically, with my mother passing away of pancreatic cancer at the age of 56. She was only days away from divorcing my father when she moved on to the other side. Their last 10 years of marriage were bitter and fraught with angst. I have always thought the stress of it added to her early grave.
Aunt Susie is my mother's aunt, my grandmother's sister. When I visit with her I always think of my mother, who I guess will be waiting to greet Aunt Susie when her times comes.
I suppose it is natural then for me to be thinking of my mother tonight, too.
But I don't want to think morose thoughts, not when I still need to write a column for the paper, and it needs to be something... well, not morose.
So here is my happy thought:
I am so thankful for my husband, who 26 years ago was a single fellow and completely unaware that he was about to meet me and so have his life turned upside down and backwards.
He is such a wonderful man. It brightens my mood just to think of him. He is warm and sweet, caring and kind. And strong and sturdy and everything any princess could ever want in a shining white knight.
I am so grateful.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Friday, October 10, 2008
Younge in Roanoke
Remember I told you Gary Younge from the Guardian in the UK is here?
Read this important story on the lengthening bread lines.
Read this important story on the lengthening bread lines.
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