Day 22 And Day 23

I am just grateful these days.  Grateful for the opportunity to cocoon in my home, to live surrounded by the “things” I love.  I am grateful for John’s warm heart that love me.

And I am thankful  for Parker dogs scent…really.

I am thankful for Orange Cat patrolling our outside for the dastardly mice and hope he is thankful for his heated home in the garage.

I am thankful we have no snow, I really don’t like snow.

I am thankful for our full freezer, and the gas in our cars, the heat in our buildings, our electricity, just every little thing I often take for granted.

Today I am grateful for thankfulness.thankfulness

A slight romantic tale of fiction

youngHer  name was Tirion. A Kale from Wales. Often she was confused with the Gypsy. But was not such. Tirion‘s  kind has always traveled in Britain, from before even the Celts traveled to Ireland to conquer and control. They are not Gypsy, They are, and will always be, Travelers.

Even so, they share much in common with the Gypsies, journeying from place to place, and share much with our United States country’s own native tribes. They were persecuted for their beliefs, and often found themselves hiding  survive. Survive they did. Making their way, moving from village to city to ocean to mountain to plain, working hard; using the strength of their minds and their bodies.

Her own Gran, my Gran many times past, had a sight, theoldwoman ability to see past the veils of this world into others, and could reach into the soul of another to understand and hear their hidden secrets. From her Tirion was passed these gifts, and with them, she made her own small living.cards

From her words to my Gran’s Mother to my Gran and to me, I heard this tale…

“We look to the other world for our spiritual delight. Mab, Queen of all the Fairies we call our own, and the Fairies we are cousin to. My ancestors danced with the Fairies on many a midsummer eve, and many a hallowed eve, ensuring our prosperity and comfort. Together we drew down the moon, and made the small magic’s that kept our world turning.

I can tell you many a tale of my five decades here on this earthly plane, tales of visits with my cousins, tales of time spent with this United States own native peoples, and tales of my travels, sorrows, and joy. But I will begin, with just the small beginning. To say how I came to this vast and wonderful land of ours, this Western glory.

My Ma; as a Lass, came across the great ocean on a merchant ship bound from the port of Liverpool, in the year of 1825, headed to a port of New York City. Her passage was paid by a grand and fine Lady, and for this Lady my Ma fetched and carried, helping to achieve all of the fuss and froofa that great Ladies must have.

Her private time was little, but one fine morning she happened above decks, to stand with the salty breeze blowing through her hair, and the feel of the sun on her face. A swell rocked the deck, and she tumbled, crying out in alarm.

sailor in mastNow above her was the man who would be my Da, a Traveler as well, who had hired on the ship to earn his own safe passage to the Americas. He worked the sails, climbing up and down the masts, doing all those things that sailors do. Hearing her cry, he looked down, and saw her coppery curls glinting in the light, and her slight form tumbled about the deck. And she, lying on that deck looked up into the sky and saw himself, sun-browned and lean, hanging above her.

Quickly he clambered down the mast, and rushing to her, helped her back on to her feet. Looking into one anothers faces they knew, with their souls that they  to be together.

Later that evening, my Ma once more crept above deck, to find Da, waiting, where her heart knew he would be. And thus I was created, and still to this day, I hold in my mind a connected memory of the sound and smell of salty waves rocking against the wooden sides of a ship, and the sight of stars shining down into the water.”

I blushed as my gran told me this story, and was thrilled to know of the love running in my veins.

gypsy wagon

Happy Birthday

linda22Happy Birthday to our irrepressible sister Linda.  I miss you.

I miss your goofy garage sales, your awesome car, your love of thrift stores.  I miss your love, your understanding, your heartfelt wish to make others happy.

I miss you as my confidant, second mother to my daughters, my happy-go-lucky camping companion.  You always made me laugh, and drew me into adventures to places and activities we maybe should not have gone.  Sarah still calls our camping weekends therapy weekends.  Not because they were therapeutic, but because Camping-Signshe swears she needs therapy for them to this day.

Before you passed, you told me that you would tell me what happens after and you did.  And you continue to send to me small little missives, like messages on a carrier pigeon. Sometimes just a smell, or a word I see written that brings your smile to my eyes, and your laugh to my ears.

Yesterday I was pulling some books from my shelf, and out fell a birthday card that you had created for me many years ago.  Were you reminding me that I need to prepare for your birthday, or just saying hey?  Once, in the middle of a snow storm in Minneapolis WMT blasted from my radio for just a minute.  What the heck, I had just been thinking of you.  And of course the dream  you sent shortly after you left. (the dream)  Previous File: jmTreeOfLife_1_10.psd Epson_2_05WP_720uni_2005_0411

I smell the scent of greenhouse flowers while driving down highways.  That started after as well.  I am not sure why I associate this with you but I surely do.

So yes, you have taught me, loved me, and I continue to cherish you.  I wish we could really talk, catch up, go thrifting, visit corny parks, and live in each others moments.   I miss that part of having you here.

Happy Happy Birthday my sister. Continue to enjoy your life beyond.

October 11, 1924

momasbabyOur Mother, Dorothy,  was born this day.

Happy Birthday Mom.  So many miss and love you.

fam

Mom’s 80th, still young.

I know our niece Shelly thinks of you every day, I believe she misses  you the most. 4 generations Cheri starts grieving about this time of year. but I know you are with her holding her hand.  Sandi Kaye has a broken heart. Sandy B I think has trouble believing you are gone, Dee is lonely for you, Richard just plain misses you and Steve grieves in his quiet fashion. I think our Linda is overjoyed that you are in Heaven with her, causing mayhem and hilarity.  Me, I am still befuddled, finally getting to know you now that you are gone.mom.cheriYthe kidsour daughters and sons, your grandchildren, your greats and your great greats, all miss you.

lovelymomIf you had been allowed, you might have been a hell raiser, in a good way.  You always had a hidden talent for mischief, and a glint in your eye.  I’m amazed the glint didn’t vanish after the life you lead as a youth, farmed out to an older husband at 16, lonely and isolated in the middle of nowhere Iowa, no amenities, just hard work and babies.  Your resilience was something else again, candling eggs, working in a nursing home, a bar, learning to make money and support your children when Dad passed.  I remember your learning to drive a car,  you were determined as you  headed into the ditch, but stopped in time.  Your red-headed Irish temper flared just a bit right then.

momsexymomTo this day I feel a surge of delight when I see make up samples, your days as an Avon rep have stayed with me always, with your blue case of wonders.mom

bernie momYou sure knew how to love your man, and you deserved more love than you might have received.   But you had moments of glory and happiness.

lindaI imagine you, with Linda, our sister, your daughter. You have both reconciled, you are fantastic evolved beings. I imagine you in a rocker, with a fluffy white kitten on your lap, or laying in the sun, turning a lovely copper.

I love and live for the sunshine. You taught your children that. Some cold days I turn my face to the sun and feel your warmth in my soul.  I imagine you are always in the warmth of glory these days.  You deserve to be, you deserve to rest.

beautifulmom

 

 

 

 

Freedom

children

children of the poor

Yesterday I watched a news story.  Women and children are coming to our boarders, believing that they will find freedom.  Believing in  the American Dream;  met at the border by rich US citizens, turned away, screamed at, disregarded as people.  We furiously protect what we have, forgetting where we got it!

Trail of Tears

We forget that our ancestors came from other countries; pushing out the native people who lived here.  In many cases with genocide.

We forget that our ancestors came, and lived in hovels, worked, scraped, struggled.  So that they could have the American Dream. We forget that they were scorned and terrorized, yet kept coming.  thp-ny-tenementWe forget where we came from.

This is not a treatise on immigration policy, I am not smart enough for that.  This is a call for understanding and love, for a return to our basic values of liberty and justice for all.  What are the words?

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

This is how most of us arrived here.  My great grandparents from Prussia and England with little, working their way here to the Midwest, coming to dream.

Today, everyday, remember and honor.liberty

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trains in the distance

train_plum_blossomsAs a small child I spent time with my Grandmother Schumacher in the summer.  Nights I slept on the couch, next to her dining room window, and listened to the train  whistle blowing as the train headed through Marengo.  I dreamed of  where the train could take me, the mystery of adventures I would enjoy.

Now what seems like a century later, near our house, across the road and past the swamp is a railroad track.  The sound comes through our open windows in the summer evening,; drifts across on the cold air, like wisps of ghostly sighs, in the winter.  The glory of it’s song wakes me in the evening, and I lay awake wondering where it is heading, who else is hearing its music.

During the day, I can see the train passing, cars heaped with coal, tankers with oil, corn syrup, flat cars holding massive equipment, and trailer cars with names like Evergreen, Pacific, Burlington,Hanji.  The train for all of it’s fundamental use is a magical mystery for me.  Graffiti adorns the sides of it’s cars, art from place and people unknown.

At times, the train stops on the tracks across the road, across that swamp, and its brakes chime a large sweet chime.  The first time I heard this, I thought perhaps fairy had broken through the veil, bringing song.

I am happy trains exist, transporting life.

 

 

 

The Second Saturday Strikes Again

Mara1625492_10152266100397490_1998179080_nAn occasional store…a communal setting of joy…a great time is had by all…Cookies…palm reading…great gifts to browse and buy…time with Ms. Mara!

Call this what you want, I am so happy Second Saturday exists.  225 water Street is a store filled with beautiful stuff, magical mosaics, kindred spirits, and just plain good conversation!  Not to mention a few ghosties that may float by and send a happy chill up your spine.

I met Mara years ago, during the days I still lived above 225 Water Street, the days that the store was an empty shell; dusty and waiting for positive nuturing.  I loved the building there, loved my time spent living there and dreamed that someday, someone, would come and brighten the space below me.  Little did I know the lady would also kick me out of my lofty tower.  Oh well, Life moves on, and I happily continue to be a part of the place, dusting the area with my own brand of human haunting!

225 Water Street, the home of the Tile Gypsies; those women who spend time quietly decorating the streets of Jordan with tiny little baubles and beauty.  225 Water Street, the home of happy friends!

Come ommpalmsut one and all, come out for the fun, come out for the joy.  Brush up against the spirit of old, and engage the spirit of new.

Have your palm read, eat a cookie, buy a gift.  Just come out for the fun!!!  Celebrate that Spring is near!http://www.knaresborough.co.uk/

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