Auld Lang Syne

pagennewyearLately my words have failed me, not because I have nothing to say, but because when I sit down to write my thought, my mind wanders.

The concept of Auld Lang Syne for instance.  Recently I reconnected with a friend from my distant past.  Distant past! From two or three lifetimes ago.  Sue was a woman that I spent countless hours with in my youth.  We talked, we exercised, we had babies, we ate, we commiserated, we loved one another.  Life and I think the need of both of us to remove our selves to new worlds interfered.  We both moved, we both divorced, we both remarried, I divorced again, and had another daughter. We lost our connection.

When I finally found her on Facebook I was hesitant to reach out, would she remember me?  It had been over thirty years, all four of our children were grown, we were now grandmothers, no longer those immortal children of our early twenties.

We both had continued to live, both to grow, both to love, and had new friends, new lives, far apart from one another, in years, life styles, and distance.

But I messaged her, and waited, for about a week.  I was a tad anxious, would she still want to know me?

And then her message came.  And then a phone call. and we laughed, we chatted. I cried a bit on my side, so happy to hear from that beautiful friend.  I admit to stalking her Facebook page whilst I waited, and I was so relieved to know that her infectious smile was still the same.  And now we are making plans to spend a weekend reconnecting.

So what is the point of this ramble?  Although lifetimes pass, and we make new and beloved friends, create new families, new adventures, we can go home. And our home always lives in our hearts.

Happy new year to my friends, new and old.  I love you all!friendship

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The Fourth Marches On!

Happy fourth everyone. 

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Our country, well, we are so diverse.  We are a people made of the cultures, beliefs and history of  many.  We have a great deal of goodness to focus upon,  so at this time I will.

Happy Fourth of July.  Celebrate this honest holiday with pride and faith!

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Soldiers one and all

Animals War exhibition

Lest we forget to honor all who have served, and will serve;  to protect us all.

Thank you!

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

Time for a Wagon

Time for a Gypsy Wagon

Please take some time to check out my new endeavor!tyger voyage

Am I wrong

bohimean

 

A comment to John the other day.  “My favorite people are really weird!”    It is true.  With other souls who have a skewered outlook on living I am the most comfortable, the most at home.

Freedom

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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

 

 

 

 

 

 

Previous Older Entries

Tilly Evan Jones

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