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

I love a rainy day (Martin Machado “Drifters of Bristol Bay”)

tandeckithebirdsyet

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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.

 

 

 

Angels Among Us

triumph of the spiritI believe we have Angels, Spiritual Beings who walk among us in some form.  Perhaps in the guise of a young man giving help to a lost little child, helping her find her home.  Or and old woman, who beams her delight of life at us, her smile a  mission of joy.

Some Angels may be human, yet others are pure spirit, ether sent from God,  Spirit, with messages, gifts, protection, and guidance.

My guess is we never know when we will meet an Angel, or even if we have, so maybe it is a best idea to keep our minds and souls open. and pay attention to everyone around us.

Shaughn_logo0001I know a woman who speaks with the angels.  She works light, shifting goodness across the world with a glittery delight.  She does sacred work.

Shaughn is an ordinary woman, she works, she gardens,she loves animals,  and she laughs.  The difference is that she has given over a large part of her time for deliberate good.

She works with our Guardian Angels, if we so wish, to help us to understand our life, to help us hear the words, the messages, that our angels wish to send us; messages from our spirit, our sub conscious, our being, God.

I am  delighted that Shaughn has agreed to come to our next Second Saturday on May 11.   She is  positive goodness and spirituality.  Please contact me  and make your appointment to visit with Shaughn. appleblosclosehdr

Second Saturday

Life is a real hoot

Life is a real hoot

SECOND SATURDAY

When two friends get together and share delightful news, gossip, dreams, love and plans many great things happen!

When My friend Mara and I conspire over coffee, inventions are created, plans are laid, joy is shared and goodness is afoot!  Life is a hoot, so let’s have more fun  Come and join us at Second Saturday                                                I will be reading palms life is never hiddencrowbar

                                  Mara will be a most fabulous host

    Together we can add joy to your life with our selection of items to peruse   and just perhaps purchase for yourself or others.  Up-cycled art, clothing,  vintage items,

                             Mara’s  Magnificent Mosaics!

 Think Spring!  Think Gardens! Think Art! Think Friendship! 

                                                   Think Beginning!

 

Memories

   My friend from high school, Irene is a major proponent of memories, Irene was the most awesome girl I knew back then, she introduced me to LIFE.  She did things, knew people, and although she had her own problems, she continued to grow and live.  I missed Irene, and am so happy to have her back in my life through the medium of social networking. Reading her posts, looking at her pictures, I understand the full, active , and most important honored life she has lived.

I am part of a facebook page, postings of memories from people from my home town.  Reading them, I have an opportunity to remember my own past and in that way, reconnect with the little girl that left home in a head long rush towards freedom.  I love having the memories. Mine have not been so complete.  Memories can heal. After over four decades of forgetting, it is wonderful to begin to regain them.

Here are a few of my own;

The town square and stuffing myself on watermelon during watermelon days. and the best carnival a child ever did attend.

An easter egg hunt downtown, I won a silver dollar in a pink plastic box from Doctor Byram’s office.

My more than pitiable attempt at archery down by the old elementary, ( also remember a bad experiment with copper tone that day)

Comic books bought at the 5 and dime.

An equally pitiable attempt at golf in high school, I have never understood while we hit the balls toward the windows, did Ms Ahrens just know we would all miss?

Stumbling going up the steps during graduation and Bruce Robinson telling me I would be fine, (forever grateful for that  Bruce)

Walking miles on country roads

Canoeing at Hanon Lake.

Eating at the maid rite, french fries, cherry coke, and ketchup

My first pack of cigs at Old Style Tavern I was 12, they cost 20cents                         

Riding the square and honking horns

Just some memories….Love memories!

When I am old.

When I am old, I believe I will hibernate until spring thaws our land.  I will peek out my window and see the crystals forming in the air, then snuggle back, under my downy quilts, with a book, hot tea, and a warm fireplace.

My friends will come to call and try to cajole me to enjoy activity out-of-doors, dog sledding, snow shoeing, walking across crispy lakes.  I will say no.

Well perhaps if peppermint schnapps is included at the end of the snowy day, then I perhaps will agree.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ah Spring!

Yes I do believe in Spring!

Des is desirable

We have a marvelous friend, Des. (Some of you call her Peachy) Des is a dastardly pirate, Des is a rooten-tooten cowgirl, Des is a gentle spirit, and Des is a strong, strong woman.

Des lives in Oklahoma, in a comfortable home filled with old west memorabilia, piratey plunder,  pictures of her many friends, mementos of her incredible adventures and a lot of pink stuff.  She cracks me up with her multitude of personalities and interests.  The thing is, she does all of her interests fully, nothing partial for her.

Last year Des acquired a small pull behind camper, that she has named her pink armadillo.  At this writing she has spent the winter rebuilding the inside, complete with pink walls, a hand pump for water, screen doors, pretty curtains, and in general a lot of froo fra.  It fits her, and it is magnificent.  In the summer she will begin the outside, and personally I think we her friends must start a pink armadillo fund, so that she has all of the where with all to complete this amazing monstrosity!  Every highway needs a giant pink armadillo roaming its lines!

Des loves with all of her heart, and she is so easy to love in return.  She shines love from her eyes.  Des walks into a room of strangers, and leaves that room with life long friends!  My admiration for this talent of hers is unceasing.

We here in the snow packed plains of Minnesota miss her, and have not nearly the amount of time spent with her that we need for our own spirits growth.  Des brightens our lives and is an important person to have here on earth. Her desire to live life fully inspires us to fully live.

A small family of three

When I was quite young, back in the very early 70’s, I hitchhiked with a friend; Diana (a self proclaimed native princess from New Jersey)  all about the western states.     One  chilly afternoon found us on a deserted highway somewhere near Santa Fe.  Walking for hours, we  waved our thumb towards the occasional traffic.  The sky was getting darker, rain clouds building up.  Figuring that we were going to have to find someway to keep ourselves warm and dry, we settled into the top of a roadside ditch, pulling out our plastic parkas, putting on our warmest clothes.  “Maybe”, we said, ” if we just sleep through the night we will be okay by morning.”    As we were sitting, a pickup drove past, then, stopped and backed up to us.  Jumping up, we ran to the side of the truck and tugged open the passenger door.  A really big guy was in there; really big, with a smile that was even bigger.  “Jump on up in”  he hollered to us.  We looked at each other, eyebrows raised, then, with  a  mutual shrug, jumped on up in.

And headed down the road.  His music blared, and he sang along happily.  I noticed that his truck was equipped with a hand brake, and a few other gadgets I did not understand.  Seeing me looking, he turned down the music, and explained that he had lost the use of his legs in an accident years back.  Life would never stop this man, he was destined to move forward every day!   We eagerly conversed, riding through the storm, he with a great deal of interest, us with a sense of freeing relief, snuggled warm and safe in this giants cab.

This man, this stranger, took us to his home that night, fed us fried potatoes, coffee, and gave us a place to sleep, for no other reason, than friendship and the joy of giving.

Early in the morning he woke us up, apologizing for the early hours, and said he needed to show us something before dropping us at our next exit.  Piling back into the truck, we drove into the morning, stopping on a bluff, overlooking the city, and there watched, while sipping from his thermos of coffee,  enthralled, the sun rising with a glorious light, growing brighter with color and degree, until day had officially broken.

We were quiet, the three of us for the rest of the trip out to the main highway, us two women, continuing our journey, he, our new never  seen again brother, content.  We three had created a small family of the moment.  And all was complete.

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Tilly Evan Jones

“I want to think again of dangerous and noble things. I want to be light and frolicsome. I want to be improbable and beautiful and afraid of nothing as though I had wings.” ~Mary Oliver

Lost Creek

Old West Lore, Old West Leather, Chuckwagons, and More