Dare-ing to be Wright

Dare-ing to be Wright….Her father and brother left when she was small, and she felt a hole. She kept the rejection letter from her fiancé the rest of her life and it was among her things when she passed away.  She became the subject of a divorce trial, and she was not guilty of the affair she was so severely accused of.  The woman apologized later, but it had it’s stain on her life.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.  

Yes, they do.

Things matter.  Even years down the line, when we have left them behind, it matters.  The rejection letter, the congratulatory letter, the words spoken, whether they be mean or nice.  It matters.  The kids that were mean to me and became nice to me.  It matters.  Kindness goes a very long way.  

I have been swept up into the life of Dare Wright, because I always admired her Lonely Doll books. She was a pretty incredible person.  She lived outside the norm.  She appears to have been a person that lived in a dreamy world, a world of safety, whom the world touched with the prick of the needle and she fell asleep for 100 years.  

I do recommend “Dare Wright and The Lonely Doll,” a biography by Brook Ashley.  If you are a writer, if you are a photographer or an artist, or simply wish you were one, this book is a good read. 

The Bookmark

Have you ever had the need for a paper to mark your place? I’ve had a myriad of bookmarks, and I’m never finding one! They elusively redistribute themselves and I find them much later, hiding in some unobtrusive nook or cranny.

Anyway, I picked up a book, perhaps from a garage sale, an old Agatha Christie mystery, with Tommy and Tuppence Beresford. Amidst the mystery of Jane Finn, I glanced at the bookmark. A piece of yellow paper and the mystery—

Mind you, it’s been in the book for a few weeks now and I just read the 2”x4” card.

Suggestions? We could build a pretty good story line here!

Welcome 2021

It’s a challenge, this year.

This is my year. My year of retirement. I am on Day 16. The last 16 days have been very interesting…..maybe. By Day 14 I’d forgotten exactly what day it was! My spouse spouted that “you need a routine,” and I thought “gee, I thought I had one!” Guess not.

Slipping information in here, rather than in today’s title. Book Review! Author Review! I have taken up John Irving! What a great writer! Since August, I have read “A Prayer for Owen Meany” and now “Cider House Rules.” Oh the gleanings! If you know me at all, or if you do not, let me say that I take my reading to heart. I am a traveler, I love armchair travel, it’s definitely the cheapest way to fly!

I fell in love with the characters in Owen Meany. The guy ALWAYS SPEAKS IN CAPS LOCK. You know you’re involved when you start dreaming about the characters. While the entire book is worth reading, and all the characters are truly worth getting to know intimately (yes, see, I do get INVOLVED), my takeaway was Hester and her insistence in one scene, singing “Four Strong Winds.” Never heard of it! I YouTubed it. Oh my! I fell in love the the Neil Young version. And, watching Pegi Young sing. And it led me to more Neil Young. It lead to documentaries. It lead to reading about Pegi’s pain of divorce, and her passing, and I cry when I think of her. It also led me to the neilyoungchannel on YouTube. https://youtu.be/DP9UjLeLN5A

Then there is Cider House Rules. An abortionist. An orphanage. Characters who slowly come into your life, and into your heart. Surprises. Backtrack for a moment, I found a documentary on YouTube regarding the writings of John Irving and how he does it. He writes the last chapter first, and then begins. I have a great deal of respect for him, and other writers. You don’t just simply sit down and write a story. There is research, if you are going to do it right. John Irving does it right. https://youtu.be/_acnWf3Hmuo. I plan to watch the movie Cider House Rules, but I know it is different than the book. But John Irving had his hand and stamp of approval on it. My takeaway quote is a thought from the minor, but important, character, Melony, on page 453: What is hardest to accept about the passage of time is that the people who once mattered the most to us are wrapped up in parentheses. The page is forever dog-eared in my copy of this book.

Now my goal needs to be continued preparation for my own life, my own way. I am prepared with Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones, and still working on it. I read a chapter, I get inspired, then domestication takes over and the wild writer within has to take the background while I feed cats, take care of laundry, look at the books, worry about Medicare and the choices that need to be made (to quote my girlfriend “Getting old is not for the weak of heart,” but it sure beats the other saying “don’t get old,” because that doesn’t give us good odds on the alternative (or does it?).

Now, if we can survive until the pandemic has run it’s course, hopefully the vaccine will work out okay, and I sure hope there aren’t side effects! They are saying “I feel fine! I feel okay!” But that’s today. You just got the shot. It is an affirmation that things will be okay. For now. Like talcum powder, asbestos, or Round-Up, they worked until we realized, down the line, that there were consequences. But, that’s for down the line. Right?

I’m a grandma to grandchild #8. It’s a boy. His arrival to the outside world is scheduled tentatively for end of February. That’s 5 boys (1 in heaven), and 3 girls. Life is good, but it does get a little confusing sometimes. I enjoy the different personalities so very very much. My children are all good parents. They all work at enhancing their children’s lives and they all strive to make sure they have good character development. Their dad and I were much more liberal in getting them to make correct decisions, whereas I see that they take a different stance: oh no! Don’t even think it! Attitude with their own. Which is pretty healthy! I chose not to shelter, they chose to. Their dad and I had very sheltered childhoods. I wonder if this is cyclical.

And there you have my take on life, on this cold day in mid-January, here on the farm in upstate New York. Hopefully you will see more of me. I do have two other blogs here on WordPress: One is for photography (Photography by Kathleen) and the other is poetry (The Lopsided Poet). This is my most active blog, since it is more about the musings of Kathleen, which occur 24/7.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for Liking. Thank you for following. See you soon!

To Wales, with Love

My third and his first, we have made our first trip in retirement.

This stop, Wales, UK. Britain. The language was exciting, inspiring.

The lambs were adorable, they would jump and frolic, just like cartoon characters of my childhood!

The history was incredible, from Roman, to Medieval, Tudor and 18th century to today,

living the life of Matthews Street and the British Invasion revolution of innocent days when we were young.

The food and coffee houses were fantastic and the cuisine delicious!

And a little bit of wondering (just for fun, of course!)

But most of all, Wales was about people. People who connected with us on a daily basis. People we were introduced to, who welcomed us and made us feel special, but also accepted. For you I am truly grateful.

To David and Judith Rowe, we thank you from the depths within our hearts! To those you introduced us too, they made our trip a very welcome one to the country, Wales.

My heart belongs to you. I leave you to fly back to my home, but with a cushion around my heart, and my Daniel Owens book tucked in my bag, until next time.

Love, Kathleen

Learning Welsh

Waiting for Wales, 2018, it seems so far away!  Meanwhile, daily lessons and learning more history, and reading David Rowe’s books.

https://books.google.com/books?id=YenpBgAAQBAJ&pg=PT206&lpg=PT206&dq=david+rowe,+mold+wales&source=bl&ots=cn2u6Zv3Wv&sig=lTS_6qEMjkjZ_gCGtag17wAXr_k&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjF6uK1zeXLAhXKOiYKHWU3CIw4ChDoAQgiMAE#v=onepage&q=david%20rowe%2C%20mold%20wales&f=false

And learning Welsh with Will

The House at Riverton

The House at Riverton (author Kate Morgan)

I chose it, from the hospital cart in the lobby, for it’s title.  I was captivated by the book all the way through.  Kate Morgan plays her hand well.  While I was able to figure out one mystery, the climax of the story came almost at the end.  Very well written.

The story line regards a lady’s maid, a poor child, whose mother once was a maid at Riverton.  It unfolds almost immediately with our heroine’s fascination with the children who visit the manor.

The aspect I truly enjoyed is how the author can capture the heart of the old person.  The lesson for me is that I need to pay attention, everyone is special.

“I like Sylvia.  She’s one of the few people able to look beyond the lines on my face to see the 20 year old.”

“…time erases real lives, leaving only vague imprints.  Blood and spirit fade away so that only names and dates remain. “

This is a true to life (fiction) novel about the ending of Victorian ways and Edwardian times.  Anyone interested in reading about how life once was will enjoy this New York Times Bestseller.  Well done, Kate Morgan!

Journaling vs. Writing

Is there a difference?  I suppose there is, but it’s all that is inside just waiting to get out.  Whether you write about the boring subjects (self, as posted by one writer), or a mystical fiction book with suspense and/or action written all through it, it really is about SELF, and what happens inside of you, events that twist and turn your thinking around and develop story lines.

I am a writer of nonfiction.  I just cannot seem to develop the fictional story line, no matter how hard I try.  I love historical fiction, but lack the discipline to find out everything I need to find out about an era, the time and effort it takes to check and see if I can use famous names and/or places within my book, or do I have to change the names every time?

Benjamin Disraeli said, “When I want to read a good book, I write one.”  Amazing!  Astounding!  I wish I had said that!  Moreover, I wish I’d written that!  But I didn’t.

Ralph Waldo Emerson: “Lay this volume down.  You had better never see my essays than to be warped by their attraction out of your own orbit and made my satellite.”  Yet how many, including me, have become his satellite?  I think, what he did not realize, was the power he has, a master of words, to liven the soul, bring it out of the woodwork of my body, enlightening and challenging.

I’m encouraged, on a daily basis, to live to the best of my ability on this pale blue dot, Carl Sagan’s name for the planet, Earth.  We are here but a short while and we think we count.  We count to the generations living only about 100 years, beyond that we become merely a name with two dates separated by a hyphen.  Unless we are a ruler, an explorer with the backing of Spain, or a heretic, this is the only thing people will see on ancestry sites, and the pages that they carry to prove their worth, and that of me, a name that their seed comes from.

Live in the moment, for the moment, do the job you need to do in that moment, or relax, if that is what the moment deems.

Eat.  There is no chocolate in the grave.  Drink more milk, or your favored beverage of the gods.  Do both in moderation, for moderation is the key to our sustenance.

And while you photographers (finger points straight at you, while the thumb points right back at me) are out there preserving the memory, take the moment to reserve it in your mind.  Apples fall, make the applesauce while enjoying the moment of the work, cutting and cooking, and filling the jars, and remember this harvest and the activity and laughter in it’s creation, for this is the life we have.  It may be simple, it may be boring to another, but it is your life, and it is not boring to live it.  (For the sake of this article, I did NOT take any pictures, although my fingers were itching to do so.  Like a good book, we can place it in our minds eye and create it with our own imagination.)

Thoreauvian Thought for the Day

I read but little, but the least scraps of paper which lay on the ground, my holder, or tablecloth, afforded me as much entertainment, in fact answered the same purpose, as The Iliad.

Henry David Thoreau, Walden Pond

A Morning Walk

I decided to rise from my slumbering mode this morning to enjoy the morning air!  My morning writing, consisting of a handwritten letter to my daughter, needed posting, and I decided to walk it over.  I could have waited, yes, but I’m glad I didn’t.

I don’t know what I like more, the beauty of nature or her sounds.  I’m grateful I can take advantage of both!  

 The perfect fence adornment!

  Living the life in June, the peony and Queen Anne’s lace share  

  

 I sit this morning on my porch, the Robin sings (he’s the only one I really can remember, and the only one brave enough to hop across my lawn)–oh wait! I just heard the cardinal (but he eludes my vision).

It’s like eating breakfast with Ralph Waldo!  

The greatest delight which the fields and woods minister, is the suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable. I am not alone and unacknowledged. They nod to me, and I to them. The waving of the boughs in the storm, is new to me and old. It takes me by surprise, and yet is not unknown. Its effect is like that of a higher thought or a better emotion coming over me, when I deemed I was thinking justly or doing right.

 

The Fiction Writer

i cannot write fiction well.  I am a person of experience.  The books that flow through my mind go past my fingers and float back around my head, due to my own inopportunity to finding the facts, and the stories I need.  So, I have to stick to that which I know.  And the books continue to spin over my head like bees over honey.

Every now and then, I get suggestions of topics to address, from those with passions over particular issues or experiences.  I cannot comment (much) on another’s experience, I am on the outside looking in, only an observer.  

A writer needs inspiration, and the stories will flow, and flow nicely, rapidly, like the stream glancing over the rocks and moss, seeking its way to the larger water.  

So, while I have a glass jar of topics to write, until I have the information that I need, or the inspiration to flow through my fingers, the topic remains inside the jar.  

While I don’t need my dear friend, Emerson, to back me up, his Spiritual Laws has its place here.

Each man has his own vocation. The talent is the call. There is one direction in which all space is open to him. He has faculties silently inviting him thither to endless exertion. He is like a ship in a river; he runs against obstructions on every side but one; on that side all obstruction is taken away, and he sweeps serenely over a deepening channel into an infinite sea. This talent and this call depend on his organization, or the mode in which the general soul incarnates itself in him. He inclines to do something which is easy to him, and good when it is done, but which no other man can do. He has no rival. For the more truly he consults his own powers, the more difference will his work exhibit from the work of any other. His ambition is exactly proportioned to his powers. The height of the pinnacle is determined by the breadth of the base. Every man has this call of the power to do somewhat unique, and no man has any other call. The pretence that he has another call, a summons by name and personal election and outward “signs that mark him extraordinary, and not in the roll of common men,” is fanaticism, and betrays obtuseness to perceive that there is one mind in all the individuals, and no respect of persons therein.