FIREWORKS AND COTTON CANDY DREAMS

A series of essays.....

THE FOURTH OF JULY, 1955 STYLE ~ MISHAWAKA, INDIANA

.....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

Believe it or not, kids, there was a time when the world felt much larger than it does today. 

It was a time when we were merely passengers in the buckle-less back seat of Dad's powder blue, 1954 Chevrolet Bel Air, 2-door sedan. Family vacations meant spending hours together with our siblings, with no escape route (back doors), while watching the America of our youth pass by beyond the sleek, curved back windows. The car was everything to us. It defined freedom and mobility and took us to Church on Sunday, Pikes Peak in early August and back home again, and Grandma's house for Thanksgiving. Flying on a commercial plane was a luxury meant for the rich, the businessman, and, by 1958, jet-setters blazing new trails into the future.

THE 1954 CHEVROLET BEL AIR
~A TRUE CLASSIC~

Our compartmentalized youth showed us how to separate school and homework from social hour and playtime with friends. It helped us to appreciate the baked frozen fish sticks, canned green peas, and homemade mashed potatoes Mom placed in front of us for supper on Friday nights; back when we sat around the red and white, enamel and chrome dinette set as a family and talked. It always seemed we took advantage of playing harder on Saturday nights before having to scrub behind our ears and dress-up for Mass on Sunday morning! 

The illusion of freedom filled our heads and muddled our thinking because.....well, because we were kids and time had no limitations on our young, untamed imaginations. 

The story I'm going to tell you is about a special time during my youth that lingers in the positive compartment of my memory bank and is guaranteed to pop-up at this time each year. I recall feeling immensely blessed that on this one day out of the entire year we could witness one of the most spectacular shows created by man. And, all the while I'd be wishing I was a bird that could soar high above it all and witness its dramatic effects from that lofty position!

And, so it goes....

The small, white rental house crackled with excitement. Our anticipation was as palatable as a tall glass of icy-cold strawberry Kool-Aid on a hot summer's day. 

I especially like how happy this day makes my Mother because, even while issuing executive orders to my brother and me, she does it with a smile glowing across her sun-freckled face.

It is Monday, July 4, 1955, Independence Day, with all of the extra special treats of the day soon to be enjoyed in large gulps with memories savored and appreciated for the rest of the summer. 

~MY OLDER BROTHER, RON, AND ME.
TAKEN IN LONG BEACH, CALIFORNIA
BEFORE MOVING BACK TO INDIANA.~

I remember that our president is a man called Dwight D. Eisenhower. Dad said he is a smart man even though he is a Republican. Ronnie, my older brother, and I dance to a song on the kitchen radio called (We're Gonna) Rock Around The Clock by someone called Bill Haley and His Comets. Our parents are sure that this kind of "back beat" new music will never become popular but they let us listen to it anyway. We don't care. As long as our stocking feet can slide across the black and white, linoleum kitchen floor, we enjoy the freedom that the rhythm and beat give to us.

Dad will be home soon. He didn't have to work today. Filling the car, his baby, with gas and checking the oil level at the neighborhood gas station is the most likely reason for his absence. I like "his baby," too! Dad taught us to respect a car because it is almost as important as having a roof over our heads. Food is never consumed while in it and our "antsy little selves should never put our shoe-clad feet on the cloth seats, If we know what's good for us!" We understood that quickly enough.

You see, Mom doesn't know how to drive a car. I don't know why. So, I don't think she cares as much about them as long as Dad can take her places. Even if she wanted to learn, I don't think Dad would ever be her best teacher. 

Mom is in the kitchen creating a mobile feast for our picnic dinner to be consumed later while at the park. Oh, the park I'm talking about is called Potawatomi Park over in South Bend. We live on a street called Milburn Boulevard in Mishawaka, in the state of Indiana. All I know about it for sure is that the word Potawatomi is fun to say. Mom says that it is the name of the American Indian tribe that lived around here years ago and the people decided to remember them by naming the park after them. 

Ronnie and I are trying to wile away the daylight hours by bringing out the used Popsicle sticks we've painted and numbered as our favorite cars and drivers at the Indy 500 race. Dad just listened to the race on the radio while washing his car a few weeks ago. We've created a big oval and a start line and pretend we are the drivers of each car. Car Number 4 driven by someone named Bill Vukovich is set in a special place. Ronnie told me this driver never made it home.

I think I heard Dad pull into our driveway and Mom has everything neatly packed inside the  wicker basket. I hope there's some deviled eggs in there. They're my favorite picnic food!

Dad grabs the blankets, basket, and blue Coleman jug that holds pink lemonade inside with few ice cubes. Mom says that too many ice cubes can dilute the yummy lemonade and weaken the flavor. Even though it's warm outside, we're bringing long sleeved jackets and long pants for later when the mosquitoes decide it's time to feast on us at the park. Mom says I might be allergic to the nasty, little vampires because my skin swells up to twice the size around the area where they bite me. I try not to itch them but, I always do.

As we're pulling into Potawatomi Park, I think about the zoo, the oldest in the state of Indiana, and the public swimming pool that my brother and I can ride our bikes to in order to cool off in the summer. I think it costs us fifty cents apiece to get into the pool area. Mom says she'd rather be able to drive us there but has to learn to trust us, sometime. That makes me feel proud. Ronnie is a good brother and watches out for me, most of the time.

"LOOKING DAPPER"
TAKEN WHILE LIVING ON
MILBURN BOULEVARD

But tonight it's about the fireworks and Dad hoists me up onto his shoulders so that I can see the ones lower to the ground. I kind of remember them from last year like when they lit-up an American flag out of gigantic sparklers placed in a fence and it was really fun to see. Dad explains how some rockets fizzle and stay lower to the ground than others. I don't know if that's a mistake or not.

The crowd is large and full of happy, excited people as we watch the stars illuminate the sky above. Dad asks me not to get any pink, sticky sugar in his hair as I pull large tufts of cotton candy from the enormous blob of spun sugar sticking to the white paper cone. Heaven on a stick is what I call it! Mom and Dad munch from a small paper bag filled with caramel popcorn studded with peanuts. Ronnie has decided to dissolve blue cotton candy on his tongue turning it the deep blue color of the night sky. And, it's time for the show!

For almost.....forever, the sparkling colors shoot straight up into the sky only to gently fall back down in diminishing cascades of colored, floating chicken feathers that shift in the breeze until they're practically right above our heads. I found out last year that these feathers can be very hot and burn you when one landed on my arm. Dad calls them the dying embers that often linger as the fire-spewing rocket burns itself out.

When the fireworks begin to take on a life of their own and swiftly go off one right after another, the excitement that I feel gets stronger and stronger until the entire sky lights up like a magical sunrise. The trees in the park appear to come alive as their different forms and heights resemble a smoking dragon making its way across the horizon. It's called the grand finale and my stomach still feels the deep vibrations from the constant boom, boom, boom of the launching rockets.  

And, just like that, they are over. 

It's hard to see the people's faces through the lingering smoke. The breeze will take it away soon. Dad asks me if I want to walk back to the car and he pops me back off his shoulders and we become the crowd itself.

Ronnie somehow knows how tired I feel right now. He says it's a combination of looking forward to something so much, and then it's over. It leaves me breathless, sad, and tired, for sure. He looks over my way and gives me a smile as he grabs my hand and, side-by-side, we walk back to the car. Somehow the kindness he is showing me right now makes up for some of the 'behind the back' arm tucks and other dirty tricks he often gets away with.

It's time to go home to sleep and dream of cotton candy, fireworks, and what the rest of the summer will bring.....!

THE GRAND FINALE

Wishing everyone fond memories and a very happy Fourth of July Celebration!!!!

Copyright © 2017 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved

BLAME IT ON THE SUWANNEE!

A series of essays.....

CEDAR KEY, FLORIDA: TAKEN FROM GULF BLVD.
LOOKING AT INLET THAT FLOWS OUT TO GOOSE COVE

.....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

Imagine being the actor who, willingly, thrusts his hand into a glass box swarming with active mosquitoes? Now imagine two people who, voluntarily, begin an innocent trek up a dirt path in the Florida woods in search of the Shell Mound reportedly located along the gently rippling waters of the Suwannee Sound within the boundaries of the Cedar Keys National Wildlife Refuge.

Allow your imagination to go wild and you might even be able to feel their pain. Sans repellent, they continued on until nearly physically lifted above the ground by large clouds of thirsty mosquitoes...... A bit of an exaggeration. Maybe. You would had to have been there to understand their discomfort!

CEDAR KEY NATIONAL
 WILDLIFE REFUGE

LOOKING OUT TO THE
SUWANNEE SOUND

What on earth were we thinking?!? But, hey, I did manage to take several brilliant photos of this beautiful place inhabited eighteen hundred years ago by Native Cultures before running like an insane woman back to our Kia. Swatting the little vampires inside the car was truly a cardiac exertion and lasted until we hit the main road leading out of Cedar Key once again. I'm not sure if our tears represented pure pain or the laughter that swept over us as we traveled up the sun-dappled SR 24 that Sunday afternoon.

Heading east, we eventually picked-up Old Highway 27 and, taking it south towards Orlando, found ourselves driving through the town of Ocala. Our surprise find of the day (besides the hungry, malaria carrying mosquitoes) was an operable Drive-In Theatre now showing "Wonder Woman" and "Pirates of the Caribbean!" Who knew?

OCALA, FLORIDA ~ JUNE 2017

BRINGS BACK MANY
CHILDHOOD MEMORIES

As Dan and I approach 'short timer' status within our adopted home of Florida and prepare ourselves for the next phase of our life, we've decided to go on a mission based on access and opportunity. We hope to explore as much of Florida as possible, as long as we still can call it our home, and utilize it as our home base for many future satellite trips around the state. And we say, "Damn the mosquitoes, full speed ahead.....!" Time is short and there's still so much to discover around here.

One coastal area of Florida we'd been neglecting for almost twenty-one years happens to be located near the Suwannee River that flows into the Gulf of Mexico around sixty miles west of Gainesville, Florida. This famous river begins its long, wild journey at its origins in the Okefenokee Swamp in southeast Georgia. Having many questions about this swampy and wild area along Florida's northwestern coastline, we decided to make this our first 'off-the-beaten-path' tour of the state with, hopefully, many more to follow.

Just before Memorial Day, Dan suggested a two-night stay in the small, rustic town of Cedar Key. We had heard that this quaint village played a huge part in the early development of Florida's international commerce by having the first train route that stretched across the state from Fernandina Beach north of Jacksonville to the Gulf of Mexico. How had it retained its quiet charm having had such a rich history? 

After packing a small suitcase and filling the car with gas, we were heading along the two-lane back roads to Cedar Key one week later.

We weren't sure what to expect considering this was a last minute trip, not researched (totally not my modus operandi, at all!), and we would be arriving there late having left after Dan got out of work on Friday. I will admit, I was more than a little dubious about everything upon our arrival with its 'rough and tumble' vibe and a genuine feeling of claustrophobia considering that Cedar Key only has one main road in and out.

WALKING ALONG DOCK STREET

ISLAND HOTEL & RESTAURANT

Nanna's Room awaited us at the Cedar Key Bed & Breakfast owned and operated by Alice Phillips-Oakley and her caring staff. Eventually, we snuggled in like two kittens in front of a crackling fire, but not before making our way to the restaurants on Dock Street, known as 'the heartbeat of Cedar Key" and suspended over the waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Backtracking to 2nd Street, we settled on a delicious steak dinner at the historic Island Hotel & Restaurant built in 1859 by then Mayor John Parsons. We discovered later that the current  mayor of the town, Heath Davis, and his extended family, was dining at the table in front of ours.

VIEW DOWN 2ND STREET
AFTER DINNER AT THE HOTEL

Walking hand-in-hand back to our room, we were looking forward to a comfortable night's sleep while dreaming about the hearty breakfast to be served on the veranda in the morning. 

PEEKING IN THROUGH THE
GARDEN GATE

DAN IN THE GARDEN AT
CEDAR KEY BED & BREAKFAST

Our informative host, Alice, dropped by our breakfast table and made so many great suggestions for things to do.....including a kayak excursion around several of the Keys. We knew that we couldn't possibly address all of them during our weekend visit. 

Our discussion turned to Ireland having met her dog, Guinness, who shared our space and showered us with wet kisses and love. We were told that because they already had three dogs at home when she wished to acquire this handsome guy, she had to sell the idea to her husband, George. Because of his Irish heritage and love for a pint of Guinness, she felt that George was more apt to accept this fourth, furry child if she were to poke at George's soft spot. Naming him Guinness seemed to soften his heart and George welcomed him with, more or less, open arms.

By the time George arrived at the B&B a short time later, Alice introduced us and knew that our common thread of conversation would be about our travels to Ireland. She was partially correct. The thread seemed to encompass even more as we discovered that George was a graduate of Michigan State University. As you can well imagine, our hearts bled Green and White together as we reminisced about campus life. The entire time we talked, Guinness was eyeing all three of us as if to say, "Let's take this outside and go play fetch, okay?"

ARTISTIC STREET SIGN AND
DIRECTION POST

THE GARDENS OF 'ISLAND ARTS'

Many artists live on Cedar Key today and exhibit their talent in pieces that are for sale in the arts and craft stores dotting 2nd Street. This place is so laid-back and calming that I'm sure many writers come here as a 'retreat' of sorts. I was introduced to the writings of New York Times Bestselling Author of the Cedar Key Series, Terri DuLong, who has been a long time resident of Cedar Key and now resides in Ormond Beach and working on her Ormond Beach novels.

The Historical Museum proved its weight in gold and enlightened us as to the local history of our Native Americans, the Timucuan Indians (eventually known as the Seminole tribe), with a substantial amount of their artifacts on display, and told how they fought to keep their land during a series of Seminole Wars (known as the 'Florida Wars' of which there were three) which began in 1816 and ended in 1858. Fighting the white man who brought his own slaves into Florida and desired the fertile Indian land, they remained proud people who had occupied these keys for at least a thousand years while thriving on the seemingly endless bounty of the land and waters.

We fell in love with Marcy, a docent who offered a 'personal touch' to all of the stories about local industry that helped to place Cedar Key on the map. Do you remember the small whisk broom your Mom may have used? They were made exclusively by Donax Broom Manufacturing from local palmetto fiber, young cabbage palm plants that dotted the many keys. The depletion of the Eastern Red Cedar tree, the namesake of the Cedar Keys, was brought about by the German entrepreneur, J. Eberhard Faber, in the late 1800's. The Cedar Keys were home to the mills of the Faber and Eagle pencil companies (Who hasn't used the trusty No.2?) who exported, via the new Florida Railroad, much of the wood back to Faber's native German and New York City pencil plants.

VARIETY OF WHISK BROOMS  ON DISPLAY
AT THE HISTORY MUSEUM IN TOWN

CEDAR KEY MUSEUM STATE PARK
LOCATED AT THE NORTHERN PART OF THE KEY

The railroad line, a major contributor to the early growth of Cedar Key, was abandoned and removed in 1932 when the locals decided to keep their population small and avoid the major growth that the line would have, inevitably, brought to the ecologically fragile Keys. The railroad was diverted to the Tampa area where it helped spawn the growth of Tampa's shipping trade and population as we see it today.

Quick note: Marcy and her late husband had met on the campus of Michigan State University and were married shortly after graduation. Yes, in case you were wondering, we swapped stories, as well.

Clams! Clams everywhere! Nutritious! Delicious! (So they tell me! Never really a fan!) There's a 'new farmer' in town these days and among them they raise over ninety-five percent of farm-raised clams in the United States. Locally grown and harvested in the clean waters of Cedar Keys by the newest generation of clam farmers, the locals have utilized the rich sediment that winds through swamps, limestone outcroppings, and salt marshes for hundreds of miles flowing from Georgia and into the Gulf of Mexico.

TONY'S FAMOUS
CLAM CHOWDER

A SEAFOOD PO-BOY WITH
THE BEST COLESLAW ~ EVER!

We were soon to discover how proud the locals are of their clean clam farming distinction and reputation. Our waitress at Tony's Restaurant, known worldwide for their award winning clam chowder, told us that oyster farming is becoming as popular and profitable these days in the waters surrounding Cedar Keys. 

Blame it on the Suwannee River! The continuous accumulation of rich silt flowing from the mouth of the river in Georgia and into the Gulf of Mexico has attributed to the shallow, darker water of this coastal area and has become an extension of the southern Georgian swamps themselves. Marcy told us that the coastal waters are darker because of the silt-bottom, shallow depths and the line of distinction between them and the deeper, more colorful waters of the Gulf is quite apparent as you travel south to Tampa. 

Well, with the burning question niggling at me for years finally answered, Dan and I are contemplating our next adventure in Florida. Even though we visited Key West twenty years ago with our youngest daughter, Corinne....it has been way too long since we've enjoyed this colorful, magical spot. And, I'm always happy to have the influence of a beloved author, Ernest Hemingway, rub off on me.

Until then.....!

  

CEDAR KEY SUNSET

CAPPING OFF A WONDERFUL
SATURDAY ON CEDAR KEY

Copyright © 2017 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved

All Photos Copyright © 2017 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved

PRETTY LITTLE BOXES

A series of essays.....

"THERE'S A BOX FOR THAT!"

.....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

Life seems to be charging at me in fragments. 

They are small, broken pieces that float in the air like tiny feathers at the mercy of the afternoon breeze; sunshine enhanced bits of reality and imagination intertwining with each shift and subtle nuance of emotion. They are multi-colored cotton threads of fact and fiction that float along in a suspended state, oblivious to the passage of time or thought or movement. They are waiting, waiting.....for me? Shrugging my shoulders abjectly, I attempt to carry-on as a functioning adult.

It is imperative that we set aside the time to assess our lives, take a personal inventory of our emotional possessions, even when (especially when) the fragments feel more like shards of glass rather than innocent feathers. We are human. We bleed. The lifeblood from our wounds spills down upon the soil at our feet and gravitates to the small streams and rivers that flow out to the sea....from whence we came. We have traveled full-cycle.

I spend many days collecting my life's fragments and placing them in tiny boxes. Some of these boxes hold dozens of pieces while others may be limited to only a few, even one. If the feather/shard is an enormous challenge for me, it might remain in 'solitary confinement' within its cardboard prison until I can, finally, come to terms with it. Its label of importance scribbled in crimson with the blood from a recent wound....

Am I good enough?

  Will this major change in my life be for the better?

     How well do I deal with people who hate?

       Am I strong enough to handle conflicts with my adult children?    

           When is it time to try harder or time to give up on something?                       

               Why do I allow self-doubt to control me?

                  Does contentment, and personal sanity outweigh a ten-year-old dream?       
                     Self worth...                      

                     

Issues..issues..issues! Yes, there's a box for those!

                         

If I am lucky, the containers are neatly stacked and labeled with most of the "t's" crossed and the "i's" dotted. Over time they begin to resemble 'old fashioned,' hand-painted, wooden blocks tucked away in the corner of a child's nursery, sometimes neglected but never, truly, forgotten. Because, how does one forget about his own soul? 

Unfortunately, spiritless, often cruel, and unsympathetic examples of soulless figures do exist throughout history and the melodic tempo of time.

History has a way of proving that it is possible to exist without a soul, without a personal check and balance system that, normally, comprises our individual emotional and moral standards. Some people exist to nourish the body alone. The soul, having been sold to the highest bidder for shiny, earthly trinkets, has been professionally extracted and replaced by soulless eyes that define this extreme lack of rational behavior. Placing one's self at the mountain's highest peak in order to look down upon the living souls groveling beneath you, characterizes an inhuman, callous being and justly epitomizes 'soullessness.'

When an example of this behavior happens to be a major political leader who consistently guides the people down a winding and certain path of destruction with open notes of malice and contempt being his preferred Pied Piper's melody, we must become deeply concerned! We must be aware of the long term, negative consequences attached to his current actions, and how they will affect all of us within our own mental and physical capacity.

With everything hanging over me like a 'Sword of Damocles,' I understand how important it is to sort out the contents of my 'little boxes' whenever I can. 

The collective fragments form larger pieces as they settle within the boxes. Will time and purpose allow my thoughts to unite and form their own boundaries and shapes like puzzle pieces waiting to be snapped back together recreating their original picture and meaning?  Cut from one cloth, the multi-colored threads of my life reunite into manageable sizes that, with my help, complete a coherent picture of the journey I am to continue to follow.

Patience. Time. Understanding. Joy. Happiness. Hope. Balance. Spirit. Desire. Healing. Wisdom. Love.

The fragments keep coming. They are not shy! Learning to categorize, label, and sprinkle my efforts with showers of patience and love will reward me in the long run. The true payoff is understanding that our dreams, hopes, and desires really can come true if we remember to believe and trust in the kindness and love that surrounds us in our daily lives.

Copyright © 2017 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved

AUTHENTICITY

A series of essays.....

 CACTUS GROWING IN THE 'OLD CITY' OF
EYGALIERES, PROVENCE, FRANCE

.....as seen through my eyes!




 Nature is the purest form of God's gift of 'authenticity' that we will, as intelligent human beings, be able to site as a perfect example of what the future holds in store for us. Let's not screw it up!   JEH

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

Authenticity is the quality of being trustworthy and genuine and something each one of us should strive for every day of our lives. Some of us do. Many of us make an honest attempt at it. And, only a few of us accomplish this goal that is, of course, provided we care about doing so in the first place. It may require some hard work and effort on our part. Our desire to be unburdened by daily conflict and the disagreement over fundamental issues often supersedes the basic qualities of honesty, clarity, and trustworthiness.

VIEW FROM THE ANCIENT HILLTOP
CITY OF EYGALIERES, FRANCE

Relationships suffer greatly when we fail to incorporate personal authenticity into the equation and treat a friend, lover, parent, child, or spouse as if their life is less important than our own. By not being honest and forthright with them about everything we experience and believe in serves to negate our own importance and relinquishes any reliability we may have hoped to create and achieve within the relationship. 

THE PICTURESQUE
ALPILLES HILLS OF FRANCE

It is not unreasonable to set-up personal boundaries in order to temporarily cope with basic negativity, pain, bullying, marital infidelity, or the physical loss of someone we hold so dear to our hearts. In fact, it is only natural that the mind, our search engine for the body and soul, is prepared to report reliable information to us so that our human psyche is less likely to break down completely or implode. 

OLIVE GROVE
GORDES, FRANCE

Stepping back from behind these boundaries, eventually, is mandatory if we are to become the authentic human being we hope to be. With so much noise and indeterminate amounts of facts and non-truths assaulting our personal space every day, stepping back from behind our comfort zone can be a difficult task. We can set our own pace, however, we must not lose sight of how important it is to succeed if we intend to pursue all of the joy that life has to offer. Fear paralyzes our genuine thoughts and places hopes and dreams in jeopardy. Clinging to the imaginary walls we choose to hide behind weakens our ability to showcase the unique purpose of our life that generously flows within all of us. Fear can slowly corrupt the individual power we are born with that strengthens and supports our success in life.

PATH OVERLOOKING A
BULLFIGHTING ARENA NEAR
FOOTHILLS OF THE ALPILLES HILLS
 

Learning to be honest with ourselves is the first step in becoming whole; being truthful is a major priority in being able to handle all that life has to throw at us along this amazing, crazy journey. We must learn to break away from the heavy drama we've placed ourselves in and come to terms with what is important to us: We need to be willing to hear what we too often don't want to hear. We must be prepared to be able to say what we need to say. Most importantly, we must be willing to just let go.....if need be. 

THE LUBERON RANGE
SOUTH OF GORDES, FRANCE

In an age of ingenuous governing, false hopes and promises, and, dare I say it, fake news thrown at us left and right, the unhealthy lack of a positive role model and absolute truth compounds our daily problems and experiences. Making the decisive choice to care about ourselves and others is strictly up to us. We can't always impede the progress of 'crazy' but we can, definitely, sort it out within our own mind, make mature decisions, and inform others about the importance of being true to yourself.

A FRIEND IN THE LUBERON

Possessing the ability to be able to forgive others whom you may believe harmed or upset you is another quality or condition of being authentic and true to yourself. Forgiveness of others with the attempt at understanding that not everyone follows your own personal codes of what is believed to be right and wrong, will help complete us as human beings in so many intricate and beautiful ways. After all, we share the space created for us here on Earth with so many others that it would be virtually impossible to believe we are not different, to a certain degree, from one another. 

VIEW OF MONT VENTOUX FROM
THE NEARBY TOWN OF BEDOIN

When someone apologizes to you for an action that is perceived by you to be hurtful....you must know that they have opened-up their heart and soul to you in a most private and profound manner. They have authenticated their actions through humbleness and truth and become vulnerable souls subject to your response and subsequent actions. Even though you may feel strong and powerful while holding the emotions of others in your hand like the open book they've become, the misuse of this power will only serve to create stronger barriers of discontent and mistrust between you. You must ask yourself if losing the bond of understanding between the two of you is something you can afford to live with the rest of your life!

SAINTES-MARIES-DE-LA-MER
IN THE HEART OF THE CAMARGUE

In the words of Brené Brown, author of 'Daring Greatly,' "Authenticity is the daily practice of letting go of who we think we're supposed to be and embracing who we are." We must remember that we were born to be honest and real....not perfect. Learning to live with this thought in mind as a personal caveat, may we be authentic enough to be able to acknowledge this in others, as well.

ROLLING VINEYARD LOCATED
BETWEEN CARCASSONNE AND
PIEUSSE, FRANCE

FRUIT OF THE VINE

Copyright © 2017 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved

All Photos Copyright © by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved