ONE DAY IN IRELAND

A series of shorts......

THE DOLMENS OF IRELAND.....   POULNABRONE DOLMEN

Some legends say the ancient dolmens and other stone structures found scattered throughout Ireland are portals to the realm of faerie......FAIRY FORTS!




.....through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


Throughout my vast and elongated journey of reading and digesting the written word, I have accumulated a few books under my belt, so to speak.  Robert Ruark was the first modern day author to have opened-up my eyes, heart and soul to the mystical world of our beautiful earth.

The Serengeti Plain, a vast ecosystem in east-central Africa, was my base-station as I went on a safari guided by the best....the Englishman, Brian Dermott, who introduced me to the great lion, masterful hyena and powerful elephant.  My love for and desire to see Kenya and meet her people grew substantially with each paragraph that was read.  The book is entitled, Uhuru, written in the late 1950's and published in 1962.

Mr. Dermott's shooting device of choice was a long range hunting rifle by which he made his living.  Of course, today it would be the high-powered lens attached to a sophisticated camera.  Fortunately, times have changed! 

Interesting new words were introduced into my vocabulary such as nugu (ape), jambo (hello) and Bwana (Master).

My absolute joy for the written word began around this time....at least, I knew then that writing was both my career and my passion.  I realized that to be able to understand people and places of the world, I needed to add travel into this intoxicating mix.

I have yet to make that trip to Kenya in Africa and fulfill the dream of a 'starry-eyed' fifteen-year-old girl embarking upon a journey of a lifetime.....  So much has transpired since closing the pages of that life-changing novel and I do understand how it symbolized the freedom and joy that awaited me in the future.  Thank you, Mr. Ruark, from the depths of my heart!!

Eventually, writing and travel led me to many islands....and places semi-surrounded by the sea....with the sights, sounds and smells of its salty salve always healing the weary spirit like ointment on a wound.  Given the beauty, mystery and magical powers of Ireland that I read about in my youth, this incredible jewel, gently placed into the sea, resembles an exquisite piece of fine jewelry fit for a Fairy Queen (even a petite princess)!  

After all, doesn't the appearance of a rainbow, or the possible existence of the Banchee, Pookas and Changelings evoke mystery and intrigue?  Not to mention the most famous Irish legend of them all...the Leprechaun!  Who hasn't devoted at least one afternoon of their childhood enraptured by the movie 'Darby O'Gill and the Little People' and believed if they searched hard and long enough, a Leprechaun might just be inhabiting an underground world right in their own backyard?

Yes, it has taken a few years.....but, I believe I have actually found him!  My Leprechaun's name is John.  John is a farmer who lives on the west coast of Ireland, County Cork, but near the mountains and the sea.  At least, so he claims.....

Well, you decide for yourself if John holds Leprechaun status and let me know what you think.  All we know is that something magical happened that day in Ireland, high-up in the Caha Mountains, in a place of mist and legend....  
 


Author repost of One Day In Ireland.  
Originally posted: August 8, 2009

 

I know I must have sounded like a proverbial “broken record” to Family and Friends during this time period, however, I wanted to experience the joy of being a Grandparent in the worst possible way.  I believe I controlled my “Grandparent Desire” as much as I could while around my two married daughters, mainly because of the intricacies of conceiving that both had been experiencing.  My heart and profound love poured out to them each and every day.

       During September of 2006, very dear friends of ours joined us on a week-long visit to the west coast of Ireland where we shared a beautiful rental home located in Adrigole, County Cork.  Seated at the French doors of the kitchen eating area each morning, we sipped our pressed morning brew and devoured, what seemed like, and most likely were, pounds of Irish soda bread slathered in butter and Irish whiskey preserves.  This marvelous taste sensation was only equal to our view of the sun-kissed Bantry Bay that was a mere palm tree and ten grazing cows away from us.  But that’s another story and another time……

My story today involves our view from the other side of this comfortable property, just beyond the stacked stone pillars and ornate Iron Gate that separated us from the road into Glengarriff and the misty undulating outline of the ancient Caha Mountain range to the north.  What a spectacular sight they were each day as brilliant rainbows and steel gray clouds adorned their peaks with halos of color like giant ornate headpieces drenched in smoke and tears.  Within that ancient atmosphere of cool, moss covered stone and hidden vortexes is where this tale begins during the morning of our third day on this mystical and beautiful island.

Heading north in our rental car along R574, we knew we were entering a fairy tale land as the mist rose revealing the magnificent depths of the insanely lush, green valleys dotted with tiny, distant houses of unfathomable means of entry as we rose higher and higher toward Healy Pass.  “How on earth do the people get down there?” I asked my husband, Dan, not seeing any roads snaking their way along the valley wall below.  Having spent a lot of time traveling through the Great Smoky Mountains of Western North Carolina, I was more accustomed to seeing the houses literally sprouting from the sides of the mountain with complete communities clustered together deep in the valley rather than individual homes interspersed here and there.  I thought I might be lonely living down there in one of those houses.  But, would that even be possible if I was surrounded by such unbelievable beauty?

We did not pass nor did we see another car heading up to Healy Pass from the other side and by now we were feeling very possessive of the scenery as we stopped to take pictures.  The four of us did not hear the crunch of tires navigating over the loose stone parking area.  We did not see the other vehicle at all until the blue jean stuffed leather boots approached us bringing with them a compact gentleman who seemingly appeared out of nowhere!  With a twinkle in his eyes, I kid you not, he introduced himself as John, a local sheep farmer and began speaking to us as though the five of us had known one another all of our lives.  I sincerely believe he could have been Dan’s sprightly Irish Grandfather reincarnated in order to watch over us on our journey.  Looking more like he was in his late sixties, John kidded with my friend Christine and me and said that he was still, at fifty-two, looking for a wife and wanted to know if we were available.  Turning his craggy, weather-worn face towards me while placing his arm securely around my shoulder, he became quite serious and began to ask me questions.  Was I happy?  Did I have children and, if so, how many and boys or girls?  Were my two daughters married?  And, the most poignant question of all…….did I have any grandchildren yet?  Wait a minute.  Was I actually tearing-up as his calm blue eyes rimmed by bushy, salt and pepper eyebrows, looked deeply into my soul?  Yes.  I told him that God had yet to bless us with grandchildren but that we were waiting, hoping and praying for them.

The next series of events will stay with all four of us forever simply because there is no rational explanation for them at all.  Squeezing my shoulder, John said that 2007 would be a very good year and not to worry about grandbabies, they would come.  As a matter of fact, I would have two, both born the following year.  He kissed me on the cheek and slowly began walking back to his beat-up little car parked within inches of our back bumper.  As the back of his deep blue and perforated by age wool sweater penetrated my vision, I remained speechless until he waved one last time and headed down into the valley below.  He was as mysterious in taking his leave as he was in his arrival only moments before.  Not a single one of us spoke for almost a minute….quite a while considering what had just transpired.  Beyond the most obvious question of what was that all about?, the four of us calmly got back into the car only to pursue some rational explanations later…..after we could think more clearly.  Did we believe in Leprechauns?  Maybe we had no choice.

Miss Brenna Elizabeth was born to our eldest daughter, Alexandria, on May 17, 2007.  Miss Lydia Kaprice was born on November 23, 2007, to Corinne, our youngest daughter.  Whenever I see a rainbow now, I think about John and hope he is as happy as we are.      

MY UKRAINIAN CONNECTION

A series of short stories.....





The Moshak Family With One-Year-Old Me Sitting Between Grandma And Papa

.......through my eyes!


By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


"Papa Antone and Grandma Alexandria, allow me to explain my life today because of both of you..."

Greetings Ultimate Throwback Thursday!  Ever since initially choosing to post my Blog on Thursday, I've always felt the desire to tie it in with a proper 'Throwback.'  Prompted by current events, what little I know about my Ukrainian heritage is flashing before me like brightly colorful neon signs: Aunts and Uncles; Old World vs. Modern Lifestyle; Papa and Grandma Moshak; English Language vs. Russian Language competing for top honor......

Each set of words burst forth from memories that pound inside my head and chest and hiss above me through the air as though they were the illuminating fireworks above Sochi; the heart wrenching death shots resounding in Kiev's Independence Square.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 
I am a little girl once again. Papa leads us out to his lush and aromatic backyard garden where we crunch and chew on many of the green beans we pick and place the rest in a basket for dinner. Next stop...round, firm tomatoes the color of my Mother's lipstick and picked from the vines by Papa at just the right moment. Lastly, small to medium size cucumbers are picked by the dozens and gently placed in a galvanized bucket to be washed later. These beauties will be crunched and enjoyed at many future family meals. But, only after Papa fills his pickle crocks down in the cool, dark cellar with water, vinegar, salt, onion, garlic, dill, our cucumbers and a variety of seeds and allows them to ferment in this brine until only he knows when they are ready to eat. He just knows these things. He's been repeating this process for ages!

                                            

My 'Shirley Temple' Days

We run back into the large brick house to see Grandma (always) standing at the kitchen stove stirring soup for supper....with the idea of stretching the large quantities of food as far as possible due to the many stomachs she needs to fill.  If she wasn't feeding her own eleven (with two more having died at birth) children, plus, each meal, she always made certain there was enough for neighbors who were bedridden or simply in need of good, hot food.  Returning home, she allowed sufficient time to roll out and fill each pierogi, Russian dumpling, with cheesy potatoes, sauerkraut or prunes for the evening meal.  She would show me how it was done and then we'd stir sour cream mixed with cottage cheese until smooth for the cream sauce to be served over the dumplings.  The pierogi were a royal pain in the bottom to make.  They were, however, quite a tasty and inexpensive dish.  I can still see her round, overworked hands move like lightening as they crimped each one, dusted it with flour and lined it up along the long kitchen table until collectively they resembled a small, chubby army standing at attention!  I feel she could make them blindfolded. After all, she had been perfecting this procedure for a very long time.

You see, my Ukrainian Grandparents were passengers on two separate vessels that traveled several months apart but, were on the very same mission: Escape The Bolshevik Revolution, also known as, Red October 1917.  Along with many of their relatives, they entered the United States via Ellis Island and Grandma's given name, Olga, was officially changed to Alexandria because, evidently, too many woman with the name of Olga were coming through Ellis Island on that particular day!  Soon, she would settle this score.

Many of these broken Ukrainian  families settled in the larger cities to the north including Philadelphia, Detroit and Chicago, where many of my relatives relocated and eventually found employment.  The Windy City afforded them a comfortable environment to establish 'new roots,' send their children to school and live a relatively comfortable life among the large pockets of Russian refugees that poured into Chicago every day. 

I remember my uncles, as well as my own Father teasing Papa during relaxed moments on a Sunday evening after everyone mellowed under the satisfaction of good food and pleasant company. Papa never forgot why he had to forsake his Motherland and these memories would enhance the sorrow he harbored deep inside...especially after imbibing several vodka shots cloaked under the guise of a heavy, white coffee mug. "Pa, why did you leave the Ukraine so many years ago?" they would ask him. His predictable reply was, "Those damn Bolsheviks!!" 





Pierogies With Sour Cream and
Cottage Cheese Sauce

My Grandparents met and lived in Mishawaka ~ South Bend, Indiana, and were a small branch of the original Chicago contingent. Papa Antone, or Tony, hand-built their red brick, two-story home located on Cedar Street and they raised their family there. This included a few of their oldest grandchildren. I proudly proclaim that my beautiful Mother, Olga (score settled), was a part of the growing establishment of 'women working outside of the home!" And, Grandma, having raised her children, for the most part, in poverty, through the Great Depression and World War II....was proud to see her American daughter(s) making a difference. 

For several summers, my older brother and I called the house on Cedar Street our home. We often attended St. Michael's Greek Orthodox Church services on Sundays walking the few blocks to this imposing, European-influenced structure. Later in the day, Papa would take us on wheelbarrow rides around the neighborhood as he checked-in on friends and their families. Sunday evenings, following the grand family meal, Grandma would release her long, flowing hair from the tight braid that she would have wound in a thick circle at the back of her head and worn throughout the busy week. I recall how long and glossy it was...as if it had never been cut before! She would sit in front of her mirror and brush it at least one hundred strokes while I sat on her bed watching, intently. 





My Beautiful Mother.....Olga

Many of my aunts and uncles still lived at home and attended high school or one of the local colleges in the area which included Indiana University South Bend and Notre Dame. Not too shabby! My Uncle Bill became a high school math teacher and Uncle John, the youngest son, taught Russian Language and Russian History courses in Skokie, Illinois, right outside of Chicago. During his teaching career, he managed to take several trips to Moscow and Kiev in Russia and bring his acquired knowledge back home to his students. There would always be someone running in or out of the house with Grandma yelling at them in Russian to close the door behind them. Russian was always the preferred language of my Grandparents. However, the youthful, American spirits who dominated the household with so much energy and freedom to spare, favored English. My aunts and uncles, especially the younger siblings, cherished the dominance of American culture and often negated the influences of their Ukrainian heritage stating, "We were born in America with new ideas and the 'Old Country' is just that, old." They lived in fear of the scrutiny of their piers believing that the 'old ways' would diminish or even deplete their birthright of American abundance.

Even at the young age of three or four, I could feel the sadness that engulfed my hard-working Grandparents whose only desire was having the best for all of their children. Eventually, life and circumstances wore both of them down. I can't help but think about the first-hand knowledge and fascinating stories about their Homeland that my aunts and uncles missed-out on while growing-up. Most of them verbalized their genuine regrets later on in life....much too late. 

I have my regrets, too! To have been older and better able to take advantage of learning the Russian language by my own Grandparents certainly tops the list. By the time I was picking those green beans in the garden, my Grandparents had learned to be ashamed of their native Russian language and only used it to communicate with relatives and friends of their own generation. When I would ask Papa about the several Russian Language text books he'd brought over with him on the boat, he would walk away from me while muttering, "Too hard to learn; too hard to teach." Unfortunately, my Mother, one of the older siblings, had never been taught, either.

Papa always worked with his hands, either in the garden or in his basement woodworking shop. His work was intricate and beautiful and many, if not all, of the pieces of furniture upstairs were handmade by him. I can still see and smell the aromatic curls of wood sifting down onto the work table as he hand-planed each piece of wood into the proper shape. I know that by sharing this time with him, I developed my appreciation for shape, style and texture and, to this day, associate the beauty of design with my Papa's dry, slightly gnarled, wise, old hands. 

My dear Grandparents learned from their own children how everything changes, shifts and evolves. It is inevitable. The passing of time promotes all change just as education serves to define it. What had served my Grandparents well while growing-up in the Ukraine was certainly the stepping stone leading up to their need for a safer, better life found in America. Even though they fought hard to keep the memories from the old country alive, they knew that the next generation would grow up in a different land with new ideas and values. However, it would always be the hardworking ethics and values of my Ukrainian born Grandparents that would be the super glue binding one proud generation with another.

I am a part of the generation defined today as 'Baby Boomers.' We are a bona fide product of the time recently marked by the end of WWII when prosperity and too much free time blessed our own parents. But, that was okay! I am here and I don't plan on moving on anytime soon. In the meantime, I have years upon years of outrageously interesting memories filed neatly away which I fully intend to tap into from time to time in order to do what I do best.....write!



Alexandria and Corinne

Now that my stacks of memories are ample enough to fill volumes, it is easier to reflect back on time itself and remember my Grandma's smile and warm touch that let me know I could do no wrong in her eyes; My Mother's translucent, freckle sprinkled skin and sun kissed, strawberry blond hair that predetermined a lifestyle filled with floppy hats and plenty of natural shade; My own preoccupation with a negative body image and rounded, Slavic nose. Sorry Grandma....still hyper critical of myself after all this time. Two daughters, my own Alexandria and Corinne, so named with Alexandria reminding me of my Mother in stature and unmasked kindness and Corinne always reflecting strength and her Father's chiseled looks and Irish appeal.

The next frontier: My three adorable Granddaughters! They represent the generation of 'what can be, will be,' and personally envelope me within a bright and colorful cloak of five generations of caring, loving, and strong women.

Sadly, I may never step foot on Ukrainian soil in my lifetime. However, the principles of respect, the power of caring for and about others, as well as the strength gathered within a loving nature, will always run through my veins. I take extreme pride in my Ukrainian heritage and will always attribute many of my strengths to Grandparents who, no matter what, knew how to Love......

 




With Love.......Your Granddaughter, Jacqueline.

NOTE: My heart and prayers go out to the people of the Ukraine today, tomorrow and always!  May you find the Leadership, Peace and Happiness you deserve.  Many of my relatives live in the Ukraine today and I think of you often.....




Copyright © 2014 by Jacqueline E. Hughes
All rights reserved

PHOTOS © Jacqueline E. Hughes












THE LOGIC OF BILL NYE

 A series of short stories......

Every Person Has A Story

Through My Eyes.....

 

By:  Jacqueline E. Hughes


"Everyone you meet knows something you don't." This is a quote from Bill Nye I happened to run across this week. In other words.....every person has a story. That's how I interpret it, anyway. And, I am all about a good story!

This is precisely why I receive such profound enjoyment from meeting, speaking with and discovering as much as I can about the people we meet on our various trips. And, this is exactly why being a 'good listener' pays off every time. If you don't know how to listen, how do you expect to learn? This applies to so many aspects of life.

Occasionally, it's a meeting by happenstance, when the stars align and someone just needs to be listened to....for sanity's sake. I was filing through antique French post cards at an outdoor market along the Rue du Maroquin on a visit to Strasbourg, France, when a lady accidentally bumped into me. Not wanting to seem rude in another country, I apologized to her saying, "Je m'excuse, s'il vous plait," to which she replied in broken Frenglish, "No, pardon me.....ahh....Je suis tres, um, clumsy!" She appeared quite disoriented and was happy to learn that we both shared American citizenship! We spent the next half an hour settling down on a nearby bench as I listened to how uncomfortable she was not being able to speak French and that her husband didn't seem to mind just taking off and leaving her to her own devices. She was so grateful to have a listening ear. They were only day-tripping in Strasbourg but, appreciated my invite to dine together for supper. They would be heading to their hotel in Comar as soon as she found her husband. Now calmed and settled with a 'taste of home' to cling to, we parted company. I will never forget how warm her hug was nor how sweet her smile as she spotted 'the husband' and thanked me for the much needed respite.


More often, however, a mutual chord is struck and a conversation ensues sparked by the passion for and knowledge of a shared idea. It could be as simple as enjoying the same piece of music; as intriguing as climbing a mountain together; or, as amazing as discussing the virtues of a particular pairing of wine to compliment the chef's seasonal entree for that evening's dining pleasure. The distinct beauty of all this is that everyone is a winner! Each participant will leave richer for having added at least one small kernel of knowledge to their life experience. The fun part is being able to use this 'kernel' in a discussion with someone else in the future.

How many smiles can you derive from perfect strangers while walking down a crowded sidewalk? Hopefully, we've all played this game at one time or another. If you haven't, it's so worth your time....trust me on this one! Happiness can be more contagious than yawning battles at your next weekly staff meeting. And, much, much more fun! Just choose a target (fellow pedestrian) who looks like he or she needs a boost. Quickly make eye contact. Begin small and then spread that smile on your face and take it from ear to ear if need be. Soon you'll be adding up your successes and, even if they fail to return your smile immediately, they'll be thinking about it all day and, maybe, just maybe be taking it home with them that night.

Our week-long stay in Oughterard, Connemara, Ireland, last September had us feeling as though we were local constituents, living near, eating and drinking with, as well as absorbing the distinct soul of this quaint Irish town...her people. Dining at the Boat Inn each night following the day's splendid adventures, created an atmosphere of belonging that only an extended stay anywhere can do. Veronica was so much more than our waitress for the duration. She became a friend, confidant and story teller extraordinaire! And, if truth be told, I think she was a bit 'sweet' on my husband, Dan...he enjoyed it immensely.

Veronica showed us the most convenient table to receive the best wi-fi connection.....which served us beautifully when we'd Skype the kids back home. Fortunately for us, as she would linger around our table after serving another round of Guinness or placing the most delicious fresh lamb stew, fish and chips or clam chowder before us, she would serve up the 'craic' (enjoyable conversation filled with gossip or news) for dessert with whipped cream and a cherry on top!! The writer in me appreciated every moment that transpired each evening as we savored great food and interestingly colorful tales revolving around the history of the area and the people who helped to form it.  Pure Heaven!!

I will add another dimension to Mr. Nye's quote from above and say how 'every picture tells a story!' From chiseled figures in rock walls to painted Egyptian symbols adorning mighty tombs to Renaissance Masterpieces admired from the gallery floor......to the awesome and colorful 'expression of ideas' brought home by your Kindergartner that are now framed and displayed on the family room wall! There is an impressive story that corresponds to each and every one of them.

Photographs taken while traveling serve to bring our stories back home with us, to explore, savor and share forever. They will become just as important to us later on as booking the perfect Bed & Breakfast establishment might be in the beginning.

I personally enjoy taking pictures of senior citizens and collect these magnificent images that represent years upon years of living, learning and loving. Each person's story is neatly tucked away behind dreamy eyes, weathered faces or a shock of white hair and layered within their souls like the walls of the Grand Canyon denoting dimension and time. I want (need) to learn what they know and I don't.

Occasionally, our stories can even overlap each other in time... Returning home from our latest visit to Provençal in the south of France, we invited friends over to see our photographs and enjoy several delicious French dishes I had made to honor our visit, as well as the wife, Florence, who was born in the Le Luberon area of Provence. This beautiful region was immortalized by the author, Peter Mayle. Enjoying a glass of Rhone Valley wine and a dessert of cream filled meringue, we scanned through our pictures. Suddenly, Florence, instructed us to go back to a particular image I had taken from the famous 'unfinished' bridge that spans out over the Rhone River (Pont d'Avignon) and resides just beyond the Palace of Popes (Palais des Papes). During the 14th century this palace in Avignon served as the papal residence and seat of Western Christianity. Ironically, good friends of hers live just beyond the green space across the river from the bridge and she could almost see their home in my photograph. Who knew, right?

Lastly......and certainly not least, let's discuss the most popular story-infused game of all time: People watching! Following the belief that everyone you meet knows something you don't, insert imagination into this mix and the game explodes into another dimension. There's no right or wrong, no win or lose to this sport and, it can be applied to so many scenarios with the results only limited or expanded by your own imagination. The next time you are in a crowded environment (airport terminal or shopping mall), find a bench, sit down and observe the people around you. Now, put your own twist on their personal story and enjoy!

Okay...let's get out of my head for now. I will admit that, sometimes, it can get a bit 'messy' up there. 

Try to remember this during the next trip you take to places far and wide.....that our earth's natural beauty will always be a highlight of your adventure and worth capturing both digitally and mentally. However, the beauty of paintings, sculpture, ancient structures and cultural customs carried down through the ages are served to us via the blood, sweat, imagination, talent and stories handed down through the generations of people who lived, breathed and died to make them happen.

If possible....I promise to learn one thing that I never knew before from each person that I meet throughout my lifetime and always be a positive link within the Circle of Life.

 

WINTER FOLLIES OF 2014 (MADNESS)

 A series of short stories......



Michigan Ice Crystals

Through My Eyes......

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


Forget the Sochi Olympic Games because the cold, hard truth is...the real Olympic athletes this harsh winter are your neighbors, relatives, friends and often, complete strangers!!  Even, yourself!  That's right!  And, there isn't a judge, coach, teacher or {           }, you fill in the blank, who would dispute me on this one. 

You see, we are strapping on the boots and layering the clothes and covering our heads and hands with protective gear that's either knitted or crocheted by someone who loves us very much or machine constructed from the finest leather by the very best union workers.....direct from the factory assembly plant to your home...with love.  We are getting behind the 'wheel' of the family vehicle, school bus, delivery van and eighteen-wheeler in the hopes that we've been trained well and that our lifelong experiences (practice) will get us to the end of the program: Safe, sound and, hopefully, in one piece.

Yes, friends.....I'm talking about the Winter Follies of 2014! 

There's definitely some precision 'ice dancing' being executed as we meticulously make our way to the road to pick-up the mail these days.  The singles luge comes to mind (let's hope those snow pants are padded) if your mailbox is located at the bottom of a hill!  What goes down must go back up and that little hill can resemble a mountain when covered in ice.  And if you think there is safety in numbers my little winter ice pairs.....think again.  Often, when one slips on the ice, the other follows.  Especially when grasping each other's mitten for support! 

Just attempting to breathe, when temps plummet into minus zero degrees with wind chills far below that, can challenge even the youngest and healthiest non-smokers among us.  Should we pity the hold-outs still puffing away at times like this?  Consider yourselves warned pre-COPD patients: Imagine feeling helpless like this every day of the year for the rest of your shortened life?

The 'ultimate' competitors, however, can be found on our rural backroads, city streets and open highways as they sit in singular control over a minimum of two tons of steel, aluminum, plastic, glass and rubber.  Not to mention the precious human cargo that should be belted, strapped, harnessed and generally protected inside.  Think about your grave responsibility with this scenario, dear driver....!  Nothing makes you feel more helpless than losing total control of a situation and when your particular vehicle of choice decides to run the Freestyle Mogul course off the beaten track or becomes the world's largest snowboard on a Slopestyle run.....that's just not right.

Wow, I get sweating palms and heart palpitations just thinking about all of this!  It's dredging up old memories from my past encounters with several deer along the iced and snowy backroads near Eaton Rapids, Michigan, a few winters ago.  For some strange reason, my old, unreliable Dodge was a virtual 'deer magnet' that season with the snow falling wet and heavy on me as I trudged along on my forty minute drive home from work in the dark.  My slalom run consisted of swerving around the massive snow drifts in the road instead of harmless multi-colored poles.  The highlight of my drive came when three 'Bambi Mommas' speed skated in unison while suspended just above the hood of my car.  I am not exaggerating!!  Why, I must have looked like a "deer in the headlights" or something!  Anyway, what an adrenalin rush and the only damage was a smashed headlight.......maybe they were just mocking the terrified human who was glued to the steering wheel with eyes as round as saucers!

Just like the games in Sochi, these Winter 2014 competitions are generally captured on camera for private and commercial scrutiny via your 'smart phone' of choice.  Having access to such power 24/7 can be exhilarating for many of us.  For your viewing pleasure: If you can only imagine someone's surreal experience, it can be found and seen over and over again on You Tube until it goes viral....derived from virus: Something that poisons one's soul or mind ( according to The Free Dictionary). 

The one and, maybe, only time I hoped for video verification was when I tumbled down wet marble steps four and a half weeks ago and severely sprained my left ankle.  No, not a single patch of ice involved, just cold stone, water and worn down flip flops!  I'm taking baby steps here....literally, and 'they' say I can be let out into the wilds of Orlando very soon.  So, I've taken one for 'The Gipper' and didn't even have to travel to the tundra to do it.  I've probably written more in the past several weeks then ever before and I'm most grateful for that.... A genuine case of making lemonade from a basket of lemons.


Many strange and beautiful phenomenons of nature have been observed this Winter of 2014; not unlike the Olympic figure skaters that awe us with their seemingly impossible jumps, lifts and landings on ice wearing two sharp, narrow metal blades (basically, kitchen knives) on their feet.  Anyway, have you heard the Arctic was broken in January and its vortex shifted just enough to turn winter upside-down?  Well, something like that.  I do know that due to this shift, frigid cold temperatures and way too much snow has  brought much pain and misery to many people.  However, because of the extreme conditions, strange and beautiful sights have captured our attention like never before in our lifetime.  We have seen 'ice bubbles' floating along the shoreline of The Great Lakes and large floating islands of ice off the shores of Lake Michigan.....reminiscent of Arctic ice chunks that offer refuge to Polar bear and walrus.  Icebreaker ships plow through these lakes with the intent of keeping them clear of ice while allowing important shipping routes to remain open.


My daughter, Corinne, had recently dropped their six-year old off at school in Kalamazoo, Michigan.  Returning home with the two-year old twins snuggled in their car seats, she took advantage of an opportunity to toss a bag of soiled diapers in the trash container and then moved it out to the curb for pick-up later in the day.  Looking down where the container had been, she immediately pulled out her i-Phone and snapped away......  These pictures of the most bountiful, large and perfectly shaped ice crystals are the result of her labor and I share them with you....because she said I could!  Later she told me, "There really is beauty everywhere.  These were hiding under the garbage container."  Had she taken a video, we could have worked with You Tube on this one!  Okay, maybe not enough action or audio.

"It's just a crap shoot out there, boys!"  When you're dealing with Mother Nature and she is totally in control, you'd better follow her rules in order to survive.

According to Al Roker of NBC News, "We must think of the Polar vortex as a Polar hurricane," or, The Weather Channel refers to it as an arctic cyclone.  Whichever label you prefer, one thing is for certain.  After the Winter Follies of 2014, not one single participant north of the State of Florida can claim they tolerate the cold and snow all for the sake of the change of seasons because, at least, they do not have to live through hurricanes.  Well, sorry, Buckaroos, but you do!!

NOTE: This video is dedicated to the millions of people suffering through this horrific winter weather.  It will improve.  In the meantime, sing, dance, read and (always) Love....  As the Beatles sang: Here Comes The Sun!
http://youtu.be/Y6GNEEi7x4c

                     HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY.........!!

 

REBIRTH: PROLOGUE

Series of short stories....

Through My Eyes....

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes



The woman sits at the breakfast nook sipping her second cup of coffee of the morning and stares out at the swimming pool which lies beyond the thick panes of glass of the cozy little room. The gentle rainfall is sifted through the screen enclosure and reminds her of confectioner's sugar being used to decorate baked sweets. Instantly her outdoor scene is illuminated by shafts of golden light as the cloud cover parts just enough to allow the glorious sun to take stage front and center. She's been down here long enough now to have witnessed this spectacular scene often and never takes for granted the heavenly merging of water and light that has certainly produced a Kodak moment up in the sky somewhere beyond the roofline of the neighboring houses.

Deftly unscrewing the cover of the carafe in front of her a half a turn, she proceeds to pour herself another cup of the steaming brew while subconsciously humming an old familiar tune. John Fogarty wants to know if she's ever seen the rain coming down on a sunny day? as she twists the cover closed once again. Chuckling to herself, she takes pride in the fact that the music produced in the '60's and '70's thrives today and has gratefully been passed down through the years to remain as popular as ever.

Often she thinks of herself in this same way; produced in the '50's yet thriving sixty-one years later and humming a CCR tune while sitting under an unseen Floridian rainbow. This makes her very happy and a smile slowly spreads across her smooth, unblemished face.

She lifts the coffee mug up towards her and sees the picture of two of her young grandchildren emblazoned in living color on its front.....a perfect gift for Mother's Day. A perfect gift because they live so far away now. Life has changed so much for her within the last twelve months or so, at least how she had come to perceive her life to be. She has never been afraid of change, at least not before last year, that is. For her, now, change has become unbearable at times. After all, she is living in a new, unstable world and lifestyle changes have blindsided her life so often lately.

Gently scooting away from the glass tabletop, the woman walks to the sink to rinse out her precious mug and proceeds to place it in the dishwasher. She knows that Life can be wonderful. Having five adorable grand babies to love proves that. Having an adoring, attentive husband proves that. Knowing that together they have raised two fantastic daughters, also proves how important her life has been for so many others who comfortably reside within it. Doesn't it? She asks herself why does she feel so sad most of the day? Is it normal to be able to smile while thinking of rainbows, music and beautiful babies and then do a one-eighty into the dumpster ten beats later? She thinks that it never use to be that way....... Now, it's a fact of her life.

She notes that the sun has conquered the best efforts of the morning drizzle and is quickly drying off the shell embedded pavers that surround the custom-shaped pool. She remembers how much fun it was to design their pool almost seven years ago and to implement texture and color into the design with good use of tiles, Pebble-Tech finishes and brass Fleur de Lis fountains adorning the backdrop she now associates with having her morning coffee. She remembers the many hours her husband slaved landscaping around the pool deck perimeter as a stone retaining wall was built to contain the earth around the structure because the elevation of the backyard rose some three feet above the level of the foundation of the house itself. At least they could retain the young live oak tree that lives to the right of the pool on a small hill. She's amazed at how that smallish tree now lords over pool, yard and house today.

Grandchildren, pets and armies of small lizards have marched repeatedly along the network of narrow stone paths they created to nurture her desire.....no, her need to assimilate a life in France, complete with a small bistro table and two small chairs glazed over with characteristic rust from living out among the elements for so long. The table is tucked behind the house and resides under the infamous oak tree. She can remember purchasing each one of the cobalt blue ceramic pots of various sizes and shapes that flank the paths offering a visual of deep color on the outside, as well as muted colors from the seasonal arrangements of plants and flowers growing from the aromatic soil within. Often her mantra is "nothing dies in Florida" and she has many resurrected plants to prove this theory considering her thumb has never taken on any known shade of the color green. She chuckles to herself whenever this theory is wishfully applied to humankind. "What an interesting world that would be" is an understatement.

Detecting movement out of the corner of her eye, she turns slightly to see three scrawny squirrels playing a game of tag along the tall fence behind the pool. If her dog wasn't napping under the window in their spare bedroom, he certainly would be, tail wagging wildly, begging her to be 'let out' beyond the massive sliding glass door that separates him from his chattering foe. She harbors animosity toward the critters herself recalling the damage to property they've inflicted by chewing through the plastic water lines of the solar panels up on the roof used to heat the pool. "Those damn rodents!," her husband would shout, secretly wishing a timely demise to each and every one of them. She thinks his Irish intensity is still both sexy and cute and remains a huge part of his charm after all of their years together.

For her, life has become a compilation of positives vs. negatives with her emotions running the gambit from very high to very low in a matter of minutes. And, she knows that because she voluntarily removed herself from working outside the parameter of her home office over eight years ago, whom she believed to be close friends and ex-working associates, blew away in time like crisp autumn leaves in a soft breeze.......like so many things in her life. No one to talk with or pour her heart out to when highs became lows and she needed them most; whenever her soul and spirit craved the understanding and sympathy of another female. She knows that she's always been told what a 'good listener' she is herself which has contributed greatly to her profession. More often than not, she became the listener during rare workday lunches or Saturday morning breakfasts at the airport Cracker Barrel where comfort food and a sympathetic ear were served-up as if both were a part of the restaurant's bulky, extensive menu. But these sessions dwindled and disappeared as 'life' got in the way and everyone navigated towards tiny pockets of family protectiveness as rough economic times began to threaten the security and innocent hopefulness associated with living from day to day. Old friendships just blew apart in the wind.

Taking her wandering thoughts with her, the woman navigates the short hallway that connects the main living area to her working office space. She finds their shaggy housemate is now warming the soft wool area rug that anchors the oversized oak desk and warm leather chair......her second home.......as he patiently awaits her routine arrival. She firmly believes that in the time it takes to drink three mugs of steaming hot coffee and throw her own "pity party" while doing it, she's more than ready to tackle, hmm, twenty-five to thirty solid pages this morning?! If she is lucky......

Copyright © 2014 by Jacqueline E. Hughes
All rights reserved

Photo © 2014 Jacqueline E. Hughes

JAMES THURBER....WHERE ARE YOU NOW?

Series of short stories...

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty

 Through My Eyes....

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


Yesterday I had the privilege of watching the new release of The Secret Life of Walter Mitty starring Ben Stiller, Kristin Wiig and Sean Penn. Today I will be searching everywhere for the 1947 version with Danny Kaye and Virginia Mayo......you know, just for comparison/research!?!

I have long been a fan of Mr. James Grover Thurber: Cartoonist, author, journalist and playwright. A man with many hats but, he may be best known for his publication of cartoons and short stories in The New Yorker magazine in the 1930's. Along with his witty humor that highlighted the eccentricities of ordinary people, I would call him and his work the forerunners of today's Blogger and Blog sites and can only imagine the amount of wit and humor we have missed out on due to his placement in history! Can you imagine his productivity on a computer?

NBC's 1969 sitcom entitled My World and Welcome to It was based on stories and things that go bump in the night....by James Thurber. We were simply 'glued to the set' each week and could never get enough of the wild imagination of the main character, John Monroe (William Windom), and his interaction with wife, Ellen (Joan Hotchkis), and precocious daughter, Lydia (Lisa Gerritsen), who at ten was more interested in world and historical affairs than playing with toys.

To best illustrate and explain these events to his daughter, John relied on his imagination. Being a cartoonist, he often utilized the use of animation (based on Thurber cartoons) in his explanations. It was much like witnessing a public 'frontal lobotomy' for the sake of extracting the complete depth of John's imagination and placing it on the 'little screen' rather than to relieve any signs of depression. Although, this extraction often resulted in marked personality changes.

Twenty years later Ally McBeal's use of cartoon fantasies promoted a similar technique that helped her describe her co-workers and acquaintances. Loved that show, too! I'm a sucker for cartoons and lots of humor! Who will ever forget the dancing diapered baby, right?

Returning to Walter Mitty for just a moment....

As a writer, I have every reason in the world to identify with, encourage and promote 'Walter Mitty,' as well as enthusiastically remind all of us that without mental creative ability (imagination) in our lives, the world, as we know it, would be severely restricted, if not non-existent. The mind is the incubator for all things imagined and, ultimately, produced.....good or evil; right or wrong! It would be like taking away all adjectives from our spoken and written existence. Would it be, let's say, interesting to stand alone...black...white, with absolutely no color in between them? A world without the visual joy or colorful interpretation of Claude Monet's Water Lilies or the lack of descriptive character and flourish in the words utilized by a favorite author in his/her novel? A city lacking the indisputable distinguishing landmarks offered by its architecture that allow us to identify it via a single photograph. Cameras......no; a world without photography? Absolutely preposterous!

All of the above simply would not exist without our imagination!

Yes, unfortunately, the bad does mirror the good and we experience war, hunger, poverty, hate and the 'green eyed' monster called jealousy.

In the nearly two hours of immersing myself within scene after scene of Walter Mitty, I was able to temporarily forget about the negative and concentrate on the rugged and isolated beauty of both Greenland and Iceland. I followed Walter Mitty on water, land and in the air on his quest to find the most important piece of the puzzle; the one piece that, when inserted into its proper slot, would allow him to understand the true simplicity of his journey. His mission: To discover himself!  To rediscover Joy and Love!  To be Happy! 

He did.....and, along the way, Walter Mitty learned to love himself and with his newfound knowledge he was better able to understand his raisin d'être...the reason for his existence. Through the use of humor and a common goal, James Thurber's published short story, The Secret World of Walter Mitty, in The New Yorker so many years ago, spawned an amazing variety of entertainment for the masses with 'imagination' conducting the symphony that builds and builds to the crescendo of personal enlightenment!

Thurber, born in Columbus, Ohio in 1894, attended University at Ohio State.......a 'Buckeye.' I will try not to hold that against him! He lived and worked in Paris, France, as a freelance writer and reporter until he was hired by The New Yorker in 1927 as an editor upon the recommendation of E .B. White (of Charlotte's Web and Stuart Little fame). Thurber eventually concentrated on writing humorous short stories and his many cartoons and both he and White are credited with establishing The New Yorker's sophisticated tone. Both served on the staff of the magazine, according to The Early Shapers of The New Yorker, until Thurber resigned in 1933 but, he continued to contribute to the magazine.

I totally became a huge fan of The New Yorker while attending Michigan State University working at the Pesticide Research Center on a Work Study program. The science field has never been 'my thing' so please don't ask me how I secured that job other than I was a warm body who always showed-up for work. Anyway, within the freezing grip of a blustery winter term, the girls in the lab would take shelter in the woman's lounge for breaks. Stacked high on the table there I soon discovered nirvana in the form of weekly copies of The New Yorker that dated back several months and would keep me happy and occupied for hours. Dr. Zabik, the head of our department, would always find me harboring a copy or two by my side as I went about performing my daily lab duties.

To see one's byline and short story printed in The New Yorker meant that you had attained your goal and then far exceeded it in the same breath, if being a published author was your dream and desire. From that astronomical height, there would be few if any rejections of a future book deal. And, monetary reward and fame were imminent.

Oh, James Thurber, where are you now?

That starry-eyed young woman with ambition and hope still exists today.  Okay....the package is a bit crumpled and wrinkled now but, oh!, the life experience she's tucked away for future reference is absolutely amazing!  The places she's travelled to and the people she's met, gotten to know and still calls.....friend, speaks volumes.  Mr. Thurber....that young woman has done pretty well for herself in this world so far.  The great thing is, she knows her journey isn't even close to being completed.  Got a ways to go, for sure.  Got a few more mountains to climb and the trail up to their peaks is lined with adventure and discovery.  But, all-in-all, it's looking bright and shiny from where she stands right now......

If I could speak with you face-to-face, Mr. Thurber, I would thank you for so many things: Making us laugh, giving us hope, translating that hope into Joy and Love and, for challenging us every step of the way....making us stronger and more worthy.



And, I would thank you for that enormous stack of The New Yorker magazines that helped me discover, as a freshman in college, just who and what I wished to become one day.    





E. B. White and James Thurber on staff at The New Yorker

                                                                                                                                                                                                           

INNOCENCE

Brenna at Cocoa Beach

A series of short stories.....






Through My Eyes........

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

I know, I keep saying it but, the mind truly is a wondrous thing! 

In my case, my thoughts can begin in Amsterdam touring the Van Gogh Museum and migrate to a golden loaf of zucchini bread made from scratch with zucchini grown in our garden, all in a few moments.  Writing for me is like securing a 'golden lasso' and rounding-up my ideas du jour and transposing them onto my iPad screen via my fingertips on the keyboard.  The strongest ideas are elicited by various triggers such as a current event, a conversation or a particular photograph I've taken with my trusty Canon EOS. 

Brenna, our oldest grandchild, spent two weeks with us in Florida last August and I vividly remember it being comfortably warm with a slight drizzle as we walked along the Atlantic shoreline at Cocoa Beach one afternoon.  Many of the pictures I took of her that day captured her beauty, her slight, six-year-old stature, the isolated feeling of being  so alone and small next to the shear vastness of the ocean.....  But, for me, the most prevalent force captured that day was totally defined by the reflection of  innocence that her healthy bloom of youth and purity spread across the glassy shoreline.  The super-sized umbrella harbored her future deep within its many folds: good with the bad, happiness mingled with the sad......but, Brenna's life, nonetheless.

In researching quotes on the subject of innocence, I happened by two that totally stood out from all the rest and enjoyed their minor 'hint of fame' based on the humor that existed within their creation.  Each quote was a direct attempt at influencing laughter and corresponded with the time and place allotted to it in history, allowing the reader to indulge a craving for feeling good and laughing a bit at the world around them.  This was often done in order to permit the audience a small diversion from sadness or grief.

The American poet, Frederic Ogden Nash, was well known for his "droll verse with its unconventional rhymes", that made him a best-known author of over five-hundred pieces of comic verse written between 1931 and 1972.  Much like the Dr. Seuss books written by Theodor Geisel in the 1950's and beloved by children all over the world, Ogden Nash had the propensity for crafting his own words whenever rhyming words failed to exist.  "A bit of talcum is always walcum" and "Parsley is gharsley!" are two examples.  However, he is probably best known for his "Reflections on Ice-Breaking" with his immortalized quote, "Candy is dandy but, liquor is quicker."

In learning several days ago that our Miss Brenna had lost her first 'baby tooth' and that it was snuggled in its own 'little pillow' safely beneath the large one that our granddaughter rests her pretty little head on each night, I recalled an obscure quote by Mr. Nash that I must have read years before.  It went, "Like the tongue that seeks the missing tooth, I yearned for my extracted youth." 

That made me think....

Was I just in time when taking those pictures on the beach?  Did I capture the innocent child within the child....not knowing then how fleeting that innocence would become, so near in the future?   I realize Mr. Nash is best known for his comic verse and I've chuckled at his quotable quotes a time or two....but, it's easy to see how losing that tiny symbol of 'babyhood' (a small, white tooth) becomes the initial vestige of what is to be!  Am I prepared for the inevitable, having been down that rocky road as a parent and already experienced first-hand how time refuses to stand still and allow us to just breathe every now and then?  Most importantly, do I have a choice?

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Innocence is like an umbrella: When once we've lost it, we must never hope to see it back again."  I am quoting a passage that was written for and printed in Punch Magazine, a publication that began in the early 1840's in the United Kingdom and derived its name from the glove-puppet, Mr. Punch, of the famous Punch and Judy Puppet Show that delighted and entertained many young children of that era.  The magazine became a staple of British drawing rooms because of its satirical and humorous intent while adopting a highly sophisticated manner with the absence of offensive material, according to Wikipedia.

 

 

 

I look at her picture and shout, "Please don't let go of that umbrella, Brenna Bean!  Hold on tight to it for now and, besides, it isn't the right time yet..."  This is truly her Age of Innocence (thank you, Edith Wharton) and to have her let go of that symbol only to have it wash away into the vast sea and be lost forever would break my heart. 

Again, I am fully aware of the inevitability of the progression of time...trust me, I look into the mirror each and every day!  The "Age of Innocence" lasts for such a minute period in our lives, a few short years that pass by us like Indy cars coming around the fourth corner and into the straightaway hitting maximum speeds!  The loss of innocence isn't about watching a few gray hairs appear on your head or coping with the advent of an AARP card sent to you for the first time in the mail.  Rather, it's realizing that along with the good in life, there will always be something bad out there, too, such as bullying.  It's dealing with a body shape or facial features that don't always meet the expectations and standards we set for ourselves.  And, it's understanding that sometimes even our BFF can be jealous or cruel but, we are able to forgive and move on.  It's being aware of the loving, giving person that resides within each and every one of us.

My guilty pleasure, as I grow into my maturity, is knowing that my daughters have learned many of life's lessons very well and are passing that knowledge on to their children, my grandchildren.  I am so proud of them. 

 

 

For now, my recommendations concerning future prudent actions, Darling Granddaughter, would be to deposit all current and future profits from 'lost baby teeth' into your savings.  Open that umbrella  most carefully and allow the features that will shape your future to be extricated slowly allowing you to make good decisions in your life.  When rash decisions are made, (and, they will be) learn to cope with their consequences.  Protect yourself as much as possible but, leave enough vulnerability to let the love inside you shine and make its way out into the world.  Always help others, whether they are aware of this need or not.  Remember that you are a precious individual who deserves to be loved as dearly as those you give your love to...

"Breathe.....don't try to be perfect."

 

 

Whether you choose to seek out youthful dreams as you begin to grow into your maturity or, after losing that umbrella into the enormous ocean,  you decide to never hope to see it back again...those decisions will always be yours to make.

For a little while longer, gaze into the vastness of the deep, blue sea and enjoy the sweet innocence of youth.

 

Always remember to Love........!