EVEN TREES DO IT!

 

A series of essays….

MOUNTAIN FOREST LOCATED AT BOYD’S MOUNTAIN LODGE
IN THE SMOKY MOUNTAINS OF WESTERN NORTH CAROLINA

….as see through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

A taproot is a large, central, and dominant root from which other roots sprout laterally. Typically a taproot is somewhat straight and very thick, is tapering in shape, and grows directly downward.   —Macmillan Dictionary

Human beings are connected to one another via our roots. Our ancestors established these roots and continually serve as support and nourishment for our mind, body, and soul. Because they are the deep, underground portion of our very selves, we draw sustenance from them; they help to guide us through time and can be a formidable and intimate source of strength and encouragement when we need them the most. 

The current interest in programs such as Finding Your Roots and Who Do You Think You Are? illustrates the fact that, as humans, our desire to discover and explore our roots has become very important to us. 

What exactly are we hoping to find from our past? And, are we always ready to accept what we do find? Having pride in who we are and where we come from seems to be the main object of our search. We’d like to think that all of our ancestors were strong, kind, and philanthropic individuals who were the pillars of the community in which they lived and we derive from. 

Dissatisfaction with our taproot due to blatant cruelty or lack of higher standards may spread laterally, we fear, and influence us via our mutual root structure. If the basis of our own existence crashes in disappointment, how do we expect to find the nourishment and support we need in order to grow stronger and wiser?

Then again, just knowing what it would take to be more competent than those in our past should allow us to make better choices for ourselves in the long run; acting responsibly today in order to establish a better tomorrow.

As I work to establish my portion of the root structure network that may or may not be analyzed by those in the future, the question of character and life giving support for everyone who is touched in one way or another by my own daily journey—arises. Am I good enough, strong enough, and will my character contribute to the strong roots my offspring need to help get them through life’s experiences?

GRANDDAUGHTERS: AMAZING!

I wish to be remembered as a bit wacky but an extremely fun, caring, loving, talented, and artistic person by all of the important people in my life. This would be the richest legacy I could possibly hope for. 

The spark that ignited my current train of thought was fueled by the several bins of photographs I’ve been going through as we continue to weed out, categorize, and re-evaluate our stuff after moving back to Michigan from Florida! If our ancestors are the taproot we plug into for information about ourselves, photographs are the memories that surround us, ground us, and confirm in our minds activities from the past and present. Pleasantly, as one picture is hastily flipped behind another and strips of brown negatives slide to the floor, I realize how important our interaction with close friends throughout the years adds important meaning to the life we lead.

My sweet ‘sister friend’ often reminds me that good friends can become closer and more reliable than our own flesh and blood. There is that special bond within a productive friendship that sweetens through time and produces a caring and loving relationship between those who accept how important it can be to both parties. Since moving up to Kalamazoo, I understand and have experienced how beautiful and important a relationship like this can be. I thank all of my sisters for their acceptance of me and never ending love!

Yes, there are some outstandingly brave people that line my ancestry hall of fame: grandparents who fled the ravages of war in the Ukraine before WWI and found a good life together in the United States, a great aunt who protected my fifteen-year-old father from a wayward life by taking him under her wing, and a loving mother who, even though caught between the chapters of history, knew the importance of raising her children with an abundance of love and kindness.

HARTWICK PINES STATE PARK
SEPTEMBER 15, 2019

 

As we have recently discovered, the lateral roots of all trees work in harmony in the forest and are connected to one another as they reach out for the flow of nutrients from mother trees offering sustenance to their neighbors and offspring. The continued theme of gaining nourishment from our own roots impacts how humans sustain themselves and those around them. Family photos become framed displays of joy and pride with pictures of loved ones spread across the family room wall like ivy along a brick facade; feeler roots clinging to each crevice hoping to thrive throughout time and never be  forgotten.

The strong interconnection among family, friends, places, and celebrations along the years can be a heady experience. I will put the images away for now hoping my emotions are calmed by their brief absence. How satisfying to know that our taproots dive down deeply, powerfully within us after having sprouted sturdy guidelines and memories available to tap into whenever we feel the need to learn more.

Copyright © 2022 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

ANYONE FOR A CIVIL CONVERSATION?

 

A series of essays….

“WE NEED TO BE MAKING FRIENDS AND COMMUNICATING WITH
THOSE PEOPLE WHO DISAGREE WITH US. WE CAN LEARN 
FROM ONE ANOTHER.” —BRENT HILL

Photo Credit: Kateryna Kovarzh // Adobe

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

Just as we’ve adopted the commercial name of Kleenex as the standard title for all tissue products, or hear the prescribed adage of, “Take two aspirin and call me in the morning,” as consumers, we have come to accept lumping similar products together under one name or description. As my mom used to do when her blood pressure would rise over a wrong deed done by one of her four children, she would start calling all of our names, randomly, until by the fourth try the guilty party was established. 

Equally, the political backlash in the U.S. has divided us into two groups with nary an inch of gray space in between them. There isn’t the bleeding over of thought, ideas, or good intentions that could define the middle of the road, any longer. Prodded by big money, we are losing our middle class and creating a country based on corporate and personal gains while isolating the poor and racially abused population on the lower end of the spectrum. If money equals power, then the power has shifted towards the handful of elites who hold the purse strings. 

Without thinking about the ramifications of our thoughts and actions, we have adapted to good vs. evil, black or white, Right vs. Left, and damn anyone who might be left in between! Yes, despite what you think, there are some of us out here wondering just where we stand within the broader picture; many of us are willing to arbitrate political disputes among us without generic labeling while hoping against hope that it’s not too late for civil conversations and group discussions to guide us into the Promised Land of civility and understanding.

A kind friend at Sunday morning breakfast was gently questioning a mutual friend of ours about how and why he feels the way he does about his own political beliefs with the intention of drawing out plausible answers and melding ideas to work with. Without condescension as part of the equation, all of us at the table realized a modicum of insight into one another’s world. We may not have agreed, but it was all brought to the table without anyone losing their heads, literally. It can be done. All of us just need to take the time to talk, try to understand, and, most importantly, listen to one another.

I am an idealist and a dreamer and always have been. It is difficult to live in a world where a prominent sports figure, having allegedly abused twenty women, receives the largest contract ever written in football history and is punished for his alleged crimes by not being able to play in his next six games. Meanwhile, a nine-year-old girl is raped by a thirty-something male, becomes pregnant and has to leave her home state of Ohio to have an abortion in Indiana due to the elimination of Roe vs. Wade and the repercussions of this loss from state to state. 

Where is the cooperation expected of rational human beings going about their day with the belief that all people are created equal? All people, regardless of their skin color, sexual orientation, or political beliefs? No, we cannot lump everyone under the Kleenex brand and expect all to be right or equal in this world. Humans cannot and should not function in this way. 

But money can be such a fickle mistress, never constant or loyal in affection; likely to change frequently upon a whim. To remain loyal to obtaining money, legally or illegally, old or new, places anyone in a highly vulnerable position. At this point, one’s morals and standards enter into the relationship and serve to guide us in a positive, healthy direction. Greed can be a cancer, dark and cruel, serving only a handful of people for a limited amount of time until death do they part. The selfish desire for power weakens the body, mind and soul until each is an empty husk and incapable of behaving in a whole and rational manner.

Thinking about such selfishness raises my blood pressure as I mentally list the current oppressors who desire to lead us back into a time when men owned slaves, women were second-class citizens, Black people were considered inhuman, and only white men were believed to be fit enough to rule. It’s not necessary for me to give them recognition by stating each one by name. 

Let us consider the art of a civil, respectful conversation in which a dialogue between two people or a group intends to build a better understanding; where all parties do not have to agree. What truly matters is the act of listening to one another and learning where we come from and why we feel the way we do about the topics being discussed. In this way, civil conversation focuses on process rather than results.

Copyright © 2022 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

WALLPAPER DELIRIUM

 

A series of essays….

CABIN OF THE CUSTOMS WATCH BY CLAUDE MONET

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

The courtroom artist’s renderings on the nightly news tonight remind me of Norman Rockwell toile (French: an illustrated fabric). Snarky me sits here wishing the background color immediately behind the judge in the drawing was just a slightly darker shade of green.

Cabin of the Customs Watch, painted by Claude Monet in 1882, contains the perfect color palette for my selected wall and reached high-ranking mural status while sporting a number one rating on my top-ten list, last week.

This week conjures up the spirit of the Hopi people of north-eastern Arizona performing ceremonial rituals while dressed in elaborate and beautiful costumes adorned with feathered headdresses. Although the spirit and colors match my ideas very well, this one might be a bit busy for my small space.

THE SPIRIT OF THE HOPI

Walking around The Detroit Institute of Arts a few weeks ago was like studying a gigantic showroom of wall covering samples with all of their fine details popping out at me: colors, periods, styles (Chinoiserie in particular). So many amazing and talented artists who have created such wonderful delights to choose from!

CHINOISERIE: A STYLE OF DECORATION
OR FINE ART BASED ON IMITATIONS OF 
CHINESE MOTIFS

Everything I see has the potential of being the perfect wallpaper! I find myself living each waking (dreaming) moment totally obsessed by potential patterns; infinite possibilities. Lately, I have been inundated, overpowered, and totally mesmerized by it!

Since I have not thought about wallpaper as a decorative option for decades, I am finding the new generation of it to be collaborating with my senses and driving me into a delusional and highly misleading effect of perception.

Similar to binge-watching television programs, it is a production by Wallpaper Direct starring Turkish Ikat and co-starring Lucious Flora in all her super abundant glory, followed by The Transylvanian Manor Toile adorned in tones of green, brown, and taupe and brought to you by Birch Lane. Switching the channel to Milton & King (perhaps a talented duo and fine stand-up comedians?), I long for a free sample of English Roses adorned in sparkling, gold stars with plum and dark green accents.

THE DETROIT INSTITUTE OF ARTS

When I pick up my laptop to write or research an idea, I inevitably find myself scrolling through wallpaper sites within a matter of seconds. I can’t help myself! Obsessive-compulsive disorder, OCD, is an anxiety disorder in which people are driven to repeat the same act, such as washing their hands (or scrolling through wallpaper Websites), over and over again, usually for many hours. 

Could the remedy to my compulsiveness come in the form of finding the perfect wall covering, literally, as soon as possible? Does the perfect wallpaper actually exist? This latter question conjures-up even more anxiety and plunges me into the abyss and I find myself clawing my way back up to the surface in order to find life sustaining oxygen and glorious light I require.

After refinishing an antique dresser (to be used as our bathroom vanity) in deep, emerald tones with gold and copper accents, the need for another design statement hit my decorating sensibilities. I decided that wallpaper was the smart approach that would add a certain je ne sais quoi and make a very personal statement in our new bath. I am, usually, a pretty precise and capable person when it comes to knowing what I want, but this wallpaper thing has, absolutely, thrown me through a loop.

MY REFURBISHED ANTIQUE DRESSER

First of all, it’s not an inexpensive endeavor. The product has been improved beyond expectations since decorating our first home in 1973. We all know that with improvements and time comes equated expense. Did you know it’s washable now? Sure, washable vinyl has been around for a very long time, but this new generation of paper is durable and reaches far beyond the stodgy Victorian wall coverings that older homes epitomized. I recall having to peel back at least five layers of paper from the walls of our Victorian home before we could paint; like peeling the layers of an onion, our home’s history unfolded before my eyes.

For now, many samples are piled-up on my oak library table with golden rays of sunlight shining on them via the bent mini-blind slats that are disliked even more than the difficult task of choosing the perfect paper. In addition, green painter’s tape secures even more samples to the wall above the new vanity. Dan accurately mentioned that if I got a few more samples, we could just cover the walls with them and enjoy an eclectic array of color and style and it would be much less expensive. He really does make a valid point.

A pile of wallpaper samples: a proclamation of how important the design of one room can be; a sign of respect consigned to posterity. I’ll get to where I want to be—sooner or later. True perfection always takes time and patience in the making, right?

Copyright © 2022 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

THE YEARS BETWEEN

 

A series of essays….

FOR JUST A FEW MOMENTS IN TIME SHE IS FEELING INTENSELY 
AGAIN AS WHEN SHE WERE YOUNG…

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

Settling comfortably into the plush velvet chair, remarkably the exact shade of blue as his eyes, she is offered something to drink. Her playful personality wants to ask for a gin & tonic, but she settles for a glass of water and prepares for the long afternoon.

Lately, her simple pleasure has been looking back into the past and knowing that the present represents the culmination of everyone and everything she has come to know and care about. She contends that the stabilizer of life’s many chapters is the love interwoven within the interesting years between.

She has skipped, hopped, and wobbled through the early years like a flat stone tossed across the surface of a calm lake only to sink below its depths, each time, after the momentum had vanished. These are the years between, marking numerous pink, glittery birthday parties, visits to her grandparent’s farm when she helped to gather fresh eggs from the henhouse with grandma, baton and ballet lessons, and building snow forts with her cousins on blustery January afternoons.

The years between were a progression of choreographed moves from one city to another, attempting to balance school, friendships, and family life while growing-up in a time froth with discussions about when will we have to move again and coupled with the daunting possibility of nuclear war! A time when poodle skirts, saddle shoes, and choo choo bags were fashion icons along with pegged pants, copious amounts of hair gel, and going to the nearest music store to pick out a new ‘single’ to be played on the red and white, 45 rpm record player in her current rental bedroom. 

Growing into her high school days generously stretched out between post-game dances, which teachers and classes she enjoyed the most, and whether to try-out for the school play. These years, among her most vulnerable, played forward with the velocity of a high-speed train, marking summer flirtations with boys from Latvia who acquired various kinds of alcohol from mysterious sources and learning, first hand, when the fun stopped and life became, inordinately, real. These were the true learning curves she needed in order to catalog life in accurate terms while taking deep breaths and counting to ten.

As suddenly as the arrival of a pounding Floridian storm, her life changed forever. Her sophomore year at State is when their eyes met for the very first time. How simple it was to sink into their watery depths, never wanting to come-up for air or mortal sustenance. Falling in love and being loved became—breathtaking! Campus sparkled even on a cloudy day and navigating through classes and a work-study program was soothing and agreeable as long as their lives were intertwined; their nights and weekends were spent together.

The years between then and now gave both of them purpose—after all, creating a new family will do that for you. Life itself changed day-by-day with its crazy roller coaster ride of twists and turns: getting children to school on time, taking the amazing opportunity to build a new home at twenty-five years old, losing one job only to find a better one, often living paycheck to paycheck, attending dance recitals, and watching parents grow older and then passing at such early ages, and empty nesting early enough to, practically, begin it all over again, but with grandchildren this go around.

The man and the woman lived, laughed, and loved through their pain and sorrow, as many people do. She always reasoned that it is how you learn to adjust to all of those years between that makes you better, makes you stronger, and gives you the will to carry-on. Knowing that when you look into those remarkable blue eyes, day after day, year after year, and still feel their power drawing at the heartstrings while creating new music every time, you’ve lived a very special life. She never doubted this for a moment.

They had always made a good team. Growing old together was their game plan. Being well into their eighties did not seem to slow them down a bit and their strategy for the next ten years was to keep their shoulders back, maintain a steady pace, and live each day as if it were the last; until it is the last…

Now, as she sits in the soft, comfortable chair and falls under the spell of all of the years between; a melancholic trance swoops over her in which she becomes absorbed in vivid sensory details—teardrops skittering down gentle faces, tall figures dressed in dark colors swaying in the large room, small seeds from a lemon slice swirling in her water glass—briefly soaking in the complex experience of being alive. Allowing her mind to wander, she enjoys the ride, allowing herself to differentiate between the ordinary and the epic: pages pulled from The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows.*

For just a few moments in time she is feeling intensely again as when she were young; when his deep blue eyes gazed upon the young woman who was to become his wife, mother of his children, and life partner until death do they part.

*Thoughts Inspired by The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows by John Koenig. 

Copyright © 2022 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

FIREWORKS, SHIVERS, AND A LOST CELL PHONE

 

A series of essays….

AS BEAUTIFUL AS A MONET PAINTING

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

It was definitely a ‘Shake, Rattle, and Roll’ kind of weekend! Our nine-month-old Goldendoodle, Bree, finally learned the major downfall of having fireworks set-off so close to our house when the Kalamazoo Country Club sent-up another spectacular display last Friday. We have not had to worry about what fireworks can do to the stability of our pets for the past six years. And…

Bree’s reaction to them was a sad reminder of having our previous fur babies learn how to cope with the genuine fear felt after each volley assaulted their nervous systems and basic wellbeing.

KCC must have repositioned their base for shooting off these colorful, gun-powdered artillery shells to a spot much closer to our house. The gut-bomb after effects seemed to penetrate much deeper this year due to their proximity. Pushing framed photos back from the edge of shelves was the order of the evening after the entire house shook and rattled as if we were in the middle of a war zone.

Some dogs are truly immune to the thunder of fireworks. Hard to believe, I know. Our daughter’s dog, Oreo, could care less about constant shelling and ground tremors. Bree, we quickly learned, is a more typical “Get me out of here” kind of pet complete with a major case of the shivers and the desire to hide anywhere she can even if she has to dig her way to China! That’s, of course, where these mini-bombs come from in the first place. Full circle. Holding her tight seems to do the trick, but any sharp bang or loud cracking sound since then gives her pause. While lifting her nose high into the air, she always makes certain the coast is clear.

Our little test of Bree’s reaction to fireworks was a prelude to bringing her to our friend’s house on the lake this past Sunday where there was to be a firework display based on the small island not too far offshore. We left her in her calm place, her crate and comfy bed insert, up in the house until her life was quieter and we came back upstairs for the night. When checking-up on her half way through the performance, it was determined that she was doing alright while snuggled up in her small, dark sanctuary.

PAYTON AND BREE BEING
INTRODUCED FOR THEIR PLAY DATE

After enjoying a gourmet breakfast prepared by our illustrious hosts, we decided to take Bree to the campus of Michigan State University and walk her around the Lewis Landscape Arboretum, one of the notable gardens that MSU takes much deserved pride in. The sun shone brightly, the grass was green and lush, and the flowers were in full, colorful bloom! Still feeling some anxiety and fatigue from her romp with Payton, a Chocolate Labrador and our friends’ beautiful fur baby, she was more than ready to have some dinner, a drink of water, and stretch-out in the back seat for the car trip home.

Forty-five minutes from campus I searched for my phone to look at all of the pictures taken over the weekend. Shivering as sharp pains ran down my arms and legs, I realized it was nowhere to be found. Dan called it from his cell phone and heard it ringing—but, from somewhere other than inside our vehicle. Quickly, he hung up.

THE LAST PICTURE TAKEN BEFORE
LEAVING THE PARKING LOT

Okay, I remembered taking Bree’s picture in the garden. Don’t panic… I was seated on the bench of a picnic table. Don’t panic… Did I set the phone down beside me when Dan took her for a walk after eating? Please don’t panic and think! Yes! It has to be on the end of the bench!

I felt a little bit better having tucked this knowledge in the forefront of my mind while Dan was already navigating the ramp onto I-96 Eastbound, back towards campus. It was a long, shaky, stressful ride for me. I know it’s just a cell phone and nearly all of the information on it (pictures, especially) is stored in the cloud, anyway. But there’s something very primal and unrelenting about having an object so personal out of your grasp and control.

By this time, my mantra changed from don’t panic to just stay calm— along with a few prayers thrown in for good measure. If someone did see it and picked it up, I only hoped they would have put it back down with the idea that its owner would surely return for it, eventually. 

Turning into the parking lot located off of Service Road, my heart skipped a beat as we approached the picnic area. A tiny, dark green, rectangular object occupied the end of the bench right where I sat almost an hour and a half before. Being caught between the emotions of fear and joy, I gingerly drifted over to the table to claim my phone; genuine relief was written all over my face as I slipped it into my bag and neatly zipped it into the confines of its familiar spot.

GREEN SPACE ON THE CAMPUS OF
MICHIGAN STATE UNIVERSITY 

Fortunately, Bree doesn’t seem to be bothered by a hearty thunder and lightning storm because we experienced several whoppers while attempting to sleep later that night. As I lay there watching the brilliant flashes and counting the seconds between them and the inevitable boom to follow, hearing not even the slightest whimper out of her, I reasoned that her personal fears stem from deep, primitive depths—just like my own. 

A rude introduction into the unknown became a powerful lesson in ‘we don’t know what we don’t know until we think we do.’ Bree’s nescience of human industrialisation (labeled good or bad) caused her to fear the world around her in the form of fireworks, even for a short period, and be able to recall that fear time and time again.

I would have gotten another phone, eventually, and life would proceed even after this major glitch of forgetfulness. But, deep inside, I believe both Bree and I experienced our own unique sense of loss; a belief that the world around us was, suddenly, shockingly our enemy and not the perfect world we were born into. It was as though a sliver of our soul had broken off and was being scattered into oblivion.

If shivering with sheer panic helped get us through it and into a better place, we must cope with our loss and learn to depend on ourselves and others to get us through the rough patches.

Copyright © 2022 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved