BUILDING A WALL: EUROPEAN STYLE

A series of essays....

'LITTLE YELLOW COTTAGE' IN WINTER'S EMBRACE

....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

It all began by placing the first stone.....

Since returning from our last major trip which included Scotland and Ireland in October, Dan and I have been working on our new kitchen in the ‘Little Yellow Cottage.’ For the most part, our interaction has been highly congenial due to the fact that we’ve been planning this new space for a very long time....since purchasing this home three-and-a-half years ago.

I would like to think that the distraction of working on our kitchen has somehow lightened the burden of some personal problems that I claim stem from having moved nearer to our children, placed our current political burdens in a semblance of an 'out-of-sight and out-of-mind' order (even if only for a few hours every day), and opened-up our hearts to the amazing people living here in Michigan whom I am so proud to call my ‘friends who are like family!’ In our spare time away from kitchen duty, these friends exemplify the true meaning of Love and welcome Dan and me into their fold with open arms. All of you know who you are and how much you are appreciated and loved right back!

With the intensity of wanting to build this wall (I do apologize if this has a familiar ring to it!), we set forth on a two week journey along the rugged terrain of our exposed western wall that Dan had recently covered in extended metal lath. The stationary transom window we’d inserted into the wall could not exist without a wooden lintel, even if it is intended for looks alone rather than structural support. Our friends, Janis and Fred, had taken us on an exhibition of their grand farm located on the outskirts of Jackson to look for the perfect piece of wood for our lintel. We found it serving a previous thirty-five year old working life as a fence rail separating the big, red barn from the sheep barns and other out buildings. What a fun and successful treasure hunt that was!

JAN AND FRED'S BEAUTIFUL FARM!

Our cottage, built before World War II in 1941, has many stories to tell. I’ve always wished that walls could talk and living in this cottage has reinforced that desire. I’m sitting here thinking that someone had just built their new home here in Kalamazoo and moved in just as the war broke out. How were they affected by this outcome? Were tears shed as the young man, head of the household, left shortly afterwards to defend his country? Was he fortunate enough to return to his family in Kalamazoo and be happy in this little cottage? Perhaps it was built by an older couple whose child or grandchild donned a uniform and was shipped overseas after basic training! How they must have hoped and prayed for their safe return.

My imagination runs wild as I recall stepping into our ‘Little Yellow Cottage’ for the very first time only to discover its beauty, inadequacies, quirks, and exhilarating potential. Stepping into the minute back kitchen was a claustrophobic and disheartening experience. However, the basic ‘triangle’ existed with sink, range, and refrigerator. Looking beyond this small space, there existed a glassed-in porch that led out to a large outdoor deck. The good-sized porch was closed off from the kitchen by a six-foot sliding glass door. This is where potential slipped in right before my eyes.

Dan, my personal contractor and builder (husband), reasoned that since the porch was approximately the same size as the existing kitchen, incorporating it into the footprint of the original home seemed a logical idea. We would be doubling the size of the kitchen while introducing it to the new millennium! We believed we could do this...so, we did!

LAVENDER, SUNFLOWERS,
AND LOTS OF SUNSHINE

THE BEAUTY OF A LAVENDER FIELD

      www.thegoodlifefrance.com

 Courtesy of Laure Roux

Okay, so my idea of upgrades might be a little different from those of others in the fact that I realize that modern functionality can coexist with another century, another place. I envision a land of stone walls and fences, homemade cheese, lavender fields bathed in sunlight, and vineyards that rest along the fertile valleys of mountainous terrain and lofty stone terraces far above the azure blue Mediterranean Sea.

France.... 

This country has captured my heart and rejuvenated my soul since I was a little girl. My desire to be French, speak the language, live in a peaceful, Provençal village and say bonjour to everyone each morning while walking to the local boulangèrie to purchase croissants and several baguettes for the day has always consumed me. So, for me, making my new kitchen ‘Français Amical’ was a no-brainer. Fortunately, Dan understands and concurs.

SITTING ON MY GRANDMA'S LAP

All of my daydreaming and collected desires has led me to building this kitchen wall; imitating so many French, Irish, Scottish....European features of a quintessential, cozy, country cottage. Looking at such a wall while I cook and entertain friends will always make me feel safe and warm. Who knows, if I could see back into my Grandmother’s childhood kitchen in the Ukraine, it may have had walls that reflected the exterior of her family cottage and brought it inside where chickens and domesticated furry friends lived harmoniously as one happy family.

IT ALL BEGAN BY PLACING
THAT FIRST STONE...

STONE WALL GROWING WITH
LINTEL RIGHT IN PLACE

ONWARD AND UPWARD!!!

COMPLETED STONE PLACEMENT
WITHOUT MORTAR

It all began by placing that first stone solidly along the bottom of the kitchen wall. Hanging there in all its glory with no visible sign of slippage, Dan lathered another stone with mortar and prepared for its positioning near the first. Stone after stone followed as we channeled our imagination and gut feelings until, several hours later, our stones clung to the wall like giant, hard shelled insects grasping desperately to a large screen door.

SPONGING THE MORTAR INTO PLACE

The time consuming and challenging next step stood between our wall and its completion. Never having filled-in the rather large spaces between the stones with colored mortar before, my work was cut out for me. White mortar, lightly colored with powdered concrete dye, mixed with water, and placed in a large, cloth mortar bag was the recipe of the day! The process made me feel like a little kid decorating free-style cupcakes on a baking sheet turned vertically. 

As it turned out, the giant pastry bag worked amazingly well (even though I still can’t see myself decorating cakes or cookies anytime soon). Sponging off excess mortar gently with a damp sponge while pushing, prodding, and manipulating the mortar with my fingers until it was settled in perfectly took up most of the time. Scraping skin off of my fingertips because I believed I was smarter than having to wear a thin, rubber glove for protection from the sand, masonry cement, and lime that comprised the harsh mixture was a lesson quickly accepted.

FINALLY....THE WALL IS COMPLETED!!!

The wall, at least, is done now. We have become semi-prideful individuals who revel in our accomplishments. We did it! And, I believe it could be a stone wall to be admired by anyone who has ever seen, touched, enjoyed, or desired having such a feature wall in their own homes. 

TRAVERTINE FLOOR IN PROGRESS 

The kitchen itself remains a work in progress. Dan is in the process of grouting the travertine floor as we await the shipment of our white cabinetry. And, choosing the right style and color of countertop remains a mystery....and, usually, I am such a plan ahead kind of person!

What I do know is this: Call it an homage to my sweet, immigrant Grandmother and her youthful lifestyle and memories, or attribute it to feeding a simplistic, country feeling for life that has dwelled within me for many years but, when I turn-on the lights in my kitchen and see our stone wall for the first time each day, my heart sings and my step is as light as a feather. It makes me feel loved and fills me with the joy and desire to bake cookies with my grandchildren and teach them how to make pierogy (filled dumplings) and filled cabbage rolls (golubtsi) just like Grandma made for her family. I’m all about keeping important traditions alive.

FILLED CABBAGE ROLLS (GOLUBTSI)

Copyright © 2019 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

Photo Copyright © 2019 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

A PLEASANT SURPRISE: STIRLING, SCOTLAND

A series of essays....

OLD TOWN JAIL, LOCATED IN STIRLING, SCOTLAND

....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

We left the magnificent town of Edinburgh after two days of strenuous uphill climbs to visit the Edinburgh Castle and to conduct epic sightseeing walks along the Royal Mile and further south onto the upper terraces of Edinburgh’s Old Town. Slipping into narrow, stone passageways, we discovered ancient, soot-covered buildings towering  high above us filled with bell towers and intricately carved, solid oaks doors rising ten feet tall and higher. These resplendent buildings, courtyards, and gardens were filled with history and intrigue, taking us back into another place in time.

When I think about the history of places we visit and envision the people who kept them alive via hard work, an abundance of stamina, and pure survival instincts, I think of a line by English writer and researcher, Luke Kemp, when he said, “We will only march into collapse if we advance blindly. We are only doomed if we are unwilling to listen to the past.”

Sitting in our rental car, loaded with luggage and pure anticipation of what awaited us around the next bend in the road, we could see the silhouette of Edinburgh Castle growing smaller in the distance behind us. 

Soon we would discover our new home for four days on a working sheep farm just south of Glasgow near the village of Uplawmoor. From ‘home base,’ we would conduct day trips to Wigtown, ‘Scotland’s National Book Town’ to the south, hiking trails near Loch Lomond in the Highlands to our north, and over to the hilltop town of Stirling located northeast of Glasgow and noted for its own ‘castle on the hill.’ 

Wondering if day-tripping to Stirling was a sound idea given that we’d recently discovered Edinburgh with its mighty castle in the sky, would seeing something so similar be worth the precious amount of time we had in Scotland? After some debate, the four of us piled into the car on our way to Stirling for the day.

Let’s just say....we were not disappointed with our decision.

OLD TOWN STIRLING

We parked at the lower level of Old Town Stirling and meandered our way up the narrow, cobblestoned street of St. John leading up to Stirling Castle that loomed high above us but still out-of-sight. The walk was breathtakingly steep as we passed iconic buildings such as The Stirling Highland Hotel that was once a school and still boasts having a working observatory. The Stirling Old Town Jail sits just above the hotel and dates back to 1847 and features daily tours with enactments by local actors depicting the conditions there so many years ago.

STIRLING HIGHLAND HOTEL

NAVIGATING SMALL, BRICK PATHS

A FRIENDLY (?) FACE!

ANCIENT PAVERS BENEATH OUR FEET

As we circled in front of the jail, we came up to an ancient brick and mortar entrance (replete with black-painted gargoyles) that would usher us into one of the most amazing cemeteries that harbored many unique surprises. Old Town Cemetery rests just below Stirling Castle and features tombstones dating back into the late sixteen hundreds! Our vantage point from here was panoramic with Stirling city resting far below, Ben Vorlich rising high above Loch Lomond and The Trossachs National Park to the northwest, and Stirling Castle still out of sight but just around yet another cobblestoned bend in the road.

STIRLING CITY RESTING FAR BELOW 

STONE AND BRICK ENTRANCE TO CEMETERY

GARGOYLES KEEPING WATCH

LOOKING THROUGH THE GATE

INTRICATE PATTERNS

DOOR TO ANOTHER WORLD

If you know me by now, you would understand how intrigued I can be by an amazing cemetery. Old Town Cemetery offered so many exceptional photo ops complete with ravens adorned in luscious purple/black feathers with their beady eyes guaranteed to stare right through you. 

ROWS OF SHADOW AND LIGHT

"AND THE RAVEN, NEVER FLITTING,
STILL IS SITTING, STILL IS SITTING......."

Apparently, Stirling Castle came in at a close second for all of us after experiencing the phenomenal views, cemetery delights, and magnificent old structures standing majestically on the hill dressed in their finest sooty attire and surrounded by colorful late September flowers and drifting autumn leaves.

LOOKING OFF TO THE NORTHWEST

THE SUN CREATES PINK SKIES

STIRLING CASTLE UP ON THE HILL

A VORTEX WITHIN THE CEMETERY?

THE SUN UPON MY SHOULDER

LOOKING OUT AT BEN VORLICH

CHAPEL WITHIN THE CEMETERY

LOOKING OUT TO THE SOUTHEAST
TOWARDS EDINBURGH

We had worked up a healthy appetite by now given the trek up to the castle and the sharp wind that gave noses and cheeks a healthy rosy glow. We’d spied a charming whitewashed eatery catercorner from the main entrance to the cemetery called Hermanns and located on Broad Street. For twenty-six pounds sterling per couple, we feasted like kings and queens and, if truth be told, enjoyed one of the most delicious meals of our entire Scottish visit. I would return to Stirling again if only to enjoy the culinary delights offered by Hermanns.

DELICIOUS FOOD SERVED WITH
ELEGANCE IN MIND

DESSERT WORTH WALKING
UPHILL FOR

'HAVE A SAFE JOURNEY HOME'

After lunch, we launched our descent down Broad Street in search of our car. 

With a bit of sadness in our hearts, we bid a cheery adieu to Stirling that crisp, sunny day in September, vowing to return one day, soon. For now, we were happy to know that someone was wishing us a safe journey home!

COLORFUL FLOWERS
LINED OUR WAY

BORDER FLOWERS BRIGHTENED
A LATE SEPTEMBER DAY!

A WELCOMING DOOR!

Copyright © 2019 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved

Photo Copyright © 2019 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved

"WE ARE NOT MAKERS OF HISTORY, WE ARE MADE BY HISTORY" ...MARTIN LUTHER KING JR.

A series of essays....

THE DECLINE OF HISTORICAL THINKING
BY ERIC ALTERMAN

        Courtesy of inxti


....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

A recent article in The New Yorker states that there is a huge decline in historical thinking. (Eric Alterman, published on February 4, 2019). Mr. Alterman claims that, “For the past decade, on American campuses, history has been declining more rapidly than any other major, even as more and more students attend college.” He also believes that, “The steep decline in history graduates is most visible beginning in 2011 and 2012. Evidently, after the 2008 financial crisis, students (and their parents) felt a need to pick a major in a field that might place them on a secure career path.”

With the base cost of an undergrad education rising swiftly, this approach by both middle class parents and their children would seem to make good sense. Student loans do not pay for themselves and only by securing a good job upon graduation would one be able to pay them off, eventually.

I can understand this line of thinking. I don’t like that it exists, but I can offer-up some of my own reactions, emotions, and reasons for this particular decline of History majors within our country’s higher education institutions.

After this current administration came into office and the likes of Betsy DeVos was slated to run the U.S. Department of Education, I began calling her new project ‘The Dumbing Down of America,’ and with good reason. The emphasis of each move she made was to slowly deteriorate our current public school system by any means possible. What better way to under educate and under develop our young minds than to take away sound, basic programs (the arts and science, reading programs, geography, history) that were previously in place in order to elevate the public school’s curriculum, spark imagination, and enhance the education of America’s youth? For me, DeVos and the current administration’s agenda was quite obvious right from the beginning and deemed highly compromising if planning out a prosperous future for our country.

The King of Lies who happens to reside in the White House today personally ignores the fact that it is clear that historical analysis would demonstrate that legal immigration into America has accounted for much of our creativity, innovation, and economic production. By ignoring the facts, misrepresenting our own history, and blatantly lying to the American public, “the Republicans have, for the past few decades, depended on Americans’ inability to make sense of history in judging their policies. Under Trump, they have succeeded in turning legal immigration into the excuse for all the country’s ills,” Mr. Alterman explains.

If we are educating someone to be able to handle all of life’s experiences, without having an historical background or any knowledge of the past they cannot be totally ready for life. The last generation, at least, have become people who live in the ‘now’ and often fail to recognize the importance of ‘where did we come from, how and why did we get to where we are today, and are we capable of knowing what mistakes we have made in the past so as not to repeat them?’ I’ve written before how instant gratification is the name of the game for so many of us today and our electronic devices have become attached to us in, sometimes, very unhealthy ways.

Walter Lippmann, an American writer, photographer, and activist, once warned nearly a century ago that, “Men who have lost their grip upon the relevant facts of their environment are the inevitable victims of agitation and propaganda. The quack, the charlatan, and the jingo (One who vociferously supports one's country, especially one who supports a belligerent foreign policy; a chauvinistic patriot)... can flourish only where the audience is deprived of independent access to information.” In other words, if the citizens of a nation have no knowledge of history, they are asking to be led by jingos!

The amassing of Trump lies just within the past two years of his presidency proves that he is a quack, a charlatan, and a jingo. And, unfortunately, as explained by Mr. Alterman, “Without more history majors, we are doomed to repeat him.” 

Like a brand new parent, we learn to live with and by our own mistakes. And, by the time a second child comes along, we, with any luck, have become more prepared to handle the general welfare of our new ‘little one’ than we may have the first time around. So it goes with the works of historical fiction and non-fiction authors, storytellers, history professors, and the all important student graduating with a degree in history. Life comes around full circle and the more we can learn about ourselves, research that which came before us, and study the habits (right or wrong) of our ancestors, we will always be a step ahead in the game of life and discover the process of enclosing the circle that completes us.

IS THIS HOW WE WANT OUR
HISTORY BOOKS TO LOOK IN THE FUTURE?

                  Courtesy of roundex

We can ill afford to leave the pages of our history books empty. The generations that follow us will surely be deprived of independent thinking, as well as the access to information that will help shape a sound and prosperous future.

Copyright © 2019 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved

LITTLE ADVENTURES, ONCE AGAIN...

A series of essays and poems....

NORTH CAROLINA BEAUTIFUL (2014)

....as seen through my eyes!






By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

LITTLE ADVENTURES

Turn a corner or round a bend,

Hike through a forest or

Sift sand through your toes

On a white ribbon of beach

As the sun caresses your skin...

Perhaps this morning you order

A cup, black, at a French café.

Sitting there watching the human race stroll by,

You listen, observe, digest the scene...

A smile here; downward glance there.

Life, life, life, how beautiful! Paris?

Loose stones shift,

Tumble down to places dark and mysterious

As gravity reminds you to hold tight....

Do not forget to look around you,

The climb up is worth each precious glance!

The gray sky clings above

Like a flannel blanket, soft and protective.

This afternoon you navigate the grassy shoreline,

A promise of rain is never a challenge.

Black/gray stones skipped on top

Of the whitecaps rolling out to meet the

Stony spine of Lough Corrib.

The daunting, Italian scenery begs for control

As the little car hugs the narrow road for dear life!

You pitch and shift with each switchback

Holding your breath...from both the excitement

And the mountainous beauty surrounding you!

Tonight....you dine with new friends,

Wondering where your conversations might take you!

With the crisp undertones of fruit and honey upon your lips,

Names like Marrakesh, Madrid and Marseille

Penetrate the conversation; your imagination.

And, all you can think about is...

Tomorrow's possibilities; tomorrow's feast!

Author's Note:

This poem was written with Love in fond tribute to the travels already taken and the ones yet to be experienced. Many thanks to a new Facebook friend for 'liking' this blog entry from November 30, 2014 and reminding me that this contribution was made over four  years ago! Often, it is good to revisit places we've been (literally), including older posts that mean so much to us upon reflection; writings that shape our lives, define who we are, and keep us wanting to give more and more....

With much appreciation for enjoying my stories, poems, and photographs, 

Jacqueline Hughes  

Copyright © 2019 By Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved

Photo Copyright ©2014 By Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved

 

BREVITY: A SHORT BUT TRANSFORMATIVE YEAR IN A LIFE

 
A series of essays....

STUDENTS ENGAGED IN LEARNING, DECIPHERING,
AND, HOPEFULLY, TAKING AWAY A HIGHER-ORDER OF THINKING

    Courtesy, Linkedin Learning

....as seen through my eyes!

BY: JACQUELINE E. HUGHES

Creative writing classes were yet to be programmed into the curriculum of Indiana University in South Bend or the English Department of Michigan State University in East Lansing back in the day. So, I began my college career taking classes in journalism for one year at IUSB while living with my aunt and uncle before transferring to MSU with a major in English and Secondary Education. 

Journalism courses back in the late sixties were nothing short of eye opening for me in so many ways. Entering my freshman year at seventeen years of age and owning my first car should have been enough of a thrill for anyone to handle. However, couple that with my eight o’clock class professor nursing her newborn while sitting on the front edge of her desk and explaining the principles of the ‘Five W’s plus How’ and how they relate to basic information gathering and problem solving in journalism. The take-away was how comfortable she made me feel in my own skin and how she gave this seventeen-year-old female hope for an upward momentum in women’s rights and equality within a lingering man’s world.

Regrettably, women must continue to fight in 2019! Ridiculous!!! By now, I expected so much more for my own daughters, let alone for their daughters. To think that almost fifty-one years later, nursing your baby in public (even in a classroom when necessitated) remains controversial. If entrenchment in politics equals a large part of the answer, then fight on ladies all over this country! I will support you in every way I can. Especially by utilizing my right to vote for you if I feel you are the best person for the job.

Then there was the male professor who, literally, told us that if it takes the embellishment of a seemingly weak storyline to make it more interesting or attractive in order to sell more newspapers (the news) then, go for it! (“As long as you cover everyone's behind in every way you can.”) Thinking back, was this my personal landmark in the discovery of what was real and what we refer today as ‘fake news?’ To this day, I’m uncertain as to whether this was his own philosophy or that of journalism in general. I’d like to think it was his, alone. I may have been young at the time, but I knew right then that the ‘game’ associated with the press was not for me. 

Of course, this doesn’t mean that all good journalists fit into this category of creating a stronger story out of a weaker one. It just means that this particular professor felt it was alright to do so and was not afraid to teach this to his students.

After an enlightening year of journalism, theater classes, and (wishing I spoke my Ukrainian grandparent’s language fluently) a semi-decipherable class of Russian History taught by a distinguished, elderly Russian professor who spoke minimum and highly accented English, I transferred to MSU the following fall. 

Thinking back on my year spent living with relatives, driving my own car to classes and back home to Michigan to visit each weekend, and formulating my own ideas of what I expected from myself in the future, this time was, truly, my personal rite of passage. Writing, I knew then, would always be my vocation. Travel....sweet travel, would become my greatest passion. Combining the two has become my raison d’être. 

Little did I realize back then that photography would become so important in my life, as well. I guess this would stand to reason considering one aspect of travel is to chronicle and visually record each experience for future recall and reference. Choosing a theme for each trip (lace curtains, the stately, beautiful faces of the elderly, the creative and practical usage of stone in Ireland, colorful flowers) keeps me focused and enhances my overall participation in everything I see and do.

When thinking back on my discreet ‘nursing’ professor back at Indiana University, I tend to associate her with the backbone of information gathering in the form of the Five W’s and link them to the stories (essays) I write today. These questions are my particular take-away from that period in my life and are used in everything I write. You can never relinquish the power that education affords you even when journalism blends into creative writing. Ask any mystery writer you may know! 

WHO was involved?

WHAT happened?

WHERE did it take place?

WHEN did it take place?

WHY did that happen?

With the possible addition of....

HOW did it happen?

Fairly basic questions with answers that bring a writer (be it fiction or non-fiction) directly to the point of the story and beyond. Even though I still have yet to fully grasp the basic task of embracing brevity, or how to write less and say more, I have come to realize that good, concise writing is more than just writing. It is art in its purest form.  

So, thank you ‘hippie mama’ for helping me see society within an equal, level headed, worldly perspective while at a very vulnerable age. I won’t think about how old your beautiful child is today but hope you are still there to share in his life with all of the love and dignity you afforded us, your students at the time, and during that one very special year of my life.

Copyright © 2019 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved