To Choose to Live With Joy

I think no one will argue that this year just past has been a hard, sad, one. So many idols and heroes gone, such a contentious election, such mean spirits all around.  I felt the oppressive weight all fall, till the house of cards came crashing down, both for myself and so many others, in early November.   Around that time I was having a discussion with a friend who was also feeling the gloom of November, and I remembered one of my favorite quotes by Joseph Campbell:

  "Participate joyfully in the sorrows of the world. We cannot cure the world of sorrows, but we can choose to live in joy. When we talk about settling the world's problems, we're barking up the wrong tree. The world is perfect. It's a mess. It has always been a mess. We are not going to change it. Our job is to straighten out our own lives."

I quoted the key phrase to my friend, "We cannot cure the world of sorrow, but we can choose to live in joy".  I felt better the moment I said it.  I added a thought I had been considering for a while, that one of the reasons for the political climate was that people were turning away from the positive, buying into rhetoric that everything was wrong and that America needed to be made great again, instead of focusing on what was already great. My friend responded "I choose to live in joy".

The moment of affirmation  felt so good, I shared it again a few weeks later with another friend, part of a much maligned ethnic group, who was losing hope in the political process and the world she had so much faith in.  Many friends were speaking words of comfort, and I added mine.  "No matter how bad it gets, joy is ours if we chose for it to be."

Another day, i was in a discussion group talking about word affirmations for the new year. I hadn't realized it till that moment, but I realized that I had been moving towards choosing joy both as a practice and as a word affirmation.  "My word for this year is joy.  I chose to look into the darkness and live in joy."

I have spent some time in the dark of this winter thinking about the meaning of it all. Living in joy does not mean to ignore what is wrong in the world.  It means to take the small steps, the ones that the individual ordinary person can take to give others joyous moments.  It can be as little as smiling at someone when you don't feel like doing it. It can mean a card or simple present for someone who didn't expect it.  It can be a moment of solidarity like waiting with someone being harassed at a bus stop.  It can mean looking for silver linings in sorrowful times, for happy memories in times of loss.It does not mean erecting a bubble around yourself and pretending that a troubled world isn't there. It does not mean rejecting small positive actions as futile.   It means embracing the world you have, because it's the only one you have, and trying to better things where you can.

It also means accepting that you may never know the effects of this choice to live in joy.

In 1966 Robert Kennedy spoke in a South Africa polarized by apartheid.  He spoke of

"the danger of futility: the belief there is nothing one man or one woman can do against the enormous array of the world's ills-against misery and ignorance, injustice and violence. Yet many of the world's greatest movements, of thought and action, have flowed from the work of a single man. A young monk began the Protestant Reformation, a young general extended an empire from Macedonia to the borders of the earth, and a young woman reclaimed the territory of France. It was a young Italian explorer who discovered the New World, and the thirty-two-year-old Thomas Jefferson who proclaimed that all men are created equal."

He knew that many would say they were not that sort of hero, so he talked about the many unknown deeds  that bring change to the world, perhaps better than any other person has ever done:

"It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring those ripples build a current which can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance."


Each and everyone of us can chose to do this.  To do what we can, where we can.  To not succumb to despair when we are told there is no hope for the world.  To fix what we can, when we can, with abilities we can.  To send forth our own tiny ripples of hope and let them go where they will. We can be our own small voices of affirmation.

"We cannot cure the world of sorrow, but we can chose to live in joy."

40 Years On--A Tragedy Remembered

US Army Corps of Engineers/ CC 2.0

40 years ago today a ship sank in a storm on the Great Lakes. Not that unusual an occurrence of course.  Ships sink frequently, usually receiving little notice unless their is a large loss of life or unusual circumstances. So the deaths of 29 men hauling a load of iron ore across the Great Lakes would probably have been forgotten a long time ago. Except it didn't happen, not this time.

Because the story of this shipwreck caught the attention of singer/songwriter Gordon Lightfoot.  And Mr. Lightfoot, one of the great storysongtellers of our time, wrote a song about "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald." Thanks to him, everyone remembers. 

When the Edmund Fitzgerald went down I was a young high school student in Northeastern Ohio. There was a lot of coverage in the local media of the tragedy. When Gordon Lightfoot released his song, I was fascinated to hear a hit record created of events I had read so much about, that had happened so close to home. The long ballad captured not only the wreck itself, but the Lakes as well.

At one time of course, this was how all stories were passed around, and how all the news was heard. If the stories survived it was by word of mouth. Poems and songs are easier to remember than prose. Troy might have been a minor siege, but Homer guaranteed the fame of everyone there. Agincourt was a great victory, but it became unforgettable when Shakespeare retold the story. Immortality often  depends on such flukes.  

40 years ago today, a ship went down on the Great Lakes. Thanks to Gordon Lightfoot, it is not forgotten.

The Last Horror Star

photo by domenico  cc 2.0

When I was a kid, in love with movies, there were two genres i watched more than any other: musicals and horror films.  I watched the musicals with my parents, but I mostly watched horror films alone, on the sort of late night and Saturday afternoon shows that inspired "Fright Night".  I was first attracted to all those classic Universal and RKO films of the 30's and 40's before working my way backwards to Chaney and the German Masters and forward to the Hammer films. It wasn't long before I made the melancholy discovery that most of the actors I loved  were already dead. Except for Vincent Price there were no major American horror stars working in the 70's.  Not so the Brits though. The two finest British Horror stars, Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee were still going strong, indeed giving great performances in mainstream films as well.

Slowly, one by one, the many acting heroes of my youth departed, all but one.  He not only kept on in films, he became a bigger star in the 21st century than he had been in the 20th, appearing in The Lord of the Rings and Hobbit films, in the Star Wars prequels (Watching him duel Yoda was a real mindbender), and several films for Tim Burton.  He was still working into his 90's.

Thursday Morning I was making a quick scan of  my Facebook feed when I saw a number of my favorite pages all sharing the same sad news.  First Hammer Films, then Middle Earth News, then the BBC all announcing the death of Christopher Lee.  I felt a double sadness, not only at the death of an actor I greatly admired, but at the passing of an era. Horror films continue to be made of course, but there will never be a horror star like Christopher Lee again.

Given the modern climate of slasher films and psych nightmares, it might be hard to imagine was a groundbreaking film Horror of Dracula was. Previous horror films were in muted black and white, and vampires never attacked their victims on screen.  Not so Mr Lee's Dracula who bit his victims in full view of the cameras and made it clear he was doing far more that quenching his thirst.  It was this film that made vampires sexy, an approach followed by nearly every screen Dracula since.  

Mr Lee would play Dracula numerous times, as well as the Frankenstein Monster, Fu Manchu, The Mummy, Dr Jeckyll and many more, often in tandem with Peter Cushing.  Films were often typed as horror genre simply because he was in them. He could have just continued to work in the horror genre, but he sought work as well, in films like The Three Musketeers and the Four Musketeeers, The Man with the Golden Gun and The Hound of the Baskervilles. (At one time or another he would play both Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes, as well as Sir Henry Baskerville).

My favorite Christopher Lee movie is without a doubt The Wicker Man. (1973)  As a Lord Summerisle he is the leader of an island of pagans who must deal with a police inspector come to search for a missing child.  To say any more would be to spoil the film, so I will make only two further comments--make sure you see the restored or directors cut, and stay very, very far away from the dreadful remake with Nic Cage. 

   Photo Cinephilia cc 2.0

One of the things that stands out about his performance in the film is the sense of authority he brings, and this is true of many of his films.  For good or ill, he's in command.  No matter how trite the plot or dreadful the special effects, he believes it and so we do too.

Horror films today are built around scary special effects.  Occasionally a mainstream star appears in one, but then they go back to other kinds of films.  The idea of an actor building a career of 60 some years of supernatural villiany seems unlikely today.

Plus there was so much more about him in addition to the 200 plus films he appeared in: a cultured man who spoke six languages and could fake a couple more; a man who served in British special forces in WWII, classified missions that he never talked about, but he was able to assure Peter Jackson on the set of Lord of the Rings that he knew exactly how a man sounded when he had been stabbed in the back. He was also the only member of the cast to have met J R R Tolkien, and a man who read the trilogy yearly for much of his adult life.  In the wake of his 21st century performances, people seemed to realize what a unique treasure and he received a knighthood and a life achievement award from the British Academy of Film and Television Arts.

One of the greatest pleasures for parents of watching films like Lord of the Rings (or Harry Potter) is to watch your children discover actors you loved and take them as their own.  When the news broke of Sir Christopher's death my son texted me:

"He happened to be one of my favorite English actors.  And the only one I could pick up from the rest of them."

The Boy is right, there was no mistaking Christopher Lee, all 6'5" of villianous authority. Many, Many movies are better for his presence. Cinema almost certainly will  never see the like of him again.

On My Father's Birthday--A Memory

Yesterday was Memorial Day, and today would be my dad's 83rd birthday.  My dad  was a serviceman, but he was in Germany in the 50's  when things were cold instead of hot. Happily my family has not lost a loved one in the milatary, though many have served.  But the convergence of the two is still appropriate, for my all time favorite memory of my dad involves a Memorial day--1974 to be exact.

First you must understand my dad lived and breathed Boy scouts for 37 years as a boy and leader.  He was a firm believer that scouting had room and achievement for every boy. Other than his family, it was the most important thing to him, and he involved his family as much as possible.  Our vacations often included trips to jamborees and the like.  He gave time as well to his 3 daughters' girl scout activities, driving field trips and helping with badges.

This  particular Memorial Day  we were at our local scout camp attending a special weekend  for leaders and their families.  It was too cold for the pool, but the rest of the camp was open to us.  I remember going to the rifle range and hiking several trails with my dad.   But my fondest memory is this...Memorial day morning I noticed  the flag  atop the huge camp flag pole was at full mast.  I promptly pointed it out to my dad.

Now dad was a veteran and a scouter.  He was a stickler for the flag code, and proper folding and carrying of the flag was one of the first things he taught young scouts.  And he was instantly embarrassed that a Scout camp, of all places would display their flag wrong, especially on Memorial day.
Next thing I know we are in the admin office and my dad was patiently but persistently explaining the proper observance of Memorial day.  The capper was "and I have a girl scout here who knows the flag should be at half mast, what's the matter with the Boy scouts? "

I will never forget the pride in his voice at his Girl scout as he said this.

A few minutes later the flag was in its place, and we were back in our camp with the rest of our family.

Some years later I began working as a helper in my dad's pack, and kept at it off and on ever since.  Most of his grandkids, boys and girls have been in scouting in some form.  2 have become Eagle Scouts.  I received my Wood Badge, the highest earned award for adults. Scouting has been a vital part of our lives.


My dad has been gone 22 years, and although I have many wonderful memories, not a Memorial day goes by that I don't think of that day when he was so proud of his daughter being smarter than a Boy Scout.

Dad and I at the 1985 Jamboree.

After 150 Years Are We Still At War?

Weeping sad and lonely

Hopes and fears, how vain.
When this cruel war is over,
Pray that we meet again.
             Charles Carroll Sawyer

150 years ago today 2 men met in a Virginia living room
 One wore grey and the other blue.

Photo by National Museum of American History  //CC by

The one was a lifelong failure who achieved success only in war time.  The other one of the great men of his time, its greatest general, but this was his moment of defeat.

The man in grey had dressed himself carefully, in his best uniform, as he believed he would soon be a prisoner.  The other had travelled far ahead of his baggage and borrowed a shirt for the occasion.

The man in blue had no intention of taking prisoners.  He wanted the war over and done, and said the rebels could all go home, once they agreed to not make war on their country again. A poor man himself, who had struggled to farm in peacetime, he said the soldiers could keep their horse, because it was April and planting season.  He ordered rations to be issued to the starving troops, enemies no longer.  And he forbade any celebrations by his own troops, saying that we were all to be one country again.The man in grey got on his horse and went back to his men, told them to go home and be as good civilians as they had been soldiers.

And it was over.  There was still some mopping up to be done with other rebel groups, but when Robert E Lee accepted Ulysses S Grant's surrender terms that Palm Sunday morning at Appomattox Courthouse, the Civil War was effectively over.

The shooting stopped, but did the War really end?
150 years later, are we still fighting the Civil War? What have we done with that "New Birth of Freedom" that Lincoln spoke of so eloquently.

Today our country often seems as much at war with itself as it was then.  The areas of division, marked red and blue on the map, may not be as solidly regional as they once were, but in many ways we seem to be even more divided than we were in 1865. The rhetoric even seems the same, as religion is used to justify positions on both sides, and individual states claim exemption from obligation to follow federal authority: the precise matter we went to war over in 1865.

In one way, at least, I think we are far behind the Americans who fought 150 years ago.  They respected each other, even as they fought each other.  They understood each other's point of view, even when they opposed it.  Today we are more likely to treat our opponents with contempt, to refuse to even consider the perspective of the other side, or even to imply that those with whom we disagree are somehow not real Americans.

This afternoon bells will ring across the country to mark the meeting of two men at Appomattox.  It is a good time to ask ourselves if we have truly learned the lessons of our Civil War.


The cannons have fallen silent-- but has the war ever ended?

To Hear the Cries of All the World (1000 Voices for Compassion)

Some years ago, a friend gave me this statue.  She is  Kwan Yin (or Guanyin), who represents  compassion and mercy in many Buddhist traditions.  She is a Bodhisattva, one who has been freed from the cycle of reincarnation, yet chooses to return to help mankind.  Known as "She who hears the cries of all the world" she is a protector of children as well. I have heard her spoken of as a goddess of last resort, whom one appeals to when all seems lost.

It was the idea of Kwan Yin as "She who hears  the cries of all the world" that came first to my mind when I  heard of the 1000 Voices for Compassion. After all, isn't that what compassion is all about? If we pick and choose the people and causes we feel compassionate towards, we are kind of missing the point.  Compassion means considering the points of view we don't share, the persons we don't understand.  This doesn't mean agreeing with everything they say or do. It doesn't mean we must condone their actions, and indeed we are sometimes called to oppose or even condemn.  But it does mean trying to see their point of view, understand how their experiences lead them to where they are.

One of the reasons discourse has become so toxic lately is, I believe, because we have forgotten to look at things from other people's point of view. We expose ourselves only to our own beliefs on politics, religion, and society.   We all stand on opposite sides of a great divide, and there is no way to build a bridge across when we refuse to even acknowledge that there are people on the other side. If you find yourself somewhere in the middle, you can fall into the chasm of despair.

Last fall, during all the debate over several police related shootings I found myself in a quandary.  I work in law enforcement, and have great respect and sympathy for police officers and the work they do.  And yet as a mother I identified with the devastation inflicted on the families and friends of the shooting victims as well.  I found this to be a rare position however, as the public discourse around me quickly divided into those supporting law enforcement no matter what their actions, and those who condemned anyone who wore a badge and carried a gun.  There seemed to be no nuance, no middle of the road.  There seemed to be no place for someone like me. I was so disheartened by this toxic division that I found myself without inspiration, unable to write, for publication at least, for some weeks.

The famous words of Atticus Finch to his daughter Scout,  "You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view...until you climb into his skin and walk around in it” is a perfect summary of what compassion should be.  Atticus doesn't approve of the actions and beliefs of many of his fellow citizens. But he still respects them as persons, understands how they arrived at where they stand, considers many to be his friends; even while trying to thwart the things they would do which he believes to be wrong.

Considering the point of view of others not only helps us understand them, it helps us understand ourselves as well.  When we test our beliefs against beliefs of others we will find either enlightenment and a broader viewpoint or a firmer and more secure sense of why we stand where we do.

And this brings me back to Kwan Yin. She is represented as hearing the cries of all the world, not just those who are doing the right things, not just those who practice compassion,  not even just those who believe in her.  She hears the cries of all the world.

It is of course, like many divine ideals, an unattainable thing.  But it is also, like many divine ideals, a thing to strive for. We may fail, but we can get closer to understanding each other, and maybe understand ourselves a little better as well.

If only we could all hear the cries of all the world.


This is post is part of 1000 Voices for Compassion, a link up of bloggers all over the world posting today, February 20, 2015.   To read more go to 1000speak.wordpress.com or search #1000Speak on Twitter.

A Poem for the Winter Solstice

I believe

In taking care of those around us.

I believe

In letting children dream.

I believe

In marking all the turnings of the year.

I believe

That darkness is always followed (eventually) by light.

I believe

There are many paths through the Darkness into the Light.

I believe

That it is always right

To celebrate

Light returning to the world.

Thankful Thursday: A Great Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is one of those holidays that we all have our own ideas about. Location, Personal experience, Family traditions, all combine to create our expectations for a perfect holiday. This, except for a nasty cold that has kept me sneezing most of the following week, things met my criteria for a nearly perfect feast:

I got the day off. (Safety forces come to work regardless of the date.)

All the traveling family members arrived at their destinations.

Watched the parades and some football.

Got to have the Boy home for a couple of days.

And there was splendid food to be had.

The last is my chief reason for writing, so that I can share with you some of the lovely food prepared by my husband, his mother and his sister. (I should note I went grocery shopping this morning before writing this post.  Doing otherwise would have been destructive to anything resembling a budget.)

I hope you too had a great holiday, with good food and company.

Some Thoughts on Veteran's Day

Today we are marking another Veteran's Day (Or, depending on your generation, or location, Armistice Day, Remembrance Day).  96 years ago today, at about the time I post this (at least if you're in the Eastern US), the guns fell silent on what later would become known as The First World War.  Since then it has become a time to recognize those who served in all war--those who came home and those who did not.

My family has been lucky in this regard, members have served in war time and peace time and thankfully all have returned.

This is a picture of my uncle. He was a tank and plane mechanic in World War II, serving in Africa and Italy. Another Uncle served in World War II as well.

This is my dad. He was a quartermaster, in Germany, in the mid-50's It was different kind of war, a Cold War.  We sometimes forget that the soldiers who serve in peace time, or in peaceful places, also keep us safe.

I have other cousins who served in the Vietnam War, in Iraq and Afghanistan. Last Year my nephew joined the Marines.  As I said before, our family has been lucky, and I hope we remain so, and welcomed all our soldiers home.

This is a single numbered grave from among the many in the Soldiers' National Cemetery at Gettysburg. More than 3500 of these graves had been freshly dug when Abraham Lincoln stood here in 1863 and dedicated the grounds to those who "gave the last full measure of devotion."  Let him mark the place for all those who did the same.

To all of them we say "Thank You" of course.  But a bigger thank you would be to make use of the freedoms they gave us and to make sure that no fellow citizen is denied theirs, so that, as Lincoln said (it does come back to him a lot, doesn't it?) "These dead shall not have died in vain." That would really show our gratitude.

There Ought to be an App for That (part 1)

Welcome to the first installment of "There ought to be an App for that" where we suggest Apps that will make our online experiences both safer and saner.

Our first App is the B S Detectometer, designed primarily to be utilized on Facebook. When activated it will monitor all Facebook Posts, particularly that are shared from other sources.  Upon detecting anything related to political conspiracy theories, strange causes and cures for health problems, or urban legends of all kinds, it will automatically redirect the post to a special filter linked to Snopes.com.  Should the post pass muster with Snopes, it would be declared BS free and appear on the posters wall.  Should the post not pass scrutiny it will auto delete, and Snopes  will provide an alternate post informing all your friends of your gullibility.

A special high level detection will disable for 24 hours anyone sharing posts about tainted Halloween candy, anything at all to do with gerbils, the playing of any recording anywhere backwards, and any post promising financial compensation for the forwarding of said post.

Beta test version for Twitter also available, with special attention to mis-attributed quotes.

And allow me here to pay a long overdue to tribute to the fine folks at Snopes.com, who are like the facepalm of the internet.

Do you have a dream App that you've always wanted to see!  Share it in the comments below.

Baseball Ends and Winter is Coming

So last Wednesday, they played the last game of the World Series.  It went as long as it could, right to the seventh game, but the end was inevitable.  The Kansas City Royals, the team I was rooting for, came up one game short in the end, but it was none the less a good series.

The Boy and I had a lot of fun during the Series, calling each other over the best plays, texting trivia back and forth. Like many parents with a child away at school, there is a certain pleasure in knowing that we are both watching something at the same time.  Moreover, I missed baseball this spring, the first time since he was 5 that the boy wasn't playing ball anywhere. Although pro ball is enjoyable to watch, there is nothing quite like sitting on an aluminum bench, baked hot in the summer sun, watching kids chase balls down.

And our Indians made a run for it this year, not getting eliminated till the last weekend of the season.  When I was a kid the Indians were usually out of it by July, so I learned to follow other teams as well.  Being a masochist I became a Red Sox fan.  When the Boy came along he followed both teams with me, though he took up with other teams as well. I took pride in teaching him the fine art of hating the New York Yankees, useful in both Cleveland and Boston. He has seen both the Tribe and the Sox prosper more than the teams of my youth.

The first World Series I remember was in 1969 and the Miracle Mets.  It was a good place to begin for someone who likes to believe that anything can happen in a baseball game. Without a doubt the most pleasure I ever took from the playoffs and the Series was 2004, when the Red Sox made happen what had never happened before, coming back from 3 games down in the playoffs to win 4 straight (against those dang Yankees no less) and then sweeping the World Series. The most heartbreaking Series I ever witnessed was 1997, when the Indians lost the 7th game in a heart-breaker.

But no matter who plays, no matter how invested I am in the Series, no matter how exciting the games are, there is a little let down when it's all over.

Baseball you see, means summer, and the end of the Series means the end of summer.

This is true even though baseball now lasts nearly till Halloween.  Even though the leaves are dropping, even though I turned the heat on last week, even though they call it the Fall Classic; as long as baseball lasts, there's a little bit of summer left to us.

But once the last out takes place, and the champagne is uncorked, our last little bit of summer is gone.

The late Bart Giamatti said it better than I ever could:

It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops.

There is one hopeful thought however. Pitchers and Catchers report to spring training in less than 120 days.

Photo by Joel Dinda CC 2.0

A Blog a Day--What Was I Thinking?

I'm blaming my daughter for this. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.  She's the one who decided to take the National Novel Writing Month Challenge (otherwise known as NaNoWriMo.)  These daring souls attempt to produce a 50,000 word novel in 30 days.  She's quite capable of doing so, having written fan fiction of similar length.

But where does that leave her mother? I feel that to be supportive I should also undertake a writing challenge this month, however I am not strong at either fiction or sustained long form storytelling.

I found a solution how ever, in the November blog posting challenge NaBloPoMo at Blog Her. The goal is to blog daily for a month, and this is a real challenge for me, as I tend to start these things but never quite finish.   Maybe not as much as writing a 50,000 word novel, but we need tackle realistic goals when possible.

I'm a born procrastinator, and have the unfinished project to prove it.  But I'm hoping this will be a nudge in the right direction, however I am finishing today's post with only an hour or two to spare.

See you tomorrow.

You and I Will Meet Again- A playlist for the Day of the Dead

Today is All Souls Day, or Dia de los Muerte, Day of the Dead. In Mexican culture it is customary to visit the cemeteries and feast and visit with ones loved ones. It is an occasion both sad and joyous, mourning those who are gone, and yet recalling their presences and what they meant to them.

In our own family we began the practice a long time ago of honoring them  at Halloween, when we have a dinner party with many of our friends.  We light candles to remember loved ones who have gone, and we set a place at the table for them as well. When friends or family have gone, there are certain songs I like to listen to.  In honor of my loved ones and yours,  here is a playlist for the Day of the Dead

Annie Lennox:: Into the West

Don't say:
"We have come now to the end"
White shores are calling
You and I will meet again

Dionne and Friends: That's What Friends are For

And if I should ever go away
Well, then close your eyes and try
To feel the way we do today
And then if you can remember

Fraggle Rock: Just a Dream Away

Its just a dream away

You have to leave to stay

We'll meet again someday

Just a dream away

Harry Belafonte and the Muppets: Turn the World Around

 

We come from the fire

Living in the fire

Go back to the fire

Turn the world around.

Loreena McKennitt: The Parting Glass

Oh all the comrades the e'er I had
They're sorry for my going away
And all the sweethearts that e're I had
They'd wish me one more day to stay
But since it falls unto my lot
That I should rise and you should not.
I'll gently rise and softly call
"Good Night and Joy be with you all"

Costuming Teens at Halloween

This year I noticed considerable debate in the blogsphere on the subject of teenagers trick or treating.  Two issues seem to occur most often: 1) What age is too old? and 2) Why are outfits for young ladies so risque? 

In our area the general rule of thumb is that its ok for teens to trick or treat, especially when they go with younger siblings, but enter into the spirit of things and wear a costume.  Risqueness, on the other hand, is often hampered by the vagueries of Ohio weather in October.

As in years past, my sister and I met up at our mom's house.  We pool all our candy at her place, as she still loves to pass out the candy and also to see her grandchildren go around.

Because we do medeval re-enactment, the kids have always had a large collection of costumes and props to work from, and we really haven't bought any since they passed the age of wanting to be Scooby Doo or Tinkerbelle. Between their garb, gear, and toys were have outfitted everything from Harry Potter to The Lord of the Rings.

This year our daughter and her cousin decided to go as Beetlejuice and Lydia. I am showing the costumes not only because they looked great, but also because these costumes were made with regular street clothes and a few props.

My nephew's suit was made by applying white duct tape to a black dress suit. The Girl is wearing a black dress we bought for her orchestra concerts, a black scarf from Pat Catan's, a black hat, and a pair of gloves from the dollar store.  Everything she is wearing will be used again, as of course will her cousin's dress suit.  

We had terrific weather for trick or treat, the kids costumes were huge hits-people stopped them in the street to take their pictures and some houses actually handing them extra candy because they were so impressed with the costumes. Not one person told them they were too old for trick or treat.

And the girl even shared her Reese's Cups with mom.

Two Bloggers in the House.

I think I was about 14 when I started seriously thinking of myself as a writer.  Our daughter, on the other hand has been writing things down since grade school. For years now she's been personally supporting the composition book industry, but in the last two or three years she has really started taking it seriously.

She set herself up a blog page that she posts to occasionally, but currently fancies fiction more than biography, so she does most of her work on Wattpad and fanfiction.net. Over the last two months she wrote a complete Teen Titans adventure of more than 40,000 words on FanFic. She gets more followers than I do.

The fact that my child has  the nerve to put her  writing out (even under a pseudonym) at an age when I was hiding my notebooks from everyone is amazing.

Now she has taken things up a notch by deciding to participate in NaNoWriMo. She has spent the last week  planning out some thirty chapters of her next work, so that she can have a general idea of where she is going.

I am proud of her, and awed by the extent of the task she is undertaking. Part of the  reason is that I am not good at long pieces, which is why I like blogging and writing poetry.  Even when I wrote plays in college, my best work was biographical in nature, so the plot line was already in place for me.  (On the other hand, I'm great at polishing dialogue. I could be a fantastic script doctor. Are you listening Hollywood?) Although I occasionally work on my 911 memoir that I don't plan to publish till I'm retired, it's mostly a matter of note taking at this point.  The thought of writing a full length work of fiction is intimidating.

It should be stated that having two authors in the same house can have some interesting results.  There are nice advantages like having a proofreader right there in the room to look over  what you have written. We take each others profile pictures. We understand the need to stop in the middle of whatever we are doing to write things down.  We bounce plot ideas off each other, and critique other writings we encounter on line. We're even planning to go to BloggyCon together next year. On the other hand we both compete for the services of a well traveled and well worn laptop, because its the one that has all the documents and pictures saved to it (and the desktop, aka El Diablo XP, is slower than frozen molasses).

But mostly it's fun having another writer in the living room.  The Girl has always been more like her dad, with her music and language  aptitudes, and its good to have something in common with her. Writing gives us communication space that mothers and teenage daughters seldom have. We are able to meet each other as writers and artists.  And that's a great feeling to have.

Lost Movies Found Again

I don't know if I mentioned this before, but I love movies. Silent movies, sound movies, horror films, musicals and so on. I live in a town that has one of the few remaining 20's style movie palaces, and I have a floor to ceiling shelf full of VHS tapes and DVDs. I am especially excited when a long lost film is found, or when once lost scenes are restored to a film. Watching the restored silent Napoleon in the aforementioned movie palace was one of the greatest cinema thrills of my life.  Restored prints of such films as A Star is Born and Lawrence of Arabia are among my prized purchases.

So recently I was excited to learn about the rediscovery of two great moments on film. One is the recovery of a great moment in sports history,  while the other captures a legendary actor in his most famous role.

The first film footage was located by the Library of Congress and shows the seventh game of the 1924 World Series. This Series was special. It featured the New York Giants (yes kids, Giants baseball used to be in New York, just like the football team) against the worst team in the history of everything, the Washington Senators (yes kids, the DC team wasn't always the Nationals). It used to be said of the Senators that they were "First in War, First in Peace, and Last in the American League." But for many year the Senators had one great player, legendary fastballer Walter Johnson.  Johnson managed to win over 400 games while pitching for the Bad News Bears of  professional baseball..  But in 1924 the stars aligned in some unique way and Washington, and Walter Johnson, got a chance at the World Series.

Johnson failed to win either start, but gamely came on in relief when the last game went into extra innings, and was thus the winning picture when the Senators pulled things out in the 12th inning. Walter Johnson was not only one of the greatest pitchers of all time, but one of the classiest people ever to play the game, and for anyone who wasn't a Giant's fan, it was a matter of great satisfaction that he finally got the World Series win.

And now we have film of it.

The other news is , for silent film fans, even more exciting.  One of the joys of film (and audio recordings) is that they allow is to experience the great performers of the past.  Long gone, they still live on film and record.  I discovered this for myself while doing research in college on the actor Edwin Booth.  Booth died in 1893, but several cylinder recordings were made, and I got the chance to hear him read a speech from "Othello". It brought him to life in a way no mere photo could do.

Recently it was announced that the 1916 silent film Sherlock Holmes has been found in France. Along with London after Midnight, the original cut of Greed, and a few others, this film, which starred actor William Gillette, has long been sought by film fans.  Gillette was the stage Holmes of his time, and set many of the Sherlockian conventions we see to this day.  Conan Doyle himself approved of the production, so it's also a good chance to see how the Author felt his character should be portrayed. Moreover this was the only film Gillette ever made, so much like those audio recordings of Edwin Booth, it will bring a performer to life again.

Soon we will have more than a few audio recordings and stills, as seen here. Exhibitions of the film will begin next year.

Film gets lost in many ways.  The originals were on highly flammable nitrate stock, and whole warehouses of classics have been lost that way.  Sometimes people didn't realize the importance of what they were watching at the time (there is no complete recording of the first Super Bowl, for instance. No one knew yet that it was the Super Bowl.) Occasionally a film executive so hates a film that he makes sure that the film or at least what was left after they hacked it up, was destroyed. (Legend has it that the complete print of the original Wicker Man is in a landfill or under a highway somewhere in England.) Early films were melted down for their silver content and early video tapes were often reused, leaving early TV shows, especially, incomplete. (Ask any Doctor Who fan.) But every once in a while film turns up in a closet, under a bed, mislabeled on a shelf.

I can't tell you how excited I get when something like this happens. Every time one of these films or audio recordings are found I feel like we are made part of a tiny miracle. It's a reminder too, that we have a chance to pass on so many treasures of the past to future generations,  but only if we take care of them.

Photo by Pintanscue / CC BY 

Staring at the Page (The Poet is Blocked)

October is one of my favorite months of the year.  The trees turn, the weather cools, Halloween is on the way.  Its also the time, each year, for the October Poetry Writing Month (aka OctPoWriMo), which I have participated in the last 2 years, and planned on doing this year as well.  Unfortunately this year, although I read all the prompts, and a lot of poetry posted by others, I wasn't having much luck coming up with my own.

The wonderful Morgan Dragonwillow who is one of the muses of OctPoWriMo suggested reading some poetry I especially liked. So I spent a whole day in Ireland with Yeats and Heaney, and one poem did find me, but then nothing again, at least not in terms of a poem finished enough to share. Nothing else is complete or satisfying enough to post.  I find this most frustrating, especially with an event I enjoy so much.

But I intend to keep persevering, reading my prompts, studying the posts from my fellow poets, and when I find something I am satisfied with I will let you know.

In the meantime, here is a tribute to my grapple with the Muses this month.

Finding the Poetry

The Muses being silent

I despaired of finding poetry this fall.

"Have you tried reading some"

Came the good advice.

So I took two old friends down from the shelf

and sure enough they brought a Muse or two along

At least for the day

But when morning came
I was alone again.

This post is part of  OctPoWriMo. To check out the prompts, or the work of other poets click on the link.

Photo  "Legal Pad" by dmswart/CC 2.0

A Fall Train Ride Through the Cuyahoga Valley National Park

Photo by Meg Hammil

Northeastern Ohio's  Cuyahoga Valley National Park is unique--created in the late 60's and early 70's to preserve nature areas along the Cuyahoga River between Cleveland and Akron, and to save this green space from rapidly expanding urban sprawl.  The 60's weren't good time for the river, which infamously caught on fire several times from all the accumulated chemicals and garbage being dumped into it (Although it was one of the chief inspirations for the 1972 Clean Water Act). Since then the river has been cleaned, fish and other wildlife have returned, and much of it is now accompanied by hiking trails and camping areas that are under federal protection.

One of the best ways to experience the Cuyahoga Valley National Park is to take a ride on the Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railroad which is run by the Parks Service and makes round trips from Cleveland to Akron (and Canton in the summer). One can simply ride the train, or get off at the various visitors centers along the way. The train is best known for the Polar Express rides they offer in November and December, but for much of the year offer a variety of scenic trips and special events.  Last weekend our Girl Scout Troop took the train. It was excellent timing as the trees here are just beginning to reach their full color.

As you look these photos over, remember all this is within minutes of heavily populated Rust Belt.

Photo: Meg Hammil

Photo: Meg Hammil

Photo: Meg Hammil

Photo: Meg Hammil

Photo: Meg Hammil

Photo: Meg Hammil

There are wetland areas that have been restored as part of the park, with eagles and  herons now nesting in the Park (none decided to show up for my camera though)

Photo: Meg Hammil

Photo: Meg Hammil

Here is someone fishing in what was once one of the most polluted rivers in America.

Photo: Meg Hammil

Much of the Railroad runs along an old canal, and there is a Canal Museum where we took a stop. 

Demonstrations are offered showing how canal locks worked.

Photo: Meg Hammil

Photo: Meg Hammil

There are displays of typical goods hauled by canal boats.

And then we were back on the train again.

Photo: Meg Hammil

Photo: Meg Hammil

Photo: Meg Hammil

All in all, it was a great way to spend an afternoon. 

We hope to make the same trip next year, so we can explore more 

of our beautiful urban National Park.