A quiet Christmas here. Family coming later in the day. No BIG over the top meal - just yummy appetizers in the Crock Pot and sandwiches when ever anyone wants to eat. Everyone else is bringing their pot luck addition to the meal.

Only one tree and no decorations - simple - simple is my motto. Slept late and finished a book this morning.

Just wanted to say

Merry★* 。 • ˚ ˚ •。★Christmas★
。* 。*FROM OUR HOUSE TO YOURS!!
° 。 ° ˚* _Π_____*。*˚★ 。* 。*。 • ˚ ˚ •。★
˚ ˛ •˛•*/______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛★ 。* 。*★ 。* 。*
˚ ˛ •˛• ｜ 田田｜門｜ ˚And a Happy New Year

The Dark Day

Yesterday our sky was filled with a haze and the smell of smoke. For a long time, there was no explanation. Later in the day we heard that it was caused by a forest fire in the Boundary Waters between Canada and Minnesota. That is 400 miles away from here.

The first time I heard of such an occurrence was more than 30 years ago while reading the Revolutionary War pension file of Owen Briggs. In it, he wrote that he had left his home in Connecticut that day to fight for our Country’s independence. All those years later he knew that the exact day he left his Connecticut home was May 19, 1780. That day is known as the Dark Day in New England because from Maine to New Jersey the sky was as dark as night in the middle of the day.

It was many years later when I finally found a source that explained what the Dark Day was most likely caused by a prairie fire. Of course, the smell of smoke was not unusual as all cooking was done over an open flame and houses were heated by a constant fire in the fireplace.

Today you can search Dark Day on the Internet and find references to it immediately. Wikipedia lists a sources that concluded that the fire was located in Ontario, Canada. There was so much smoke in the air that by noon it was dark as night. The following day, the sun was red and the sky yellow.

Another source explains that when a fire does not kill a tree and the tree later grows that scar marks are left in the growth rings.1 This makes it possible to approximate the date of a past fire. Researchers examining the scar damage in Ontario, Canada and can now attribute the Dark Day to a large fire in the area that is today occupied by Algonquin Provincial Park.2

It is amazing that all this information is available at your fingertips in minutes. However, can you even begin to imagine what the colonists must have thought as an ordinary day suddenly took on an ominous feel as the sky turned dark as night?

1. "A Brief Introduction to Fire History Reconstruction". 2005-07-11. http://www.ncdc.noaa.gov/paleo/impd/impd_data_intro.html.

2. McMurry, Erin R.; Stambaugh, Michael C.; Guyette, Richard P.; Dey, Daniel C. (2007-07-03). "Fire scars reveal source of New England’s 1780 Dark Day". International Journal of Wildland fire 16 (3): 266–270. doi:10.1071/WF05095. http://www.publish.csiro.au/paper/WF05095.htm.

Full-circle

A busy day at the museum. One of "my boys" was honored today when family came to visit. He is one of two of these boys that are extra special to me - maybe I felt closer to them because of the many things that connected us.

He and the other fallen hometown
heroes were honored with flags
during the Field of Honor in May.


After his death, his mother lamented that he was afraid he would not be remembered. Today, his wife came to visit - 42 years after his death. My boys will never be forgotten by those who knew or loved them.

Southern for Sure

I feel it in my heart. I feel it in ways that take me by surprise.

Went to the movies this week to see The Help. I loved the book and the movie was wonderful too. What I really loved was seeing my grandfather's rocking chair in Aibileen's living room.

There is a place

There is a place I cross with great regularity.

A place where I step into another world - a world of discovery.

It speaks volumes - its character shaped by those who have crossed over it.

It is showing its age - worn down by 1,000s of footsteps planted firmly upon it.

Oh, the people who have passed over it - the history absorbed into its grain.

For more than 110 years it has been a gateway.

It has been a community landmark for all its life.

It has had several facelifts and purposes.

In its newest form it has welcomed our community since 1976.

If it could talk, what stories it could tell of others who have crossed over it.

Every Year

A beautiful summer night in the park. The music was great too. It is so nice to spend time with neighbors and friends just enjoying being. Being there - being alive - being part of this community. Did I mention being in the park - it is the jewel of our town with a river along one side and filled with stately oaks and hickories.

Later, as we turned into our driveway I caught a small glow flitting across the lawn. Then I remembered - it's almost the 4th of July and the magic lightning bugs have returned for their 21 day romp through the countryside and our memories. I watched them appear and disappear and wondered how many others were enjoying this seasonal sight just as I was.

Welcome back my friends. I have missed you. Thank you for the magic memories you bring and for helping me reconnect with childhood and loved ones no longer here.

I love the line from the Firefly Song: "I'd get a thousand hugs from 10,000 lightening bugs as they tried to teach me to dance." Listen to the song by clicking this link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=psuRGfAaju4

Happy 300th Birthday Bodo

A short ceremony honoring the birth of Dr. Bodo Otto, Sr. will take place in the courtyard of Trinity Lutheran Church at 527 Washington St. Reading, PA. on Saturday, July 16, 2011 at 11 p.m. A wreath will be laid at his grave and a few words will be spoken by some of his descendants.

This past Memorial Day an event took place in my home town where Dr. Otto was honored. To let other descendants know about it, I wrote the following for publication in the July 2011 quarterly newsletter of the Dr. Bodo Association.

As descendants of Dr. Bodo Otto, Sr. a part of each of us turns 300 years old on July 20. That is the day our ancestor was born in Hanover, Germany. His DNA is part of each of us all these years later and will be 300 years from now when our descendants mark his 600th birthday.

Portrait of Dr. Bodo Otto hanging in Trinity Church, Reading, Pennsylvania

Three hundred years is a very long time – yet it is but a grain of sand in the hourglass of time.

To put his life in perspective, he was born 103 years after the settlement in Jamestown, Virginia was established and 91 years after the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth, Massachusetts. Coming to the Colonies in 1755, he found a world vastly different than the one we know today. Five years after his arrival, Philadelphia, with a population of 23,800 people, was the largest city in the country. My suburban Chicago community is larger than that today.

The Berks County Historical Society commemorated his birth with the publication of an article written by Nikki Elizabeth Jones. Nikki is the daughter of Bodo Association Recording Secretary Rita Otto Jones. It is a wonderful article. Nikki included a quote that relevant to us. That quote appeared on page 940 in The History of Berks County Pennsylvania published by Everts, Peck, and Richards in 1886. The author, Morton L Montgomery, wrote of Dr. Otto:

"Next to Washington, Gates, Mifflin, Wayne and other leading Generals, Dr. Bodo Otto, of Reading, Pa, occupies a prominence and rendered useful service equal to any other man who was engaged in the great cause of the Revolution, not on the field of battle, leading his fellowmen into danger and death, amongst the Hospitals, as a Senior Surgeon, carrying for, and administering to the sick, wounded and dying soldiers. And yet his name is not mentioned in history."

Dr. Bodo Otto's compass on display in a Pentagon Museum exhibit. Photo used with permission.

Old Barracks Hospital in Trenton, New Jersey

Ruins of Yellow Springs Hospital

in Chester Springs, Pennsylvania

As his descendants it is up to us to continually remind history" about hiSTORY so that his contribution to the founding of this country is not forgotten. To that end, I sponsored a flag in our community's Memorial Day Field of Honor.

The flag proudly flew for five days in front of a mighty tree and alongside the main pathway where everyone could see the dedication.

One morning a fierce storm blew though the park. It snapped those 1,901 flag to attention and began bending the poles toward the ground. As I and several others stood together under the tent, wet to our knees from the blowing rain, I thought of Dr. Otto and all those who have served our country and suffered through the elements, including that cold winter at Valley Forge. His flag along with the rest withstood the storm and falling branches unscathed. Somewhat reminiscent of the country our ancestor fought to establish.

As chairman of the event, I was asked on several occasions if I knew anything about the Revolutionary War era dedication to Dr. Bodo Otto. Of course, I was happy to explain hiSTORY to all who asked.

During a sunset ceremony one evening, the pastor of one of our local churches spoke about keeping memories alive. He told the story of how he felt when someone once said to him, "your daughter must have been very close to your father because she speaks of him with such reverence." The pastor went on to say that keeping memories alive is the job of each one of us and that he was glad to know that he did his job well – especially since his father had died 13 years before his daughter was born.

Last year, Mike and I brought our six-year-old grandson to the Bodo Otto Reunion. He had a wonderful time with his young cousins and it made a lasting impression on him. When he and his sister visited the Field of Honor they honored Dr. Bodo Otto and their great-grandfather, who also had a dedicated flag flying, by placing a small flag at the base of the flagpoles. When I asked him after the event which flag he wanted he unhesitatingly said, "I want Bodo Otto's flag."

I tell you these stories because they illustrate the power we each have to keep hiSTORY alive. Thank you Nikki for unleashing your power – with your story you will reach thousands.

You've seen what my family did to celebrate the birth of Dr. Bodo Otto, Sr. Now, what are YOU going to do to celebrate his 300th birthday?

As his 6th great granddaughter I am proud to say, Happy Birthday Grossvater Bodo!

Clark Day with postscripts

Background

In August 1981, I participated in a once in a lifetime, dream come-true experience. When it happened I thought I was certain to remember everything in minute detail. Unfortunately, some of the details are no longer clear. So, after revisiting one of the sights nearly 24 years later I sat down to record the way I remembered it before the rest is lost too.

The adventure began when my family was in Morehead City, North Carolina to visit my father Harvey L. Joslyn, Jr. (1917 – 2005) and stepmother Jean Shelley Joslyn (1929-1999). At that time they were living in the home I’d visited every summer for as long as I can remember – the home of my grandparents Harvey Sr. (1889-1977) and Anne Neal Clark Joslyn (1892-1979). Thinking about the house always brings to mind fond memories of visits with my grandparents and summer fun with my cousins.



2806 Evans Street

Built in 1927, the house was a square, white clapboard home with a seamed tin roof. Upstairs were two large bedrooms with dormers. Those dormer windows were too tall for us to look out of to see the water across the street. Oh, how I loved listening to the rain on that tin roof.

The living room was filled with my grandmother’s grand piano. My sister, Susan, and I used to play under the piano when we were very young. The only other furniture I remember in the room flanked the fireplace. My grandfather had an upholstered rocking chair with wooden swan neck arms. An upholstered chair on the other side of the fireplace was my grandmother’s chair. There were small tables and lamps beside each chair and every evening you’d find them sitting across the room from each other reading.

The clock on the mantle and the rocking chair are now in my home.

Later Grandmama sold the big piano and an upright took its place. Shortly afterwards Granddaddy brought a walnut hutch from his mother’s home in NJ. The hutch had two doors at the top, that when opened revealed shelves filled with books and two narrow drawers that Granddaddy kept filled with tricks and puzzles. Four small drawers inside the doors completed the top section. The bottom had two large drawers and a fold down desk for writing. Even as a child I loved that piece of furniture. It wasn’t until much later that I learned that it was hand-made in 1867 by Albigence Waldo Eldredge, my grandfather’s grandfather. He built it after moving his family from Vermont to New Jersey for a longer growing season. The date and his signature are written in on the bottom of one of the two narrow drawers. The hutch is now in my home and Granddaddy’s puzzles are still in one of the drawers. Every time I open those doors I see it, as it was when I was a child. It has been a part of our family for five generations and I enjoy just reaching out and touching something lovingly made by my great-great grandfather.

Outside of the house beautiful Crepe Myrtle bushes bloomed near the street. There was a big porch across the entire front of the house that was well shaded by a large live oak tree.
Often there was a large green hammock off to the shady side of the front door. After work, Granddaddy sometimes spent lazy, late summer afternoons in his hammock. There was always room for a little girl to snuggle with him – that is if Grandmama didn’t need help snapping beans for dinner, or he wasn’t too busy in the garden. He made summer fun for us.

The porch was a favorite place for the cousins to play. Several wooden lawn chairs, and a few of those 1940 style metal ones were also on the porch. From the porch you could watch the cars crossing the 28th Street Bridge to Atlantic Beach and the ocean. The traffic jam was huge when the drawbridge opened to let boats travel up and down the sound and Inter Coastal Waterway across the street from the house.


Another one of my favorite memories is helping him churn ice cream. His homemade peach ice cream was divine. I’ve never tasted anything like it – and believe me I’ve tried to duplicate the recipe without success.

Cousin Anne with the grandparents, the ice cream churn, and Corky the dog.



Watching as he whittled are right to left: Cousin Joe Mereness, me, my sister Susan, cousin Anne Mereness and a little girl from the neighborhood.

When I was very little, there was a lily pond in the shady back yard and beside the one-car garage was a shed filled with chickens. Jennie, the goat, lived in a fenced-in area next to the shed. Granddaddy’s garden filled the lot to the east toward 28th Street and a wide-open yard was between their house and the house to the west. Across the street was a gentle slope down toward the shore of Bogue Sound. The sandy soil on the slope was filled with sand burs. The most hazardous encounter on the way to the shore was usually a painful sand bur in a bare foot. An observer watching us walk to the shore must have thought we were playing an erratic game of hopscotch as we sidestepped from one side to another to avoid stepping on burs. It was there on that slope that I encountered my first snake in the grass.

Dad was 11 years old when he moved into the house the first time. It was a great place for four active children to live. The Joslyn children were all named for someone special. Dad of course was named after his father. Both of Dad’s sisters were named for their aunts - the sisters of their parents – Dad’s oldest sister Cora was named for their mother’s mother, Cora Withers Clark as well as their Mother’s sister Cora Clark Woods. Dad’s youngest sister Amy was named for their father’s sister Amy Joslyn Whiffen. Dad’s only brother Oscar was named for their mother’s father Oscar Lee Clark.

Dad lived in the house, except for college, until he left home to join the Navy when he was 24. Then, after the death of my grandparents in the late 1970s, Dad and Jean moved into the home where he spent most of his childhood. By that time the front porch was enclosed and the tin roof was no more – in its place was a green shingle roof. A short while after they moved into the house Dad’s sister Cora and her husband Bill Mereness moved into the house next door.

The Four House, Six-Generation Day

That summer morning in 1981 was the incredible day when Anne and I, as part of the sixth generation of Clarks, entered the homes of five generations of Clark ancestors. The adventure began when we left my grandparent’s home – then the home of my father. Aunt Cora’s daughter Anne and I had been working together for several years on the family genealogy so it was especially meaningful to share the once in a lifetime experience with her. Dad, cousin Anne, and I drove two plus hours to Clarkton, North Carolina to pick up Great Aunt Cora Clark Woods from her home and take her to Wilmington, North Carolina to visit another of her nephews.

Clarkton was renamed for my great-great grandfather, John Hector Clark (1821-1898) in 1874, and has been home to more than five generations of the Clark family. John Hector’s home was a large one-story house with several wings.

John Hector Clark and family in front the house he built.

Sometime in the mid 1900s the home was cut into three pieces; and each wing was moved to a different location to become a separate home.

Great Aunt Cora, a spry and delightful widow in her 70s, lived in one of the three sections of John Hector's house. Hers was the front section of the home built circa 1866 and was the home where her father, Oscar Lee Clark (1865-1930) was raised. Her cozy house was just a block or so from the home where she grew up.



The plaque on her house reads:

Clark House
circa 1866
Home of John Hector Clark, Sr.
1821-1898. Merchant in Clarkton.
Town renamed in honor of
him 1874.

Bladen County Historical Society


The home of Cora Clark Woods about 1980.










Next, we went to the original site of her home, which was across the street from the home her father, Oscar Lee Clark built for his family. Located at the intersection of the main roads, the house was set back from the roads behind several very tall trees dripping in Spanish moss. The large white, two-story house has a covered porch across the front of the house on each story. The first floor porch wrapped around one side of the house toward the kitchen.



Aunt Sadie, the widow of Oscar L. Clark Jr., raised her family in the beautiful home where her husband, my grandmother, Great Aunt Cora Woods and the four other Clark children were born and raised. Home to quiet now, the house was at one time filled with music and the laughter of children and later the laughter of gandchildren. Dad, his brother and sisters joined their cousins every summer at the grandparent’s home just as I had joined mine at the home in Morehead City.

After a short visit with Aunt Sadie, we left Clarkton for historic Wilmington. We deposited Aunt Cora at her nephew Clyde’s house so she could take a nap as we explored the city with his wife Marion.

Marion led us first to Oakdale Cemetery. After entering through the gates we proceeded toward the back of the historic cemetery.

The original cemetery was established in 1852 and includes a separate Hebrew Cemetery. Written in gold leaf on the ornate gates of the beautiful wrought iron fence surrounding this portion of the cemetery is written:
Hebrew Cemetery - Opened March 6, 5615 - 1855. Oakdale is also the final resting place of television newsman David Brinkley.


The cemetery contains many beautiful monuments and some of the plots are still surrounded by ornate wrought iron fences.

The Clark family plot is in the old burying ground near the original cemetery gate. Among those buried on the Clark plot are John Hector Clark's parents, Duncan (1782- 1850) and Elizabeth Cook Clark (1791-1832). Duncan’s tombstone proclaims him to be a “Native of Grenock, Scotland.” Also buried there is his second wife Mary and several of Duncan's children and grandchildren.

Next, we went to 210 Nun Street in the Wilmington Historic District to see the two-story home Duncan Clark built for his large family. Like the house in Clarkton, the Wilmington house also has a plaque on the front. It reads:

Clark House
Built 1830

Built by Duncan Clark (1782 - 1850)
Native on Greenock, Scotland
as his family residence.
Renovated in 1892 with a new facade.

Historic Wilmington Foundation, Inc.

(Did you notice that the spelling of his home town is different on his tombstone and on the plaque?)

There we were – two generations of the Clark family – spread out all along the sidewalk taking photos of the house from all angles when a young man pulled up in front, got out of his car, and proceeded to walk toward the house. Familiar with tourists taking photos, he stopped to say a word to us before going inside. We told him we’d traveled to visit the home of our ancestor, and spent a few minutes talking about Duncan, the house and our trip to the cemetery. He told us he’d owned the house only a few years, and was still in the process of restoring it. He went inside and a few minutes later came to the front door and invited us in. Amazing!

The upstairs was in a state of renovation. It was far from finished judging by the visible lath along the stairwell wall, so our tour was only of the completed lower level.
The downstairs was lovingly restored, and furnished in a style compatible with earlier times. There were strong colors on the walls, and it was sparsely furnished by standards of today.

Every summer I’d heard my grandmother tell stories about her family. I knew only two of her sisters, and none of her brothers. I first got to know Aunt Cora Woods when I was an adult, although I had been to her home once when I was a very young child. Yet, it wasn’t until that day that I got to really know my Clark ancestors. Over the years Aunt Cora Woods shared a wealth of knowledge about the family with my cousin Anne and me. She even presented each of us an autograph book that had belonged to her mother Cora Lee Withers Clark. She is with me every day as several of the Clark family treasures she had given, or willed to my father are now in my home.

It is true – an anonymous author was correct when he wrote, “Memories are gifts you can open again and again.”


Postscript One:
In April 2005, while visiting my sister Amy and my father, who now resides in an assisted living home in Wilmington, we went back to the cemetery. Time and weather have certainly played havoc with the tombstones on the Clark plot.

Most of the tombstones are no longer up right - only Duncan’s tombstone is still standing. However, it is no longer legible. Thank goodness for photos from our first visit.

A stop at 210 Nun Street brought back all the memories of that earlier day – a day when I was thrilled to enter the homes of my father, grandfather, great grandfather, great-great grandfather and great-great-great grandfather all in the same day.

Unlike the cemetery, the house looks as it did that day in 1981 – lovingly restored and tended.
While standing there looking at the house through the branches of a flowering tree, memories of that earlier day, and of family no longer with us filled my mind and my soul.

Twenty-four years later I felt fortunate to be standing on Nun Street once again.


"I thank my God upon every remembrance of you.”
Philippians 1:3






Postscript Two:
In October 2008 we made a trip to the beach with our children and grandchildren. One afternoon, we took those who'd not been to Wilmington before on a tour of family sites in Wilmington.



As always, the house looked welcoming. How I'd love to be able to sit in one of the rocking chairs on the front porch and look down the hill toward the Cape Fear River just as my ancestors did more than 175 years ago.



A big surprise awaited us at the cemetery. Since our last visit, the Clark family plot had been restored.

The tombstones were cleaned, repaired and placed up right again - and they looked better than they did that day in 1981 when I first got to know Duncan Clark and his place in my family story.








Dad is no longer with us. Wearing his red Santa hat he went home to be with the Lord on Christmas Day 2005.

A trip to the house on Nun Street and Oakdale Cemetery is always a special treat. This year, without dad as part of the tour group, memories of our shared family adventure filled me with joy. Thanks dad for the wonderful memories.

Postscript Three - February 2011
As the person who gets the emails for the Northbrook Historical Society I have had some interesting inquiries. Two have even ended up connecting a question about our town to my personal genealogy research.

What happened next just goes to prove that you never know where a contact, or a comment, will take you. One of the two questions that involved my research is part of this story. THat simple query took me to Brooklyn, and research on my maternal family then returned me full circle to the ancestral home and burial place of my paternal family.

That twist of fate began in September 2009 when I received a note from a gentleman in New York inquiring about, "A place called Benton (1925-30) where a man who earlier had a place in Shermerville owned a house." I responded with what I could tell him and from then on I've been on a journey of discovery.

It turned out that while the subject of his inquiry did have a summer home in Shermerville, the Benton he was looking for was a street in Arlington Heights. As we sorted this out I learned he was an accomplished family historian with roots in New York and Chicago. He also lived in New York City where one of my elusive maternal ancestors lived beginning about 1820. This is the same line that connected the other question to a New England family shared by both my parents and to the founding of my town.

My own research has taken a back seat to Village research in recent years. I'd done some intense research on this Faron line about eight years ago, and then put it aside to attend to other projects and life altering events. Yet knowing full-well that a local family historian knows sources the average out-of-town researcher doesn't, I asked my online friend a couple of questions about where he'd suggest I go to find early New York records. His responses and his own digging for clues have led me on magical journey learning about my still elusive ancestors.

Together, my online friend and I have traveled from 1830 to 1900 New York, Brooklyn and upstate New York. I've also met family I've never known, shared our research and discovered some unbelievable coincidences.

One of these coincidences happened when I sent a note to one of my newly discovered "cousins" who like my father was in the Navy, and now lives in Wilmington, North Carolina where my sister resides and where my father spent the last few years of his life.

One night, on a whim, I sent him the link to my blog where I'd posted the Clark Day story. He passed the link on to a friend of his who responded immediately. A part of the note she sent through him is included below.

"That is more fascinating than you'll ever know. I tried to write a comment on her site, but was required to register with Google--too hard. So, here is what I tried to send her . . .

Judy,
Dana forwarded your site which I so enjoyed reading. My husband and I lived next door to the Duncan Clark House from 1978 to 1985 and know the owner . . . When we lived there, his Labrador was named Duncan in honor of Mr. Clark!

I am the historian for the Friends of Oakdale Cemetery. Our projects include trying to tend orphaned graves--those for which we know of no descendant. I suspect the friends are responsible for restoring the Clark grave markers. Their web site is: www.oakdalecemetery.org."

So, from an online historical question about my Village I have gone back in time to the home towns of two of my ancestors, and the final resting place of one of them.

This has been an amazing ongoing journey.

A good day - flags, cats and more

Today was a great day! Two very important things happened.

The flags for our Field of Honor are in Chicago and will soon be safely housed in Northbrook until we need them in a couple of days. The Field of Honor has taken up most of my time the past few months. I am really excited about this event. 1,901 American flags flying in the Village Green over memorial day in honor of our Village's 110th birthday and personal heroes. I spent most of day working on the dedications people are sending in - of course our town's 43 fallen heroes will be honored. There will be music in the gazebo two days and sunset services every night. Quite a sight to behold - it will be a great community event.


Most important, my Jamie is home after a month outside. When he disappeared we were devastated. Even used thermo-imaging cameras and a camera that fit into a pipe to reach deep into spaces between the rafters and the drywall in the basement ceiling. No cat anywhere. Since he is such a scardy cat we just couldn't believe he'd gotten outside.

Jamie


Now we know that is what happened, but how it happened we may never know. What a month to be outside - snow and 20 day of rain in April. He never went far. Just under the deck next door. Mike caught a glimpse of him today while cutting the lawn. From there it took a bit to get him back out from under the deck but once he came out to eat the tuna it was easy to pick him up and get him in the carrier to come home. Wasn't sure how he'd react after a month outside but as soon as I let him out he was purring.

He is just skin and bones - a mere shadow of his former self but he hasn't changed in personality. He appears to be okay but will have a visit to the vet tomorrow to be checked out. One thing I know is that he doesn't want to leave my side - except to go in and get some more food.

The sun was shining on us today in more than one way.

I still want the merry-go-round to stop so I can climb some trees. However, it is almost time for the Historical Society Annual Meeting and then it is time for the Field of Honor. Next comes June and two events and the art show in July and then I can write and climb trees to my heart's content. I can hardly wait.

I get so tired

So many emails make the rounds in support of one's opinion - people believe them whether they are true or not. Recently, after seeing a rehash of something I saw years ago I wrote this to the sender and copied all on the email.

"Identity theft is a big problem in American and throughout the world. Stealing and using another’s accounts is against the law. However, on the Internet stealing and using the one unique thing each of us has is apparently NOT against the law. That one unique thing is our name. Stealing and using another’s name to give credit to personal opinion is as wide spread as the first crime, and sometimes does as much damage to the person whose name has been stolen.

Emails like this one have been around a very long time – This one first showed up in 2008. It has been credited to several people in its different versions and all have disavowed writing it. According to what I’ve read, it started as a comment on a blog. In order to make it appear more legitimate someone added a name to it, and in this one even a picture, and thousands have sent it round to their friends.

I value my name and yours. I am so saddened that others are so ready to steal the name of another to give credibility to their personal opinion. Makes no difference what your opinion is, or who the email is about. Believe what you like – after all this is America. However, before passing something along, please check to see if it is what it says it is. In this case, it is not.

P.S. I did write the above."

Longing for Spring

After March comes in like a lion - or is that a lamb we will be seeing the beginning of spring. I can hardly wait. Too much winter for me this year.

Ready to soak in some sun and feel the gentle winds of springtime caress my face and the trees. Maybe, just maybe I am longing for a right smart sea breeze.

Stop the merry-go-round

Time to stop the non-stop merry-go-round. I want off so I can go climb some trees.