Sunday Morning

A time to give thanks.

A time to reflect on what is right and what is wrong.

A time to make peace with myself and those around me.

A time to trust in good intentions.

A time to lift myself up and then help to lift up those around me.

I need to believe that most people will do the right thing.

I need to trust in my instincts, and then stop to think with my heart and mind.

I need to filter out the negative. I need to see and appreciate the positive.

I cannot deny the darkness, though I can stop it from taking center stage in my life.

I need to see the light, so that I can move forward with hope and purpose.

White Sparrow

A white sparrow stands out against all the garden green. It cannot hide. When it streaks across the foliage your eye is forced to follow.

It is a rarity normally destined for a shorter lifespan. It attracts all the birds of prey. The sparrow brood accepts it for they have no choice. The parents do their best to help it, though all will scatter at the shadow of a hawk.

One spring my garden played host to this white sparrow you see here. Every day I watched for it, hoping it had lived another day. There was nothing I could do to change its fate. All I could do was hope.

Every time I spotted it, I rejoiced. I kept my binoculars close that spring. It played among the treetops across several fenced yards. I kept my fingers crossed. It was never meant to be a pet. The natural laws held its fate in their hands. Sometimes luck steps in to help, though it is never obliged to do so.

By the middle of that summer I no longer spotted it. I never saw evidence that it had met the merciless claws of a predator, so I will never know for sure what happened or why it failed to come my way again. I can only guess.

I have not seen another white sparrow since that spring and summer. When I am reminded of its presence in my garden, I like to think luck was on its side, and it traveled elsewhere, following a more abundant path.

A Family Link Not Forgotten

I never knew much about my maternal grandfather. By the time I was born the relationship between my mother and her father had become estranged.

My mother’s parents were divorced when my mother was very young. She had one older sister that was about 12 years older. Unfortunately her older sister, Betty Lee, died from appendicitis when my mother was only about 6 months old. Her father moved out west to California from Branson, Missouri. My mother and her mother stayed behind in Branson. Her mother moved to Kansas City to work, and my mother went to live with her maternal grandparents.

I only remember seeing my maternal grandfather once when I was very little and my parents and my siblings and I lived in Monterey, California. My dad was training at the Naval Postgraduate School in Monterey. I was only about 4 years old at this time. I remember my grandfather had a wife named Helen or maybe it was Ellen.

We moved back east when my father had finished his work. Our life moved on and I don’t really remember asking much about my grandfather. When I did ask my mother she always gave some vague response. When you look at my parent’s wedding pictures, you will see that it was my mother’s Uncle Gilbert Hughes that had walked her down the aisle and gave her away at her wedding.

I remember when I was in high school my mother was notified by her father’s wife that he had died. Now that I think about it, I am not even sure she referred to this woman as his wife, but she was a woman that had cared for her father in his old age. I just learned today that he lived to age 89. I don’t remember whether my mother even went to his funeral. I do know that she told the woman notifying her of his death that she wanted nothing from her father’s estate.

Life moved on and I had long accepted that I only had one grandfather, my father’s father. I did not really think about my second grandfather until my own mother became interested in her father’s family history. My mother was much older by this time, and I guess any hard feeling she had about her father had been set aside. She had a cousin interested in genealogy that was able to find out some information for her.

Soon before my mother died she made a big point of passing along all her family’s history to me. She knew I was her only child that might be interested in pursuing any of it. I have to tell you it took me many years before I really had the time or interest in looking through all the information that she had gathered.

Still there was not a lot of information about her father Ernest Eugene DeVall, so I began to do a little online searching. This was when I began to get a little upset. When I would locate him on an ancestry site, it would list his marriage to my mother’s mother. However, it would state that he only had one daughter, Betty Lee DeVall who had died when my mother was very young. I found only one daughter listed at more than one website. I began to think that someone had attempted to wipe my mother’s paternal lineage from the record books. She had been disavowed in some way.

Finally this evening, not only did I find online evidence of their connection, I also found a picture of my mother with her father. I had never seen this picture before this evening, however, my mother is clearly identifiable to me, and I have many pictures of her where the resemblance cannot be denied. She looks to be around the age of 13, give or take a year or two. The memorial listed under my grandfather does list my mother as his daughter. I cannot explain how this made me feel relieved. My mother was not being forgotten at his grave memorial. Thank you Sharon for providing the picture and the family history. I can begin to understand why my mother and her father became estranged, though I will never really know the spoken words or actions that created this family fracture.

The website is : https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/196971576/ernest-eugene-devall

I now know where my maternal grandfather is buried. I don’t know whether my mother ever visited his grave. I do know that after she had lived through her own divorce and broken trusts, her view of marriage and family connections certainly changed.

It is sad when family connections become disconnections, in need of reconnection somewhere down the line.

A Serious Reflection of Indigenous

The words native and indigenous are often interchangeable, though there are some distinctions. The word native comes from the Latin word nativus which means “born”, and the word indigenous comes from the Latin word indigena which means “born in”.

Both of these words can be used to describe people and plants that originate from a particular region or country. Both can come under assault from invaders and invasives, and these refer to people or plants that do not originate from the region or country.

Some will say that nothing in this world is permanently placed and survival of a species often requires movement from place to place. Some say that survival of the fittest should be the law of the land. However, survival of the fittest is often confused with survival of the richest. In any case, even with a heirarchy there should be room for all of us if our society values this. Unfortunately, society often sides with what is fun and comfortable, and not with what is fair and just.

We all should know by now that Christopher Columbus was not the first to discover America. He was written into our school history books, and he still retains this credit. I don’t want to wipe away the history of his important armada. What I want is for the history books to write the truth, and not leave out the fact that America had a population of indigenous tribes of people who lived here before Columbus. These indigenous people were invaded upon by the richer and more powerful Europeans, and the European goal was often to wipe out the poorer natives whom they often viewed with unjustified distain because they were different.

Indigenous and native plants come under attack by invasive plants, and this is a whole different story since plants do not scheme and connive like people. The movement of people often brings about the movement of plants. People bring plants with them for physical and emotional sustenance. Wind and birds also play a part in the movement of plants. Survival of the fittest is really at play here since plants do not value or trade in money and power. They merely follow the laws of survival written into their code. Of course we cannot forget, that people do trade in plants for money.

Conservation of indigenous people and plants is often a sad afterthought. We need to change this in our society. There exists precedent within our laws which carries great weight within our courts, and yet in the natural world of living and exploring, people often toss out the precedent of land claims held by prior generations of people, animals, and plants. History is not just about what is written down by the conquerors.

We need to value the conservation of diversity.

Changing Seasons

Through my kitchen window the Dwarf Papyrus, growing in a large pot and glowing with the warmth of the late afternoon sun, catches my attention.

It is a grass-like reed plant native to Africa. The giant ancestors of this hybrid Dwarf Papyrus were used to make the first writing paper in ancient Egypt.

The one catching my attention now looks so glorious as summer ends. It will not survive our winter here in Virginia. It would have to be brought inside to stay alive. I am not a year-round gardener, so this Papyrus life will end.

In my garden behind this Dwarf Papyrus grows the white Beautyberry bush. The long arching delicate limbs drape downward, carrying the weight of all its berries.

It will survive the winter in Virginia. Throughout the fall and winter the berries will slowly disappear as the cardinal couple that lives nearby will perch precariously as they try hard to balance their bodies long enough to snatch the berries.

Come spring the barren limbs should be pruned. New fresh growth will slowly emerge. A new season full of promise will begin.

Katharsis

They filled her head with snakes and likened her to the gorgon Medusa from Greek mythology. They boldly attacked her by invading her mind and setting up sentries to monitor her thoughts.

They felt certain they could drive her mind to rave and roil in waves of a poisoned broth. Bystanders turned their backs on her in a deafening silence. When she walked by they would cast their eyes down, not wanting to admit their compliance with her enemy’s deceit.

She struggled with sleepless nights, and tears of shame and doubt and self-loathing. When she succumbed to sleep the dark matter ghosts rode her brain waves searching for the beast within her, and searching for her deepest fears. All her inhibitions fell away until she was left naked and abandoned in a desert heat.

Slowly self-survival awoke within her. She began to see the mind games for what they were. She began to understand that there was an unstoppable spirit within her, and she began to listen intently to its unspoken words. Her confidence in her inner voice strengthened as she began to cast out her doubts and fears, and these invading demons. Her self-worth began to grow as she felt her personal power grow.

She realized that she alone, by sheer will, could pull her mind to higher ground away from the chaos caused by all the disparaging remarks and callous actions of those around her. She set herself free from all the negative chain reactions.

Her spirit was renewed within herself as she grabbed hold of these invading snakes and cast them out. They all began to fall away and wither. Peace and Purity are now her guardians.

Late Summer Garden Update

This morning the air had a little nip in it. A light jacket was needed for comfort. The cooler days of fall are just around the corner.

The zucchini that was taking over one of the new raised garden beds is gone. I ripped it out last evening. The red swan snap beans and French nickel filet green beans were being crowded out and over shadowed. The zucchini was planted there on a whim. I have learned a lesson.

Several different types of beans was my goal from the start. This goal was the inspiration for having two raised beds built this summer. The second raised bed houses three other types of beans: two waxed yellow and one green Roma. This is my first bean experiment. The long beans forming from the flowers demonstrates the beauty of life on a small and simple scale.

Vegetables have never been a part of my garden until this summer. My garden’s past has been filled with flowers, shrubs, and a pond for growing water lilies and other aquatic plants. Many have survived the years and are still here.

A very old lilac shrub had been allowed to grow beyond my control. It was finally sacrificed for the new raised beds. The spot is sunny which the beans require.

I have not yet photographed the beans. I will do this when they are ready to harvest.

I have not given up on growing zucchini. It will need its own separate larger space away from the beans. This morning I was already thinking about next summer and where I might be able to grow more vegetables.

In the meantime, the blue mist shrub and the goldenrod, are providing some late summer color.

Lingering Thoughts…

My roller coaster of mental impulses continues to flatten. As each day passes I am becoming more convinced that an outside agent had been working upon me.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I have been able to regain control of my mind, though residual habits are the hardest things to break and leave behind.

My mind’s way of thinking has been forever changed. The madness has left its mark, its scar, written in the recesses of my memory.

I have made it through the fire and fear. My resolve and my will have risen from the ruin and taken charge once again.

Now I feel calmly sane. Rational thoughts are over-riding a few remnant strains of crazy.

Recently I was reading a *book of fiction* about virus vectors that can change our DNA. This idea has latched onto my nagging feeling that my mental instability was caused by another person’s intent to harm me.

I know this is illogical and a possible motive is hard to fathom. I will not pursue these thoughts, even though they linger.

The *book of fiction* was INFERNO written by Dan Brown.

Genuine Four Leaf Clover

dutchwhiteclover-

The clover you see above was identified by the U.S. Department of Agriculture as a White Dutch Clover.

It is different from a Shamrock. Shamrocks only have three leaves.

The fourth leaf of this white Dutch Clover is believed to make it a symbol of luck.

Long ago this one was placed on card stock, pressed securely under glass, and placed in a wooden frame.

I have had this little framed four leaf clover on a corner of my vanity for a long time.

The sun from the bathroom window has sadly faded the vibrant green it used to show.

Today I looked at it with new eyes and decided that I really should put it away.

I kept it there for so long because it was from my mother-in-law. I also liked the idea that it was a symbol of luck.

Today I am old enough to know that this is a foolish romantic thought. I’m superstitous enough to not throw it away, and this too is foolish.

In the wild they live and die and feed the soil for new generations. No luck is lost.

Moving Forward is Required

UBQ-

Moving forward is required; though, looking back can be fun, as long as we don’t get lost in the dreams of yesterday.

Today is now and yesterday is past. To be awake requires staying in the year 2020 and moving onward.

This picture is a fun look back. The people are my sister, her boyfriend and his two friends, and me.

We were on a short trip from Palo Alto, California to Acapulco, Mexico. Her boyfriend had his own plane and pilot’s license.

The location was the UBQ nightclub, and the year was 1979.

We were drinking a lot of champagne that evening, and I got to feeling sick. The emergency remedy was an alka-seltzer in the ladies room. It was my first time taking this medication, and I plopped it in the water, and watched it fizz. It was a miracle relief for me. and I got to feeling better quickly. I was young and resilient. Everyone was relieved that the party could go on.

This glimpse back is a faded memory, and the only thing I remember really clearly is my miraculous first experience with an alka-seltzer tablet.

The picture is put away back into its box, and my life today moves on. I need to stay focused on the fact that I am older now, and my work is in the present, and my family needs me.

I have been feeling compelled recently to show this picture because my sister’s old boyfriend, named Aziz, reminds me of a famous local writer named David. I had a chance to hear this writer speak last year, and everytime I see his picture, I am reminded of Aziz.

It is strange how people in my present can remind me of people in my past. I guess we are all related in a human way.