It’s Monday night, 11:45 PM, and the teaching day is over. I am almost ready for four days of writing and relaxing.
This Sunday’s and Monday’s lessons have been outstanding with tons of progress and energy toward some hefty goals. Tuesday students, I am looking at you to keeping this fine trend going!
A friend has bid farewell to her grandfather, and her children, former students now in their twenties, have gotten to know great-grandparents when so many their age probably never knew theirs. I, too, was so blessed to have known all but one grandparent and all but one of my great-grandparents. I was especially close to my great-grandfather, Garrett Clary, and can appreciate this family’s sense of loss.
For some reason, the body was not cooperative this morning and I listened to it, spending most of the day in bed until it was time to shower and teach. We have rain coming this Wednesday and I suspect I am finding reactions to the front approaching. I’ve noticed this several times before previous weather fronts arrive that it is not only my sinuses that are thrown into a tumble.
At some point in the late morning I heard a commotion going on near the deck and fence to the DP&L easement. Years ago I had put up chicken wire along the wood privacy fence to aid in keeping out intruders. I checked the area and snuggled next to the fence and looking through the chicken wire was a possum. I looked and saw no wounds nor injuries. It didn’t seemed scared by my presence and as I talked to it, the sweet faced thing blinked its eyes and appeared calm. I sat on the deck’s side steps, about six feet from the possum, separated by only the chicken wire. After about fifteen minutes I stepped away and when I returned it had moved on.
I think I shall spend a few minutes on the deck before turning in around 12:15 PM.
Sometimes, it is aggravating to research my priorities because I get trapped in genealogical rabbit holes.
Tonight, while reading up on my Ball ancestors, pioneers of Boone Township, Madison County, Indiana, and buried in Forretville Cemetery, I went back several more generations.
Mary McCrory married my 4th-great-grandfather, William W. Ball, and they lived on a farm directly north of Forrestville Cemetery after rounding the curve where once stood the hamlet of Forrestville, now long disappeared.
Mary McCrory’s parents were Robert McCrory (1801-1879) and Salina Margaret Saxon (1806-1879) from Fayette County, Indiana.
Salina’s parents were Alexander Saxon, born 11 Sep 1767 in Georgia; died 2 Dec 1844 in Fayette County, Indiana; and Mary Baldwin, born 1773; died 23 Jul 1855 in Fayette County, Indiana.
1767… my 6th great-grandfather was born a British subject.
Now, this is nothing new as I have traced countless lines of my family back to various European countries as far back as the 1100s. But, tonight, it just interested me that this Alexander Saxon was born and lived for nine years as a British subject.
There is a photograph of one of his sons, Alexander Gillespie Saxon and his wife, Margaret McCrory Saxon who was a sister to my 5th great-grandfather, Robert McCrory. There is also a photograph of their sons.
It’s overcast and grey but so comfortable with mild breezes on the cool side.
At 11:00 AM I will receive my third Covid vaccine which is the booster. I am relieved and feel fortunate for this impending jab but I am also aware that masking and distancing needs to continue. I am weighing the situation daily as to knowing if and when I should self quarantine once again. I know the ropes and am content with quarantine life.
After Jab-3, I will return an Amazon item to a station inside Whole Foods near the Dayton Mall. I am debating whether or not to grab some Mexican food next door to Whole Foods or just come home.
Thursday is my regular Zoom lunch with colleagues and friends and later an Italian dinner with my bonus-little sister, Jenny.
Friday I will hopefully mow what needs mowing and then continue with writing.
Saturday I plan to write and then attend THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING ERNEST with Mama Kay and Laura.
Okay, time to shave and shower and then off to Jab-3.
Every time we use our voices, we send our energetic imprint out into the universe and to the people around us.
Whether listening to the low muted murmur of a confidential whisper or the proud declarative boom coming from behind a mic on the podium, there are few sounds more evocative than the human voice. Each human being’s voice has a unique tone that is all its own. Carrying their own signature traits and idiosyncrasies, no two voices are alike.
Yet so often, we neglect to hear these resonances under which our spoken words are floated over. A lover’s voice vibrating with tenderness can feel like a warm caress touching the body; words spoken over an angry voice can seem like bullets hitting one’s auric field; and a voice tinged with laughter can’t help but fill us with good feelings. And then there are the voices of other people we encounter. The radio announcer’s soothing baritone that accompanies us during a long ride, the cheerful chatter of children playing on the street, and the dulcet hum of a yogi in mid-mantra are just a few of the voices we may be blessed to hear on any given day. Taken together, they’re like a wondrous symphony of mellifluous notes.
Every time we use our voices, we send our energetic imprint out into the universe and to the people around us. And, like the words that we use when we speak to people, our voices can communicate what we are feeling, what we desire, and what we really mean. There is no hiding our truth that can be felt through the sound of our voices. Timidity, desire, pain, and love can all be expressed and felt through the human voice. Our voices also have the power to heal, to hurt, to love, and to transform others. When we are aware of the impact our voices can have, we can consciously choose what we are expressing. Remember that what you communicate when you speak goes beyond words. Take responsibility for the power your voice has to impact the space and the people around you, and let your voice be a sound that creates harmony and compassion in the universe.
Always use your voice to make it a great day, not just for yourself, but for those within hearing!
I took my son third son, Jose, to get a haircut at Great Clips in Kettering. We were the only customers and there was one stylist sweeping up from a previous haircut.
“I’ll be right with you.”
Jose, nearing age 19, peered around the counter at the voluptuous pretty blonde stylist who was probably in her 30s.
“I think I’m going to enjoy this haircut.”
I was thumbing through some magazine and joked, “Well, you’re old enough; you could ask her out.”
Jose took a second look. “She’s kind of old for me.”
Adding a bit of screen-dad coolness like Steve Martin or Robin Williams, said, “Maybe she’s one of those coyotes.”
Jose squinted his eyes and stared at me. “Do you mean ‘cougar?”
It was not uncommon for me to leave a store or performing event and suddenly remember I had forgotten my sons. I had been on my own for so many years that I was not used to taking a roll call before leaving.
It did take me several years to recognize that it was one of my sons yelling (several times) specifically for me when I heard, “Dad!” I just figured it was for someone else.
FIRST SON
I always preferred attending to grocery shopping between 11:00 PM and midnight, mostly for convenience of just returning home from rehearsals or events, and so that I would run into fewer folks I knew in order to move through the store faster. I had only had my first son a few days before I headed out to the old Kroger in Centerville. I returned home to find him sitting on the stairs, fearing that I had left him.
Yes, this is kind of a sadder story but the rest were actually pretty funny.
MEIJER
Our summers were always eventful and busy with doing as many things as we could cram in. Often, we’d hit Kroger, Meijer, or Walmart around midnight as we returned from an event. Many times I would shop while the boys hit the gaming center.
One night, I loaded all the groceries into the car and pulled out of the Meijer parking, heading west on Stroop Road. I got to the intersection at Marshall before I realized Joshua and Matthew were back at Meijer.
Sure enough, they were still glued to the gaming monitors and had not missed me.
SHELL GAS STATION
I gave Jose $20 to run inside to pay for gas. This was before the committed payment before filling up your tank. While Jose stood in line, I filled up the Lumina and climbed back inside the car.
I was just ready to pull out onto Far Hills Avenue when something surprised me on the passenger side of the car.
Twelve year old Jose jumped into the car with “Were you trying to see how fast I could run?”
Whoa! “Yes, I was. And you are so fast.” Whew! He bought it.
BEAVERCREEK HIGH SCHOOL
We finished up a show and the entire crew was heading to Quaker Steak for a post-show chow. Quintin asked if he could ride with some family friends so I attended to a few closing items and went to my car parked on the other side of the building.
I arrived at the restaurant and was greeted by the family friend with “Where’s Quintin?”
Oh, shit. Again! “Umm, didn’t he ride with you?”
My phone rang. A fellow teacher was leaving the building and saw Quintin sitting on a park bench by the parking lot. He had missed the family’s departure and then discovered I, too, was gone. Thankfully, my friend delivered him to Quaker Steak and I treated her to a dinner.
DISNEY WORLD
I really didn’t leave three of the boys at Disney World. I got on the monorail car in EPCOT and was on my way back to The Magic Kingdom before I realized I was reading a brochure to just myself. Apparently, something held them back from getting aboard the same car.
KINGS ISLAND
I thought I was guiding my son onto the elevator to descend top of the Eiffel Tower but I was actually holding onto the arm of some kid whose family entered alongside me. I was a half sentence into asking if he wanted a funnel cake before… “Oh, hell! You’re not my son.”
The boy’s family asked if I wanted to keep him because he was at that mouthy middle school age.
Nope. “I just left one at the top of the tower.”
My son met up with me at the bottom when I explained my story.
“You thought it was me?”
Well, he was about your size.
“Dad, he had blonde hair,” my black haired Hispanic son observed.
At that age they all smell alike. But, I’ve always wondered if that one young man ever got a funnel cake before leaving the park.
Oh, and there was at least once, maybe twice, that I pulled out of the long line of exiting traffic after realizing I’d left the sons back inside the park at our regular meeting spot. They always thought “Dad ran into someone he knows…”
MOVIE THEATRES.
THE SCHUSTER CENTER.
TRENT ARENA.
VICTORIA THEATRE.
FAIRMONT HIGH SCHOOL (next door).
OTHER HIGH SCHOOLS.
The stories are pretty much the same but with different sons.
ELWOOD FUNERAL HOME
When the funeral service had ended I suggested to the boys they go back to the family quarters to watch television since it would be a while.
And it was a long while.
Finally, inside the car waiting in the funeral procession line, my dad tapped on the window. I lowered the window. “Where are your sons?”
The departure was only held up for a moment while I retrieved the boys.
MY MOTHER & SISTER’S HOUSE
I was preparing to pull away from where my mother and sister were living at the time and my sister leaned inside the car.
“Are you forgetting anything?”
I looked past a short redhead to see Flyer, the dog, in the back window.
Nope… oh, no!
My sons were not in the car but my little nephew, Andrew, was in the backseat.
Now, I honestly cannot accept full responsibility for this swap as I believe my sister was the mastermind behind it. However, we would have probably been fifty miles away at the New Castle exit before I figured out the difference.
And here it is Monday… I mean, Tuesday morning. Tomorrow, my Wednesday shall probably be Tuesday in my mind.
Saturday through Monday was a mix of everything, socially and physically. Labor Day weekend has always been one of my favorite holidays. Living in the midst of Kettering’s Holiday at Home Festival has always been such a kick with the additional foot and street traffic. Shroyer Road, especially on my elongated block, has always been busy but there is a different busyness over the Labor Day weekend. It’s exciting.
Saturday morning at 9:30 AM, I prepared to battle the mowing and trimming, a job that requires not much more than 45 minutes to one hour. I’d put off mowing for several weeks due to the high temperatures followed by several days of much rain. At around Noon, I stiffly walked inside and collapsed on my bed, barely able to move a muscle. I had no strength to even reach for the bottle of Tylenol. The front easement and backyard required several re-mows, the first rounds being terribly strenuous. Everything I intended to do the remainder of the day was off the books. But, the yard was mowed and I did it my self. That’s very important to me during this chapter of life.
For many years, the Hoosier kinfolk would spend their time here from Friday through Monday, taking in a Fairmont game so we could see one of the boys in marching band, going to parks for picnics, spending time at Young’s Dairy, wandering through the Holiday at Home festival, and enjoying the parade. I actually did a majority of cooking for the meals which was either celebrated or tolerated. The only true fail that I can recall was my attempt at mint chocolate pancakes. In my brain, they were delicious. Well…
Sunday, I was hankering for a lemon shake-up. Laura agreed to go with me to the festival, one long block over, and we corralled Mama Kay into joining us instead of napping after Mass. Upon our return, Mama Kay invited us to lunch with chicken salad croissants, chips, my own contribution of macaroni salad, and delicious desserts. I returned home for a quick nap, and an afternoon and evening of teaching.
In 2008, the Bane family, whose children studied piano with me, and later saxophone, began using my driveway to park and we’d all head over to the parade on Far Hills. We’ve only interrupted this tradition in 2020 when the festival was cancelled. Yesterday, we returned to our regularly scheduled parade program.
By 2:00 PM, post-parade, I was returned to my Monday teaching schedule with everyone present on a Monday holiday.
This morning I decided to glide into my day since I have another 2:00 PM to 11:00. PM teaching schedule. I even laid down in the study to cuddle Chief before the three ladies figured out what was happening. Soon, The Quartet was snuggled around me for a good thirty minutes. It’s been relaxing morning watching the Medora (North Dakota) Musical that celebrates the Wild West and Teddy Roosevelt. My Colorado students saw and loved the musical this weekend, told me about it, and it was contagious. Such a fun watch!
Now, to sweep the study and bedroom, and to get some writing completed before it’s time to teach.
I did not write this. This article is from DailyOM.
Taking one step at a time makes life much easier to navigate, rather than always looking at the big picture.
The years of our life do not arrive all at once; they greet us day by day. With the descent of each setting sun, we are able to rest our heads and let the world take care of itself for a while. We may rest assured throughout the night, knowing that the dawn will bring with it a chance to meet our lives anew, donning fresh perspectives and dream-inspired hopes. The hours that follow, before we return to sleep once more, are for us to decide how we want to live and learn, laugh and grow. Our lives are sweeter and more manageable because we must experience them this way: one day at a time.
Imagine the future stretching out before you and try to notice if you feel any tension or overwhelm at the prospect of the journey still to come. Perhaps you have recently made a lifestyle change, like beginning a new diet or quitting smoking, and the idea of continuing this healthy new behavior for years seems daunting. Maybe you have started a new job or are newly married and can feel an undercurrent of anxiety about your ability to succeed. If you can shift your focus from what may happen years down the line and return it to the day that is before you right now, you may find a measure of calm and renewed confidence in your capabilities. You may also discover an inner faith that the future will take care of itself.
The way we show up for our lives today and tomorrow has an enormous affect on who we will be and what we will be experiencing years from now. If we can remain fully engaged in the day at hand, enjoying all it has to offer and putting our energy into making the most of it, we will find that we are perfectly ready and capable to handle any future when it arrives.
DLJH: Taking one step, one day, one minute at a time is all about the process which I love. Take life one day at a time and make it a great day!
I love this photograph of my great-great uncle and aunt, Raymond and Betty Daugherty. I have seen this photo so many times and don’t believe I have ever noticed the Wendell L. Willkie license plate on the front of the automobile which dates this photo to 1940 when Willkie, a hometown boy from Elwood, Indiana, ran as the Republican candidate for president against the incumbent, Franklin Roosevelt.
Uncle Raymond, the much younger brother of my great-grandmother, Thelma Daugherty Barmes, was three months older than his nephew, my grandfather, Leroy “Red” Barmes.
Betty Church, whose family lived near Summitville, Indiana, in the northeast corner of Madison County, was a best friend and classmate of my grandmother, Donna Clary.
So, two best friends and an uncle and nephew, dated, married, raised families, and were a part of my wonderful village.
Since I have several days off from teaching each week, I don’t look as forward to Fridays as most folks, even when I designate Friday FunDays for particular events.
Last night I wandered over to the next block which contains the expansive and manicured Lincoln Park with its crown jewel, The Fraze Pavilion, named in honor of our local inventor who designed the pop-tab for beverage cans. Each summer, The Fraze is host to incredible talent both of international and local fame. Thursday evening, to cap off the end of summer city block party, The Kettering Civic Band, under the most capable baton of Catherine Abner gave the community a last musical “hurrah” for summer.
Today, I will lunch with my dear friend, Carol Chatfield, whom I’ve missed seeing weekly throughout this pandemic and quarantine. In the evening, I’ll traipse downtown to The Levitt Pavilion to hear ensembles from The University of Dayton music department.
The past two nights I’ve had much appreciate sound sleeps with minimal distractions for bathroom breaks. I’ve not felt especially tired but having a complete night’s sleep is quite welcome.
On with the day. I’ve forty-five minutes of play time with The Quartet before I need to ready myself for my lunch date for which I am most excited.
Mary Maria Vinson Jones | Carter 29 March 1853 – 25 September 1934
I grew up hearing my grandmother, Donna Clary Barmes, lovingly refer to Grandma Carter. Since Carter is not a surname name directly connected to any family line, this one might be confusing.
Here’s the lineup for eight generations:
1. Joshua Vinson (born 1791) 2. William Vinson Carter (born 1820) 3. Mary Maria Vinson Jones | Carter (born 1853) 4. Joel Monroe Jones (born 1873) 5. Mary Belle Jones Clary (born 1897) 6. Donna Mae Clary Barmes (born 1924) 7. Diana Kay Barmes Jolliff | Haas (born 1945) 8. Darin Jolliffe-Haas (born 1964)
Grandma Carter was the mother of my second great-grandfather, Joel Monroe Jones. Grandpa Jones’ father, John Henry Jones, died as a young man and Mary Vinson Jone remarried to George T. Carter.
The Vinson family migrated in the 1830s from Delaware and Maryland to pioneer Van Buren Township and Boone Township in Madison County, Indiana. By the time the Boone Township map of 1876 was completed the Vinson family owned a number of farms and acreage that Mary Vinson Jones inherited, thus becoming known as The Jones’ Farms, and in 1936, the main farm property deeded over to Garrett & Belle Clary, my great-grandparents.
Grandma Carter’s parents:
William Vinson
4 October 1820 – 19 September 1883 Born in Delaware Died near Summitville, Madison County, Indiana. Buried in Old Vinson Cemetery in Van Buren Township, Madison County, Indiana
Mary Jane Robinson Vinson
1832 – 1900 Born in Indiana Died near Summitville, Madison County, Indiana. Buried in Old Vinson Cemetery in Van Buren Township, Madison County, Indiana
Grandma Carter’s paternal grandparents:
Joshua Vinson
1791 – 27 November 1871 Born in Sussex County, Delaware Died near Summitville, Indiana Buried in Old Vinson Cemetery in Van Buren Township, Madison County, Indiana
Mary “Polly” Smith Vinson 1798 – 7 September 1865 Born in Sussex County, Delaware Died near Summitville, Indiana Buried in Old Vinson Cemetery in Van Buren Township, Madison County, Indiana
I’ve never seen any photos of Grandma Carter and only have a copy of her death certificate and photos of her gravesite which is in the Vinson Family Cemetery south of Summitville, Indiana.
I did not write this; it is from the DailyOM site.
Sometimes we need to be our own village by utilizing all of our skills and learning more.
Simple survival requires us to be in possession of many skills. The pursuit of dreams requires many more. Most individuals rely on the support of a village, whether peopled by relatives or community members, to effectively address the numerous ways we need assistance. This can mean anything from asking favors of acquaintances and leaning on loved ones for support to paying a skilled artisan to handle specialized tasks. However, each human being is born with the capacity to be their own village. We embody many roles throughout our lifetimes, all of which are representative of our capacity for self-sufficiency and self-determination. In different moments in our lives, we are our own counselor, janitor, caregiver, cook, healer, teacher, and student. Our willingness to joyfully take on these roles grants us the power to maintain control over the direction our life’s journey takes.
In times past, human beings learned all of the skills needed for survival. Today, the majority of people specialize in a single discipline, which they hone throughout their lives. Thus, many of us feel uncomfortable standing at the helm of our own existence. We question our ability to make decisions concerning our own health, happiness, and welfare, and are left feeling dependent and powerless. But the authority to take ultimate responsibility for our lives is simply a matter of believing that we have the necessary faith and intelligence to cope with any circumstance the universe chooses to place in our path. Proving that we can each be our own villages through action enables us to accept that we are strong enough to exist autonomously. Cooking, cultivating a garden of fruits and vegetables, undertaking minor home repair, or adopting a healthier lifestyle can help you reassert your will.
Being your own village does not mean embracing isolation, for a balanced life is built upon the dual foundations of the inner and the outer villages. Rather, being your own village is a celebration of your wondrous inner strength and resourcefulness, as well as an acknowledgment of your innate ability to capably steer the course of your life.
I am beyond thrilled to be back at my table on the deck, even with 64-degrees. I do not mind the temperature, nor even the mild breeze as I just wanted to be back on the deck after the several weeks of unbearable heat and humidity followed by the several days of annoying but much needed rain.
The grass is tall and I know that Friday or Saturday I shall be tackling it in preparation for The Labor Day festivities, Holiday At Home, that surrounds The Haasienda.
Tonight is the Kettering City Block Party in Lincoln Park that will conclude with The Kettering Civic Band in concert at The Fraze. My plans are to attend.
Yesterday was spent researching for my project but I kept finding myself going down a number of unnecessary genealogical rabbit holes. While I was thrilled with some of the new family information I uncovered, I was agitated that I had lost my entire focus on other research. But, I do have new items for family members to enjoy and share.
On with my day. The forecast says we shall only hit 75-degrees and by an hour into tonight’s band concert it will be in the 60s.
Interesting that Jesse Delmar Barmes lived in Elwood during WWI.
I knew that Jesse’s brother, Edla Barmes, had brought Jesse’s sons, Virgil and Emerson, to Elwood, Indiana for jobs at The American Sheet and Tin Plate Company, but I had no idea that Jesse also came to Elwood. I did discover that Jesse’s mother, Mary Jane Cline Barmes, had lived in Elwood with Jesse and, later, he daughter, Hazel.
Mary Jane Cline Ayres was a widow when she married my 3rd great-grandfather, Frederick Elde Barmes, of Hope, Indiana.
This is some information on Mary:
Mary Jane Cline Ayres Barmes Bannon was born 23 December 1854 in
Mary Jane Cline, born 23 December 1854 in St. Paul, Decatur County, Indiana and was the daughter of Robert Martin Cline (1829-1919) and Julia Anne Weatherford (1832-1869).
Mary first married to George W. Ayers (1850-1875) in March 1872 at Decatur County, Indiana. It is not known if Mary and George had any children.
After George died, Mary remarried to Frederick (went by Fred) Elda Barmes (1838-1897) on 13 Feb 1877 at Decatur County, Indiana. Mary and Fred were the parents of four known children, namely:
1. Jesse Delmar Barmes (1877-1938) (this is our line) 2. Elda “Eldie” Robert Barmes (1880-1955) 3. Elsie Blanch Barmes Rothrock (1889-1919) 4. Hazel E. Barmes Harber (1895-1973)
After Fred died Mary remarried to William Campbell Bannon (1844-1918) on 08 Nov 1899 at Anderson County, Indiana.
Records also show Mary J. Barmus (sic) married William C. Bannon on 31 Jan 1901 at Madison County, Indiana.
At the time of the 1900 census Wiliam C. Bannon, Mary and William’s step-children Elda, Elsie and Hazel Barmes were living at Elwood, Madison County, Indiana. Mary said she was the mother of four, all living.
Mary J. Bannon was still living at Madison County, Indiana in 1910, being listed twice: once with William C. Bannon and once listed with her daughter Hazel, married son Jesse and his family, a single sister, Hattie Cline.
In 1920 the widow Mary was living with her son Jesse and his family at Elwood, Madison County, Indiana.
In 1930 the widow Mary Bannon and married daughter Hazel Barmes Harber (or Hordes), were rooming at Stockton, San Joaquin County, California.
Mary Jane nee Cline (Ayres) (Barmes) Bannon died 3 April 1931 in Indianapolis, Marion County, Indiana and is buried alongside Frederick Barmes in The Moravian Cemetery, Hope, Bartholomew County, Indiana.
Mary Jane Cline Barmes, left, with her son and daughter-in-law, Jesse Delmar Barmes and Emily Brewer Barmes.
In 1977, I made binders for my grandparents, some of their siblings, and my great grandparents, and their siblings with story-sheets they could fill out to record their favorite stories, our family’s history.
I’m glad that at age thirteen was thought of this family project as the stories were written in their own hand writing and in their own words.
In 1990, I had them add more stories. Here are a few from my maternal grandparents, Leroy & Donna nee Clary Barmes.
While attending to purging adventures I ran across some of my genealogy books and binders that I began in 1977 during my seventh grade year of school.
I Xeroxed pages from the family Bible belonging to my great-great grandmother Mary Frances nee. Noble Clary. The Bible was passed on to my great-grandparents, John William Garrett Clary and Mary Belle nee Jones Clary. Grandma Belle continued recording family information.
Worry is an extension of fear, and can also set you up for attracting that which you don’t want in your life.
We have all had the experience of worrying about something at some point in our lives. Some of us have a habitual tendency to worry, and all of us have known someone who is a chronic worrier. Worry is an extension of fear and can be a very draining experience. In order for worry to exist, we have to imagine that something bad might happen. What we are worrying about has not happened yet, however, so this bad thing is by definition a fantasy. Understood this way, worry is a self-created state of needless fear. Still, most of us worry.
One reason we worry is because we feel like we’re not in control. For example, you might worry about your loved ones driving home in bad weather. There is nothing you can do to guarantee their safe passage, but you worry until you find out they have reached their destination unharmed. In this instance, worry is an attempt to feel useful and in control. However, worrying does nothing to ensure a positive outcome and it has an unpleasant effect on your body, mind, and spirit. The good news is that there are ways to transform this kind of worry so that it has a healing effect. Just as worry uses the imagination, so does the antidote to worry. Next time you find that you are worrying, imagine the best result instead of anticipating the worst outcome. Visualize your loved ones’ path bathed in white light and clearly see in your mind’s eye their safe arrival. Imagine angels or guides watching over them as they make their way home. Generate peace and well-being instead of nervousness and unease within yourself.
Another reason we worry is that something that we know is pending but are avoiding is nagging us — an unpaid parking ticket, an upcoming test, an issue with a friend. In these cases, acknowledging that we are worried and taking action is the best solution. If you can confront the situation and own your power to change it, you’ll have no reason to worry.
To quote my son in England who commented on our heat wave here in the Midwest, “Those temperatures look ghastly!”
Ghastly? How very British of him to say so.
Yes, the conditions are ghastly. The deck is barely comfortable due to higher humidity but the rather cool temperature at the moment will climb to 90-degrees after the Noon hour.
There’s a German festival in Lincoln Park, tonight, but I don’t believe I will brave those temperatures. After the park’s festival, should I go, I have an 8:00 PM online event for a Mary Lincoln presentation. I cannot wait for that.
The teaching week is completed. On to writing and enjoying my documentaries.
Wednesday, I joined my last senior who was ready for take-off to Dennison University, northeast of Columbus. Katie Kress has been a student since she was in first grade and what an adventure she’s enjoyed. I am so excited to observe the new adventures.
Wednesday evening I joined Mama Kay, Laura, and Laura’s eldest daughter, Katrina, for dinner at The Pita Pit on Brown Street on the University of Dayton dining strip. Laura’s daughter, Jozi, was on closing, so it was the perfect time to gang up on her. The food is excellent!
My last great-great aunt/uncle has passed. Aunt Anita Gaither Daugherty married my great-grandmother’s youngest brother. I was so blessed at birth to have so many generations of my family present so that I might be educated in so many areas of our nation’s history and our family’s legacy starting with The Spanish-American War just before the start of The Twentieth Century. Thank you, Aunt Anita, for being a part of our family all these years.
It’s right at the 9:00 AM hour and I believe I am moving operations inside. Normally, I would brave it out but this is just too damned uncomfortable. However, my inconvenience on the deck is nothing compared to true misery experienced by those who must work outside in construction or utilities, or those without air conditioning.
My adult life has been enriched by the love of the pets who have lived with me.
Let me introduce my furry kiddos, past and present.
ERMA
I have received several text messages and emails asking if I would still be writing up on Erma considering I’d written a lengthy account on her Gotcha Day.
Erma needs her own story, too.
I always find it difficult to remember Erma has only been with me for three years. It’s only by the fact there are no puppy photos of her that remind me. She has packed in much these past three years to make it seem like a lifetime of being with me.
I love all my dogs, but Erma seemed to glide right to the front as an exceptionally wonderful pooch. Whereas Harrigan is a bit demanding on needing attention, Erma simply looks at me. Unlike the others, she seems to wear a smile all the time and pays me special attention throughout the day. Erma’s look always seems to be one of gratitude.
Chief, Bailey, and Harrigan seem to have little need for dog toys. Treats, yes. Toys, not so much. Erma’s previous owner must have kept her toy box full as she loves having her stuffed toy babies and spoons. The others don’t seem to care.
I use to allow Erma and Chief to finish up the remainder of my cereal milk each morning. Before giving up the rest to Chief, Erma would grab the spoon, go lay down, hold the spoon upward between her paws, and lick it. I would find her playing with the spoon later on. I would even see her sneak onto my deck to retrieve an unused soup spoon. By week’s end, she had quite the collection.
The other three do “cute” things but Erma is cuteness, through and through. When she places herself in Sphinx position, her front paws are often crossed and she bears herself like a very classy lady.
Erma doesn’t sleep with me nor get on furniture; I am certain her previous owner was very strict about this. Therefore, I sometimes lay on the floor to spend some time with her so that she doesn’t feel left out.
One of the neatest relationships in The Haasienda is that of Erma and Chief. At first, Chief seemed to demonstrate the fact he was the leader of the pack. I am sure coming here was a shock after being the only dog and not understanding the pecking order. She quickly learned Chief was the lead dog and she semi-settled into First Lady. Still, she must always be at the front of the meal train and in most family group photos. Where ever Chief is, I can almost expect to find Erma near by.
I never dreamed an older dog would bring me so much joy. But Erma has surpassed every expectation in the meaning of a rescue dog adopted at an older age. She’s absolutely wonderful.
As the familiar quote goes, “Who actually did the rescuing and who was rescued?”
If you feel abandoned or cut off from Spirit, know that it is always there for you waiting for you to plug back in.
There may be times when we feel like our connection to the universe is closed. Maybe things don’t seem to be going well in our day, or our lives, or we may feel out of our element. The truth is, the universe is always there for us. We know that we create our experience with our thoughts, and this is another way we need to make a conscious decision about how we want to experience life. It is up to us to do the work of making the connection, because nobody can do it for us, though sometimes the universe may send us wake-up calls.
You can think of it as getting some fresh air. We are always breathing and the air is always around us, surrounding us, moving through us. But we may need to step outside of where we are in the moment — physically, mentally, or emotionally — and make the conscious choice to take a deep breath in order to feel the air coming in and going out. Whether this means stepping outside physically or merely shifting our thoughts, it is only our perception that changes; the air remains the same.
It is just as easy to reconnect with the universe. Using the same technique as a breath of fresh air, a deep breath can bring us back to our center. As we inhale, we fill our bodies with the oxygen needed to replenish our most basic physical needs, allowing the air to circulate within us. Exhaling, we release the stale, the used, the potentially toxic air, removing any blocks that may keep us from going deeper into the stillness that lies at our center where we connect to the universe. Feeling closed off does not need to be a negative experience. When we become conscious of it, we can think of the wholeness of a closed circuit, which allows electricity to connect and flow properly. Our bodies work the same way, and when we make that connection in our minds, it can help bring us back to the connection we seek.
DLJH: If you always strive to make it a great day you’ll discover yourself staying consistently connected.
My adult life has been enriched by the love of the pets who have lived with me.
Let me introduce my furry kiddos, past and present.
NEKO
Nine week old Neko was a 2016 Christmas gift to my fifth son, yet, I was the responsible party for Neko’s care.
Neko was a delightful cat who loved people and loved playing. He slept on the bed with Chief, Bailey, Harrigan, and myself, often snuggled against Chief.
Sadly, Neko passed away April 2019.
CLYDE
One September afternoon in 2017, I was walking by PetSmart windows and I saw this very full, fat tabby cat laying on his back, his lower legs spread, and his upper arms and paws covering his face as he slept. I tapped on the window near his head. He casually pulled an arm aside, eyed me with disgust, and then offered a very agitated “meow.” Although I could not hear his sound through the window, I knew I was being cat-cussed.
And, that’s how a nearly three year old Clyde and I met. Two days, later, I was taking him home to meet three dogs and a cat.
That summer, my friend Alice Kay Lovelace, a volunteer with cats at The Dayton Humane Society, had sent me a message asking if I might be interested in a cat that she adored.
The previous Spring, May 23rd to be exact, Alice Kay had helped with Clyde’s entry to The Humane Society. She immediately fell in love with him. Fortunately, Alice Kay had taken photos of Clyde during the summer.
Photos by Alice Kay Lovelace.
Ironically, May 23, 1934, was the date of Bonnie & Clyde’s deaths.
Clyde was fat. Fluffy and fat. He often walked quickly on his tinier legs which added a bit of comedy to his gait. The funniest part was that his meow was more like a squeak or a kitten’s high pitched cry. With his size, one would have expected a near lionesque roar. Nope. Clyde squeaked.
The month of October 2017, a number of my students were leads in Centerville High School’s BONNIE & CLYDE. Three students, Adam, Mitchell, and Katie portrayed Clyde Barrow, Clyde’s understudy, and Young Clyde Barrow as a boy. In the adoption papers, I even set Clyde’s birthday as October 1st, the same day as Clyde Barrow.
I had never wanted another cat after Logan as I was afraid I’d always be let down. Logan was one of a kind.
Clyde was just another one of a kind.
Clyde always believed himself to be much thinner than he was and was often getting stuck behind things. He was patient and seldom called out, even when we were searching for him throughout the house.
My piano students learned how to play around Clyde who often laid on the keyboard just above the keys, sometimes even rolling over onto the keys as they were playing. Clyde seemed to adore Ethan Webb and never left the piano during Ethan’s lesson. One night, Ethan played a repeating high Bb while Clyde sat tall, watching Ethan’s hand. Ethan would tap the Bb and then Clyde would paw the same Bb.
Saxophone students were accustomed to Clyde shoving his head into the instruments’ bells and voice students often reached over to pet Clyde who was most likely sitting on the keyboard watching them sing.
Sitting at my desk working or writing, Clyde was most often reclining next to my left arm. Upon hopping onto my desk, Clyde would ram his head into my shoulder to let me know he was there.
He was not as lithe as Neko but deemed himself as graceful which led to humans howling over the comical poses or falls. At night, he liked to sleep on the one bookcase I had turned into a headboard. While sleeping, Clyde often rolled around and would roll off the bookcase//headboard onto my head. Rather than rising to move, he remained spread out across my face or neck. He didn’t mind.
If Neko was in a box, Clyde would find a box. Sometimes, he underestimated his size and would end walking around with the box secured to his backside. A few times, Clyde walked about the house with boxes on his head, walking into things, backing up, and moving in a different direction..
I never knew if Clyde was simply innocent of his performance or if he was a seasoned performer perfecting his comedy. But, he was a Tony Award winner when it came to snuggling. Clyde loved people and was always in the middle of the conversation or activity.
May 2018, I moved out to the deck and placed Clyde in the crate I had set up for him so he could spend time with us. A few minutes later, I heard a thud and saw that Clyde had fallen over, dead. It is assumed that both he and Neko died from a feline heart ailment that was difficult to find.
I love cats, but I feel Clyde is my last cat. The joy he brought so many of us in such a short amount of time was unbelievable. My gosh, Clyde was just the most fun and I do miss him, a lot.
The Haasienda on Shroyer... 