It’s a warm wind blowing on the deck, rattling all the wind chimes, making the trees sound like rushing waves on a beach, and swirling already fallen leaves about the yard and deck.
The humidity is already on overload and the mid-70s temperature will be gradually moving to the lower 90s. My deck time is limited before seeking shelter in the air-conditioned study where I shall spend most of the day.
The next ten days are mine for writing, researching, enjoying day-long Audible selections or documentaries, and taking time for longer adventures.
This next week is Fifth Week for The Studio and I have all week off. I only teach four weeks of each month; therefore, if a teaching day has five weeks, we take one off. Most of the time, August works out beautifully with five weeks for all teaching days. It works out by claiming mid-August to be Fifth Week as most schools are starting back up and it allows students and families to have one less thing to do that week.
I’ve started and stopped about a half-dozen audio-books the past several days. The story-telling falls short of what I’ve recently experienced with the works of Jon Meacham and several others. Right now, I am half-listening to a John Adams biography, PASSIONATE SAGE by Joseph Ellis. The reader’s voice lands a bit too heavy on the ear with an uneasy talent for storytelling. I am betting I will be searching through my Audible library before 10 AM arrives.
I am thinking it time to move inside. The wind has now died down to an occasional breeze and it’s feeling a bit more damp.
I tried to read; I fell back to sleep. I tried to watch documentaries; I fell back to sleep. I tried… I fell back to sleep.
The dogs were fed and the door to the deck remained opened for them to come and go. Focusing on even petting a few seconds resulted in more sleep.
At 4:00 PM, I rose, grabbed a bite to eat, showered and dressed, and taught from 5:00 PM until 11:15 PM. I was alert and energized throughout teaching but now I am deflated of any energy.
What an incredible evening of teaching and seeing so much advancement. That is always so invigorating.
I’m on the deck enjoying the incredible weather and breezes; however, my energy is quickly waning. I am playing tug-of-war between wanting to crawl into bed and wanting to continue in the chaise lounge with the breezes.
This morning I completed Jon Meacham’s THOMAS JEFFERSON: THE ART OF POWER and I cannot say enough about this book and how much I loved it.
Much of Jefferson’s life I already knew but Mr. Meacham turned this enormous man’s life into some of the finest storytelling I’ve ever experienced. The people and places were 3-Dimensional, often seeming as though they were seated right next to me discussing the scenes so vividly described by the author.
The last fifteen minutes, plus Mr. Meacham’s own voiced epilogue were powerful. I did not want July 4, 1826 to come. And, once it arrived, Meacham’s words wielded immense beauty and power much like the man whose story he told.
Brilliant.
There were a number of quotes from the book, both in Jefferson’s and Meacham’s own words, that stood out and I’d like to share them.
“I think this is the most extraordinary collection of talent, of human knowledge, that has ever been gathered together at the White House, with the possible exception of when Thomas Jefferson dined alone.” —PRESIDENT JOHN F. KENNEDY, at a dinner in honor of all living recipients of the Nobel Prize, 1962. Jon Meacham, Thomas Jefferson: The Art of Power
“It did not speak well of the power of God, in other words, if He needed a human government to prop him up.”
“Our greatest leaders are neither dreamers nor dictators: They are, like Jefferson, those who articulate national aspirations yet master the mechanics of influence and know when to depart from dogma.”
“Broadly put, philosophers think: politicians maneuver. Jefferson’s genius was that he was both and could do both, often simultaneously. Such is the art of power.”
“He turned the presidency – and the President’s House – into something it had not been before: a center of curiosity and inquiry, of vibrant institution that played informal but important roles in the broader life of the nation, from science to literature.”
Two dear friends and fellow Mary Lincoln scholars, Valerie and Jo Ann, sent me the most wonderful letter and this facemask.
On one side the facemask has images of President Lincoln. The other side has strawberries and flowers to acknowledge Mrs. Lincoln who was famous for her strawberry parties during their years living in Springfield Illinois.
Thank you, thank you. I absolutely love my new facemask.
Author Jon Meacham wrote in his Pulitzer Prize winning THOMAS JEFFERSON, THE ART OF POWER, that the Adams and Jefferson friendship had been a victim of the passions of the 1790s
Mutual friend and fellow founding father, Benjamin Rush, desired their friendship to be restored and wrote to Jefferson, “many are the evils of a political life, but none So great as the dissolution of friendships, and the implacable hatreds which too Often take their place.”
From Benjamin Rush to Thomas Jefferson.
“Philadelphia Feb: 1st 1811.
Dear Sir,
I was much gratified in reading the confidential Communication made to me in your letter. After reading the Correspondence which accompanied it, I acquit you, in your refusal to renew it, of the least impropriety of temper, or Conduct. On the Contrary, I was delighted with the kindness, benevolence, and even friendship discovered in your Answers to Mrs Adams letter. I beleive they were the genuine effusions of your heart, for they exactly accord with the expressions of regard, and the opinion of the integrity of Mr Adams which I have heard you utter a hundred times in our familiar intercourse with each Other during the four last Winters you passed in Philadelphia.
I was induced to make the proposal to you of reviving a farewell intercourse with Mr Adams before you meet in Another world, in consequence of his having reverted back to the Opinio[ns] and feelings of his early life upon several interesting Subjects of Government, and of his having in one of his letters expressed favourable Sentiments towards you, and a decided Approbation of one of the unpopular Acts of your Administration.”
John Adams, who began softening his harsh tone against his former friend wrote to Rush of Jefferson, “I always loved Jefferson and still love him.”
That was all that was needed to re-spark Jefferson’s passion for his former co-revolutionary and the correspondence resumed with great fervor.
“1812, January 21: Jefferson to Adams_____________ A letter from you calls up recollections very dear to my mind. It carries me back to the times when, beset with difficulties and dangers, we were fellow laborers in the same cause, struggling for what is most valuable to man, his right of self-government. Laboring always at the same oar, with some wave ever ahead threatening to overwhelm us and yet passing harmless under our bark, we knew not how, we rode through the storm with heart and hand, and made a happy port…”
329 letters passed between John Adams and Thomas Jefferson; 158 were written and shared between 1812-1826.
Fifty years following the announcement of The Declaration of Independence, on July Fourth, the two fellow revolutionaries met in that other world.
It is approaching 9:00 PM and except for returning inside to prepare meals, use the restroom, and to take a nap, my entire day was spent on the deck.
I could not be happier.
I began using bone broth per a nudge from my friend, Karen McLain, and fortunately, I eat soup almost daily which is making the inclusion of bone broth into the diet so much easier. I’m hopeful I shall begin noticing its effects shortly.
The evening was just a tad stuffy at the start but it is nothing disturbing to the comfortable air of the deck. Now, it is cooler and so agreeable. The sky became overcast and my makeshift sun-blind, a former cloth bathtub curtain clipped to my table umbrella, was no longer needed, thus affording me the full wide view of the yard and sky.
Chief and The Sisters have been roaming the yard, sniffing and chasing, while Erma lounged next to me at the table. Supper, leftover soup from lunch which was enjoyed via Zoom with my friends and colleagues, is finished and I am hankering for a bowl of Watergate Salad which I made for the first time today. It’s an easy enough dish to make; but it’s time spent away from the deck and writing that I find annoying.
My Jon Meacham audio-biography on Thomas Jefferson has entered it’s last section and Mr. Jefferson has returned to his beloved Monticello having finished his two terms as president. The fractured friendship between he and his beloved friend, John Adams, has been restored. Yes, I knew the outcome but it’s like watching THE SOUND OF MUSIC or 1776; “will the founding fathers sing and dance their escape to avoid Rolf and the Nazis?”
Honestly, this section of the book is so bittersweet. I do not wish it to end.
Tomorrow I lunch with two dear friends and have no further plans until I return to teaching this Sunday evening. Then, after finishing teaching Tuesday night, I shall have eleven days free for writing, preparing for the coming teaching year, and loving on my wonderful fur babies.
Today’s anniversary of Mother’s passing was spent doing what she firmly encouraged and cheered my entire life: doing what I love (whatever that might be at the moment) and laughing. I appreciate the social media affection received from so many and the laughter shared throughout my lunch meeting with Valerie, Donna, and Elizabeth.
One dear friend, Liz Bryant, now living near Washington, DC. with her husband Damon, responded to my posted photo of Mother and my note, “What a terrific life this lady gave me…” Liz wrote, “As a Mom, I can confidently state, “What a life you gave this terrific lady.” You two were and still are an enviable pair.”
Yes. Yes, we are still an enviable pair. Thank you, Liz….
Acting on tip from a Dutch informer, the Nazi Gestapo captures 15-year-old Jewish diarist Anne Frank and her family in a sealed-off area of an Amsterdam warehouse. The Franks had taken shelter there in 1942 out of fear of deportation to a Nazi concentration camp. They occupied the small space with another Jewish family and a single Jewish man, and were aided by Christian friends, who brought them food and supplies. Anne spent much of her time in the so-called “secret annex” working on her diary. The diary survived the war, overlooked by the Gestapo that discovered the hiding place, but Anne and nearly all of the others perished in the Nazi death camps.
Annelies Marie Frank was born in Frankfurt am Main, Germany, on June 12, 1929. She was the second daughter of Otto Frank and Edith Frank-Hollander, both of Jewish families that had lived in Germany for centuries. With the rise of Nazi leader Adolf Hitler in 1933, Otto moved his family to Amsterdam to escape the escalating Nazi persecution of Jews. In Holland, he ran a successful spice and jam business. Anne attended a Montessori school with other middle-class Dutch children, but with the German invasion of the Netherlands in 1940 she was forced to transfer to a Jewish school. In 1942, Otto began arranging a hiding place in an annex of his warehouse on the Prinsengracht Canal in Amsterdam.
On her 13th birthday in 1942, Anne began a diary relating her everyday experiences, her relationship with her family and friends, and observations about the increasingly dangerous world around her. Less than a month later, Anne’s older sister, Margot, received a call-up notice to report to a Nazi “work camp.” Fearing deportation to a Nazi concentration camp, the Frank family took shelter in the secret annex the next day. One week later, they were joined by Otto Frank’s business partner and his family. In November, a Jewish dentist—the eighth occupant of the hiding place—joined the group.
For two years, Anne kept a diary about her life in hiding that is marked with poignancy, humor, and insight. The entrance to the secret annex was hidden by a hinged bookcase, and former employees of Otto and other Dutch friends delivered them food and supplies procured at high risk. Anne and the others lived in rooms with blacked-out windows, and never flushed the toilet during the day out of fear that their presence would be detected. In June 1944, Anne’s spirits were raised by the Allied landings at Normandy, and she was hopeful that the long-awaited liberation of Holland would soon begin.
On August 1, 1944, Anne made her last entry in her diary. Three days later, 25 months of seclusion ended with the arrival of the Nazi Gestapo. Anne and the others had been given away by an unknown informer, and they were arrested along with two of the Christians who had helped shelter them.
They were sent to a concentration camp in Holland, and in September Anne and most of the others were shipped to the Auschwitz death camp in Poland. In the fall of 1944, with the Soviet liberation of Poland underway, Anne was moved with her sister Margot to the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp in Germany. Suffering under the deplorable conditions of the camp, the two sisters caught typhus and died in February 1945. The camp was liberated by the British less than two months later.
Otto Frank was the only one of the 10 to survive the Nazi death camps. After the war, he returned to Amsterdam via Russia, and was reunited with Miep Gies, one of his former employees who had helped shelter him. She handed him Anne’s diary, which she had found undisturbed after the Nazi raid.
In 1947, Anne’s diary was published by Otto in its original Dutch. An instant best-seller and eventually translated into more than 70 languages, The Diary of Anne Frank has served as a literary testament to the nearly six million Jews, including Anne herself, who were silenced in the Holocaust.
The Frank family’s hideaway at Prinsengracht 263 in Amsterdam opened as a museum in 1960. A new English translation of Anne’s diary in 1995 restored material that had been edited out of the original version, making the work nearly a third longer.
I couldn’t ask for a more beautiful morning with the 61-degree weather which to some might feel like freezing.
The birds are in full chorus, the Shroyer Road traffic swishing by, the Rumpke waste collection clanging about while their brakes squeak to decibels that could make the dead hear, and the intermittent scramble across the wooden deck when a squirrel is spotted in the yard. This morning’s cardinal song is especially pleasing and connecting.
Today marks the second anniversary of the mass shooting in Dayton’s Historic Oregon District. Since I was in Indiana with Mother at the start of her last twenty-four hours of this life, I could not readily nor fully grasp the horrors that enveloped my community back home.
At Noon I will meet a friend for lunch and return home later for writing and time with the dogs. Friday will be another lunch with friends, two studio moms, one of which will be leaving the studio’s fold as her son goes off to college in a week.
It was a great week for teaching and so many levels were climbed with numerous achievements. One student surprised me with the fact she’d been composing! She shared several songs with me and they are quite good. This is always exciting. And, one fairly new piano student finally mastered playing a C major scale with both hands and no mistakes in the fingering. I equally champion these moments. Every step of advancement, regardless the size, is thrilling.
Okay, I need to attend to a few things before readying myself to leave for The Greene for lunch.
PHOTOS: The Seniors were very agreeable to photos taken and even Harrigan was without a hissy fit. Bailey, on the other hand, ignored me and fitted herself into her favorite napping spot beneath my chaise lounge.
When I saw the forecast was to only have temperatures in the mid to upper 70s, I jumped at the chance to set up shop on my deck and I am loving it.
The Quartet seems to appreciate an extended amount of time on the deck and yard exploration, as well. The breeze is so busy it don’t miss a tree and Erma looks up with her head on my knee. (Yes, straight out of the Oscar Hammerstein II playbook!)
I finished my lunch of soup and salsa with chips and I may try to take a 45 minute nap to rev the body back up for afternoon and evening lessons. Normally, I have a total of 17 students on Tuesdays but today, I’ve only 12 owed to vacation, leaving for college, and show choir camp.
We all have a story to tell, whether we publish it or keep it for just ourselves or family; allow yourself to be heard.
Everyone, at one time or another, has wanted to express his or her story. Writing a memoir to read privately, share with family or friends, or publish is an emotionally satisfying way to gain perspective on your experiences while sharing your unique voice. We’ve all experienced feelings and events in our lives that we are longing to write down. Giving in to that urge can give you an outlet for purging any frustration, anxiety, or long-dormant feelings. No one else has to read it. You may even want to write your story without reading it right away. Satisfying the need to tell your story is not predicated upon your writing ability. It does, however take effort to write down the truth in detail. Your memories, captured on paper as descriptive scenes, sights, sounds, and scents, may at first seem disconnected or incomplete. But rest assured that you possess the ability to shape your recollections into stories.
Everyone wants to be heard. Reading your story to others can meet that need. Writing your story can also help you understand your life experiences. And when you finish writing, you may be surprised at what you have accomplished. Your story can encompass as much or as little of your life as you prefer. You may surprise yourself with new insights, or you may find yourself exploring your roots, your identity, and your future through your words. Allow your writing to guide you and write as truthfully as possible. Don’t worry about what others will think of your personal journey, your style of writing, or your words.
Research has shown that writing a personal narrative filled with feelings and perceptions can create long-term health benefits. As you write, remember to have compassion for yourself, particularly when writing about traumatic events. If you are a young person, you can add to your life story as you grow older. Your writing may help family members know you better, or they may understand themselves more through reading about your experiences. More importantly, you are expressing yourself in a permanent way, giving a gift to yourself, and letting your voice be heard.
The day is bright and sunny with 59-degrees sponsoring this morning that is already filled with activity beyond The Haasienda.
I always take my 7:15 AM coffee chat with Joshua, and two days a week, with David added, in my study as not to disturb Mama Kay next door. The deck is generally too quiet and sometimes our laughter and passionate history or political discussions get quite loud.
By 8:20-8:30 AM, like this very moment, the world has become more alive with activity and noise. The traffic on Shroyer Road is much heavier, walkers and runners are thicker on the sidewalks, and this morning, the Fairmont cross country runners are passing by in little groups, chatting and laughing.
Yesterday morning, it took 1 hour, 20 minutes to mow the front yard. Normally, I’ve got it mowed in 20 minutes, not counting the trimming. Everyone and their dogs decided to pass by while I was mowing. I always shut off the mower when I see folks pass and of course, if there’s a dog… yard work goes on hold. But, I’d have it no other way as those dogs need so much loving, petting, and attention in general. Had there been one more dog family pass by I would have been caught in the strong rain shower just past the noon hour.
My Rose of Sharon blooms on the north side of the deck and my wisteria is budding and blooming on the south side. I love these highlights of beauty as I write and work.
It’s a slim day of teaching with one student now moved to California, three off to college, four on vacation, and two camps. Next week will be the last full week of summer session, then a week off for Fifth Week, and then it will kick back in with full energy. Thus, summer comes to and end but hopefully not the end of at least two more months of deck time.
Surprisingly, you’ll not find mine and Mama Kay’s names on the police blotters around Dayton, especially since Laura was not with us to supervise.
We dined at Jorgge’s Ristorante & Cantina located on Wilmington Pike near China Cottage. Great food and super service.
Mama Kay took the wheel for a pleasant evening drive through Moraine, West Carrollton, and on over to Gettysburg to visit the Dayton VA Cemetery. Mama Kay was in search of some graves of some friends which we located.
Before leaving we walked over to see the gravesite of her son-in-law’s father, Clarence D. Parker.
We were home by 8:30 PM without being the grand marshals leading the parade of swirling red, white, and blue lights.
I started Jon Meacham’s Pulitzer Prize winning THOMAS JEFFERSON: THE ART OF POWER.
I’ve always enjoyed listening to Jon Meacham in interviews or offering speeches, and even George H. W. Bush’s eulogy. It occurred to me, just this morning, that I’ve never read any of his books!
It just so happened that Audible sent me an email with some free credits and Meacham’s book on Jefferson was at the top of the list. Free credit was promptly applied.
Already, just during the prologue I’ve been wholly captured and I am ready for this 18+ hour adventure.
One item that immediately snagged me was when discussing Jefferson’s persistent foreboding and suspicions regarding anything related to the British government, and that we needed to consider them through his eyes and times and not how we know the story turned out.
That’s pretty powerful and something I keep in mind with any current objections of history and attempts to rewrite their history to suit ourselves.
It’s not been an eventful day by any means but it’s been relaxed.
It was a more comfortable night for sleep but my body was not participating. Another night of tossing and turning, more restless than the night before.
I fed the dogs, opened and secured the door to the deck, and fell into bed for some reading and finally, a solid sleep. At 11:00 AM, I woke, spent time with the dogs, and decided to grab the No. 17 bus to the Dayton Mall.
I lunched at Outback Steakhouse. Every now and then, I dearly love a good steak and today was my day. I had the most charming server and a terrific lunch of a garden salad with the house dressing, a medium cooked sirloin steak, and a loaded baked potato.
From there, I crossed the parking lot to The Dayton Mall, grabbing pretzel bites and caramel dip. I sat where I thought I’d enjoy people watching but the emptiness was depressing.
The mall has added a number of inviting, family friendly items: ping pong, corn hole, a train, many items for the little peeps, but it’s not enough to draw in folks. A number of stores were shut down or closed long enough for employees to take a break or grab lunch. Normally, there would be coverage.
I pushed my self to walk from the mall to the Miami Township Library, directly across from the South Hub Bus Terminal.
The last time, it was a 17 minute walk with the cane. Today, two weeks of not using my cane, I made it in 12 minutes. There’s a certain point where my feet feel as though they’re painlessly lifting cinder blocks, barely moving. While I mentally worked through that I felt more triumphant in shaving five minutes off my last trek from those two points.
Northbound No. 17 bus dropped me off directly in front of my house. I’m so grateful for that particular bus stop.
And the dogs were overjoyed to see me.
Today’s steps were 5,224 making a total of 2.41 miles walked. Thursday’s count was 3,950 steps at 1.9 miles
I fed the dogs at 3:30 PM, laid down on my bed to watch something, woke at 7:30 PM., made a batch of salsa, and am loving the constant warm breeze wrapping around the north side of the deck.
Some folks are hanging out in the high school’s north parking lot with their motorcycle and their animated conversation is keeping Chief and Erma on high alert. I can only assume they’d be equally defensive beyond the enclosure of The Haasienda.
Saturday holds nothing to my schedule and I am wondering if I can put the yard on hold until late Sunday morning. The back yard already looks to be a challenge.
That will wait another twelve hours. In the meantime, on to writing and listening to documentaries and audiobooks.
The morning rain let up by 9:30 AM and by 10:20 AM I was greeting Cider Kress, accompanied by her mom, Amy, and Amy’s sister and niece, Jennifer and Hayley. Hayley and her brother, Ryan, who live near Denver, Colorado, are my private voice students via Zoom.
Hayley, Jennifer, Darin
Cider is the newest German Shepherd to reside with the Kress family, succeeding two previous German Shepherds, Anya and Greta. She’s spunky and adorable.
We walked to Lincoln Park and returned to The Haasienda where I brought out Erma, the most tame and accepting of my quartet. Erma and Cider played the doggie stand-off game for a bit and finally settled into familiarity and then, calm.
Back inside The Haasienda, I lunched with friends and colleagues, laughing and just enjoying one another’s companionship.
It’s 4:30 PM and the atmosphere seems to be revving up for a storm, the wind twisting and smacking the wind chimes and bending trees and bushes. The marching band is completing its final day of band camp and I’m doubtful they will get to perform their work for their families.
I’m on the deck finishing up my Grubhub delivered fish dinner as the grey clouds speed up a little faster. I’m certain my deck time is to be limited.
It appears I may need to resume wearing my masks. I’m fine with this as they must be worn on the bus and while at the terminal.
All eight of my great-grandparents were born between 1896-1904 so by the time of the 1918 pandemic, they were still young and unmarried. My one maternal great-grandmother, Mary Belle Jones, and her mother, Anna Greenlee Jones, made thousands of cloth masks, as did countless others throughout the nation. Grandma Belle even won a box of chocolates for winning a contest for the most number of masks made within one month. She was proud of those earned, expensive chocolates.
In 1919, two sets of great-grandparents were to be married but their autumn nuptials were postponed one year due to the still lingering epidemic. The fall of 1920, their weddings took place with the wedding party and invited guests still masked up.
I love these photos of the 1918 pandemic showing folks with masks. My favorite is of the family whose cat is even masked up. That could have easily been my family.
When the Zoom call-tone blared in my study, I was certain my son was calling an hour early because the sun was not yet appearing.
It was 7:15 AM, alright, just very overcast with that look of impending rain. Sure enough, as I was feeding the dogs at 8:00 AM, the rain began; however, it is to be short lived and I am ensconced at my favorite space on the deck, beneath overlapped umbrellas, eating bagels, drinking coffee, and typing away while continuing to listen to BULLY PULPIT which I’ve discussed in previous blog posts.
I’ve an outdoor activity that commences in about 90 minutes and it appears the rain showers will have completely moved out by that time.
I felt fine but the heat and humidity, and my stubborn insistence to not turn on the AC because, “it’ll break in a bit,” made sleeping uncomfortable and fitful. I doubt too many calories were spent on tossing and turning.
I need to tackle a few things around the house and throw shirts into the washer and keeping an eye on the sky.`
It’s a mischievous play by nature: at 10:40 AM, it’s only 77-degrees with humidity at 70%; however, it feels much like the 89-degrees that is anticipated for later today with humidity at 130%. There is a gentle breeze that makes the deck tolerable at spells. At least the clanging wind chimes make me believe so.
This is the time of year I begin bidding farewell to my seniors who are preparing to go to college in the upcoming weeks. Some students I’ve had since kindergarten or first grade and it’s been a delight watching them grow up and grow into fine musicians and thespians. I’ve seventeen seniors leaving for college, more in music education, performance, and composition than in musical theatre, the split being 10 in music and 7 in musical theatre. I wish them well, but oh, how I shall miss them.
The Quartet spends most of their lounging time in my air conditioned study while I teach. They don’t seem to mind our deck time as they just want to be nearby.
The only thing on today’s docket is a 1:00 PM rescheduled lesson. The mowing will just have to wait.
I’ve both read and used Audible/audiobooks with Doris Kearns Godwin’s THE BULLY PULPIT: THEODORE ROOSEVELT, WILLIAM HOWARD TAFT, and THE GOLDEN AGE OF JOURNALISM.
This morning, while busying myself around the house I pulled up the audiobook and hit a random starting point which landed on the deaths of Theodore Roosevelt’s wife and mother in the same house, on the same day.
Immediately after, while breakfasting on the deck, it turned to the courtship of two Cincinnatians, Nellie Herron and William Howard Taft.
I’ve always had a fascination with Nellie Taft who made several highlights as First Lady before being semi-stilled by a stroke. Her father was law partner with another Ohio giant, Rutherford B. Hayes who Nellie called “Uncle Rutherford.” Her first visit to The White House at age 16 was monumental enough to garner mention in President Hayes’ diary.
As I ate breakfast, I learned that Nellie enjoyed a vacation in a wonderful area near my home, Yellow Springs, Ohio. She was joined by her most earnest suitor, Will Taft.
While it is nothing remarkable, hearing of this Yellow Springs vacation brought Nellie Taft a little closer to home in never-ceasing and forever growing list of interests.
My goal each day is to learn a minimum of three (3) new things. Since I’ve read/listened to this book before, I’m sure the Yellow Springs nod has been on my radar, so I’m back at square one.
There is power in knowing your personal limits — your willingness to accept these limits can give you the means to flourish.
Every human life is defined, to some extent, by limits. No one person is capable of fulfilling every possibility. We are all born with unique aptitudes and sensitivities, and it is these qualities that largely determine the paths we will travel in life. What invigorates, excites, and inspires one individual may exhaust or overwhelm another. When we understand what we as individuals are capable of reasonably handling, we gradually learn to accept that we have control over our wellbeing. Yet determining where our limits lie can be difficult, as it is likely we have been told time and again that the discomfort, fatigue, and stress we felt while engaging in activities outside the range of our comfort zones was all in our heads. If you have never before given thought to the notion of personal limits, creating a list of those tasks and situations that leave you feeling drained can give you insight into your own.
You will know definitively that you are operating within your limits when you have the necessary energy and drive to address your personal and professional commitments. This is not to say you should not push yourself or work to extend the range of your capabilities. The wisdom you gain through dynamic self-examination will give you the tools you need to create an individual life strategy that allows you to achieve your goals without compromising yourself or your needs. The limits you honor by focusing your energy on what you can do rather than what you cannot do will not interfere with your ambitions unless you allow them to interfere. You can thrive within your limits, actively shape your circumstances, and avoid anguish by simply recognizing that certain aspects of life nourish you while others drain you, and doing your best to perceive the fine line between applying yourself diligently and overworking yourself.
You may be surprised to discover that your limits change over time. Your willingness to accept these limits as they reveal themselves to you can smooth your passage through life and give you the means to flourish.
Learn and know your limits and make it a great day!
I’ve felt fine but have been dealing with an intermittent fever and no other symptoms. Sunday, as I began teaching, a long wave of nausea set in and I let my students know that I may need to may a quick exit. Fortunately, that did not happen.
Today, I had 3/4 of my students on vacation or at band camps so I spent most of the day listening to audiobooks or watching documentaries. The Fairmont marching band is in their second day of band camp and I love hearing the progress.
Saturday, Laura and I were discussing books and I realized I had listened to a ton of audiobooks since April 2021. Tonight, I made an accounting of the books I have fully completed.
A MARRIAGE MADE IN HEAVEN by Erma Bombeck
AGONY AND ELOQUENCE: JOHN ADAMS, THOMAS JEFFERSON AND A WORLD OF REVOLUTION by Daniel Mallock
AN INTERVIEW WITH PAT CONROY by Pat Conroy
BIRDMEN: WRIGHT BROTHERS, GLENN CURTISS & OTHER AVIATORS by Lawrence Goldstone
CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT by Sandy Marsh
DAN RATHER: STORIES OF A LIFETIME by Dan Rather
DANIEL BOONE by John Mack Faragher
GHOSTS OF GONE WITH THE WIND by Gene Arceri
HENRY CLAY by Harlow Giles Unger
HOW TO DO RESEARCH FOR YOUR NOVEL by Ora Rosalin & Beyonce Rosalin
I DISSENT by Ruth Bader Ginsberg
IF LIFE IS A BOWL OF CHERRIES WHAT AM I DOING IN THE PITS by Erma Bombeck
INSIDE THE WHITE HOUSE by Ronald Kesller
JOHN QUINCY ADAMS by Harlow Giles Unger
JUST WAIT TIL YOU HAVE CHILDREN OF YOUR OWN by Erma Bombeck
KING RICHARD: WATERGATE by Michael Dobbs
LESSONS FROM LUCY by Dave Barry
MARY LINCOLN: BIOGRAPHY OF A MARRIAGE by Ruth Painter Randall
MR. PRESIDENT: GEORGE WASHINGTON by Harlow Giles Unger
MRS. LINCOLN’S SISTERS by Jennifer Chiaverini
PASSIONATE SAGE: JOHN ADAMS by Joseph J. Ellis
ROSEMARY: ROSEMARY KENNEDY by Kate Clifford Larson
SCALIA SPEAKS by Christopher J. Scalia
THE BILL OF RIGHTS: A USER’S GUIDE by Linda R. Monk
THE BIRTH OF CHRISTIANITY by Pete Rollins
THE BULLY PULPIT: THEODORE ROOSEVELT, WILLIAM HOWARD TAFT AND THE GOLDEN AGE OF JOURNALISM by Doris Kearns Goodwin
THE GATHERING STORM by Kate Reading & Michael Kramer
THE GRASS IS ALWAYS GREENER OVER THE SEPTIC TANK by Erma Bombeck
THE JESUS FAMILY TOMB by Simcha Jacobovici
THE LAST INVESTIGATION: JFK ASSASSINATION by Gaeton Fonzi
THE LOST GOSPEL by Smicha Jacobovici & Barrie Wilson
THE MADNESS OF MARY LINCOLN by Jason Emerson
THE ORIGINAL WATERGATE STORY by The Washington Post, Bob Woodward & Carl Bernstein
THE REAL WATERGATE SCANDAL by Geoff Shepherd
THE SECRET COALITION by Gary A. Donaldson
THE WRIGHT BROTHERS by David McCullough
THREE SHOTS RANG OUT: THE JFK ASSASSINATION 50 YEARS LATER by Diane Sawyer
UMLIMITED ACCESS by Gary Aldrich
WHITE HOUSE USHER by Christopher B. Emery
WRITING EXCITING by Bill Baldwin, Ron Miller
WRITING: STEP-BY-STEP by Sandy Marsh
I am astounded and excited not only with the volume of reads but the sheer variety of topics.
Yes, I love audiobooks because they allow me to cover a number of other tasks. What is more, I can maintain focus on researching, writing, and doing studio business whilst engaging in a book of interest.
The deck is cool and comfortable, quite the opposite of the stale heat from the day. The dogs are scattered about the deck, napping while maintaining watch over the premises.
Now, I have some decision to make regarding my next audiobook. I’ve several options vying for the top spot but I am wanting something a bit different. We shall see.
To be honest, despite keeping upbeat over the failed (Greyhound!) travel attempt to St. Louis and Springfield, I’ve felt, as Joshua and David would mimic their fellow Brits, “a bit of the sags” the past few days.
Not getting to spend time with Jeff Carter the day before his 60th birthday, hobnobbing with the Lincoln family scholars, and spending time with BSU friends on my return-home Indy layover were the true disappointments.
Despite the immediate change of travel destinations, I made the most of it while returned to The Haasienda, and enjoyed spending the weekend with loved ones and seeing BRIGHT STAR for a second viewing.
Last night, I had a surprise Zoom with my friend, Valerie, who I was to see in Springfield for our events, both official and unofficial. She said that when I posted about the Greyhound debacle, several in the group were immediately trying to find airplane tickets; they were not under $1300. That was touching.
Others were reaching out to me: one family friend offered to drive me to Springfield while another colleague-friend was trying to commandeer his brother into using his personal plane to get me to Springfield; the brother was on a trip to California.
There were a number of other “I wish you had let us knows” when they learned too late that my trip was cancelled.
Since Thursday, the days have dragged in a somewhat dreadful way; nothing bad, just severely slow. Today, I had three items that tripped the switch back to being a bit more buoyant. I received a card from my friend, Karen, with a peppy written note. My wisteria tree is blooming around the deck. And, finally, my Rose of Sharon is blooming after 3/4 was destroyed by a spring storm.
I love surprise springboards. I did get a surprise trip and dinner on Wednesday which lifted the sags, but the three items today, and plus time with Laura for dinner and to watch my student in DROWSY CHAPERONE aided in keeping the deeper sags at bay.
I still made it a great day, even with harder efforts, but I tackled the sags thanks to friends, family, and nature!
Laura picked me up at 5:00 PM to deliver me to the Greyhound terminal for my 6:35 PM departure.
Finding the actual building where the terminal is housed should have been a warning shot. The computers were down and so was the A/C. The Greyhound associate let me know the bus would be arriving closer to 7:30 PM due to construction traffic on I-70. Actually, she said she couldn’t actually track that bus but that it could arrive between 6:30 PM and 7:30 PM.
Laura and I went in search of a beverage and ended up at The Donut Palace for smoothies, she a mango smoothie and I a peach smoothie. We returned to the Greyhound terminal and chatted until the bus arrived.
Boarding was a bit clumsy and complicated; it was a full ride and few were willing to offer up the seat beside them. A kindly young chap graciously beckoned me to sit in his row with a “there are some rude mo—er f—ckers.” The bus driver was forced to clamp down on a batch of riders who were already behaving a bit unruly.
For the most part, it was a tight, stuffy ride but an hour – ten minutes in length.
At the Columbus terminal, I got my E-tickets and ordered a burger and fries. The tastiest burger!
My departure from Columbus to Indianapolis, and then on to St. Louis where I’m expected to arrive by 6:30 AM, is set for 11:45 PM. I’m second in line to board and I am praying for my own row to myself.
7.15 & 16.2021 | COLUMBUS to INDIANAPOLIS and SPRINGFIELD
At 11:15 PM, thirty minutes prior to departure, Greyhound cancelled the bus due to the driver not having enough driving hours left.
Thursday and Friday both felt like Saturday; Saturday felt like Sunday but without the late afternoon through late night teaching schedule.
A productive day on many levels but I also enjoyed the down time.
I am finishing up Linda Monk’s THE BILL OF RIGHTS: A USER’S GUIDE and I think I am liking this book ahead of the previous audiobooks I’ve enjoyed. The explanations and history behind each of the Bill of Rights is fascinating.
This evening, my bonus sister, Laura, picked me up and we dined on Mexican cuisine before heading to Northmont High School to see my student, Sophie, in the lead of THE DROWSY CHAPERONE with Vandalia Youth Theatre. Sophie was excellent and VYT, known as a strong production company for many years, did not disappoint. Bravo!
What a fun time spent with Laura which is not unusual.
Tomorrow evening resumes the teaching schedule and I am eager to work with the students this week. Band camps will be gearing up this week and the temperatures are forecast for the high 80s.
Since it would have been my Aunt Joyce’s 88th birthday I am closing off this blog entry with two of my favorite family photos.
The first is from 1945. My great-grandfather is holding my mother as a baby. The photographer, which was probably my great-great grandfather, kept telling my Aunt Joyce to stop making a face. They quickly discovered Mother was pulling Aunt Joyce’s hair.
The second photograph is of Aunt Joyce and Mother, the last time they were to be together. Mother left a few months later on August 5, 2019, and Aunt Joyce passed away December 11, 2020.
The Haasienda on Shroyer... 