May the Luck of the Irish

This post, originally from March of 2012 and repeated with some edits, is one of my favorites.

Today, I also want to give a shout out for a good friend undergoing cancer treatment.  Today, we hope, begins the last week of her radiation treatment.  Starting today, she takes what they call "boost"  treatments for a week.  She will have her (fingers crossed) final treatment on what would have been her late husband's birthday, March 24.  May this friend, who has an Irish first name, enjoy the luck of the Irish.

The "Luck of the Irish" saying, apparently, originates from the mid 19th century, referring to the ability of Irish miners to, as the saying goes, "strike it rich". 

And now, let's enjoy some

St. Patrick's Day Crochet

I've been crocheting for some 45 years now.  I don't do as much as I used to, for various reasons, but I still crochet a gift or two each year. I also work on crochet projects when I am on the road, since my loving spouse does the driving.

I haven't blogged much about my crochet hobby, but crochet has been a treasured part of my life.  My Mom wanted to teach me to crochet but rheumatoid arthritis robbed her of her ability to do any needlework by the time I was old enough. Instead, a high school friend taught me, and I've never looked back.  But although she didn't teach me, I still feel a link to my Mom whenever I pick up a hook.

These are both projects I worked on 20 or more years ago.  I got the afghan pattern from a magazine that no longer exists, I believe.

I have no idea where I got the pattern for the Christmas stocking.  But there is a special reason why the stocking has shamrocks on it.

This has a special meaning for me and a certain family member.  I made this for his first birthday.

So, today, although I am not Irish, I will wear some green.



 Do you have a favorite hobby or craft?

Upstate New York Dreaming

All the leaves are brown.

Tree, west side of Binghamton, NY 3-14-15 - a pin oak?

And the skies are grey.

West Side of Binghamton, 3-14-15

I've been for a walk/On a winter's day.

I'd be safe and warm if I were....

Oh, what the heck.  The snow is melting.

Yards are reappearing.  Soon, the first crocuses and snowdrops will be visible.  And, isn't this birch tree beautiful?

The sap is rising.  The upper branches of trees are glowing red and yellow.  OK, it snowed yesterday, but I am in a forgiving mood.  It didn't stick.  It was above freezing.  Tomorrow, winter returns, though, and I admit to a bit of envy when I see temperatures in the 70's and 80's in other parts of the country. (On the other hand, the rapid thaw increases flood risk.)

Focus, AM.

This weekend starts the first of our annual Maple Weekends.

Think maple.  Luscious, slightly smoky local made maple syrup on some good buckwheat or buttermilk pancakes.  Or, maple yogurt.  Or maple cotton candy.  There's nothing like upstate New York when the snow starts to melt.

How sweet it will be soon.

Eventually, it will be our turn.

Garden Bloggers Bloom Day March 2015 - Hope

There is hope for spring.

May Dreams Gardens, who hosts a meme every 15th of the month, where gardeners from all over the world gather to show what is blooming in their yards or houses, has spring flowers in her Central Indiana yard.

Iris reticulata.  Snowdrops.

Meanwhile, in my zone 5b garden in the Binghamton area of upstate New York, all that is growing is snow.  In fact, it is snowing and sleeting right now.

So, indoors we move to our blooms.


As March days are on the same day of the week as February days, so are the flowers in my house repeating the flowers of February.

Kalanchoe.  This is blooming so nicely despite an infestation of whiteflies.  In the last couple of days, we were able to put it outside as it was above freezing, and hope we can take care of the whiteflies, finally.

Our surprise Alternathera (we were told it was a coleus but GBBD readers set me straight) is still blooming nicely in a north window.

But wait, there's more!

I rooted some Persian Shield and put the plant in a 1/2 gallon plastic freezer bag for moisture.  Now, it is blooming. (Too bad my iPhone doesn't do macro photography well.)

Finally, on this hopeful Ides of March day, an unusual green mum I picked up yesterday at a local supermarket graces my dining room table.

Spring can't come fast enough for me.

What is blooming for you today?

Local Saturday - Pi Day

Pi Day - 3.14.15. (followed by about 10 trillion digits)

Pi is the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter. What is so mystical about it is that the pattern of digits never repeats. Thanks to computers, the value of Pi has been brought out past 10 trillion digits, and still no repeats.

Every March we have 3.14 (March 14, or 3/14, the way we write it in the United States) but once a century, we get the third and fourth digits after the decimal:  3/14/15 in our notation.  And, at 9:26:53 tonight (or this morning, if your time zone hasn't passed it yet), we will celebrate the next few digits.

Every year Pi Day has gotten bigger and bigger in the United States.  Today (which also would have been Albert Einstein's birthday) Americans will celebrate by eating pizza pie with the Pi symbol baked into the middle, and, of course, eat regular dessert pie.

In January, I shared the below memory with you of my young adulthood, when my spouse was in the Air Force, and we were spending our first militaryThanksgiving together with other people away from home.  At that time, I couldn't find the recipe for my Memory Pie, which is a soybean pie (no, really, please keep reading) that tastes like a pumpkin pie.

But, thanks to a decluttering project, I have found the recipe.  This was my second copy of the cookbook - I had worn the first one to shreds.  So what happened?

I offered to make it, but my spouse took one look at the recipe, and said "no". When we went to our local supermarket, I couldn't even find dried soybeans.  So I am not going to bake a pie for you.

I will leave you, instead, with a link to the recipe, which is available online.

But I will not leave you with the pie.  Just a memory.  Here is the original post. 

If anyone does make the pie, though, could let me know how it comes out?

Memory Pie

Today, in the United States, it is Pie Day (not to be confused with March 14, which is Pi Day).

So, thousands of bloggers will be blogging about their favorite pie recipes.

There are amazing bloggers out there who blog about pie and football, all in the same post.


I've blogged about pie before (how about some grape pie?), but I have never told the story of my Most Memorable Pie.

It was the mid 1970's and we were over a thousand miles from home.  It was my spouse's first Thanksgiving in the military.  He was undergoing technical training in Texas.  And he had friends in his class, all of whom were far away from home, too.

For the most part we were in our late teens or early 20's, but among us was a slightly older man.  Sgt W. was from Iowa and he was a soybean farmer.  As I recall, he had joined the National Guard and was training with my spouse's Air Force class.

And Sgt W. had never eaten a soybean.  He had never sampled the crop he grew.

In the mid 1970's, soybeans weren't common the way they are today.  But I had become an on and off vegetarian in college, and I had fallen in love with a couple of books - Diet for a Small Planet and Recipes for a Small Planet.  As I wasn't working, and my spouse was making the tiny salary of an airman, money was tight and we used the methods explained in this book to stay healthy.  We ate whole grain homemade breads, bean and rice casseroles, and even dishes made with the healthy soybean.

In one of these books was a recipe for a mock pumpkin pie made with pureed soybeans, pumpkin pie spice and other ingredients I can't remember (nor could I find the recipe in a long Internet search last night). 

My spouse invited several of his classmate friends, including Sgt W., to Thanksgiving dinner.  And, an idea hatched in my mind.  Why not make something with soybeans for him?

We had a turkey, and other items no longer remembered.  It was one of the happiest Thanksgivings I remember, because we were all away from home but not lonely, and I remember our companionship much more than I remember the food.

Except for one thing.  When I served my "pumpkin pie", Sgt W. dug in, and said he liked it.  So did everyone else.  I even liked it, and I don't like pumpkin pie.

So I admitted to him that his "pumpkin pie" was really soybean pie.  And he didn't seem to mind.

I wonder what he said when he returned home to Iowa when his class was over.  We never saw him again after that.

I don't know where Sgt W. lives today, or if he is even alive.  Sadly, I  know at least one of the young men at that dinner passed several years ago.  And I don't know if W. remembers the young woman he had Thanksgiving with, in an apartment near an Air Force base in Texas in the mid 1970's, and the soybean pie she served him.

If you are out there, Sgt. W, happy Pie Day to you.[and now, happy Pi day to you, too.]

Ice Breakup

Spring is getting closer every week here in the Binghamton area of upstate New York.

Last week, we were having lows below zero. This week, it suddenly warmed up.

Wednesday, we had a 52 degree (11 C) day.  I exercise walked with my spouse in a light sweater on a local rail trail, passing grasses glowing in the late afternoon sun.  Yes, the sun is another sign of spring in our climate.  When you have a sunny day, and it isn't freezing cold out, it means that spring can't be that far away.

Spring is still pretty far away, though. A plowed area that used to be a swamp was still covered in snow, but some water (the straight area going almost horizontally through the picture) was running. And, best of all, some brown grass was showing.

In March, it takes so little to make us happy.  Each day this week, there was less and less snow cover. Less and less ice to slide on each morning.  You'd think we would be celebrating.

But, at some point, the anxiety will begin.

One day, we will walk along the river and we will see incredibly large chunks of ice thrown up from the river, lying on the banks, sometimes some distance from the river.  It's called ice breakup.  And, this year, due to all our below zero weather, the ice is thicker than usual. 

When breakup happens, there is one problem.  Sometimes, the ice chunks jam up and block the river.  It can literally happen in seconds.  When that happens, flooding follows.  And we don't have just one river where I live.  We have two, the Susquehanna and the Chenango.

The Susquehanna is the most flood prone (due to ice jams) river in the Eastern United States - in fact,of any river East of the Rocky Mountains.  For my readers not from the United States - that is a lot of area.

But the Chenango can jam, too.

If a jam happens, there isn't much that can be done.

It isn't just here in the Binghamton, New York area where they worry..  Way downstream of us, in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, they were monitoring the Susquehanna River weeks ago, waiting for the first signs of breakup.

If I can, I will try to get you some pictures after the ice break up happens.

Friday the 13th - let's hope it's a lucky day for our area.

Owl Capone

It's the movie The Birds - in real life. Sort of.  And only one bird.

An angry owl has attacked at least three people (one person twice - ouch!) in Bush's Pasture Park in downtown Salem, the capital of the state of Oregon.  The owl has stolen hats and has even drawn blood.  The owl, as of last night, has not been caught.  Officials think the owl is protecting a nest.

I wonder - with all the owls in the United States, why this one park?  Not only that, but the angry barred owl is not a native to the area.

Yes, the owl has been identified.

It seems to swoop down in the early morning onto unsuspecting joggers.

When Rachel Maddow, a political commentator,  suggested an angry owl warning sign on her program (and came up with a proposed design), the city of Salem took her up on her suggestion.

Not only is the city posting an Angry Owl warning sign, but you can  download the design to have your own T-Shirt made.  My spouse wants one, but I have no idea how much having a transfer and a T Shirt made will cost.

The owl has its own hashtag on Twitter - #angryowl.

The owl has a nickname - Owl Capone.
 
I wonder when the Angry Owl game will be released, not that I mean to belittle the owl's victims.   These are hunting birds, and their talons are sharp.  I wouldn't want to be its prey.

But it is a diversion, when so much news is discouraging.

Do you have any strange happenings where you live?

Winter Wonders - The Thaw

This morning, we are under a fog advisory.  Spring is on the way.

We received a peek of spring yesterday, as it reached 50 degrees F (10 C).

It is above freezing right now at 6am.  We in upstate New York are giddy with joy.  In a few weeks days, maybe the ground will be visible once again.

And once that happens, can early spring bulbs be far behind?

At our house, we still have a good two feet (about 61 cm) of snow on the ground.  But, it feels so good to know that winter is really coming to an end.

Soon, hopefully, no more of this.

A hanging basket should occupy this space.

No more of this.

Or this. 

I will not post the photo of me doing my happy dance.

I hate to disappoint my readers in Great Britain, or India, or other places where the people seem to be starved for snow.  (If anyone wants to arrange a house swap for next winter....) but this post is my next to last Winter Wonders feature until December.  Soon, no more pictures of snow.

FINALLY.

So....drum roll.
After next Wednesday, the next Wednesday post will be written in spring.  SPRING.  The season when grass is visible, when farm stands start to reopen, when the birds sing, and we have our first flowers.  You know, the one good thing winter does is make us appreciate spring that much more, as we open our imaginary solar panels and soak the first heat in


If you know where spring is, tell her to hurry!

How Many Stars are Too Many?

When stars of the entertainment field come together to raise funds for programs benefiting people with autism, the answer is "never too many".

As many of my readers know, I have a brother in law, in his 50's, who has a developmental disability called autism.  

When I write about him, I call him "B".

Autism is what is called a "spectrum" disorder.  Some people with autism are high functioning and can function well independently.  Some never talk or even achieve bladder control.  It's hard to say where my brother in law would have been on that spectrum because there was so little help for him available as he was growing up, but he is going to need help and support for the rest of his life.

And funds, a lot of funds, will be needed for programs for my brother in law, "B", and others like him.

Back in 2003, a comedy writer named Robert Smigel (who has a son - now 17 - with autism) put together a charity dinner to raise funds for autism.  He knew firsthand how parents had to struggle (and still have to struggle) to afford therapy and supports for their children with autism. Some even lose their houses.  Yes, today.  In 2015.

This charity dinner has now grown into an annual comedy event called the Night of Too Many Stars on a United States cable network devoted to comedy.

On Sunday night, the fifth Night of Too Many Stars was aired.  (I do need to warn my readers that some of the skits on the Night of website can be "edgy", although the video below is quite family friendly.  However, if you like good, sometimes edgy, comedy, search for the Night of Too Many Stars and be entertained.

I can hope that, one day, one of the programs this fundraiser raises funds for will, in turn, benefit my brother in law.

I think many of you will be inspired by this family friendly musical performance by "Weird Al" Yankovic, performing "Yoda" with Jodi DiPiazza a 13 year old girl with autism.  This is her second time performing - she also performed two years ago with Katy Perry.  Towards the end, Weird Al and Jodi are joined by other young people with autism.

Enjoy!

Is Daylight Time Still Necessary?

This morning, I am groggy.  My body thinks it should still be asleep.

Statistics show there will be a higher number of car accidents in most parts of the United States than usual.

Why?

At 2am yesterday most parts of the United States suddenly lost an hour.  The clocks moved to 3am, and we (except for night workers and late night party people) slept on.  In the mornings many of us felt disoriented as the sunshine outside did not match up to the sun.   I'll feel out of balance for another day or so, and I am not the only person who feels that way.

In fact, more and more of us ask - why do we do this?  Is this necessary?  In fact, my beautician and I discussed this late last week.  Daylight saving time drives her crazy.  She doesn't see the point at all.


Neither do a lot of other people.

Yesterday was the day we in the United States (except in Arizona, Hawaii and some territories and possessions such as Puerto Rico and the U.S. Virgin Islands) went on Daylight Saving Time.  "Spring ahead, fall back" we remind ourselves. (We will get the "lost" hour back at 2am on November 1, fear not.)

But never mind Daylight Saving Time.  Did you know there was a time when there were no standardized time zones in the United States?

Back in the mid 19th century, the railroads hadn't yet found a way around coping with possibly up to 8,000 - yes, 8,000 - time zones in the United States. Local cities and towns set their own time, depending on the height of the sun in the sky to tell them when high noon was.  So, New York City might be on a different time than a city an hour away by train.  Just think of writing schedules, when every city had its own version of what time it was.

Each city and town having its own time worked when transportation was by walking or traveling by horse.  But, trains could run much faster.  Last year, I found something interesting online - a map from 1861, published two months after the Civil War began - something called "Lloyd's Americn Railroad Map, Showing the Whole Seat of War." 

On the map is a device called a Time Dial, which the railroads used to try to keep track of all those different local times, at least for 28 different cities.

Who said people in the 1860's weren't high tech?

Even the United States Civil War couldn't standardize time.  I had a brief taste of this kind of non-standardization for several years where my spouse and I traveled through Indiana when we lived in Kansas and then in Arkansas, and drove to visit relatives in New York.   Part of Indiana was on Eastern time. Part is on Central time.  Part was on Daylight time.  Part wasn't. 

Time wove back and forth and back and forth as we traveled from county to county. If we got out of our car to get gas, it was our best guess (in these days before Internet and cell phones) if we were on the same time as our last stop, an hour ahead, an hour behind, or even, the dreaded two hours behind.  (This situation was somewhat fixed in 2006).

Meanwhile, back to the 1800's. The railroads finally decided, in 1883, that they had had enough of local time. If the government wasn't going to standardize time, they would.  And so, on November 18, 1883, nearly twenty years after the Civil War ended, American and Canadian railroads started to use four standard time zones in the continental United States and Canada.  Municipalities and states followed.  And that is why we have "Standard" time zones even today.

Does your county or country go on Daylight Saving Time? If you do, do you feel it is still necessary?

Civil War Sunday - Graffiti

General Sherman and about 60,000 Federal troops were on their way to Fayetteville, North Carolina. 

In another three days, they would arrive, and the Confederate city would surrender to Sherman.  But, 150 years ago tonight, some of the troops, and possibly Sherman himself, camped out by the Laurel Hill Presbyterian Church.

Some of the soldiers, perhaps a little bored, decided to climb into the church steeple and write their names, divisions, and hometowns on the walls of the church

The graffiti is still there today.

We think about the young men, hundreds of miles from home.  These men from Illinois, Ohio, and even New York, did they ever dream, while growing up, about how, one day, they would end up sleeping in a small church in rural North Carolina?

I am not sure that the "home" infantry regiment of my county in upstate New York, the 137th NY Infantry, was in that church, although they were part of Sherman's campaign through the Carolinas.

But it wasn't unusual for soldiers during the Civil War to leave graffiti where they camped.

It was their way of saying - I'm here - and I'm alive.

Although those soldiers had no way of knowing, they were on their way to a battle later that month, near Four Oaks, North Carolina, that would eventually (several weeks later) lead to the largest Confederate troop surrender of the Civil War.  Along with the more famous surrender of General Robert E. Lee, that North Carolina surrender would more or less end the Civil War.

Civil War Saturday Special Edition - The Bridge

You could say it is only a bridge.  Built between 1939-1940, it opened on May 25, 1940 and carries some 17,000. vehicles a day over a river on a U.S. Highway. People walk across it, too.  When they do, they walk in the footsteps of history.

I am not a stranger to walking across bridges.  

I don't know why, but bridges have always fascinated me, and I enjoy the experience of walking across one.  Sometimes, for me, crossing a bridge can be a transition.  I cross a bridge right before entering the downtown where I work five days a week, and crossing that bridge symbolizes the transition from the personal me to the professional me.

Other walks are personal accomplishments.  Last year, I completed a walk on a long bridge in Charleston, South Carolina which I could not complete the year before.

And then there are the bridge crossings that change history, ones I did not make.

On March 7, 1963, about 600 civil rights protestors started out in Selma, Alabama on the way to  the state capitol, Montgomery.  Their intent was to protest a police shooting, one that killed a black civil right's activist by the name of Jimmy Lee Jackson.  It was a Sunday, and they attended church services before setting out on their march.  These were non-violent protestors, intent on appealing for help from the Governor of Alabama, George Wallace.  Besides protesting the police shooting of an innocent man, their aim was to obtain the right to vote guaranteed by our Constitution since the end of the Civil War but denied them for almost 100 years.

Governor George Wallace did not intend to help them.

The marchers walked, two by two, on the sidewalk of the Edmund Pettus Bridge, the bridge that opened in 1940 and still stands today, spanning the Alabama River in Selma, Alabama.  Once they were on the bridge, they would be leaving Selma and the Governor could step in with state troopers.

When you approach the bridge, the name Edmund Pettus Bridge is prominently displayed on the arch where you start to cross.

Edmund Pettus was a lawyer, a Confederate general, a United States Senator and later, a Grand Dragon of a white supremist organization called the Ku Klux Klan, or KKK.  The KKK first formed right after the Civil War, in 1866. It is thought of as a Southern organization that did whatever they could to keep people of color terrified and "in their place" as second class citizens.  In fact, the organization was active in many parts of our country, including, especially in the 1920's, where I live in upstate New York. 


The naming of the bridge after Edmund Pettus was deliberate.

Governor George Wallace gave orders for the marchers to be dispersed, and they were beaten and gassed in a violent police action that horrified many in the United States.

If you wish, you can watch some of the painful minutes, in a 6 minute clip available on You Tube that also includes footage from one of the commemoration marches from a past year.   The violent part starts about 2 minutes in.

In one of many ironies, the ABC Television network broke into a movie called Judgement at Nuremberg, a movie about a post World War II war crimes trial, with a bulletin to report about the violent end of the march.

They deployed 40 canisters of tear gas, 12 cans of smoke, and 8 cans of nausea gas, and began chasing the marchers back across the bridge. (Major Cloud later claimed that Sheriff Clark set off the first canister of tear gas by mistake.) The troopers and the mounted posse pursued the fleeing marchers all the way back to Brown Chapel, beating people as they went. - See more at: http://www.encyclopediaofalabama.org/article/h-1876#sthash.EJmSr9Vp.dpuf

56 of the marchers ended up in the hospital.  One, a man by the name of John Lewis, suffered a fractured skull.  The march was aborted on what is known as Bloody Sunday, but, in the end, partially due to what the nation witnessed this day, the 1965 Voting Rights Act was passed.

John Lewis has been a Congressman for many years, and spoke today at ceremonies at the Edmund Pettus bridge commemorating the 50th anniversary of Bloody Sunday.  The President of the United States spoke, too.

There is a growing movement to rename the bridge after John Lewis, which, due to the non political nature of this blog, I will not comment on. 

The work of March 7, 1963 is not finished.  But, one day, I intend to travel to Selma and walk across that bridge.  I want to hear the footsteps and feel the courage of those who walked before me. When mounted and armed police gathered on the other side of the bridge, the marchers did not hesitate to march into history.  They did not turn back. 

Thanks to the courage of those protestors, we live in a different world today.

Overdue Compliments

Today, it's time to pay a long overdue compliment.

Did you know that March 1 was World Compliment Day?

Well, I didn't either.  Seems, lately, I'm doing a lot of catching up with things after the fact.

I've done my share of grumbling about the weather during this long, hard winter, and it is time to sneak in one more cold related post.  This time, though, it is going to be positive.

After I took this, it dropped to -4F.

So many people do fine jobs related to the weather, and don't receive compliments:

The National Weather Service.  Schools, governments, non profits, transportation agencies and so many more depend on their efforts.

The United States Postal Service, which gets the mail delivered (slower, but it gets there).

Fire departments - can you imagine fighting fires in sub zero weather, with hydrants blocked by piles of snow?

I can't.

Which is why I want to pay a compliment to all of these people.  You do a great job!

Is there anyone you want to compliment?  Feel free to put your compliment in the comments below.

(And thank you for visiting.  A compliment to all of my readers, too. You obviously know quality when you read it.... )

National Grammar Day - Thank Your Grammar Geek Today

March 4 was National Grammar Day.

I am not a grammar expert, which is why I admire those who are.

I'm not the only one.  Here, the CEO of iFixit explains why he gives all job applicants a grammar test.  If they fail, they don't get hired.  His philosophy is simple: if you fail the test, you don't pay attention to detail.  That's how important the skill of written communication is.

Industries struggle with communication.

I've blogged about some of my struggles with grammar.  English was not my favorite class, quite an admission for someone who has blogged daily for almost four years.  At one time, I did not care about writing skills,  Now, I do.

So, today I want to pay tribute to the grammar geeks in my life: my late mother, my sister in law, and even my spouse.

I will leave you with some food for thought:

Chuck Jones' Rules for Writing the Roadrunner Character - not quite a grammar link, but a lesson in writing we can all use.

Beep-beep.

Winter Wonders - Three More To Go

It's that time of year.

Somewhere in the United States, spring has come.

Somewhere, robins peck at green lawns as mild breezes blow.  Somewhere, somewhere, flowers bloom.  Somewhere, children play without coats on and don't know what a snowsuit is.  The sun shines when the temperature doesn't have a minus sign in front.

That somewhere isn't here in upstate New York.  And, with only three more Winter Wonder Wednesday features to go before spring comes, spring had better get here soon.

The natives are grumbling.  They are ready to throw shovels at each other. 

Boston (still snowed in, but it will be mild today) is about 2 inches from their all time snow record.

Those residents are ready to rent a bus, a HUGE bus, and take a road trip to somewhere that has spring.

We don't have spring here, either.  This is what we have, instead

Downtown Binghamton, NY

Snow and ice crusted streets.  True, less snow than Boston.

He could have been Lincoln's Vice-President, if only he had defrosted.  Really.

Frozen people on display (Only kidding).

Happy birthday, Brandie.

And historic buildings.  Just think, this one has seen over 100 winters.

Do you know where spring is?  Could you tell her she is missed?  In case she lost our forwarding address, could you give her a map so she can find Binghamton soon?

Is it spring (or at least not-winter) where you live?

Thanking the 19th Century

100 years ago, in the United States, women could not vote in a national election (that right was granted by the 19th amendment, ratified in 1920) nor in many local/state elections.

I don't often write blog posts from prompts, but I could not resist today's NaBloPoMo prompt:  "Write an open letter thanking a historical figure for her contributions to the world."

 

This building is the Wesleyan Chapel, located in Seneca Falls, New York.  The original building (most of this building was a reconstruction) was built in 1843.

In this building, in  July of 1848, the First Women's Right Convention was held.  Out of this convention a document called the Declaration of Sentiments came, signed by 68 women and 32 men.

I would like to write this letter to all the signers of this document, but especially, the women:

"Dear signers of the Declaration of Sentiments:

"I owe so much to you, as a married woman living in the United States.  Due to your courage:
-I have the right to vote
-I can keep the wages I make
-I have the right to own property and to pass it down, upon my death, to the person or persons I choose
-I have the right to an education.

and I have other rights women in some other countries don't have - the right not to have their bodies mutilated,  the right to marry or not marry, the right to become or not become pregnant, the right to attend school without worrying about being kidnapped and sold into slavery, or being killed, and even the right to drive a car.

If I wanted to write a book, I could do that under my own name.  I wouldn't have to pretend to be a man.

It took so many years for you to win those rights for me.  Instrumental in getting these rights were your efforts in getting women the right to vote.

And now, too many women take these rights for granted.  Many of us don't vote.  We don't take advantage of educational opportunities.  We devalue ourselves.

A sad thing about history is, if you didn't live it, you tend to forget it.  I can remember the days of "Male" and "female" help wanted ads, just as one example.  I can remember when one of my high school teachers became pregnant, and had to leave when she started to show. (This, incidentally, was in 1969.)

You all taught me never to take rights for granted.  Rights taken for granted are rights lost.

Worst of all, there are places where women have never had those rights, and both men and women suffer for it. That's part of women's history, too, the story of the present.

Those once called suffragettes, thank you for your courage.

Thank you for what you did for generations yet unborn. Like mine.

Sincerely,

AM"

Do you vote?

Sneaking Through the Snow

Have you ever heard of snow sneakers?

I hadn't, either, until I read through an L.L. Bean catalog.

L.L. Bean is a State of Maine retailer (and mailorder company) that has been selling wonderful outdoor shoes and other gear for over 100 years.  They are especially famous for their customer service, and I can testify to that.

I was fed up with the one weakness of my walking shoes, the Reebok Princess.  The Princesses are the most comfortable walking shoes I have ever found, and they have been my go-to walking shoes for over five years now.  But I have one complaint about them, and it's an important one.

Their soles do not give much traction in either snow or wet conditions.  I don't have the best balance and, come winter, I just can't wear my Princesses.  Even walking from a parking space to the mall where I do a lot of my winter walking can be a challenge in newly fallen snow.  And I am not about to exercise walk in my boots.

I wondered, was there such a thing as a "snow sneaker", a walking shoe made for the snow?

My first (and last) foot selfie

Turns out, there is.

That's how, about two weeks ago, I found myself taking a foot selfie in the snow.  I paid the most money ($99, but it's less now) I have ever paid for shoes as a mid-February present to myself, and I am so glad I did.

Introducing the L.L. Bean snow sneaker.  They come in lowcut and hitop styles and I chose the hitop because I need ankle support.  Also, the hi top shoes were rated to 5 above zero F.  I have a condition called Raynaud's Syndrome  and I must be very careful to keep my feet and hands warm.

And - lucky you - these are even on sale now (probably getting ready to close them out for the season). Not that I will benefit financially if you do buy them.

You need to wear them with thick socks, and, a week after getting the shoes, I purchased two pairs of thick woolen socks from L.L Bean after doing some comparison shopping locally. I love those socks, too.

See that sole?  That's what I'm talking about, Reebok.  The snow sneakers (for me) won't do well on slippery ice, but these will handle any kind of snow.  In fact, right now, I've abandoned my Totes boots (another brand I am loyal to) for these comfy sneaks. (Heavy snow, though, and the boots will have to return.)

Yes, they are a bit heavy to walk in, but I knew that going in.  If that bothers you, choose the lower version.

I can't believe I am writing this blog post.  I am about the least interested in fashion, makeup, or clothing person you will ever meet.  But, I was tired of ice cold feet and was fortunate to have the money for these snow sneakers.  Since then, I've discovered Nike makes sneaker boots, too.

So now, someone from Nebraska (and she knows who she is) can now draw these in her drawing notebook.  Have fun!

(And, spring, please feel free to come.  I'll gladly toss these in the closet for another year.  Just a hint.)

Do you have any clothes you have fallen in love with?

Civil War Sunday - With Malice Towards None

On March 4, 1865, President Abraham Lincoln was sworn in as President for his second term.

The nation had been at war with itself for almost four years.  Four long years, and the end was finally in sight.  The atmosphere at the inauguration, it is said, was joyous.

In Washington DC, the weather had been rainy, and Pennsylvania Avenue was described as a "sea of mud".  But, it is said, the sun broke through the clouds as the inauguration commenced.  The crowd's size was estimated at between 30,000 and 40,000 people.


This is the speech that Lincoln gave that day.  It isn't quite as short as the Gettysburg Address, one of the shortest (and well remembered) speeches in United States history.  This speech, instead, is mostly remembered for its last line, and for the deep religious belief it expressed.

Imagine yourself hearing this speech at the end of almost four years of terrible war, the cliche of brother against brother that was not a cliche. "With malice towards none, with charity for all...."

Lincoln would be assassinated some five weeks later.

Fellow-Countrymen:   At this second appearing to take the oath of the Presidential office there is less occasion for an extended address than there was at the first. Then a statement somewhat in detail of a course to be pursued seemed fitting and proper. Now, at the expiration of four years, during which public declarations have been constantly called forth on every point and phase of the great contest which still absorbs the attention and engrosses the energies of the nation, little that is new could be presented. The progress of our arms, upon which all else chiefly depends, is as well known to the public as to myself, and it is, I trust, reasonably satisfactory and encouraging to all. With high hope for the future, no prediction in regard to it is ventured.
On the occasion corresponding to this four years ago all thoughts were anxiously directed to an impending civil war. All dreaded it, all sought to avert it. While the inaugural address was being delivered from this place, devoted altogether to saving the Union without war, insurgent agents were in the city seeking to destroy it without war—seeking to dissolve the Union and divide effects by negotiation. Both parties deprecated war, but one of them would make war rather than let the nation survive, and the other would accept war rather than let it perish, and the war came.
One-eighth of the whole population were colored slaves, not distributed generally over the Union, but localized in the southern part of it. These slaves constituted a peculiar and powerful interest. All knew that this interest was somehow the cause of the war. To strengthen, perpetuate, and extend this interest was the object for which the insurgents would rend the Union even by war, while the Government claimed no right to do more than to restrict the territorial enlargement of it. Neither party expected for the war the magnitude or the duration which it has already attained. Neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict might cease with or even before the conflict itself should cease. Each looked for an easier triumph, and a result less fundamental and astounding. Both read the same Bible and pray to the same God, and each invokes His aid against the other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces, but let us judge not, that we be not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered. That of neither has been answered fully. The Almighty has His own purposes. "Woe unto the world because of offenses; for it must needs be that offenses come, but woe to that man by whom the offense cometh." If we shall suppose that American slavery is one of those offenses which, in the providence of God, must needs come, but which, having continued through His appointed time, He now wills to remove, and that He gives to both North and South this terrible war as the woe due to those by whom the offense came, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which the believers in a living God always ascribe to Him? Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondsman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said "the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether."
With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.

Live Long and Prosper

It was September of 1966.  I was in junior high school (what middle school was called back then) and I lived in a New York City housing project in the Bronx.

I was a young teenager who loved science fiction.  Isaac Asimov, Robert Heinlein, Frederick Pohl were some of my favorite authors.  I was also a huge fan of some of the works of Edgar Rice Burroughs.

Our TV set was a black and white console.  Our shows were broadcast over the air, and there were three major broadcast networks to choose from in my native New York City, along with several independent stations.

The school year had just started and, with it, a new TV season was about to start.

One of the new shows was a science fiction show called Star Trek.  I watched it from the very first, and fell in love with it.  So did, over the years, millions of other people.

Part of my childhood died yesterday with the death of actor Leonard Nimoy, who played a character, Mr Spock.  Spock, a human looking man with pointed ears and strange eyebrows,  had a human mother and an alien father, a native of the planet Vulcan.

Leonard Nimoy, and his fellow actors and actresses, made science fiction accessible to people who, otherwise, may never have been exposed to it.  The original Star Trek series only lasted three years. But what a three years it was.

I made a friend, someone who recently moved into my apartment building.  She loved Star Trek.  And, her family had a color television.

Starting with the second season, I sometimes went to her apartment on the 13th floor of our building to watch the show.  That friendship lasted through high school, even though we ended up going to different schools.

The stories of Star Trek captivated me and fired my imagination.  So did the character of Mr. Spock.

To many people, Leonard Nimoy was the face of Star Trek.

He was the accessible alien - and we could all identify with his struggles to keep his human emotional nature in check. Vulcans believed in logic but there was that pesky humanity of his.  It showed up at the most inconvenient of times.  We loved him for it.

We loved the alien side of him, too - his Vulcan nerve pinches and mind melds that would save the day in a hopeless situation.

Yesterday, I went to lunch, turned on my phone, and immediately found out Leonard Nimoy had died, at the age of 83.  The tributes were already pouring in, from actors and actresses, from fans, from scientists, and even from the President of the United States.

I watched on Facebook as tributes scrolled by.  It seemed like everyone on Facebook was saddened.

Before long, a hashtag #LLAP was trending.  Facebook friends were posting "Live Long and Prosper", which is a Vulcan blessing.

The response is "Peace. And long life."

Leonard Nimoy, the actor, always had mixed feelings about the Mr. Spock role, but he always loved his fans.  And his fans loved him.

Leonard Nimoy gave us hope about the future, a future where Earth was united, and interacted with other species under the umbrella of a utopian type United Federation of Planets.

Maybe one day, it will come true.

He lived long.  He prospered  And we will all miss him, here in the world that Star Trek made possible.

I wish each and every one of my blog readers a long, prosperous life.  May you live long and prosper!

A Wintery Walk

I sometimes don't understand why some of my blog readers seem to have an endless appetite for m me blogging about winter and snow.  Either misery loves company, or some people enjoy my whining about winter.

Or, they are tired of those endless, sunny days some of them experience (at least, my Florida friends on Facebook seem to experience those days) and want a break from their happiness.

Well, folks.  I live to serve.

Sunday it got up to the high 30's F (about 3 C) before it plunged down again to the lowest temperatures in many years.  I donned my snow sneakers (would you like me to blog about them?) and spouse and I headed out to the Vestal Rail Trail in the Triple Cities of upstate New York to enjoy the heat wave.  And trust me, when you've had several nghts plunging into the below zeroes, 38 degrees above feels downright....like Florida.

The sumacs are still holding on to their berries.  Have you ever eaten sumac berries in some form?  That could be the subject of another post.

Another nature photo.

A bench, almost buried.

The edge of the trail.  The sign facing the camera invites you to a business at one end of the trail that sells food and drink, saying "Exercise your right to refreshment!"

Finally, icicles have formed on many buildings, including this one.  Not Boston massive, but they can still do enough damage.

Although these pictures look dreary, they were actually taken in early afternoon.

So what keeps me going?

Otsiningo Park, Binghamton on a July day

Knowing that, someday, one day, a walk in the park will look like this, and I can shed my snow sneakers.

We may have a major snowstorm on Sunday.  But after that, I think (I hope) we have finally turned the corner towards spring.

How is your weather today?

When It Is Good to Complain

Is complaining bad for you? That's our common wisdom.

 Some people say "yes", and add that we should replace complaints with gratitude.  Be positive, and you and your body will both benefit.

 I've been keeping track of some of my complaining recently.  For example, my spouse did me a big favor by taking me to work the other day.  It was wicked cold (as we say, here in the Southern Tier of New York State) and the sidewalks were a bit icy from a thaw the day before.

So, I try to open the car door, and it is blocked by the tall snowpile next to the path leading from our house to the street.  So the first thing my spouse heard, instead of "thank you", was somewhere along the line of "*&#@ snowpile!". It also could have been "*($@ salt!" when I got road salt dust (it is on everything, including cars, trees near highways) on my coat. 

When I got to work, everyone was complaining about the temperature, when people weren't trying to one-up each other about just HOW COLD it was at their house.

So yes, I complain.  And so does everyone I know.

Because I majored in cultural anthropology, I wondered if complaining, in certain circumstance, can be a form of bonding.   (Gossip also is a form of bonding, but we all know how damaging gossip can be, too)

In the midst of my complaining, I found a recent article in The Atlantic of interest.

It turns out that sometimes, complaining may be beneficial.  That is not to say we shouldn't practice gratitude.  But, if complaining is done right (knowing when to complain, knowing who to complain to, and complaining for a purpose - to accomplish a purpose), complaining can be good, even providing us with positive health benefits.  And, some types of complaining can actually improve the light in which others see you.  That one really surprised me.

I can see myself, in a fancy restaurant, complaining about the wine, and people around me being impressed. (Or not, because I don't go to fancy restaurants.  Or, drink wine in any restaurant.)

Complaining, in some circumstances, can provide sympathy (if it is not overdone), and human connection.  The trick is, knowing when to stop, before it turns into whining.

Complaining can help you focus and organize negative feelings.

So complaining, it turns out, can be negative (and often is) but can also be a positive thing, if done right.

Now, about those snow piles...

Winter Wonders Of a Below Zero Sunrise

This is not what you want to wake up to, as my son did yesterday (the bottom temperature is the outside temperature.)

This is -30.8 C, for those outside the United States.

Only the brave throw back the colors to face the day without complaint, when your thermometer reads that low.  In upstate New York, we wonder at people who deal with these temperatures for much of the winter, and admire them.  Then we go back to complaining about the weather.

At my house, it was only -8 F (-22 C).  It hasn't been that cold for us, we figure, in about 15 years.

The birds were singing, as I took a picture of the sunrise.  Birds singing in the early morning is one of the first signs of spring.  At this time of year, bright sunshine usually comes only with ice cold temperatures.  The birds know something we don't know - yet.

Streaks were in the air, as the sun appeared.

Smoke does funny things in the below zero air (this picture taken on a different below zero day).

Spring, right now, is invisible.  But soon, sap will start to flow in the trees again.  The tips of their branches will glow with a bright red.  If we are fortunate, we will have a good maple syruping season as March progresses.

But for now, the only signs of spring are those singing birds.

The rest of nature is still locked in ice and snow.

One day it will be spring, but not just yet.

What is your weather like today?

What A Man Did For His Son

Why must individuals with autism suffer with an unemployment rate of 90%?

Why, indeed. As the sister in law of a man in his 50's with autism, who has spent much of his working life in a sheltered workshop environment, I ask that question a lot.  At some point, my brother in law may be facing unemployment, with the closing of these workshops in New York State due to withdrawal of funding. 

A father and a brother decided to take matters into their own hands.

They caught the Rising Tide.

The son of a friend sent me a link on Facebook a couple of days ago - a link to a video about a car wash in Florida - a car wash called Rising Tide.  

This car wash employs mainly individuals with autism.  In other words, this venture came out of the love of a father for his son, and the love of a brother for his brother with autism.  The two brothers work there together at the business.

I hope that their "CanDo Business Ventures" doesn't mind if I quote from their website, as I feel their message is so important.  People with autism, in the correct environment, have a lot to contribute to our society.  And, why should my brother in law's disability be such that he ends up in a job where he, and his co workers, make less than the minimum wage?  How can someone ever strive towards independence if they are kept down by the inability to earn a living wage?


The owner of Rising Tide asks, on his website:

"Is someone in your family affected by Autism? Have you ever asked yourself the question,“What will my family member with autism do when I am no longer around to take care of them?” If you’re like us, this question has not only crossed your mind but is a concern that keeps you up at night. This simple fact is the inspiration behind CanDo Business Ventures.

John’s son, Tom’s younger brother, Andrew, has autism. ...Although a vibrant, light hearted young man, Andrew’s disability is a clear competitive disadvantage when it comes to securing gainful employment. We believe that Andrew and others like him have difficulty getting a job, not because people don’t want to help, but rather because businesses are simply not set up to accommodate the needs of people like Andrew."

 This is their philosophy:

" More than just a job, our plan is to have the businesses we build be a cornerstone to create supportive communities of individuals with autism where we teach them the skills needed to live independently and self advocate."

I wish them much success, because I believe this father and son duo can help to transform the world of employment for people like my brother in law.  And, we could sure use a good carwash with all of our salt-encrusted cars in New York State.

If you live anywhere near Parkland, Florida - why don't you catch the Rising Tide and give them a try? 

The Six Flag Raisers

You could say it's only a photograph.  But it is also a story, a tragic story, a story that will be getting some attention in the United States today, on the 70th anniversary of the taking of the photo.

On the surface, it's a simple photograph, six men raising an American flag - five Marines and one Navy man - on top of Mt. Suribachi, on the small volcanic island of Iwo Jima.

February 23, 1945.  We are at war with Japan, and are fighting for control of Iwo Jima.

The story of this photograph, which won the 1945 Pulitzer Prize for photography, was not without some controversy, but what I want to blog about today is what happened to the six men in the photograph.

Three of them died within a month of the taking of the photo: Franklin Sousley, Michael Strank, and Harlon Block.

The fourth, Ira Hayes, a Native American, drank himself to death at the age of 32, and was immortalized in a song sung by Johnny Cash.

The fifth, Rene Gagnon, died at the age of 54.

Only one man lived into old age - John Bradley, who owned a funeral parlor after the war, married and had eight children, and died at the age of 70 in 1994.  He is buried, perhaps ironically, in a cemetery called "Queen of Peace".

One of my husband's uncles was wounded at Okinawa.  I was born after the war, but the war movies were a staple of weekend movie entertainment on the local TV stations in New York City, where I grew up in the 50's and early 60's.

I could wish we could never have to send 18 or 19 year olds to die on a small volcanic island in the Pacific, but now we are fighting a different kind of war.  We must never forgot what has come before if we are to understand what is happening now.

Civil War Sunday - Slavery's Ellis Island

 Charleston, South Carolina (where the Civil War began in April of 1861) was a center of the slave trade.  It is said that as many of 40% of the enslaved people of the United States entered the United States through Charleston.

If Charleston was the Ellis Island of Slavery, this building (built in 1859) was part of its Castle Garden. The Old Slave Mart building above was part of a complex where slaves were sold in the years immediately before the Civil War started.  Except for this building, the complex no longer exists. 


The Old Slave Mart Museum is a museum of and for African Americans.  Many of the staff are descended from slaves who were bought or sold in the Charleston slave trade.  It is not a museum of artifacts but a museum of facts and requires a lot of reading. It is not a five minute stop.

Which brings us to February 21, 1865, 150 years ago yesterday. the 55th Regiment, Massachusetts Infantry, an all-black Union regiment, entered Charleston, with other black regiments.  Charleston, after a long multi-year siege, had been captured by Federal forces.  The soldiers were hailed by the large slave population of Charleston as liberators.

Some of the Union soldiers had, themselves, once lived in Charleston - as enslaved men.

Now they were free.

Fountain in Marion Square, April 2014, with Farmers Market in background

On March 21, 1865, a huge parade was held.  A crowd of about 10,000 gathered at Citadel Green, which today is known as Marion Square, where Charleston's Saturday farmers market is held.

King Street, 2014 - Seeking Indigo is a Day Spa

The parade started around 1pm and went down King Street to the Battery at the tip of Charleston (and then back to Citadel Green).

The Battery, 2014

Celebrations followed, throughout the year 1865.  As the New York Times put it yesterday, "The capital of slavery had become the citadel of freedom."

Looking as a tourist at these scenes of peace today, I feel awe once again, having walked in the footsteps of history.