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In our language, the meaning of 'hag' has been distorted. Among the Kells (my mother was Irish), it is the final stage in the life of a woman. There are three: The Maiden/Virgin, untaken, untamed, wild and free. She's full of fire, dreams, visions and kinetic energy. She is the Waxing Moon. The Matron, in the full maturity of her child-bearing years. She is the great earth mother, the lover, the comforter, the healer. She is the Full Moon. The Hag. Seasoned and wise in the ways of the world, she holds her blood and sometimes her tongue. She enjoys honor and respect among those who hold her favor, and fear/caution among those who have earned her ire. She is the Waning Moon. I take The Hag for Hag Struan, a character in James Clavell's novel Tai-Pan, my favorite of his works. The Hag was born a Brock, which made her marriage into the Struan clan a Hatfield-McCoy heresy. The Brocks and Struans were rival shipping magnates in Scotland during the early days of China trade. The Hag was widowed young and stepped to the helm of Struan shipping, to keep them on top of her birth family. She was a tough, clear-minded, straight from the shoulder kind of lady. I admired her strength, her dignity and her dedication to her family against all odds. I'd have a very long way to go, indeed, before I could be in her league, but the name inspires me and I aim to do her proud. *************** For God sent NOT his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved. [JOHN 3:17] Peace to All. The Hag ......................................  .......................................... |
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He Is *NOT* The First
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Jun 28, 2007 1:06 pm
607 Views
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MOOD: Inspired!
.....Unbought and unbossed! That was her campaign slogan. She was diminutive, elegant as an ebony wood carving ~ and she was a spitfire! "Just wait, there may be some fireworks," said Shirley Anita St. Hill Chisholm to the constituents who had just made her the first African-American woman elected to Congress by a landslide in 1968, defeating Republican candidate James Farmer.
With her 'cut-and-thrust' oratory style, she authored legislation that instituted SEEK (Search for Education, Elevation, and Knowledge), a program that provided college funding to disadvantaged youths, and successfully introduced a bill that secured unemployment insurance for domestics and day-care providers. She served on a number of committees, including Education and Labor, and campaigned for a higher minimum wage and federal funding for day-care facilities. She also secured federal grants for a number of Brooklyn-based enterprises that benefited disadvantaged communities. Substantial as were these accomplishments, they were but the beginning of what she wanted to do: On January 23, 1972, running as "a candidate of the people," this first-term congresswoman from Brooklyn, NY, had the moxie and commitment to become the first African American to make a bid for the Presidency of the United States.
Chisholm's base of support was ethnically diverse and included the National Organization for Women. Among the volunteers who were inspired by her campaign was Barbara Lee, who would go on to become a congresswoman some 25 years later. Writer Amiri Baraka, feminist Susan Brownmiller and former Black Panther leader Bobby Seale also were among her followers. Strong, courageous and idealistic, Chisholm told friend and foe alike: "If you can't support me, get out of my way." This indomitable optimism was a beacon of hope to many at that time and stands today as a refreshing antidote to the opportunism and cynicism that rules the American political landscape.
The zeal and dedication of her supporters was great, but their efforts were met with strenuous, vociferous and violent resistance. "The party leaders do not like me," she noted. Shirley was physically assaulted three times on the campaign trail. Gloria Steinem said she thought 'Chisholm was good, but McGovern was great,' and even the black colleagues in Congress failed to rally around her because Chisholm was a woman. (Comment: Guns always win over butter and gender always wins over color.]
As the long, arduous road of Shirley Chisholm's campaign culminated at the Democratic National Convention, where her great hope had been to influence the platform, the valiant effort ended much more quietly than it deserved. Early on, Shirley had known a White House victory was extremely remote. Chisholm said she ran for the office "in spite of hopeless odds...to demonstrate the sheer will and refusal to accept the status quo." Her desire always had been to enter the struggle and to pave the way for others like herself who, as she said in her autobiography The Good Fight, "will feel themselves as capable of running for high political office as any wealthy, good-looking white male."
Neither her loss in the Presidential Campaign of 1972, nor leaving Congress (1983) brought an end to Shirley Chisholm's energetic work for her country. After leaving Congress, Chisholm was named to the Purington Chair at Mount Holyoke College in South Hadley, Massachusetts, where she taught for four years. She was also very popular on the lecture circuit. She remained active as a political figure. Shirley created the National Political Congress of Black Women and served on the Advisory Council of the National Organization for Women. In reflecting on her defeat in 1972, Ms. Chisholm remarked: "There is little place in the political scheme of things for an independent, creative personality, for a fighter. Anyone who takes that role must pay a price."
Shirley Anita St. Hill Chisholm died on January 1, 2005. She had been living in Florida since her retirement. According to a former staffer, William Howard, she was in poor health and had suffered several strokes. She is buried in Forest Lawn Cemetery in Buffalo, NY. Only one of the many women who have been cheated of their well-earned place in the annals of American History, obscurity is too high a price for this great and noble lady to pay.
§ "When I die, I want to be remembered as a woman who lived in the twentieth century and hoped dearly to be a catalyst for change. I don't want to be remembered as the first Black woman who went to Congress, and I don't even want to be remembered as the first woman, who happened to be Black, to make a bid for the Presidency. I want to be remembered as a woman who fought for change in the twentieth century. That's what I want. ~ Shirley Chisholm
She was qualified.
She was capable.
We were not ready.
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Wishing you peace and joy!
The Hag
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Who Knew?
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Jun 28, 2007 1:00 pm
655 Views
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§§§ Women who have run for PRESIDENT of the U.S.A.
(I am utterly amazed!)
2008 (thus far) Hillary Rodham Clinton
2004 Carol Mosley Braun
***** Dr. Mildred A. Williams Glover
***** Jeanne Chebib
***** Georgia L. Hough
***** Yehanna Joan Malone
***** Dr. Isabelle Masters
***** Melanie G. Pridgen
***** Diana Ramsey-Rasmussen-Kennedy IV
***** Deborah Elaine Allen
***** Joy Elaina Graham-Pendergast
***** Jackie Hayward
***** Debra Joyce Renderos
***** Dianne Beall Templin
2000 Cathy Gordon Brown
***** Elizabeth Hanford Dole
***** Heather Ann Harder
***** Temperance Alesha Lance-Council
***** Dr. Isabelle Masters
***** Monica Moorehead
***** Paula E. Bennet
***** Deborah Katz Pueschel
***** Angel Joy Rocker
***** Dorian Yaeger
***** Rochelle OneFamily Miller
***** Raj Alison Officewala
***** Gloria Dawn Strickland
1996 Heather Ann Harder
***** Mary C. Hollis
***** Millie Howard
***** Susan Duncan
***** Ann Jennings
***** Joan Pharr
***** Mary Frnces Letulle
***** Georgina Hoyd-Dufie
***** Monica Moorehead
***** Dianne Beall Templin
***** Marsha Feinland
***** Dr. Isabelle Masters
1992 Leonora B. Fulani
***** Gloria E. LaRiva
***** MIllie Howard
***** Susan Block
***** Helen Betty Halyard
***** Dr. Isabelle Masters
1988 Leonora B. Fulani
***** Willa Kenoyer
1984 Sonia Johnson
***** Dr. Iabelle Masters
***** Patricia Scott Schroeder
***** Granville Holmes
1980 Deidre Griswold
***** Maureen Smith
***** Ellen McCormack
1976 Ellen McCormack
***** Margaret Wright
1972 Bella Savitzky Abzug
***** Shirley Anita St.Hill Chisholm
***** Patsy Takomoto Mink
***** Linda J. Osteen Jenhess
1968 Charlene Mitchell
1964 Margaret Chase Smith
1960 Whitney H. Slocomb
1884 & 1888 Belva Ann Bennet McNall Lockwood
1872 & 1892 Victoria Chaflin Woodhull
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It Made Me SICK...
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Jun 26, 2007 3:55 pm
598 Views
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MOOD: amazed!
....... but it fascinated me more. PBS' Nature series segment on The Venom Cure, which detailed some of the research underway to convert venomous poisons into beneficial treatments and cures for some of our most perplexing conditions and diseases.
Notably, properties in brown snake venom are now being used to aid in blood clotting to prevent fatal hemorrhaging in open-wound accidents, major surgeries, etc. Cone-shell snails produce a neurotoxin that can be converted into an effective treatment for chronic, debilitating pain.
Most important to me, it has been discovered that scorpion venom possesses the potential to arrest ~ and possibly stop the growth of ~ glioma, the virtually untreatable brain cancer that killed my favorite aunt. To think of the families that may soon be spared the struggles, expense, frustration and grief meted out by that awful scourge is more than I can get my mind around.
Yeah, it was repulsive but I'm so glad I watched!
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Thanks for your visit!
The Hag
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Creaking Yaaaaaawn!
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Jun 23, 2007 2:49 am
560 Views
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CONDITION: Sleep-grogged with a sinus headache (at least I hope it's only a sinus headache).
If you thought we'd gone already ~ like two weeks ago? ~ that's because we were supposed to be gone two weeks ago.
We were, indeed, planning to leave when Anna got home last week and had a couple of days to rest from the five-day business trip, which was her last duty before leaving the job. However the 'slight cold' she brought home with her blossomed into a full-fledged bout of the summer flu. (She's been such a sick puppy!) Ergo, our trip was delayed.
She's still rather green, literally, weak and gaining strength much more slowly than she'd like. Also, Paul's family has made a special trip up from California for a short visit with us. We're 'ready' as far as major preparations go, but not stressed. It's rather nice to have time to be together with neither Anna nor me working. The year has gone quickly for both of us and, with the various schedules, changes in housemates, her family crises, et al, we've really had very little time to just visit. We've been doing that all this week, whenever she was awake. Actually, this is nice.
Barring any more unforeseen delays (fingers crossed!), we should be pulling out midweek, giving us plenty of time to arrive as scheduled for our celebrations on the Fourth.
OK, now that I've got all o' y'all back on board with why we're still here an' how come I'm still a bloggin', I'm gonna let Buddy back into the house and I'm going back to bed.
More soonest! Glad you're still checking in!
 and  !
The Hag
...oOo....oOo....oOo....oOo....oOo....oOo....oOo....oOo...
I love this...
The Bridge Builder
An old man, going a lone highway,
Came at the evening, cold and gray,
To chasm, vast and deep and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.
The old man crossed in the twilight dim;
The sullen stream had no fears for him;
But he turned when safe on the other side
And built a bridge to span the tide.
"Old man," said a fellow pilgrim near,
"You are wasting strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day;
You never again must pass this way;
You have crossed the chasm, deep and wide --
Why build you the bridge at the eventide?"
The builder lifted his old gray head:
"Good friend, in the path I have come," he said,
"There followeth after me today
A youth whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm that has been naught to me
To that fair-haired youth may a pit-fall be,
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building the bridge for him."
Will Allen Dromgoole
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Not My Game
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Jun 20, 2007 7:49 pm
Mood: satisfied,
673 Views
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I so enjoy a good foot-soak. Enjoy it enough to drag out the deep, rectangular 'foot tub' (though it's surely not called that now), fill it with warm sudsy water and salts ~ any 'foot soak' product on the market works well. I put the electric tea pot at the side of my chair so that by the time the water in the tub cools, there's a refresher ready to hand.
I reach for the Flex-All and my 'compression and support' gloves when the last reports toward the end of the shift wax long and when the weight of the afghan hangs heavy on the hook. I don't suffer from carpal-tunnel syndrome yet, and hope to delay its onset indefinitely.
My regimen of dietary supplements includes one to prevent osteoporosis and that daily multivitamin is geared for senior women. Says so right on the label in nice, bold, easy to read letters. The bottle also boasts an 'easy-open cap for households without young children'.
When Arthur is particularly in evidence or when the footing outside is less than optimum, I never hesitate to reach for my cane no matter where I'm going.
The younger people with whom I keep company know that my presence among them precludes strenuous activities and certain 'club'-style entertainments. We are good friends and my sensibilities are respected.
Twenty years ago, my friends, not one of these realities prevailed. I'm sixty, not forty. As I tell these folks who are half my age or less, "Honey, if sixty is the new forty, treat me like I'm ninety!" I'm not rushing into old age nor do I wish to hasten my demise. More to the point of my belief system, I refuse to 'pretend to', cling to or become emotionally stuck in a youth now decades past.
I'm not going to run around in hairstyles and make up targeted for college women and young professionals. Been there, done that; it was fun. I'm not going to comb through La--e Bry--t racks and catalogues, or implore my friend who's an expert seamstress, to come up with 3-X versions of Jes--ca Sim---n's newest designs. (Something extra for you to be thankful for tonight!) I will not go sky diving, take up deep sea fishing, embark on a completely new career regardless of any unrealized youthful dreams or deny that I remember when all soap operas were fifteen minutes long and filmed exclusively in black and white.
I'll do my stretching routine as the coffee perks each morning; walk with my dog A.M. and P.M.; keep up with the general medical maintenance; spend a couple of hours each day reading; socialize ad lib and pursue the rewards of an active, involved life ~ as I feel like it and as is age appropriate. Occasionally, I'll pass up the foods that are 'good for me' in favor of those that are bad for me but taste good. I'll nap when the opportunity arises. I'll moan and groan when I ache and turn down that last-minute invitation to go out, when the recliner is too comfortable to leave. I make no apology for this.
I expect anybody younger than 50 to address me by the honorific 'Ma'am.' Didn't say it happens, said I expect it. Teens and children in my presence are not responded to until they comply.
The first time I was spontaneously honored by being called "Ma'am", we were having one of our usual Friday night sit-down dinners at my sorority house. At the last minute, it was discovered that we'd run out of a staple condiment (which one escapes me) and I made the trip to the corner grocery to pick it up, purchasing other incidentals, of course. As the stockboy was about to hand me my paper bag, he asked, "Do you need help with that, Ma'am?" I smiled my "No, thank you!" and floated home on cloud nine. I had arrived (!) and I was delighted.
We do our children and young people a great disservice in refusing to be called by the honorifics our years and experience have earned. It's a disservice because our refusal to accept honorable recognition deprives them of the opportunity to develop self-respect through giving it appropriately. We fail to set the example of a healthy acceptance of our station in life ~ which is inevitable ~ thereby teaching them that maturity and natural aging are shameful, disgraceful 'conditions' to be denied, misrepresented or out-right lied about! This has hurt them and has hurt our societies in general.
Our young adults are without self-respect and are unable to show respect to others because they've never seen it carried out. Having no frame of reference whatsoever, all courtesy appears to them as imposition, intimidation(!) or punishment. The simple manners with which we were so familiar ~ the 'please', 'thank you' and 'may I please be excused' before we left the table, passed out of memory a generation or more ago. Here again, 'celebrity' rears its gorgeous-ugly head. I remember seeing a number of middle-aged male icons, when appearing on, say The Ed Sullivan Show, literally correct the host by saying, "Don't call me 'Mr. ------. That's my father." I've heard Andy Griffith say this within the past few years! What caused those supposedly successful men to shun the responsibility of adulthood and the respect that ought to have accompanied it, I've never understood. Didn't understand it even then. We need to respect and honor ourselves more.
By all means we should follow our dreams, fulfill our ambitions, achieve the goals we've set for ourselves. However, we need to accomplish this with courage and wisdom. That we must compete with the young adults to maintain our place in the workforce for as long as we need to be there is a given of modern life. That we give up that place with grace and dignity at the appropriate time is one of the most generous deeds we can perform. Yes, it's a sacrifice, but for this cause have we come so far. Our children and families need us. They need the stability of our faith (even if that is a faith in our own abilities), the guidance of our wisdom and the richness of our experiences. No, they won't listen to you, but one can't argue with a silent example.
To withhold it from them is to deprive ourselves of the joy of our own achievements and to deprive them of the fullness of their own history. "And is there aught you would withhold? All you have shall some day be given; Therefore give now, that the season of giving may be yours and not your inheritors'." ~ Khalil Gibran
As I've cleaned, sorted and packed up over these past few weeks, my background music has been provided by the recordings of Howard and Vestal Goodman with Johnny Cook. Watching those later performances, listening to the lively repartee' among them, I've appreciated anew the beauty and grace with which they lived their lives. Howard died in 2002, at 81. Vestal followed in 2003. She was 74 (the same age my mother was when she went home). I have neither a parent nor a grandparent who lived to see their 80th birthday. Quoting another 'old time singer', "I know I've got a lot more years behind me than I have in front of me" and echoing a book title from Maya Angelou, "I wouldn't take nuthin' for my journey now."
In the immortal words of Mammy Yoakum, "I has spoken."
The Hag
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No Doldrums
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Jun 17, 2007 2:11 am
Mood: thankful,
614 Views
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My father had only two children, my brother and myself. He could have reared a dozen, quite successfully, I believe, for he loved and understood them so very well.
There was a small amusement park in our community with a few simple rides, a playground, a 'zoo' consisting only of local domestic and 'wild' animals, the most exotic attraction being a red fox in a chicken-wire cage. From Easter Sunday through first frost, he'd make his rounds of the neighborhood on Saturday afternoons, a couple of times a month, knocking on doors and gathering kids for a trip to the park. There, we'd look at the animals, play on the swings, jungle-gyms, etc., and feed the stale bread he'd brought to the ducks and geese on the little pond. Frequently we'd get into softball games and play until sunset. Then, he'd take each child home again, tired, hungry and ready for bath and bed.
Once July 4th had passed, the Saturdays that he worked 'graveyard shift', he'd stop at the market on his way home to buy a half-dozen or so watermelons. These were iced down in two big, galvanized tubs under the shade trees in the back yard, before he went to bed. In the hottest part of the day, when he found it hard to sleep, he walked down the street calling anyone he happened to see out of doors, inviting them to a watermelon party ~ children especially, of course. After laying a thick carpet of newspaper on the lawn for us to sit on, he'd halve the melons and just let us dig in with bare, clean hands, demolishing them and bathing ourselves in that rich, sticky sweetness. When adults (particularly ladies) were present, he sliced a melon or two into wedges and he and mother served it 'properly', bringing out those heavy, metal lawn chairs to sit in.
Once we children had finished, he'd wrap the remains of our feast in the soggy paper and take it to the trash cans. Then, he'd line us all up and turn on the water hose! And there he'd stand for a half-hour or longer, hosing us down as we played in the cooling spray that took the stickiness and most of the stains from our clothes. I had two huge, well-worn old blankets among my playthings. These were now spread under the trees where the watermelons had cooled. I'd get everybody settled down and start telling the stories of Hans Christian Anderson and the Brothers Grimm that I'd listened to all my life. Within minutes every one of us would be sound asleep. Then, one by one, my little playmates would wake and Daddy, who was sitting either still talking with visiting parents, or tilted back against the house in one of the lawn chairs, reading his paper, would make sure they got home OK.
He always bought the best candy for Halloween and dispensed it generously, laughing and teasing with the children about their costumes and how badly they'd scared 'this poor, tired old man'!
He was an amazing human being: gentle, patient, friendly and kind. He only has the four grandchildren, but he did live to see and hold his first great-grandchild. I'm so thankful that we all got to be close to him, to love and appreciate him while he was here, and to make sure that he knew it at every opportunity. I'm so thankful for the many things he taught me and for the comfort his memory brings.
§§§ §§§ §§§ §§§ §§§ §§§ §§§ §§§ §§§ §§§
That Silver-Haired Daddy of Mine
by Gene Autry and Jimmy Long (1932)
In a vine covered shack in the mountains
Bravely fighting the battle of time
There's a dear one who's weathered life's sorrow
It's that silver haired daddy of mine
If God would but grant me the power
Just to turn back the pages of time
I'd give all I own if I could but atone
To that silver haired daddy of mine.
I know it's too late, dear old daddy
To repay for the heartaches and care
But dear mother is waiting in heaven
Just to comfort and solace you there
If I could recall all the heartaches
Dear old daddy, I've caused you to bear
If I could erase those lines from your face
And bring back the gold to your hair
If God would but grant me the power
Just to turn back the pages of time
I'd give all I own if I could but atone
To that silver haired daddy of mine...
Happy Father's Day! and God Bless!
The Hag
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Peace Advocate
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Jun 16, 2007 2:30 am
Mood: courageous,
509 Views
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"First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win." ~ Mohandas Gandhi
The first essential of an effective military mind-set is dehumanization of the designated enemy. "They" are no longer our equals but are less than. A demeaning, euphemistic epithet replaces the respectful title of their proper nationality. There's no way 'they' were ever an innocent, beautiful newborn baby; no way adoring parents and grandparents marveled over first steps, first words; they could never have played games in the schoolyard; never knew the terrifying joy of their first love experience; their mother does not cry herself to sleep each night, pleading desperately with The Deity to spare her child, to send her darling back to her alive. Of course not. If that line of thinking were to prevail, all war would stop.
It takes incredible faith, strength and courage to stand steadfast for human rights, dignity and peace. Beyond my ability to describe, I am aggrieved to see the selfless, indefatigable work of men like ( alpha order, my history is nowhere near that good ) Benjamin Disraeli, Mohandas Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., Nelson Mandella, Anwar Sadat, Oskar Schindler, Albert Schweitzer, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, Adlai Stevenson, Desmond Tutu, Lech Walesa, and Elie Weisel, ... of women like Anne Frank, Indira Gandhi, Muriel Gardiner, 'Mother' Mary Harris Jones, Golda Meier, Sister Miriam Spencer, Corrie ten Boom, and Mother Teresa ~ to see their struggle and sacrifice brought down to the level of naivete on a par with a college activist who's never once gone to bed hungry, unless by choice. (Though I applaud the college activists, for once I stood among them.)
Run back through that list again. Note those who fell to the assassin's power. Note as well those who survived the horrors. Think about their gentleness, their lives of quiet service, their mercy and compassion. Somebody somewhere has to be willing to be first to lay it down. Just give up the hate mongering. Give up the notion of supremacy by birth. Be still. Be still and look calmly into the eyes of your brother.
Somebody has to be willing to admit that there are 'ugly A-------s', that there are rabid, extremist factions in every nationality, ethnicity, religion and creed extant upon this earth. That 'we', whomever 'we' may be, are no better nor worse nor different. Could we be put down in the middle of a 'perfect, peaceful society', it would take us all of five minutes to begin to destroy it.
A far less disturbing piece of white propaganda drew the analogy of our country as a sheepfold. It described civilians as the sheep, 'the enemy' as the wolf and the 'peace keeping' forces as the watchdog. Again, there are no human beings here. Ergo, if you must 'eliminate' a civilian, it's not a person. Harking back to my list of forenamed heroes, I declare to you that those men and women were not 'blind followers', not 'dumb sheep'. The blood they shed was no less holy than that of any fallen soldier on any battlefield, from the fall of Sennacherib to those who will lose their lives before I finish writing this sentence. Further, this analogy leaves out the most important, wisest and strongest guardian of the sheep:
What of the shepherd?
Those herein named and countless like them, who remain unknown, are shepherds.
Namaste with hope.
The Hag
Goodness without wisdom always accomplishes evil. ~ Robert A. Heinlein
Pray that your loneliness may spur you to find something to live for great enough to die for. ~ Dag Hammarskjold
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Kismet Touch, May I Join Your Brigade?
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Jun 15, 2007 11:12 am
Mood: courageous,
535 Views
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Quote from Kismet Touch:
"I AM A SENIOR...I AM THE PRODUCT OF THE BABY BOOMERS GENERATION AND LETS FACE IT...WE ARE ONE BIG VOICE TO THE WORLD! VERY SHORTLY OVER 50% OF THE WORLD POPULATION WILL BE US BOOMERS!...AND I FOR ONE INTEND TO SPEAK OUT ABOUT THE THINGS THAT MATTER TO ME!
§ WORLD PEACE
§ LOVE OF HUMANITY
§ COMPASSION
§ EMPATHY
§ FORGIVENESS (end quote)
Not long ago, a white propaganda message was forwarded to me. A message that completely disregards these values. Infuriated, I set about composing a scathing response to the person from whom I'd received it. When I cracked the third fingernail, the reality that I needed to 'chill' before I broke the keyboard sank in. My point-by-point breakdown of the bias, illogic, short-term circular reasoning and bigotry contained in the piece is now in my 'Works In Progress' folder to be edited and revised for later use (probably not in this forum).
Far wiser heads than mine have stumbled and struggled with the dichotomy between supporting the 'troops' while simultaneously opposing the war in which they are pressed to serve. To fulfill their duty, to accomplish their mission(s), to be equipped and prepared, they must have the best possible weapons, armor, medical (including psychological) care, food and, above all, encouragement and support from home. This is their absolute right and making the sacrifices necessary to provide it is the absolute duty of those on the home-front. We should feel honored to shoulder this responsibility and meet it without hesitation or complaint.
But how does one convey willingness to meet the needs of the beloved in uniform and an equally adamant opposition to the dictatorial 'organization' that put and keeps them there? The 'head in the sand' attitude of, "She's my Country weak or strong; She's my Country right or wrong" is costing us immeasurable loss on every hand. Decades will pass before these losses can be regained. The worse tragedy is that we cannot face ourselves with the truth that we were and are so very wrong here.
I honor Pappy Boyington and The Fighting Black Sheep Squadron. I honor all who donned a uniform of military service to fight for decency, freedom and justice the world over. I am well aware of the price that was paid for me, humanly speaking, by those individuals ~ my own dear father among them. Yet, I ask you, when does the work for peace begin? When do we start the campaign to bring the endless, mindless killing to an end? It has to begin with individual dissent. It begins with a different kind of courage ~ the courage to speak the truth openly, to disagree with the wrong use of power and force, and to act with decency on behalf of the weak and the oppressed, in our own nation and abroad.
"Remember: That no soldier on active service gets himself entangled in business, or he will not please his commanding officer" ~ 2 Timothy 2:3-4 (Phillips' Translation)
(More to come)
With gratitude for your indulgence,
Hagitha
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A Woman of Substance
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Jun 11, 2007 3:54 pm
605 Views
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MOOD: Inspired (by Treasurehunter4)
I think my first encounter with Sarah (pronounced SArah) was as my eighth-grade history teacher, but she became such a friend that the memory has blurred. She taught my brother before me and remembered the challenges he'd presented as the 'class clown', though she loved him as dearly as all her other 'boys' and gave him much encouragement.
By the time I became her student, Bill's first child was two years old. Since all the adults in our family worked, I was one of the baby's surrogate parents and spent every possible moment with him, (as much because I adored him as for any other reason).
One of our major assignments that winter was to memorize and recite Patrick Henry's famous House of Burgess' address. You know the one, "Gentlemen may cry, "Peace! Peace! But there is no peace...." Yeah. That's it. Well, during the time I was learning this assignment, Billy had an ear infection. He couldn't sleep nights. So, as I walked the floor or rocked to comfort him, rather than telling him his usual 'stories', I worked on my piece.
And that baby learned it, too. Not straight through, all on his own, but early in my repeated recitations he began saying long phrases of it with me. People! It was the most precious thing I've ever seen. He'd come to that statement, 'there is no peace' and shake his little head to give it emphasis. Our whole extended family was astounded!
On the day that I was to make my presentation, I took Billy to school with me. He and Mama waited in the hallway until class was over. Then I said, "Mrs. C., there's one more person who needs to recite their speech for you," and I went outside for Billy. Without preamble, I began. He followed with me flawlessly, just as he had done at home. When we'd finished, I explained who this child was.
I don't need a photo. The tender amazement that lit her dear face at that moment will be with me always.
THE KICKER: She taught Billy ~ for several years, as a matter of fact. He got a whole lot more of her than either his father or I did. Imagine the amazement of his classmates (and Billy's painful chagrin) when she announced, "Mr. M., you'll not have to recite Patrick Henry's address to me, you've already done so," and then proceeded to recount the whole experience right in front of all his friends.
He lived through it.
Sarah helped me get into college; she drove me around Little Rock as my personal Orientation Guide when I was preparing to move away from home for the first time. She helped me find my first apartment. She took me to the best, most economical restaurants; she taught me what places were safe (and in those days it was safe); she showed me how to navigate the city bus system and told me emphatically which areas always to steer clear of. Decades later, she helped me bury my parents.
 Teacher, confidant, mentor and friend, I shall not know your like again. I can do far more than 'read' because of your selfless, inexhaustible dedication, dear Sarah!
...oOo...oOo...oOo...oOo...oOo...oOo...oOo...oOo...oOo...
RULES FOR TEACHERS, as revised this 12th day of January, 1901 ~ Greene County (TN) School Board
1. You may not marry during the term of your contract.
2. Schoolmistresses shall not keep company with men.
3. You must be home between the hours of 8:00 pm and 6:00 am.
4. You may not loiter downtown in ice cream parlors.
5. You may not travel beyond town limits without the written permission of the Chairman of the Board.
6. Schoolmistresses may not ride in any carriage with a man unless he is her father or brother.
7. You may not smoke or partake in tobacco in any form.
8. You may not wear bright colors.
9. You may under no circumstances dye your hair.
10. Schoolmistresses must wear at least two petticoats, schoolmasters shall wear a suit coat and suspenders.
11. Dresses must not be shorter than two inches above the ankle.
12. To keep the schoolroom neat and clean, you must:
§ Sweep floors at least once a day.
§ Scrub floor at least once a week with hot, soapy water.
§ Clean blackboards at least once a day.
§ Start fire (in the wood-burning stove) by 7:00 am so that room is warm by 8:00 am.
...oOo...oOo...oOo...oOo...oOo...oOo...oOo...oOo...oOo...
"The life you live is the lesson you teach." ~ Unknown
Thanks for stopping by as the packing continues!
Hagitha
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