I am Back!

After a long absence, I am returning to Blackwater Tales. I am re-organizing much of my life, especially my online presence. However, I am keeping this blog to talk about my family and our home. You'll find nature stories - Hurricane Matthew, a gangly heron, ducklings, our dogs -, tales of family history - weddings, job changes, fortunes and misfortunes -, and a little social and political commentary. In other words, stories about life.

So, please, stop by and visit for more Blackwater Tales.

We've had beaver activity this year.  A  LOT!

You Never Know What You're Going to Find

Rumor has it that we each get 15 minutes of fame in our lives. Well, more or less. The Internet has given that concept new life in several ways, not the least of which was impressed upon me one evening a couple years ago.

I was doing that double-edged sword activity called ego-surfing. In reality, I was searching to see what articles of mine remain out there in E-space, so that I could retrieve them for a profile. I did not expect to find my name and my work mentioned in someone else's blog, especially not someone I don't know.

However, that is what happened.

In 1987, as young mom in Nashville, Tennessee, I entered a contest that was "the search for the ultimate chocolate chip cookie". It was sponsored by Chocolatier Magazine and The Orchards Inn in New England. I heard about it on a local TV show, and since our chocolate chip cookies already had a good reputation, decided to enter. I was one of the lucky finalists. I even still have the terrycloth robe the Inn sent me as a prize. And my recipe was published in a cookbook of the top 50 recipes from the contest.
Cook from the Book is a blog site about the "tests and trials of baking and cooking moments".  It features recipes endorsed by the blogger, along with comments on the usefulness of the recipes. Apparently, a couple years before, Cook from the Book featured my recipe for Joyous Chocolate Chips along with a short intro about how it came to be.

I was flabbergasted. Dumbfounded. Gobsmacked even. 


I loved creating the recipe and was thrilled to place among the top finalists. I loved my robe. When I won, I even contacted the TV show I'd heard about the contest from, and they invited me on the show to demo my recipe. Then there was the cookbook. I figured I'd milked that 15 minutes for all it was worth. But the recipe, with my name associated with it, lives on. And that's pretty cool. 

I love the Internet.

Cover for Sweet Corn, Fields, Forever

About the book:

“Sometimes a new beginning is someone else's end,
a circular relationship where time begins to blend,
You have to ask the question: where have we come, and how?
'Cause the end's in the beginning,
And the beginning's in us now”

-- from “The End’s in the Beginning” by Tyler McCloud

Jason Fields is opening his new research and design facility with a grand Open House. Before the event begins, he gives Dr. Mackenzie Wilder a personal tour -- which puts an early end to the festivities. They discover the body of country musician Tyler McCloud, strangled in a first floor conference room.

They're sure they didn't have anything to do with his death, but Jason's past involvement with country music and this particular family lead authorities to think otherwise. It takes Mackenzie Wilder's faith in her friend and the staunch support of Tyler's sister Tory to uncover "what Tyler did to get hisself killed." From upstate New York to Charlotte, North Carolina, from Las Vegas to Nashville, the deaths and confusion mount.

Could Tory be at the center of it all? This may be one song she can't sing or write her way out of. It will take their combined resources to stop the killing, at a cost far higher than the diamonds on a country singer's costume.

This is going to be quick. And it's obvious I haven't had much time to blog this year. Since I was last on, I've become the wife of a jazz drummer and freelance photographer (without getting remarried or anything; hubby simply got busy), taken on new freelance work, graduated 2 young women from college (well, they graduated themselves, but you  know what I mean), been to some celebrations and evenings out I hadn't been before, and gotten some stuff done around the house. ALSO: my new book, second in the Mackenzie Wilder/Classic Boat mysteries, is now available at www.smashwords. com .    It will soon also be available at Kobo and the Apple Bookstore, with other sites to follow. If you decide to buy it and enjoy it, please feel free to pass the word along, or even write a review!

You'll  hear more about life at Blackwater soon,

Playing with Matches

I was playing Mahjong the other day and reflecting on the word ‘match’ . For anyone who doesn’t already know, mahjong relies on the matching up of tiles picked off of tiered stacks laid out in a design, in my case, planned by my computer.

There are all sorts of matches. There’re shoes that match. Colors that match.  And uniforms that match. These all set an expectation that two or more things will be exactly alike in appearance. Kind of like our twin daughters.

But, in point of fact, our twins are not complete matches. They have their differences. They started out pretty much a match, but as they’ve grown they’ve become more like coordinates, not exactly alike, but going well together.

Another kind of match can be found in fundraising. Publicly supported media is well-known for their matching funds challenges during their seasonal campaigns. Sometimes employers match funds that their employees donate to other organizations. Our church here is seeking to raise funds through a grant that requires we match whatever the grant provides. These are generally 1 to 1, dollar for dollar matches that essentially double the funds the organization raises.

Then there’s the kind of matching, or matching up, that some people like to do. Matchmakers, for instance, put together people they think will do well together in a marriage. Employment agencies match people and their skills to jobs that require filling. Some people work with ‘skill banks’ to match up people who have a certain skill with someone who needs that skill, either to provide a service to them or teach them the skill so they can provide it for themselves. Basically, matching a solution to a need. I like to do that. So does the priest I work with. We refer to it as connecting the dots, putting the right people together with others to solve problems. Networking.

A man I knew back in Nashville actually was one of those matches. He volunteered with children in the schools to teach them fundamental values. He taught them to understand and undertake values such as Art, Athletics, Academics, Attitude, Altruism, Creativity, Character, Music, and Perseverance. He let them know someone cared about them. At the school year’s end, he always held an assembly at which he placed a group of people on the stage, heroes he called them, role models to hold up to the children to emulate. Often these were everyday people who worked hard to contribute to the community in their own way, and it was these people’s example he wanted the children to follow. The song everyone sang at these events was called “Celebrate (You and Me)”. This man taught several generations of children not only to “Celebrate” but to say, with meaning and sincerity, “I Am Somebody”.

This man, Don McGehee, was an ordinary man with an extraordinary capacity to love by action. He was the match for the need in these children to value themselves and to live into being someone of value. 

It seems there is more than one way to match or be part of a match. Do you match someone? Is there a need you can match up to fill? Do you have a need that requires matching? Or is there some way we can all work together to match up and fill the many needs life presents?

I Love to Cook

I love to cook. Since moving to North Carolina, I watch a ton of Food Network shows. So many, in fact, that my family jokes that our TV has only one station. Before we had cable, I watched PBS cooking shows. I read recipes. I create recipes. I have, in the past, reviewed cookbooks and written recipes for “Home Cooking” and the now-defunct “Amateur Chef”.  In 2001 my husband and I were lucky enough to go the races at Bristol to research and write an article for them about how NASCAR drivers eat on race day.

My whole extended family likes to cook to one degree or another. From modest cooks who deliver their special dishes to family reunions to several professional cooks and chefs, we have competitive grillers, food carving artists, meat specialists, food stylists, salad makers, casserole creators, and bakers. Bakers galore. While we each have our weak points, there isn’t a one among us who can’t follow a recipe to produce delicious baked goods. 

Gee, does that sound like a community of sweet teeth? Sweet tooths?

In addition, we like to provide an abundant amount of food. If we aren’t sending food back with someone or eating on it for a week after, well, we just haven’t done things right.

On the one hand, today, we have people like us, who just adore cooking and dining. We have the people who love to explore new ways and new foods to cook. We have people who share love by sharing food. However, we also have school bake sales under fire, rampaging obesity, and restaurants competing to serve you the largest, hottest, baddest plate of food you can find.

What is food? Is it sustenance? Fuel to run our bodies? An emotional crutch? A way to love?

There are those who think food’s sole function is to fuel our bodies. Among them are athletes and others concerned about health who urge us to eat in moderation only those foods that benefit our bodies. That’s not a bad thing. I’m all for eating healthy foods. And I agree that we should be careful about putting balanced combinations of food into our bodies. Yet, I think there is more to the picture than filling up at the table like cars at a gas station.

Practically every culture and society attaches more to food than the simple task of fueling the body. Meals are events, opportunities to gather for fellowship or celebration. Meals are exercises in diplomacy. be it familial or international. Meals are a way to show welcome and love.

This point of view does not dictate relying on food high in fat, sugars, and calories. It does imply making people feel comfortable, which in turns mean having things that are satisfying and fun and having enough to eat. I think it also suggests serving a variety of foods, well-prepared, in moderate portions and allowing guests to enjoy everything they eat.

I didn’t grow up Southern, and my family’s parties were primarily for family, not outside guests.  I didn’t get the early hospitality training that so many Southerners get at mama’s knee – or from the air they breathe, I’m not sure which. However, there was a story I read a long time ago about a rabbi who went to dinner that influenced my thinking greatly.

Now, the rabbi was the guest, not the hostess, but he was aware of a unique kind of ‘hospitality’, the desire to above all else, make the other person comfortable. As the dinner guest, he received a plate of matzo ball soup. This soup is made with chicken broth heavily laden with fat, often referred to as ‘schmaltz’. To his dismay, when he was served, there was a fly in his soup. Now, not being in a restaurant, he couldn’t exactly fuss at the waiter and ask for a fresh plate. And he didn’t want to make the hostess feel bad. While he might have been able to overlook personal squeamishness and down the soup anyway, consuming a fly broke his faith’s dietary rules. So, his dilemma: which was worse, eating something his religion said he shouldn’t, or mortifying his hostess by exposing her culinary and sanitary faux pas? The rabbi was sorely conflicted, but the thought won out that it was far worse to inflict pain on his hostess than to break a dietary rule. So, cleverly, he used a chunk of matzo and fat to pin the fly to the side of his dish. At least now his food was only tainted by the bug’s presence, and his hostess’s  reputation and serenity was intact. Imagine his consternation later when, on handing his hostess the empty dish, he discovered the fly was gone – with only one route by which it could have left.

This, to me, represents the true spirit of hospitality: to make the other person feel comfortable and at ease.  To make them feel both secure and trusted in your presence. Inviting someone to share food at your table is indeed a statement of trust. Serving them food that you prepare (or even purchase) is a commitment to concern about their state of being. Sharing food that you enjoy, that provides pleasure as well as sustenance, is a gift that can build relationships and strengthen bonds. Food becomes celebration.

 

                                                                 photo (c)  courtesy kaminnick 2011

Yes, we need to use the gift of food resources God has provided wisely. But, wise use does not have to mean stoic, constrained use. It can mean joyful, thoughtful use that provides as much pleasure as it does nutrition. I think that is using the resource in an abundant way, taking full advantage of it. I think perhaps that is part of what it means to live the abundant life.

The Airport

Before we moved to Fayetteville, back in 2004, my husband started a new job. It was listed as including about 40% travel, but that quickly morphed into 95% . While we'd always avoided these sorts of jobs for him (being a couple that did not like separation), this job was a good one that he was enthusiastic about, and the only thing on the horizon. Plus, he was already committed. It all worked out well, leading to where he is today. 

He had several adventures to relate to us about his travels. Recently he was digging through some files and found the first email he'd sent us about his first trip out.  Herewith, 'The Airport'.

Everybody,

I figured I'd borrow a page from Meg's book and let you know what has been going on here. First, the flight.

Air travel (at least according to United) just isn't that great. Take this in the context that United is in serious financial difficulty, and you'll understand.

First, the flight attendants seemed way too casual. They bungled the required seat belt instructions, and things went down hill from there. Mid-way, they came on the intercom and announced that they would be
serving the requisite snacks (about 6 peanuts) and that (1) there were no cups (2) they weren't going to be able to provide water 'cause of  1, (but there would be soda), but due to no ice, it would be warm.

Yum!

After landing at Dulles, we taxied around for about 10 min, and then were herded into a bus, which gave us a grand ground tour of the airport. There had to have been 40 of us, and the bus seated about 20, so
the rest had to stand and grab ahold of a jungle gym like mess of poles and horizontal bars. Most just grabbed the person next to them. We rode around for around 10 minutes, and then made it to the terminal.

The baggage claim area was up a flight of stairs, down a corridor, down 2 flights, through a construction area, around a couple of sharp corners, back up 2 or maybe 3 flights of stairs on a non-working escalator,
down a few more twisty passages all alike, and then into a huge area with a dozen or so baggage carousels. You had to consult a bank of monitors listing every flight since Kitty Hawk to figure out where your baggage would come out. The baggage already knew this of course, so it hid underground and laughed while you tried to find the right monitor and then the right carousel. Eventually there was a cosmic concatenation,
and baggage began to emerge from the carousels. These things are evil, slanted beings, and you had better be able to run along side to grab at the handles which even though there are ones on almost every side of your bag, there are none close enough to touch. Did I forget to mention that due to the number of people, you have to accelerate, miss, and decelerate in about 18 inches? Wait till the next lap, and repeat. Enough of that.

The to-hotel trip: I met a really nice guy who offered a taxi, (actually it was a large Mercury sedan with leather upholstery, little English, and no meter). Just $29 later including tip, I was deposited in the BACK parking lot of the hotel. It was a dark 9:30 PM, and I estimated that the wedding reception had been going on since at least 2 that afternoon. I needed to get to the FRONT to check in, and it was an open bar, so even though I wasn't wearing a tux, the bride's father offered his condolences for my coming in late, and just drop the bags in the corner, and here's my wife,
and why didn't you leave your bags in the room right after I have another drink for you? She's married, you know.

I was going to tell you about the job, but all my letters are used up. More on that later.  Miss you all, and this are going to be FUN!

-Dad

Chaos in Our Lives

There are lilies blooming on the church lawn. Their petals are translucent, brilliant white, with yellow anthers adorning the centers like jewels hung from long green filaments. Spring time is nature time.

In the church office I have a desktop background that is a picture my husband took of turtles on a log spanning the creek that runs through our property. They are turtles of many sizes and more than one specie. Big, little; old and rusty-looking, fresh and green and black; all watchful and curious. There are 14 of them along the log, with their doubles reflecting from the water below. It’s a friendly picture. Several people have complimented it.

turtles on a log.....photo (c)  by dkminnick

Recently our family worked together to move that log. It had sunk lower in the water, part of it had broken off, and it was now causing more problems by blocking the creek flow than it was providing perches for the turtles. My husband waded into the water to leverage the log. One of our sons used an ax to try to severe it at the base where it had fallen in. Their combined efforts snapped the log, and we moved it to a spot better suited to creek and turtles alike.

Well, we hope it will be. As we surveyed the changed geography – we are also altering the stream bed in an effort to enlarge it – I wondered if they’d recognize there was still something there for them. We’d changed their world, but we hadn’t done it capriciously or without providing something for them. And we plan to do more for them. The turmoil we’re creating in the meantime, however, may be more than they can cope with. We have no way of communicating with them what we are up to. They will only be able to see the results when they are complete.

How often is life like that?

How often are our lives troubled, even turned upside down, by forces beyond our control? Far too often. Equally often, the forces turning us upside down have no care for our misfortune or discomfort. Unlike my family trying to provide a sunning haven for the turtles, not everyone is trying to do us a good turn. They are simply barging along on their own paths with no regard for collateral damage. So, how is one to cope?

Like the turtles, we must wait. Unlike the turtles, however, we can wait in expectation. We can wait in expectation because we know something the turtles do not. Truly, our misfortune may be caused by other people or other forces in our lives. But the courses our lives take is not directed by them. We need to pause and wait in expectation to see what God does with what has happened. While I don’t believe that God causes turmoil, I believe He uses whatever crosses our paths to shape us.

Recently a family member had concerns over the direction his job was taking. It was causing him much frustration and heartache, and it was affecting his entire life. The most recent blow came as he learned of personnel changes that would affect him, and that he felt were both unfair and wrongheaded. It came as a crushing blow. He hung his head as he said how unbelievable the situation had become, and how tired it made him.

“Wait for it,” I told him, sounding like M*A*S*H’s Radar O’Reilly hearing incoming helicopters before anyone else.

“What?”

“Wait for it. Don’t think of this so much as a decision the company made. Think of it as one God made. Wait and see how God will use this to better your situation. Because it can happen. “

His immediate response was an unconvinced “Yeah.”

It’s hard to hang onto that concept when we are in the midst of pain. Yet, that is when we need it most. It is a concept we come gradually to accept as we grieve and move through the pain of whatever our ordeal is. It is a concept we see more clearly as events transpire. The kaleidoscope turns and the scenery shifts, and we see where God’s hand has moved and that He has lifted us once again.

God made the world out of chaos. Although some days it seems like He left some of that chaos behind, just think what He can make of it in our lives.


*also to be posted as a column in St. Paul's-in-the-Pines June newsletter

A Quick Announcement

Just wanted to offer everyone a Valentine's Day gift. Go to Books by R.J. Minnick to pick up a coupon that will let you buy Where the Bodies Lie Buried for a cool 99¢ when you purchase it at Smashwords.com. This offer is only good at Smashwords.com, and the offer expires on February 16. Happy Valentine's Day!

The Longest Month

today I'd like to share something I wrote for the newsletter where I work, for my column: Through the Window

It’s February, arguably the longest month of the year.

Oh, I know it’s supposed to be the shortest. But has it ever felt like the shortest? With gloomy weather, the middle of tax season, the second month of a new school semester (in most cases), and all the questions a holiday for people in love can raise, I maintain that this is a very long month.

And somehow, tradition has determined that we begin this month with Groundhog’s Day, a day on which it seems the entire country gathers round the burrow hole of this critter awaiting its prognostication about how long it will be before Spring arrives.

The pressure!

What’s a rodent to think? I’m sure he’d rather be sleeping in his snug bed rather than hauling himself out to listen to human’s clamoring for sage advice on whether or not Spring will arrive early or take another 6 weeks. I know I would. And if he is very rotund, which I’m sure he’d like to be after all that eating he did last fall, I imagine — oh I know — it’s not going to be easy to peer around himself and find that shadow.

Another thing. The question seems to be ‘early’ or ‘another 6 weeks’. Well, I grew up in the Northeast. Six weeks from February 2nd is mid-March. That is an early spring!

So, why do we stand around, watching a hole in the ground for a sleepy furry brown critter to waddle out, turn around a few times, and waddle back to bed?

Well, obviously we like tradition, especially quirky little ones like Groundhog’s Day. They’re fun. And, there’s a certain amount of making use of what could be called Nature’s tool for predicting. I think it’s also a desire to know. What is coming? How do we handle it? What’s happening? We want to be prepared, so we look for answers.

Sometimes that means watching to see the reactions of an animal to its habitat and trying to interpret what they mean. Sometimes it means time spent in school, studying the teachings of others. Sometimes it means looking to another source for knowledge, and celebrating with snow angels.

At Year's End

I've been waiting over a year to write this post.

Elsewhere I have mentioned that as our oldest son completed college in 2010, he was caught up in the job market vagaries like many of his co-graduates. Ultimately he came to stay with us and work on building his future.

During the interval between then and now, he has renewed his Basic EMT certification, receiving it at the National level, acquired his Intermediate EMT certification, and is currently working on his Paramedic cert. He has put in many, many, many hours as a volunteer at a local fire station, and this Christmas he was recognized for, among other things, his Fireman I and II certifications.

He also got a job, working for an ambulance service in the next county. He now divides his time between clinical runs with our county ambulance for his paramedic training, his volunteer firefighting (where he often acts as an EMT), his classes, and his job with the ambulance service. Occasionally he is home.

His latest event was a training weekend during which he got to rappel down an 80' tower.

We are immensely proud of him, not only for these achievements but for what they  mean in terms of his hard work and perseverance in the face of personal difficulty. It is no easy thing to go live with your parents when you believe you ought to be out on your own conquering the world. However, it was that rappel down the tower that brought home to me what he's doing.

Like every other firefighter, EMT, police officer, and military service person, he has prepared himself to put everything, even his life, on the line to provide protection and care for others.

Online news photo from the Fayetteville Observer of our son's crew working an accident. He is wearing his fire helmet,  squatting beside the driver's side door (profile).

Facing up to his choice of a profession has not been easy for me. No parent wants to court the possibility of losing a child, whatever the age. I could never contemplate such a career for myself. I might die for someone, but I wouldn't volunteer for the circumstances that create the risk. He does.

Some people in service never fully realize the risk. They suspend their recognition of their own mortality completely. Others acknowledge the possibility, even the probability, that it could happen. They'll say the odds are against it actually happening, but they will also look you straight in the eye and tell you the risk is worth it. To them, it is the right, even the only the thing to do.

Watching our son train and hearing his philosophy and feeling his desire to be part of this extraordinary community of responders did something to me. I began to understand as I never could before how families of these people do it. There is something tremendously awesome about a responder's dedication. It creates a hallowed ground you have to respect. I may wish and pray for our son's safety, but it would be disrespectful -- and wrong -- to ask him to take another path. We can only be proud of him for this, and humbled by his choice.  Way to go, son.

Here I Go Again!

So, I'm submitting myself and my family to this nonsense yet again. It is almost NaNoWriMo time! That time of year when words become electrons and invade my computer by the thousands -- 50,000 at the least --as I race --along with scads and scads of others (no, I don't know the exact  numbers, you'll have to visit NaNoWriMo to find out) to complete a novel, or at least 50,000 words of one. I've had success for 2 years running, so far, and both novels turned out okay. I'm revising both of them with an eye toward publication.

Of course, that means weird(er) hours and more staring at my computer and strange mumblings coming from my mouth as I grouse about the nonexistence of ideas, the cold of the fan,  the discomfort of my chair, the cats, the dogs, and the idiot whose idea this was anyway. Yeah, that -- as my long-suffering husband gently reminds me -- would be me.

Me, just another NaNoWriMo participant once again. Let the madness begin!

Findng Me

Lately it seems I've been delving a lot into the past. In a good way. 

I've been getting back in touch with people from various stages of my life. Family, friends from Nashville, childhood friends, online friends, friends of our kids' (that's always fun). Interestingly enough, there seems to be some similarity between what I'm learning from the interaction with my own childhood friends and our kids' friends. 

Getting over the move from Nashville and building new lives for ourselves here in Fayetteville has been a difficult process for me. Even though I've lived in 5 states and moved around a lot for 11 years, we lived in Nashville for 24. It was the longest I lived in any one place. 5 of our 6 kids were born there; they all consider themselves Tennesseans. I was involved with their schools; I wrote for a community newspaper as well as freelancing for magazines; I invested a lot of time working with the dance studio we attended; and I was active in the church. I even had a small reputation because of some of my affiliations. Just enough of one to make me feel good. Moving to Fayetteville, frankly, took all that away. 

Now, I'm not pitying myself, or even complaining. That's just what happened. And it was up to me to build something for myself here. However, it has been tricky. Kids had to be established first. And then I had to find work, steady, part time work to fit our needs. That meant re-learning how to job  hunt, and then learning the new job. Meantime, hubby had to work out a new post for himself, and the kids were moving onward in school to college. Now there is less than a year til our youngest starts heads off, too.

During the four years here I started this blog and numerous other writing projects. And there have been health and family issues to deal with . Obviously I've not been lacking for things to keep busy with. Yet -- and here I have to put in that some things may have been due to unknown health issues affecting me -- I've had trouble lntegrating my new life with my old. And it was bringing me down.

While I am the same person, I'm not living the same life I did for so long. And, honestly, for the most part, I loved my life in Nashville. Not that there weren't problems; there always were. But I knew how to cope with them, and when problems were absent, things were great. Here if Fayetteville, life is just -- different. Let me be clear that the people here are wonderful. My issues do not have to do with them. No, it's more like I'm not completely sure what my life is supposed to be here or how it relates to my lives elsewhere -- in Nashville, in Syracuse, in Vermont or Maryland (including D.C.) or in Castleton. 

If there is a thread that runs through the fabric of a person's life from start to finish, tracing their initials and plotting their journey onto the surface for all to see, I had lost that thread. I could not relate how I am now with how or what or who I was before. There seemed to be nothing to tie it all together.

Somehow, recent contact with old classmates, and hearing from friends of our children that we knew in Nashville, as well as talking with my far away relatives, has somehow combined to re-integrate me with myself. I am feeling, and acting, a whole lot more like 'me'.

I don't have all the answers -- kind of hope I never do, because then I will become obnoxious and boring and will stop seeking to conquer new horizons -- but I'm beginning to feel like one person with a continuous story again. Whatever fraying was taking place has been repaired by being reminded of who and where I once was. I can see my journey again, and so I know that there is more road ahead, with scenery, and things to do, and more to write.

If there is a moral to this, I think it is to keep trying to sort things out, stay in touch with your various past lives, and with yourself. Like looking for a single thread in a piece of cloth, if you don't give up, you'll find it.

Some Random Thoughts...

I've been wandering through the various blogs I follow, and I was intrigued by the variety of writers.  Amongst the newest additions to my list is a blog from a schoolmate that I just discovered (see my previous post), the blog of my great-niece semestering in Italy (by the way, there's a lot of broad-spanned generations in my family, my twin girls are about the same age as this great-niece and her twin), the blog of a Southern sushi chef, the blog of writer E.J. Copperman, and a blog on literary agents. These have been added to a developing list of blogs that includes several authors and agents, more cooking blogs, blogs belonging to more relatives (okay, 4 of them are written by 3 of my kids and a niece) and several NPR-related blogs. I'm not trying to impress you, these are really what i follow. There's also a couple on gardening and DIY. Together, these pretty well embody my interests, professional and otherwise.

It's generally accepted as a given that someplace someone on the Internet tracks our purchases and our visits to web sites, and that from this information they build marketing profiles. And if they track my blog-visits, they probably pretty much have  me figured out. But.... I love to skew things. 

For instance, my browsing on eBay has led me to look at a lot of computer equipment. Have I ever mentioned that we've been into computers since 1985? Or that we have our own home network? And that we all have multiple devices? At one time I was planning on setting up a home computing museum based on our outdated equipment (hey, we started with Commodore 64!) but I've been voted down. So, we've recycled most of our stuff. Except for the units I've strategically hidden in the piles of boxes in the garage....shhh, don't tell. 

Other items I've sought out on eBay  include lots of the usual: books, records, dvds, plants, spices, and Christmas decorations. The less than usual include mortician's tools, space souvenirs, items to celebrate Day of the Dead, knives, Chein metal toys, and even cars (yep, bought a van on eBay once).

Then there's the subjects I've 'googled': Robin Sage, marijuana, classic boats, poisonous plants,  cob buildings, underwater concrete, snakes, paranormal activity, and scads and scads of  diseases. Every new one I add, my husband thinks the FBI is going to come knocking. So far we're good.

But I really don't know what those trackers must think of me. Grin.

And we begin again

I looked with shock at my last post, as I realized it was from last spring.

Son noted in said post has just passed thru the living room saying he only reads my blog to see if he's mentioned. Guess what, Mack?

He is now a senior; our last offspring will be graduating this year and heading off to some unknown institution of advanced learning. The final 4 years of 6 kids educated thru college.

You know we just had our 26th first day of school? Scary.
***
I had an intriguing experience last night and this morning. I came across a blog written by a high school classmate of mine. Like most of us, he blogs about things he's interested in. One of them is history, including his personal history and the years spent growing up in our hometown. I scanned his blog, choosing to read a handful of entries he'd written, anything with the old town's name in it. I finally had to write him a note, praising one entry especially, the post he'd written about the sounds of the village. It evoked such a response, bringing me right back to the time we lived there and the people we knew. What got to me the most, and I should have told him, was that he wrote about the very sort of things I think about when I think of that time. From his perspective, of course, but the same people and places and events. Maybe it should be noted that our graduating class had only 86 students, and it was a centralized school district populated by farms and a village with one stoplight and 4 churches. Still, the feeling was a bit uncanny.

He replied to my comment, glad to have heard from me, but saying I was a real writer and he was not. I will tell him that to me a real writer is someone who writes from the heart. Now, a published writer is maybe something else again, but there are published writers I would say are not real writers. He is.

Besides being a humbling compliment, the whole thing has inspired me to return to my blogs. I need to be a real writer on-line again. So I will be back soon, with updates on Blackwater and our family, and life. It's going to be good.

Long time passing

A long long time. No, not since I wrote. A long time I've been waiting for my son to get back from his trip to the zoo.  A high school trip which has run late all day. Sigh.

New Technology

Is absolutely amazing. Will have to blog more when I am more used to new phone.

A Isn't for Alligator....yet

So, well, I said I was going to write about the alligator. And I will. Sometime. But right now I have other things to talk about.

Like, Alyeska. Alyeska is a mountain resort in Alaska that was established in the early 1960's in Girdwood, Alaska, about 35 miles southeast of Anchorage. The mountain itself is called Alyeska, which is actually an Aleut word meaning 'mainland', 'great country' or 'great land'. It is also the archaic name for Alaska.

And, it is the name of our new puppy, a 6-week-old blonde husky/shepherd/plus mix.









Isn't she adorable?



She is tiny now, and she will probably only grow to be a medium-sized dog. She is playful but very quiet as puppies go. Kacey discovered the online ad for her. When I called up about her, it turned out she was the last of 7 to go, and she was located in a housing area where the streets we drove on bore familiar names. We turned right on Tennessee, left on Nashville, and found her home at Cookville. Now, I'm always one for choosing animals based on 'signs', and these were very good ones indeed.

She spent the ride from there to the school to pick up Mack burrowing for shade in Michael's arms. She's been very brave about meeting her new alpha/mama, Anneke. And we think the two of them will get along fine. Right now they do pretty well, although Anneke can't follow this little critter closely enough. And, when they are outside, Anneke still has to go first.

Here's Anneke. She's a shepherd/collie/and maybe husky mix. And she 'talks' like a collie.

I was informed that Alyeska is my puppy. My husband told me that he felt a little left out of the whole process, so, even though he thought she was neat and he wasn't disappointed, for now Ally was going to be my dog. Well, that lasted for about a half an hour. He was the one taking her around the backyard and talking to her and rubbing her belly. Right now he's taking pictures for me to upload. (there will be more posted at facebook for anyone who is also my friend there)

Now, Michael is staying with us for a bit while he pulls his life together, earning some money, getting more experience in his chosen fields, buying a car. Oddly enough, while he has no desire to stay in Fayetteville -- it's not his hometown, after all, which is Nashville -- he is at least finding some solutions here. We're all agreed that he is basically sticking around long enough to take the best way out of here, but it is working better than he might have thought.

However, Alex was Michael's dog, and Alex is no longer here. So it's not too surprising that Michael spent a good amount of time today getting Alyeska and Anneke acquainted, and running Alyeska around the yard. Astute readers will notice from the pictures of Alex that Alyeska currently resembles him (as we say) only a lot. That may change as the husky markings come in darker, but for now the resemblance is soothing. And having something to care for and care about is important to Michael.

That's the story of our new family member. We'll update periodically. -- most current update: Alyeska is zonked out on our bedroom floor and Anneke is checking on her. Oh, and the cats don't much care, so long as they're fed.

Tag, You're It!

Tags.

I was thinking about tags the other day as I was working at home.
Tags are very useful things.

HTML is what is called a ‘markup language’ used to create web pages on the Internet. It uses keywords inside angle brackets to describe web pages. These bracketed words normally come in pairs referred to as tags. The first is called the start or opening tag, and the second is called the end or closing tag. Between them is the code and text used to format the web pageÅfs appearance and content. There are tags to make print bold and tags to make italics. There are tags to place pictures on pages and tags to put in links. Tags are essential to building web pages, and therefore anything you see on the Internet, from profound literature to cluttering trash.

Lobster trap tags are plastic tags used in Maine to identify lobster traps the way hospital bracelets (another type of tag) identify patients. The information on these tags includes the fisherman’s license number and the zone in which the person works. They’re color-coded and marked with the year. Each fisherman pays for his or her tags (20¢ apiece in 2002, the date of the book I was reading), and they are limited in how many they can buy, a way of controlling how many traps they can set legally so that areas are not over-fished (over-lobstered?).

At St. Paul’s-in-the-Pines Episcopal Church, parishioners wear nametags on certain Sundays so that visitors will know who people are. This is, of course, one of the most common uses of tags, to identify something or someone.

Then there are dog tags _ for both humans and dogs. One identifies who and what one is, the other identifies to whom the other belongs. (Some people would claim dog tags for humans also identify to whom the wearer belongs.)

There are auto registration tags to identify registered cars. There are hunting tags, to identify registered hunters. There are tags in advertising, sometimes referred to as taglines, that are meant to help our brain register a product in memory, so that we will buy it when next we shop. “Beef. It’s what’s for dinner.”

Price tags are used to show what something is worth – at least in terms of how much a person is expected to pay for it. Sometimes the original price is slashed and a new one written in, indicating the bargain you’re getting. That can be a reflection of an item losing its value, but sometimes it’s merely about what shopping traffic will bear.

Tagged as a verb can mean to be given a name or a nickname, like Shorty or Tank. Being tagged means being chosen for something, whether it is to belong to a group or to fulfill a task. Being tagged can also mean being caught and marked, so that one can be kept track of and studied, or so one can be ‘It’.

So, in life, we are tagged. Tagged with a name, tagged to belong, tagged to participate. These tags change as we journey. We lose some and acquire others as we age and travel and develop. And each tag we acquire has its own purpose.

It’s a good idea to examine a tag when it’s applied to us. What is its purpose? Is it to identify who we are, who we belong to, or what we are worth?

Take a look. What are your tags?

Just a Word...

Just wanted to let you folks know that my professional web site and new writing blog "A Writer's Work is Never Done" are under RE-Construction. However, some changes to the blog are complete, in case you want to wander over there. I'm posting book reviews. Mostly right now they are older ones, but they still apply to the books in question. I'll be adding new ones, along with a caveat statement about not receiving anything for the review. *sigh* I'm getting very tired of people's suspicious and litigious natures.

It is very hot here at Blackwater. But I'm so excited. We've received the SUBAC cement we need to fix our dam and causeway. Gotta start pluggin' them thar holes, accordin' to the waterworks guy. We've got leaks that make our lagoon nearly empty out when they temporarily close the gates on the dam upstream.

This summer we've discovered we have freesia. It's all over the place, too, it just hasn't bloomed. We had one gorgeous stalk of flaming orange and red. I'll post a picture as soon as I get my hands on it. We have several bunnies, very BRAVE bunnies who like to tease our dog by springing off right in front of her nose.

We've lost Alex (see previous post); now we have also lost one of our kitties, Pearl. She's the second cat this year, too. We've always had animals, and we take the losses pretty hard. However, we had good years with all of them, and they knew they were loved.

It's only the middle of July, but a lot of pre-school year planning is afoot, especially for the college twins. They've been helping us clear things out here at Blackwater, inside and out. Sorting, weeding, re-arranging. I think they're going to miss the big work at the creek, though. It's too hot and too overgrown and too -- well, snakey -- to do the work right now. It will probably be done after they return to school. As for those snakes, sightings have numbered about 9, with one very dramatic one at a picnic in June. A black snake crossed the yard as we watched, disappearing into the terrace garden. We were only a few feet away, and he was stretched out as he crawled. We think he was about five feet long, which seems to be average for snakes around here.

Next time I'll tell you about the alligator.