The Crises Cycle

The Woman’s Hour, The Great Fight to Win the Vote by Elaine Weiss has taught me that political crises move in a repeating cycle. I am using this book as a research tool for my current WIP concerning suffragists on both sides of my nearby pond. Yes, dear following, I still live in a swamp, but the Atlantic is not too terribly far away.

Now, the problem: I have assigned the book to my adorable book club. When we meet we bravely try to not speak of religion or politics. The weather is usually a safe topic, except when discussing FEMA and other types of insurance companies paying for hurricane repairs and of course the approaching storm season.

Author Elaine Weiss won’t be satisfied with the weather. She has proven in her excellent report about the tensions that occurred one hundred years ago as they too had problems that intermingled. Example: guns, abortions, temperance (liquor, tobacco, drugs), voters’ rights, and of course race relations. The fine folks in Tennessee had all those topics and the weather (the humid August of 1920) to jam together in that final hour of the 19th amendment’s creation.

I hope my book club will learn about the struggle that was not taught in any history class I attended. I hope they’ll look around and notice the similarities on our evening news reports. I hope they’ll appreciate the compromises and convictions that were and are strained. I hope that … Enough! 

My book club doesn’t meet until September.

I still have time to learn more and be ready to smile and nod. Yes, I love my book club.

Deep Water

I am still here. Thank Goodness. It HAS been a while. Deep Water because that’s the title of the setting on my washing machine that I’ve been waiting for to finish. The jeans take forever and that makes me think of my ancestors. There is a logical connection if you remember your homophones.

There’s an empty lot next door that provides morning entertainment. Duck families on their way to the swamp, stopping for a bite, squirrels racing to first get to those bites  and various bits of other wildlife competing for the same bites. Sounds like our “civil”ization.

Then there is nineteen month old Margaret dumping out the contents of a red mess laundry basket, pulling over her head, and growling her way down the hall, while laughing at all of us…serious adults. There’s a lesson there but no deep water.

For the past three months I’ve been preoccupied with the planning and execution of a ten-day pond-jump to check on those descendants of the ancestors in the UK mentioned in the first paragraph.  Since I returned, I’ve written a 3000 word journal. No, I’ll not ask you read it. Maybe soon.

Enough!

Running Slow

Hot and Humid in the South, in my swamp, means Hot and Humid. And I still have not made it to the post office. I walk. I’m also quite good at procrastination. Which is why I have not posted recently.

If you followed that, you’re a great thinker and since it’s Hot and Humid you must be a good stinker as well.

I should write “Enough” here, but I have more to say. My WIP (s) are now combined and now I have only one. I am an admirer of simplicity. I do believe, however, I’ll reveal the title at a later date. Allow me some more time, please.

Here are a few random thoughts:  learning about hybrid publishing (not a fan so far), does the comma go before or after the quotation marks in a spoken statement? [“Ouch,”] or [“Ouch”,]  AND there’s a white duck in my yard. The locals titled her/him Quackers.

Oh, I’m traveling to the UK soon. Family.

Enough!

 

 

Egad and Holy Technology!  Today…well backup, but watch out for my toes.

In 1961 my sister married a roof thatcher in England. Jobs in that profession are scarce in the US. Anyway, on that day my parents wanted to call and congratulate her and The Thatcher, since they could ill afford a trip over at that time.

To make the call they had to beg AT&T (the only carrier then) to reserve a Trans Atlantic Cable time. I remember the excitement, the squeals of delight, and accents not understood. The main attraction, however, was that the call was “All the Way Over the Ocean”.  That phrase could be heard numerous times on both sides of the Pond. We thought Alexander Graham Bell must be the genius that he really was.

Now, today…I made a slight push on my cell phone (mobile) and there was my niece, my beautiful Ann, “All the Way Over the Ocean” in the UK.  She was gardening, of all things. She sounded quite local. Well, we giggled and gossiped, made plans for my up-and-coming Pond Jump, and marveled at Mr. Bell and his progress.

I’m still tingly.

My mobile is small, folks. All that technology inside is a marvel. Yes, I am old and currently glad I am. There must be some who call internationally all the time. Not Me. This was wonderful!

Next week I’ll try Facetime.  Next time I’ll post about my Pond Jumping Plans and the white duck in my front yard. Bet you can’t wait.

 

Enough!

I’m late. Or am I?  Earth Day.

In 1970 I taught my first Earth Day lesson to my third graders: Hug a Tree, Reduce-Reuse-Recycle, Save the Whales, Endear the Endangered.

No, not all of that in one day. I did have a 400-year career.

But, what have we learned?

Since then I have collected and used cloth shopping bags, composted, and created numerous elementary school bulletin boards.; such as, Litter Hurts. Do you remember that campaign on TV with the crying Native American? That one always got me.

So, where are we now? Is there an achievement test for my curriculum? Is the Pacific Plastic Patch smaller than Texas, yet? Are single-use plastics disappearing? On NPR yesterday, I read this headline: “Philippine’s President Duterte Talks Trash to Canada, Threatening War Over Trash”. Evidently, there are shipping containers in the Manilla harbor thought to be filled with plastics for recycling. Instead it’s a wicked mixture of household trash; including diapers. “Prepare to Celebrate”, cried Duterte, “because your garbage is coming home.” Yes, dear readers, he plans to send it back.

Wars over trash !?!  What next!?!  So, no, we have not learned ……..

ENOUGH! 

 

Oh, I’m still walking, so walk with me, but usually turn left. However, I’m in love with a sailor and today I need to turn right. He needs my help in “Stepping the Mast” and in order to get to this particular mast I need to turn right. Just Today, I promise.

I get nightmares about stepping the mast. Yes, it involves little effort on my part. Some heavy lifting and then a tricky little circular “pin” has to be place just so. I dread dropping the pin and then there’s an “AOC-in-the-Oval Office” moment, that kind of tension. Fortunately, I’ll be driving to the mast spot, not voting, when I turn right.

My WIP is truly in progress, finally. Hudson and Symth, Booksellers is slowly shaping into a series of point-of-views  in 1919 London. I’ll post more information later, but I wanted to give you time to wallow in the title. Yes, the y is placed correctly. 

Now, a thought concerning my search for an agent.

Done.

Next, world news…

No, I best not. Although, I am greatly concerned about the souls south of our border trying to migrate north. Their reasons are survival and future contentment. Who are we to say no? What arrogance breeds among some of our “representatives”! I am thankful my ancestors migrated here long before those folks were elected.

By the way: I admire Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (AOC) and her courage and I wish her well.

What am I reading? Since I learn to strengthen my writing by reading, I am re-reading a few of my favorite authors. At the moment I’m learning from Deanna Raybourn’s Silent in the Grave. Her hero is huggable, much like my sailor.

Enough!

 

 

 

 

When I drafted this post it was Pie Day. 3.14…that is cool, but I didn’t get too it. No, I did not bake nor eat a pie. If I had I would need to walk far more often. Then Spring Sprang, but it was a cold day, yet lovely in my swamp. No, I did not walk that day either.  My Grandfather Cash once told me that he wrote this poem:

Spring has Sprung. The grass has Riz. I wonder where the flowers is.

He did not, I later discovered.

Then it was Southern Farm Day. We invited my family and we explored the culture. Interesting fun indeed. The best part were homemade push toys we bought for The Grand Daughters. There are several more comments, but those might be filed under Cultural Conditioning of this city girl.

I did not turn left that day, either.

Today, after turning left and returning,  I decided  to write about another wonderful book I just finished reading. I wish I could report that I wrote it. Maybe when I grow up as a writer.

Deanna Raybourn, one of my favorites, recently published A Dangerous Collaboration. I adore mysteries, especially in an historical setting, but I am also a romantic down to my tibia. (a bit worried about my toes. I squirm during a pedicure). Therefore, I am pleased to announce that the tension between Deanna’s main characters, Veronica and Stoker, was riveting and kept the who-done-it questions popping up with at least every other page.

And, I actually learned a fair amount about plants and butterflies without having to read boring non-fiction.

Well Done, yet again, Deanna. Keep it up!

BTW: I also appreciate your numerous Turn-Left Tweets, Deanna Raybourn.

Enough