I made the decision to stop writing the book I have been working on for two years. The threads of storyline that I started out with have been twisted and severed. The Pearson Women took on a life of its own and took me down roads I never anticipated.
I have uncovered many surprises and several shocks along the way. I have learned alot about my family history. My research has been the subject of family discussions.
I hit a really rough spot several weeks ago. I spent hours trying to find little details I needed which turned up nothing. I have been hitting dead ends and finding dead sources.
The research about the train wreck that killed my great grandfather in 1959 was the clincher. I won’t visit that dark rabbit hole again.
The Pearsons
I have uncovered details about relatives that were not shared for a reason. I believe that sometimes the folks of the past protect the future generations from their sadness by not passing along harmful, painful information.
Maybe someday I will pull out my files and do profiles of each of the characters for my children and realtives to enjoy.
But for now, I am going to be grateful for the good things these people passed down to my generation. I choose to trust their judgement in leaving some things buried in the past.
I really needed a visit from my flowers this morning. Mr. Flower knew this. On his one day off, he took the time to tour our yard and photograph my flowers.
I have kept his shadows in the photos to remind me who took these pictures. This is a very sad fifth anniversary for our family. Actually it was worst day of our lives, especially for him and his mom and sis.
On this day he has chosen to send me flowers.That’s what love looks like. The real kind. The long game.
Thank you so much hubby. Enjoy your day at the farm. Hug your sister. Carry on.
Here he is photographing our thirty-six-year-old azaleas. I was young then. I could not decide on a color, so I bought one of each. My first horticultural experiment at the lake.
I tried another new trail today. I am picking flat places to walk by myself. Any time I hike on uneven terrain or wander off the trail, some stumbling starts. I did not take my walking stick today, so I had to be extra careful.
Brackets and moss on a dead tree.
Today’s walk was on one of the roads around the Flat Top Manor, which is also known as the Moses Cone Estate. The mansion is not open yet, but you can park and walk the grounds.
Moses Cone Estate
I am happy to report that I wobbled but did not fall down today. I also got some pictures of lovely bracket fungi. I found colonies on several dead trees. Brackets are identified by color, top texture and pores.
I did not risk climbing up or down banks to identify these. We will appreciate them from afar.
Large bracket
I also spotted a single Bloodroot bloom.
Bloodroot flower
Finding all this and not falling down was a win:win!
Hiding in plain sight involves two things, clothes and mannerisms. If you are supposed to be a person of authority, that just leaves clothes. Meakness onstage is not an option. Fake it ’til you make it!
If you are a women, camouflage clothing entails the ‘muted colors no-clevage look.’ Pants and shirts are a bit too big and leaning in the unisex direction. Holding attention without being flashy is tricky. There must be subtle details like an interesting brooch or custom button or unflashy/untrashy jewelry. This describes my ‘hiders wardrobe.’
Sometimes items purchased were way too big and required altering. My trusty seamstress, Nadwa, asked repeatedly, “Why you buy your clothes too big?”
Now that I have given up the stage, I am purging these carefully selected and augmented costumes. I look at each one in dismay. I even try some things on hoping to find a redeeming quality. They feel too much like uniforms with bad memories clinging to them.
Here is my set of blazers I call the ‘ Grand Jury Jackets.’ This stint of hiding was the most problematic of all, that year was much more complicated than the ‘Middle School Momish’ collection or the ‘College Lecture and Cat Lab’ assortment.
Grand Jury hiding was tricky. As assistant foreman I was required to get up from the desk which was center-stage during each officer’s swearing in and walk to retrieve the appropriate files from other jurors on stage.
The auditorium was filled with other jurors. The witnesses were law enforcement officers. I will add that most of these men and women were impressive and dedicated. The testimonies involving felonies were sometimes hard to listen to. I did almost hyperventilate several times.
So now that I have explained the purpose of the ‘ Look at Me but Don’t See Me’ wardrobe, I would like to share some photos. These costumes were not cheap and required careful selection and augmentation.
No special order. I served July to June. I will not share the year.
Peach with rolled up sleeves. Two custom buttons.Perfect match of peach flecksBIG, boring blue with no buttons. The previous month must have traumatized me. Totally invisible outfit. I wore this one several times. May keep it.Mysterious Planet button.Almost the same blue as Boring. Custom button.Button like a woven basket.Red Really? Must have been for February.This button has official looking dignity!Dark green, wsy too big and heavy. No new buttons. Must have been depressed this month. Hell, I got depressed just looking at it!I wish this one wasn’t so big.
Handmade button from Etsy shop MyOnblawnes by KattieQ in the United Kingdom. The button is a keeper!
My friends say I am not an introvert, but I am. I have developed coping mechanisms like these blazers to make me feel safe when I am forced to be brave against my will.
I wear myself out being brave alot. So does Rose. It’s not easy acting like an extrovert on stage when you would be happier being invisible backstage painting the props.
Extreme stress is not conducive to creativity. I cannot change reality right now, but I can focus on the good.
I am and will continue to poison myself with the daily events of horror. I refuse to totally look away from this chaos and suffering caused by greed and evil.
But, I also purposefully find the fighters for right. These are good people who have had their warrior switch turned on by an event they could not tolerate.
These are the good that I am grateful for. The people that chose to stand their ground and do whatever it takes to protect what is of value.
Volodymyr Zelensky of Ukraine inspires me by staying with his people and not wearing a suit.
AOC and Bernie Sanders who stand shoulder to shoulder with the real people with jobs and dreams.
Melanie Stansbury who refuses to defuse her fury at the monstrous atrocities that occurred to young females in her state on an exclusive, isolated ranch.
Jasmine Crockett who goes off like a rocket when entitled liars speak.
Chef Jose Andres who has taken on the hunger of the displaced all over the planet with World Central Kitchen.
The Walk for Peace Monks and Aloka walking through snow to reach our chaotic capital. I will keep that image of their robes against the snow forever.
Jessica Knurick who stands up against the bull shit spread about health by ignorant folks who are not qualified to write a prescription nor shop for healthy food.
My hero, Heather Cox Richardson. The historian who is documenting the daily shenanigans of inept people in power. She calms me down like no one else.
My new favorite duo, Jeff Newton and Rye Howard Stone, who are teaming up to lay bare the Epstein files using an AI assistant named Claude. Jeff is formerly from 60 Minutes. Rye just finished his PhD and is taking this on as he waits for the right job to appear. These two are on Substack. Watch them work. Simply amazing!
I will stop here. I could add many more groups who have been formed to right the wrongs.
These are the names I whisper into the darkness as I try to relax and sleep.
I needed to go to a place that grounds me. These are shaky times and I needed some mental mooring. I went to where I always go when I need peace.
Tuesday morning, I was shaken by the unthinkable. War.
Evergreen Island
I went to Evergreen Island to clear my head. By some strange miracle, I was the only person there. This has never happened before. I guess folks were at the polls or watching the war unfold.
Stone wall full of life
I do not take my safe life for granted. I am disturbed by the unrest everywhere. Humans baffle me. Nature makes more sense. I brought my camera with me especially to photograph this stone wall.
Fern, lichen, algae and moss coexisting
I have studied this wall for years. It brings me peace to see a mix of species living together in harmony.
Foliose and fruticose lichens among moss
There is moss, ferns and lichen living on these old stones. There are forms of algae, fungi and bacteria that cannot be seen. I also see signs of animals living inside the wall.
A hole in the wall home
These living things coexist and share nutrients, space and moisture.
The stone wall plant and fungi condo
This symbiosis between species has taken thousands of years of adjustments to attain balance.
A heart in the wall
I wonder how long it will take humans to learn to live together?
I am not one to stay inside. The weather on the mountain has been a bit harsh lately. When the ground is slick with snow and ice I have to stay on the porch with my new hips. The decking out there still has streaks from my pacing with my walker during my months of convalescing.
When the storms come from the north, I can pace out on the porch and not get wet. Weather from the west is a different story. The wind blasts across that porch like a freight train. If you get near the railing at the western end you feel like you could almost be lifted off your feet.
During some of the snowstorms this winter, I actually sat on the porch in my coat and watched in silent wonder. That did not happen during this last winter blast that rattled the screens and made me thankful for the brick walls. My neighbors lose siding during these hell benders. They call me ‘ The Third Little Pig.’
This morning the weather has finally settled and I felt the need to go out. The porch in front of the door and to the east was still covered in snow. No problem. I now have a racy red Valentine shovel delivered to me by Mr. Flower. Don’t judge ladies. He also brought flowers and chocolate. LADIES, he has had forty years of training, so curb your envy.
MEN just because you covet every tool does not mean your sweetie wants a vacuum cleaner for Mother’s Day. Yes, you got away with that with your adoring mama, but do not try to pull that two-for gift crap on your wife. If she needs a vacuum cleaner let her pick it out. What do you know about it? She’s not surprising you with a weed-eater.
I digress.
This morning hauled my Valentine shovel out to that porch and cut me a walking path heading west.
Now I can pace on half the porch when the ceiling gets on my nerves. I am grateful for this gift. My other snow shovel was a bent wimp. The flowers will fade and the chocolates will be eaten, but my love shovel will endure!
floweralley 