Kentucky's state flower

There are about 100 species of Solidago, Goldenrod, in North America, with 30 being native to the Bluegrass region. Most Goldenrod can mostly be found in the meadows and pastures, along roads, ditches and waste areas of Kentucky.

Because of its bright, golden yellow flower heads blooming in late summer, Goldenrod is often unfairly blamed for causing hay fever in humans. The pollen causing these allergy problems is mainly produced by Ragweed (Ambrosia sp.), blooming at the same time as the goldenrod. Ragweed is wind-pollinated; Goldenrod pollen is too heavy and sticky to be blown far from the flowers, and is thus mainly pollinated by insects. However, handling of Goldenrod and other flowers, however, can cause allergic reactions, leading some florists to change occupation.

Goldenrods are easily recognized by their golden flower heads with hundreds of small blossoms. They have slender stems, usually hairless and can grow to a length between 1 1/2 and 5 feet. The leaves are linear with margins that are finely to sharply serrated.

Propagation of Goldenrod is by seed or by underground rhizomes. The rhizomes form patches that are actually vegetative clones of a single plant and are recommended if you want a true clone of a specific variety. Goldenrod seeds can sometimes give you a different variety of plant because of cross-pollination.

Medicinal Uses: A specific variety, Solidago virgaurea, is used as a traditional kidney tonic. It is used by practitioners of herbal medicine as an agent to counter inflammation and irritation of the kidneys when bacterial infection or stones are present. Other Goldenrods have also been used as part of a tincture to aid in cleansing of the kidney/bladder during a healing fast, in conjunction with Potassium broth and specific juices.

**Trivia: Inventor Thomas Edison experimented with Goldenrod to produce rubber because of the naturally occurring rubber-properties.

Writing in details

I like to think of myself as detail oriented, especially in my writing. I love to read about the rich sounds of the big city, the alluring smells of the corner bakery, the magical sights of a lone country road, the touch of a tiny baby animal or the taste of an apple picked fresh from the tree. These details enrich my reading experience and make me strive to be a better writer.

All too often, we get caught in the trap of writing for the sake of writing - trying to hurry through the days word count or page count without stopping to make sure the words are the best that they can be. Many, many times, this is what happens with my first drafts - boring words with no attention to the details.

However, once I have the "bones" of a story on paper, then I can jump into the fun part of writing. Adding the color of my hero's eyes: are they sparkling blue like a midsummer's day, or swirling green like the changing forest? Adding the sounds of the current environment: is the town old and dying, or is it fresh, new and growing? Adding the taste and texture of the heroine's evening meal: is it spicy and hot with a flair for the exotic, or is it the comfort food of a lip smacking hot dog? Adding the smell of the current surroundings: is it salty from the spray of the sea foam, or is it dusty from the mountaintop coal mine? Adding the sensation of touch is sometimes hard: does the heroine's dress feel thread-bare and worn, or is it starchy and stiff?

With the onset of autumn - my favorite time of year - my attention to detail is heightened. The blazing rainbow of colors as the sugar maple trees start to turn, the deepening yellow color of the goldenrod as it ages, and the white snowflake blooms of the frost asters as they dance above the meadows.

Overhead I hear the loud honking of the geese as they make their way to winter parts unknown, the crackling and popping of a backyard bonfire, and the crisp, wet crunch as I bite into a freshly picked pear or apple. I love to touch the dew drops as they glisten and cling to all the garden foliage, feel the rough texture of the corn shocks as I make arrangements in my front yard, or the smooth feel of the pumpkins fresh off the vine. Autumn brings the taste of sweet and gooey carmel apples, the spicy hot flavor of a huge pot of chili, and the warm aromatic tastes of hot cocoa or apple cider. The smells of autumn are probably the best from the damp, wet leaves littering the sidewalk to the clear, fresh breeze after a rain shower to earthy fragrance of the late blooming herbs.

Paying attention to details and describing to your audience the five senses are the best way to draw the reader into your story. Being able to picture yourself in the situation be described is the hallmark of a good author.

The Vampire Curse

If you have never watched Dark Shadows (and shame on you if you haven’t!), then Dark Shadows: The Vampire Curse is a great place to start. This DVD condenses the origins of Barnabas Collins (Jonathan Frid) down to a three hour movie.

This movie takes scenes from the "1795" storyline on Dark Shadows and tells how Barnabas became the reluctant vampire. The story also features the beautiful Lara Parker who played the enchanting and evil witch Angelique Bouchard, who should be valued as one of the best villains in soap opera history – she was the character everyone loved, and still loves, to hate. Playboy Barnabas had an affair with Angelique when he visited Martinique on business, before he fell in love with her mistress, Josette DuPres (Kathryn Leigh Scott). When Barnabas refuses Angelique’s advances after she and Josette arrive in America, Angelique decides to destroy him.

This is a great DVD for those who have never been introduced to Dark Shadowsand is also wonderful for fervent fans.

Cast:
Jonathan Frid as Barnabas Collins
Lara Parker as Angelique
Kathryn Leigh Scott as Josette DuPres
Grayson Hall as Natalie DuPres
Joan Bennett as Naomi Collins & Elizabeth Collins Stoddard
Louis Edmonds as Joshua Collins
Thayer David as Ben Stokes
Anthony George as Jeremiah Collins
Jerry Lacy as Reverend Trask
Clarice Blackburn as Mrs. Johnson
John Karlen as Willie Loomis
David Ford as Andre DuPres
Sharon Smyth as Sarah Collins
Paul Kirk Giles as Reverend Bland
Alexandra Motlke as Victoria Winters

Rainy days

I love dark, damp rainy days. Most people thrive in bright sunshine, but not me. My creativity always seems to peak on days that appear dreary. I don’t know what the fascination is with these kinds of day, but since I was a little girl I have always been drawn to them. When I was in grade school, I would come home on rainy days and Mom would either be cooking or doing the laundry. Either one of these activities would leave our home with delicious smells and steamy windows. I always felt so warm and safe on those types of days.

Rainy days are wonderful for curling up with your favorite book or magazine. As a child I would love to curl up in a recliner, bury under a warm blanket and get lost inTrixie Belden or Betsy or Planet of the Apes. My imagination was free to roam at will, leaving me with many story ideas that I later transferred into my notebooks. I enjoyed writing stories almost as much and I did reading them; and I also liked illustrating my words, even though I am no artist. Christmas was always my favorite subject to write about. I would love trying to draw the things from my stories, or even items from my real life.

Dark spring and summer days make me want to reminisce into my past, dig out scrapbooks and review old journals. I find great romance in things from my past. Sometimes I will review my girls’ baby books. I enjoy reading about their accomplishments and growth. I love looking at pictures in scrapbooks and remembering how I felt at those times.

I always enjoyed being at my Granny Devine’s house when it was rainy or cold. Her house was so tiny, but it felt so homey. Granny was always cooking or baking something and her house was warm and cozy.

The Old Orchard

THE OLD ORCHARD

Standing in the orchard, I feel the rough peeling bark of the ancient apple tree. Years of neglect have left the once fruitful tree with tangles of overgrown branches, shooting suckers and sparse apples limply hanging like castaways. Where had the time gone? When was the last time I felt the warmth of my muscles tending the orchard?

Time has passed, and not been gentle with the years. I've grown older, but am now the last of my line. What will happen to this dying land? Who will care once I'm gone?

Slowly bending down, I pick a shriveled apple up from the tangle of weeds at the base of the tree. Half green, half red, except for the shrinkage, a perfect specimen of the once vibrant tree. No worm holes, no bug bites, just shriveled skin - it matches my hands and the lines on my face.

I slip the fruit into my apron pocket and with the assistance of my trusty walking stick, I head back to the house. I pass pear trees and plum trees and peaches long gone. "They are dying as well," I think as a tear slides down my cheek.

This is the end of the line, no one else cares. Standing in the middle of my beloved orchard, my heart is breaking. There is no reason to go on, there is no one to miss me. Am I to end up like the abandoned fruit of my orchard?

Paying attention to detail

I like to think of myself as detail oriented, especially in my writing. I love to read about the rich sounds of the big city, the alluring smells of the corner bakery, the magical sights of a lone country road, the touch of a tiny baby animal or the taste of an apple picked fresh from the tree. These details enrich my reading experience and make me strive to be a better writer.

All too often, we get caught in the trap of writing for the sake of writing - trying to hurry through the days word count or page count without stopping to make sure the words are the best that they can be. Many, many times, this is what happens with my first drafts - boring words with no attention to the details.

However, once I have the "bones" of a story on paper, then I can jump into the fun part of writing. Adding the color of my hero's eyes: are they sparkling blue like a midsummer's day, or swirling green like the changing forest? Adding the sounds of the current environment: is the town old and dying, or is it fresh, new and growing? Adding the taste and texture of the heroine's evening meal: is it spicy and hot with a flair for the exotic, or is it the comfort food of a lip smacking hot dog? Adding the smell of the current surroundings: is it salty from the spray of the sea foam, or is it dusty from the mountaintop coal mine? Adding the sensation of touch is sometimes hard: does the heroine's dress feel thread-bare and worn, or is it starchy and stiff?

With the onset of autumn - my favorite time of year - my attention to detail is heightened. The blazing rainbow of colors as the sugar maple trees start to turn, the deepening yellow color of the goldenrod as it ages, and the white snowflake blooms of the frost asters as they dance above the meadows.

Overhead I hear the loud honking of the geese as they make their way to winter parts unknown, the crackling and popping of a backyard bonfire, and the crisp, wet crunch as I bite into a freshly picked pear or apple. I love to touch the dew drops as they glisten and cling to all the garden foliage, feel the rough texture of the corn shocks as I make arrangements in my front yard, or the smooth feel of the pumpkins fresh off the vine. Autumn brings the taste of sweet and gooey carmel apples, the spicy hot flavor of a huge pot of chili, and the warm aromatic tastes of hot cocoa or apple cider. The smells of autumn are probably the best from the damp, wet leaves littering the sidewalk to the clear, fresh breeze after a rain shower to earthy fragrance of the late blooming herbs.

Paying attention to details and describing to your audience the five senses are the best way to draw the reader into your story. Being able to picture yourself in the situation be described is the hallmark of a good author.

Books, books, and more books

I love books! I have loved them since I was a little girl. When I was growing up my family didn't have a lot of money, so I didn't own very many books. But the books I did own were precious to me. I treated them with respect and I cared for them much better than I did my toys.

My granny always told me to never, ever dog-ear the pages of a book and this is something I adhered strongly to. When I became a mother, this was also a lesson I taught me 3 girls. To me, dog-earing a book is as disrespectful as spitting in someone's face! (Well, maybe not that harsh, but it is something that makes me angry).

Now that I'm older, my home library has grown by leaps and bounds. I have bookshelf after bookshelf full of wonderful books. I keep bookmarks in every room of my house, plus I also use those dang inserts from magazines as book marks (they're made of cardboard, so they work nicely).

I don't write in the majority of my books unless it is an inscription of who bought me the book or when I received it. I also have many autographed books. I do have a tendency to write in "self-help" books or in text books that are my own - this helps me if I'm studying something new. Other than that, I never write in a book.

I try very hard to keep the book jackets with the books, but sometimes this is hard, especially if it is a book that I like to reread. In that case, I'll take the book to my public library and have them laminate the jacket cover - just like they do for library books. This keeps the cover nice and clean and I don't have to worry about tearing the cover every time I reread a book.

When it comes to checking books out of the library, I try to follow the same rules as with my own books. I always use a bookmark and I never dog-ear the pages. It makes me so mad to check out a book and find half the pages have been dog-eared at one time or another. I would also never think of writing in a library book, or any one else's book.

Books have always been my friends, so they deserve the same kindness and consideration that I would give to a living friend. Books are our legacy and they will endure long after I have left this world. 

 

Now that I am getting older, my eyesight is not what it used to be. I have trouble reading from my beloved books. I no longer buy books, unless it is to add to an existing collection. I have started reading the majority of my books on my Kindle because I can adjust the font size for easier reading. I am still able to check books out of the library for my Kindle and I have found numerous websites offering free e-books.

Old Memories

Photo by Dan Felstead

 

 

OLD MEMORIES

Ancient in years, but still holding onto

the special charm making it beautiful.

Windows need replacing and probably casings, too,

but the bricks and stone continue to hold

the mortar used to make this antique house

stand on firm ground.

And although most people do not like the green moss

making its home on the stone steps and up to the porch.

Number one, green is my favorite color, and two, the

moss is furry and soft

makes a natural pillow to give a decent night's sleep.

I've no idea who owns this home, but I can take it on

faith that no one lives here,

unless it is someone like me.

Fall is in the Air

Hello, Autumn! It took you long enough to get here!

I'm one of those people who get more creative when the weather is cooler. Most people like sunny, bright days - I love cloudy dark days. Projects and stories are flowing through my brain and all I have to do is harness one of them and I'm off and running.

Of course, along with the cooler weather is the fact that Christmas is just around the corner - seems to sneak up on me faster and faster the older I get. I swear, there must be faeries in the house shaking my hourglass because time gets away from me in the blink of an eye.

I'm strapping on my roller skates and taking a deep breath - I know it's going to be a bumpy ride, but I want to enjoy as much of it as possible.

See ya on the other side ...

On a Hot Summer Night

ON A HOT SUMMER NIGHT

crying
Sarah, answer your phone

clang, clang of the see-saws

squeak of the swings

watch both ways

siren from fire truck

kids squealing

kids laughing

the ice cream truck bell

leaves rustling

birds crying

wind blowing

words forming

Cornfield

(Photo copyright Dan Felstead)

The cornfield, slowing starting to yellow,
neglected in the darkening sky
as grass and storm clouds move in

or maybe the yellowing corn
is near the outer fields
as the storm has passed away.

.

LOST PONY

When my youngest daughter was born, one of the stuffed toys she got from her grandparents was a small pony made by Fisher-Price.  By the time she was 6 months old, this was the only toy she took with her everywhere she went.

Of course, because Pony was such a well-loved toy, he started to become worn from too many washings.  It was torture waiting for Pony to go through, first the washing machine and then the dryer.

One afternoon, when my daughter was almost two years old, we had gone on our weekly shopping trip - Wal-Mart, Kroger, and the Dollar General Store.  Our daughter always enjoyed riding in the "buggies," and Pony always had a place of honor, strapped into the shopping cart with her.

As most children do, our daughter wanted everything she could reach from her cart.  In Wal-Mart, it was usually crackers or suckers that kept her occupied.  In the Kroger store, it was usually grapes or juice boxes that kept her under control.

On this particular day, we were home and had all the shopping bags unpacked, before we learned we had a problem.  It was our daughter's naptime, and Pony was no where to be found!

I remember fastening the safety strap around the two of them in Wal-Mart, but I had no recollection of doing the same thing in Kroger.  I ran back out to the car and searched everywhere, but no Pony.

Because this was a Saturday, my husband got back in car and drove to town.  He searched the parking lots of both stores and checked with the services desks.  He left his name and phone number with each store, praying someone would find Pony and turn him in.

Back at home, I was trying without much success to calm my upset child.  After what seemed like hours of crying, she finally cried herself to sleep.  But a two hour nap didn't solve our problems.

The rest of that fateful Saturday was miserable for all of us.  Our daughter would not be consoled and she asked for Pony almost every minute.  In a moment of desperation, my husband went back to Wal-Mart with thoughts of buying a replacement for Pony.  Unfortunately, no replacement could be found.

Bedtime that night was pure hell, and she finally cried herself to sleep again, refusing to be comforted by me or her daddy.

Then, lo and behold, when we woke up on Sunday morning, there was a message from Kroger's.  Someone had found a stuffed animal in a shopping cart in the parking lot and had turned it into the service desk.  Praying this was Pony, my husband made another trip into town.  By this time, our daughter was awake and asking for her beloved Pony.

Her daddy got back home less than 20 minutes later, proudly holding Pony in his hands.  Dirty and battered, but looking little worse for the wear, our daughter was so happy to see Pony.  I didn't have the heart to take him away from her, even for a thorough washing.

Needless to say, we put everyone in the family on the lookout for a replacement Pony.  Luckily, my mom was able to find an identical Pony at a local yard sale.  From that moment on, I knew I had a back-up Pony, and I would interchange these two so that she never had to be without Pony again.

Our daughter was about five years old before she quite sleeping with Pony and taking him everywhere she went.  He has been lovingly stored away, waiting the time when he will be loved again.  I have plans to have Pony placed in a shadow box to give to my Daughter when her first child is born.

A word to the wise, especially to first time parents; if your child shows an inordinate interest in a certain toy or blanket, try to find a duplicate. This way you can avoid hysterics like we did with the lost pony.

Comfortably Numb

Comfortably Numb

Depression is an illness millions of people suffer through for weeks, months, even years. It may be simple post-partum blues, or depression because of grief, or sometimes it’s the bottom of the barrel and you can’t see you way out. It makes you feel lonely and afraid.

“Hello?
Is there anyone in there?
Just nod is you can hear me.”

What if you can’t nod from exhaustion? You try at first to take care of your depression as you retreat farther and farther from your family, your friends, the world.

The family tries to persuade you to go see a doctor, but you resist. You’ve had these feelings before and you’ve always – always – pulled out of it by yourself.

But this time things are getting worse and the next thing you realize all you want to do is pull out in front of a tractor trailer and end it all. This is when you know you’re in deep shit. As soon as you drive the last mile to work, you make an emergency call to the nearest psych center.

“I’ll need some information first.
Just the basic fact,
Can you show me where it hurts?”

I want to scream – IT HURTS EVERYWHERE!! I need help before something bad happens to me or my family. So off I go to the fix-me-up place.

“Okay
Just a little pin prick
… you may feel a little sick.
Can you stand up?”

Group therapy, individual therapy, no notebooks with wires – my favorite kind – how the hell will I be able to write? The first few days I’m a zombie with no thoughts of my own.

“I have become comfortably numb.”

This is not solving my problem, I want to be a normal wife again, a mother, a daughter, a grandmother, a writer – but never a nurse ever again - never ever.

“When I was a child
I caught a fleeting glimpse,
Out of the corner of my eye.”

I am no long a child and I have a dream. The pain is not over and it will always be there back in the shadows of your mind. I will sometimes have dark days looming, but now they are coming in longer waves. I close my eyes, pulling on willpower to move forward.

“I no
longer want
to be
comfortably
numb”

**Song lyrics by Pink Floyd**

Clandestine gloom

 

 

 

SHAMBLES

A summer storm has subsided
and all is quiet,
but there are continued hints of clandestine gloom.
Everything is now in ruins
and an ever growing mystery
is leading to a new event,
drawing us closer to catastrophe.





(Photo by Dan Felstead of Wood and Pixels Narratives)

Drowning Shadows

 Drowning Shadows

Sorrow creeps in,
a step at a time,
and eases its way into life;
robbing the soul,
tainting the aura,
changing the essence of happier days.
Worry, anticipation, anxiety and stress
replace the happy go lucky,
marring the image of pleasant memories,
drowning shadows of times gone by.
Why does it happen when you least expect it?
And when will it go away?
For sorrow is no friend,
when it drags you down
and invades your subconscious
without a sound.


.

TRUST

Coming from a past where my trust was betrayed more times than I care to count, I can say trust is not an easy thing for me.  "Once bitten, twice shy" as the old saying goes.

As a young child, I trusted my parents and my grandparents with all my heart.  This trust still holds today - no matter what I was doing, or not doing, I always trusted these people.

When I was a young teenager, I fell head over heels for my first real boyfriend.  To my eyes he was perfection and I gave him my trust without the blink of an eye.  As I grew to know his family, I was overwhelmed and thought they were the most wonderful people in the world.  It was not hard to give them my trust.

It wasn't until a few days after the birth of my first daughter that I realized the husband I idolized had betrayed me.  He had been carrying on an affair with an older woman at work the entire time I was pregnant.  He broke my heart and my trust and I still carry the scars to this day.

Coming from a Christian background, I had to look deep inside myself to figure out what to do.  After weeks of praying, I forgave my husband for his misdeeds - after all, we had a small child, what else could we do?  I felt obligated to give him a second chance.  Life was not perfect after this crisis, but we were both trying.  However, I was finding it hard to trust him, and I don't think I ever truly trusted him again.  But I was trying.

We went on to have another child and I finally thought my life was back on track.  I still loved my husband and slowly the trust was growing back.  We had moved from a mobile home into a home we had built on the family farm.

I should have known fate wasn't done with me.  Just a few months after our youngest daughter turned two, my husband of six years announced he was leaving.  Apparently when I thought we were both on the right track, I find it was only me on the right track.  He had started another affair with a different woman - deciding he would rather be with her than his family.

I thought his family would be on my side, after all I was the faithful wife, but I was also the victim.  When I found out his mother knew about the affair almost from the beginning, I was crushed.  Instead of her telling her son he needed to support his children and wife, she was behind him all the way.

Fast forward four years from my divorce, and I was getting remarried to a wonderful man.  My current husband is the total opposite of my ex, but he had to go through several years of me not totally trusting him.  I lived in fear that I would be betrayed again.

Fast forward 25 more years and I remain happily married to my second husband.  My trust, faith and love have grown to encompass our entire life.  I trust my husband to love me and not betray me.  I finally have a stable live full of love and happiness.

So, yes, it is hard to earn my trust, but when I finally do trust someone, I trust them with my entire heart, soul and being.