Category Archives: snow

Thursday’s Doors~ September 10, 2015

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The door today is on a house located on West William Street close to Curtis Street which runs perpendicular to the house. It almost seems like Curtis would run straight into the surrounding wooded area. The house disguised by the woods “hides” the possible past home of a famous Delaware, Ohio family.

The house is currently painted gray, has black details and a Victorian front door. The porch which leads up to the door is decorated with white painted lattice work which I generally say may be found on “gingerbread houses.”

The white door may not be the original door. It has four small windows at the top of this rather tall door. It has three sets of panels with wooden strips framing them, all painted white.

Again, picture a gray house, black outlines and white details. A door which seems looming in size, with more details seen close up than far away.

I wonder if the famous family had a taller male as head of household?

Do Victorian homes tend to have taller doors?

I would need a step stool to decorate around this door with strings of leaves on a vine, which I had done on my last home. I like the idea of getting this house ready for Halloween.
In September, I would hang a grape vine wreath on this door. It would have golden silk sunflowers with a pretty ribbon of fall colors coming to a bow at the bottom.

The door recently seen, has no decoration on it. The large picture window, opening over the porch, has many panes outlined with black painted wood strips. The woodwork has some cracks in the paint once you climb the five steps onto the porch.
The curtains were a deep blue which held anything behind them “hostage” in the hidden recesses.

A closer look shows a small placard with a wooden frame. It reveals the past homeowners. It is not on a historical registry. It was a stop along the road of many stops chosen by a film director who had one singular famous wife and child.

The outstanding porch chandelier which on a snowy night was lit,  had caught my eyes.

It seemed to beckon visitors. It may have meant the house was ready for company. I imagined a long lost family member, errant but expected to return.

It is the crystal chandelier which is the only sign this is a special house. It distinguished the house and set it apart. The door doesn’t have a door knob, it has one of those handles with a curlicue at the base. It looks like it is painted black but this makes me wonder.

Would stripping the black paint off reveal brass?

I was driving past this house often, back in 1991 and 1992. My good friend and fellow single mother, Lori, had 3 children close to the same ages as mine. She lived about ten houses from this lovely, old house.

The house once the light was left on, shone through the bare wooded area surrounding this home set back from a busy road.

Had the light not been shining brightly with the way crystal reflects, especially on snow and icicles hanging from the porch roof . . .

Had one of my children asked me a question, taking my mind off looking at the scenery while driving a slow paced 30 miles per hour down this snow covered familiar road . . .

I may have missed seeing this home. I may have not realized it’s “lineage.” So many times houses are missed due to their location.

The porch has a pair of white worn rocking chairs. They have left grooves on the worn gray painted wooden planks on the porch floor.

* 311 North Washington Street, Delaware, Ohio 43015
has the privelege of being a house on a hill which was designated the inspiration for “Meet Me at St. Louis,” a film Vincente Minnelli directed in 1944.

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When I suggested to my friend, Lori, that we walk down the sidewalk and head west from her house to Trick or Treat, she thought this was a great idea. We usually piled into her van and went to one of the nearby neighborhoods. Houses close by, easier to go up and down short driveways had been our plan a few years in a row. She had moved from a smaller house in one such neighborhood and on this particular long time past Halloween, now lived in an older, bigger place.

We got to the Vincent Minneli house around dark, it had taken us 45 minutes to cover 9 houses. These older homes have gracious hosts with kind offers to sit on edges of porches and eat marshmallow rice krispie squares, caramel apples and frosted cookies. Apple cider, Kool Aid and water pitchers poured into paper cups, to wash down the sugary treats.

When we got to the beautiful Minnelli house, we felt like the driveway was a mile long. I had Felicia up on my shoulders, she had her younger Jacob upon her hip.

The house had the elegant chandelier shining brightly as our feet crunched through the fallen leaves.

We were very excited to read the framed listing of residents:

Mr. and Mrs. Vincente Minnelli

Retired from film making,

Lived within these walls.

Whose first wife was,

Judy Garland,

Whose daughter was

Liza Minneli,

and half-sister

Christiane Minnelli.

I remember reading this aloud to our children while we waited for the people to arrive and answer the door.

There were only two children listed in family members names in Vincente Minneli’s biography, Liza and Christiane.

My son (age 11) said rather amusingly,

“As long as the people don’t have scary flying monkeys we will like this, Mom.”

The elderly couple must have been between 85 and 90. One was a tall, white haired gentleman who leaned on his cane and the other was a stooped, gray haired woman in a dress and apron.
We were not sure how many people had traipsed up this driveway but we were warmly received.

You may be shocked but we were escorted into a kitchen that had a fireplace blazing, treats in brown paper lunch bags with an orange gingham ribbon tying each one.

We will never forget this unusual feature in the kitchen: a dumbwaiter! It worked, too.

Last, but not least, the residents told us they were not relatives of any Minelli family members.

~Written by Robin Oldrieve Cochran

(9/10/15)

This is a part of Norm Frampton’s Thursday’s Doors and you may find his post where links to other blogs with Door posts are displayed through photographs, descriptions and history frequently given at:

http://miscellaneousmusingsofamiddleagedmind.wordpress.com


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This next part was my previously published post:

It was a Character Study of a homeless woman. If you have read it before feel free to skip it.

I decided to have a connection built in this practice in character development with someone famous. . .

When I started to write about characters, I chose to

begin with two homeless men. I mentioned that there

are a few different people who I have seen in

Delaware, through inclement weather and over a year.

The men I gave names to, helping me to become ‘real’

and giving them character traits.

I used my imagination as a ‘springboard’ to create

some depth and authenticity.

After all, when we write, unless we are sticking to the

total truth of our own lives, we need to learn how to

develop characters. I will not be writing a memoir

someday, although many of you are or may.

I think I am destined for writing fiction, using partly

truths based on people I have met, while adding

details to create interest and variety.

These ‘character studies’ have been my way of

practicing and honing my writing skills.

Something important that is easy to accidentally do,

when we start to write, is to make the people in our

books into ‘caricatures.’ One’s aim should be to create

people who are able to ‘walk off the pages of your

book.’ After reading, over the years, a few books on

writing (another post’s focused on the ‘experts’ I have

studied) I did find out when it is considered

acceptable to incorporate some stereotypes.

These times can be when you are going for a broad

comedy, a science fiction or comic book type of style.

When you are creating sy-fy, in most situations you

wish the story to become believable and transport to

the foreign land of the future. It could be a stylistic,

polished picture that you may paint, like a top hat,

black tie book.

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s book, “The Great Gatsby,” comes

to mind where the characters are painted with rather

broad strokes… The character of Daisy’s husband is

abusive but she doesn’t seem to mind. She is

controlled by him, much to her friend, Gatsby’s

dismay. He may not have the appropriate lineage

to fit into the Jazz age, outlandishly extravagant upper

class picture that F.S.F. imparts. But Gatsby is the

most ‘real’ man, in my opinion, other than the narrator,

Nick Carraway.

I feel for both men’s tough situations. Gatsby tried so

hard to fit into society, out of love for Daisy. His

lifestyle, on the surface appears to be wealthy by his

buying a mansion and throwing lavish parties.

My character of “Billie” is a woman who has been

around Delaware,Ohio for over a year. She has been

seen by my youngest daughter and me, on a park

bench in Mingo Park, along the walking trail

between William Street and Winter Street and on the

sidewalk by a plaza on Sandusky Street.

I have noticed this woman’s wavy, sometimes

tangled strawberry blonde hair. It is not a brightly

colored shiny head of hair, but mostly a faded,

tarnished one.

She has a big backpack, which she may store

somewhere in the summertime, hiding it so she

doesn’t have to carry it constantly. It looks heavy.

Since we have seen her, wearing shorts, a tank top

and a sweatshirt wrapped around her waist. There

was no physical evidence, on that occasion, to appear

homeless.

Only once in the half dozen times where I have noted

her appearance, did I see her hair, woven into a loose

braid with a red rubber band at the end of it.

“Billie” makes me think of Pippi Longstocking, a

creation of the author, Astrid Lindgren. I imagine her

to have had a special life, once upon a time, like the

Swedish character.

The books about 9 year old, Pippi, were published

between 1945 and 1948. The chapter books are funny,

unusual and I would hesitate to ever try to imitate the

zaniness of the children’s story lines of those amazing

chapter books.

I can imagine “Billie” as a rebellious and interesting

person, who may have been a “hippie” in the seventies.

I tried to visualize her as an affluent woman, who may

have lost her path in life. I don’t ‘see’ that in her,

if my views on her are at all possibly going to be

realistic, I have to think she made some choices that

took her away from a traditional working life. I have

to hope she doesn’t have children, although her losing

them to foster care, then a financial struggle could

be part of her past.

“Billie” was wearing dirty and raggedy jeans, a khaki

Army jacket, and wore on her back, the brown rolled

sleeping bag peeking out of her knapsack. The last

time I saw her, she was standing out in the rain. She

had one hand in her pocket and the other raised to

push her loose locks back into the hooded gray

sweatshirt that was under her jacket.

The layered look was a necessity because the nights

were ranging in the low 30’s.

Although this Army jacket may seem to give a glimpse

of her Life’s choices and personal history which may

include she may have been enrolled at one time, we

can not be sure of this. The local Salvation Army and

Goodwill stores often have Army jackets, among their

donated coats.

I would like to envision a happier past for “Billie,” one

out in the country. Maybe she was a Girl Scout, a 4-H

member or her family went camping. This would have

taught her the skills to be able to survive all four

seasons here in Delaware.

I could visualize her skipping stones along the creek,

fishing with her father and maybe, if he were an

outdoorsman, going along while he pulled or checked

animal traps.

I wonder if “Billie” has an Army knife?

I wonder if she eats at the three different churches

that serve homeless or ‘down on their luck’ families?

Then, on the last week which is not covered by these

meals, does she go to Andrews House?

Has she ever slept there in one of the bunk beds?

That is the only ‘loft’ for homeless people we have,

usually with a long waiting list.

When I saw her last summer, “Billie” seemed to have a

wistful look in her eyes. She was sitting on a park

bench, watching a group of ducks on the tributary of

the Olentangy River.

She doesn’t have a hardened look, at least through my

eyes. I see her as not dissatisfied with her plight in

life.

Acceptance and courage resonate from her freckled

face to the way she holds herself. That jaunty hand in

the pocket, the once, braided hair. Most of the time,

the tangled mess of hair seems to shout,

“I don’t give a hoot what people think!”

Does she take a knife or scissors to the hair so that

she has less of it in the summer?

Did she ever stop and talk to “Joe,” last summer, the

younger man with his dog? (Who frequented the

library and I had hoped had made it South or out

West.) His tan face and sun-bleached blonde hair, had

given me a ‘surfer’ sort of impression…

I don’t see her liking that ‘cowboy’ or Irish looking

“Brian,” who was straddling the big dumpster. He

seems to be too odd to trust, maybe even a little scary

to the short, 5′ 3″ or so, woman.

I may seem a dreamer, maybe a woman with her ‘rose

colored glasses’ firmly in place, but I think that “Billie”

is not unhappy in this location.

Due to a bit of whimsy attached to that unmanageable

blondish red hair, I guess “Billie” caught my attention.

Once upon a time, Liza Minnelli with her mother, Judy

Garland and grandfather, Vincente Minnelli may have

visited Delaware, Ohio.

After all, Vincente’s paternal grandparents lived in

Delaware, Ohio.

Vincenzo Minnelli, had been a traveling piano

salesman, from Indiana, Michigan and Ohio. He was

working for the Knabe Piano Company, when

Vincenzo met Nina Pinket, his future wife in Delaware,

Ohio.

Although there is no proof in the biographical

information that I found, Vincente’s father, may have

taught music at Ohio Wesleyan University.

I would like to wonder, ponder and imagine that “Billie”

could have some famous roots. It would be interesting

if she had turned up her nose at those in her famous

cousins’ family.

What could the possibilities be for “Billie” were she

sought out by distant cousins, siblings or others,

finding her in this town, not far from where she was

meant to be?

If so, she isn’t in Kansas anymore…

Is It Too Soon?

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Really, is it too soon?

 

Can we all laugh and joke about the subject a bit?

 

We are in the midst of it. . .

In the thick of it. . .

Knee deep, chin deep and over our head in it. . .

 

Yes, right.

Snow.

Chilly Weather.

Sub-zero temperatures.

Relief on the horizon.

 

I enjoy wordplays and this one just jumped right at me.

In the middle of the night, literally.

 

When the snow plow was noisily scraping the ice off the

Ohio Wesleyan Parking lot, when a big chunk somehow

bounced off my bedroom window pane.

 

Wish that chunk were like my good middle school friends,

ones who would break out of their houses, give a ‘chink’ or

‘clunk’ at my window on the second floor of my house.

 

Wish it were my Romeo, who would make me fly to the

window and ask,

“Why are you Romeo?”

(Aside: You do know that the words,

“Whereforth art you Romeo?

Means,  “Why are you a Capulet?”

or “Why are you my enemy?”

Right?)

 

Know this is not so esoteric or meaningful. It was written

as the hour passed three a.m. and I was to get up at 5 a.m.

 

It is all about “Chill.”

 

Hope you enjoy the way my mind played with the letters

and the meaning of this word.

 

Fog can give me a chill.

 

It produces an icy thought.

 

Chills going up and down my spine are both thrilling and

frightening. It can be eerie and baffling, too. Some things

create emotions which give one person chills, while another

one won’t react or show stimulation in their fear zones.

 

definition of “acrostic” is given to mean a poem or other form

of writing in which the first letter, syllable or word of each line

spells out a word or name.

 

Acrostics of alphabet using the theme of Winter, drew a wide

collection from my mind.

 

I numbered each one so I could ask you if you liked any of

these, you may refer to them by number.

Or feel free to use another word as a “springboard” and make

up one of your own.

I chose to use the singular letters adding up to the word:

 

C

H

I

L

L.

 

Let me know if any of these give you ‘chills.’

 

1.

Clouds

Hasten

Icy,

Lacy

Lakes.

 

2.

Clouds

Help

Icicles

Linger

Longer.

 

3. This one I doubled the letters, “CCHHIILLLL!”

(Br-r-r!!)

 

Creeping cold,

Heaping helpings,

Icy igloos,

Latticework licks,

Liquid lightning.

 

4. Again, double the letters, double the challenge:

 

Crisp crystals,

Intricate Icicles,

Lightly laced,

Lazy liquids,

Hilly heaps.

 

5. This one was one that uses a slang meaning of “ice”

or “to be iced.”

(Just in case this doesn’t translate to another language; it means

‘kill’ or ‘to murder.’)

I like to think of it as a dramatic, yet simple way of expressing

ending a love affair:

 

Cold

Heart

Iced

Love

Lost.

 

*The above five little playful uses of “chill” letters are my

own creations. Please give me credit for the silly word

sets of acrostic poems, if you should wish to use them.

~reocochran thanks you!

 

When my kids were going through middle school, they used

this often expressed combination of two words. It is a friendly

and caring expression, using the word, “chill,” in it:

 

“Did you forget to take your ‘chill pill?'”

“Boy, that man needs to take a ‘chill pill!'”

 

In the seventies, we probably didn’t create or originate the way

my friends and I would use this word:

“Hey, ‘chill’ out!”

“You need to ‘chill,’ man!”

This meant to let the other person know in a non-threatening

manner, to calm down or relax.

 

Isn’t it funny how we may ask someone to “refrigerate something”

for us, but if we have something special, we may ask them to “Put

it on ice” or “This needs to be chilled before serving.”

I sometimes forget that red wines are supposed to be served at

room temperature, while leftover wine usually is placed in the fridge.

 

When you think of an icy situation, you may wish to handle it in

a different manner than a chilly situation. I feel that “icy” people

are very much frozen and cannot change. Somehow, though, I

feel there is more ‘lee- way’  in ‘chilly’ people. Any thoughts on

why?

 

When it is really cold outside, we all wish to bundle up. We

may wish to serve warm soup or sip on a hot drink.

Why do we love to make big pots or Crock Pots of something

that is hot, sometimes meaty and nutritious? This is due to

wishing to create warmth throughout our body.

But, wait. . .

Tell me this. . .

Why is one of our favorite toasty warm meals called, “Chili?”

 

When my grandchildren, who I nickname and often call my

“Grandies” whisper in my ear, it tickles my fancy. It gives me

little goosebumps and it makes me warm all over. This gives

me sweet and innocent ‘chills,’ too.

 

When a man is wishing to be romantic, or is a special part of

my life, he may whisper in a theater, the ‘chills’ are more of

a sensual and arousing kind. Maybe it is due to Pavlov’s

theory of using an impetus and an outcome. It is like such a

wonderful prelude, beginning to what may come later on.

 

My favorite middle of the night thought about “chill” was this

funny one. It is a ‘great rhyming word for First Graders.’

 

Have I got you thinking about “chill” or “chills?”

 

Did you think of a five or six word collection that creates

an acrostic for either of these words?

 

Last but not least, do you forgive me for bringing up this

‘touchy’ subject while Winter may circle back and freeze

us out?

 

I saved it until I saw Spring was just around the corner.

 

We are going to have a “Heat Wave” this week.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Winter Awakens Jack Frost

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There were only shadows and silhouettes when the little sprite-like

one awoke from his long, extended nap. The seasons had changed

while he slept and he looked around, not seeing his special ‘touch’

upon the land yet. He stretched his arms out and shrugged his thin

shoulders, shaking out his stiff joints, while wrapping his coat closely

around him.

The elfin man crept out from under the bridge, ready to dip his toes

into the chilly stream. He shivered with excitement and knowing it

was TIME.

As the water changed from moving sluggishly, freezing into a sheet of

ice, he tiptoed up the bank and left his tiny, crystalline footprints behind.

He hopped over the rock that led to the grass and he slowed.

He stopped.

He took one big breath IN! His lungs burned with the extremely brittle air.

He let one foggy (water vapored) breath OUT!

He prepared himself.

He took his hand from under his woolen blanket jacket and raising it

high above his sweet head, he waved it in a circular fashion.

From the end of his fingertips, little droplets flung through the air,

slowly drifting downwards. This gave them the appearance of a flour

sifter delicately releasing sprinkles of powdered sugar.

The icy landing and covering of each blade of grass transformed them

into miniature, stalagmite soldiers standing stiffly in formation. They

were holding their posts and guarding the night.

He grinned, his face all pink with its color returned. He hurried and

scampered up to the top of the highest evergreen now. He was ready

for the Grand Finale of his mighty annual performance.

Jack Frost released his magical powers upon his surroundings. Ever

widening the circle of his reach, he spread glistening, sparkling diamonds

over the branches of the trees.

J. F. gazed and spied the undecorated eaves and cornices of the houses

and cottages. He pointed and  spread a layer of lacy icing over them,

creating a look as if bewitched gingerbread houses. He allowed this

brilliantly white frosting to drip in a beautiful way into icicles.

Dainty, dancing snowflakes began to fall from the dark, majestic

midnight blue sky.

The moon yawned and closed his eyes while the shining stars twinkled

ever so brightly.

In the stillness of that

first frost…

first snow…

first ice…

a crisp, crackling frozen moment lingered and left its impression of

Winter.

Jack Frost pulled his knit cap over his ears and whispered,

“Be of good cheer.”

Postscript: my friend, Brenda, the creator and author of

http://friendlyfairytales.wordpress.com

inspired me with a post with crystalline branches in her

photograph of a tree. This was the “crystal” that led to my

writing this fairy tale! Thanks, Brenda!

Slippery Situations

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While walking around the warehouse, I noticed several orange cones.  Navigating

in all areas of our life we need to use care and caution. Slippery areas are bound to

turn up. What we do during these stressful times and how we handle them can be

a true example of what kind of character traits we embody. Our values are put to the

test throughout our lives.

The New Brittanica – Webster Dictionary (1981 version) gives us this definition of

the word,

“slippery (adjective)-

1. Having a surface smooth enough to slide or lose one’s hold, (a slipppery floor.)

2.  Not worthy of trust, (tricky, unreliable.)”

 

Roads, bridges and underpasses are “slippery when wet.” When the weather changes,

ice freezes the sidewalks and other things that can be dangerous, like cement steps

or metal fire escapes. Fog or rain’s moisture creates slippery conditions, too. Anyone

who has slid on an icy road in a car or “hydro-planed” through a large puddle has

possibly seen their life pass or flash before their eyes.

 

Here are a few different ways that ‘slippery’ can be viewed in a more humorous light:

1. How many times have you lost a plate or a glass due to soapy water? (It may not be

a funny memory, if it was a valuable dish or antique wine goblet that slipped out of

your grasp. This is a matter of your perspective and how you handle being a ‘klutz.’

It is usually my habit to tend to laugh.)

2. Is there anything more slippery than a wet baby?  Of course, another subject all

together, is a greased pig contest.

3. When you are attempting to wash a wriggly kitten or a squirming puppy you may

think they are the most slippery creatures alive.

4. Often home deliveries or cartoons about doctors delivering babies depict ones that

arrive so fast they need a catcher’s mitt!

5. Paired with the romantic images of silken skin, the subject can become sensuous.

Slinky, glazed slippery bodies glide together. Sometimes the scenes where films turn

this into  ‘spoofs’ can be hilarious.

6. When my son was young, he chose reading books about Reptiles and Amphibians.

I remember learning about the texture and feel of their skin. Salamanders are slimy.

Snakes and chameleons slither but don’t slide. I was so glad when Jamie developed an

interest in mice and a friendship with a rat.

7. I like the following slippery animals/mammals: seals, dolphins and whales.

 

I think people who are ‘sneaking around’ on their partners are slippery characters.

They just seem to be bending the rules, they cannot be relied upon or counted on.

I also feel that shifty, minor level thieves could fall into this category. I think pick-

pockets have to be particularly ‘slippery’ to get a wallet out of a man’s suit jacket.

 

I also can imagine a beautiful picture in my mind of ‘slippery’ described like this:

The graceful ice skaters were gliding across the smooth ice. They were grateful

for ice which was slippery like glass. So much better than frozen ponds they

remembered in their youths, with bumps and uneven ice which created flaws

and falls in their programs.

 

Brainstorming about the idea of ‘slippery’ subjects, I thought about going down a

“slippery slope.” Which sometimes can mean you may soon be shifting your values

or your position on a subject.  It can begin by allowing yourself to go just one small

step past what you consider ‘acceptable behavior’ and then, you may bend the rules

even more the next time.

Society may have gone down its own ‘slippery slope.’  People may have memories

of movies that used to be rated, “M” which meant they were “Recommended for

Mature Audiences Only.” It used to be much more prevalent to find movies which

were rated “G.” Now, most movies fall in the “PG-13” and rated “R” categories.

 

In 2006, a movie called, “Slippery Slope,” was made about a female filmmaker, who

directs a porn film while working on her thesis. (Fictional)

 

In the areas of  government, legal and politics, compromising can be considered

‘normal.’  The idea becomes like a domino effect where ‘one bad decision leads to

another.’ An example of this could be made that the senator got the bill passed by

talking to lobbyists, along with bargaining with senators on both sides of the issue.

Another example of going down that ”slippery slope” in business, employees may be

encouraged to ‘fudge’ on their records, documents and paper work.  This is risky

business, since it could be found through company audits or worse still, the IRS

could discover the less than honest paper trail.  The IRS and government watch-

dog groups can pursue legal ramifications or bring criminal actions against those

who have gone too far. Agencies should not practice following this fallacy:  “The

end justifies the means.”

 

Since many of us love trees, I would be remiss not to mention the slippery elm tree

which has a fragrant inner bark and is a North American hardwood. I don’t have my

Dad around to ask him  what kind of ‘elm blight’ disease our trees had. We had to cut

down several elms while I was in high school, but probably were not slippery elms. I

do remember being sad in the summer since they had provided us much shade, but

(sorry for this) in the fall, it meant less leaves to rake.

 

There once was a movie with the town of Slippery Rock. I thought it was a Western?

There is a town in Pennsylvania called Slippery Rock.

 

In the movie, “Hot Fuzz” there is music from 60’s and 70’s British Rock music which

incluides a song called, “Slippery Rock 70’s” written by Nigel Fletcher. This music is

police-themed, light hearted in tone music. (Goofy, funny movie.)

 

Everyone who is familiar with his music and has heard the song, “Slip Sliding Away,”

may be surprised its 10 years since it came out. This frolicy song written and sung by

Paul Simon on his album, “Still Crazy After all These Years.” (2004)

 

 

Languages, with their roots of words, are so fascinating to me. I enjoy the study of

words, their meanings and history sometimes going as far back as Latin or Greek. It

is interesting to learn how they have evolved or changed in usage. Language and the

ways cultures interpret words captures my mind, too.

I hope this post about the etymology of the word, “slippery,” was a fun read for you.

It may show up in your next short story, article or you may add a shady character

who is rather ‘slippery’ when it comes to being captured by the police authorities.

 

If you speak or know a different language, let me know how ‘slippery’ is written/

translated. Does the meaning of ‘slippery’ stay the same? Or does it change slightly

in its meaning?

To start the ball rolling, “resbaladiza” is the Spanish word for slippery.

Just wondering, since I would not wish it to be lost in translation.

 

 

Fantasies

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Not sure the Grimm brothers would wish to be considered descendants from an

“elite line of criminal profilers” known as simply, “Grimms.” The character, Nick

Burkhardt, is very popular in the television show with that name. It is a combination

of mystery, suspense, horror and fantasy. I have watched this from its premiere, with

bated breath waiting for the next episode to begin. Nick’s character partner is named,

Hank Griffins, who is part of knowing Nick’s ancient history. The story revolves with

ancestry references and a fictionalized heritage besides. Hank is a good and trust-worthy

partner. This history allows him to ‘see’ and ‘fight’ by engaging in battle with all sorts of

strange creatures. The fantasy television series first appeared three days before the

holiday, Halloween, in 2011.

The other side characters in “Grimm” include a woman, Fuchsbau Rosalee, who is

able to use pharmaceuticals, including herbs and natural ingredients needed to be

‘antidotes’ and ‘potions.’ She is the “Fox,” among the characters. The Wolf,” is also

once the ‘big, bad wolf,’ but has learned to control his transformations, unless he

is angered, his character’s name is Monroe.

A very popular episode with my fellow coworkers at my warehouse is one that engages

the character of the Filipino fairy tales, the terrifying, ‘aswang.’ Felda, Mary Jane and

their families gathered to watch this “Grimm’s” episode that aired on March 7, 2014.

It came up again in conversation, with the new Fall Season starting soon. Next Friday,

another “Grimm” show will be presented. The March scary Filipino fairy tale involved

a popular character played by a Clevelander, a Padua Franciscan High School graduate.

In the television series, his name is Sergeant Wu. As Sgt. Wu, his character was an integral

part of the way the case against the “aswang” was solved. In real life, Cleveland born Reggie

Lee, could have headed off to Harvard. His parents, who were from the Philippines, would

have been so ‘proud of him.’ He chose instead to dabble in the dramatic art of acting,

at the Cleveland, Ohio Greenbrier Theater and Cleveland Play House.

 

Make sure you check out “Grimm” for fulfilling your need for fantasy crime scenes!

 

There is a rather new “fractured fairy tale” written by a woman named Helen Oyeyemi,

who has written a re-telling of the traditional, “Snow White.” Her book titled,  “Boy,

Snow, Bird” is her newest book. This is a tale with the main character being a bi-racial

eight year old girl and her ‘badly behaving’ secret friend.  Ms. Oyeyemi’s history of

wondrous books includes her first book published called, “The Icarus Girl.”  This tale

wove African and Western cultures together in an international mythology.  Her second

one was called, The Opposite House.” Her third book, “White is for Witching,” sounded

intriguing, too.  While on the cover of her “Boy, Snow, Bird” book there includes “Mr. Fox”

as her most recently published before this one. If you wish to hear why the secret friend

of the 8 year is old is ‘wicked,’ you may check this out.  The playfulness of the book, is

shown in the mother being called mistakenly, “Boy.” While her daughter is called, “Bird.”

The rat-catcher, involved in the plot, adding comic relief. It is published by the Riverhead

Publishing Co. Its bright lime-green colored cover, captures your eyes like ‘eye-candy.’

It has a rose-covered vine winding around the title. . . like a sinister snake.

 

This is not a fantasy, but it is certainly inspiring to watch. Check out YouTube for a

community of Amish people constructing a barn. I always think of that fantastic

mystery, police story and cultural movie, “Witness,” when it comes to the artistic

‘barn-raising’ scene filmed in this Harrison Ford movie. The way it is constructed in

such a beautiful, poetic and fluid way is just goosebump raising for me. So far, there

have been over 2 million ‘hits’ of watching this Raising of an Amish Barn.

 

Here is a quotation that wraps up this post that is about the television series,

“Grimm,” some creatively constructed fairy tales by Helen Oyeyemi and

the Amish community spirited barn-raising:

 

Charles Dickens’ quotation:

“The whole difference between construction and creation is exactly this:

that a thing constructed can only be loved after it is constructed; but a

thing created is loved before it exists.”

Our Identifying ‘Songs’

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A West African tradition that fascinates me, is that when every

woman in their tribe of “Griots” is expecting a baby, they take

time to think and contemplate giving the baby, a ‘song.’ They go

off to meditate and come up with what they feel would be the

specific identifying chant or ‘song’ that will follow the upcoming

baby, throughout his or her life.

Have you ever heard of this tradition? I was so interested in this

and wished to share my source, the May, ’14 “Natural Awakenings”

magazine.  The article’s title is “Live  Your Song: Each of Us

Carries a Unique Inner Tune that Affirms Our True Nature.”

In this article, it explains that each person has a soul, in their

belief system. Each soul has a certain vibration that expresses its

unique and special purpose. It has a ‘flavor’ or ‘essence’ that can

be ‘heard.’

The baby’s birth is greeted by its song, giving it meaning and worth.

The times in the child’s life, where the song plays an important

part are when born, when getting ready to attend school, initiation

into adulthood and the time of marriage. The loving embrace of its

tune and melody is to keep the child feeling valuable and included.

If the child, young adult or grown adult should happen to break the

tribe’s rules or even worse, break a law, the tribe will circle the one

who has fallen away from them, chanting and singing their song.

The hope is that the community’s love will overwhelm the individual

and help them to find their way back to their original path. The final

time the Griot tribe, in West Africa, sings the special song is as family,

friends and the community gather at their bedside, helping them to

pass onto the next world, with the memory of their past life’s song.

I like the idea of a song, that our friends would know and recognize

it as ours. I would hope that we would always feel ‘in tune’ with our

family and friends. When we should ever wander away, move or

change our life’s direction, it would be so comforting to know that

our ‘song’ follows us, wherever we go.

Our ‘song’ would help lead us back home again, knowing the true

love, friendship and sense of belonging is waiting for us.

I had not realized that there are others, scientists and researchers,

who have studied this philosophy and practice of finding one’s ‘song.’

The persons considered “modern pioneers in vibrational energy,”

are Sharry Edwards (bio-acoustic biologist) and Donna Eden (energy

medicine field). They have independently detected that each of us has

a “fundamental signature frequency that can be equated to our unique

song that persists throughout our life.”

Some would say the ocean ‘calls to them,’ others would think that the

railroad train is their sound, with the thumping wheels along the track.

Natural songs can include birds. (That is my ‘song,’ not just because of

my name but the story about my Grandfather’s message sent through

the cardinal’s song).

The two women mentioned, Sharry and Donna, feel we innately seek

certain natural sounds that reinforce and strengthen our song.’

Other examples I read about were the sound of the surf, wind, rain or snow

falling. I could ‘hear,’ or imagine, someone’s ‘song’ in the trees shaking

from the breeze, the shivery feeling of the night sky filled with stars and

the moon. I think that some crave and need the sun’s warmth upon their

skin.

Your ‘song’ can be described as, “cell-to-cell vibrations” within ourselves.

We intuitively feel this these vibrations or rhythms as almost magical.

 

I found this sentence/quotation from the article to be meaningful:

“At one with the universe, our song contributes its part in the infinite

chorus of creation.”

 

(Quotations and research provided by Jill Mattson)

Please share if you feel you have a ‘song’ and let us know what really

‘moves’ you, intuitively.

 

Found Wonders

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Two weekends ago,

during our exciting

Arts Festival weekend,

I visited the library’s

Annual Book Sale

and Fundraiser.

Searching carefully,

sifting through dusty piles

and carts of tossed books,

I found ones tucked nicely,

waiting for just the

‘right’ owner.

Limited spaces

requires diligence

to limit additions.

In a unique and lovely book,

I discovered the perfect

June poem to share with you.

Serendipity,

kismet and karma

wrapped up into

the sweetest

bundle!

Always fantastic

to find treasures

in amongst forlorn

discards’ bin!

“Fancy’s Hour,”

Hardly-aged cobalt blue,

gold engraved witch

adorning the cover.

Scarcely read book?

While an engraved

gold fairy perches

on its binding.

The author, Norman C. Schlichter,

had written two other books.

One was called,

“Children’s Voices”

and the other one was,

“Voices of Joy.”

Oh, how ecstatic

I would have been

to have found those

other two books,

among those

tossed aside.

Publication date of 1922,

proceeds “Fancy’s Hour.”

What antiquities!

My brilliant blue book’s

copyright date is 1924.

The Publisher,

C. Winston Company,

Philadelphia.

Thumbing through book,

playful and exquisite,

this poem caught my eye

and enchanted my heart.

Instead of saving it,

for all the men out there

for Father’s Day,

Here is my own

Personal Dedication:

“This is for all those inquisitive boys

who grew up to play important roles in

the lives of curious children.”

By Robin Cochran, 6/1/14.

“When I Was Little”

by Norman C. Schlichter, (1924)

“When I was little, I wanted to know

The how and the why of the beautiful snow.

Why this was this, and that was that,

And all there was inside of my cat.

I wanted to find the giant purse,

That held the pennies of the Universe.

I wanted to know who lighted the stars,

And the destination of railroad cars.

I wanted to know what elephants knew,

And to see a mountain through and through.

I wanted to know why birds had wings,

And more than a thousand similar things.

And, now that I’m older, and grow to be

A man of ripe maturity.

There are things and things that I want to know,

And, like a child in the long ago,

No one can tell me them here below.”

This seems like a kind of Sunday message that fits our 84 degree

weather day. I walked in the brilliant sunshine, observing flowers

and green everywhere. Cars bustling and people sitting out on porches.

My oldest daughter had just stopped by to pick up the boys, heading

off to Mingo pool. The library’s coolness upon my warm arms, gave me

shivers. I sat for a moment, reflecting about the weekend and children’s

wonder of things. In their curiosity, over the Saturday hours we

spent together, Skyler and Micah had been interested in playing at

Mingo Park. They had wondered why people would run in half and quarter

marathons when you are ‘allowed to walk?’ For the cause of the American

Lung Association, Delaware had sponsored “The New Moon Half Marathon

and Quarter Marathon,” on May 31, 2014. During our normally short trip from

their home across town, we had been circumvented and rerouted, to get to the

park. The boys had been fascinated by an intricate spider’s web with its white

‘nest’ of babies found nestled in the low branches of a pine tree. They had

been picking up pine cones, seeking the coolness in the shade of the trees,

away from the Big Toy, where they had made friends and chased them, in

endless games of “Tag, you’re ‘It.'” Too many other questions and thoughts

to cover, the spider’s web led us to the subject of books. Skyler asked,

“Did you ever read the book, “Charlotte’s Web,” Nana?”

I smiled, nodded and responded back,

“Third grade was a perfect time to

read that book! I am so glad you

know about that, Skyler!

Please tell me about it.

Tell me all the things

I may have forgotten.”