Submitted by Bill Johns March 2005

THE FREEDOM OF FLIGHT

We were flying that old B-17 bomber down the west coast of Florida on a clear sunny afternoon. Those four giant radial engines were literally singing a song. I asked the flight coordinator/copilot for permission to execute a basic maneuver. I wanted to try a coordinated 360 degree turn. This requires flying the aircraft in a complete circle while maintaining altitude and exiting the circle at the same place as the beginning. This sounds simple enough; it isn’t. Due to time constraints, the coordinator suggested that I execute a descending 180 degree turn back toward the coast and level off at 500 feet. Let’s see now, we were flying at 2000 feet and 200 miles per hour. That meant that I was to do a slow half-spiral downward for 1500 feet and level off at 500 feet and also have the plane headed back north at the end of the maneuver. That sounded simple enough. I dropped the airplane’s nose and banked to the left. I could see that big right wing gracefully rise up and blot out the horizon. A glance down to the left, where my attention should have been all the time, revealed the Gulf of Mexico rapidly coming up to meet us. Those four big engines were screaming as they sent us hurtling toward the Gulf waters. My attention then became wonderfully focused on the business at hand. If you’ve never been in a multi-engine aircraft in such a position, let me suggest wearing ear plugs. Every one of those four engines’ 4800 horses was sounding off. I pulled the airplane’s nose up at 500 feet, leveled her wings, and sent her roaring back up the coast. A quick glance down and to the right revealed a truly lovely sight: all of those boats on that emerald-green water and all of those people on that snowy-white beach looking up at us.

Due to my flying status, I wasn’t allowed to take the airplane, ten passengers, myself and a crew of three back over land. I strapped in behind the copilot’s seat and had time to reflect on what had just happened. I soon realized that the wrong brother was up there flying. My deceased brother, John Mart, should have been up there instead of me. This isn’t a story about me. It’s about my brother and his lifelong love for flying.

John Mart’s earliest attempt at flying came on our Grandmother Nellie’s farm at Darby, Fla. He built what looked like a plane out of barrel staves, scrap wood, and tarpaper for wing covering. Not having an engine for power wasn’t a problem. Old Ginny, Grandma’s mule, was pressed into service. The mule, well acquainted with our machinations, allowed herself to be harnessed to that fine contraption. Giddap!!! And of course she did. One minor engineering problem quickly surfaced. A twelve-foot wing won’t fit through an eight-foot gate. Ginny stopped and waited while we dug the pilot out from underneath the wreckage. Back to the drawing board.

After John Mart was confined to a wheel chair from an industrial accident, his love for flying seemed to intensify. He’d acquired a Piper Cherokee and suggested that we fly it out to the west coast. I told him to show me how to fly it and I would go with him. He arranged flying lessons for me. This ignited a spark in me that glows brightly even now. We made the trip without serious incident. The trip caused Mart to tire, usually by mid to late afternoon. I’d have to observe: "tired but happy." We left the Piper in San Diego due to the often-unfavorable weather on the west coast and took a commercial flight up to Washington state. We arrived at our sister, Virginia Isabelle’s, house shortly after our nephew, Lloyd Baxter, arrived as a brand- new member of the family.

We logged approximately 50 hours flying time on that trip with the Piper. But I’ve gotten a bit ahead of the story. Mart, in his eagerness to get back to flying after his accident, acquired hand controls for his plane. There’s a good reason for the requirement of being checked out by a flying instructor when one’s flying status changes significantly. Going from two good arms & two good legs to two good arms & hand controls qualifies as a big change. Mart and I took his plane up before he’d been checked out. He was on final approach when the plane stalled out about ten feet above the ground and came down hard. With my lack of experience and with my trust in my brother’s knowledge of planes, I wasn’t too concerned. John Mart had been concentrating on his wing-attitude and forgot about the all-important flying speed. He suggested that we take the plane around and try to get it right the second time. His experience allowed him to detect a slight change in the sound of the airplane. We’d bent the prop tip on that hard landing. It was time to taxi in and park the plane. Live and hopefully learn.

During my brother’s final illness, I went to visit him nearly every day for three months or so. He told me that he felt bad about monopolizing so much of my time. Old stoic Bill just about broke down and cried. His concern for me when all that I had to do was show up was almost too much to bear. My brother’s disposition when he was younger could best be described as "difficult." The last year of his active life brought subtle changes. He became not only my brother but my friend.

I’ve learned that Mart knew, or strongly suspected, months before it became common knowledge that his condition was terminal. He certainly displayed a gutsy performance in not telling the whole family. I wish he had. Some member of the family, I forget who, related that Mart said that he was about to embark on the greatest adventure of his life. He’d made peace with his Creator. We talked about that. Mart wanted to make peace with all of his friends and family. We also talked about that. Mart left us about a week later, but he left in peace. I suspect that Mart finally got his permanent wings.

...George W. "Bill" Johns youngest brother 5/14/01

VALENTINE'S DAY 2004

Every February, across the country, candy, flowers, and gifts are exchanged between loved ones, all in the name of St. Valentine. But who is this mysterious saint and why do we celebrate this holiday? The history of Valentine's Day -- and its patron saint -- is shrouded in mystery. But we do know that February has long been a month of romance. St. Valentine's Day, as we know it today, contains vestiges of both Christian and ancient Roman tradition. So, who was Saint Valentine and how did he become associated with this ancient rite? Today, the Catholic Church recognizes at least three different saints named Valentine or Valentinus, all of whom were martyred. One legend contends that Valentine was a priest who served during the third century in Rome. When Emperor Claudius II decided that single men made better soldiers than those with wives and families, he outlawed marriage for young men -- his crop of potential soldiers. Valentine, realizing the injustice of the decree, defied Claudius and continued to perform marriages for young lovers in secret. When Valentine's actions were discovered, Claudius ordered that he be put to death. Other stories suggest that Valentine may have been killed for attempting to help Christians escape harsh Roman prisons where they were often beaten and tortured. According to one legend, Valentine actually sent the first 'valentine' greeting himself. While in prison, it is believed that Valentine fell in love with a young girl -- who may have been his jailor's daughter -- who visited him during his confinement. Before his death, it is alleged that he wrote her a letter, which he signed 'From your Valentine,' an expression that is still in use today. Although the truth behind the Valentine legends is murky, the stories certainly emphasize his appeal as a sympathetic, heroic, and, most importantly, romantic figure. It's no surprise that by the Middle Ages, Valentine was one of the most popular saints in England and France.
Love is friendship that has caught fire. It is quiet understanding, mutual confidence, sharing and forgiving. It is loyalty through good and bad times. It settles for less than perfection and makes allowances for human weakness.
Love is content with the present, it hopes for the future, and it doesn't brood over the past. It's the day-in day-out chronicles of irritations, problems, compromises and small disappointments, big victories and working toward common goals.
If you have love in your life, it can make up for a great many things that are missing. If you don't have love in your life, no matter what else there is, it's not enough.

I have to warn you, I work by the hour and at $2.75 per hour, the work alone in this "masterpiece" is worth $1000.00. An elderly Michigan couple was waiting at the photo counter when I picked these pictures up. This nice lady properly "oohed ad awwed" and asked me if I've taken the housing to craft shows. I had to tell her the same thing. I'm durn good, just slow as molasses in a Michigan winter.2-8-2004

........................

THE ROCK

Spring thaw came early that year. The snow high up on the mountain melted and began its journey to the sea. On its journey the water that had melted from the snow encountered a rock. The water knew that it must continue on its journey because it had been chosen as life-sustainer to all of life below the mountain. Fields and forests and plants and animals, literally all of life below the mountain, waited for the water to return. But the rock would not budge.
"Will you move over a bit and let me continue on my journey to the fields and forests and plants and animals and oceans and clouds and mountains so that the great circle of life may continue uninterrupted?" "No I won't!! I'm strong and solid and I won't move; I refuse to budge. I'm right and you're wrong and my mind's already made up. Don't try to confuse me with facts. All of that 'great circle of life' stuff is your problem, not mine." Once again, as it had done so many times before, the water divided and flowed around the rock and continued on its journey.
The water eventually reached the ocean and was called above by the sun to continue on its life-giving journey as a cloud. The cloud returned to the land, bumped into the mountain, precipitated out in the cold thin mountain air as snow, and spent the winter in the bosom of the mountain; and was once again called on by the sun to continue its journey down the mountain. Once again to continue on the journey in the great circle of life as life-giver and sustainer to all of life below the mountain. And once again to encounter the rock on its journey to the sea. But many millions of years ago the rock had become silt, mud, sand on the ocean bottom, dust blown about all over the globe. And the water kept on with its journey in the great circle of life.
Untold thousands of people visit every year to marvel, not at what the rock became but at what the land became in the rock's absence. The land became, in the rock's absence, a Grand Canyon. A highly colored, mile deep gorge, 4 to 18 miles across; 105 of its 217 miles of length lying within a national park. And the water became known as The Colorado River.
The moral to this story? Actually, there are many. And if you can't see them and feel them for yourself, perhaps it's time for you to look deep within yourself. Perhaps at least a mile deep.

May it please you to know that Julia had her first interview by a reporter from the local paper this morning. Should appear in the Monday edition. Many photos taken by the photographer. Hopefully one or three of these will also be published. She's a regular little trooper. Must admit to a smattering of pride in her. Was asked my motives for taking part in this endeavor. Told about grandmother teaching me to read when I was only four. All of the things Mom and others did for me and that I'll never be able to pay them back. They're gone. This is the only way to repay this debt; by doing for other youngsters.
Copy to follow if it gets published. Love ya', Bill 9-27-2003

Got a call from the reporter on Julia's interview today. Should be published somewhere between the 9th and the 20th of this month. The reporter said that he's just a lowly reporter and can't make the decisions as to when things will be published. He said that the digital camera the photographer had will allow many shots to be analyzed and the editor will make the final decision. He said that he'd seen one showing Julia off to good advantage and it would be his pick. Of course, editorial discretion, not his.

I was 40+ before I got honorable mention in the paper. Something involving my running. Nothing approaching a collaboration on writing a book. I hope the ancestors are watching. This kind of thing is the only way we repay for our upbringing. Love ya', Bill 10-1-2003

Julia and her mom were talking this morning about the startle reflex when someone comes up behind you and touches you on the shoulder. I eased up behind Julia, touched her on the shoulder and said, "Boo!" She replied: "eek"

Eleven-year-old daughter Julia, being somewhat of a language phenom, doesn't do math. It isn't civilized, you know. But parents and teachers, having strange notions about a well-rounded education, seem to have a fixation about difficult, unnecessary things; math being one good example. Was overseeing a difficult practice session--they're all difficult practice sessions--where Julia struggled womanfully to the bitter end. The last problem finished, Julia exclaimed, "Let my people go!!" I think Moses would be pleased. Or at least, understanding. 9-9-03

You're A Mommy and A Daddy
--You Just Do It-

You're a Mommy and a Daddy. You get to the place where you just do Mommy and Daddy things without even thinking about it. Julia had been a part of a local Little Theater group, Children's Academy of Theater, for some time. Her group had been invited to be part of one of the local parades in town. The kids were all excited about this; had been looking forward to this for some time.
The big day finally arrived. We, Kathy and I, picked Julia up from her theater class in a neighboring town and started toward the local parade site. Shortly after we left the class, we were stopped in traffic by an intersection fender-bender. As we approached the intersection, we recognized some of the kids from Julia's group. OOPS!! Bad news....
Some highly intelligent lady had been driving down the street, talking on her cell phone, arguing with an ex-husband over alimony or some such when she just happened to spot him (the ex) walking up the sidewalk in the opposite direction. Of course, he had his cell phone stuck in his ear while arguing back with her. This heads-up lady individual then finally, finally, finally threw her cell phone down, spun her car around, and prepared for a face-to-face. As she spun around, she did a head-on right into this carload of kids. Smart, really smart.
These kids, ranging in age from 18 to "really young", were sitting there, minding their own business while waiting for the light to change, and heading toward the parade. They unfortunately managed to get themselves entangled in these two idiots' personal business. These youngsters, all girls, were highly upset. No surprise here; I would have been too. Bumps and bruises and scratch one parade for a bunch of kids. Or, at the very least, show up late.
Kathy and I pulled over to the curb. Kathy spotted a bus-stop bench or a curb or some such to sit on. I intercepted the first kid coming toward us and crying hysterically. I hugged her, tried to console her, got her calmed down a bit, passed her off to Kathy and grabbed the next little one. Other than bumps and bruises, those kids were none-the-worse for wear. Their car didn't fare too well. But who really cares about a banged-up old car at a time like this? One can always get another car. One of the little one's mom worked at the local hospital. We sat there with little girl until her mom could be notified and have time to come and get her.
This precious little child told someone later that I'd handled things ".....just like my Daddy would have done." After you've been in the "Mommy and Daddy" business long enough, you get to the place where you don't even think about it. You're a Mommy and a Daddy-You just do it-

The Law of Unintended Consequences

My background hadn't even come close to preparing me for the explosion of technology in this mid part of the 21st century. Part of Einstein's theory of relativity had postulated the variations of time relative to velocity. Simply put, the faster the velocity of an object, the slower time progresses for this object and conversely, the slower the object's velocity, the faster time progresses for it. But one unyielding part of this theory held that time always progresses forward, never stopping, and absolutely never reversing. Well, Einstein just may have missed a decimal point or two in his theorizing.

Our team had developed a method to stop time. Shortly after that, the way to reverse time had become readily apparent. This could be accomplished only within very narrow limits and in just a few circumstances. But we did it! I immediately saw the potential for accomplishing great good for all of mankind with the use of this technology. Just think, go back in time and correct or reverse some of history's grievous errors. My mind raced ahead with project after project. But Joe, our team leader, insisted on caution. He lit his pipe, leaned back, stared at the ceiling, and expounded at length on the Law of Unintended Consequences. Who really cares about some half-baked unproven theory? I know I didn't. After I'd voiced my opinion, Joe, our resident egghead and history buff, asked me if I'd like to take the first trip back in time and correct one of history's errors. I jumped at the chance.

Joe told me about researching the late 19th and early 20th centuries and that he'd come across the story of a lady who'd met and married a gentleman who she'd considered to be much more than just a cut above average for his time. After a whirlwind courtship, they married with almost everyone's blessings. A disappointed lady or two from the local community and a forlorn suitor or two of the lady's may not have been overly generous in their well-wishes; but for the most part, everyone else was extremely happy for the new couple. Unfortunately, as subsequent history proved, they did not live happily ever after. Numerous hardships, a large family, and other pressures caused this stalwart man to slowly, and almost imperceptibly at first, unravel. But the lady appeared to genuinely care for the man and undoubtedly cared for and kept the home fires burning.

Joe suggested that I first handle a project of this nature, observe the consequences, and then onward and upward to bigger projects; provided, of course, that this first project turned out satisfactorily. I agreed. What a marvelous opportunity! Just imagine the lifetime of grief I could help this lady to avoid.

I entered the transporter chamber and was immediately sent back in time to somewhere in the northeastern United States. The local citizen clothes looked positively dated. But of course they would; no big surprise here. I'd been provided with period clothes and an exhaustive data base of local customs, habits, and dress. I consulted my data base and quickly located the lady and her husband on their farm. As I managed to observe this couple, I would have been willing to bet that no two happier people had ever existed. But I also knew the ultimately sad fate for this couple.

Joe had managed to brief me extensively, in his usual professorial manner, on this couple's life and ultimate downfall. Joe's ability to uncover obscure details while doing research seemed almost surreal. From what I was able to observe, it was unbelievable that things would eventually go so wrong. But I was handed the happy privilege of being able to prevent this ultimate sadness for this lady.

According to Joe's research, the lady had been kicked by a cow while carrying the couple's first child. The child had been born prematurely, but had survived. This "accident" had been the result of a temper tantrum by the man. This display of temper was merely a preview of things to come. A good, effective, and roughly fair solution quickly came to mind. I decided to have a horse kick the man in the head, thereby causing his demise. Sounded fair all around. All future projects depended on the outcome of this one small initial project. But something kept nagging at me. Something I just could not quite bring into conscious thought. What was it? Just exactly what could possibly be wrong. Surely, I wasn't buying into Joe's half-baked theories at this late date. Surely not.

I consulted my data base and re-read the details of this couple's life. Nice couple; I found nothing unusual here up to this time. I'd already programmed my portable event initiator to cause the horse to kick just as soon as I pushed the initiator button. Push the button and be done with it. But I just couldn't shake the strange feeling that I was overlooking something. What was I missing? Push the damn button and get on back to the future. I started to press the initiator button but something still made me pause. What was it; what could it possibly be? And suddenly I was overwhelmed with the answer. A literal avalanche of facts came screaming through my head.

Let's do it by the numbers. Have the data responder do a family tree search. Imagine my shock and surprise as I found my own name listed a century and a half later. These two individuals were my great great grandparents.

I remember talking with Joe some months before about what little I knew of my ancestors' history. I hadn't even remembered any names much past grandparents. But I did have some old journals I'd found up in the attic of my home. The old folks of the family told me that they believed these journals had been handed down from our ancestors from a hundred and fifty to two hundred years before, but they weren't too sure just which ancestors. Joe had seemed unusually interested in these historical notes, but Joe seemed unusually interested in many esoteric things. The gist of the documents involved a tale of love and marriage between a couple by the name of Ellen and Bill. None of the old folks could remember ever hearing of a couple by the name of Ellen and Bill in our family.

The couple I was observing was named Nellie and William. Hmm. Nellie and William-Ellen and Bill-obviously, my great great grandmother had been the author of the story. And I'd surmised this was a story of historical fiction. How wrong I'd been; this was obviously a story of historical fact. There were just too many parallels between the two stories. Great Great Grandmother Nellie had simply changed her and William's names for the story. I could then see Joe's fine hand in all of this. Right about then Joe's reason for sending me on this mission became crystal clear. Joe had obviously researched my family history for himself and had sent me on this mission to prove a very important point. I really believe that what Joe wanted me to confront was "The Law of Unintended Consequences". But wasn't Joe taking one awful chance with this. What if I'd pushed the button?

This is exactly what would have happened if I'd pushed the button. I would have immediately vaporized; I would have never been born. Nor would Nellie and William's future children past their first child, nor their grandchildren, nor their great grand-children, nor subsequently, me. I took a cold chill and shivered and shook for quite some time. I was just a button-push away from evaporating hundreds of lives up to and including my own. "The Law of Unintended Consequences"-then I understood perfectly well what Joe had been trying to tell me on all of those occasions. Those occasions when I would not really listen and would not try to understand. It had almost cost me and hundreds of others our very existence.

Wasn't Joe taking a terrible chance, playing dice with my life like this? But just exactly what was I prepared to do with one simple push of a button? I then knew just how much generations of people, including yours truly, depended on the continuing good health of both Nellie and William. These decisions were to be made by an entity much wiser than me.

I immediately developed a whole new appreciation for Joe's constant study and musings and egghead qualities. This was a close one, Joe. But perhaps Joe knew me well enough to know that I'd be extremely thorough in my research before doing anything rash. See you when I get back, Joe old buddy. We've got a few things to discuss.

THE END

ROOTS
We search to the very roots of the family tree;
The quest to know: from whence cometh we?
Why the eyes of brown, the men's bald pate?
Why our literary bent? And our ultimate fate?
Do we all really come from the original Eve?
Was it from southwest Africa we took our leave?
About our noble ancestors we're given to rave;
While completely ignoring labors of the lowly slave.
Oral tradition hints at greatness of our recent past;
And the lowly knave as part of the cast.
Do we base life's decisions on the rogue's example,
Or from our Saint's rich life should we take for our sample?
Are we learning from our many past mistakes;
Or are we fated to forever repeat retakes?
Anything to learn from those faded oval frames?
From our Nellie Belles, Isabelles, other such names?
Any debt of gratitude to our past generation;
From whence came the strength of our present-day nation.
Thousands of generations brought us to this elevated state;
Let us all gainfully influence future generations' fate.

1---That was awesome. George Bush should have that in front of him when speaking. Really. (Kimberley)

2---Bill -
Where did this come from? Methinks that you had a part in it. It is most
wonderful! I'll pass it on to others. Sally. (An old classmate from high school)

3---I like it. Are you satisfied with it and want it to go online?

YOUR MOST PRIZED POSSESSION
There was a nativity scene incorporated with a street play years ago in Hell's Kitchen, New York City, where the street kids came by to leave their most-prized possession as a gift for the Christ child. One young street urchin left a zip gun, another left a cigarette lighter, a third his pair of brass knuckles and a switchblade. They gave their best, the most-prized possessions they had. We recently gave nearly three thousand innocent souls to tyranny in that same city. Now, we are about to give our best and brightest in a struggle against this same tyranny. We, the people of these United States of America, are the most giving, generous-natured people the world has ever known. We just happen to be the strongest nation the world has ever known also. Are we perfect? Not exactly. But we have built-in methods and procedures to self-correct our flaws. As an example, the blacks were brought over here in slavery. It's taken a couple of hundred years; we aren't completely there yet, but just look at the change. Black mayors, police chiefs, judges, a supreme court justice; God bless America!
You think a woman's place is in the house? Correct, absolutely! Also in the Senate, the Supreme Court, on the judge's bench. You want me to go on with this? There are countries that are afraid of this freedom. Our system may not be perfect, but it just happens to be the best the world has ever known. You want to go down to Cuba and beat the drum for freedom? Castro has been known to put these freedom protestors to work, not in street rallies, but in the cane fields. Those suckers would have been more than willing to swim back to Key West rather quickly if allowed to. Ah, freedom!
The French are a curious people. We, the Americans, left 10,943 of our young best and brightest on the French coast of Normandy during WWII. Those young people never came back. They died. They sacrificed their lives so that France could enjoy freedom; including the freedom of dissent; the freedom to once again allow us to carry the bulk of the load in this unending, unyielding fight for freedom. Are the French people willing to gamble 10,943 young French lives that France will not, once again, find themselves under occupation and domination by some dictator worse that Hitler? Good luck French people. But be warned: our patience and sacrifice isn't limitless.
Funny word freedom. It never came free. It's cost America a terrible price to secure what most of us simply take for granted. Who's willing to gamble that the United States will, mostly by themselves, be able to continue to secure freedom for the rest of the freedom-loving world? You want to take that gamble, France? How about you, China? Let's hear from you, Russia. The price of freedom is eternal vigilance. Unending, unyielding 24/7 vigilance. Who wants to gamble that The U.S., by itself, can continue to keep an adequate eye on the entire world? The lottery gives better odds. 14,000,000 to one. America's willingness to risk its best and brightest and the job they're charged with doing is too important not to support. Anyone willing to take a gamble with such long odds?

CORRESPONDENCE WITH KATHERINE

Have discovered that the Indian lady is Cherokee and Shawnee. In all of my research, I suspect I had her confused with another lady who was Cherokee and Cajun.
Bill

I am American Indian, Tsalagi ~Cherokee~ and Shawanoe ~Shawnee~.
Si-yo ~Hello~ ogi na li i ~my friend~ Bill,
I would be humbled if you desire to place my words in exchange of communications with yours for your family site. They are simply words from my heart connecting to words from your heart. All things come to us for a reason, though we may never know the why of it, we understand to we must always walk in balance.

The picture of your G G Grandmother is beautiful. Many were never told they had Indian blood......it was not a very popular time. Much hate still dwelled in the hearts of settlers, unable to realize it was their greed that caused the wars and the steps we took to protect that which we loved and cherished. It was not easy to be a Rez. girl (though Qualla is not considered a reservation as the land is deeded to us). Still, when we left I found myself in a world that saw me as 'different'. All they knew was the sterotyped Indian of John Wayne movies....not the heart and soul of gentle people. I still get hate mail or an entry in my guestbook telling me to go back where I came from. My words are usually...."and where would that be, you are standing on it". If I cannot educate one, then it is time to walk one for they are beyond seeing the truth.
Witsatologi nihi ~many blessings to you~,
Katherine
HairDark

Katherine's Whispers of The Heart
http://www.freehomepages.com/samssami/whispers.html
I'll probably never hold the brush that paints a masterpiece.
I'll probably never find the pen that writes a symphony.
But if I will love, then I will find,
I have touched another life and that's something,
something worth leaving behind.

Dear Katherine,
My sister, our family web site webmaster,asked me if she could publish the correspondence between you and me in regard to MAID OF THE HAMMOCK and Dragging Canoe's speech, etc. I told her that I would seek your approval. This would be so special for my extended family if we have your okay.

Ogi na li i ~my friend~,
This is very beautiful and all too true. Our people have seen many wars and we understand that to walk the Red Road we must do so with trust and honesty in our eyes so that when we cross over into the Spirit World we do so without shame or fear. Our land was taken however one could not take the land from our hearts. For we are one with Mother Earth and she with us. all things that walk upon her are sacred and respect is earned not given. S-gi ~Thank you~ for sharing this with me, I will treasure this story, its meaning and the wisdom of a young Brave, wiser than his years. One who listened with his heart.
Witsatologi nihi ~many blessings to you~,
Ge-ta-wi-(ni) ~Katherine~
aka

ONE DASH

For those among us who really care about such things, I made some startling (to me) discoveries about mathematics and measurements. While doing research in an attempt to help a little 4th grader with math, I came across the fact that a dash of seasoning is more than first meets the eye. I'd thought that a dash of anything was one shake of the seasoning box at the cook pot. It could well be, but it's so much more than just that. I'd also surmised that a drop was what you get out of a medicine dropper; nothing more exotic than that.
Well, a drop may be just that, just a drop, but 4 3/4 drops equal one dash. Two pinches make up four dashes. One gallon consists of 12,284.379957 dashes. That would be US gallons, not UK gallons, and enough seasoning to satisfy a crowded hungry orphanage for well over a year or my two brothers and me, when we were young'uns, for about a week. Surely, I jest! No, I don't!!
Little daughter had experienced some learning problems in regard to math. She's brilliant in language skills, a voracious reader, a mouth and a quick wit that oft-times puts me in the shade. But she just doesn't "do" math. Now, all of us whose lot it is to balance check books and juggle family finances, vainly trying to make too-little money stretch across too-much month, we know the value of math. Try to explain this to an eleven-year-old. This explanation will require more than just language skills. I suspect that it'll require lots of patience and lots of time. Mostly time. Wait until harsh reality sinks in.
The kid's becoming a power shopper and a good cook in her own right. She just doesn't do math. Or did I already mention this? Mom and I shall endeavor to persevere. This harsh reality already mentioned has the unique ability to wonderfully sharpen a ones' senses. This is where patience for Mom and Dad comes in. Just wait for harsh reality.
Will throw this one in for free: Over the years, I've repeatedly heard tired, harried parents say, "I just don't want to be a burden on my children." Try as I might, I can't ever remember this being a problem for my own children. You know: being a burden on me. Be warned, children. Be warned

By the way, how many dollops to a pinch (or pinches to a dollop)? V
That would be pinches to a dollop. A dollop is just a smidgen more than a bit, more or less. Ya'allsee?Bill

"High Flight"

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew -
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.
John Gillespie Magee, Jr.

"BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN"
by William Cullen Bryant

Oh, deem not they are blest alone
Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep:
The Power who pities man, hath shown
A blessing for the eyes that weep.

The light of smiles shall fill again
The lids that overflow with tears;
And weary hours of woe and pain
Are promises of happier years.

There is a day of sunny rest
For every dark and troubled night:
And grief may bide an evening guest,
But joy shall come with early light.

And thou, who, o'er thy friend's low bier,
Dost shed the bitter drops like rain,
Hope that a brighter, happier sphere
Will give him to thy arms again.

Nor let the good man's trust depart,
Though life its common gifts deny,
Though with a pierced and bleeding heart
And spurned of men, he goes to die.

For God hath marked each sorrowing day
And numbered every secret tear,
And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay
For all his children suffer here.
THE END


2003
"BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN"
by William Johns

With the pain of childbirth we enter life
And in the pain of separation, leave
Is naught but suffering our only lot,
And death the ultimate thief?

We're given the comfort of a loved one's life
As their spirit lingers always near;
'Twas the way their life was lived that caused
Their example on our consciousness seared

Our loved one's spirit forever released;
And should we wish their spirit back again;
Released by divine benevolence
From suffering loss, from suffering pain?

We must all answer this call to leave,
Same as the life of our loved one cut short,
From this mortal body, no stranger to pain,
And this earthly journey forever abort;

And take on an immortal spirit,
With no more loss, no further pain,
No more sickness, suffering, deprivation;
Divine freedom to forever gain

'Tis only human to sense terrible emptiness;
So must we take comfort in this:
Divine the plan our creator designed,
For our loved-one's eternal bliss

Thank Divine Providence our loved one was here;
The essence of their spirit lingers still,
To guide, to comfort, with the life well-lived,
To show us the way within The Creator's own will
END

FROM TEST FOR 8TH GRADE EDUCATION - Bill Gives It A Try.....................

9). Use the following in a sentence: cite, site, sight, fane, fain, feign, vane, vain, vein, raze,, raise, rays
To cite a famous old linguistically proficient professor: "First of all, sight a proper site, perchance a fane would fain suffice, without necessitating that one feign some obscure vane as source of direction, in a vain attempt to maintain a slight vein of believability, while attempting to raze long-held convictions of how to raise rays of light from a dark and stormy night"

11/13/02 Philip DuBose, wife Ingrid, and Barb came by yesterday. PPDB suggested that I write a story based on an Indian Maid's life in these woods. He suggested the title also. It's a work in progress. What does your editor's keen sixth sense tell you so far? And don't suggest that I not quit my day job. I already did. Bill

...© Graphics By Lorrie, 2001
If you copy this background set, please use the logo above
and provide a link to my homepage.
"www.geolor.com"
Thank you.

Maid Of The Hammock

The Attack
"Get in the circle!," he shouted.
As the enemy came from out of nowhere;
That a quick response was needed, none doubted.
Attack a tribe this strong! Who'd dare?
Those braves, wild with hunger, were crazed;
Still, their courage left us all amazed.

One young man-child was left unaware;
Berry picking had stained his hands red.
Oh no!! That's my child, Little Bear.
"Stay in the circle!!! He's dead!!"
"Run Little Bear, run!!"
An enemy brave stalked him for fun.

An arrow flew straight and true;
The enemy clutched at his chest;
The arrow had gone clear through.
The others, deciding discretion was best,
Rapidly disappeared into the trees.
'Till sundown, I was still shaky in the knees.

Around the campfire that night,
My son asked, "Why hurt Little Bear?"
How to explain? Hunger's a terrible plight.
"If asked, you must always share;
Even to half of your very last bite;
But never steal; that always starts the fight."

Clan Gathering
On with life in the face of death,
The annual trek to The Lake of Flints.
Little Bear ran in all out of breath;
"May I Mom, may I? May I carry the tents?"
You're big enough now to help, my son;
We're all in for a whole lot of fun.

Pack plenty of food for the trip;
It'll be new moon before we get there.
And with a big grin on every lip,
It's off through the woods at a pace that is rare.
Thonotosassa, The Lake of Flints, always a joy;
And especially that first trip for every young boy.

The annual clan gathering, what a treasure!
Swimming and canoe races,
Enough to take every man and boy's measure.
And most at two-mile paces,
The most-enduring young brave
Oft' has little face left to save.

My sister and family were there this year,
Birthing a set of twins had kept Sister busy.
'Twas two summers before she'd next appear.
Those papooses now make the sturdiest warrior dizzy!
Tho' mighty in battle, Sister's mate helps with their sons;
Before she grows weary, he's off with the little ones.

Venison, rabbit, squirrel, turkey and fish, what a feast!
But all too soon, it's time to return home.
The singing's now over; the drum-beats've ceased.
Little Bear's sticking close, too tired to roam.
He'd won a chief's feather with his stone toss,
This young-brave-to-be strutted like he was now boss.

Return Home
The return trip at much slower pace;
"Keep moving," encouraged our chief,
While looking at many a down-cast face.
"Our stable-hand and ponies both need relief."
A slow-paced but uneventful trip...... Almost.
Little Bear soon had me white as a ghost.

As quiet and gently as I could;
And for Little Bear's sake,
I must not be misunderstood.
"Put the snake down and come see the lake."
"Mom, may I bring along my friend?"
"If that snake bites, Little Bear'll never mend!

Little Bear, Serpent hunts by killing its food."
"But Mom, this serpent's our friend."
This man-child has his grandfather's attitude.
"To protect our corn crop, on this serpent we depend."
Only eleven summers and with wisdom of ages;
With Grandfather's spirit, another of our family's sages?

At the slower pace, we plodded toward home;
The clan gathering, every summer's joy;
But 'twould be awhile before we'd again roam.
The spirits whispered, "Little Bear's no longer a boy."
The corn crib was his first stop in our yard;
That serpent friend is now standing guard.

Grandfather's Spirit
"Little Bear, how can you possibly know?
Why aren't you afraid that serpent will bite?"
"It's simple, Mom; serpent tells me so."
"You hear serpent's voice, even at dark of night?"
"Mom, it's serpent's spirit I hear.
Doesn't everyone have this special ear?"

Grandfather would be so proud, but I suspect he knows.
Every day, I see it more and more.
His spirit's everywhere Little Bear goes.
That awesome presence from days long before;
Walk proud, my special young man;
Keep Grandfather's spirit as close as you can.

Trading Party
A trading party needed to go to "Big Water";
Chief said Little Bear could go along.
Our brothers on Okeechobee, always eager for barter.
Forgive a mother's worry, and I hope I'm not wrong;
But Little Bear's my only son;
I may never have another one.

To go against Chief's wishes was wrong.
Little Bear already had his chief's feather,
Tied 'round his head with a thong.
I ran out of excuses; it looked like fair weather;
So, with freshly made moc'sins tied on;
My Little Bear was quickly gone.

Little Bear had a knapsack of Thonotosassa flint for trade,
New clothes to keep from embarrassing Chief;
And with mighty warriors staying behind to prevent another raid;
"There's nothing to be concerned about," goes the common belief.
But I'm Little Bear's mother; it's my right to worry.
"Come home soon, Little Bear, please hurry."

Trading party's due home today;
Chief likes to travel by full moon;
But the signs point to one day's delay.
The frogs predict rain really soon.
Chief will put up a lean-to and wait;
It's Little Bear's late arrival I hate.

Here comes my little man;
With a grin as big as all out of doors.
He finally broke formation, left the group and ran.
You can see that his spirits soar.
Chief cautions, "Do not deal with this little brave;
He'll have you naked and living in a cave."

For three arrow points and a spear flint;
Little Bear got that deer-hide jacket made.
Chief relates the tale as Little Bear's eyes fairly glint.
Trader brothers joked about being victims of a raid.
Little Bear's totem, the black bear, was burned in on back.
And to sweeten the deal, he was given a small deer rack.

Little Bear
I'm so proud of my son, Little Bear;
He's learned so much this past year.
Aggressive at play but always fair;
He associates with all animals without fear.
His grandfather's spirit lingers always near;
Guiding grandson in all that grandfather held dear.

Little brave-to-be leaves me puzzled with one thing;
His communion with all life can be un-nerving.
To hold a scorpion would bring to all else a severe sting;
Perhaps it's a higher calling he's serving.
How he does this without harm is just amazing;
It certainly never came from his mom's raising.

Ancient Culture
The spirits helped our brothers from south of far west,
To take grass and from it make maize grow.
With a fish for each furrow, maize will grow best.
And we share with our tribe's totem, the crow.
For the spirits, respect one must show.
Without respect, crops fail; don't even bother to sow.

"Mom, I heard voices; I saw a vision;
Since our way of life began, 20,000 summers have gone;
And to continue has been our only mission;
The only way-of-life we've ever known.
But this all too soon will be over with and done;
A foe we don't even know yet will've won.

This ghostly pale face who walks upright like a brave;
With the signing of many treaties and offers of friendship;
Will talk like a friend, but act like a knave.
Mom, this final enemy we can't whip.
I saw a long trail paved with our tears;
The awful embodiment of all of our worst fears."

The Indians hearts must have been always ready to sing;
Listen to the music these names to us bring:

Names like Mohawk Mandan Kickapoo Cree
Yakima Seminole Crow Shawnee

Choctaw Delaware Fox Paiute
Winnebago Cheyenne Blackfoot

Navajo Ute Comanche Quapaw
Creek Apache Sioux Chippewa

Ottawa Hupa Shoshone (Shah-show-knee)
Mow Hicano Sage Menominee

Chanute Arapaho Nez Perce (Nez-Pur-say)
Iroquois Pawnee Kutenai (Cooten-nay)

Flathead Chickasaw Pueblo
Uma Pima Pomo Caddo

Modern Culture
We strive for better conditions;
But hope grows ever dim.
The red man's in a difficult position.
Put your fate at a bureaucrat's whim;
Destroy your culture; at this anyone would balk;
If not you pilgrim, then we need to talk.





We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal,
that they are
endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable Rights
that among these are
Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness

....

Veterans Day/Week Made Personal

With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan--to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace, among ourselves, and with all nations. Abraham Lincoln, Second Inaugural Address March 4, 1865.

We are the leaders in one of our Nation’s most vital and idealistic service organizations. Because we serve veterans and their dependents, our mission is sacred. The well-known statements of President Abraham Lincoln and General Omar Bradley are found in every VA office and convey the sanctity of our mission.

"…to care for him who shall have borne the battle,
and for his widow and his orphan…"
Abraham Lincoln; March 4, 1865

"We are dealing with veterans, not procedures –
with their problems, not ours."
Omar Bradley; 1947

As we carry out this mission, we willfully enter into a covenant with one another to always be guided by the fundamental principles of Accountability, Integrity, and Professionalism. These principles form the foundation of Leadership and Service to America’s veterans.

The true greatness of a nation isn’t measured by the strength of its army, the world-girdling size of its navy. No, the true greatness of a nation is measured by how the nation cares for its aged, infirm, the helpless, the very young, the very old, the truly needy. By its compassion for other peoples:

"The New Colossus" Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame With conquering limbs astride from land to land; Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame, "Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore, Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

By: Emma Lazarus

America has been the most generous, most giving nation in the history of the world. And whatever else can be said about Isabel Kemp-Bryant, she obviously became one of the infirm and was looked after at least from 1865 (her military pension) until her demise in 1925. (The end of her incarceration in the state hospital at Toledo, Ohio) Add it up folks. That was sixty long sad years.

I’m so proud to be an American.
And if her guardian, Margaret Bryan was correct about Isabel’s age during November 27, 1916, then Isabel must have been only eleven years old when she and George got married 7 February, 1847. Isabel, we really don’t care what your age was. A gentleman never asks a lady’s age in any event. Rest in peace. Your true age is apparently going to rest with you.
Your Great Great Grandson George W. Johns

And in memory of those who gave the last full measure:

LaMarr Lee Johns son of Lois Smith Miller, grandson of Isabelle Pearl Burdett Smith

Copy and paste this address to go to LaMarr's Page

http://www.virtualwall.org/dj/JohnsLL01a.htm

Created in his memory by his brother, Kevin Johns; text by Ray Smith

SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION
PO BOX 420317
PALM COAST, FL 32142-9152

Sirs:

Thank you for your most-thoughtful invitation for me to join the Smithsonian National Associates and the additional enticements associated therewith.

Have learned after 65 years--several of those years having been spent in the defense of this country–to try to refrain from making hasty decisions based on raw emotion. Therefore, having said all of that, I’ll try to get to a well-reasoned point. Point being: After checking as late as this afternoon, in excess of 2300 American casualties, 1177 of them still on board the Arizona at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii are, each and every one, still dead. The term "Pearl Harbored" is still part and parcel of our common lexicon. And after hearing my dad yell to my mom,"Get those damned kids quiet." and seeing the shocked look come over his face while he listened to that old domed-top Philco radio circa December 7, 1941 as President Franklin D. Roosevelt delivered his, "Shall Live in Infamy" speech, and remembering my dad getting his ass shot off in the South Pacific and getting the remainder of it frozen off in Dutch Harbor, Alaska, and returning home never quite the same after that and my brother going on over to Korea in answer to his "Greetings From the President" letter and my keeping those B-52 bombers operational during Russia’s expansionist ambitions; after all of that, I can’t quite make that leap of faith and believe those powers-that-be at the Smithsonian who, after stirring up a virtual shit-storm with the "Aggressor Americans", label on the Enola Gay Exhibit, tried to explain it all away by explaining that it was only a sifting-out procedure and the correct label would eventually have been affixed to the partial fuselage of the Superfortress B-29, The Enola Gay.

Would suggest sensitivity training for the egg-heads who were the authors. Included might be a talk with the Chinese peoples, the Philippine peoples, the survivors of the Bataan Death March (if any are left), the families of the men and women lost during WW 2, the people like myself who remember family members coming home and never being quite themselves, ever again.Would also suggest examining Japan’s policy of renouncing war as a national policy forever and determining what brought this about.

In short, if you want my membership, go earn it. Most sincerely yours
George W. Johns

A Southern Fairy Tale

Once upon a time in a land far, far away . . . . or the southern version: "Y'all ain't gonna believe this" . . . . Had gone to school with this lady who studied, stayed out of trouble, and went on to become the wife of a minister. The minister, unfortunately, met an untimely death and the lady dealt with her grief, went back to school and became an R.N. With the full expectation of fairness from and confidence in her government, our lady then went about the business of looking out for herself and taking care of others. And lived happily ever-after . . . . Well, not exactly . . . .

The Florida Governor's Commission hearing on Workman's Compensation Reform:
Presentation by Nyla Farlow
Ms. Farlow : I appreciate being here. It's a rare privilege in order to be able to speak to y'all concerning workmen's comp. I believe all of y'all do have a copy of my speech, but since it covers 11 years, I've cut it down to where it wouldn't take up so much time. My name is Nyla Farlow, R.N. I'm 65.

On April 13th of 1991, I injured my left leg and foot while going to a patient's home to provide home health care. I stepped in a hole that a dog had dug in the front yard injuring my leg. Workmen Comp paid some months, but after a few months they arbitrarily quit paying. I had to sign up for welfare, food stamps. I had to secure help from the Salvation Army, churches, and other community sources.

After six months, I signed up for Social Security disability. It took approximately another six months to receive Social Security. I reached my Maximum Medical Improvement on 2-26-92 and on 1-15-93, they put down totally disabled. October the 18th of '93 we finally had a court hearing on this. Judgement was in my favor. Workman comp finally paid on 12-17-93. (Two years, eight months, and four days after accident "fully covered" by workmen's comp)

My foot got progressively worse and on 6-3-98 my left leg and foot had to be amputated. Workman comp refused to pay for the amputation, because, and I quote from their document, Denial given because I had my leg amputated because I wanted to. In December of 2000, Dr. Cardett informed me I'd never walk again. My husband, who was 81 years old at the time, became my care-giver. He had medical problems of his own, eight previous heart attacks, and an ICD implanted under the left clavicle.

Workman Comp finally sent a nurse case manager, Becky Byran, to assess the situation and see what I needed. Becky said that I needed the house remodeled to be handicap accessible as it was so small, and, also, I needed a motorized wheelchair and van adapted for wheelchair driving. On 3-06-01 the doctor ordered this. 22 days later, doctor had to, once again, order the same things because workmen comp said, "They'd lost the original order."

Three contractors were sent out by W. C. to give competitive bids on remodeling but W. C. refused to pay the architect before bids were given. They then tried another contractor who never showed. As I suspect, W. C. knew fully well that an architect will not release drawing without first being paid, and contractors won't give bids without certified drawing.

There have been frequent delays, flaunting of court orders, failure to provide what was already promised by W. C. themselves. But for the grace of God, the next injured worker could be you.

The hearing droned on for a total of 230 court-reported, video-taped, transcribed and typed pages.

Worker's Compensation, A Modern Fairy Tale----
Back several years, 7-31-72 to be precise, Congress became so concerned with problems associated with Worker's Compensation that they had a Commission do a study and report to the President and Congress. Problems discovered then were so egregious that the 50 states were given until 7-1-75 to comply with certain so-called "Essential Elements". Keeping in mind that this Commission mandated total compliance by the States by the date of 7-1-75, you the reader must have concluded that this Fairy Tale had to have a happy ending as do all good Fairy Tales. Sadly, I must inform you that This Fairy Tale has No happy ending. As of this date 10-21-02, over 27 years later, not even one state out of the 50 has complied with the "essential elements". The truth of the matter is that we were much better off in all of the 50 states then than we are now. That's after the fix was in.

An American worker who becomes injured under today's individual State Worker's Compensation Systems has become a victim of a holocaust, unequaled and unparalleled in American history.

I offered encouragement, helped put into words in a little-over-six-minute speech condensing eleven years of a lady's nightmarish life and I still have trouble believing it myself. The speech goes on before the House of Representatives and the State Senate sometime during the month of April or May of this coming year. Do y'all believe in Fairy Tales? I do. I must. END
Addendum: Bill:
I was a RN before my husband died. I had been in Nursing since 1958. From aide, ward clerk, LPN, to RN. From Staff Nurse, all way to Director of Nursing. Put myself thru college, had a sick husband, 3 kids. Worked 3-11, then would have to do house work, cook, study & sleep, plus go to college week days. Looking back now I wonder how I ever did it. Only thru the grace of God did I manage.
Nyla

THE STRANGE TALE OF CINDERELLA

What an unusual name for a tale that has stood the test of time. This universally beloved fictional heroine has made her appearance in the collective human psyche for over 1200 years. Her first appearance in the written word was from China in the middle of the ninth century AD. Tuan Ch'eng-shih wrote down this tale of our heroine without the benefit of a fairy godmother; a fish provided the assistance instead. A golden shoe is used to identify our heroine to the handsome prince in the earliest recorded version as in many later versions.
One Charles Perrault of France actually is credited with the addition of the fairy godmother, the glass slippers, the pumpkin carriage, and the animal servants. This version is the one with which we are the most familiar. There have been numerous others in the last 1200 years: In the Grimm Brothers' German version-no fairy godmother here either-a tree is planted by our heroine on her mother's grave from which the magical helper appears in the form of a white dove. Cinderella is often helped by her dead mother in the form of a domestic animal in many of the versions. Numerous versions have Cinderella making three visits to a ball, festival, or church and her true identity is revealed by a ring that will fit no other finger but hers.
Variations of this "universal" story appear in several Native American versions. The story has appeared in the Hmong tribal culture as well as many other cultures and countries. Strange as it may seem, this story has managed to permeate human consciousness, transcend the Dark Ages, wars, national boundaries, language and cultural barriers, human frailties and pettiness.
The above-mentioned Charles Perrault (1628-1703) was on the leading edge of bringing the world into the Age of Enlightenment from the barbaric dark ages. Charles Perrault made a comparison of eight stories from antiquity with the then-modern literature. He unfavorably compared Cinderella and seven other pieces from an earlier time with the more-modern selections. Charles apparently had some fun in rewriting the Cinderella piece which resulted in making him famous. His other works faded into history. His version is the one with which we and our children are the most familiar.
There are an estimated 1500 different versions dealing with this universally loved heroine. And now there is one more:

PART TWO

During the early part of the century, a girl child was born into a family from the north country. She grew into a lovely young girl. But her beauty was surpassed by her gentle nature and kindness to all others. Her sisters, eight in number and her three brothers, came to depend on her gentle nature and wisdom in settling arguments and disagreements which inevitably arise in families. Her mother and father moved the family to the south country to give one of the younger sisters, a frail little child, a fighting chance to survive. This frail younger sister did in fact survive and lived well past her allotted three score and ten. But the mother had so many duties and responsibilities that she felt compelled to call on our heroine to once more help out with the home and younger children.
Modern-day Cinderella had a life of her own in the north country but willingly and gladly put her life on hold to help with the younger children. She left a job and her fiancé in the north country and went to help her family. After a year, conditions had improved. Modern-day Cinderella went back to the north country to be with her fiancé and to resume her job and her personal life.
Sad and unfair as it was for Cinderella, the fiancé had feet of clay. He had met another. Cinderella boarded a coach to return to her family and to leave painful memories and her former life behind.
Cinderella was engaged in conversation on her return trip by a man from the south country. This man seemed understanding and knew all of the right things to say. Our heroine, in her time of betrayal, sadness, and mourning, turned to this stranger for comfort. They were married within a fortnight.
This newlywed couple went to visit the man's home in the south country and to subsequently live in the home with the man's mother for ten years. This wild and barbaric land was a totally new experience for Cinderella. As the last frontier of the nation, it was a virtual magnet for the lawless, the cutthroats, the thieves. Facilities were primitive. Even the water from the ground was useless; it was fouled with sulfur. Water had to be either caught in rain barrels or hauled in from the nearest village. Cinderella had made a Faustian bargain which she, with dogged resolve, was bound and determined to keep. Had Cinderella known the terrible price her resolve was to ultimately exact, would she have done any differently? Probably not.
And how well did Cinderella keep her end of the bargain? She learned many cooking secrets from her mother-in-law. She bore seven children in an eight year period. She, in her innate decency and goodness, could see an element of bravery even in some of the worst of the local lawbreakers. And how did her seven children turn out after the influence of this lawless culture? Not one of these children was ever jailed, not even for the most minor infraction. The mother's influence prevailed over every obstacle but one.
Cinderella felt that her children's needs took precedence over all else; even including her own physical well-being. Without timely medical attention, our heroine was overcome by a disease and died, never having the chance to relinquish her many duties and simply enjoy her grandchildren. In all fairness, this disease may have overwhelmed the medical community in any event, no matter how early the detection. But we'll never know for sure. Cinderella died homeless, was buried in borrowed clothes, and the expenses of her death and dying were paid by a moon shinin' poacher. She now is clothed in the splendor of the memories of one and all who knew her.
A common thread has wended and woven its way through all of these stories about Cinderella, her basic goodness and kindness and decency, her willingness to sacrifice her time, even her own life to assure the greater good of others. Her legend has persisted for well over a thousand years and will still persist as for as long as people value, treasure, respect, goodness and decency and kindness. Some fortunate society in the far-distant future is fated to be blessed with this legend. This legend persisted and still persists, even through the dark ages when barbarians seemingly ruled at will. Some faithful scholars recorded and protected this story against all odds. Towns were sacked and burned, books destroyed, civilizations reduced and almost destroyed, but still the legend persisted; and still persists.
So, our heroine failed to get the handsome prince? Not exactly. She felt that she had gained three handsome princes and four beautiful princesses.
Cinderella has been known by many names, Yeh-shen to the Chinese, Aschenputtel or Ash Girl to the Germans, The Scar-faced Girl to the Algonquin Indians (The result of a cook fire accident as "Cinderella" attended to just one of her many duties). My brothers and sisters and I knew her simply as Mom.

THE END

HUMPTY DUMPTY WAS PUSHED!!!

"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the King's horses and all the King's men couldn't put Humpty together again." The case of Humpty Dumpty was scrambled from the very first. I was eventually given the job of trying to crack this case. Knowing my reputation for being hard-boiled, the president gave me full access to all of the case-files. There were dozens of case folders lying about in that dusty office. Someone was either hen-pecked or chicken when it came to insisting on some order to this filing system. I'd barely scratched the surface when the sulfurous odor of a rotten egg wafted throughout the room. I immediately suspected a cover-up.

Further investigation revealed that a tape recording had been made of every hearing about the "Egg Case", as it came to be known. Having been granted full subpoena powers, I immediately gained access to all of the tapes. Ah ha! An eighteen minute gap in the very first tape at a critical moment. I reminded myself to not start crowing yet; this case would definitely not be put to roost by sundown..

The first witness subpoenaed turned out to be a real tough old biddy. She was definitely going to be hard to crack. But I was spurred on in the hopes of at least developing a lead. I tried not to get my hackles up but her evasive answers really started to stick in my craw. But, I kept pecking away in hopes of being able to crack this case. A quick solution to the "Egg Case" would definitely enhance my resume. I was tired of working for chicken feed.

This methodology may be considered by some flocks to be a bit on the shady side of the hen house, but I made this witness listen to eight solid hours of music from the "Funky Chicken". Even though it wasn't Easter, this hard-boiled old biddy slowly started to show some color. She really turned several different shades of red when I next had her listen to several hours of "Jimmy Crack Corn". And I don't care. She could have saved us all a lot of grief if she'd just quit getting her feathers ruffled at the slightest real or imagined imposition. After all, who was it who had to go all the way back and start this mis-handled case over from scratch? Me, that's who.After a whole flock of witnesses later, I was becoming more convinced than ever that Humpty Dumpty had been pushed. But how to prove this? I got permission from a dear friend to use some of his material in hopes of shedding more light on this case. His report is reproduced in its entirety below:...

PART TWO

A Few Thoughts in Response to Humpty Dumpty's Great Fall

PERMISSION TO REPRINT GRANTED.
Copyright 1994 Ed Newman (Thanks Ed)

When I first heard of it, I was both shocked and saddened by the news. He had always struck me as a fellow with so much potential. But what concerned me most was his condition afterwards. If only there were something one could say to help him get it together again.

A friend in the Royal Guard told me several versions, and you can't help but believe there's a smattering of truth in at least one variation of the story. Humpty Dumpty had had a great fall all right. Worst of all, no one in the kingdom could be found to piece him back together again. Surely if he'd been a little more hard boiled, he wouldn't have made such a mess of it. But then, that's another story.

Here are a few of the explanations making rounds these days in the tea rooms and cabinet meetings of the Royal Castle.

Sir Gordon said Humpty was playing around on top of a wall and, whoops! Splat. It was a foolish accident -- one of those really stupid kinds -- and now Humpty is feeling sorry for himself. It's nothing more than a wretched turn of events for which he is simply unable, or unwilling, to forgive himself. Sir Ben presented a more grave perspective, however. It was wrong of Humpty to be on that wall because, well, that particular wall is "you know where" and, well, God punished him for being there. Humpty fell because God willed it. How can the fellow forgive himself when God Himself gave the shove that toppled him over the edge? Sir William outlined an alternative position. The devil, not God, was responsible for Humpty's fall. It should be noted that Humpty is an especially careful sort and therefore he must have been pushed against his will. He was still guilty of trespassing, however, and just won't forgive himself for being where he knows he ought not to have been. Sir Carlton, knowing a few rather confidential details of Humpty's personal life, put a more ominous spin on it, suggesting that it would not be totally out of line to suspect that Humpty may have even jumped! "Propriety keeps me from sharing too intimately," Sir Carlton allegedly asserted, "but I know he's been rather distraught about some things as of late. Now this! It's a real tragedy." "What can we do? Let the poor egg fry?" Sir Godfrey lamented that evening over stew and cakes.

The solution to Humpty's dilemma seemed so obvious to me that I wondered why no one had brought it up. "Does it really matter HOW Humpty got into the mess he's in?" I asked. "It seems the nut of it," Sir Godfrey replied. "Here," I said as I handed him my old leather bound Bible. "Read Psalm 107. Is it as obvious to you as it is to me?" He read quietly, and I could tell he was moved by it as I have always been. When he finished reading, he closed the book and lay it on the table. "Yes, brother Ed, those are the words our friend needs to hear. And you're right. It really doesn't matter how he got so scrambled up. Whether it was an accident or out of rebellion or foolishness or a deliberate act of self-destruction, the remedy is the same. If he would but call out to God, He will hear. These are powerful words. And yes, God is certainly good."

I opened the book and read aloud the last words of this wonderful passage, "Whoever is wise, let him heed these things and consider the great love of the Lord." "You think Humpty will listen?" "He might," I said.
Sir Godfrey smiled. "As long as there is God," he affirmed, "there is hope." As an afterthought he added, "We can always pray for him, too, you know."

Now it was my turn to agree. After a brief prayer, we leaped to our feet, girded up our swords and headed off to find our dear friend Humpty, confident that we had something to truly help him in his time of need.

THE END

......more Part Two Humpty Dumpty.....

This case has taken on a life of its own. The Brothers Grimm should have thought of this before they started popularizing such things. I've made an entire career out of trying to solve this puzzle of just who pushed poor Humpty, such a good egg; and I'm more convinced now than ever that Humpty Dumpty was pushed. We may never know the whole story. A government cover-up is suspected. But every time I get close to one of the parties implicated, they conveniently disappear. I've cultivated friends in the FBI, the CIA, the National Endowment For The Arts, and all to no avail. I'm getting older now and I'll never rest until I know the whole story.
Modern forensic techniques have shown that Humpty Dumpty was in good health at the time his brains were scrambled by this great fall. A really good egg, no known enemies, but still the mystery persists. We've managed to accumulate over a trillion dollars in reward money in the hopes that someone out there who knows something about this case will come forward. But no! Nothing! Nada, Zilch, Zippo, A goose egg, (sorry Humpty). And still, no one has come forth to claim this reward. I'm now getting older and facing retirement. If anyone can come forward and at least put this old man's curiosity to rest, please do. You can remain anonymous if you wish. We will even put you in the witness protection program if you wish. I have to know. Please, somebody, please come forward. Let this old man enjoy his retirement in peace. Please...

"Humpty Dumpty"...And Finally...

I made a dozen attempts before this omlet was satisfactorily cooked. Didn't want to wind up with egg on my face over this one. The old hen got tired of my cackling as I composed. I was chicken at first but couldn't stand laying an egg over this assignment, although part of the story was farmed out to some limey. I remember Kathy's little chick asking Kathy, "What's wrong with Bill" as I cackled over some long-lost information I'd regained over the internet while doing research. Didn't want to push it and be sent to the funny farm too soon; perhaps an egg farm would suffice. Although I do feel a little cocky after finishing this. We'll see if I still crow after the reviews come in. Started to write about Snow White, as you well know, but chickened out. You heard enough? I've got 'em by the dozen. It would be a feather in both our caps if we get this published, no matter what the weather, fair or fowl. Well, suppose I should go brood over my next effort. Ever tell you about the time Sandra busted 22 dozen eggs at once on an egg farm while tending to some jerks who'd cheated Danny . . . . Don't get me started on that one. Feathers flew for a while over that one. Bill

I'll be anticipating the arrival of the saga of that Snowwhite broad and those hairy old men she was entertaining. Lol Barb 5-13-02

MISS VIRGINia
AND THE FIRE-BREATHING DRAGON

In the days of old when Knights were bold, the Knights of the Round Table were sitting around the round table, swillin' homemade beer and cussin' and spittin' and scratchin' and catchin' up on the ball scores and chewin' Bull-O'-The-Woods chewing tobacco and watchin' old John Wayne movies on Channel 32 and oilin' up their fishing reels and discussin' their wages & working conditions and retirement and wonderin' if they'd get Thanksgiving off again this year and other things that Knights usually discuss in the evenings when there ain't much else going on. That's when the horn sounded. It was announcing the arrival of the pageboy with important news. The news was that the Great Crusades were beginning and every able-bodied Knight had to report for Crusade duty immediately. All the Knights saddled up and galloped off into the sunset to join the Great Crusades; all but one Knight. As luck would have it, he drew the short straw and had to stay behind and let the dog in and the cat out and wind all of them clocks and lock the castle up at night and handle all Maiden-in-Distress calls and check to see that all of the chastity belts were still in place and securely locked and that all of the keys were accounted for and in his sole possession because he certainly didn't want to have happen on his watch a repeat of what happened last time. But we won't go into all of that because, after all, those were the days of chivalry and furthermore, the Knight didn't want to be responsible for the "Knight's Digest" losing its PG rating again. Takes too darn long to get it back. "Like a bunch of minks in heat," was all the Knight would ever say, and without elaboration. All-in-all a cushy job, but not too much glory involved. Oh well, win some, lose some, some of them get rained out. But, after all, that's baseball. As luck would have it again, the very first night the stay-at-home Knight got a Maiden-in-Distress call of the highest order; priority one; serious stuff. The report said that The Maiden-in-Distress was being threatened by The Fire-Breathing Dragon. Now, as we all know, a Knight always answers a Maiden-in-Distress call. To fail to do so could result in his horse-riding privileges being revoked. And a Knight without horse-riding privileges is like a dog without barking privileges or a rooster without crowing privileges. It just never works out too well.

The Knight called down to the stables and told the groom to get him a horse saddled and to make it quick. The groom told the Knight that Quick had already been taken along with all of them other horses. All were off to fight in the Great Crusades. The Knight said they would have to come up with something because a Knight always answers a Maiden-in-Distress call. The groom said he didn't know what they were going to do because he just didn't have any horses left; or any horses right either, for that matter, because there were no more horses to be had. The Knight told the groom to wait right there and he'd be right down as soon as he got suited-up.

The Knight walked into the stables in full armor and immediately spotted a big St. Bernard dog sleeping in the corner. He told the groom to saddle the dog and hurry it up because he didn't want to be late answering a Maiden-in-Distress call. The groom looked at the Knight, looked at the dog, looked back at the Knight and said, "I wouldn't send a Knight out on a dog like this." The Knight told the groom to keep his dumb jokes to himself, and to get that dog saddled, pronto!

And then it's off to rescue the Maiden-in-Distress. Pretty soon, the Knight hears The Maiden-in-Distress screaming:

Maiden (falsetto voice) "Help, help! I'm the Maiden-in-Distress and I'm being threatened by the Fire-Breathing-Dragon!"

The Knight galloped up on his dog, put the kick stand down, and said to the Maiden-in-Distress: Knight (baritone voice) "Calm down, calm down, what's going on here? What's happening here?" Maiden "I'm the Maiden-in-Distress and I'm being threatened by the Fire-Breathing-Dragon! That's what's goin' on here. And what took you so long gettin' here, fool?

Knight "Uh, where is this Fire-Breathing-Dragon" Maiden "Well. he was here a minute ago. He's around here somewhere. Maybe he's up this Magnolia tree here." Knight "Just stay calm; I've got to ask you a few questions." Maiden "What kind of questions you gotta ask me?" Knight "Just a few questions for my report." Maiden "For your whut?" Knight "You know, the paperwork." Maiden "Oh, oh that. Okay, okay, fire away." Knight "What's your name?" Maiden (coyly) "My name's Miss VIRGINia, and what's yours?" Knight "I go by the name of Knight, or Ova. Ova is my given name."

Maiden "Which one you prefer, Mr. Knight?" Knight "You may call me Ova if you wishes." Maiden "Fine Ova, 'Ova' it is. Now, what you gonna do about this Fire-Breathing-Dragon, Ova?" Knight "Well, Miss Maiden-In--Distress, . . ."

Maiden "You s'posed to call me 'Miss VIRGINia', Ova."

Knight "Might want to be careful where you step, Miss VIRGINia. Looks like somebody didn't clean up after their horse very good."

Maiden "Oh Mr. Knight. I forgot to tell you about this. Just this morning six big, strong, handsome men rode up and wanted to water their horses. And I told them, 'Okey dokey, the well's right over there'."

Knight "One of these men didn't just happen to be riding a white horse with one black stocking on his hind leg, now did he, Miss VIRGINia?"

Maiden "Well, I swan, Mr. Knight, he surely was. These gentlemen friends of yours, Mr. Knight?"

Knight "Not exactly. But I do know that white horse really well. My shining armor don't have quite the same effect without that white horse. A Knight in shining armor always comes riding up on a white horse when he's rescuing a Maiden-in-Distress."

Maiden "That your horse, Mr Knight?"

Knight "Yep. He got borrowed late one night when the stable guard fell asleep. I'd surely like to meet that gentleman who borrowed my horse. You see which way those gentlemen were going when they left, Miss VIRGINia?"

Maiden "I surely did, Mr Knight. (Here it comes, folks) They went that-a-way."

Knight "Now, back to that Fire-Breathing-Dragon, what do he look like, Miss VIRGINia?"

Maiden "Well, he was real big and he was breathing fire and he threatened me, Ova."

Knight "Well, it look like he's gone now. Why don't you just come and go with me and you'll be safe."

Maiden "Where we going?"Knight "Back to the castle."

Maiden "How long we gonna stay there, Ova?" Knight "Oh, at least until tomorrow. Then we make sure you be safe. What you doing out here all by yourself, Miss VIRGINia?" Maiden "Well Mr. Knight, it's like this. I had two sisters and my momma living here wit' me. And my sister, Clara Jane ran off with a Fuller Brush salesman, and my other sister, Junie Mae went and joined the circus and ain't been back since. Put our momma in an early grave too. Now, I'm here all by myself. Nothing but these Harlequin Romance novels to keep me company."

Knight "You read them novels quite a bit, Miss VIRGINia?" Maiden "I surely do. I'm gettin' to where I can always tell when the Damsel-In-Distress is going to be rescued too."

Knight "Those Damsels-In-Distress----they a lot like Maidens-In-Distress?"

Maiden "Same thing both times. Ain't that just heartwarmin', Mr. Knight?"

Knight "I don't know too much about that, Miss VIRGINia. I'm in th' Maiden-In-Distress rescue business myself, but I'm more on the Dragon slaying end of things."

Maiden "Back to what we was talkin' about before: Let's see if I got this straight. You want me to stay with you ova night, that right, Mr.Ova Knight? Well, I just ain't goin'; not 'till you kill this Fire-Breathing-Dragon. I just ain't goin'."

Knight "Tell me this part again about just what do this dragon look like?" Maiden "Well, he was breathing fire at me, and he said, 'Ouch, that smarts' every time he blew fire at me outta his nose, and he was threatening me and he had me scared, Ova." Knight "And just exactly what do he look like?" Maiden "Well, he was big and scary-lookin' and he was threatening me, Ova. And he singed my latest Harlequin Romance novel." Knight "Miss VIRGINia, uh-hmm---that looks more like one of them Virginia Slims might be the culprit in your Harlequin Romance novel getting singed. That looks like a cigarette burn to me."

Maiden "You funnin' me, Mr. Knight?"

Knight "No Ma'am, Miss VIRGINia, I ain't. It says right here in my 'How To Be A Knight In Ten Easy Lessons' manual on page nine that no Knight will ever fun a Maiden-In-Distress. And it say the same thing right here in my 'Knighthood For Dummies' manual. See, right here on page 31? And it say both places that punishment be death by firing squad."

Maiden "How they gonna' do that, Mr. Knight? Firearms ain't even been invented yet."

Knight "I don't know that, Miss VIRGINia. I purely don't. But I don't make the rules, I just follow them. By the way, Miss VIRGINia, what color was this Fire-Breathing-Dragon?"

Maiden "Well, it depended on what he was on when he threatened me. When he was on the ground, he was gray. And when he was on a leaf, he was green. And when he was on the tree, he was brown. And I was really scared, Ova."

Knight "Okay, just a minute. Let me get this all written up in my report. Uh, Miss VIRGINia, you know how to spell chameleon? Damn, just broke my pencil. Oh, 'scuse me, Miss VIRGINia. I'm so embarrassed. You got a pencil on you, Miss VIRGINia?"

Maiden "Sure do, Ova. That's a big 10-4 to both the spellin' and the pencil, good buddy. I don't exactly have a pencil, but I can loan you my momma's fancy quill pen with the ostrich feathers that Momma left when she departed, rest her soul. Here's the pen, Ova. I was good with spellin' in school too. Chameleon goes c-h-a-m-e-l---Hey! Wait just a dadblame minute, Ova! What you writin' in that report o' yours? You tryin' to say that I was scared by a chameleon?"

Knight "Well, Miss VIRGINia, you said it was a changin' colors and that it was on the ground and then it was on a leaf and then it was on a tree, ain't that right?"

Maiden "Yeah, that's right. But what about that fire he was breathin' at me? What about that, Mr.-Smarty-Pants-Know-It-All-Knight?"

Knight "Did the fire look like it was coming from under this dragon's chin?"

Maiden "Well, it may have--but I was really scared--so I don't know for sure." Knight "We get these kind of calls all the time, Miss VIRGINia. This was a male chameleon making a courtship display for his female. That's it. That's all it was."

Maiden "You sure about that, Mr. Knight?" Knight "Oh yes, happens all the time, Miss VIRGINia. Well, I gotta' go. Me and my dog need to get to the castle in time for supper."

Maiden "Thank you very much, Mr. Knight. I feel lots safer already."

Knight "That's alright Miss VIRGINia, we here to serve. Uh, Miss VIRGINia, you mind signing this 'Maiden-In-Distress Performance Report' form for me? All of us Knights get graded on our performance. If we do really good, we get our choice of the new shining armor soon as U.P.S. delivers it to the castle."

Maiden "Be glad to, Mr. Knight and thankew. You been a real southern gentleman."

Knight (To himself--"Man, I gotta get me inna different line of work.") "Come on boy; get up and quit scratchin' fleas; let's get back to th' castle before some dummy closes the drawbridge on us."

THE END

Something has bothered me about that look-alike picture of mine for over sixty years. (I was only four years old at the time it was taken) Now, I know what it is. The picture was printed with the negative reversed. I distinctly remember looking over my left shoulder at that lady who'd stuck her head in the photo-booth just as the camera shutter was snapped. I never realized what the problem was until I started working with photographs using a utility program on the computer. Caught those suckers--sixty one years ago--in a mistake. What do you think I should do? Go get Mom's money back, or what? Love ya', Bill
PS Unable to e-mail corrected pic. Once I start editing pic, e-mail no longer wants anything to do with it.

The Indian Girl's Lament
William Cullen Bryant 1824

An Indian girl was sitting where
Her lover, slain in battle, slept;
Her maiden veil, her own black hair,
Came down o'er eyes that wept;
And wildly, in her woodland tongue,
This sad and simple lay she sung:

I've pulled away the shrubs that grew
Too close above thy sleeping head,
And broke the forest boughs that threw
Their shadows o'er thy bed,
That shining from the sweet southwest
The sunbeams might rejoice thy rest.

It was a weary, weary road
That led thee to the pleasant coast,
Where thou, in his serene abode,
Hast met thy father's ghost;
Where everlasting autumn lies
On yellow woods and sunny skies.

'Twas I the broidered mocsen made,
That shod thee for that distant land;
'Twas I thy bow and arrows laid
Beside thy still cold hand;
Thy bow in many a battle bent,
Thy arrows never vainly sent.

With wampum belts I crossed thy breast,
And wrapped thee in the bison's hide,
And laid the food that pleased thee best,
In plenty, by thy side,
And decked thee bravely, as became
A warrior of illustrious name.
Thou'rt happy now, for thou hast passed
The long dark journey of the grave,
And in the land of light, at last,
Hast joined the good and brave;
Amid the flushed and balmy air,
The bravest and the loveliest there.

Yet, oft to thine own Indian maid
Even there thy thoughts will earthward stray,--
To her who sits where thou wert laid,
And weeps the hours away,
Yet almost can her grief forget,
To think that thou dost love her yet.

And thou, by one of those still lakes
That in a shining cluster lie,
On which the south wind scarcely breaks
The image of the sky,
A bower for thee and me hast made
Beneath the many-coloured shade.

And thou rest wait and watch to meet
My spirit sent to join the blessed,
And, wondering what detains my feet
From the bright land of rest,
Dost seem, in every sound, to hear
The rustling of my footsteps near.

DEAR V.
Ever find yo'self up a tree way out on a limb...
Hangin' by a thread, chances lookin' slim?
Family treasure in yo' hand, yours alone...
Why this 'sponsibility on you been thrown,
Dumped on you alone?
Cheer up sister, help is on the way...
One of the nieces want to help,
Say she 'member you when she pray.
One o' the brothers, awful, awful strong will.
(Go by the name o' Bill)
Say it be necessary, exactly who do he kill?
Cousin way up north--all frozen over;
Offer her technician's help..
Sister, you in clover
Other family members wish you well...
Can't all he'p right now--
Some goin' through their own private brand o' hell...
Past family members watchin'...
Some playin' harps, some stokin' furnaces..
All wish you well--all with sincere earnestness.
If money be yo' problem--set up a separate corporation...
Soon's you ask, the postoffice overheat,
Tryin' to deliver all o' them donations--
Careful how you ask-------family members don' like to brag,
At dis they be a balkin'--
They jes' try to see who be there first with the biggest load of swag,
'Stead o' their infernal, eternal talkin'----
END