tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57900319632978302852024-03-13T02:53:09.966-04:00Cabin ClutterThe cluttering up of our hearts, souls and spirits is what makes each of us unique. Enter these enchanted woods...ye who dare...and take a walk with me.Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-75360129124909237262013-04-27T07:31:00.000-04:002013-04-27T07:36:06.437-04:00New Artwork<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Erqp2ebRqCYuJincloxXHlUkXkhipsdVkaR8TC1-ysqQmYOZhH1mNpFo3qWEVnKzq0qzdXwIU7y2lNhbDtJbqT8j3YJVYZhm6nXiHXr53KGaB5B_nRV_QObzc7Vy6sK2yq2ZJnIVifE/s1600/Solace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Erqp2ebRqCYuJincloxXHlUkXkhipsdVkaR8TC1-ysqQmYOZhH1mNpFo3qWEVnKzq0qzdXwIU7y2lNhbDtJbqT8j3YJVYZhm6nXiHXr53KGaB5B_nRV_QObzc7Vy6sK2yq2ZJnIVifE/s400/Solace.jpg" width="321" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Solace" 16x20 Mixed Media</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgINpuXKNCkRhWKy15mKr6CKrBK5R3ln2xJtJxsvDCWej4nhcPoYg1aG3Iuq8QJAICuH6LirVCPsiAYBDVAomw9EoYEofUVK38P-H3BOYPTyNiRtDWoU0Az6zYPRbQRnSwBh9-5ojeRcm4/s1600/Spring+Goddess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgINpuXKNCkRhWKy15mKr6CKrBK5R3ln2xJtJxsvDCWej4nhcPoYg1aG3Iuq8QJAICuH6LirVCPsiAYBDVAomw9EoYEofUVK38P-H3BOYPTyNiRtDWoU0Az6zYPRbQRnSwBh9-5ojeRcm4/s400/Spring+Goddess.jpg" width="313" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Spring" 8x10 Mixed Media</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMvBBKlNMLqJGsb70WsTjgwU_xzDQs5cRNt1RwmHCnsmVaVcjQu89FgqlpXWUj34QiKAayXxhyphenhyphenfKozrgF3e13NQD53WxO91OtdtSyN5bapWH7ifcYjYx-Lud8Umj1g1iEuGr1VJSFHfNA/s1600/picture004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMvBBKlNMLqJGsb70WsTjgwU_xzDQs5cRNt1RwmHCnsmVaVcjQu89FgqlpXWUj34QiKAayXxhyphenhyphenfKozrgF3e13NQD53WxO91OtdtSyN5bapWH7ifcYjYx-Lud8Umj1g1iEuGr1VJSFHfNA/s400/picture004.jpg" width="341" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Zoey" 9x12 Charcoal and Pastel</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigIq5P04XIIMObUeotC_DhhmCjnh7VKnAWyCOEWBcBNwuMkrjZk_w82GyyjURmjXFkx3TE227Dk6VyyI_bP1RI3XBu3wG2zpjFMgH_ahVduZpSbQ4STWKKdqOfzJMMKetITYX01WXe5ao/s1600/Untitled.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigIq5P04XIIMObUeotC_DhhmCjnh7VKnAWyCOEWBcBNwuMkrjZk_w82GyyjURmjXFkx3TE227Dk6VyyI_bP1RI3XBu3wG2zpjFMgH_ahVduZpSbQ4STWKKdqOfzJMMKetITYX01WXe5ao/s400/Untitled.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Snow Goddess" 8x10 Acrylic<br />
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<br />Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-57781867961683049232013-04-27T07:17:00.001-04:002013-04-27T07:20:31.544-04:00I haven't posted here in almost exactly a year. A lot has gone on in the that time, some good, some bad. In that time I have become a grandmother to a beautiful little girl named Lilly. She simply sparkles!<br />
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I have a new job now working as an arts facilitator at Aspire of Western NY. I never understood how people could say that they love their job until now! I truly do.<br />
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I have been experimenting with some different media with some success. This was my latest one titled "Solace". It is a 16"x 20" mixed media of oil and acrylic paint, glue, kosher salt and pancake syrup. Yes, you read that right. It was quite fun to do and turned out great. The client that commissioned me is very, very happy with it and that makes me very happy.<br />
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My next project is repainting an old slot machine. To be honest, I am not looking forward to this but it's for a friend. I can tell it's going to be very tedious work and not a lot of creativity is involved. Oh well, the things we do for friendship!</div>
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I promise to post more often. Now that I feel my life is getting somewhat "normal", my creativity is coming back. I hope you'll join me now and then!</div>
Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-72501310698278072342012-04-06T15:54:00.000-04:002012-04-06T15:54:57.669-04:00EASTER TRADITIONS AND THEIR ORIGINS<div style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 8pt;">Easter as we know it, is actually derived from two ancient traditions, Judeo-Christian and Pagan. Both have celebrated the resurrection on or after the Spring equinox for thousands of years. Many of the elements of the Christian observance of Easter were originally derived from the Pagan celebrations. Yes, really.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 8pt;">The name "Easter" originated with the name of an ancient Goddess. Easter was named after Eostre the Great Mother Goddess of the Saxon people in Northern Europe. Her name was derived from the ancient word for spring-"eastre." Similar Goddesses were known by other names in ancient cultures around the Mediterranean, and were celebrated in the springtime. An alternate explanation has been suggested-the name given by the Frankish church to Jesus' resurrection festival included the Latin word "alba" which means "white." (This was a reference to the white robes that were worn during the festival.) "Alba" also has a second meaning: "sunrise." When the name of the festival was translated into German, the "sunrise" meaning was chosen in error. This became "ostern" in German. Ostern has been proposed as the origin of the word "Easter". Who really knows?<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 8pt;">Oh, and guess what else, Sunday is named after a Pagan sun god-Solis. In Latin “dies solis” means “day of the sun”. It’s funny, but the Middle English word “sone”, Old English “sunnandoeg”, German “sunnon-dagaz” and Ancient Greek “hemera Heli(o)u” all have the exact same meaning-“day of the sun”. So Sunday -- Sun's day. <o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 8pt;">Just what is a Pagan? The term “Eastern religions” refers to Buddhism, Hinduism, Taoism, etc. The term “Pagan” or “Neo-Pagan” refers to a collection of separate religions that share many themes. A Pagan religion is a faith that has been reconstructed from beliefs, deities, symbols and practices of ancient religions. Druidic is an ancient Celtic religion; followers of Asatru is a pre-Christian Norse religion; and Wiccans trace their roots back to the pre-Celtic era. Other Pagans follow Roman, Greek, Egyptian or other ancient traditions. The term “Pagan” should not be confused with Satanism. I’m sure to many people, any religion other than theirs are all varieties of Satanism. Wrong. Many of the Christian practices come from PAGANS!</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 8pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b><b><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 8pt;">For example, these have been derived primarily from Pagan traditions at Easter time: Hot Cross Buns-At the feast of Eostre, the Saxon fertility Goddess I wrote about earlier, an ox was sacrificed. The horns became a symbol for the feast and were carved into the ritual bread to be eaten. How does an ox have anything to do with “Hot Cross Buns?” Well, “buns” is derived from the Saxon word “boun” which means, you guessed it, “sacred ox”. It was later on that the symbol of a cross was used to decorate the buns. The cross then represented the moon, (the heavenly body of the Goddess) and its four quarters.<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 8pt;">Every Easter people buy Easter Lilies, right? The Pagans revered this flower as a holy symbol associated with the reproductive organs-it was considered a phallic symbol. Uh-oh, don’t tell my mom that.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 8pt;">The Easter Sunrise Service can be traced back to the ancient custom of welcoming the Sun God at the equinox-when daytime is about to exceed the length of nighttime. It was a time to celebrate the return of life to animals and plants alike. <o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 8pt;">Now, the Easter Bunny and Easter Eggs-The symbols of the Norse Goddess Ostara were the hare and the egg. Of course, both represented fertility and the resurgence of life. A pagan god fell for the lovely Ostara. He took the form of a hare and left brightly colored eggs by her door each morning to woo her. Well, who wouldn't fall for a cuddly little bunny? April, in Anglo Saxon, Old High German, and some modern German dialects, is called "Ostara's month." Dyed eggs were part of the rituals of the Babylonians. Eggs were sacred to many ancient civilizations and formed an integral part of the ceremonies in both Egypt and the Orient. Dyed eggs were hung in Egyptian temples and regarded as the regeneration of life.<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 8pt;">Easter Sunday falls on the first Sunday after the first full moon after MAR-20, the date of the Spring Equinox. If you don’t believe this, check a calendar. There will be a full moon on March 28 and Easter Sunday is on March 31. Easter Sunday can fall on any date from March 22 to April 25th. The year-to-year sequence is so complicated that it takes 5.7 million years to repeat. <o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 8pt;">Of course, pagans did not celebrate the death and resurrection of a sacrificed god in the spring. As Christianity began to replace the Old Religions, old and new customs blended into the modern holiday traditions we know today. All else aside, whether you are a practicing Christian, Wiccan or Neo-Pagan, the Spring Equinox and Easter are a time of renewal and rebirth. Winter finally releases its hold on the land and Earth awakens once again.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-19722331934808135312011-05-30T15:23:00.000-04:002011-05-30T15:23:14.369-04:00The Road Turns Here-a poem from one who has gone on ahead<strong> </strong>The road turns here,<br />
Up ahead you can just see it.<br />
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The sky is bluer now, the trees more green.<br />
You can see that the clouds are different,<br />
And the sun shines just a little bit sweeter.<br />
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Am I worthy? Am I afraid?<br />
I don’t know…maybe.<br />
And yes, I <em>am </em>afraid.<br />
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I just wish I had known<br />
That finally and forever<br />
Would be <em>NOW.</em><br />
I wasn’t quite ready to go.<br />
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My journey was too short.<br />
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I wish I could gather up<br />
All the fun times, the sun times,<br />
The afternoons and the mornings,<br />
And the days.<br />
If I could-I would.<br />
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But not to give them back.<br />
Oh no,<br />
They’re mine to take with me.<br />
But I’ll share.<br />
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For I have known the light in places<br />
No solar sun could penetrate.<br />
The twinkles in your smiles to me<br />
Could outshine the stars themselves.<br />
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Even when the tempests came,<br />
And I could not see beyond<br />
The walls of clouds,<br />
Your radiance made it through to me.<br />
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So, I’ll go happy now,<br />
If I can look back one last time<br />
At the suns and stars I know,<br />
And knew, and loved.<br />
I hope you knew.<br />
I hope you know.<br />
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The road turns here,<br />
Up ahead you can just see it,<br />
And our journey is short.<br />
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I’ll see you when you get here.Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-29337297816955183012011-05-29T16:23:00.002-04:002011-05-29T16:30:32.758-04:00Kindness to oneself<div style="text-align: justify;">I said something yesterday to a friend that really made me think about myself and how I have been handling things the last few years. Connie just simply asked, "How are you doing, <i>really</i>?" Now, you must remember that most people ask "How are you?" and really don't want, or expect an answer. A rhetorical phrase, I suppose. But she asked and she <i>truly</i> wanted to know.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So I told her.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">In the process of speaking, though, my brain was whizzing away. And then, I said it. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I told her that if I knew a person like me and what has happened in my life in the past couple of years, I would tell me to cut myself a break and quit expecting so much from myself. It made me really think about what I would actually say to myself if I could.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">This is my conversation with me. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Since 2008 you have been through breast cancer, a bilateral mastectomy and five other surgeries for reconstruction. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">You fought tooth and nail, heart and soul to keep Kevin alive in 2008 while you yourself went through chemotherapy and the physical and emotional issues that come with it. You lost your hair and only cried a little bit about it. You lost your breasts in August of 2008 and handled that with dignity. A positive attitude and love from your parents, Kevin and friends helped you through it. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">You did everything you could to keep Kevin somewhat healthy for the next two years-preparing gluten free foods, making sure he ate, badgering, cajoling, whatever it took and always loving him no matter how sad, sick or angry he became. You studied hard and got your Bachelor of Arts degree with a 3.89 average during this time. So much for "chemo brain". </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yes, you lost three friends in that time; people that meant the world to you, but who couldn't or wouldn't accept the changes in you and in Kevin. But you gained so many more people in your life. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">You started a new job you loved last year, only to have circumstances and ignorant people ruin it. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">You took care of Kevin in his last few months, never letting him lose his dignity no matter what. You listened to him, let him cry and cried in his arms. You "stayed close" just as he asked you to. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Through this, your own heart was breaking knowing you would eventually lose him, but you truly, <i>truly</i> did not believe he would leave you. You never, ever gave up the hope that he would survive, not until that last breath came at 6:20 PM on August 5, 2010.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">You, my dear, kept your promise to Kevin and you made sure he died in the cabin he always claimed he built for <i>you</i>, long before he even knew you, because of a Gordon Lightfoot song. He died with you and Terri hugging him and talking to him, with the hawks whistling overhead. He passed surrounded by love." </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I would say, " You have seen your father lose both legs, go through many related illnesses and lay in a bed in a nursing home for over a year and a half. You have watched his spirit slowly break. You have seen your mother's hope and heart be crushed by it all. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">You have tried to help Kevin's mom through the horror of losing a child, Chalan with the loss of his father and the grief of Kevin's friends and loved ones. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Through it all, you had to deal with your own sadness at the loss of your best friend, companion, lover and champion."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And finally, I would simply say this to me: </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"I can't believe your strength and I am so very proud to call you friend."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I hope I listen and believe. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div>Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-32884313586913368802011-04-10T20:34:00.000-04:002011-04-10T20:34:27.978-04:00<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deer Shed, 11x14, Charcoal</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUHsSsaGK7_OxUdUQ12w5qDDDr-0bNE5lhno87dL9-ZxyFdFPQeXgZEWQnn7_m_bt478ly5zPqarabejh2U8uSRH2Wc70S0_2206DUnaYozR8PU5s3amon3F2Mq8WtCYRVAZfR-tneFQ/s1600/Old+swing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUHsSsaGK7_OxUdUQ12w5qDDDr-0bNE5lhno87dL9-ZxyFdFPQeXgZEWQnn7_m_bt478ly5zPqarabejh2U8uSRH2Wc70S0_2206DUnaYozR8PU5s3amon3F2Mq8WtCYRVAZfR-tneFQ/s320/Old+swing.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old Swing, 10x8, Charcoal</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-13839967501463097602011-03-23T17:47:00.001-04:002011-04-10T20:43:14.371-04:00Artwork<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Devotion" 11x14 Charcoal<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Work Shoe" 8x10 Charcoal</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This one is a study done from a painting by another artist.<br />
Will give his name and title when I find it, LOL.<br />
It is about 11x13 and done in charcoal. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Grounded", 11x14, Charcoal</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cast Iron Pans, 11x14, Charcoal-SOLD</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-6-auwYmkBbFZOyRasHWTVjyptTz5jzg2DjUQu4RFC5yTChq8GEG-Oo-hWmzc8skCoaWoy1FyZRdqsCY9B4ZTPXU4wsITZzqUhSMqehF8usKEzksF7ekKjsda3UQgDHWDFRmJ5fZpTOA/s1600/Kevin%2527s+Bota.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-6-auwYmkBbFZOyRasHWTVjyptTz5jzg2DjUQu4RFC5yTChq8GEG-Oo-hWmzc8skCoaWoy1FyZRdqsCY9B4ZTPXU4wsITZzqUhSMqehF8usKEzksF7ekKjsda3UQgDHWDFRmJ5fZpTOA/s400/Kevin%2527s+Bota.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Kevin's Bota Bag, 11x14, Charcoal</div></td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div>Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-40797663720804601072011-03-13T20:45:00.001-04:002011-03-13T20:46:43.104-04:00perhaps love - john denver<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/UMcZI8pOjjA?fs=1" width="425"></iframe>Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-78824079184266238892011-01-26T11:56:00.000-05:002011-01-26T11:56:38.720-05:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:DoNotOptimizeForBrowser/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>I had a situation the other day that although it was unintentional, caused me much pain and sorrow.<span> </span>It was innocently done, but it hurt.<span> </span>I had to ask myself the <i>why</i> of the hurt.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Kevin died August 5-5 months and 21 days ago.<span> </span>At times it seems like it just happened; at times I feel like it’s a dream and I’m going to wake up and he’ll be here.<span> </span>I find myself hearing something outside, look out the window and yes, there is a part of me that still expects to see him walking down the steps, beer in hand.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I have been so very lucky with my friends and family who don’t think I’m some sort of wacked out person for still feeling things like this.<span> </span>He was a major part of my life and always will be.<span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Sometimes the hurt is so deep, so raw, so gaping that I simply can’t talk about it or share it with anyone. That’s when I go within, shut myself away as much as possible and wait to climb out of the hole.<span> </span>I was finding it harder and harder to climb out though and finally asked for some help.<span> </span>Let me advise anyone reading this: before you put chemicals in your body, try diet, exercise and homeopathic treatment.<span> </span>It worked for me. I still tend to cocoon a lot of the time, but that is my way of dealing with this.<span> </span>I won’t say I’m still not sad because I am.<span> </span>I still wait for him to come home and I think he will probably <i>always</i> be standing there in the shadows.<span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">It hit me a couple of weeks ago though that I <i>was</i> living life without Kevin.<span> </span><i>I was doing it</i>.<span> </span>Just like he said I could, should and would.<span> </span>For once, I’m glad the grumpy Swede was right-<i>again</i>.<span> </span>So, here I was feeling a little better about myself, my life and knowing that the future would be so much different than I had always imagined, but that I was lucky I <i>had </i>a future.<span> </span>I was making plans again.<span> </span>Fixing things at the cabin, getting the inside finished like we wanted to before he got sick, doing more artwork, writing…all of it.<span> </span>I remembered-out of the blue-the first time he heard “I Hope You Dance” years ago and told me that he thought of me when he heard it.<span> </span>I’d forgotten that.<span> </span>He always did have more faith in me than I did.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I work off and on at a small tavern/pub in Jamestown.<span> </span>I do not bar tend nights-couldn’t handle that-but on Saturdays.<span> </span>I’ve always liked the day drinkers, aka as the “DD’s”<span> </span>because they are generally working people just out for a few beers, some conversation and nothing else.<span> </span>They aren’t looking for their soul mate, they are not forlorn, or sad or angry.<span> </span>These customers are just plain everyday people looking for a bit of companionship on a Saturday afternoon.<span> </span>It’s good for me to get out of these woods once in awhile, too.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>I met a family of men several years ago and through the years have developed the utmost respect for them.<span> </span>The youngest is about my age and the oldest…over 68 I’d say.<span> </span>Five brothers who run a farm, work full time and treat everyone with respect and dignity.<span> </span>They come in, buy rounds of drinks, talk, laugh and generally cheer everyone up.<span> </span>It’s hard to be in a bad mood when the "boy's" are in there.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>I always enjoyed when they came in, until the other day.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">These men had met Kevin and although they did not become “friends”, they were friendly with each other.<span> </span>Being blue collar workers all their lives, they had much in common and I was one of the things.<span> </span>He loved me, they all liked me and had respect for Kevin and I as a couple.<span> </span>Kevin didn’t come to the bar very often when I worked because he always said he hated it when the boyfriend hung around all day because the girlfriend was the bartender.<span> </span>He said if you couldn’t trust the person that loved you, well, you shouldn’t be together.<span> </span>We never, not once, had an issue with that.<span> </span>Okay, once it was close, but it was resolved quickly.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Anyway, last week the oldest got it in his head that his one brother and I should start seeing each other.<span> </span>I was polite, said I was not ready for that and tried to make light of it, hoping he’d drop the subject.<span> </span>However, he kept it up and kept it up for what seemed like hours. Here were all of my regular customers listening to this and not knowing what to do or say.<span> </span>One friend did try to lighten things up for me by making a joke but John still wouldn’t drop it. I was trying to bar tend, trying not become upset there, but it was hard and it was totally unfair.<span> HE DID NOT <i>HEAR</i> ME! I think if he had stopped and really looked at me and my reaction, he may have realized how he was hurting me. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>I came home and cried.<span> </span>I was mad, I was sad and I wasn’t sure why exactly.<span> </span>This man was totally in the wrong for assuming I was even interested in his brother.<span> </span>I do not flirt, never have and it’s just not a “vibe” I give off.<span> </span>I was told that by a good male friend, so I believe it's true. So where did this come from?<span> <i> </i></span><i>His</i> mind I think, knowing his brother was single, had mentioned I was a great person, and…well, you can figure out the rest for yourselves. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span>Do some people really get over a loved one’s death that quickly?<span> </span>Are some people so afraid to be alone that they immediately try to <i>replace</i> that person?<span> </span>For me, that is just wrong! Right now, I can’t imagine another man in my life and I don’t want another one in my life.<span> </span>It made me sad as well to think that anyone could believe I would or would even suggest such a thing.<span> </span>It felt disrespectful somehow, to everything Kevin and I had together. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">If<span> </span>John's girlfriend of 10 years died would he be back out on the circuit in less than 6 months?<span> </span>What would that say about his feelings for her if he did? That his love for her could just be shuttled to the back of his mind that quickly?<span> </span>I try not to judge anyone because we are all different and have various ways of dealing with things, but I was not expecting to be broad-sided like this and I didn’t like it. <span></span>I would have liked to get to know the family better and spend time with them, but as friends and nothing more.<span> </span>I couldn’t be comfortable with them now. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>So by doing this, though totally unintentional and without malice, he took something away from me.<span> I was just beginning to trust others again. </span>Do I have to watch what I say, who I talk to, who I laugh with because it may be misconstrued as something totally different that what it is?<span> </span>Probably and I’m sad for that and the small minded people who might think that way.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Perhaps, as well, I am just too sensitive to these things right now and have made much more out of it than I should.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"><span> </span>I know this won’t be the last time this happens to me.<span> I'm sort of a likable person and there are many lonely people out there. </span> I will simply say I’m not interested in that sort of relationship and let them make the choice.<span> </span>They can accept strictly friendship from me and be happy with that or not.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"><span> </span>It still makes me sad though.<span> </span>It also made the loss of Kevin so much more…<i>there </i>again.<span> </span>He is not here to protect me from this sort of thing so I have to shelter myself the best I can.<span> </span>And you know, I know I <i>can</i> do it. </span></div>Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-1708939344346332642010-11-22T18:58:00.001-05:002010-11-23T13:14:41.222-05:00Poem-I Carry Your Heart with Me-E.E. Cummings<iframe frameborder="0" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/-8Nxs0alNEI?fs=1" width="425"></iframe>Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-2101603092877719532010-11-17T13:29:00.001-05:002010-11-17T13:33:41.138-05:00Short Story-Turkey Surprise<i style="color: blue;"><b>Published in The Post-Journal, What's Happening Western New York</b></i><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal">Menu: Roasted Wild Turkey, Mashed Potatoes & Homemade Gravy, Cornbread & Wild Rice Stuffing, Corn on the Cob.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ummm...Sounds so good doesn't it? Well, let's "talk turkey".</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">One year I had the privilege to be involved in a very unique experience. It was a first for all of us. The first wild turkey my boyfriend, Kevin had shot, a new stuffing recipe, the first crop of corn of the year in the stores. I should have expected...something.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I received the call at work. "Go get Josh," Kevin said excitedly, "I shot a turkey. He can help me clean it." I should have known I was in trouble when we first got there. There lay the poor little gobbler-headless. While my son and Kevin admired the poor creature and discussed the excellent hunting techniques involved in the kill, I wandered a little ways off. I'm not a hunter, and even though I have been around hunters most of my life, I still don't feel very comfortable actually "meeting" my next meal.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While I was browsing through the trees, I spotted something blue lying in the leaves a few feet away. "Oh good," I thought, "Bluejay feathers." I walked over, bent down to pick up...the turkey's head. "EEEyoo", I cried. Then I looked around to make sure no one had noticed. I non-chalantly walked back over to the guys and pretended to admire the turkey.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Okay, now came the part where we had to figure out how to clean it. Well, obviously first we had to get the feathers off. What followed next was a 10 minute discussion on how to do just that. Josh, Kevin and I all had different ideas, so we did the adult thing...called my grandma. Grandma told us to dunk the turkey in boiling water and the feathers would come right out. She was right, they did, all over my clothes, the table, Josh, Kevin, the cats... Then the wind decided to kick up and help us out by blowing the rest of the feathers all over the place. Hopefully the neighbors didn't notice the feathers in their trees.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We got that step done and Kevin had the honor of removing all the lovely things inside a turkey. No, they aren't in a neat little white bag like the ones in the store. He was "game" about it and with alot of "This is disgusting" from Josh, and a few "Don't you ever shoot another turkey!" from me, we cleaned it up, rinsed it off and I took it home to put into my freezer until Sunday. We planned a real nice dinner with Kevin and I, his son Chalan and my son Josh.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Picture this...a log cabin in the woods on a sunny afternoon. The turkey is cooking.... it smells so-o-o good. The corn is bubbling away on the stove, the potatoes are mashed and waiting for the gravy. Absolute perfection, right? It should have been....</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We finished up the details of the meal and while Kevin carved the turkey, I made the gravy (only a little lumpy) and we sat down to dinner. We all helped ourselves to the food and dug in to eat.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Remember, this was our first taste of wild turkey. It was good, similar to tame turkey, but a little "wilder" tasting. I buttered my corn and took a big bite. I love corn, and we all know how wonderful that first ear of corn tastes. I looked over at Kevin with a smile in my eyes, the corncob in my mouth and he said with a grin..."You have a worm on your corn." I suppose Chalan really didn't mind the corn I spit at him. I'm just thankful that it was a whole worm.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Being the good sport I am, I just threw that cob away and bravely took another one. I checked this one really really well. With the worm memory still kind of fresh, I took a bite of the mashed potatoes. Musty. I had just bought them the day before! What was this, a jinxed meal?? Well, with all that to contend with, we finished up eating, complimented the cook (which wasn't me) and that should be the end of the story. Wrong.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Kevin was slicing off some more breast meat to send home with Chalan, when he called me over. "Do you know what this is?" he asked. It was some dark jelly looking stuff near the breast. "I have no idea", I said, "just don't cut into it." We didn't know, maybe it was supposed to be there.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The next day I received a phone call at my office from the turkey hunter himself, laughing hysterically. At first he wouldn't tell me what was so funny. "You know that jelly-looking stuff we found in the turkey?" he asked. "Yes...." I said hesitantly, with this funny feeling in my stomach. I should have known I was in trouble by this time, but being the optimist I am, I let him go on. "It was full of... " more hysterical laughter, "parts of grasshoppers, little red berries and grass." "Oh..." I said, "Grasshoppers??? Parts???" Flashbacks of the worm danced through my head.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">By this point I was laughing. None of us had thought to remove the gizzard when we cleaned the turkey. How were we to know??? I suppose my grandma thought one of us dummies would have had sense enough to take it out.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Menu: Roasted Wild Turkey garnished with Grasshoppers and Berries, Cornbread & Wild Rice Stuffing, Musty Mashed Potatoes with Home-made Lumpy Gravy, Corn on the Cob with Freshly Boiled Worms.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Well, at least the poor turkey had his last meal ...and the last laugh.</div>Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-89049583967746849972010-11-15T16:03:00.001-05:002010-11-15T16:30:09.169-05:00Forgetting<div style="text-align: justify;">As if I didn't have enough going on, my little brain is worrying that I'll "forget" things. Not the everyday stuff, the things that went on in my life with Kevin. I know how stupid that is, and I'm almost positive that is this something everyone goes through after a loss. It doesn't take away that fear though.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I don't want to forget his stories-some were so funny and some were very sad. I don't want to lose that mental picture of the first time he played guitar for me. We were here and he just casually walked out with a guitar in his hand and played "I'll Be Your Baby Tonight" by Bob Dylan. I hadn't even known that he could play or sing.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">There were so many facets to Kevin that so many people never knew. He didn't share himself easily with people. He was smart, far smarter than anyone could imagine. He had the best laugh, straight from the belly. He was funny, when he actually laughed like that, he would cover his mouth and get this surprised look, like "Is that <i>me</i>?"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">He often talked to me about obscure things, things he questioned. Like love. He said that he didn't understand what people meant when they said they "loved" someone. He said that using the <i>word</i> just didn't make it <i>real</i> to him. He asked the age old question-"What is love?" I think, because of his illness and mine, that he did finally understand what love truly is.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">He absolutely could not stand it when people said "I love you" as a good-by. It drove him nuts. That and using the word <i>awesome</i> to describe something miniscule. He always liked Garth Brook's interpretation of what awesome was and yes, I think he would describe Shania Twain as awesome-especially if she had a note from me :)<br />
<br />
Or the time he was in the outhouse (pre-plumbing days) and there was a bird that has a call that sounds like "birdie, birdie, birdie" and he finally yelled out "I know you're a goddamn birdie, shut up!"<br />
<br />
The time he rescued a little blue bird from the cat, tossed it in the outhouse to keep it safe from Eb and the little bird promptly flew down the hole. Guess what, he tilted the outhouse back and got that little blue bird out of the...well, you know.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">See, I don't want to lose the little things. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then there are all those things I didn't do. Things I didn't say or in my mind, say often enough. Things I could have done differently or better. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Grumpy old Swedish fart-face that he was. I miss him and wonder sometimes, how I can get through without him.<br />
<br />
I wander, looking, searching, wanting that connection again. Wanting him to just come home to me. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div>Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-84121421135189697792010-11-15T09:13:00.000-05:002010-11-15T09:13:48.937-05:00Kevin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzHMAfsG7jdyEivrtGTATWG33jPYsY1A6iZfDINelQvuyWYIC9RG0X6k3lJ79j_WrissFETdiW6kiznE2oJCA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-76905192001981329952010-11-14T19:20:00.000-05:002010-11-14T19:20:00.008-05:00Short Story-Facade<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:DoNotOptimizeForBrowser/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span>The almost hairless face in the mirror was disconcerting.<span> </span>Okay, not completely hairless; there were a few hardy stragglers along the eyebrow line.<span> </span>Tweezers came out and they disappeared.<span> </span>The black, battered makeup case was open on the counter, harsh fluorescent light on.<span> </span>All set. Let’s do this.<span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i>No one know, no one suspects.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span>Avon mineral foundation was applied with care, and the chore of drawing in believable eyebrows began. Gripping the brown brow stick tightly, feathery strokes were applied.<span> </span>Bobby took time out to gnaw on a fingernail while gazing in the mirror.<span> </span>Brown-black eyelashes were glued on next<span> </span>and the face in the mirror batted the long lashes like a coy little girl. Blush, lipstick, the face is complete.<span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Looks good, looks okay,” Bobby thought.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">The wig reflected in the mirror was of fairly good quality.<span> </span>It was a golden brown with subtle red highlights and sparkled a bit in the light.<span> </span>It was synthetic, not real hair though.<span> </span>The synthetic wigs always looked good after a shake, not like the real hair wigs that needed to be washed, curled and sprayed like real women’s hair.<span> </span>Putting the wig on, Bobby gently adjusted the new bangs on it. The bangs semi hid the eyebrows and made the green eyes stand out. A smile at the face in the mirror-now complete.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Walking into the loft bedroom, Bobby paused a moment to listen to the birds outside the window and sighed at the next task-putting on the artificial breasts.<span> </span>Getting them on straight always took so much time.<span> </span>Unzipping the spring green cases, each breast was inspected for tears and cleanliness.<span> </span>These kind were nice.<span> </span>You could wear them with regular bras and didn’t have to wear those bras with the sewn in pockets.<span> </span>The manufacturers tried real hard to make them attractive but they still resembled brassieres from the 50’s in many ways.<span> </span>It was probably the extra wide straps. Lacy or not, two inch wide straps showing were very telling and people would know right away.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I certainly don’t want anyone to find out about this.” Bobby contemplated.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Crap! Damn!”<span> </span>Fifteen minutes and three tries later, Bobby finally got them positioned evenly-sort of.<span> </span>Ah well, the new pink chemise would correct any unevenness.<span> </span>It was a color called “Shag Pink” and had thin spaghetti straps and a fitted, lacey bodice.<span> </span>Bobby pulled the chemise on carefully and shimmied it down over the breasts slowly so as not to dislodge them.<span> </span>Another glance in the mirror and a small twitch straightened the wig.<span> </span>Bobby’s shaky hands smoothed the chemise over bony, thin hips. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">The dress laid out was a deep sea green color and had an almost medieval style to it.<span> </span>The sleeves were long and flared at the end and the cut was somewhat form fitting.<span> </span>Well, <i>should </i>have been form fitting.<span> </span>The big oval mirror in the corner of the loft told the story. “They say you can never be too thin or too rich,” Bobby said to the mirror.<span> </span>“Well, I still have the too rich part to hope for.”<span> </span>Dr. Levine<span> </span>was not going to be happy about this at all.<span> </span>“Listen, Bobby” he had earnestly said, “you have to eat more protein; this is tough on your body.<span> </span>I know you’re strong but you aren’t <i>that</i> strong.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Bobby picked through the jewelry box on the old dresser to find the turquoise nugget necklace and slipped it on.<span> </span>Turquoise was the healing gem and it simply made Bobby feel better to wear it. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Bobby knew it was vitally important to keep up the image people needed to see.<span> </span>The façade was working well too.<span> </span>Bobby smiled at the memory of the wink from the guy at the Kwik Fill yesterday.<span> </span>Maybe all this time and effort to “keep up appearances” was really worth it.<span> </span>It’s nice to be desired even if you couldn’t follow through with it.<span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I wonder how that guy’d feel if he knew the <i>real</i> me?” Bobby mused. “Probably break his neck backing away.”<span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span>Bobby stood in front of the mirror and took inventory from head to toe.<span> </span>Bright pink polish peeped out of the open toed high heels. “Not bad at all,” Bobby said to the mirror, “considering what I have to work with.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span>Clip-clopping down the loft stairs, Bobby rubbed noses with the cat on the way out the door.<span> </span>Ebenezer sneezed in indignation and stalked off into the kitchen to see what the dogs had left in their bowls.<span> </span>Not that he’d deign to eat dog food, he just seemed to like sitting in front of their bowls to freak them out.<span> </span>Bobby imagined the scene being played out behind the closed door.<span> </span>Two Golden Retrievers laying side by side staring at the black cat staring at them, not daring to go any closer.<span> </span>Eb would keep this up until he got bored and moved on to other cat duties, like sleeping in the hamper or laying in the sun that streamed through the skylight at mid day.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Bobby carefully climbed into the battered black pickup truck, perusing the seat for stray dog hairs and backed out the driveway.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">The doctor’s office wasn’t busy that morning so Bobby got right in.<span> </span>Gazing up at the water stained ceiling, Bobby wondered why all these places looked so much alike.<span> </span>Pale green walls, tiny windows and claustrophobic.<span> </span>Shifting nervously on the paper covered bench, Bobby waited for Dr. Levine to come in.<span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Bobby liked Dr. Levine because he was different from the rest of the doctors.<span> </span>He understood the need to try to appear as normal as possible during the entire process.<span> </span>Levine didn’t make Bobby feel freakish or strange like so many others did. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">No one did it on purpose, that was the sad part.<span> </span>How could Sandra know that all that cleavage she showed made Bobby feel so jealous? Alicia couldn’t know how her pretty <i>real</i> hair and eyelashes made Bobby cringe and cry inside. Rose couldn’t understand that the normalcy of her life was like a dagger in the heart. They couldn’t know, and no one knew how angry at life Bobby felt at times. The anger was always a surprise because it was so irrational.<span> </span>Dr. Levine said it was the hormones making Bobby act so crazy and say and do stupid, hurtful things to people, but Bobby knew that the hormone therapy wasn’t the real reason. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">No one knew what it felt like to have everything change, literally over night. Seeing other people so happy and well, <i>normal</i> was so very difficult when you feel like your life has been taken away. It wasn’t something one could prepare for mentally either. This had brought out the nasty side we all have but can most of the time hide. Bobby’s head dropped in shame remembering how horribly people had been treated through this. Would it ever be the same again?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">The door opened.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Dr. Levine came quickly in the door, long gray pony tail bouncing on his back.<span> </span>He smiled a bright smile and said “All of it went very well, Bobby. It all came together this time. We’re done!”<span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">He walked over to the bench and bent down to say teasingly, “Miss Roberta, we can schedule your breast reconstruction in about 6 weeks! The eight rounds of chemotherapy, the radiation and the surgery did it! The cancer is gone! You can have, as you call it, your <i>real</i> life back.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i>Yes, but is there anything left?</i>, she wondered.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div>Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-71231836747878798922010-11-14T09:01:00.002-05:002010-11-14T09:14:07.402-05:00Short Story-Forget Me Not (light hearted)<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Forget-Me-Nots are my grandmother’s favorite flower. She planted a wonderful bright garden of the blue blossoms in a quiet secluded area not far from her lakeside cottage. The flowers naturalized and spread over the knoll and into the wooded area not far away. As soon as I was old enough to venture out alone, I began the regular custom of gathering the blooms for her every spring and through the early summer months. It was not a chore I minded. Each spring I waited in anticipation of seeing those cheerful little blossoms for the first time and the smile on my grandmother’s face as she arranged them in old brass teapots, canning jars and small glass vases all over her house. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> I had waited impatiently for the rain to cease that day, and at the first sign of clearing, I grabbed the basket and lightly tripped up the muddy path to the wild little garden. I tried to dodge the puddles but sometimes I just couldn’t resist jumping into the middle of one. Quite a few people just might question the fact that I am 53 and still splashing in puddles, but I doubted my grandmother would. Hadn’t I seen a tell tale pair of wet sneakers on the back porch just last week? No, Grandma wouldn’t mind the wet feet at all. She and I had often come back together soaking wet and laughing. I hadn’t heard her laughter for awhile.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Your aunt Faye says I’m getting wacky,” she told me with a sigh as we had a cup of coffee together later that morning. “I suppose she’ll be wanting to put me in of those old fart homes soon.” I could see the worry in her blue eyes at the thought. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“You aren’t wacky, Gran, you’re 94.” I reassured her. “At 94 you can do just about anything and get away with it. Tell her you’re just getting eccentric in your old age.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">She snorted and said, “What do you know about it anyway?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“What I know is that I talk to frogs so <i>I’m</i> certainly not going to call <i>you</i> wacky.” I countered. “No one else is going to make you feel that way either if I can help it.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“You still going to those wicker meetings “ she asked. “at that convent over in Sherman?” I choked back a laugh and delicately wiped the coffee off that had squirted out of my nose. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“It’s <i>Wiccan</i>, Grandma and it’s a coven not a convent. And, no I haven’t been there for awhile.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Well, good” she said. “Those nuns can be nasty creatures. Always got their panties in a knot about something.” Gran leaned in close to me and whispered, “Watch out for those priests too. That celebracy thing they do just isn’t natural. Men need sex, it’s that simple. Just ask your grandfather.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Oh dear. My 94 year old grandmother was talking about sex. My 94 year old grandmother was talking about sex with my grandfather who had been dead for two years.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">I worded my next question carefully, not really knowing what the answer might be or if I really wanted an answer. “Have you had sex lately, Gran?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> She turned her gray head towards me in amazement. “What’s wrong with you? Of course I haven’t! Your grandfather’s been gone for two years!” she replied indignantly. “What kind of woman do you think I am?” She stood up and walked over to the sink with her cup and saucer. Staring out the window, I saw her shoulders droop a bit. “I do miss him so, Beth.” I glanced over at the picture she carried from room to room. It was a close up of my grandfather on his 95<sup>th</sup> birthday, a couple of years ago. I knew she missed him; we all did. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Staring out the window, she touched the small vase of flowers on the sill, stroking the little blue faces, deep in thought. I waited and watched, wondering what to expect next. Was she truly losing it? Suddenly she turned and resolutely said, “I need a man and you’re going to find me one.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">My 94 year old grandmother wanted a boyfriend.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">I panicked, I’ll admit it. I would do anything to make my grandmother happy but a <i>boyfriend</i>? “Uh, uh…Gran…ummm,” I stammered.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> “What?” she cried, hands on her hips. “You think I can’t still keep a man happy?” She leaned over me, nose to nose. “I could teach you a few things there little girl.” Wide eyed, I gulped and sat back in the chair. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Yes, ma’am.” was all I could manage. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Then I realized what she had said. My 94 year old grandmother had still had a sex life at 92! I didn’t even have a sex life at 53!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">A light I hadn’t seen in a long time came back into her eyes and she seemed to sparkle. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">“We can do that thing-a-ma-gig I saw on TV. Eat Hominy, or something like that,” she stated excitedly. “You can bring that suitcase computer you have over so we can be profilers. We could put an ad in the paper, too.” I closed my eyes, rubbing my now throbbing temple. <i>My grandmother had had sex more recently than I had.</i> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“It’s EHarmony, a laptop computer and a profile. We absolutely <i>can not</i> put an ad in the paper for a man!” I told her wearily. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> I wasn’t sure what to do at this point. <i>Humor her, calm her down</i>, I told myself. “Why don’t I take you over to the Senior Citizen center next week? You haven’t been there in a long time.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Oh, piddle,” she said. “Those old crones are boring and the men walk around with their diapers hanging out of their pants half the time.” She looked me straight in the eye. “No men with diapers, you understand? No droolers either. Nothing worse than kissing a man who drools.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i>Oh no. Now kissing!</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Great. I had to figure out a delicate way of asking an old man if he peed his pants. I had to make sure he didn’t drizzle, too. I shaded my eyes and sighed. <i>Why hadn’t I stayed home this morning?</i> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“It isn’t just for the sex thing you know,” she told me. “I miss having a man around the house.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">At this point I wasn’t so sure my aunt wasn’t right. I had the feeling though, that the wacky one was <i>me</i> because I was actually going to help my grandmother find a man.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">I arrived early the next morning with the computer and we commenced filling out the questionnaire after I set up an email account for Grandma. What should have taken 25 minutes took over 2 hours since Grandma wanted to make sure she got all the answers “right”. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Okay, Gran. Listen.” I said. “It says ‘We tend to focus on what we most want in a partner. However, it may even be more important to know what we want to avoid! Examine the list of items below and select Ten qualities that you can’t stand to have in a potential mate.’” I read from the website. “Number one: Vanity… I can’t stand someone who is overly interested in their physical appearance. Two: Dependence… I can’t stand someone who bases their happiness on me. Three: Depressed… I can’t stand someone who is …” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Does it say anything about snuff?” Gran interrupted. “I don’t mind chewing snuff but he has to spit outside like your grandfather did.” I scanned down the list. <i>Nothing about…</i> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Oh, and he’s got to take his muddy boots off on the back porch. I won’t spend my time mopping the kitchen floor and cleaning up after him.” She stated emphatically. <i>Boots, mud…</i> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“What about coffee? Does it say anywhere that he has to know how to perk coffee? I miss having coffee in the morning with a man.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i>My head hurt.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> We struggled through the rest of the questionnaire and finally I hit <i>submit </i>with a prayer of thanks and a sense of sadness for her. After all, what were the chances she would find any matches? I truly didn’t think there would be many nonagenarians joining a match making website.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> I poured another cup of coffee as Grandma went into the other room to find a photograph for her profile page. She knew just the right one she wanted. “I don’t look so old in that picture.” Gran said. “Your grandpa said it was a sexy picture, too.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">I sighed and opened the newspaper laying on the table. I perused the headlines. Nothing much happened around here of any interest. Turning the page I saw it. A quarter page ad that read: </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2"><b><i>WANTED! MAN FOR COMPANIONSHIP! 94 year old widowed female looking for a new friend. I am a looker! Must be clean and neat in appearance. Sean Connery types preferred. Extra bonus if you have a grandson for my divorced granddaughter. She is pretty good for 53. Sex is possible if I like you and you still can. I don’t know about my granddaughter. Come to 4662 Lakeside Drive to see me! Bring flowers. </i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">“Grandmother!” I shrieked, “what have you done?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“What?” she innocently asked from the other room. Picking up the newspaper I rushed into the living room to shake it in her face. “You actually put an ad in the paper??” I shrieked, chest heaving in indignation. “How, how…uh…you don’t even drive! How’d you pay for it?” I managed to gasp out. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> Gran continued to casually leaf through the photographs in her aproned lap. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Oh, this nice young woman at the paper helped me out with it,” she said. “She said she’d be happy to drive over and pick up a check. I think her name was Eileen. She giggled a lot.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Yeah, I’ll bet she did.” I replied. I could just imagine the hilarity going on down at the newspaper right now. That little witch Eileen knew <i>exactly</i> what she was starting. We had been nemesis since our high school days and Sam Benson had taken me to the prom instead of her. Neither of us had seen him in 35 years but she never forgave me that slight. Seething inside, I tried to think of something, anything that I could do to fix this. Nothing came to mind short of suicide or murder.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> I spent the next few days feeling like Marlene Dietrich, hiding my face all over town. It’s a small town and I knew <i>everyone</i> had read the advertisement. No one actually said anything to me, but I heard many muffled laughs and snickers as I passed by. My grandmother had always been somewhat of a character but she had really done it this time!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> Saturday afternoon I took a drive over to talk to her about her EHarmony listing. Just as I had expected, no one had responded to her profile. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 0.5in;">“Why can’t we change it?’ she plaintively asked. “Maybe <i>you</i> put something in wrong.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “No, Gran,” I softly stated. “I think it’s just that you’re very special and there aren’t many men out there that can meet your needs.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">It broke my heart to see the dejected look in her eyes again. She had been so excited and hopeful the last few days when I talked to her on the phone. She had even put a blue rinse in her hair.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Well, hell’s bells,” she huffed. “Guess that’s that, isn’t it.” Gran sat down at the table and fiddled with the teapot full of drooping blossoms. “I thought the ad might work,” she sighed. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said I’d have sex.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i>That</i> was still a visual I preferred <i>not</i> to think about. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Come on, Gran, let’s walk up and get you some new flowers.” I said, patting her shoulder. “That’ll make you feel better, won’t it?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Suddenly, she looked old and frail as she said, “You go ahead. I think I’ll take a nap.” She walked slowly out of the kitchen towards the darkened hallway that led back to her bedroom. That proud blue head hung down on her chest as she shuffled away.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> There was a knock at the back door.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> In a flash, my grandma primped in front of the hallway mirror, and raced to the door. Swinging it open with a wide toothed smile, I heard her gasp “Oh, my goodness.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Peeking around the door frame I saw him. He wasn’t Sean Connery by any means but he was very handsome and dapper. Standing on the back steps was a tall, thin gray haired old man, dressed in an antique tux holding the biggest bouquet of Forget-Me-Nots I had ever seen. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 0.5in;">“As I recall, Miss Myrtle, these are your favorite flowers.” he growled in a husky voice.<br />
“Oh, my.”Gran said again. I had not seen her at a loss for words ever in my entire life. “Frank?” she squeaked out.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “<i>Frank?</i>” I squealed. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i>Oh no. It can’t be.</i> Frank had dated my grandmother before she met my grandfather. Gran always said she broke his heart when she started dating my grandfather 77 years ago. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I was only 17 and I couldn’t help myself.” She had told me once. “I liked Frank a lot, but when I saw your grandfather…well there was no one else for me after that.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> Uh-oh. My brain suddenly made a connection through time. Frank…<i>Benson</i>. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">It really wasn’t possible, was it? I heard a car door slam, footsteps coming up the sidewalk. I closed my eyes. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i>No, no, please, let it not…oh please let it be…Oh crap, what do I have on?? </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i> </i>My eyes popped open at the words, “Grandpa, you didn’t tell me you knew Beth’s grandmother.” Sam smiled and held out nosegay of violets towards me. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> “<i>Your</i> favorite flowers, I believe?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
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</div>Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-12542382863926717032010-11-12T09:12:00.000-05:002010-11-12T09:12:36.017-05:00What I really thought...<i style="color: blue;"><b>Note to Readers: </b> You may or may not have read my press release about the Beechwood Restaurant. At the very wise advice of an acquaintance, Jason Sample, I severely edited the version that went out to the public. My thoughts and opinions on this, while valid, possibly could have done more damage than good. People do not like having their shortcomings, their mistakes, etc., pointed out to them. My goal was to generate an interest in the restaurant, our cuisine, and our services, not to piss anyone off. The original, while passionate, would have done that. But, I'm still entitled to my opinion so here it is. If someone from the restaurant happens to check out this blog (unlikely), they will know me well enough to know I wrote this because I believe in Chef Mills, what he is trying to do and....well, you know. So, here it is.</i><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> Not so very long ago there was a man from this area that had a dream.<span> </span>It wasn’t a huge dream.<span> </span>It was small really, compared to many, but it was his.<span> </span>So, working towards this dream, he went to culinary school at the age of 30 years old, graduated with honors and became a chef in various establishments through the years. Gradually working his way back home to Chautauqua County, he decided to make that dream he had fostered for so many years a reality.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span> </span>Opening a small but lucrative coffee house and café in Jamestown, Chef Timothy Mills successfully demonstrated his talents and knowledge of fine and eclectic cuisine.<span> </span>Timothy’s Café become a downtown icon of sorts, offering entrées not often found anywhere else in the county. Timothy’s Café was a place to get a cheerful “Good Morning” and an absolutely fabulous cup of coffee, latte, or cappuccino; a breakfast pannini, a bagel, or an extraordinary breakfast wrap.<span> </span>Guests would check out the lunch specials in advance, whether in person or on his website, knowing that there was a limited supply of this fantastic food available.<span> </span>Why?<span> </span>Because Chef Timothy prepared each entrée <i>à la minute</i>-loosely translated as “by the minute” or more to the point-by the order. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span> </span>As time went on, Chef Mills spent four years serving the general public, conducting exclusive private dinners at the café, catering on site and off until one day, opportunity knocked in the form of an establishment in Lakewood coming up for sale.<span> </span>A very well-known restaurant and pub for decades and a historic landmark, it seemed the logical next step towards that dream of his.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Taking possession of The Beechwood Country House Restaurant in February 2010, Tim and his wife Sarah, friend and employee Chelsea Newton, and various others spent many, many hours doing grubby, dirty work refurbishing, remodeling and restoring this landmark to an acceptable operating condition once again. With high hopes and confidence, Tim and Sarah Mills opened The Beechwood Country House Restaurant in May under new ownership.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span> </span>Happy ending, correct?<span> </span>Not really. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span> </span>Once opened, many people visited the Beechwood at first, even without a liquor license. The Beechwood Country House Restaurant was a successful family owned and operated establishment for more than 50 years.<span> </span>Many in the area had been patrons of the Beechwood for as long as they could remember. Fond memories of family lunches and dinners, Christmas parties and the like, were collectively shared by numerous individuals.<span> </span>It was still the same cozy, homey place that everyone knew and remembered.<span> </span>The knotty pine paneling was still there, as well as the fire crackling in the fireplace.<span> </span>The “regulars” were delighted to see that the restaurant had not changed too much inside.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span> </span>Ah, the keyword-<i>change</i>.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span> </span>“Change” by definition is “to make or become different” according to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary.<span> </span>Is that a bad thing?<span> </span>No, it isn’t, yet most of us do not easily accept change.<span> </span>It’s disconcerting, unsettling and well, frightening at times.<span> </span>However, change can also be exhilarating, refreshing and pleasurable.<span> </span>Woodrow Wilson said, “If you want to make enemies, try to change something”.<span> </span>How true that has been found to be with the opening of this restaurant.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span> </span><span> </span>It is a sad fact that many of the past Timothy’s Café customers have not often frequented the restaurant.<span> </span>Perhaps it is simply because it is not as convenient for them as the establishment on Third Street.<span> </span>Maybe it’s because the menu and atmosphere has changed just enough that they feel uncomfortable.<span> </span>Some of the former Beechwood customers have not always come back a second time, even after enjoying a fabulous meal.<span> </span>Why? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span> </span><span> </span>The “old crowd” from Timothy’s Café are frequently disappointed that they can’t get certain specialty salads and sandwiches, or the multitude of flavored, freshly brewed coffees popular at the café.<span> </span>In comparison, the former Beechwood group is displeased because the fare is not what they are “used” to at the Beechwood.<span> </span>There is no free relish tray or the big bowl of mints on the counter. There is no longer a Gorgy salad available.<span> </span>No one is pleased it seems, despite how many changes and additions that Chef Mills has made to the menu trying to accommodate everyone’s desires. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">The former owners and operators of the restaurant did an excellent job for many years, so it is understandable that people want to see and eat the same types of food that the restaurant was known for.<span> </span>It is understandable that many customers had their favorites from the café as well, and looked forward to continuing to enjoy them.<span> </span>However, it is this author’s opinion that the local community and a number of patrons from the previous Beechwood and the former Timothy’s Café have not given Mills and the “new” restaurant very much of a chance.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">No, it is not the <i>same</i> old Beechwood food, nor is it the <i>same</i> Timothy’s cuisine.<span> </span>Why in the world would anyone think that it would be the same as either?<span> </span>It is a new kind of establishment with a new owner, new décor, new…everything!<span> </span>How refreshing to see tradition and innovation entwined!<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">One drawback for many is the lack of a liquor license.<span> </span>That will come in time but not without patronage from past patrons of both establishments and the community.<span> </span>The expense of running a restaurant is not one that many are familiar with. Overhead, food costs, payroll, taxes, etc., are not things one thinks about when ordering dinner in a restaurant. The process of getting a liquor license is also an expenditure that most people have no idea about.<span> </span>Both are phenomenal expenses for a restaurant owner and an almost impossible enterprise without public support.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">What many don’t recognize is that absolutely everything prepared in the kitchen is prepared fresh, not pre-bought frozen entrées.<span> </span>Mills uses freshly made pastas-not factory produced.<span> </span>Each and every entrée is prepared <i>à la minute</i>-as it is ordered.<span> </span>There is not a big pot of sauce simmering on the stove all evening waiting to be ladled over the pasta.<span> </span>There is no warmer keeping the chicken hot, it is fried up or grilled to order.<span> </span>Every item on the menu is prepared <i>after</i> that yellow slip goes into the kitchen from the server’s pad.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Guests are treated with respect and courtesy, the cuisine is fantastic as well as artful and creative. Chef Mills and the staff at the <i>new</i> Beechwood Country House Restaurant are always willing to accommodate dietary needs when possible and truly <i>listen</i> to their customers.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">So, former Beechwood and Timothy’s Café customers, take note!<span> </span>Just because everything <i>seems</i> so different, how much have things <i>really</i> changed?<span> </span>Is the lack of one or two particular items on the menu or the lack of an alcoholic beverage <i>truly</i> all that important when there is so much more offered as a scrumptious alternative?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Life can often get awfully dull and humdrum, and so can food.<span> </span>Do yourself and your palate a favor and give the new owner and chef of The Beechwood Country House Restaurant a chance. Experience and embrace some change in your lives!<span> </span>You won’t be disappointed.</span></div>Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-77841185866833022652010-11-11T12:23:00.005-05:002010-11-11T12:31:09.495-05:00Press Release-Local History and Creative Innovation EntwineReleased to the Chautauqua Star and the Post-Journal on November 8, 2010<br />
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<h1 align="center" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Local History and Creative Innovation Entwine</span></h1><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">The Beechwood Country House Restaurant-an eclectic, unique restaurant providing the area with fine cuisine and carrying on a tradition</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Not so very long ago there was a man from this area that had a dream. It wasn’t a huge dream. It was small really, compared to many, but it was his. So, working towards this dream, he went to culinary school at the age of 30 years old, graduated with honors and became a chef in various establishments, high-end and low through the years. Gradually working his way back home to Chautauqua County, he decided to make that dream he had fostered for so many years a reality. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwgGFHHfGDG2pGGAQtKtyRlh4z7DouiVahAOR3nGIdfEbuaSyVLE_Bx_Pjd0gmMy8th0JfMM7BZqho51Uvaq3TverhYtUWwjreOoBXVa5IcZznMZaffRi8t3MpXqCoLKCqkpYEGtKyatI/s1600/Sold.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwgGFHHfGDG2pGGAQtKtyRlh4z7DouiVahAOR3nGIdfEbuaSyVLE_Bx_Pjd0gmMy8th0JfMM7BZqho51Uvaq3TverhYtUWwjreOoBXVa5IcZznMZaffRi8t3MpXqCoLKCqkpYEGtKyatI/s200/Sold.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Taking possession of The Beechwood Country House Restaurant in February 2010, Tim and his wife Sarah, friend and employee Chelsea Newton, and various others spent many, many hours doing grubby, dirty work refurbishing, remodeling and restoring this landmark to an acceptable operating condition once again. With high hopes and confidence, Tim and Sarah Mills opened The Beechwood Country House Restaurant in May under new ownership.</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUAU5i9GlmzaHBVyJKl5vqtK1paag4lSUJxiN5AdJ3X-WMjeCBGaUYz0VzAZqOWg6ezyyWhN7df9Xpn_0OwkSKIxYNtcj_pevoB5V5-kMS-mZ2squ3_TZohIBjuenuc_EH1tGVgUCCAsI/s1600/Fireplace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUAU5i9GlmzaHBVyJKl5vqtK1paag4lSUJxiN5AdJ3X-WMjeCBGaUYz0VzAZqOWg6ezyyWhN7df9Xpn_0OwkSKIxYNtcj_pevoB5V5-kMS-mZ2squ3_TZohIBjuenuc_EH1tGVgUCCAsI/s200/Fireplace.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The fireplace crackles for all to enjoy!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Absolutely everything made in the kitchen at The Beechwood is prepared fresh, and are not pre-bought frozen, jarred or canned entrées. Mills uses his own freshly made pastas-not factory produced. Each and every entrée is prepared <i>à la minute</i>-as it is ordered. There is not a big pot of sauce simmering on the stove all evening waiting to be ladled over the pasta. There is no warmer keeping the chicken hot, it is fried up or grilled to order. Every item on the menu is prepared <i>after</i> that yellow slip goes into the kitchen from the server’s pad.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Guests are treated with respect and courtesy, the cuisine is fantastic as well as artful and creative, and the ambiance is marvelous. Chef Mills and the staff at the new Beechwood Country House Restaurant are always willing to accommodate dietary needs when possible and truly <i>listen</i> to their customers. Mills and staff also strive to help out the local community in unique manners. </span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZF8BzOmnQTy-c4Z3iufn0P_s0Qi9XLFekHFmvBDoVAeDBeUvvnbg5ErT11q8VQtJQRuchoOcjcl7Hx-SVSBZhluBDw3xLxO3GMnT5f_CCl6JI46ajCQlPcWBCe4Fc0lPyev5-l22g4PY/s1600/Beth+and+Jeff+Kresge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZF8BzOmnQTy-c4Z3iufn0P_s0Qi9XLFekHFmvBDoVAeDBeUvvnbg5ErT11q8VQtJQRuchoOcjcl7Hx-SVSBZhluBDw3xLxO3GMnT5f_CCl6JI46ajCQlPcWBCe4Fc0lPyev5-l22g4PY/s200/Beth+and+Jeff+Kresge.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Jeff & Beth Kresge enjoy their boobs!</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">In October, Chef Mills created a unique dessert to raise money for the local Cancer Services program in Chautauqua County. The “Beechwood Boobie Bombe” brought smiles to the fine patrons that purchased them. The price of the dessert was worth every penny to watch Chef Mills flambé it tableside with flair and finesse!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Though operating without a liquor license at present, there is no lack of beverages to choose from-smoothies, Kona Mocha Frappuccinos, Italian sodas, soft drinks, lattes, cappucinnos, espresso, a multitude of herbal and traditional teas as well as their fantastic coffee. The process of getting a liquor license is long and expensive. With luck, and with support from current patrons and new, Mills hopes to have the license by the new year.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">The Beechwood Country House Restaurant is also available for private holiday parties and banquets. Chef Mills, with his many years of experience, caters affairs on site or off. A traditional sit-down Thanksgiving Dinner is also being offered by reservation only as well as home made pies for the holidays. Call 716-526-4214 for reservations or pie orders. Check out the lovely pies on the website as well as much more at <a href="http://thebeechwood.webs.com/">http://thebeechwood.webs.com</a>, or find The Beechwood Country House Restaurant on Facebook, Twitter, MerchantCircle and Ubanspoon. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Life can often get awfully dull and humdrum, and so can food. Do yourself and your palate a favor and have a savory, unique culinary adventure at the NEW Beechwood Country House Restaurant. Experience and embrace some change in your lives! You won’t be disappointed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-50933719875177873192010-11-01T18:36:00.002-04:002010-11-11T11:58:56.409-05:00Published in "Survivor", The Post-Journal, October 30, 2010<div class="MsoNormal">My Story</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I don’t know or remember where I heard this in reference to being a “survivor” but the gist was that you don’t know you’ve survived cancer until you die from something else. A pretty morbid thought, isn’t it? And sad, too. Hearing this took away something I valued a lot-hope, and reinforced the <i>Fear</i>. <i>Fear</i> has become my shadow and is akin to someone you don’t particularly like, but <i>have</i> to put up with. <i>Fear</i> is there every minute of the day; greets me first thing in the morning and haunts my dreams. <i>Fear</i> whispers, “It might come back, you know”. <i>Fear</i> is something that every single person that has had any type of cancer knows intimately.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I wasn’t afraid in the beginning, which always seemed odd to me. I was determined to win the battle and “it” was not going to stand a chance. Looking back, I don’t know where I found the strength to go through what I did with such hope and well, <i>attitude</i>. None of it seemed to weaken me, or my resolve to survive. I do know now, there were many, many times that I faked this good, positive attitude for someone else’s sake. There were times of emotional confusion for me that I couldn’t even explain to myself. The only one that truly saw the heartbreak, the sadness and the grief for what I had lost was my significant other, Kevin. When my hair started to fall out, he cried for me. But, bald or not, I was <i>his</i> and he stood by me through it all. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I went through the chemotherapy easily, if you can say anything about chemo is ”easy”. I never got sick from it and felt fairly normal most of the time. Until I looked in the mirror of course. I remember wondering, “Is this stuff even working?” because I ,like all of us, heard the horror stories about chemotherapy. Well, it was working and in August 2008 I had a bilateral mastectomy.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I remember that day so well. I was taken down to the surgical holding area and left there alone for about two hours. My family had no idea where I was or what was going on. I am glad that I had that time. I remember I crossed my arms and held each breast in my hands. I felt their weight, their warmth and I said good-by. Memories of that first time my mom made me wear a bra were there…the first time they were touched …hugging my son to them…all there. I said good-by to my breasts.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Before the reconstruction, I would often “feel” them-the weight of them. It was a strange feeling, which I think was very similar to the phantom pain that amputees feel. Each time it happened, I felt sad for a few minutes, remembering what was. I still feel a sense of loss. My “new” ones are nice. Or, rather will be when all the surgeries are done. But, they aren’t the same. They are cute and perky and always will be unless insurance companies are willing to pay to have reconstructed breasts “aged”. I laugh a bit, thinking about being my grandmother’s age (95) and having nice firm tata’s. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Cancer took much away from me-friends, my self-esteem, and at times, it took my life because “it” dominated every minute of the day if I let it. I faltered at times, but I tried to be strong for myself. I <i>believed</i>. I believed in myself, in the power of love and mostly, I believed that I was strong enough to win. I still believe that.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">So, I truly AM a survivor! </div>Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-67943557691875576892010-09-29T13:29:00.004-04:002010-11-11T11:59:53.678-05:00Sadness, but not lonelinessI've had some time lately to reflect on all that has happened in the last few years. I know that many say it all happens for a reason, and they're probably right. What the reason is, most of the time, we don't know. Would we want to? <br />
<br />
I don't think I appreciated my mom and dad enough, until the cancer came and they were there for me 100%. I always knew they would be there, but I guess none of us realize just how much family will sacrifice for you until <i>it </i>happens.<br />
<br />
If I had not gotten cancer, would I have the true friends I do now? Would my best friends include Kevin's step-children? Some of Chalan's friends became <i>our</i> friends as well. The changes that happened in my life, and Kevin's too, were a direct result of our illnesses. Believe me, I am not grateful for our health problems, nor that of my parents, but I am grateful for the friends, family and the good changes that came into our lives because of them. Though life seems so difficult for so many of us at times, if we look for the magic, it's there.<br />
<br />
I miss Kevin terribly, each and every moment of the day but I am not lonely. This cabin was so much <i>ours, </i>that I don't think I'll ever feel completely alone here. There's too much of him, of <i>him and me</i> here. I walk outside and see the three big rocks we rolled out of the woods-him laughing at me falling on my face when it finally took off downhill. I look at the "trinkets" I have all over the porch and remember how he'd sigh, roll his eyes a bit and say "whatever makes you happy, sweetie pie". The fairies, candles, witchballs, dragonfly ladies, the hickory woman and such, just fit here, and always have. Just like we did, together.<br />
<br />
I still have all of his things around me and probably will for quite some time. I need the comfort of his essense right now and that's okay. It's part of the grieving process. I won't make this cabin a shrine to him, he would get hightly pissed off if I did that! We had plans of things to do inside and outside, and I'll do my best to do them as I can. Even though over time, the cabin will become different, it will essentially always be the same in many ways. It will always be mine and Kevin's home that we created together. Nothing can change that. As Bob Dylan's song <i>The Ballad of Frankie Lee and Judas Priest</i> says, “It’s not a house . . . it’s a home”. <br />
<br />
Am I doing okay? I think so. But, we all know our perception of our behavior and what the world sees are often two different things. I don't get lonely, like I said, and there are a lot of things that I want to do. I have to admit, some days, I don't "do" anything. I don't have to. If that is considered depression, I believe I differ in opinion. I feel that, on days like that, I am subconsciously making a plan for the future, thinking, reasoning, etc. I am not one to be put down for long.<br />
<br />
Some days I feel very sad and almost disoriented. You know, the something (or someone) is missing feeling? Today is a sad day. I'd like to just hide away in the woods away from the world, but I know I can't, nor is it healthy to do that. So, I will leave these enchanted woods (as I always called them) and go out into the world as we know it. But I'll be back, and be welcomed home.<br />
<br />
I'll be just fine, I know that.Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-75166581931506208522010-08-14T01:22:00.005-04:002010-11-11T12:00:11.681-05:00Remembering II<div style="border: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Fr0qBIr2bNicFeahWPPkTbb7JFcYK5gFfLwR2Yfk2QQnA7rp0Al3Kqq9TXIZ9QTQsuGLyQQaFr9EYFX5q6vhFToOC9O0mIsXRwB4lEMkhBlrR0IlnGmlibtrNv51Pu147f-8Ofzs26w/s1600/Kevin-Chautauqua+Gorge+2000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Fr0qBIr2bNicFeahWPPkTbb7JFcYK5gFfLwR2Yfk2QQnA7rp0Al3Kqq9TXIZ9QTQsuGLyQQaFr9EYFX5q6vhFToOC9O0mIsXRwB4lEMkhBlrR0IlnGmlibtrNv51Pu147f-8Ofzs26w/s320/Kevin-Chautauqua+Gorge+2000.jpg" width="182" /></a>My best friend, lover and biggest champion died last week. Oh, we knew it was going to happen and that was a kind of gift in many ways, as odd as that seems to sound. <br />
<br />
We had the time to talk, to plan, to cry. I remember Kevin telling me many times “I need you to stay close to me.” I did. Never a really demonstrative person, he became one. I often wondered if he was comforting me or himself, but it didn’t matter. The hugs, the kisses…they were so bittersweet and precious. He held me so tight as I cried a few months ago, my heart breaking...knowing what was coming. </div><br />
Kevin became somewhat romantic knowing the end of our life together was coming. He made sure he told me how much he loved me, how he respected me, was proud of me…oh so many things in the last months. One of his favorite songs that he had me play over and over again was by Lionel Richie, <i>“Stuck On You”</i> and listening to the words many times, I think he was trying to tell me how lucky he felt to have me in his life. Can you understand how my heart rejoiced and broke at the same time? I have attached a link here. Listen and you’ll understand.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fP4VCRf4xsg">Stuck On You</a><br />
<br />
Kevin and I had a relationship based on respect, love and friendship. Oh, we had our times when we fought, just like anyone else. I was usually devastated when he was mad at me and would apologize first (even when I knew I was right). I just couldn’t take it when he was disappointed in me or upset with me. He always said that disappointing the people you supposedly care about, and that care about you, is the worse thing you can do to someone. He did always admit when he was wrong (which wasn’t often damn the stubborn Swede) and admitted mistakes that he made.<br />
<br />
I’m sure there are many people in our lives that were disappointed and are upset that Kevin wouldn’t change to suit us. I have to admit, I am one. I know I am not alone…his son, his mom, friends…all of us. We wanted him to stay alive-he wanted his own life, his one way. One thing sticks with me, however. Kevin always journeyed on the “road less traveled” for most of his life. Why did we ever think he would trudge down some well worn path at the orders of someone else? His path was predestined from the beginning. And didn’t that non-compliancy attitude, that cockiness, make him exactly who <i>he</i> was? Would any of us have wanted to change him, the essence of what made Kevin…<i>Kevin</i>? I don’t think so.<br />
<br />
Kevin could analyze people almost immediately and just simply know their nature. I can’t remember a time that he was wrong. It took years at times, but ultimately his perception of the person was right. Don’t think that wasn’t irritating at times…<br />
<br />
All in all, Kevin was a wonderful person. He was kind, very giving, generous and yes, tough, opinionated, tempermental, brutally honest, and a real pain in the butt at times. We loved him because of that. Earning a smile, kudos or praise from Kevin Williamson was a big feather in anyone’s hat because he expected the absolute best from all of us. <br />
<br />
Kevin always felt he had been born in the wrong century and I believe that he did live in another time when men were men, so to speak. He had great admiration for the mountain man, the first cowboys and the renegade. Being somewhat of an outlaw himself, he understood the need to go your own way, to break your own trail and live life to it’s fullest embracing and enjoying the adventure along the way. <br />
<br />
Did he have regrets? A few. Don’t we all? He regretted hurting Sarah. He regretted friends he lost and the life he wasn’t going to have. He regretted the things we would never do together. The things he would never be able to do with Chalan. He regretted the words he never said to his mother, his son, my son, his stepchildren and his friends.<br />
<br />
And leaving us…yes, he regretted that the most. <br />
<br />
He knew years ago, unconsciously that he would not live to be an old man. He always knew that. How, I don’t know. But he did.<br />
<br />
A friend of mine told me that we are put on this earth for a preordained amount of time with certain tasks to fulfill before our time is up. Did he fulfill those tasks? <br />
<br />
I think so. He taught so many of us to be stronger than we thought we could ever be, to push ourselves just a bit farther and to never ever give up yourself to someone else. “Don’t lose what makes you uniquely you” he used to tell me. He taught us to look within, to find the essence of ourselves and make it brighter so that we could shine.<br />
<br />
He died listening to his favorites: Gordon Lightfoot ,Nat King Cole, Elton John, Cat Stevens, Bob Dylan and Chalan…always Chalan.. He taught Chalan to play guitar initially but always said Chalan took it to a higher level, one he himself didn’t achieve or need to. Once again, the “old man’s” wise words pushed, prodded and pissed many of us off enough to become what he always knew we could be and to be strong enough to go on without him and be who he knew we always were.<br />
<br />
I had made him the promise that he would die in his cabin in the woods and he did. He could see the sky, hear the birds and hear the songs of <i>his</i> world, which wrapped around him and took him home.<br />
<br />
I’m mighty glad I stayed.Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-21385433760647202032010-07-31T08:26:00.005-04:002010-11-11T12:00:50.004-05:00Remembering<div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ONXQyEDBPabgx5MQeuPBvKfO6A2DxzFjQGe4BV3AqztCS2S5jxmhXuSDOYaY13_Xjev6CAPeID5WXMgTqh7jyzNLmgyGMb9v0DfKW_7tpdcM7LjMaN1mOmHayCPI-boOS7qSZTjLu5Q/s1600/Kevin+and+Doc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ONXQyEDBPabgx5MQeuPBvKfO6A2DxzFjQGe4BV3AqztCS2S5jxmhXuSDOYaY13_Xjev6CAPeID5WXMgTqh7jyzNLmgyGMb9v0DfKW_7tpdcM7LjMaN1mOmHayCPI-boOS7qSZTjLu5Q/s320/Kevin+and+Doc.jpg" /></a></div>This is a photo of Doc and Kevin taken at Chautauqua Gorge in April 2000. I have always loved this photo because it is Kevin at his best and you can see the love these two had for each other. Doc was so proud carrying his own backpack, too.<br />
<br />
I do have to say something though, hoping that whomever reads this takes note and thinks before they say or do this. It isn't fair and is very sad when it happens. It has happened to my dad and now to Kevin, too.<br />
<br />
A friend of ours wife came to see Kevin a week ago or so and made the comment that she was upset with her husband because he didn't tell her how bad Kevin was. Okay, that's understandable. But, what she said next is not. She said she wished she hadn't seen him because she wanted to remember him when he was well.<br />
<br />
Excuse me! Your memory suddenly goes defunct all of a sudden because you see someone ill? What this women in essence really is saying is that it hurts HER too much to see Kevin sick. I don't really care about HER feelings. By staying away from friends that are sick because YOU don't want to feel bad has got to be the most selfish, self serving thing I have ever heard or seen. Isn't part of being a friend to be there even during the tough times? I have heard the phrase :"fair weather friends" and it seems that many of Kevin's friends, and mine too, were or are that. <br />
<br />
Well people, the storms are raging so go home and cocoon in your little bubble of comfort. We, on the other hand are facing the thunder and lightning and yes...raging back!Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-88355335918582666612010-07-29T07:43:00.003-04:002010-11-11T12:01:01.733-05:00One day at a time I guessWell, Kevin and I finally have some help! His doctor made arrangements for Hospice to come in and help us. It was very sad and hard to accept this. In fact, on Monday when the woman was supposed to come, I cancelled it because I felt sick to my stomach. I realize now that I was simply trying to postpone having to deal with it. I usually deal with things head on, but this time I just couldn't. Lynn Austin was the initial contact and she was very kind and understanding of what I did and the heartbreak I felt. She told me it was not unusual to do this. Naturally, me being myself, I felt guilty about it but she comforted me and let me know I was not alone in my reaction. <br />
<br />
I think watching someone you love in pain has to be the hardest thing a person has to do. My Dad is also going though major life changes and now has had to accept that he is going to lose his other leg. I am very proud of my Mom and how she is handling this. And my Dad, too. I can't imagine coping with that but you do what you have to do to stay alive. Life will be different, but there will still be life! <br />
<br />
Kevin and I have often discussed quality of life issues. He, for one, would not be able to make the decisions that my father has had to. I know that Kevin would choose death over amputation and that is each person's individual choice. Myself...I'm pretty sure I would fight to live like my dad is. Plus, he'll have a cool motorized chair to buzz around the neighborhood in! I know that my father will make the absolute best of what he has been dealt and so will my mom. <br />
<br />
People have often said that I am a strong person. Well, who do you think I got it from? My mother and father. <br />
<br />
I am still having difficulties with our decision. Hospice made arrangements for some items that will help Kevin and to be honest, I did not react well to them yesterday. For one thing, they showed up without calling and luckily Sandy was here while I was at work. I know they are things that we will need down the road but it pissed me off. But, as I tell myself-this isn't about me is it? So shut up and buck up.<br />
<br />
Oh yes, I smack myself around on a regular basis. I guess I figure it's better I do it than wait for someone else to. Brilliant theory, I know.Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-65118150991527295872010-07-26T20:59:00.002-04:002010-11-11T12:01:17.464-05:00SorryI am very sorry that I haven't kept up with this. I had all good intentions for this blog. I wanted to keep Chalan aware of what was happening in our woods and also for friends and family if they were interested. But, life being itself....<br />
<br />
Kevin spent some time in the hospital and at Heritage for PT. He seemed to be getting better, so after 20 days (the magic number when Medicare won't pay 100%) he was released. It has been a battle day to day ever since.<br />
<br />
I started a new job recently and my boss Tim is very understanding and supportive of our situation. His wife, Sarah, is a nurse so she also understands and empathizes. <br />
<br />
It's very hard and very sad. Some days I am just a hollow shell and wonder how long I can keep trying. Good thing I'm stubborn I guess!<br />
<br />
I try to tell myself tomorrow is a new day with new opportunities. Not every day is sad, and there are good days when the hope is still alive and vibrant. I cherish those days and if willing it can make it happen, there will be many more!<br />
<br />
Keep in touch and so will I.<br />
<br />
TerryTerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-77607415180509871282010-02-02T12:09:00.002-05:002010-11-11T12:01:32.495-05:00I am back!I haven't had the time or to be more truthful, made the time to post on the blog.<br />
<br />
Life hasn't been very pleasurable lately. I did manage to finish the Italian class I started in September and actually got an A. Weird, I know. It was a very difficult class because Italian is very much like Latin with all those verbs to conjugate! I did it though and fulfilled the language requirement for my Bachelor's. I did ask for an extension on the Art Therapy class simply because with all that has gone on I knew I would not be able to finish it. <br />
<br />
Kevin was in the hospital and my dad has been very ill. My dad had to have his leg amputated due to poor circulation. It's been really hard on him and my Mom. My family has pulled together through all of this so I know we'll all end up fine!<br />
<br />
I'm okay-going through the breast reconstruction which naturally, did not go as planned. The things we do for vanity! <br />
<br />
Have to go but wanted to post something for the few friends I have. Take care.Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5790031963297830285.post-45819185324440596142009-10-10T08:26:00.004-04:002010-11-11T12:02:49.452-05:00Short Story-Stella Pt. 3My family and their friends played along with me in their adult wisdom. I was teased about her and asked all kinds of questions. “I’ll bet she looks just like you doesn’t she Jessie?” my mom would say. “No!” I would cry in frustration, “I’m me, not her! Her hairs are red and she’s big.” I was a very small child for my age with golden brown hair, nothing like her at all.<br />
<br />
<br />
I tried to ignore her but she was strong. <br />
<br />
I’m sure it was considered quite cute and sweet by the adults in my family to set an extra place at the dinner table for my friend. How come I couldn’t see her, could they? But how was it possible to feel something that you couldn’t see? It confused me. <br />
<br />
I didn’t want her beside me, I made them put her next to my father. Maybe he could control her because I sure couldn’t. Naturally, she did as she pleased anyway, and I would get blamed for the beets on the floor or the finger prints in the cake icing. No one ever saw her when she was bad, not even me. <br />
<br />
But I paid for it every time and I knew she was there.<br />
<br />
My grandmother stopped over for a visit one day and found my mother in tears. I was, at the time, standing in the corner because I had been a “very, very bad girl”. My mom had seen a nasty, mean drawing in my book of a kitty with blood all over it and had caught me breaking all of my crayons. I was crying because I had snapped all of my crayons on purpose and it broke my heart to do it. I was crying because I didn’t do that drawing or any of the rest of those nasty ones in my book! She had! <br />
<br />
I was crying because my mom was mad at me and I had made her cry again. <br />
<br />
When I tried to explain that day, my mom yanked me to the corner and said “You stay right there until I tell you that you can move you bad girl! Don’t lie to me! You did this and I will not put up with this kind of behavior!” I was scared. I couldn’t make her go away and she was getting stronger. <br />
<br />
“Maybe this invisible friend thing has gone too far, Jill.” my grandmother said that day to my mother. “Jessie is such a good girl. I don’t understand this willfulness and temper all of a sudden. It just isn’t like her.” My heart soared! My grandmother knew! She knew it wasn’t me!<br />
<br />
“She’s just being a mean, nasty brat!” my mother cried angrily, “She’s not your daughter to coddle, and she needs to stop this! Don’t you go making excuses for her again!” <br />
<br />
My shoulders sagged. Even Gramma couldn’t help me now. I was alone with her.<br />
<br />
The years passed, my brother arrived and family focus was on the new baby. He was cute, happy and always had a smile for everyone. I loved him with all my heart but I would not stay alone in any room with him. My parents consulted Dr. Spock who said that jealousy of a new sibling was perfectly normal and that the older child would come to terms with it on their own if given time. <br />
<br />
I wasn’t jealous of the baby, I was protecting him from her. She didn’t like him being there. I knew… I knew she wanted him gone! She wanted to hurt him and make him cry! I had found the drawings in my sketch book that told me how she felt about him. I shuddered as I remembered what she had done to that cute little face. He was safe though, because I had figured it out. <br />
<br />
You see, as the years had passed, I had come to realize that the horrible drawings that appeared on the table in my room during the night weren’t what had happened, but what she wanted to happen, what she wanted to do. I had also discovered quite by accident, that if I erased some of what she had drawn or changed it, things didn’t happen at all. I had to check though, every day to make sure I didn’t miss one. <br />
<br />
Sometimes I did. <br />
<br />
One time she put my cat in the dryer and just as I opened the door to get him out, my dad caught me and smacked me hard on the butt. “I thought you loved Frisky!” my dad yelled at me. “Don’t you know you could kill him doing this? What is wrong with you sometimes?” I found the drawing of a cat strangled by my blue and green striped knee-sock under my bed later that afternoon.<br />
<br />
So I learned to be vigilant. I learned to be quiet, to listen for her, to feel her coming. Already a contemplative child, I became more so. I locked myself in my room when I felt her coming and fought her as best I could. I found that reading kept her occupied and kept me out of trouble, so we read. We read constantly, because she was always so hungry. <br />
<br />
When reading began to bore her, I made up stories and wrote them down in the set of bound blank journals my grandmother had given me. “Perhaps if you write down your bad dreams and do some drawings of what you remember from them,” she had said, “maybe they will go away.” They didn’t go away, but I did figure out a way to keep some sense of control. She would read the stories I came up with, draw wonderful images to go along with them if she was feeling kind and if she liked them. <br />
<br />
When she didn’t, well, that was another matter.<br />
<br />
My sketch pads and journals are numerous and kept hidden away from prying eyes. I rarely share “my” drawings with anyone. I don’t think I would be able to explain or even be believed if I tried to say why some of the drawings are signed like they are. In what looks remarkably like blood, they are signed simply <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWE39adeSMKsDn6vzSZahZoeomKISk_0etEzqUHjpOg9kqY-LcazO7EkYU4MmG-vgzMkmv-_oUfEquQ89beZWPEMziY1HNP74micKBvl6Bnk0KhqvAZVWgK17EhZUs8knTadFdbpVsbc8/s1600-h/Stella2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img $r="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWE39adeSMKsDn6vzSZahZoeomKISk_0etEzqUHjpOg9kqY-LcazO7EkYU4MmG-vgzMkmv-_oUfEquQ89beZWPEMziY1HNP74micKBvl6Bnk0KhqvAZVWgK17EhZUs8knTadFdbpVsbc8/s200/Stella2.jpg" /></a></div>Terryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16482297843702190298noreply@blogger.com0