Spiritual Sites

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What I call my “relics”. These are not historical or sacred in any way except to me. 1. (Top left): Dried flowers and rock along with holy water from St. Elen’s Well in Wales. 2. (Bottom left): The top and bottom of a rock from what is still standing of my mother-in-law’s uncle’s house in Northern Ireland. 3. (Top right): A shell and a rock (or a fossilized rock) from Ballintoy. 4. Middle right): Holy water and pebble from St. Olcan’s Holy Well and a rock from the Cranfield Church ruins as well as the top and bottom of the rocks from the site. 5. (Bottom right): The dried flowers and rock from St. Elen’s Well without the holy water pictured. (c)2017

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The Fall TV Season Returns!

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Warning for minor spoilers from both last season and shows that have already aired this season.​ Continue reading

Travel – UK Transportation Recs

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​I have been very fortunate in my choices of transportation carriers. So far, I’ve had very little to complain about, and after seeing several passenger events online that could best be described as unsatisfactory, I truly know how lucky I’ve been. At home, my preferred mode of transportation is to drive. My second favorite mode would probably be by train. I really loved my long distance train trip a few years ago with Amtrak.

We recently traveled overseas and back, and to say we were very happy with our transportation choices would not give the full picture of how lucky we were. Continue reading

Malcolm X

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​I downloaded a couple of movies to watch on the airplane to and from Ireland. I ended up watching only one of them: I am Not Your Negro – the James Baldwin documentary. It was enlightening to say the least. In the documentary, James Baldwin talked how he was affected by the deaths of Medgar Evers, Malcolm X, and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr and their context in his own civil rights struggle As I watched and listened, I heard things about Malcolm X, in particular that wasn’t familiar to me.

Upon arriving home, I borrowed The Autobiography of Malcolm X (as told to Alex Haley), and again, I was inundated with information that I had never heard before. The most surprising thing that I discovered was Malcolm’s conversion away from the Nation of Islam and his change to a less anti-white activism.

I wonder if perhaps my growing up was too close to his time.

I’ve often wondered why I know so little about Vietnam, civil rights, women’s ERA, and activists who weren’t Martin Luther King, Jr.

I was born in 1966, almost two years after the assassination of Malcolm X. I was about eighteen months old when Dr. King was assassinated, and not even born yet when President Kennedy was, but I still had very clear memories of both men. I’m sure that most of that was due to media, but today I still wonder about the lack of attention, not only in the media I watched as a young child but also in the education I received.

I attended school from nursery through fifth grade in New York City from 1970 to 1977 after which we moved to the suburbs out on Long Island. I distinctly remember bussing. I remembered waving to classmates as they boarded buses to bring them home while I walked home with my brother and cousins. 

I remember my Black friends in school, especially two boys, one named Lonnie and one named Robert, but they weren’t the only ones in my class, just the two boys I was closest friends with. They were different as night and day. Lonnie had a huge afro compared to the size of his head, and Robert wore his hair close to his scalp. The girls that I can recall on the schoolyard wore braids with colorful beads, and I was so envious of how “easy” their hair styled. I say easy because despite my stick straight hair, I was always walking around with knots and tangles and I would have done almost anything to have their hair. I could never jump double dutch – I was so uncoordinated on my feet, but I was thrilled that I was allowed to turn the jump ropes for the girls who could.

Now, I could see that it was a tumultuous time, at least that’s what I’m reading now about then, but living through it, we were more or less sheltered from current events. I hadn’t realized it at the time, but our insulated community didn’t really discuss what was going on in the political world. My neighborhood, the places we shopped, went to the doctor, my parents’ workplaces, the pizza place up the road – they were all diverse. I didn’t have a negative reflex in seeing Black people, or brown or Asian in my neighborhood and in my safe places. I didn’t know the word integrated. I just viewed brown skin as part of my world despite no one living and playing in my neighborhood who wasn’t primarily white, or partly white and/or Jewish.

I’ve always had Malcolm X in my mind as a radical, a revolutionary, a militant. All are not necessarily positive descriptions.

I realize that reading an autobiography is not always the entire story. It’s all about perspective, and so even in self-deprecation, I’m sure Malcolm X wanted to be seen in a positive light, and I can understand that.

I’ve just started reading a biography by Manning Marable that is described by the San Francisco Chronicle as a “masterpiece,” and by Henry Louis Gates, Jr. as the definitive biography of this outrageously misrepresented figure,” titled Malcolm X: A Life of Reinvention. It is the winner of the Pulitzer Prize in History in 2012, after Marable’s death.

As I said I’ve just begun reading this, but I will include a video from C-SPAN that has some counterpoints to Marable’s work that I intend to watch later this week.

By Any Means Necessary: Malcolm X — Real, Not Reinvented

One of the things that really stood out to me, though about Malcolm X, his politics, and his views was how closely they seem to align with today’s Black Lives Matter movement, and other current civil rights protests and movements.
Working from the grassroots, in the neighborhoods, being self-sufficient, relying on each other instead of other groups or the government, self-confidence, pride, black nationalism, Pan-Africanism, and others things espoused by Malcolm X, especially closer to the end of his life. It seems that while he was eschewed while alive, and it’s taken decades to come around, his way of thinking is almost mainstream in black politics today.

The more I read, the more I learn, and the more I see how much my education at the time was lacking. It shows me that I have to educate myself, and share what I find with others.

September 11th

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Every year I try to reflect and write something meaningful for today. I’m not sure that any of us who were witnesses to the events of 9/11 will be able to just let this day pass unnoticed.

While touring Northern Ireland, I was very much surprised to see a tree and plaque commemorating September 11th. I do understand that many faiths and nations lost people in those attacks. However, I was moved that this wasn’t a remembrance for their own citizens, but in mourning, memorial, and solidarity with us. It is directly across from the Northern Ireland War Memorial, and within the gates of Belfast City Hall.

The text on the plaque reads as follows: This tree was planted by Belfast City Council on 11th September 2002 to commemorate all those who so tragically lost their lives in the horrific events in New York, Washington D.C. and Pennsylvania on 11th September 2001 and to mark the special relationship which the City of Belfast enjoys with the United States of America. (c)2017

My Friend, Anne

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It’s hard to know the entirety about a person even when you see them often. We tend to group people into family, friends, work colleagues, acquaintances, but in all of those labels there are those who don’t fit or who fit into more than one.

My friend, Anne was like that. I met her at church. For a long time, I didn’t know her name. She sat two rows behind me, and every daily mass that we attended together, we’d shake hands and share the peace of Christ. She always smiled at me, and reached across the separating pew, and I looked forward to our daily rite.

She knew my name before I knew hers. Even after knowing her better, I would always confuse her last name with her first name since her last name was also a first name.

She was also part of the Red Hats group that I lunched with monthly. She never wore a hat, but she always had on a brightly colored jacket and scarf. She was always put together, and she had a brightness that expounded on her outfit.

She always welcomed me, and asked about my kids.

I saw her sometimes in the grocery store.

We had one of our Red Hat luncheons at her house, just last year, and I saw her collections from her travels. One was a miniature tea pot with a red dragon on it from Wales. Her house was full of greens, and her back porch was almost identical in shape to ours, so she let me take a few pictures for my husband who’s been wanting to make ours more functional and less storage. She even invited him over to take a look at how theirs was decorated to give him some ideas.

We disagreed vehemently on politics, but the few conversations we had proved to be more discourse than argument, and a benefit to us both. 

She was just so kind to me, and vibrant. She had a booming way of talking, but she didn’t leave you being shouted at. She was just full of spirit.

She died last week. She suddenly became sick and that became worse, and than something else happened, and it just limped along, but her faith kept her. Her family and friends visited, and she called on our priest to come to see her, as recently as a few days before she died.

When I read her obituary, I discovered things I hadn’t known.

For one thing, she was 82. I know that my Red Hats group tends to be older, but I would have pegged her for 70 at the most, and more likely I thought she was in her sixties.

She was born in the town where I went to college, and in fact attended that college, studying education as I did. We graduated thirty-one years apart, both with Bachelor’s of Science degrees in Education. I don’t think either of us knew that we had that in common. Our school’s mascot is a Red Dragon, like the national symbol of Wales.

In realizing that she had been a teacher I could now recognize how she spoke. Teachers have this way of getting things across, and Anne was no different.

Her funeral is tomorrow.

She was steadfast and kind, faithful and spirited.

She will be greatly missed.

Glimpses through Instagram, Part 2

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I found a few more photos that I shared through Instagram and Facebook while I was in Ireland and Wales. They’re really quite eclectic, and show the variety of things that I enjoyed doing as well as some of the local tastes. Continue reading

Glimpses through Instagram

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I had much less time than I originally thought I would have in order to share photos and happenings on social media and here while I was on holiday. 

These are some of the Instagram posts I managed to share during my two week holiday or upon my return. They are in no special order.

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All Was Well

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That title has dual meaning. After a prolonged absence, I expect it will take me a bit of time to get my bearings again as we greet a new season. Our travels to Ireland and Wales were more than I could have expected or hoped for, and there is so much to write about. Not only travel pieces, but I encountered so much in way of soul-seeking, and the blessing of findng spirituality and pilgrimage in several unexpected things and places.

However, I couldn’t let today pass unnoticed.

Today is the First of September, the traditional beginning of the Wizarding School Year. Today all the young witches and wizards who received their attendance letters from Hogwarts are busily arriving at Kings Cross Station in London to catch the Hogwarts Express.

Today’s Express is a little different, though.

This is the last day – the official last day of the original Harry Potter series.

1 September 2017

Nineteen Years Later.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Ginny, and Draco all arrive to put their children on the Hogwarts Express. They give parental advice, hugs and laughter abound among the childhood anxiety of something new, a nod here or there to their old classmates.

Nineteen years ago I read the first book, and I was entranced. It was everythng I wanted in a book. My oldest son was a baby, and it was my reading material for that year’s Rosh Hashanah.

When I finished the last book, the seventh book, The Deathly Hallows, I remember sitting in my cozy overstuffed chair, my mother-in-law on the sofa across from me. We’ve just returned – it’s barely been a week – from spending the last two weeks visiting my mother-in-law’s home and family, and putting her ashes to rest in Belfast. Time is a delicate mistress. I remember that day relatively clearly, or at least a moment of that day, trying to keep myself composed as the book took over.

No spoilers, but Fred.

This could not be over! What do you mean all was well? I wanted more.

I needed more.

And through some googling, I found Live Journal, and that opened up an entire world of reading, and then writing fan fiction, and brought me into this amazing, exciting, creative place called the Internet. It began another chapter in my life that is continual and continuing today.

Nineteen years later…all was well.