MEMORIES ON MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND

Thank you, my friends, my readers, for taking the time to check out this blog and for leaving your thoughts and opinions as well. I am especially grateful to those who subscribe and have my latest posts arrive in your email inbox.

I am planning to have a restful and relaxing Memorial Day weekend. I remember it was Memorial Day, 1995, when Barry and I moved here, to this house. It was a major turning point in our lives and the beginning of a completely new life for me. So much has happened to me since that time. So many happy times, and so many losses in my life since leaving my childhood home and moving to the mountains. At times I can't believe how different my life is today - how different I am now. The manner in which we accept or handle changes creates the person we become. I hope most of the changes in me have made me a better person, a better sister, a better friend and a better teacher.

I notice that I do get on the nerves of my sisters sometimes. (smile) For that I'm sorry. I wonder if they prefer me as the person I was seventeen years ago or the person I am today.

That's a good prompt to write on this weekend. Do I prefer the person I was to the person I am?

With summer upon us, we all have many things going on in our lives. I look forward to another writing class I'll teach at TCC beginning June 5, 2- 4 p.m. 
I also anticipate lots of fun when The Festival on the Square , July 13,14 is held in Hayesville. Netwest will have a booth this year. We will meet tons of folks and I hope, if you can attend, one of them will be you.

CHICKEN TARTAR FOR TIGER

Although I have a comfortable room at my sister’s house in Roswell, GA, it is good to be home again.
Tiger, resident cat, is happy to see me although she had the best sitter while I was gone. Tiger loves to lie beside me when I am in my recliner and working on the computer. My moving fingers mesmerize her, and she reaches out with her little white paws to catch them. I missed her, but I would give her up to a loving family or person who would give her the care I give.

I see myself traveling more. Tiger gets carsick. That means I have to pay a sitter when I go away. She is litter box trained and is such a good girl. Her head is snuggled against my thigh now and her paws are tucked under her chin.

Since I began feeding her chicken tartar, Tiger has blossomed and her coat is the prettiest it has ever been. Once again I see that nutrition makes the biggest difference in our health. Just as I learned from my poodle Brandy, many years ago, that acupuncture  is not a hoax, not quackery but honest to goodness healing. When all the vets had given him up and said his internal organs were shutting down, I found Dr. GradyYoung in Thomasville, Georgia who had studied acupuncture in the Orient. 

I carried Brandy into the office, wrapped in a blanket like a baby. Brandy couldn’t walk. He couldn’t even stand. After one treatment, Dr. Young placed my little buddy on the floor. To my amazement, Brandy trotted over to the door, looked back at me as if to say, “Come on. I’m ready to go home.”

He was ten years old at the time he had acupuncture and lived to be nineteen. Dr. Young studied for years and I think he was the best. He used acupuncture to anesthetize a dog while he removed a large tumor from her abdomen. My husband watched the entire operation and was stunned that the dog showed no pain or stress during the process.

Why can’t our modern doctors learn in medical school the value of nutrition and healing methods like acupuncture? At least Dr. Oz is on the right track. 

Vox Poetica

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Writing Class coming in June

Hope you will join me at Tri-County Community College in Murphy, NC beginning June 5, Tuesday afternoons, 2 - 4 p.m..

For six weeks we will write about our lives, short stories, fiction based on truth, memoir, and family stories. Learn how to combine your stories for a book, market your stories in magazines and journals, how to make true stories entertaining and enlightening and have fun with like-minded people.

To register call TCC (828) 837-6810 and ask for Lisa in Continuing Education.

The cost for all six weeks is $40.00.

Call me at 828-389-4441 or email nightwriter0302@yahoo.com

for more information.

Two Mothers

How lucky can one person be?

Mothers everywhere are being celebrated today. I still miss my beloved mother. She was Lois Robison Council, but I also had a sister, June, who was like a second mother. Today I want to celebrate Mother and my sister, the oldest of seven kids, who filled in when Mother was busy cooking, doing laundry and all the other chores. In recent months, talking with an older brother, Max, I heard how June watched the baby while Mother cooked meals, washed clothes and fed her chickens, and gathered eggs. Since June was the oldest, there was always a baby to rock.

I remember June reading to my little sister and me when she put us to bed. She taught us to say our prayers, and she took us to see The Yearling at the Clair Theater. A precious memory is her drawing paper dolls for me, more beautiful than the movie star cutouts I received for Christmas.

My second mother, my sister June when she was a  lovely teen  

Diary of a teenager

Recently, June let me read her diary she kept when she was sixteen or seventeen years old. Like any teenager, most of her days were uneventful. The most exciting happenings were meeting some new cadets, trainees at the local military base or the arrival of dear cousins from far away.

This journal tells the story of a young girl who grew up with a father who worked a day job and farmed on the side. She had a devoted mother and close relatives June visited or who visited our family almost every week. She writes of Aunt Bill, Uncle Rudolf, Aunt Sadie, Uncle Dewey and others with a deep love and appreciation. Her joy explodes on the page when cousins Muriel and Ginger come up from Florida to visit.

The girl in the diary appeared confident and happy although her clothes were mostly handmade, and she worked at Grant's or Kress   five and ten cent store to earn her spending money. On several pages of her diary, June sketched pictures of her new dresses with detailed description. She had an artist's eye.
Her classmates voted her into leadership positions in several honor societies and clubs. Her art teacher showered special love and attention on June, far more than one would expect. Mrs. V opened doors for her, presumably because she recognized an outstanding person, not an ordinary high school student. 

 On the days June worked, she pasted the invoice with her salary -- $1.21. I don't know if this was a day's wages or part of a day, and I can't imagine how long it took to earn enough money to buy her school ring, but she had to pay for it herself. Her father's wages were spent on  the necessities for raising a large family.

Movies and good books

She and her friends loved going to the movies downtown. June was an avid reader as she is today. On several pages she listed books and authors she had read. Most of the books were classics. Some of the titles were required reading for me when I went to college, but I think she read them because she enjoyed them.

June's generous and giving spirit shows throughout the year's notations. No complaining or feeling sorry for herself. She was thankful, grateful for her family. 

 "I took Rex to get his vaccination today, but we were supposed to be there yesterday." Rex was the little brother starting school that September. She took him downtown to the health department three times before he finally received the smallpox vaccine required before entering first grade. This is one of the ways she helped her mother. 

On one page in large letters -"WOW! Glenda walked today!"

June was my babysitter and my "other mother" when I was small, and as I grew up, she listened to me and advised me without being preachy. I admired her and tried to heed her words. Her photos from those days show a beautiful girl with long black hair and lovely smile. She is still striking today.
Although she is in the hospital today, she knows she is loved by her children and all her family, especially her "little sisters."

                       Happy Mother's Day, June.

Baby sister on left, June, the older sister, on the right.

For the Love of a Cat

Tiger is happy I'm home and she can sleep inside

Tiger is curled up beside me on the bed tonight, happy I’m home and she can become an indoor cat again. Having a cat is not the same as having a dog eager to see you and jumping around just dying to have a hug or pat on the head. No, Tiger did greet me with some loud meows but mainly because she was hungry. Cats are much more subtle in showing their love. In fact, I thought maybe Tiger didn’t care who fed her and made sure she had a good bed and water when she needed it. But tonight she just can’t get close enough and seems to be so peaceful and happy to be with me. Guess I’ll keep her.

Back Home Again

We gather in the large lobby to listen to music

I am home from Wildacres, the wonderful retreat just off the Parkway near Little Switzerland. We gathered in the lobby each evening for readings and for music by some of the guys in the area. Even though being in a room with 80 people, most wearing some kind of chemical fragrance, dryer sheet toxins, perfumes and colognes, I was able to stay well most of the time. Thanks to a charcoal filter inside a mask I did not loose my voice before reading a couple of poems last night. I was thrilled at the reaction to my poems. 

Artist, Carole at Wildacres

The best part of going to Wildacres is seeing special people I met there three years ago. I’ll never forget that Fall Gathering, September after Barry died in July of 2009. I had never driven that far alone and never to go to a place where I did not know anyone.

Somehow, I knew this was what I needed to do. The first person I met was a lovely petite woman named Marsha. She saw me sitting in the lobby and came over to me. Little did I know that Marsha was a nurse and she was there with her darling mother, Nettie, and that Nettie had just lost her husband of many years. Marsha now says, she saw something in my face and felt she needed to come and take care of me. That's the kindness of good nurses, angels of mercy wherever they may be. Marsha happened to be the sister of Mike, the director of Wildacres, and their whole family was there in the lobby. Before I knew it, Marsha had brought me right into their family gathering. I met them all, right down to the giant standard poodle who I suspect really owns the whole place.

That week in 2009 I had time to reflect on who I was without Barry, to understand my choices and where I wanted to go with my life. I decided to open Writers Circle. Others played a part in my decisions, but I left Wildacres a changed person. It still took work, and I have had ups and downs, but I continued to go to this lovely retreat as often as I could. 

We have kept in touch through these years while Nettie mourned her husband, Marsha and the family mourned their father and I mourned my Barry. Perhaps it was the mutual loss we all shared at that moment that drew us together. Three years later we sat and visited and caught up on life. Marsha has retired after twenty plus years of nursing, and now she and her husband travel around in their RV seeing this beautiful country. 

Marsha is a very special woman, and I love her as a special friend. I found out that she reads my blogs. That makes her even more special.

Virginia from Clay County

When I turn into the drive at the Wildacres sign and slowly cruise up to the main buildings, a large weight lifts off my shoulders. I take several deep breaths and feel stress drift away into the cool high mountain air.

It was Wednesday before I saw some of my friends. I have to admit that I slept almost all day the first day and part of the second day. After a good rest, I was back to myself, writing and re-writing, blogging and journaling. 

 At dinner I see those lovely smiles of recognition, and choruses of “Glenda, I’m so glad you’re here. I hoped you’d be here this year.” And I know they are genuine expressions of caring. It is like a family reunion with cousins you only see once or twice a year.

Some of those I always look forward to seeing are Carole W. , a wonderful artist, who is so funny and caring, and my own neighbor from Clay County, Virginia, who seems to be the happiest person on earth. 

Some of the guests love to party at the end of the day. While I don’t participate in the late night parties, I enjoy the one on one chats with the artists. Potters, quilters, painters who work in various mediums, jewelry makers and many musicians get away from all responsibilities for a week of just plain joy and fellowship with like-minded people. No classes during the Gathering. We all work on our own, doing our particular art. 

I don’t know the dates for the Fall Gathering. I hope it works out for me to go, but if not, I’ll plan for next Spring.

Most of my friends in Hayesville and surrounding area know about Rebecca. She is the young woman, a former writing student, who came to live with me this past winter. It was a delightful time for me and she says she enjoyed being here.
Now is the time for her next adventure. She will soon be walking the Camino in Spain. That is a 500 mile trek over the Pyrennes Mountains. She has been walking and walking, getting in shape for this strenuous trip.
Rebecca has a blog, https://renaissancerebecca.wordpress.com/and she has posted of many of her experiences this past year.
She has now been offered a paycheck from a widely read website if she will post about her experiences on the Camino. 
This takes me back to 2007 when I first learned about blogging in a class at the NCWN fall conference. On the stage was a man who set up a blog in order to let his mother follow his travels through India. Little did he know that his travels were also being followed by a publisher who would eventually buy the rights to these posts and publish them in a travel book.

I hope that Rebecca's deal will work out even better for her. To follow her blog, click on  https://renaissancerebecca.wordpress.com/
She is a woman of perseverance, courage, and adventure. I can't wait  to read her blog to see how she is handling the trip.
Put her blog on your favorite sites and follow her through her travels this year.

SHORT STORY CONTEST DEADLINE MAY 31

When we write our life stories, sometimes it is easier to write them as fiction. In fiction we can imagine or make up things that happened. We don't have to stick to the exact facts. Many novels are taken from real life experiences. Hemingway's novels are full of his actual adventures.

Below I have listed a place where you can enter a short story for a contest with Glimmer Train.

A short story is FICTION. A memoir is NOT Fiction. A memoir is true.

Try taking a true story you have written and rewrite it as a short story(fiction).

Upcoming deadline:

The Short Story Award for New Writers (yes, 1st place now wins $1,500 and publication!) closes May 31. See Writing Guidelines. Open only to writers whose fiction has not appeared (nor is scheduled to appear) in any print publication with a circulation over 5,000. Submissions must not have appeared in any print publication. Word count: most submissions run 1,500 to 6,000 words but can go up to 12,000.

HOW BEST TO SPEND OUR TIME

As we try to meet deadlines and keep appointments in our daily lives, we now are told not to forget to maintain our prominence in Social Media. Facebook requires attention every day. 

I hardly ever visit Twitter, and now I learn there are more and more new sites popping up we should be aware of and using. Some say blogging is dead, but I notice folks on Facebook link to their blogs or the blogs of others. What can you say of value in a few words on FB or Twitter? I don’t use much of my time on Facebook, playing games, or checking out the latest trend. Writing, teaching, being with friends, mentoring and assisting others by sharing what I can with them – that’s how I spend most of my time.

No one would believe she is an octogenarian, and this photo is right after a bout of illness

Several hours this weekend my older sister, June, and I cleared her desk and went through her boxes of keepsakes, mementos from her long life, re-reading letters we uncovered, letters from Mother, from dear ones who have long passed from this earth. Together we reminisced as she pulled out pages of her life and mine to be discarded or to keep when she moves into assisted living quarters next month. Those handwritten pages from long ago, notes on Mothers Day cards and birthday cards, college report cards, and newspaper articles, tell of one family’s history. I understand her reluctance to throw them away.

We found a poem written for Mother in our brother’s handwriting, a letter to a daughter from her birth mother – these are valuable words in remembrance of and by those who will always be a part of our lives. 

While there was a tinge of sadness as we traveled down memory lane, doing it together made it less painful and even fun at times. I was happy to see my sister’s beautiful smile when I left. The past two days was a learning experience, a valuable time for me. One of Oprah’s wise sayings is, “Make your life a lesson to others.” One day I might be where my sister is today, and she taught me how to make the best of it. She showed me one of the best ways to use my time is sharing it with my loved ones, not twittering, tweeting or leaving blurbs on Facebook for people I’ve never met nor am likely to meet. 

Sometimes, even when we think we have it all together, we realize we can continue to learn more about ourselves.

Have you had an experience that opened your eyes to something new?

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What do you do when...

Come on, tell me. What good old home remedies work for head and chest congestion that hangs on and on?
I've tried the whiskey and  honey in the little bottles that a friend told me about a few years ago. Pershaps I've not used enough. Tomorrow maybe I should drink two or three of the little chaps.

I was advised today to boil honey and lemon juice and then add whisky. Cool and drink. How often? How much?

I smell like Vick's because I rub that on my chest every night.

My mother cured my sister from double pneumonia many years ago with a poultice of tar and tallow. She called it a tar and tallow plaster. I was too little to remember the event but Mother described in detail the night she and her neighbors sat up with the dying baby. She described it as a miracle. I wrote that story a few years ago and it was published in an anthology.

You have stories also you can write about and you can publish. I'll begin a new class in June at Tri-County College on Writing Life Stories. If you live in the area and like to write about your life experiences, call the college and register. I'll give more details later or you can go to http://www.glendacouncilbeall.blogspot.com/ (Writers Circle) and learn more.

Once a Week, Maybe Only on Sundays

Unless I am home for several days, under the weather, I am going to limit my blogging to one day each week. I will try to write more of substance in the future. I hope you will drop by when I have something new.

If you want to subscribe and have the new post come to your Inbox, go to the sidebar of the blog and enter your email. Blogger will automatically send any new post to your E-mail address.

Come over and leave your comments, please.

Sleep, Spring, and Super Bugs

After two days of fighting a respiratory bug that seemed invincible, I lie in bed tonight with Tiger on the pillow beside me, the rain pelting the new leaves on trees outside my window. My hope is that rain washes all the pollen away and I can open my windows again.

April, considered to be the beautiful month spring really begins, is usually a tough month for most of us who have allergies. Instead of digging in the dirt, planting flowers, and enjoying the vibrant color of the forests, the dogwood, and oodles of other trees I can't name, I watch from inside - inside my car and inside my house.

To fight the symptoms of allergy turned ugly, I take over the counter antihistimine which gives me a strange "I don't care about anything but sleep" feeling. I realized today, in that state between total sleep and aware-of-someone- in-the-room, I could hear that a tornado was about to hit my house and I'd just pull the covers over my head and ignore it. I hate being drugged. I don't like feeling I'm not in control of myself.

DRUGS AND CREATIVITY
All those writers who drink and use drugs because they think it makes them more creative, well, I could not be one of them. I don't refuse pain pills when I hurt, but I'd rather deal with it than be unstable or unsure of myself. Guess I could never be a junkie.

I had to cancel my class tonight. I am sorry that three students did not get the message and showed up anyway. I missed seeing them and hearing what they had writen this week.

I can't keep my eyes open another minute. Sleep is healing, they say, so I expect to be well tomorrow.

Young Harris College Students and Heifer International

Young Harris College, right across the line from my home in North Carolina is a college I'd recommend for anyone who seeks higher education. They are now a four year school.

I receive newsletters and invitations to events there. I know people on staff and know the integrity of those people.
In a recent newsletter I read an article about ten students who went on an alternative spring break, not the kind that makes news on TV. These young people went to a farm in Arkansas and learned about something they had only heard about - real poverty. This program was part of Heifer International, a global nonprofit organization that strives to end poverty and hunger in a sustainable fashion.

Click on the link below and see what these students did and what they had to say about the experience. I am impressed with them and their school.

http://www.yhc.edu/pages/yhc.php?id=1943&utm_source=Mountain+Lines+April+2012&utm_campaign=Mountain+Lines+April+2012&utm_medium=email

Books, Writers and Poems on My Mind Today

Blue Ridge, GA covered in fog on Saturday morning

Having had such a stimulating weekend at the Blue Ridge Writers' Conference in Blue Ridge, GA, I can't settle on one subject to write on today. I'll just mention a few ideas, books, people, and moments that grab me.

1. Rick Bragg's essay in Southern Living. In the very back of the magazine (the present issue is not online yet) he writes a column called Southern Journal. Some of you know that I have strong feelings about saying thank you. Rick, spurred on by his wife to express his gratitude with thank you notes, sent letters to Mr. Airline Executive, Mr. Fancy Restaurant Owner, and my favorite, Mr. Satellite Television Service Operator. Rick is one of my favorite authors. If you like southern literature by a Pulitzer prize-winning writer, find his books and begin reading. And if you have ever had a gripe with the airlines, a restaurant, television service or computer and Internet service, you might want to read Rick's letters in the April 2012 Southern Living magazine.

2. A book called Writing in Style by Bobbie Christmas, writer and editor for more than 30 years. She not only answers questions about grammar, but her advice is current, 21st Century. She incorporates contemporary technology. 

3. A Memoir: Invisible Sisters by Jessica Handler whom I met Saturday at the Writers Conference. I attended both her sessions and found Jessica who lives in Atlanta, to be extremely knowledgeable about writing. She teaches Creative Writing and hopefully we can host her at Writers Circle soon. Her story is about losing both her little sisters from illness, and growing up the only surviving child in a family torn apart by devastating loss. I have only had time to skim the book, but I feel it will help me make decisions of what I need to include in my own memoir which I continue to write. A writing exercise in class became an Aha Moment for me.

4. My Grandfather's Hands, poem from Scott Owens' book, For One Who Knows How to Own Land. I was immediately in love with Paternity, the first of Scott's books that I ordered, and I feel that way about this new book, but in a different way. One poem is so graphic, Slaughter, that it was hard to read, but the poem about his farmer grandfather's hands takes me back to my roots, to my father's hands. I studied Daddy's hands when he didn't know. Burned by sun, so brown they didn't seem to belong to his white arms beneath his shirt sleeves, his nails that never could be completely clean, and the south Georgia dirt that embedded the cracks in his fingers -- I could see them in Scott's poem.