Fire is not kind.

 

I will read ashes for you, if you ask me. 

I will look on the fire and tell you from the gray lashes 

 

And out of the red and black tongues and stripes, 

 

I will tell how fire comes 

 

And how fire runs far as the sea
.

By Carl Sandburg

Fire all throughout the Southwest--it is burning, eating and consuming every single thing in its way. Every year this happens.

from a distance

Residents are looking back at the fire, as they drive away with just clothes and photos.

From YouTube site

Dry dry air, heavy and suffocating.  Sun scorching burnt earth, 100 degrees or more. Tinder dry vegetation, ready to burn.

Oh, God!  Please protect the firefighters!  

Oh, God! Keep safe the families whose homes are burned to the ground!

Every wildfire season, I post about wildfires.  One year, we could see the flames from our house. One year at a school where I taught, ashes covered playground and swings from a fire 25 miles away.

The photos below were taken from my porch.

From my front door during the day....

When you walk through fire, I will be with you...

I will read ashes for you, if you ask me. 

I will look on the fire and tell you from the gray lashes 

And out of the red and black tongues and stripes, 

I will tell how fire comes 

And how fire runs far as the sea
.

By Carl Sandburg

Fire all throughout the Southwest--it is burning, eating and consuming every single thing in its way.

from a distance

Residents are looking back at the fire, as they drive away with just clothes and photos.

From YouTube site

Dry dry air, heavy and suffocating.  Sun scorching burnt earth, 100 degrees or more. Tinder dry vegetation, ready to burn.

Oh, God!  Please protect the firefighters!  

Oh, God! Bless families whose homes are burned to the ground!

Every summer, I post about wildfires.  Last year, we could see the flames from our house. One year at a school where I taught, ashes covered playground and swings from a fire 25 miles away.

The photos below were taken from my porch.

From my front door during the day....

Under a Yellow Sky

Dan watched a mustard yellow sky and listened as sounds of birds silenced.  Rain had been pelting grain fields hard the past few hours with wind sweeping across the farm.

He had always been known for his honesty and degree of readiness in storms like this.  The last time the sky was yellow and the air heavy, Dan recalled how specific he had been about getting the family to safety, telling them what to do when the tornado touched down. 

Back then the funnel had lifted his heaviest truck and ripped the bottom carriage right off, flinging it to the neighboring farm.  Tornadoes flagrantly pass through, shredding a life’s work in a matter of seconds.

Dan watched for Jenny and the kids, praying for them to be safe.  As he headed to the shelter, his old Toyota tore into the drive.  “Now!  Get in now!” He ran to the shelter behind his family.

Dan wrapped his arms around Jenny and his children in the shelter as the roaring monster touched down.  “Safe. Safe…” They all prayed.

The underlined are Wed. Words are from May 2022. 

This is tornado season throughout the Midwest. I grew up in there, never experienced a tornado there.  Our farm was surrounded by cliffs and cornfield.  But other places on the plains were swept by strong winds.

One day when my folks were out, the air  turned yellow, and there was a silence like never heard on a farm. We were scared, being young ( I was 11), and didn't know what to do.  Nothing happened.  We talked about where we could go.   No basement, no shelters? 

I decided that heading down to a small muddy creek that ran deep through a trench leading to the Bay Creek..  That would be safe, despite other dithering siblings' opinions that we should go to the barn. The barn was built 100 years ago, not all that steady. 

People in those zones are brave and resilient.  God bless them and keep them safe.

Decisions Made in Battle

 

east coast of Ireland

Is this really all there is?  Gunter had asked that question many times these past raids.  The roar of the assault still echoing around him, Gunter stretched tired muscles down upon the lush green.

Rape?  Gunter found the screams of frightened women and children appalling.  What is rewarding about destroying a woman’s hopes and dreams?  With her children cowering in a corner and watching their mother die?

Pillage?  At first the thrill of wealth exulted satisfaction within him.  Now, when that wealth is covered with the blood of its dying owners, pillage was repugnant.  Gunter reached inside his tunic, retrieving a torn parchment. 

An elderly monk had thrust this page into Gunter’s hands just days ago.  With his last gasping breath, the monk whispered, “Take this…”

But, why?  Why did he give this to me?

Viking age in Ireland

The Vikings were a brutal group, no questions about that. They traveled and spread their mind set to all places in Europe. But, would Gunter find the answer he was seeking? And what led this Viking to follow a different path?

I wrote  this in 2013 for that year's A-to-Z Challenge. Apparently, my DNA gave me 18% Viking blood. It makes total sense. I am and have always been a feisty person.

Why are we here?

Photo from Washington, Illinois, and posted on Donna's site

Welcome to all who know how I write and my style!

Welcome to all whom I have just met!

Normally, this blog plays with words and characters.  But today?  Today I find myself humbled by some posts I have read, and want to share with you.

Donna O’Shaughnessy of Midlife Farmer shared a post about an E4 tornado that ripped through and all but destroyed Washington, Illinois.  Please visit her post at http://midlifefarmwife.blogspot.com/

Where she writes about the panic, the absolute terror she experienced trying to reach her sister who lives in that area is palatable.  There can be nothing like the gripping of the heart she felt being unable to find out IF she is okay, IF she and her family survived such a tornado.

Then there is this Friko in Friko’s Word.  It is difficult to put into words.  Please go to her site at http://frikosmusings.blogspot.com/  and read her post, “Let’s stop minding our own business”.  Child abuse, children abused and tortured to death---not for the faint of heart.

What happened?

Child abuse is a world-wide problem, involving the most surprising pedophiles.  If you have a strong stomach, this site is valuable.

 Source: ibnlive in India

But it needs to be part of each individual’s awareness and, more importantly, action.  Whether is it a child next door or an elderly person living alone, we need to be aware and be proactive.

This is a topic people of “my” age generally avoid.  But after witnessing Mylie Cyrus on some award show and feeling outrage, I started being aware.  Then I read John’s World at John's World .

The Fear by Lily Allen

The video may be shocking, but it speaks volumes about the world of young women (and men) who want to be famous or at the very least, noticed.  The artist is Lily Allen, and read her words at the beginning of her song, Fear.
  
I don't know what's right and what's real anymore
And I don't know how I'm meant to feel anymore
And when do you think it will all become clear?
'Cause I'm being taking over by The Fear

 If this is the only video or site you have time to see, this one is very appropriate to today's lack of morals and values.

Please note that there is a precaution before the video.  But the words used are part of the times.

In this world and this time of political ping-pong, and harangues from news agencies, we need to ask ourselves, “Why and what are we put on earth to be doing?”

What do you think?

Thoughts during Church

I will be kind…I will smile…were Brenda’s thoughts, as she sat in the family pew, hands folded in her lap, back straight, and eyes focused on Pastor Ben.  No one will know my thoughts.  No one will suspect what I am thinking.

On her left side, her father was ‘amening’ almost in a rhythm, and Brenda had to force her feet from tapping 1…2…3 and hold…1…2…  Her grandmother was waving her hankie in a show of agreement.

Show?  Brenda pondered that word, looking around at other old ladies with their gray hair and dressy hats.  They too were waving their hankies, and some even dabbed at their eyes.

All the other young people were sitting in the back, passing notes, and giggling.  Their heads were bowed, but Brenda knew what they were doing.   The young families were in the middle of the church, with their children.  Brenda could smell the Cheerios and Fruit Loops.

On Brenda’s ride side, her mother sat, quietly folding and unfolding the church bulletin.  Fold...2...3..  Her mother's hands were red and worn; she had to prepare another dinner for the pastor and family.  Every Sunday, it was dinner for someone. 

Her mother smiled at her, and briefly made eye contact.

That was when Brenda knew.  Her mother wanted to blast out of this church just as badly as Brenda. To escape.

What’ll we do?  Mom, what will we do? 

Her mother wrote a note to her father, which read about checking on the roast and get dinner ready for the pastor, and Brenda had to help.   Her father nodded, not breaking rhythm one bit.

Source: saavem

They tore out of the parking lot.  As they drove past their house, Brenda turned to her mother.  Mom?  Mom?

Her mother smiled, lit up a cigarette, and sped up.  “We’re goin’ to Vegas, girl. I am done fixing dinners every single Sunday for every preacher passing through town.”  Then they headed to the West, the whole 1,000 mile trip. 

Source

Bruce Willis...Who knew?

A Good Day to Die Hard is a movie just released, and we will go see it. 

Bruce Willis surprises me.   In the 1980s, he was a co-star with Cybil Shepherd in Moonlighting.  She was an established celebrity, a famous successful model.  Bruce Willis was an unknown, just-another-cocky actor who would try for stardom in an unlikely show about a failing detective agency.  Classy rich Shepherd becomes the new owner, Willis is the street-wise mouthy fast-talking detective, and flirtation is rife.

Somehow, Moonlighting was a big success.  Bruce Willis was a big success.  He did not fade into the annals of “Where is he now?” Who knew? 

Since then Bruce Willis has made many action movies which my husband and I have seen.  I know, I know…but for some reason, Bruce (may I call him that?) and his smooth gutsy style makes destruction, gun fights, death-defying stunts enjoyable. 

In preparation for our viewing of his new movie we are having our own DVD marathon of the Die Hard movies.  The first one was released in 1988, when we were in late 30s: the new one finds us at 60.  Bruce gets totally thrashed in previous movies, and I expect he will again one last time.

Call me shallow, but I (the retired teacher/grandma) truly relish his movies.  Who knew?

Wednesday Words: 12-12-12

Mayan ruins Source

We are doomed, or so the Mayans predicted.  Or did they?  Maybe some stone chiseler decided to take a break and forgot to get back to finishing the Stone of Doom.  I don't know.

So here are words to ponder:

calendar      decision      supplies     loaded     ready    door

I really have no plan for these words myself.  My husband was watching "The Twelve Days to Destruction" over the weekend, while I was locked on my Hallmark Christmas shows.  So I guess we will have to wait until 12-21-12 and see what happens. 

Boys Break Things

There is a simple truth in a girl’s life that we all have had to accept occasionally throughout the female life:  Boys break things.

I learned this repeatedly throughout my growing up years, since I had three brothers.  The first time was a minor breakage, but the breaking of my things grew in magnitude as my brothers grew.  I remember Christmas 1959—it was a wonderful Christmas, for Santa had gotten some extra money from the sale of hogs.  Pork prices must have been up for that time period.  When I opened my presents, I had received a bride doll.  She had luxurious black wavy hair like Elizabeth Taylor.  And I was given a two-piece set of pink metal refrigerator and range; the doors opened and closed; and, there were miniature boxes of cake mix, cans of peas, Kellogg’s Corn Flakes.  It was amazing.  My oldest brother Don gave me a brush, comb, mirror, and talcum powder dresser set; I felt so grown up.  My older brother Robert gave me a make-up set for girls about my age (8).  Bill was four years old, and Mary was only 2, so I don’t remember what they gave.

I went back to school after break was over, taking my new doll.  I came home excited, for I was going to play with my new toys.  As I climbed the stairs to my room, I became apprehensive; there were white talc footprints heading down the stairs.  I ran to my room, and beheld the carnage. 

Everything was covered in talc powder.  My comb was broken, the mirror was cracked.  There was lipstick all over the face of my old doll.  The toy food boxes had been smashed, and there was a dent in the sides of the refrigerator and stove.  All my precious new toys had suffered a great assault. 

I ran down the stairs, “Mmmmooooommmmm!” all the way.  She was peeling potatoes for dinner, and didn’t even turn around.  “What’s the matter?” I poured out my heart, with all the frustration and pain an eight-year old girl can feel.  It was Bill mainly, but Mary did the lipstick, I knew this.  Bill broke my gifts.  “Well, go clean it up.”  She continued peeling.  I glanced into the living room, where the two miscreants sat innocently watching cartoons.  I wanted beatings, I wanted revenge, I wanted…something.

I went upstairs and cleaned up the mess, trying to clean off the lipstick, reshape the little cornflake box.  I never forgot:  Boys break things.

Recently, when I was visiting my daughter Erin, she asked the girls what they know about boys.  Without even looking up from their playing, they said in unison: “Boys break things.”  Another generation learns the hard truth.