We will always have Paris.

Vikings heading up the Seine

There are some basic physics when it comes to mass and space. A certain amount of mass can fill only the same amount of space and no more.

At one of the many award ceremonies held by the world of entertainment, Dolly Parton’s ample chest burst through her snug dress.  When her dress mishap was repaired, Dolly said something to the effect of “My daddy always told me that you can’t fit five gallons of mud into a one-gallon bucket.”

That is true in every situation, including the Eiffel Tower.

Tourists wander around on the lower level of the Tower before taking an elevator to the second level. There is one elevator that is specifically for people. The other four are for operations to maintain the Tower. 

One would think that someone would think I’ll take the next one…no, you go on…  No, all crammed into the elevator #5 with space seeming to decrease as mass increased.  

In 1985, My husband and I were part of that mass which also included a tourist bus of tall Swedish men…no, tall and big Swedish men. My husband was pushed away with the flow of people, leaving me in the middle of the elevator without him.

As the elevator went up, the mass increased at each stop. It became obvious to this 5` 4” female, I would soon be crushed in a vice of handsome muscular tall Viking giants.

Daily Mail UK: 1 in 33 Britains share Viking DNA

One giant peered down at my desperate face and placed his massive arm over my head to the shoulder of another towering giant, who looked down at miniscule female (me).  He braced his hand on the other man's shoulder, chuckling while saying something in Viking language. 

The elevator opened, spewing its occupants out onto the top level of the Eiffel Tower.

The Vikings deserted me to gaze at the city they had once conquered, when my 5` 9” husband found me.  We held hands, viewing Paris from the heights of the Eiffel Tower.

The Eiffel Tower will always be special. Someday I hope to head to Sweden and greet my ancestors.

This is a repost from 2014. Apparently 1 in 33 English people have Viking DNA. My ancestors were from northern Scotland and northern Ireland where the Vikings raided early on. My family has 3-6 % Viking DNA.  That totally makes sense. Although I am on the small side, my family predecessors were big people.  Also, I am feisty and not quite combative. I don't take guff from any obnoxious person. Physically, I just give them my best glare of death.

Autumn from Back Where

This a maple tree outside Mom's kitchen window.

 Back in the Midwest, it was as if my world took a deep breath and said, "Finally." Then overnight my life would be surrounded by gold and red.  But now, my world is a desert in southern California and rich color exists in another place.

It makes me hunger for and a little bit jealous of “back where” there is such a thing as autumn.

Instead, we have wildfire season in California and the fall colors don’t exist, except for a few odd trees. What I do have are photos I took in late October 2009 on a walk with my brother, Don.  The photos taken were put into an album to give as a Christmas present for my mother who was in fading and failing health.

These are memories of Autumn and a small town, in 2009:

Tracks will go on for miles and miles, connecting

with other tracks.

An old house next to the bank

Mom's neighbor.  Mom could tell me who they are, who there parents were...

Small rental apartments next to the train track.  This

used to be a veterinarian office when I was young. 

A house near the local funeral home

After my father retired from farming, he visited with other farmers at the John Deere

store every day.  Sometimes he drove to another John Deere store to pick

up parts.  Now they are ordered and delivered through computer 

magic.

The Methodist Church from mid 1800s.  Young couples 

would meet on benches (out of sight) and talk/kiss.

This log house was saved and then moved to this site.  It dates back to 1820 

and across from Stark Nursery, where the first Delicious apples were

created by someone who brought up a "scion" from Kentucky which

was grafted and cross-pollinated.

This house was restored and is now occupied by some very hard working 

people whom my mom knew.  Yes, she could cite their lineage. We

stopped and peeked in the windows while it was still

under construction.  Mom had no shame, and was friendly with everyone, who 

also knew her own lineage.

This is a cornfield after harvest. Soon Canadian
geese will fly in to grab up corn kernels.
Deer will also be foraging.

Somewhere this road will come to an end.

These are Autumn memories from a past shared by my late Mom, brother Don, and me in 2009. My eyes ache to see the leaves and this part of my family, those whom I love.

A repost from 2014

Through the Gates of Peace

Found in Louisiana, Missouri
well maintained with complete records

When the sun rose that day, the body of a badly beaten man lay sprawled on the banks of the Mississippi near the small town of Rinfield**, Missouri.  Although the only thing of value that remained was his suit and any thing known was that his face had been battered beyond recognition. Every Rinfield resident knew this man and liked him.

Since the site was by the barge landing, most assumed that some rough men crept in and took Levi, expecting a great fortune. That was enough effort given for finding the guilty.

Levi Rosenfeld (this name was chosen randomly and does not relate to anyone, living or dead in this post)  was an upstanding member of the community, dedicated to helping others, and supporting and caring for any who needed help.  “A good man, God Bless ‘em!”

Levi Rosenfeld was a Jewish man in a small Christian town, and presumed to be wealthy, since he was a jeweler who traveled the Mississippi to St. Louis to trade.  His wife, Grace, was the opposite of her Levi; she was vicious and flaunted her own wealth.  When people spoke her name, they crossed themselves.

The rest of the Jewish community continued quietly to work, pay bills, worship in a distant synagogue some sixty miles away.  That they were Jewish was known by all and accepted.  “Stay in their own place, I’ll give ‘em that."

Levi Rosenfeld was buried in a Jewish Cemetery some distance from town, in a partially hidden copse of oak trees.

It was a quiet closing for a good man.

Is this a true story?  Yes.

Great-aunt Ruth's locket, given to her by her father,

the jeweler.

We have driven by that cemetery for decades, until it became just part of the scenery. It was only as a kinda senior citizen adult that I decided to learn more about it. My mother told me what she had learned from my grandmother. 

Truth is that Ruth's mother, Grace, was a mean spirited woman.

**Imaginary town