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The Tedium Trance
March 28, 2017
— 2 Comments
facade
What is the worst band of torture ever known to human kind?
I believe it is tedium, designed to numb the mind.
The orders and the triplicate files of meaningless transactions
Fill the time and suck the life out of the worker bees who serve
The whimsey of the ruling class with the resources and the nerve
To spend without repentance, to waste, to make improvidence
A privilege they perceive is granted to them for outstanding cognizance
hombre
rusty
#WeekendCoffeeShare Reaching Conclusions
March 25, 2017
— 8 Comments
horseshoes
horseshoes
If we were having coffee this weekend I would invite you to relax and take in the jasmine scent, still going strong in my front yard. I have ordered more tea (not that I was in need), so the selection has grown to epic proportion. The lazy Susan pantry literally groans under the weight of all the tea. I am digging a new blend called Hugs and Kisses, with a rose/caramel aftertaste that drives me wild. I also ordered a black passion fruit flavored tea that tastes delicious iced. We drink iced tea all year, but in summer I brew in the sun daily and we consume mass quantities. If you like, I can brew you a hot cup of roiboos jasmine to go with the flowers in the yard. It is one of my favorites, and there is a little chill this morning that will make a hot beverage feel just right. Please, make yourself at home while I fetch your drink of choice, and tell me how your life is. I want to hear what you have been doing, and how your writing is proceeding.
I have been trying to finish a non-fiction story that has unfolded over many years by creating a happy ending in real life. This is the nature of non-fiction, being just the truth. It limits one to facts. As I struggle to make my real life ending happen I am writing some fiction and poetry as a relief. I am a neophyte at both genres, and, if I do say so myself, pretty shitty at both. I like to practice to improve because I do find it liberating to just make up stories rather than try to influence hard reality in favor of a heroic outcome. It is so much easier to imagine an alternative vision than it is to bring one into being on the earth.
I spend a lot of time investigating my genealogy, discovering facts about my family tree. I have attempted some short historical fiction based on some factual data I know about my ancestors. I think this is a direction in which I could take my writing that would not only make use of the years of research I have done, but also allow me to create stories based on facts, but not limited strictly to them. All that has happened already, so there will be no changing the historical facts. Embellishing the truth, imagining the dialog and the settings, then bringing them to life seems like something I could really enjoy. I have a very famous poet ancestor, in whose honor I write 30 poems in 30 days in April as part of #NaPoWriMo. It is a challenge, but I think I owe it to her to give it a whirl for one month a year. She provided her DNA and poetry about her life and children (of which I am one). She was religious and wrote in olde English, so there is that. There are a couple other poets in the tree who lived in Tudor England. One was beheaded by Henry VIII. I tried to write a comedic ditty about his death a couple of years ago..it was one of my worst poems ever…but I published it. When I become an accomplished poet I will edit and spend much more time finishing each piece. Reaching a conclusion for a poem should be creative journey that has a universal ring. Someday I aspire to do that. My poetic muse has a short attention span that needs to be expanded. The fiction one is in the same boat. They are lazy, so they like to jump to conclusions rather than work it.
This year I am gearing up by writing some warm up poems and collecting some interesting images to use for illustration and inspiration. All I do is publish a poem each day. I only hope to improve over time and stir my genetic muse to awaken and say something profound and poetic. I keep the bar very low for quality, but do find lots of great ideas by reading the work of the other participants. I have finally finished my tax preparation and have returned to some written correspondence with a my new pen pals from February. I loaded up on stamps and plan to hand write and mail some of my shitty poems to my pen pals as a fusion of #NaPoWriMo and #InCoWriMo. They will be on great post cards, so even if the poems suck the presentation will be artful. This is the major lesson learned from the #InCoWriMo peeps, who tend to also be bullet journal, #BuJo, peeps…presentation counts, so don’t slack in that department.
Please join us on the weekend to sip and savor digital beverages with kindred spirits around the globe. Nerd in the Brain hosts this jolly group of writers. Please visit the party here to read, comment or submit your own post.
#WeekendCoffeeShare
Beaching Ourselves
March 23, 2017
— 11 Comments
empty sandy beach
The sandy beach was sunlit and appealing as we stepped ashore. We had all been on a picnic party out to the island that had become a bit too rowdy for some of us. We left our jolly drinking friends to make their own way back, since they had become argumentative and feisty in a rude way. We could see that they had more than enough rum left to bring the evening to some kind of roaring conclusion, but we had roared quite enough with the crowd. They were always the same. We rowed the short distance back to mainland and felt the peace descend gently just as the sun sunk lower on the horizon, reflecting in the water.
I like to watch the sun go down from those dunes when the summer is starting to warm up. The sailing and kayaking pick up as weather permits. The bay becomes crowded with vessels, visitors, pretenders, and kings. The cottages are rented or opened for the just summer by those who can afford multiple dwellings. The visitors employ plenty of staff in the kitchens, gardens and drawing rooms. There are chauffeurs and butlers hanging out at the tavern in town late at night telling all the stories of their households to the other servants.
No secret lasted long, and no juicy gossip traveled on unembellished. Stories of wild lavish parties, intrigue and financial ruin were the daily bread of this summer society. They did not separate themselves from city life to be out of touch with all the news. They savored the tales of family strife or business struggles with relish. We enjoy a week at the cottage my aunt lends to us every year at this time. We do go to a few parties, like the picnic today, but we don’t really come for the social life. We like the beach when it is empty. Our pleasures are simple and all our needs are easily met. We pull our green rowboat out of the water and lift it over our heads to carry it back to the boathouse. The day is complete.
This story is based on the inspiration drawn from Sue Vincent’s photo prompt. Please join us to submit a poem or story, read, or comment on last week’s photo here.
#writephoto
Edmund Lockwood, Eleventh Great-Grandfather
March 21, 2017
— 1 Comment
The Arabella
My eleventh great-grandfather was an early settler in Cambridge, Massachusetts. The records of the Massachusetts Bay Colony are extensive, so we know quite a bit about his life in America.
MIGRATION: 1630
FIRST RESIDENCE: Cambridge
FREEMAN: Requested 19 October 1630 (as “Mr. Edmond Lockwood”) and admitted 18 May 1631 (as “Mr. Edmond Lockewood”) [MBCR 1:79, 366].
OFFICES: Trial jury in case of Walter Palmer (as “Mr. Edmond Lockwood”), 9 November 1630 [MBCR 1:81]; “Mr. Lockwood” deputy to General Court for Cambridge, 9 May 1632 [MBCR 1:95]; “Mr. Edmond Lockwood” constable for Cambridge, 9 May 1632
ESTATE: 3 March 1634/5: “It is ordered, that Ruth Lockwood, widow, shall bring all the writings that her husband left in her hands to John Haynes, Esq., & Simon Bradstreete, on the third day of the next week, who shall detain the same in their hands till the next Court, when they shall be disposed of to those to whom they belong”
7 April 1635: “It is referred to the church of Waterton, with the consent of Rob[er]te Lockwood, executor of Edmond Lockwood, deceased, to dispose of the children & estate of the said Edmond Lockwood, given to them, to such persons as they think meet, which if they perform not within fourteen days, it shall be lawful for the Governor, John Hayne, Esq., & Simon Bradstreete, to dispose of the said children & estates as in their discretion, they shall think meet, as also to take an account of the said Rob[er]te Lockwood, & give him a full discharge”
2 June 1635: “In the cause of the children & widow of Edward Lockwood, (the elders & other of the church of Waterton being present,) and upon consideration of the order of Court in April last made in the case, which was found not to have been observed, because the estate was not computed & apportioned, it is now ordered, with consent of all parties, viz:, the church of Waterton, the widow of the said Edmond living, & the executor having consented to the former order, that the present Governor & the Secretary shall have power to call parties & witnesses for finding out the true estate, having consideration of the uncertainty of the will, & the debts, & other circumstances, to apportion the remainder of the estate to the wife & children, according to their best discretion; & then the church of Waterton is to dispose of the elder children & their portions as shall be best for their Christian education & the preservation of their estate” [MBCR 1:151].
BIRTH: By about 1600 based on estimated date of marriage (but see COMMENTS below).
DEATH: Cambridge between 9 May 1632 [MBCR 1:95, 96] and 3 March 1634/5 [MBCR1:134] (and probably closer to the earlier date, since Edmund Lockwood does not appear in any of the recorded Cambridge land grants beginning in August 1633).
MARRIAGE: (1) By about 1625 _____ _____; she may have died in England before 1630.
(2) By 1632 Elizabeth Masters, daughter of JOHN MASTERS; she married (2) Cary Latham of Cambridge.
CHILDREN:
With first wife
i EDMUND, b. England say 1625; m. Stamford 7 January 1655[/6] Hannah Scott, daughter of Thomas Scott [FOOF 1:381].
ii Child (one or more additional children by first wife implied by court order to the Watertown church “to dispose of the elder children” [MBCR 1:151]); no further record.
With second wife
iii JOHN, b. Cambridge November 1632 (“son of Edward Lockwood & Elisabeth his wife”) [NEHGR 4:181]; d. at New London in 1683, unmarried [Lockwood Gen 10].
ASSOCIATIONS: Although no record states the relationship explicitly, Edmund and Robert Lockwood were almost certainly brothers.
COMMENTS: The oft-stated origin of the Lockwood brothers in Combs, Suffolk, seems to be based on nothing more than finding the right names at about the right time. Further research is needed before this origin can be accepted.
In a discussion of financial transactions, John Winthrop wrote to his son John in Groton 23 July 1630 saying “If money be brought to you or your Uncle Downinge for Goodman Lockwood, let Mr. Peirce be paid his bill of provisions for him, and bring the rest with you” [WP 2:306].
“Mr. Edmond Lockwood” was the third in the list of eight “Newtowne Inhabitants” which is found at the beginning of the Cambridge town records, and probably dates from 1632 [CaTR2].
After NICHOLAS KNAPP was fined for quackery on 1 March 1630/1, “Mr. Will[ia]m Pelham and Mr. Edmond Lockewood hath promised to pay to the Court the sum of £5” [MBCR 1:83].
BIBLIOGRAPHIC NOTE: The 1889 Lockwood genealogy (Frederic A. Holden and E. Dunbar Lockwood, Descendants of Robert Lockwood, History of the Lockwood Family in America[Philadelphia 1889]) was deservedly described by Jacobus as “a genealogical atrocity” [TAG31:222]. By lumping all the descendants of the first Edmund under his brother Robert, the posterity of this family through eldest son Edmund was misplaced.
Donald Lines Jacobus began to sort the family out properly in 1930, with further contributions made in 1955 [FOOF 1:380-81; TAG 31:222-24]. In 1978 Harriet Woodbury Hodge published detailed arguments for a rearrangement of the Lockwood families that would restore to Edmund Lockwood his children [Some Descendants of Edmund Lockwood (1594-1635) of Cambridge, Massachusetts, and his son Edmund Lockwood (c. 1625-1693) of Stamford, Connecticut (New York 1978), cited above as Lockwood Gen].
Edmund Lockwood (1574 – 1634)
11th great-grandfather
Eliner Lockwood (1592 – 1658)
daughter of Edmund Lockwood
Caleb Knapp (1637 – 1684)
son of Eliner Lockwood
Sarah Knapp (1669 – 1750)
daughter of Caleb Knapp
Ebenezer Mead (1692 – 1775)
son of Sarah Knapp
Deacon Silas Meade (1730 – 1807)
son of Ebenezer Mead
Abner Mead (1749 – 1810)
son of Deacon Silas Meade
Martha Mead (1784 – 1860)
daughter of Abner Mead
Abner Morse (1808 – 1838)
son of Martha Mead
Daniel Rowland Morse (1838 – 1910)
son of Abner Morse
Jason A Morse (1862 – 1932)
son of Daniel Rowland Morse
Ernest Abner Morse (1890 – 1965)
son of Jason A Morse
Richard Arden Morse (1920 – 2004)
son of Ernest Abner Morse
Pamela Morse
I am the daughter of Richard Arden Morse
Mechanism Of The Cosmos
March 20, 2017
— 1 Comment
opening
The mechanism drives forward through the cosmic dust of seasons
Waking the flora and the fauna of each time of year is a serious task
Few moments of equilibrium contrast with plunges into disorder
Filling the months and years with primary planting and development
Fruition of every harvest begins a new cycle of reaping and sowing
The rushing of planets though nighttime sky continues unabated
What kind of seasons will follow these? Will there be more drought?
opening
Path To The River
March 19, 2017
— 3 Comments
Santa Cruz River
Santa Cruz River
On the way down to the river the thick grass rustled as we walked
Animals scampered away as we approached, finding shelter
Our thirsty tired bodies were weary from days of hiding and running
The heat of the day was dry and brutally bright with white sunlight
Tears fell into the river when we finally touched the water at last
Our latest disaster might be averted by this running stream we found
We can fill ourselves and our canteens with liquid we hope is not foul
Our lives have become precarious, supported merely by twists of fate
There is no question that we must drink it, polluted or not, or we will perish
#Writephoto The Hinges Of Hades
March 16, 2017
— 8 Comments
Hades
His death was sudden and unexpected, leaving matters in disarray at home, at his business, and with his students. The mystery school had been meeting in underground caves teaching secrets and rites of magical passage. Delphina became Fidel’s assistant, a priestess who inherited prophesy and ritual magic from her people, who came from an island with a volcano. When the volcano erupted few survivors managed to make it to safety. Delphina and her grandmother were saved by a passing ship. She was only 3 years old when she arrived in her new land, so she found it easy to adapt to the culture and language. Her grandmother suffered from nostalgia and yearned for a home Delphina did not remember.
Fidel lived next door and was her friend all through childhood. Her grandmother was cautiously approving of him, observing his exceptional nature. After her grandmother died Delphina moved in with Fidel’s family, and eventually married him. Their work together at the school replaced children and family in their lives. They dedicated themselves to higher truth and strict observance of their beliefs. She had grown up within the culture, and never questioned the motives or the fundamental beliefs of the elders. They always told her she was lucky to be alive, and she agreed. She did not question the essential mystery she had been taught. She believed that wealth was the most important and significant reward granted to the faithful. Her teachings reflected her willingness to do anything to acquire money. Fidel, whose very name meant faithful, was a son of Lucifer, trained in the art of stealing souls. He was raised in splendor and glorious excess to impress the rest of the populace. It never occurred to him that the rest of the inhabitants were there because they had been cursed. He never suspected their deep resentment of his position. He never even suspected who he was himself. His whole life was the ultimate betrayal.
While he was carrying out a ritual hypnotism in the inner sanctum of the cave, a group of hooded assassins stabbed him a thousand times with pitchforks. The shocking news reached Delphina as she descended into the chamber to deliver ritual wine. The large heavy gate at the top of the stairway slammed behind her, leaving her trapped with her husband’s murderers. This was the first inkling she had about her true location and her fate. She read the sign now facing her on the gate. “Hotter than the hinges of Hades”, was all it said.
#writephoto
This is a response to Sue Vincent’s photo prompt. Please visit to contribute your own story, read, or comment. There is a lively and interesting mix of writers who regularly contribute here. Enjoy!
Musical Instrument Museum
March 15, 2017
— 4 Comments
Dragons and Vines Inlay
Dragons and Vines Inlay
Dragons and Vines Inlay
Dragons and Vines Inlay
Dragons and Vines Inlay
Dragons and Vines Inlay
The Musical Instrument Museum in Phoenix is a destination worth a lengthy visit. I spent the day there recently in complete awe. The special exhibit on display now is an incredible collection of artfully inlaid instruments. They exhibit includes videos to show the methods and makers of this specialized art. The intricacy they achieve is impressive, and almost impossible to discern with the naked eye. The museum furnishes the visitors with little flashlights to illuminate the inlay for better appreciation of the detail. This show is all in one large room, but is packed with amazing art. The exhibit is both enlightening and inspirational. I have a new appreciation for this fine craftsmanship.
The well designed space tells the story of the history and evolution of music all around the globe. There are instruments and videos to explain the origins and uses of them arranged by geographic region. Plan to spend a long time, or go back more than once to see the entire space. I took out some time in the afternoon to attend a concert by the Phoenix Symphony Orchestra in the small acoustically perfect theater on site. The selections played were very special for the small space, and I had a front row seat with a direct view of the conductor. It was intimate and wonderfully transformative. I enjoyed the concert immensely, and would return for another matinée the next time I plan a trip. The concert/museum combination is hard to beat. The concert series offers all kinds of music, and the prices are very reasonable for the quality. The concert hall is a real treat in itself. I highly recommend this museum for an hour or a week. It is fascinating, and feeds the soul.
quotes
concert
antiques
mini glass orchestra
antiques
bagpipe
Ella Fitzgerald’s dress
harmonicas
William Mead, Ninth Great-Grandfather
March 14, 2017
— 2 Comments
Entrance to Old Sound Cemetery, also known as the Tomac Burying Grounds
“William Mead, born in England, about 1600, probably sailed from Lydd, County Kent, England, in the ship, Elizabeth, Captain Stagg, April 1635, for the Massachusetts Bay Colony; first settled in Wethersfield, Connecticut; removed to Stamford, Connecticut, in 1641, where he died about 1663. His wife died at Stamford, Sept. 19, 1657. Their children were: Joseph, Martha, and John. Joseph and John settled in the town of Greenwich. See “History & Genealogy of the Mead Family”, Spencer Mead.”
THE MEAD FAMILY
The Mead Family of Greenwich, Fairfield Co., Conn. was originally from England, and came to this country shortly after the Mayflower had landed its load of Pilgrims on the shores of Massachusetts. It has generally been the tradition in the family that two brothers came over; that one stopped at the Eastward, while the other came to Horse-Neck. That two brothers or possibly three, came over is very probable, as it would not be natural for one to come alone, could he find a relative to join him in his adventures. In the “History of Lexington, Mass.” we find that Gabriel Mead was one of the earliest settlers of that place, as also David. The dates of their arrival, and of William of Horse-Neck (or rather Stamford) agree with one another, leading to the conclusion that all three were near relatives; furthermore the Coat-of -arms of both branches is identical, which is almost proof positive. It is not fully detemined from what part of England the Connecticut family came; but searches that have been made there seem to show a starting place somewhere near London, possibly Greenwich, Co. Kent.
The first record of any Mead in Fairfield Co. is the following in Stamford Town Records: “Dec. 7, 1641, William Mayd received from the town of Stamford, a homelot and 5 acres of land.” This William was undoubtedly the ancestor of the Fairfield Co. Meads. His wife died Sept. 19, 1657. We have record of three children. Joseph, born in 1630, the ancestor of the Ridgefield and North Fairfield Co. Meads; Martha, who married John Richardson, of Stamford, and John, the ancestor of the Horse-Neck Meads. The two sons, Joseph 2 and John 2, seem to have migrated (though if proved only a temporary sojourn) to Hempstead, L. I.
John 2 removed from Hempstead, L. I. to Greenwich (Horse-neck) in 1660. It was in this village that he purchased land; the date of the deed is Oct. 26, 1660, and is as follows, verbatim et literation.
These presents witnesseth an agreement made between Richard Crab of Grenwich, on ye one side & John Mead of Hemstead on Long Island on ye other side, viz: ye sd Richard Crab hath sould unto ye sd John Mead all his houses & Lands yt sd Richard Crab hath in Grenwich with all ye Apurtenances. Rights & Privileges & Conveniences yt doth belong unto ye sd houses & lands or shall here after belong unto them namely ye house yt Rechard Crab liveth in. Ye house yt Thomas Studwell liveth in with ye Barne yt is on ye other side of ye hyewaye; also ye home lott ye house stands on being bounded with a fence about them Lying on ye North west side against ye home lott also Eightene Acres of Land in Elizabeth neck more or less being bounded on ye sea on ye East ans south east and a fence on ye west norwest & ye north. Also ye Rig (ridge?) with five acres of Meadow Lying in it more or les. Ye rig being bounded by ye Sea on ye south east. Williamses Land on the east & a fence on ye northwest. Ye hye waye & hubert (Hubbard?) & angell Husted land on ye west; also three acres of meadow in ye Long meadow & one acre of Meadow by ferris bounded by Jeffere Ferris land on ye southwest and ye Cove on ye west and northwest: ye hyewaye on ye East & northeast & five acres of meadow in myanos neck. All these above spesiffied I do acknoledge to have sould unto ye above sd John Mead. His heaires & asignes fully & freely to be posses forever & for ye just & full performance hereof I have hereunto subscribed my hand Ann 1660 October 26 Daye.
Richerd Crabb
Tomac Burying Grounds
William Mead (1600 – 1659)
9th great-grandfather
John Mead (1634 – 1699)
son of William Mead
Benjamin Daniel Mead (1667 – 1746)
son of John Mead
Mary Mead (1724 – 1787)
daughter of Benjamin Daniel Mead
Abner Mead (1749 – 1810)
son of Mary Mead
Martha Mead (1784 – 1860)
daughter of Abner Mead
Abner Morse (1808 – 1838)
son of Martha Mead
Daniel Rowland Morse (1838 – 1910)
son of Abner Morse
Jason A Morse (1862 – 1932)
son of Daniel Rowland Morse
Ernest Abner Morse (1890 – 1965)
son of Jason A Morse
Richard Arden Morse (1920 – 2004)
son of Ernest Abner Morse
Pamela Morse
I am the daughter of Richard Arden Morse
#WritePhoto Enchanted Spring
March 2, 2017
— 10 Comments
enchanted spring
Before we leave on the long pilgrimage to our forefathers’ homeland we gather vessels to fill with the water from the magical spring. Although it is heavy to carry on the slippery mountain trails we consider the water to be lucky. It is pure and clear, arising form deep within the earth, filtered through the sandy aquifer, arriving crystal clear and delicious. In the old days there was a superstition about drinking the water to be invited to return. When visitors arrived in the town that were undesirable to the townspeople they were all given beer to drink. The locals believed that once a person drank water from their enchanted spring, they would never leave. They had discovered this the hard way, and wanted to keep their precious resource to themselves. They became isolationists just when the rest of the world was hooking up with transportation, commerce, trade, and immigration. The elders wanted to maintain the purity of the water as well as the people’s thoughts.
These purity campaigns rarely result in a better environment. Somehow the strict rules, the isolation and control of learning, social recreation, and dress customs, had the effect for freezing time. The population survived, but only through sacrifice and very hard labor. They freely allowed anyone to leave, but continued to tell strangers there was no water in town, only beer. After a while the visitors stopped and the population dwindled. The few old true believers still living in the area were now too feeble to climb up to fetch the water from the spring for themselves, and nobody was left to do it for them. The enchantment was now completely wasted on them because it was just out of their reach. It was still flowing copiously as it had done for centuries, but only a handful of people even knew where the spring was.
When the last surviving elder was on his last legs a young girl wandered into town and asked for a drink of water. The old man broke down in tears while asking her who she was. She replied that she was a descendent of someone who had lived in the village in the previous century. She had heard stories about the miracle cures and the enchantment of the spring water that was legendary. She came because she was curious. She had fought through some dense forrest to arrive, traveling alone. She carried with her a copper cup with some inscribed symbols and a name. This cup had once belonged to her ancestor who left the village to live in the modern world. Now her curiosity about the cup brought her to this undiscovered part of her inheritance. The old man saw the cup hanging from her belt and asked to see it. He recognized the clan symbols inscribed on the side, but when he drew the copper close to his eyes he was able to see the name. He overflowed with emotion as he read the name of his own maternal great-grandmother on the cup. This was the last miracle the spring delivered to him. He perished in tears of grief and relief after he showed this youthful distant relative how to find the trail to the spring. When she returned with her vessels full of water, his body had turned to a pile of colored dust. She realized he had been sustaining his own life with leftover magic from the time when he could still climb to the spring to wait for her arrival. He had fulfilled his duty, and spent all of his extra lives. Now the responsibility was hers to share the enchantment of the spring. Her hike back out of the forrest was somber indeed.
This short fiction is written based on the fabulous photo prompt from Sue Vincent. Please join us to read, comment, or submit your own take on this picture.
#writephoto
