Humans are made to create. It is in our blood, our psyche, our very soul. Our imagination is infinite. It can not be contained; it always finds a way to express itself. Humanity would not thrive without this ability. Each one of us has a spark inside that is unique, memorable and oh so needed for this time. You were built to add to the world your individual creations so that we may all move forward in consciousness.
As humans, we create tools, relationships, agreements, art, shelter, food, ideas, communication, language, life, and so much more. Our capacity for innovation knows no bounds. We draw on the collective consciousness of thousands of years of humanity, perhaps more. We are always creating something.
We are creator beings with individual perspectives, tastes, and opinions. Humanity learns through contrast and comparison. We need something to dislike so that we may know what we do like. We need down compared to up, good in contrast to bad, fear in contrast to safe. This is why food buffets are so popular! Our world is a landscape of variety to compare and distinguish one aspect of something from another.
There are those in humanity who desire control and steer the rest in the direction of their choosing. The would-be controllers attempt to limit those who freely create. They restrain or get others to do it for them. They endeavor to silence, squelch, and censor the contrast to the direction they put forth. Sanitizing, suppressing, or deleting creations from the past may be attempted. They do not realize that history always repeats itself. The present can not be held back. Nature is ever in motion.
To limit or censor another is to put the same constraints on the self. If I say you can not do thus, I am limiting my options as well. Without your input of variation, I can not know what the opposite of that is. This, therefore, limits my choices. If a book or movie is edited or deleted altogether, someone is bound to make another so that the balance of contrast continues forth. Ideas and concepts get recycled and reused. We need them in our lives so that we can draw from their wisdom- the good and the bad. That which serves us helps us feel accomplished while that which serves no one is used as a catalyst to move us forward and look for more of that which provides for the greater good.
Recent attempts at censoring individual voices, especially those that express conservative or alternative to the mainstream-media views, are causing a widening rift in humanity. It may come as a surprise to some, but not all people live in the same reality. There is a consensus in some aspects while not in others, like a VEN diagram with overlapping circles. We may agree we live in the same country, but our lives reflect our attitudes and expectations. For all of us to have the same experiences is to limit our choices. It suppresses our natural creativity. Eventually, it is expressed but in a destructive way that hurts rather than to heal.
In past years, my husband and I would occasionally have dinner out with my parents. Health issues caused them to lose some of their natural optimism and joy while Jon and I were in good health and doing well in our lives. We were all in the same restaurant at the same table with the same server. Our experiences were very different, no matter when we went out or where we ate our meal. Somehow my parents’ meals had something not quite right, or their check would be added wrong. Our meals were usually correct, with no problems. I watched this phenomenon happen over and over.
I observed how my parents acted in public, what they talked about. In contrast to their example, I decided to act and speak differently. As a consequence, my reality became different from the one they experienced. Without this illustration, I would not have known anything else to do. I did not suppress my creative nature and did not limit myself to their experience. Through contrast, I found a way that worked for me, and it gave me an outcome more in-line with how I wanted my life to be.
Observe the difference in visual art between Michelangelo versus Jackson Pollock. How can we dismiss either artist? We may each have our preferences, but to deny another of their choice is limiting us as well. As we create outwardly, our inner landscape changes and recreates itself in tandem. Our tastes in art and other life experiences morph and grow as we walk through our lives. My daughter only ate chicken nuggets as a child. Now, as a 27-year old, she tries new foods all the time. Her limited diet grew as she did in age and maturity.
How are you welcoming contrast & diversity of thought into your life experience? Are you squelching your creativity or the creative expressions of others? Are you casting an unfavorable judgment on someone else’s choices? In the game of Duality Integration- which we are all playing- we need the various shades of opinions and options to make the tapestry of our collective lives rich, full, and meaningful. Invite creative variety. You will be better served for it.
Catherine Denton is a Metaphysician living in the Foothills of the Great Smoky Mountain National Park. Check out her musing on family, life, health, and various metaphysical topics.
Brigid hiked her skirt with one hand and carried the pail of milk with the other as she trudged up the hill to the house. Himself will be wantin’ the té when she got there, if she was any judge. Good thing she had half a cake from last night. Wouldn’t be long til sundown when she could finish her mending by the fire while her Papa smoked his pipe and tattled about the doings of the men at the pub.
“Brigid, me girl. Where would you be with the te?” Sean O’Farrell called as he heard his daughter enter the kitchen door. He enjoyed stirring her up now and again. There be times when she got a bit uppity though now, not so much. After the fire his darlin’ girl seemed a might skittish around the folk. The burns had healed on the outside but he knew deep down she still felt the fear and smelt the scorched flesh. Still she was a handsome lass and would make a right proper wife once the Maguire returned from the war in Spain.
“Hush now, Papa! You know I must strain and put the milk away,” she called into the parlor. Having finished that chore she spooned the tea into the pot and poured the water that had been kept hot on the stove. Cutting the cake and gathering the cups, she made her way to her father’s side.
“Aught I know it, girl! Sit yourself down and pass the cake if you please,” he smiled at her as she blew a tendril of hair from her forehead. “I heard from Ian Dougal that Patrick Joyce had returned. Wasn\’t he in Danny\’s regiment?”
You could hear Brigid\’s sharp intake of breath at the name. Patrick returned? That must mean Danny was soon to be here as well, she thought. How can I face him when he expects to see what he remembers and not what has become her reality. “Did Ian see Patrick or did he hear it from another?” asked Brigid.
“Lost a shilling in a card game to him night a\’fore last so I\’m supposin\’ he saw him in the flesh.” at the sight of the panic in her eyes he sought to sooth her worries, “Now darlin\’ girl. Don\’t you worry your handsome head. Danny Maguire will be here like a shot when he gets off the boat,” he filled his pipe again and lit the tobacco before he went on, “He hasna forgot you. Once he gets settled, it\’ll be right as rain, just you wait.”
Brigid wasn’t so sure of that welcomed site. A lot had changed in the two years he had gone from Enniskillen to join the dragoons on the peninsula. She had heard Spanish women were a lovely site to behold. It could be that she wouldn’t compare well to what he had been surrounded by of late. The girl he knew was no longer. Would he even give a second look to the one who took her place?
~
Daniel Maguire adjusted his crutches as he made his slow way down the wharf to the awaiting coach. His dear mother stood by the road and after seeing him, allowed the tears of relief flow like a river down her softly wrinkled face. My boy is home now. It will be alright, she thought as she watched him, head down as he took each step closer. The right pants leg pinned up at the knee was jarring to see but he was home and that was all that mattered. Daniel looked up to catch his breath when he saw his mother coming to meet him. He waited for her to get closer then said, “Mama. Sorry I\’m a bit late. Couldn’t get the boat to go any faster” he joked when he saw her tears. “I\’ll be usin\’ less fabric for me trews from now on but I\’ll take less time at the bathin’ as well.” His mama held him and cried as he leaned against her and steadied himself with the crutches. He was home and that was all that mattered. Time enough for worries on the morrow.
He had to wait on the boat for two days until the quartermaster kitted him out with clothing that fit and the paymaster set up his pension. Four-pence a day wasn’t much but it kept hunger at bay. He had the shilling Patrick had given that he won off Ian Dougal so he wasn’t entirely broke. The King’s service wasn’t known for making a man of his station rich nor was it known for keepin’ em whole. He wasn’t sure if those that died in battle were better off. None of that could be said to his mother so he lifted his head and gathered his courage. A few more steps and he could rest until he got home. Then his new life, such as it appeared to be, would begin.
~
Brigid opened the worn letter, the last she received from Danny a month ago. It was a short note in contrast to the ones sent before. All it said is that he was headed home and he would see her soon. There were no words of love or anticipation just the bald words on the page. On the desk was the request from Danny’s mother to come to tea on Saturday, just two days hence. Brigid knew Danny was home now but hadn’t been out and about with his friends. Indeed he had not had any callers as his mother kept all at bay telling folks that Danny needed a chance to rest and adjust to being home.
She fretted as to what to wear. Long sleeves of course though the June weather proved warm. The pretty scarves in the dresser were brought out and looked through. Her father had had them made for her so she wouldn’t feel self-conscious among others. The blue would do well. It matched the blue in her eyes and the pink calico looked fine with the scarf. Wearing her hair low on her neck in its usual bun would complete her toilet. She would then feel ready to face whatever Daniel Maguire would say or do.
~
If Danny had felt steady enough, he would have paced the room. Instead he tapped his crutch on the floor in a drummers tattoo as he waited for Brigid to come. What would she say when she saw him? Would she feel she made a bad bargain when she promised to wait for his return? He never should have come home. No one wants damaged goods. What was he to do? How would they live? She could do so much better, he was sure.
~
Brigid walked the two miles to Danny\’s home. She felt dusty and cross but mostly with herself. She stepped up on the porch then hesitated and stepped back down. She turned as she heard the door creak open. Too late. I lost my chance to leave now, she thought. Putting on her best smile, she looked up into the face of Mrs. Maguire.
“Brigid, dear! Come in! Come in! We have been waiting for you.” The older woman led her into the parlor and indicated a chair for her to sit on. Danny stood a bit wobbly on his crutches before he looked at Brigid. She was just as he remembered. Chestnut hair, blue eyes, dimples as she smiled, her trim figure looked a bit more wane and she looked at him with panic. I\’ve made a mistake, he thought. She has taken a disgust o’ me. I can see it.
Brigid froze as she saw Danny rise from the chair. All her fears came to the fore. He is only doing this out of pity. Surely his mother told him what happened. I see his brave face. He must have been injured since she saw the crutches out of the corner of her eye. His expression consumed her. He doesn’t like what he sees. I have lost him. Now what do I do?
“Brigid, dear, please sit down. Let me get the tea while you two get to know one another again.” Mrs. Maguire left them alone and went to the kitchen.
“Brigid,” Danny managed to squeak out, “its good to see you.” Is that all you can say Danny Boy? How can I act normal when I don’t feel that way?
“Its good to see you too, Danny” she somehow got the words said without falling in a faint. “I thank you both for the invitation.” The words were stilted as they filled the air between them. Both of them talked for hours before he left to fight Napoleon. What happened? Blessed St. Patrick, she thought. She knew what happened. It will never be the same.
Mrs. Maguire came back with a laden tray. She glanced from one to the other. Danny with panic in his eyes, Brigid with what seemed like shame. I must do something to help them, she thought. But what?
“I’m sorry, Mrs Maguire but I must go now. It was good of you to ask me to come but I can see that Danny is not happy I’m here,” she hurriedly spoke as she quickly stood to walk back to the door. Mrs. Maguire protested her leaving and looked at her son as he rose from his chair. Before she knew what was happening, Danny fell and toppled the tea tray splashing the hot beverage onto the floor and the back of Brigid’s dress.
Feeling the hot water touch her leg, Brigid screamed and collapsed in a faint onto the floor near Danny. He was struggling to a sitting position as his mother helped Brigid by straightening her gown and lifting her head from the broken pottery and spilled tea. If it wasn’t so tragic the scene would have been comical with people sprawled on the floor in such a fashion. Brigid was coming around as Mrs Maguire held her. Danny scooted himself over to her. He looked at his poor mama and gathered Brigid in his arms. Mrs. Maguire moved out of the way to pick up the broken items and retreat to the kitchen to find a wet rag to clean the floor.
“Brigid, oh, Brigid. Speak to me. Tell me you\’re alright.” Danny crooned in her ear as Brigid felt the strength of his arms and the warmth of his breath. Was that tears she felt on her cheek?
“Danny. Why are you crying?” she asked when she could turn slightly to see his face.
“Brigid, my love. I thought I lost you. I can’t lose you. I can’t go on if you aren’t by my side” Danny confessed. He sat up next to her and helped her to lean against the nearby chair she had been sitting in. He straightened out his legs then looked into her face. “This is the man I have become, darlin\’ Brigid. Not quite the man you promised to wait for. I won’t hold you to that promise if you don’t feel the same about me now” Danny looked at what was left of his legs and waited for her response.
She looked at the left leg, strong and straight then at the right, foreshortened and empty in his pants below the knee. After an eternity she spoke, “Oh, Danny! I don’t know what to say,” she fumbled with her sleeve and scarf. “Danny look at me” she commanded. “I won’t hold you to that promise either.”
Danny looked at the red and pink twisted flesh on her arm and could see that it went up to her neck and hairline on the left side. It puckered in some places while it was tight and shiny in others. “There is a patch like this on me side as well,” she said as she rolled the sleeve back down. Danny caught her hand and held it tight in his grasp. He looked in her eyes and recognized the disgust he thought he saw before was the same pain he was feeling for the changes the last years had wrought on them both.
“I will tell you my story if you share yours with me,” Brigid said after a time. They both scooted on the floor into a more comfortable position. He placed his arm about her and she leaned her head against his shoulder. Mrs Maguire, good woman that she was, heard their soft murmurs and settled in the kitchen until taking herself off to bed when the hour grew late.
“I was with the 4th Regiment of the Queen’s Own Dragoons at Talavera. We had left Vitoria a month before. Our supplies were late and food was scarce but the Army and Boney waits on no man,” Danny began. “What did you eat?” asked Brigid.
“Is maith an t-anlann an t-ocras*, as they say. When your hungry, anything to put in your belly is more than you had. Don’t worry, we made do and shared what was there to be et,” Danny philosophically said.
“We rode our horses into the thick of the battle, good lads all of them, and dismounted to fight slashing all who came near with our sabers. I caught a bayonet in the calf when I cut a frog down but he got the last laugh. The cut became infected and turned gangrene. The doctor did what he had to do to save me life. God knows how many didn’t make it through those butchers they called surgeons. When I was well enough to travel they sent me home,” Danny finished and blew out a long-held breath. He had been dreading telling that to anyone. Now it was done. He could see it for what it was. He could now mourn his dearly departed leg.
“Our milk cow had a difficult birth and was in the stall trying with all her might to push out the calf. I heard her thrashing about and went out with my lantern. One of the little goats became untethered and got up under me skirts causing me to stumble. Well the lantern went one way and I went the other. My dress caught a spark and before I could get the fabric off, it stuck to my arm and neck. Papa heard the commotion and came running but too late to keep me from being badly burnt. I was so scared I fainted so only knew what happened after it was over. One of the field hands helped put out the fire before it did much damage to the barn,” Brigid said as she held Danny\’s hand.
“We’re a pair, ain’t we now. I lost a leg and you now have a scarred arm. Maybe we’re luckier than we know,” Danny mused. “I’m willing to keep my promise. What say you, Brigid O’Farrell?”
“Aye! I promised to wait for you, Danny Boy. Where do we go from here? How will we live?” Brigid wondered out loud.
“I may have a solution. When we weren’t fighting Bony\’s men, I helped out with the Major’s reports and accounts. There’s a chance he would give me a character so I could be a secretary. I won’t need two good legs for that,” shouted Danny as he gave the offending appendage a slap. They laughed and held each other far into the night. Plans were made, words of love were spoken and pent-up emotions were finally spent. Two years was a short span for so much to happen. The people they were had departed from this life. Now was their chance to begin anew.
~~~
*(Iss maw on tan-lan on tuc-rass) Hunger is a good sauce.
~ Catherine Denton is currently transferring her book, Metaphysical Girl: How I Recovered My Mental Health to another publisher. Please stay tuned for a re-launch in the near future. Thank you for your support!
Cathy Denton
Catherine Denton is a Metaphysician living in the Foothills of the Great Smoky Mountain National Park. Check out her musing on family, life, health, and various metaphysical topics.
*A creative version of how my husband and I passed the time during the recent lock-down in the USA. We live in a rural area with very few cases of Covid19. Your experience may have been quite different.
Once upon a time, there was a land far away where an evil virus scourged the populous. In this land was a lady, not quite old but not quite young. She lived with a handsome warrior who thought himself old but had the strength of a champion. Each day they asked each other. “How did I get so lucky to be with you?” Then they would smile and answer in turn, “It’s a gift.”
They lived happily and well before the scourge cast its shadow, but then they became fearful and cut-off from family and friends. The minstrels and messengers of the land call out in constant litany, “Flatten the Curve! Flatten the Curve! To arms! To arms!” This was done night and day lest we forget why we were scared and lonely. The days droned onward.
Each day the couple stayed home as required, puttering about the house and yard. Clothes and linens were scrubbed, lintels were dusted, storage rooms were inventoried, and the midden raked and buried. When they would venture out, they put on their armor of mask & gloves. Their trips were limited to the market for food or to the apothecary for medicinals. The market was getting bare with only meager supplies of their usual food choices. Many times substitutions would be made, and the lady worried that her kitchen skills would be found wanting. On a particularly exasperating day, the warrior asked his lady, “How do you make this soup taste so good?” With a look of joyful relief, she answered, “It’s a gift!”
After a time, their imagination took hold with dreams for a brighter future. In the distance, you could still hear the minstrels and messengers with their incessant call, “Flatten the Curve! Flatten the Curve! To arms! To arms!” The couple listened to the warnings, but it was slowly becoming white noise in their home. Though there was still fear, they had other, more joyful things to think about.
They ventured out in their armor to the hardware and farming shop. They bought seeds and plants, dirt and compost, pots, and plant stakes. Together they brought their precious items home and set to work. Soon a garden came forth from their efforts. Large containers of tomatoes and peppers, cucumbers and zucchini, potatoes and marigolds were carefully watered, weeded, and watched. The lady said to the warrior, “I am so glad you are strong and able. I could never do this on my own!” To which the warrior replied. “It’s a gift!”
In their cleanings and rearrangings, a long-forgotten boat of dubious vintage was discovered. Its paint and propulsion could be improved, but the hull was sound and well-made. Paint was ordered from deep in the Amazon, and the propulsion was sent to the smithy. The warrior and his lady worked on the little boat remembering days long past when they plied the lakes nearby. Day-in and day-out, they scrubbed, cleaned, scraped, and sanded. The minstrels and messengers call of “Flatten the Curve! Flatten the Curve! To arms! To arms!” were nearly drowned out with the sounds of work and laughter.
The granddaughter of the lady and warrior had finished her schooling. She was now a woman that would make her way in the world once the evil virus was vanquished. To celebrate this auspicious occasion and still maintain their isolation, they rode by her home on their trusty steeds Kia and Nissan, waving and shouting their congratulations. Colorful banners were flown, and trumpets blared. It was a merry time indeed. The warrior commented to his lady, “How did you come up with these banners?” Laughing, she replied, “It’s a gift!”
During the time of the scourge, the warrior spent the first days off-duty, but then he was called in to help maintain supplies for the carriages, wagons, and carts of the land. He worked a day or two for a time, then he began working a full week. He felt better knowing he was working for the cause and taking care of his family. The lady missed his presence but soon became involved with her own projects. She sewed masks for a local healer establishment and sent cards to folks who lost loved ones before the virus took hold. They both did their work and were grateful for it. The calls of the minstrels and messengers grew ever fainter in their experience.
While the land dealt with the evil virus on the front lines, the lady and her warrior felt closer than ever. They enjoyed picnics and carriage rides, reading and discussions, cooking and music. After the busyness of the day, they settled and snuggled at night. Their love was savored and reveled in. All of their focus was on each other. The calls of the minstrels and messengers could not compete with the beating hearts of the lady and her warrior. The lady dreamily asked her warrior, “How is it that you make me feel so safe and loved?” The warrior kissed her upturned face and replied, “It’s a gift.”
Artwork~ The Chamber Idyll ~Edward Calvert, 1831 The Metropolitan Museum of Art-Open Access/Public Domain
~Dr. Catherine Denton is a Metaphysician who lives in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains. She is the author of her memoir- Metaphysical Girl: How I Recovered My Mental Health. Her mission is to encourage folks during challenging times and help them realize they are stronger than they know. Catherine & Jonathan (her handsome warrior) will celebrate 30 yrs of marriage December 2020.
Cathy Denton
Catherine Denton is a Metaphysician living in the Foothills of the Great Smoky Mountain National Park. Check out her musing on family, life, health, and various metaphysical topics.
Sherron Forshee & Kenneth Forshee June 2nd 2019 June 18th 2019
As a family, we have lived very full lives. Traveling with the Army calling the shots was all we knew and thought everyone else lived this way as well. Though the places we lived and the people we met over the years were incredible, it is the everyday things that are sustaining for us. We were not a perfect family but the events that occurred shaped us. Mom & Dad helped us grow into resilient, generous & loving people.
Barbara, Kenton, and I grew up in a household where Mom took care of the home, while Dad did as the Army commanded. It was known to us from a young age that Dad would not always be there. He traveled or worked in a different state than where we lived several times over the years. Mom made sure the money deposited into our account stretched as far as she could make it. Somehow, for nearly 59 years, they made it work.
We lived in California when I was born. My early memories include Daddy holding me above his head when we lived in Hawaii. I was the only child at that time and had all the attention. He smiled a lot back then. He lost that ready ability after Vietnam but regained it when dementia set in. Dad was a Career Counselor in the Army and was forevermore encouraging us to try our hand at this job or that school. In the month before he died, as sick as he was, he was still at it. There was a poster at the Veterans Home where he lived that said, “Only You Can Prevent Falls!” In his halting speech, several times, he tried to talk me into applying for what he thought was a “job.”
Not everything was rosy with Dad. His frequent absences made it hard for him to know our routine at home. He wanted things done a certain way when he was there while Mom had her own rules for us. The PTSD he suffered transferred to us having symptoms of that trauma as well. Quiet was the rule at dinner when he was home while talking about our day was welcomed when he was not.
Barbara was the middle-child and born in Hawaii. She recalls Daddy taking us to the circus in Ft. Worth, Texas. She also had her first Halloween when we lived near there. Daddy had her by the hand, taking her from house to house with her little bucket for candy. The summer we moved to Atlanta, Dad had a part-time job delivering AutoTrader magazines to convenience stores. Barbara went with him to help and would often get a treat of doughnuts and a drink. After her son, Brandon was born, Dad went with them both to the beach in Ft Myers, Florida. Walking with them both on the sand was heaven. In those moments, she was the only child.
Other memories were not so enjoyable. Dad did not approve of Barbara\’s first marriage choice. He threatened to not come to the wedding, causing her much heartache. It was only at the last minute did he decide to go. Barbara has mentioned often over the years of Dad’s leaving us. Even though work was the reason, she still hated that feeling of seeing him walk out of the door.
Kenton was the youngest and born in Texas after Dad came back from Vietnam. His best memory was their trip to Italy just before Dad was unable to travel due to his failing health. Dad loved being in new places, seeing new countries, and learning new things. Everything was beautiful for him if it was somewhere else. Kenton loved showing Dad the places he had been when he was in the Air Force, and Dad drank it all in. Dad also loved seeing people he knew when he traveled. Visiting our family friend, Ed in London was a great treat. Kenton and Dad saw the movie Titanic when it opened in theaters. That was an enjoyable event as well.
As with his sisters, not all memories of Dad were amazing. When Barbara and I were small, Dad would take us fishing when we lived in New Orleans. Kenton was a baby then but grew up hearing about our fishing expeditions. When he was older, Kenton begged Dad to take him fishing. Dad relented but sat in the car while Kenton drowned worms in a small pond nearby. Disappointing, to say the least, but there were many other disheartening moments as the only boy child of his soldier father.
Mom teaching Barbara and me our numbers and colors by playing cards with us was an early recollection. She taught us Rummy and Old Maid before I was six years old. She walked me the few blocks to school when I started first grade. I remember her sewing some of our clothes on her portable Singer Sewing machine. She was there for me when my first husband left and when I brought Jon and Robert to meet my parents two years later. We went on many adventures in the mountains and especially to Bald River Falls. We laughed and cried freely with each other.
Mom also had her authoritarian side. Her home was spotlessly clean. Her rigid training of us in housekeeping skills made sure of that. When she said no, that meant no. When she said maybe, that also meant no. I was fearful of asking for things as a child. Mom\’s word was law.
Barbara remembers her taking us to buy school clothes. Mom tried to teach her to sew, but Barbara remembers crying more than sewing! Wedding shopping trips with Mom was also a fond recollection for Barbara. They both went to the store to buy the flowers in the arrangement on the alter displayed here today. They had fun putting it together. Barbara has fond memories of Mom playing paddy-cake with Brandon and Nikki when they were both pre-schoolers. Mom also always cut our hair and gave us home-perms.
The arguments our parents had left their mark on Barbara\’s mind. There was some conflict over buying a house at one time. Dad wanted to, but Mom did not, preferring to stay in the mobile home we had. There was a big row over it when at some point during the dispute, Mom sailed one of those See & Say Farmer Says toys at Dad like a Frisbee hitting the bedroom door just as he got in and slammed it shut. We were all stunned by this behavior since we were always punished for throwing things at each other.
Remembering the times when Mom would take him to McDonald’s while his sisters were in school is a fond memory of Kenton’s. In later years, watching British TV shows was a favored pastime. Before moving to Maryville, there was a large wildflower patch in their yard purposely planted for Mom. Kenton would take pictures of these beautiful flowers and put them on Mom’s computer for her to enjoy year ’round. She loved it. He also taught her how to work her computer. This valuable skill allowed her to have a view of the world when Dad’s illness prevented them from going places like before.
Kenton also remembers feeling controlled by Mom. She wanted things done her way. He was fearful of disappointing her many times. Her recent decline included her berating him for things he hadn’t done. Knowing a person you love is ill doesn’t make their hurtful words wound you less. Being her primary caregiver during that time was draining.
As a family, we had laughter when Mom scolded Dad about complaining regarding a particular restaurant food. When asked how it was by the server, he glanced at Mom before replying, “We ate it, didn’t we?” We also laughed and sang in the car when we moved from state to state, never knowing what to expect in our surroundings. Tears poured aplenty when Mom was in the hospital for ten months trying to regain her sense of sanity and then again when we watched Dad accept a commendation medal as he retired from the Army. Their last years had many similar moments of laughter and tears.
Our parents were human. They were authentic, and they were as real as you or I. They had their good days and bad, strengths and flaws, shining moments, and glorious failings when it came to parenting. They were the product of their upbringing and what they added to that, just as we are of ours. They improved on their early family life just as we try to improve on the families we brought into the world.
We had days of making ice-cream and folding laundry, learning to drive and failing in relationships, enduring financial hardships, and celebrating career successes. Through all these things and even after death, our parents cared for us. Mom & Dad did what they could with the resources they had and the knowledge they possessed. They loved us… and I believe they still do.
In my memoir- Metaphysical Girl: How I Recovered My Mental Health– Epigenetics is a concept we explore. Beliefs and behaviors can be passed down from generation to generation but without the context of the first-hand experience to tell you why you act the way you do. To learn more about how I saw my family, you can purchase this book on Amazon, Barnes & Noble or Kobo.
Cathy Denton
Catherine Denton is a Metaphysician living in the Foothills of the Great Smoky Mountain National Park. Check out her musing on family, life, health, and various metaphysical topics.
It’s been over three months since my last post on this blog. Ironically the previous story- When Bad Things Happen- proved prescient for my life as the days turned into months. Here we are in 2019. This will be a year of change for many of us and some things we are not going to like as it happens. That’s a given for any situation. Settle in with a cup of tea and allow me to provide you with an overview of my life since we spoke all those months before.
A few days after my last post, my mother-in-law was diagnosed with bladder cancer. To be sure she has had other life-threatening issues over her 86 years but this illness was one she wasn’t sure she wanted to come back from. I\’ve known her for the last 28 of those years now and have always been amazed at her health and diligence in keeping it. She lives alone in a rural mountain town working on her art and doing community service. My husband is her only child, and we live on the other side of that mountain 1 ½ hours away in good weather.
After two surgeries in three months, countless doctor appointments, and hundreds of miles driven between our two homes she is physically doing well with immunotherapy treatment. Mentally and spiritually she is regretting calling 911 when she nearly bled out at home the day she was rushed to the hospital. I love this woman who has been my mother for all these years, and I feel compassion for her plight. She only wants to talk about “when she is no longer here” and what needs to be done before the day that happens. She is not sad or angry. She seems to look forward to that time.
In the middle of this, I had to undergo lithotripsy for a 7mm stone in the left kidney. Earlier last year I had a 3mm one that became stuck in the right ureter. Allowing time for myself was necessary but difficult to feel right about. The old mantra of “others are worse off than me” tried to return with its litany of hit tunes. I managed to shush its fears and remind it that I am part of the “others” I care about.
Just as I was nearly recovered from that procedure, my cousin\’s husband died suddenly after only being in the family for two years. Deb\’s previous longtime mate passed away after an extended illness just three years before. I traveled down to Florida to be with her for several days as I had done when Clint died. The emotional toll of these various events was catching up with me. I was exhausted and in need of support but where do you turn when the people you count on are in the same boat with you?
As if this wasn’t enough, one of my grand-dogs contracted Lyme disease and went into kidney failure. My son\’s family were heartbroken to lose Stella who was still a young dog and so much a part of their lives. My husband and I lost our little companion two years ago, and the wound feels fresh at times like these. My granddaughters cling to Stella\’s adopted brother, Rusty and fret over his age and impending blindness. We may lose another dear friend in the coming months.
It was fortunate these events happened in a consecutive manner instead of all on the same day or even the same week! Scattered as they were made them a bit easier to deal with from a logistical perspective but the building up of emotional trauma blocked my ability to write until now. I am one who needs quiet time to process events. My life has been far from quiet these past months.
This incoming year will see more of this unquiet time. I have aging parents in ill health along with my mom-in-law. We may experience a move from our present residence, and my own health issues seem to be a continuing thing for 2019. We will handle these changes when they arrive as we have done in the past. Doubtless, you will endure the changes headed your way as well. May we bend without breaking in all our endeavors.
In my book- Metaphysical Girl: How I Recovered My Mental Health- I faced many challenges. Some of this was due to the medical system, some to family strife but much due to my own procrastination in taking responsibility for my own recovery. To read my story, purchase the book on Amazon, Barnes & Noble or Kobo. My hope is that you are inspired to take charge of your health and your life.
Cathy Denton
Catherine Denton is a Metaphysician living in the Foothills of the Great Smoky Mountain National Park. Check out her musing on family, life, health, and various metaphysical topics.
I do not trust our U.S. Intelligence agencies and here’s why. Much has been said regarding President Trump’s remarks about US Intelligence, especially in the alleged Russian Collusion affair. Right or wrong, I do not see his comments as treasonous. My family’s life has been directly and adversely affected by US Intelligence and the way it was used more than fifty years ago. Is the sentiment I feel a treasonous act? Am I a Russian bot? You be the judge.
On November 22nd, 1963, President Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas Texas. I was not quite a year and a half old when this event put in motion a portion of the story that changed my family. The Warren Commission Report indicated that Lee Harvey Oswald, a former marine, and communist sympathizer, was the shooter. As the police were transferring Oswald to a car that was to take him to the Dallas County jail, Jack Ruby shot Oswald in the abdomen and killed him. Ruby was subsequently tried and sentenced to death.
In the recently released JFK Assassination Records, it was revealed that there were two shooters according to the FBI, witnesses, and the apparent trajectory of the bullets as told by the Surgeon General’s Report. J. Edgar Hoover spoke with LBJ, (Pres. Johnson’s) aide, Walter Jenkins, on the evening of the assassination, to “have something issued so we can convince the public that Oswald is the real assassin.” An FBI informant, Orest Pena, alleged that Oswald was also an FBI informant due to seeing him with other government agents including the FBI agent Pena reported to for many years.
The Communist Party of the Soviet Union was saddened by Kennedy’s death. President Kennedy had been in the process of diplomatic talks with the Soviets, and they were making headway. The Soviets worried regarding the unknown policies of LBJ toward the USSR. According to a CIA source, the KGB allegedly had data purporting to indicate President Johnson was responsible for the assassination. The Soviets seemed convinced that this was a carefully planned campaign in which several people played a part.
It appears that Kennedy had decided to begin troop withdrawal of US Forces in Vietnam in October 1963. This information was revealed by Kennedy’s then Secretary of Defense, Robert McNamara in his 1995 memoir, In Retrospect. In spite of numerous Vietnam historian’s assertions to the contrary, a handful of knowledgeable writers, historians and a retired intelligence officer whose “specialty is deciphering declassified records,” have found evidence that Kennedy planned to withdraw troops and indeed ordered it to begin.
On August 5th, 1964, the American people were informed that the North Vietnamese attacked the US Maddox in open seas while it was on a routine patrol in the Gulf of Tonkin. President Johnson ordered “retaliatory action” against North Vietnam thereby placing the US in a war where more than a quarter of a million people from all sides died during the conflict. For people contaminated with the military’s use of the defoliant Agent Orange, those deaths are still coming in.
At the time there was doubt regarding the incident with the Maddox. Since then more testimony has been uncovered that the US involvement with the war in Vietnam was based on falsehoods and deceit. There was no 2nd attack on the Maddox. A conversation between President Johnson and Defense Secretary McNamara indicates that they favored withholding specific information from Congress. This non-disclosure led to Congress not having all the information they needed to make an informed decision regarding the entrance into this deadly conflict. Lives were needlessly lost or forever harmed.
It appears that President Kennedy\’s untimely death could have been subverted since Oswald was known by the FBI unless that was the goal of “some people” for him to be involved with the assassination. Why was it not widely known that Kennedy wanted to withdraw troops? Who was controlling that information? Why was certain intelligence withheld from Congress concerning the attack on the US Maddox? Would that knowledge have implicated “some people” in more distressing deeds or was our US Intelligence at fault? It seems to me that with the amount of money spent to gather information for our government, we are not getting much bang for our buck. Intelligence data is only productive if it is used.
My father joined the Army in 1960. He and my mother married later that same year. By the time the US became involved with the Vietnam War, they had two daughters- my younger sister and me. In the spring of 1967, my dad was deployed to Vietnam while his wife and children were left to wonder if he would make it home. The year dragged by as we waited for news of his safety or his demise. At last in the spring of 1968, he returned to his family, but both parties had been changed by the time apart.
Dad had been a loving father and an attentive husband before his war experience. When he came home, he was distant and reserved. When he did speak, it was to tell us to be quiet or not touch him. The dad I remembered did not come home, and another person took his place. My little brother was born in 1969. We all adjusted, but we suffered from the second-hand symptoms of his PTSD. We all eventually succumbed to the trauma and needed extended emotional support in our adult years.
Dad retired after 20 years from the military and began another career as an electrician. The contamination he endured from the Agent Orange started to take its toll. It is a testament to his military discipline in regards to his health that Dad has lasted as long as he has. My father had several issues that can be attributed to the poison that was sprayed in Vietnam. He is now bed-ridden in a Veterans nursing facility with 110% disability and in the care of hospice workers. He is 78 yrs old as we watch his body systems shut down one at a time. All because of a needless war.
After reading the documents above and doing your own research to further prove to yourself the allegation I have made, I ask if you believe our US Intelligence Agencies? Do you believe without question the information that our government puts forth as an official story on each news item they are called upon to investigate? For myself, I cannot accept anything I hear or read from them without questioning something. I have read enough history to see where the dots connect and where they don’t.
I am not angry anymore for what was perpetrated against my family and so many others. At this point, my anger would only harm me. I now use a healthy skepticism in regards to our government. So far, they have not earned my complete trust, and if they keep to their old ways, they are not likely to do so. I now look for an evolving truth and realize I may never get the complete picture. I will close with one of my favorite lines from the 1968 film Yours Mine and Ours as spoken by Henry Fonda’s character- “If this be treason, make the most of it.”
Catherine Denton is a Metaphysician living in the Foothills of the Great Smoky Mountain National Park. Check out her musing on family, life, health, and various metaphysical topics.
The Confederate flag shirt was the first thing I saw as I watched a cousin I had never met walk through the door. Jon and I were at a memorial gathering at my cousin Terry\’s home. We were celebrating his brother Tony\’s life with only a few of my 32 cousins on my dad\’s side of the family. The majority of the handful of relatives there were acquainted with Tony only the last few years of his life. My sister Barbara, his brother Terry and myself knew Tony from childhood on.
I have mentioned in other stories that a good portion of my extended family did not have a lot of formal education with most only completing high school. Quite a number were highly skilled in trades or small business admin duties with a couple of cousins who worked as nurses. I know from stories told that about half of my paternal cousins, maybe more, had lived a difficult life of poverty and abuse as children. We did not grow up together as aunts and uncles were scattered throughout Florida, Alabama and Tennessee. My birth family lived in several places near the military bases dad was stationed at. We rarely saw some of our relatives over the years and some we had never met as was the case that day.
Seeing that shirt was a bit jarring to me. I know where I come from but this symbol of what I had come to now view as “hate speech” left me feeling sad and just a bit fearful. The wearer of the shirt, Jesse was one of the cousins whose father, Jim, was very abusive and I had had my own hurt feelings in my dealings with Uncle Jim, as a child. If family stories were true, Jesse\’s experiences were much much worse.
Jesse himself was a quiet young man of less than thirty yrs. He introduced his wife who was six months pregnant with her third child. Jesse got a plate of food from the potluck we had all assembled and sat next to Jon at the table. Immediately they bonded over work since both were employed by manufacturers of automotive parts though in different towns. I was sitting not far from Jesse at the table. While other conversations flowed around me, I watched him and his interactions with those present.
It was then I felt him wearing his shirt as if it was armor. He did not appear aggressive in any way speaking to Jon in soft measured tones, in fact, he seemed quite meek. I knew his father to be bombastic with harsh words and colorful speech. Jesse was quite different, almost beat down. I felt the armor he wore was to protect him from any hurt he might encounter at this gathering, not protect him from any violence he might induce as his father had many times in the past. I witnessed a number of these emotional displays of my uncle where property damage and people roughly pushed aside were part of the show.
Jesse\’s demeanor made me step back in my mind. After Jon and I returned home, I ran the film of the day over and over in my head. In the wee hours of morning is when many things coalesce for me. I awoke with a revelation. I knew that Uncle Jim had been abused as a child from his dad, my grandfather. His brash way of dealing with all that emotional and physical hurt was to lash out before others could do the same to him. It seemed Jesse chose an inward path of protection with only the outward showing of the Confederate flag shirt to indicate a certain manly toughness. Even though he was meek and quiet, he belonged to a loose community of sorts. He may have found that sporting this attire gave him instant access to something he did not experience growing up. Jesse had family when he wore their colors.
I have observed that people show each other who they belong to or with in all manner of ways. It could be tattoos, hand signs, sport jerseys, pink knitted hats or blue collar shirts with a company name on the chest that lets you know what gang, group of sports fans, social justice cause or socioeconomic class you declare is your community. There was a good chance that Jesse did not have a complete understanding of how the Confederate flag was viewed by others and only acknowledged the result that mattered most to him- a show of strength that belied his powerlessness.
I have belonged to many communities over my lifetime. I was among other things, a Brownie in elementary school, a school band member, an actress in school & community theaters, a nurse, a military service member and also a church member. Each of these groups had a way of showing off their members whether it be uniform, instrument or covenant. Within each of these affiliations I felt a certain empowerment. I belonged. I had connections. I had people who would watch my back if there was danger, pick me up if I had fallen or protect me if I were threatened.
Even though I do not robe myself in a Confederate flag, I felt a certain kinship with this newly revealed cousin. We were born in the same family and shared much in the way of ancestry, cultural experiences and it seems, the need for community. Our ideologies may be vastly different but because we are kin we might be able to connect with each other and learn each others hopes and dreams while exorcising the demons of our collective family experience.
Written By:
Cathy Denton
Catherine Denton is a Metaphysician living in the Foothills of the Great Smoky Mountain National Park. Check out her musing on family, life, health, and various metaphysical topics.
