Mary Louise Eklund

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No, no, I didn’t forget I’m here!

Yes this post is late. I know, I know, teach but I have an excuse from the doctor. Can I make it up?

I do apologize for being late but I’ve been battling strep throat that turned into scarlet fever. Yes, in the summer. Yes, at my age. No, I’ve not a clue as to why or how I got it. I blame Australia as it is winter there. I only know I want out of it! I’m on a second antibiotic and making progress.

During this whole process I’ve not had the energy to do much writing. At times thinking coherent thoughts and composing sentences has been a challenge. Yet, I needed a creative outlet. To fill this and add to my daily-to-do list (gosh knows I ignore enough on that now) I accepted the 365 challenge. That is- make a picture each day for 365 consecutive days. I was all serious in my fevered desire for an outlet that didn’t need words I even joined Project 365 over on Flickr and made my own Personal 365 set in my account. To my now non-fevered brain’s surprise I’ve kept this up for the last 10 days.

I know that you over there squirming in your chair is thinking, “Gee, that’s great Mary Louise but what does that have to do with this blog post I came over here to read?” My answer is everything. I’m still on drugs, but not fun good ones rather icky good ones. I’m still struggling to express ideas in word form but visual, that medium is working full bore. So I shall give you my 365 and why I took each picture.

Day 1

This was recall election Tuesday in my district. We were the second round of recall elections in Wisconsin. I am not going to get political on you. (I’ve vowed not to do that or religion here.) I did feel my duty to vote and since I’d been on the first antibiotic for three days thought I wasn’t contagious. It took all my effort to get up, shower and get to the polls. I did it. I brought back proof I’d done it. I stuck it on my keyboard. Once I decided that I was doing Project 365 I made a picture of it. It represented what was the core of my day for that day.

Day 2

Meet Russell, this is his evil side. Aaron bought this silly deer cut out somewhere and named it Russell. Wanting Russell to have a face on both sides he drew this on the blank side. Being sick I was asleep in bed when Aaron got home. He put Russell on my desk for me find when I dragged myself to work the next day. It so happened the next morning Rappy, my greyhound, was leading the way into my office with me following. She yelped, jumped back, and cowered against me. Wondering what had spooked her (no I wasn’t afraid, let’s just say Rappy isn’t the sharpest tool in the doggie shed. She’s so dull you’d give her to at toddler as a play thing.) I flipped on the light. I cackled in laughter finding Evil Russell on my desk. So he became the photo of the day.

Psst here’s his nice side –

Day 3

I was feeling better or determined to feel better, not sure which looking back on it. Any way I wanted to go outside in the SUN! Our backyard beckoned. The black-eyed Susans were in bloom. So using my new camera on macro I sat on the warm walk and tried to get a good shot. I think I succeeded.

Black-eyed Susans always remind me of my Aunt Susan. She never liked the name of that flower. I can’t say I’d particularly like a flower named “Domestic Violence Mary Louise” either. Summers when I was young and would stay with my Granny Winnie, Susan and I would take walks up the lane. Sometimes with Granny other times just us. I remember one time Susan was picking black-eyed Susans and calling each one a different family name – we had black-eyed Mary Louise, black-eyed Winnie, black-eyed Dwight, black-eyed Gary, black-eyed Alan, black-eyed Sidney, and so on until she had big bouquet that included all her brothers, sister-in-laws, parents, aunts, uncles, and me. So my apologies to Aunt Susan, this one is a different Susan with a black eye.

Day 4

We were getting low on food. I HAD to go out shopping. This was my Walter Mitty moment as I was leaving the grocery. I was chilling though it was hot. So I sat in the warm truck and opened my cold diet cola. As I sipped I watched a grocery store employee ride up on this thing with a chain of carts in front of him. He stopped at the cart corral just across from me and began sorting carts to get them ready to add to his string. I had a brief fantasy of running out there, jumping on that thing, revving it up and riding off like a stagecoach driver running from bandits! YeeeeeeHIIIII! I saw in my mind’s eye the bewildered employee standing there in his dark blue apron watching me go with his mouth open and brow furrowed. Then the moment was over. I was tired and wanted to go home. I put the soda in the holder, started the truck, and drove home.

Day 5

That was a blarggggghhhh day. I was wiped out and running a high fever again. I did nothing. Rappy’s bored sighs from her bed summed it up. I was sick and tired of being sick and tired! So she stood in for my feelings. I was paying for all that imagined cart riding excitement from the day before.

Day 6

During all this time, Mike has been on active duty in Japan. Every night I’d wait on Yahoo IM for him to log in so we could voice chat. I didn’t feel like writing, picture surfing, reading, or any thing with the computer that night. I straightened out my jewelry stock for the Three Gem jewelry sales I do. Here are two bookmarks I made with a dolphin theme. Not bad. I think I’ll be selling some stuff on e-bay eventually and have to work out how to get good pictures of it. This was a start on that idea.

Day 7

Woot! I’d made it a week in photos. However with over a week in treatment I wasn’t feeling well or even much better. So I started beading. Since that’s what I was doing I made several photos of it (hop over to my flickr **points to right side there for link** to see more cool macro jewelry shots). I know I really don’t need more jewelry to sell but I have the material and I like making it. Finally, I realized my inventory on bracelets was low and started making those instead of necklaces or earrings.

Day 8

Woke up feeling undead. So undead I called the doctor’s office. Did you know the undead are hot? Yeah run about 101F unlike us cool living people. This was my mug that morning for my coffee. I thought it appropriate. Doc put me on a new antibiotic that makes me feel icky in a different way. Sometimes I ponder is the cure better than being a zombie with a sore throat and rash.

Day 9

OMG! I’m ALIVE!!! I’m human NOT an an-ah-mule! Yes, on the second dose of the icky antibiotic I started feeling better, except for the warned side effects. I made myself dinner that night! It was a big bowl of veggie fried rice and it was wonderful! I ate at my desk waiting on Mike. I got to chat with him & went to bed feeling like the world was improving.

Day 10 – Today!

This morning I woke to find my daily picture waiting in the bay window. No it doesn’t have much to do with my day’s activities as I worked with the insurance company to try to get my house reassembled. (see this blog post to understand why my house needs reassembly). It wasn’t the best day as far as that goes.

Still he’s a handsome furry fellow and made a wonderful photo for today. He’s the trouble maker of my clowder. If there’s a crash he’ll walk out of the room nonchalantly and swear he heard nothing unusual in there. He had no idea what I’m talking about despite say dust from the broken vase clinging to his black fur.

So there you go – my last 10 day in photos. I’m not sure when I’ll do this again. Let me know what you think in the comments (points down below) if you want this to be a regular thing, if so how often. If you’d rather we never speak of this again and if so when we meet we’ll act like it never happened. Maybe you’d prefer this be just a one shot deal and for those really into it they can go to my flickr set… Just let me know. Maybe, just maybe we can make this a conversation rather than just me shouting into the dark of the internet.

Oh, I forgot to say if you are interested in the photos or the ones made those days but didn’t get chosen just click on the photos here and they will take you my photo feed where you can stroll around and enjoy seeing the sights.

August 25, 2011
Another GenCon, Another Year of Writing

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Another GenCon is done. It had no problem filling the newly expanded convention center. I’d heard that attendance was up and honestly I believe it. I’ve already marked my calendar for 16-19 August 2012. Never too soon to start shopping for room deals in downtown. Okay, okay it is now as the hotels won’t make reservations but 11 months in advance.

One of the things I enjoy about GenCon isn’t really part of the Con at all but rather the setting. I like downtown Indy. I like running the human hamster tubes (skywalk they call it). I marvel at the architecture that’s a captivating blend of old and new. The train station is dear and lovely. The stadium makes my blood flow for NFL season to start. It all plays together to be part of GenCon for me.

This year it was evident Indy is sprucing up for the Super Bowl. It’s coming to town in January. Just like Tampa did when I lived there a few years ago, Indy is putting on her best face. It has one thing to overcome that Tampa didn’t – winter. Still they are doing their best. Bricks are going in roadways and walkways downtown. Ties in nicely with the brickyard at the Indy 500. Additions to the skywalk are going up to connect with the addition onto the convention center. Just think, the Omni will be closer via tube walking next year.

GenCon attendees took it in stride as pavement peelers roared under our hamster tubes and concrete dust made our eyes dry. Sidewalks closed signs migrated with the bricklayers adding a morning maze effect to my walk to the convention center. Over all it was just a sign of some growth, which in the tough times I was pleased to see. Sitting outside at some restaurants during the day wasn’t attractive unless you were really into big machinery, tar smells, and dust but next year we’ll reap the benefits of the beautification.

As for the Con itself. I attended many panels but found the one on screenplay writing the most interesting. It was something totally new to me. Now when I shout out a script page number in a theater you’ll know I’m in the audience. When learning about a new subject I’m always excited. The other seminars I attended helped me refine my writing even more. It’s all part of growing as a writer.

I was glad to share my experience with Mike this year. He enjoyed seeing what this GenCon thing was all about. He caught the costume parade. Tooled about the gaming areas, checked out the sales floor, and generally enjoying stopping for a beer and watching the crowd. It was a relaxing weekend for him. He slept in and did as he pleased.

I’d be remiss in not thanking Jean Rabe for her 17 years of service to the GenCon writer’s symposium. She’s made it the wonderful experience it is today. Many writers in attendance and on panels owe her much thanks. A wonderful lady who always has time to help another. She’s retiring from managing the symposium this year and she will be missed. The success of it is a tribute to her.

Sunday afternoon GenCon was over for another year. Mike and I had lunch at Weber Grill before hitting the road home to Wisconsin. Once we got going north on the highway I was out, asleep. This time in a fully reclined position and comfortable. Con wears me out but it’s a good kind of tired. Even better if I can leave the driving to Mike and sleep on the way home. Farewell until next year gamers and writers.

August 10, 2011
What happened on the way to GenCon

GenCon 2011 has been adventure for me so far and it’s not officially kicked off. First off, this year is exciting for two reasons: 1) I’ve got a story in the convention anthology Carnage & Consequences, 2) Mike is joining me for the weekend!

To keep from having two vehicles in Indy I decided to take Amtrak down from Wisconsin to Indy. This was an adventure because I dream of doing a long train trip with sleeper, dining car, and all. The trip to Indy was to include a lounge car and have a nice spacious seat in the quiet car.

Then when I get to the unattended train depot, scan my bar code on my ticket for the Chicago to Indy leg it says something about a Greyhound bus. What?! If I wanted a bus I’d booked a bus. I wanted a TRAIN ride. Once on the train I ask the conductor as he punches my ticket for Chicago. He said that they do that if there’s track construction. I asked how I get to the bus and where the bus went in Indy – train station (which is near my hotel) or the bus station (which I had not a clue where that was in Indy). He didn’t know how it worked or anything so told me where to go to the help desk at Amtrak.

I get to Chicago after a pleasant train ride I make my way to the info desk. Standing at the desk the worker there just goes about his business. I ask about the bus. Yeah there’s track issues and there’ll be a bus outside. Well I didn’t think they’d drive it up the tracks. “Uh where outside?” It’s a big building and lots of outside there to find a bus. He points up a set of stairs – up there. F Then he’s off to help another confused patron. I climbed to the top of the stairs hoping there’s like a sign that says something about Greyhound Buses or Bus For Train stop or some clue like that. Nope nothing like that just people coming and going as if they knew what they were doing unlike me.

I overhear a woman with an older gentleman ask an Amtrak worker “Is this where we go to catch the bus that replaces the Indianapolis train.” I stop in my tracks and turn to face the trio. The employee said “Yes m’am. Just wait outside next to the blue sign for thru-booked bus and it will pick him up there.”

While waiting outside for the half hour I met several more people in the same boat or bus as it were. Their train ticket became a bus ticket. The bus pulled up – turns out my luggage that was the right size for carry-on for the train is too big for carry-on for the bus. So there with the bus blocking Chicago downtown traffic we had to check our bags before boarding. We were pleased the air conditioning worked well on the bus.

From there we went to the bus terminal where we sat for some time. I still didn’t know where I was going in Indy. Texted Aaron who googled it on his phone today one was next to the train station and the other is just a few blocks away. Well, that’s good. A new bus driver gets on and we pull out. I’m thinking this isn’t too bad. We all have our own private row of seats. We circled the terminal and pulled into the same place. I dozed off then and woke to more people getting on. There goes the private row. Luckily I got a seat mate that was nice.

I dozed on and off. I was missing that lounge car. I was missing the big seats. I was thirsty. No snack cart with water like Amtrak. I shared my displeasure with my BFF Patricia who was there to hand hold via text messages. One good thing was since I was dehydrated from half an hour standing in 100F heat next to a blue sign I didn’t have to go pee for the whole ride. By the end of it I’d had a nap and decided arriving thirsty and cramped was better than not arriving at all. Once off the bus I quickly hailed a cab and in 15 minutes was in my nice cool hotel room with a cold bottle of water. AHHH…..

Today started late since I really didn’t have anything ahead of me other than standing in line and event registration. This is exactly what I did. But first I had to get sweaty, well not really but I did. I walked 12 blocks in 101F heat to discover what I was looking for (a pharmacy) was next door to my hotel. If I’d gone out the door at the other end of the lobby it would have been the first thing I’d walked past. Pfft such luck.

As for GenCon it officially gets started tomorrow. So far I’ve scored my swag – free Magic cards, free Rift for the PC, my 4 day pass, and tickets for all the events I want to attend. The crowds are gathering but not many costumes yet. I did see one Dr. Horrible that was good and some Anime characters I don’t know.

Stay tuned to hear how my first day attending seminars and workshops goes. Who knows I might get another curve ball from fate.

August 3, 2011
How I Got An Idea

There are two things I’ve discovered people do when I tell them I’m a published author. They either tell me their great idea for a best-selling novel or they ask where I get my ideas. After encountering this over and over I asked more experienced authors about it. They assured me that’s common and I’d best get used to it. So for those who have ideas I urge them to write that novel! For those who wonder how published ideas form, here’s how I got inspiration for my latest short story.

Starting next Wednesday, 4 Aug 2011, GenCon 2011 opens. With that is the release of Carnage & Consequences an anthology of short stories by GenCon authors. I was thrilled to be invited to submit a story for consideration. I’ve been attending GenCon for three years to hone my writing skills in their writer’s symposium. It’s the best advice for the most affordable price around even if you don’t write sci-fi or fantasy. I was beyond thrilled when the story was accepted! The story is “The Rider” a ghost story set on the French Broad river in the Appalachian mountains of Upper East Tennessee.

Both sides of my family can trace roots back in those mountains to land grants for service in the Revolutionary War. I grew up in those hills hearing family stories handed down for generations. When casting around for inspiration for a ghost story, my mind fell upon the tale of my 4th great-grandfather James Rolen. His death seemed one that would leave a restless lost spirit behind. From the family lore I spun a tale that hopefully tingles your spine and pulls on your heartstrings at the same time.

My 3rd Great Grandfather Joab Rolen son of the real James Rolen

What was family lore and what was story? First off, there have never been any reports I know of about a rider coming from the French Broad to take boys into the river to drown. There have been no tales of the ghost of James Rolen but there was the family lore of his death.

The story handed down through the family and recorded in the family Bible starts when James Rolen married Sallie Smith from South Carolina. He took her home to the family farm owned by “old man William.” They have a son born 07 Feb 1808 but Sallie wasn’t happy. She missed her family. James wanted to stay on the land because he was next in line to inherit. The marriage spilt. Sallie took little Joab to South Carolina with her.

Years pass, then by letter Sallie informs James she’s married a Mr. Gould. They intend to move out west. James agrees not to prosecute Sallie for bigamy if she’ll turn Joab over to him. Arrangements were to meet in Cosby, Tennessee during the early Spring of 1813. They met at the McMahan Inn, a familiar stop for those traveling west. There Joab was given to the father he didn’t remember. Sallie and Mr. Gould rode off for a new life in the west.

According to Elizabeth Anna McMahan the wife of Archibald McMahan the inn owner, James stayed a few days getting to know his son. During this time there were hard rains swelling the French Broad river. Time came that James felt he had to return to the east side of the mountain to assist in planting on the farm. Eliza Ann fretted with the two crossing the swollen river and pleaded for James to wait. He wouldn’t but a deal was made. He would leave Joab with the McMahans until his return after planting. Eliza Ann promised to take care of Joab as if he were one of her own.

My 3rd Great Grandmother Anna McMahan Rolen wife of Joab Rolen

Her fears proved true. James and his fancy black stallion were caught in the river currents and swept away forever, drowned. Men from the community tried to save them to no avail. The McMahans weren’t sure of just where James had come from over the mountain or where Sallie was going out west. They had an orphaned boy on their hands. Good to her word Eliza Ann raised Joab as she did her children. She wrote down what she knew of James and Sallie keeping alive the memory of the father who wanted his son.

Joab married one of the McMahan’s daughters Anna. He became best friends her brother David. The two often entered into land deals together and became the largest land holders in Sevier County, Tennessee at the time. From this they became rich men, check out the gold buttons and diamond ring David paid extra to have painted on his photo included in the slide show above.

Joab and Anna had 10 children. One was named James in memory of Joab’s lost father. I’m descended from their son George Washington Rolen through my mother. He was sheriff of Sevier County Tennessee for many years. All their children were successes in many ways State Senators, businessmen, teachers, Post Masters, and preachers. Their stories are fodder for more posts and short stories at another time.

As a hobby genealogist I crave documentation. I’ve documented Anna and Joab’s marriage. His close relationship with her parents from their wills. His close relationship with David from the land transactions where they bought and sold land as partners. In David’s will Joab is highly regarded. However, when it comes to documentation James remains a mystery.

Sallie and her Mr. V. Gould settled in Indiana which was the west then. They had 7 children. I’ve not researched that lineage beyond that point.

David Crockett McMahan brother of Anna & best friend of Joab Rolen

I have tried hard to find James, my 4th great-grandfather. On the other side of the mountain from Cosby is North Carolina. However, the route to the McMahan Inn fed people from Virginia and South Carolina through the mountains to the west. Searching so far has given me some tantalizing leads to William Roland, possibly the “old man William” that James talked about to Eliza Ann and Arch McMahan?

So many questions are left unanswered. Was William a Rolen or from James’s maternal line? Was William his father or grandfather or possibly an Uncle? Where was this farm over the mountain that produced such a successful man whose fine clothes, saddle, and horse were noted by the Cosby residents that saw him? I’m afraid we don’t know. I continue my search to link that William Roland a Revolutionary soldier with a North Carolina land grant to a James Rolen born in the 1780s and married a Sallie Smith from South Carolina.

The man of mystery and his sad death inspired the ghost of my story “The Rider.” The people in the story are from my Appalachian roots, a feisty crone who knows more than she appears to at first glance, a boy living in a mountain cabin as the world changes from World War I. The divide between the lives of the mountain folk and those of the city dwellers. All ideas rooted in reality but spun into a tale.

That’s where I got this idea. There’s no predicting from where the next idea will come.

July 31, 2011
We All Know What Runs Downhill

View of the offending pipe from the hole in my bedroom wall

I can tell you in a house the same stuff flows down to the basement. It all started with a quick load of laundry so I could pack my favorite pair of nice shorts to wear at the parent orientation.

Okay, okay I’ll back up a bit.

My son, honors graduate, has been accepted to University of Wisconsin Madison (UWM). He’s majoring in Bio-Chemistry in the College of Honor Science and Letters. At UWM there’s a freshman orientation for students and parents called SOAR. Ours was the 12^th & 13^th of this month. We went there after work on the 11^th to be ready bright and early on the 12^th for our first day of orienting, which brings us back to the laundry for those nice shorts I was wanting to pack.

I was in the laundry room and looked over to the corner to see water flowing from the finished area of the basement into the drain in the unfinished part where the laundry is. Being very sharp and on the ball despite the stomach flu I said, “That’s not right.” Yes I said those very words as I walked out onto soaked carpet that stank.

Long story short… we did what we could to take care of the water with towels, Shop-Vacs, and left dehumidifiers running. Also Mike, my dear Hubby, spotted the problem – the sewage line from the second story was cracked. Yep it wasn’t a water leak I’d been walking in – it was a sewage leak, the flow I saw was from a toilet being flushed. Let’s all say EWWWW!!!

We wrangled the cats upstairs so they didn’t have to be in it. Left them the automatic feeder, water and fresh litter boxes. They murmured something about we get all upset about a missed litter box then we go soak the whole damn basement. We told them to shut up then headed to Madison.

While in Madison we scheduled the plumbers to come out for an assessment. Once we returned they determined it was a wrought iron pipe as old as the house (over 70 years old) that had cracked from old age and use. The repair would involve pulling all of it out and replacing it. That would have to followed by an abatement of the sewer water in our basement. By then the water had evaporated leaving behind… well what sewer water leaves behind. Thank goodness the crack wasn’t large enough for sewer “mud” (okay we all know what it is and it’s not mud but let’s stay with nice plumber euphemisms okay?) to come out. Just for the water that ran over & around it to then flow out into my nice textured Berber carpet.

This necessitated call to the homeowners insurance. You know, I just needed to get another ball rolling with that mud that goes downhill or in our case, down pipe. I was told what they needed to determine coverage. All I had to do was get the plumbers, sewer abatement company (who knew there were such people), and the restoration company all in agreement then start work. Oh I had to schedule them in the correct order. Needless to say a weekend stalled all of that. Come Monday I started juggling again.

Which brings us to today… Today was the plumbers action day. I was prepared by being awoken at 6:15 this morning by a freshly shower husband chattering away about things to ask or tell the plumbers upon their arrival. Then I got up, made coffee, and left said instructions with the plumber’s answering service lest I forget them once caffeinated.

I then practiced the fourth thing I’ve listed on my business cards and cat wrangled. We have three cats, one elderly girl named Mo and two aging brothers named Puss & Boots but called Red and Blue (long story another blog post). There was only going to be one room with a door not affected by the proposed wall cutting to remove the pipe. It was my office. I set up a litter pan and water bowl in the office then wrangled three cats into the room and one greyhound out of the room. It became a crazy house as I caught Red and put him in, his brother Blue would do kitty Matrix moves to get out while the door, swollen by the humidity, wouldn’t close. Then I’d catch Blue to find the door was now stuck shut. I struggled with it while the large black tomcat in my arm continued do his best Neo Ninja moves. Finally, all three were in the office.

The plumbers showed up and I explained how I needed the billing for their time broken out because the insurance would cover assessment time and access time but not actually plumbing time. Go figure. Still better than I expected though, so props to USAA.

What followed was a day of watching a house we’ve worked to make a home become undone. Walls we lovingly painted or agonized over the wallpaper selection were cut into with holes large enough to fit a man. Insulation dust filled the air but with it being 101F outside couldn’t open the windows to vent. There wasn’t a breeze. It cleared once those holes were made. Toilets were set in places they don’t go like tubs and back yards. (Yes neighbor’s it’s a new planter enjoy!) Then came what the whole shebang was about—removing the sewer pipe that serviced two floors. Much banging, ringing, sawing, cracking, thumping, shouting, and aromas I’ll leave to your imagination occurred as over 20 feet of 6 inch in diameter cast iron pipe was removed from my walls and paraded down steps, through my dining room, or up steps depending on where the section was pulled. It was placed next to the toilet enjoying its day in the sun.

Ahh, now to put the new PVC pipe in. So again with the banging, sawing, shouting, and thumping. I again brought water to sweating but grateful plumbers as they worked through lunch. Then it was done.

Once again I have indoor plumbing. One of the nicest niceties of modern life was restored. I now have a new appreciation for it since we’ve done without it for a bit. Kinda like I love my electricity after that two day power outage last month. Is the world trying to tell me I’ve forgotten the lessons of Hurricane Hugo? Taking my cue from Scarlett—I’ll think about that tomorrow.

Where am I now in the downhill flow? I have a Swiss cheese house that smells like wet swimsuits in the basement. The holes cut in the walls, ceilings, and floors now allow the scent to waft freely through the rest of house. However, we can now use all the plumbing in the house without fear of adding to the eau d’toilet in the basement. The abatement is yet to be done. It’ll start Friday morning with my ceremonial cat wrangling.

What’s involved in that? Basically tearing out the finished part of the basement (carpet, linoleum, paneling, ceiling tiles, and contaminated furniture) power washing what’s left with an anti-mold, anti-virus, anti-bacterial, anti-anything bad then putting industrial blowers, dehumidifiers, and such down there running for 3 days straight while keeping all living creatures (humans, cats, and greyhound) out of there.

That will leave me with a stripped basement in my fresh smelling Swiss cheese house that won’t give me roto-virus. After that the restoration guys will be booked. They will patch, carpet, linoleum, paint, panel, tile, and anything else until it’s like new. Then it’s new furniture time, the guys pick the replacement couch for their freshly cleaned man-cave. Which Aaron will only enjoy for a week or two before he moves to Madison.

So basically I’ve learned sewage mud may roll down but it takes cooperation at all levels, inside and out, to clean it up. Doesn’t matter if you’re at the top or the bottom the cleanup will affect you. Just do your best to manage what runs your way, call for help to manage it if you need to, and know that in time it’ll be fixed. Oh, and keep your cats from falling through the holes in the wall & floors in the mean time.

July 20, 2011
A PEN WARMED IN HELL

Boogerman Devil Figure 1992 by Ernest Patton figure in the Folk Art collection of the Milwaukee Art Museum

I can’t remember the essay’s contents but I do remember being intrigued by the tone of it. Here was lovable Mark Twain author of Ransom of Red Chief, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, and many other beloved humorous stories being, well harsh, almost mean-spirited but for a good cause. Yes, there was humor in the essay as my high school English teacher Ms. Tunstall read it. Yet, it was a bitter humor one that made you laugh and smart from the sting at the same time. This wasn’t the Mark Twain I knew while appreciating the biting sarcasm (what teenager wouldn’t like that!) I was stunned the warm Southern grandfather figure with the bushy white mustache was so caustic. The anthology of essays was A Pen Warmed Up In Hell. At the time I wanted a copy to read it all. It was out of print and I couldn’t find a used copy. Apparently people weren’t clamoring to be stung by a beloved author.

Years went on and I didn’t pay much mind to it. The phrase “a pen warmed in hell” would scoot across my mind from time to time. When it did I would think, oh yeah there was more to that Mark Twain fella than just warm fuzzy laughs and good dialect writing (oh I wish that would come back in style I love it). Other than that I went on living my the rest of my teens, 20s, 30s, and half my 40s without giving it much more thought. Until a few days ago, this time it didn’t just scoot but instead it walked in and sat down in my mind. “Okay you’re old enough to get now.” It seemed to say and the thoughts started brewing.

Yes, I do get it. I’m aging into a crotchety old koot. I know as I watched people attempt to board my plane with more than two carry ons. I contemplated are they stupid and can’t count or just selfish bastards. Either way I felt some need to tell them, but I didn’t instead I tweeted it to the world. Yeah I said it aloud in a humorous way. Why? Because I’m tired of keeping my mouth shut. I no longer tolerate fools, rudeness, or rude fools as well as I once did. I wish I was aging into a happy smiling Buddha-faced elder woman who looks at such things with loving tolerance. I don’t. I’m not aging into that. I’m aging into hardened hopefully wizened old crone.

I get sick of modern displays of fools. You know those who buy internet scams hook, line and sinker. Okay if it’s not well written, doesn’t make sense, or says a computer will do something that either it can’t do or would take a fortune to program it to do – it’s a scam. If you are unable to reason this on your own a quick search will bring answers of all kinds of reliable authorities to your fingertips. I’m giving you a HUGE benefit of a doubt that you know how to screen sources for reliability and this may be my fallacy.

You know if I have to display my spiritual faith in some on-line community for it to be valid then I don’t want it. Nope, that’s shallow and demeaning of what I see as the most intimate and important aspect of the human – their soul. I can’t see it matters a rat’s ass to any divine being that my status on Facebook says anything in particular. If that’s the litmus test I want to fail. I want my spiritual experience to be deeper and more personal than that. I don’t care to “show it” because what you or anyone else thinks is irrelevant to me.

Also businesses that don’t seem to consider the customer. Yeah you ,Continental Airlines I’m looking RIGHT at you on this one. When you have a gate with 24 seats, that’s not enough. NOW add three more gates waiting at the same door, well those 24 seats are ridiculous. Then to add to the foolishness I don’t tolerate well have security come by and chastise us for standing in the walkway. To make it even worse have young people wallowing around in the chairs lost on electronic devices while the elderly lady next to me struggles to wait standing. Whatever happened to manners? Oh and thanks kid for flipping me the bird when I suggested you wallow in the floor and let her sit down.

Now don’t get me wrong I don’t think youth is going to hell in a hand basket any more than we were or our parents were in the 50’s or their parents in the 20’s. We all did something daring that shocked the prudes of the older generation be it sagging, heavy metal, ducktail hair cuts, or bobbed hair with rolled stockings. That’s fine. I don’t mind rap, don’t like it but I’m not supposed to like it. I don’t mind sagging and think they’ll laugh at it like I do big 80’s hair and 70’s roller disco. Youth is youth and even the ancient Egyptians were sure the next generation were spoiled, uneducated, had it too easy, and were going to hell in a hand basket.

The manners I’m talking about are simple consideration of others. That’s all. Thinking beyond yourself to the rest of the world. Like maybe 2 carry ons means 2 for me too. AND even if I put wheels on it a foot locker still won’t fit under a seat or in the overhead bin even though it’s one of two things I have. Or that maybe since there’s 4 gates here and we don’t want people waiting blocking the hall we should extend our waiting area and add some more chairs. Like maybe being the kid in line in front of me today who saw the old man struggling to find enough change in his car to pay the last bit on his groceries and handed the woman a dollar to cover it. (The old man cried and I just about did).

Just when I get sparks flying from warm hellish pen, someone goes and does something like that. All the things that fire up my caustic tongue are doused by the simple act of paying a buck for someone else. Yeah it’s still out there and I thanked the kid for his kindness. He shrugged it off as the white wires to his ears danced with the lift of his shoulders. “It’s what you’re supposed to do.” He turned and left with chips and soda, pants sagging so I could see plaid boxers, head bobbing to some music I’m no longer the target audience for any way. I bet when he gets older he has a smiling Buddha face or maybe he’ll hold a hot pen tired of those who don’t know what you’re supposed to do. Either way he didn’t just help the old man but he help me, my fiery rant was quench by witnessing the kindness I longed to see.

Home now, my wrath doused I looked for that anthology of Mark Twain’s essays. I find it’s now available on Amazon. I’m awaiting my copy. I get it now, it’s not Mark Twain’s voice there but an aging Samuel Clemens. One who aches to see kindness to others, a bit help to the underdog, and is tired of keeping his mouth shut about it. Ya know, I bet that bushy white mustache would have covered a smile today at the grocery if Old Sam had been in line behind me.

July 5, 2011
My Unkie

Herbert Denton Rolen & Mary Louise Bright

I grew up with men that had odd nicknames—Trub, Hoot, Tip, Unkie. Being a child I never really thought of how those nicknames came to be. They just where. I took name to be what you told me it was. So my grandfather’s baby brother was Unkie. I never thought it was shorthand for uncle, nor did I think he was really my mom’s uncle. He was and always will be my Unkie.

Herbert Denton Rolen was the last of my maternal grandfather’s siblings. He died two weeks ago at the age of 93. The whole family feels the loss of that generation. I can’t say his passing was sad, it was a release for him. It was sad for us because we won’t have his grin that rumbling chuckle, or those strong gentle eyes watch another generation of kids grow up here with us. The sadness is selfish, for us. Still one of the good ones is gone from this life and I’ll miss him.

However, when I remember him I’ll always smile. My first image of him is in olive green work clothes – shirt and pants matching, sitting silently in the corner as I entered Granny Rolen’s house. He’d grin at me not in the condescending ways adults can smile at children but more in the conspiratorial way kids beam at each other when they know they could get into fun the adults might not wholly approve of them doing. Oh nothing harmful just stuff that could get good clothes dirty or make us late for dinner.

Granny, really my great grandmother, had grape and scuppernong vines. She was protective of them. I now know it was probably because growing such things in the climate of East Tennessee isn’t easy. As a kid I didn’t know why. But I knew I loved the fruit. If there were some ripe she’d go out with me to pick them. I wasn’t allowed to pick without her because she wanted to be sure to get just the ripe ones. One visit I waited for her to come out. The golden green globes looked so good I couldn’t resist. I picked one and popped it into my mouth. OH! It was bitter. Unkie came grinning from garden.

“That one wasn’t ripe. They are bitter until they turn gold.” He laughed as he watched my face and my hurry to spit the fruit from my mouth. “That’s why she wants you to wait.”

I suddenly felt guilty. “I’m sorry.” I was also worried I’d just gotten myself in trouble with three generations, Granny, Nanny, and Mom. I must have looked worried.

“Don’t worry I won’t tell.” He grinned and patted me picking some gold ones from higher up where they got full sun.

He and I were buddies then. Just like I was his brother’s, my grandfather’s, little buddy I was Unkie’s too. That day he became my Unkie because he didn’t tell on me. He understood what it was like to be a kid. He took time from working the farm to play with me. To catch tadpoles with legs, to chase grasshoppers in the field, to swing in the shade while eating ice cream we’d churned with Granny.

I knew he was in the Merchant Marines that’s why he wasn’t there all the time. You’d never think the man in dirty farm overalls, with the shy smile, and East Tennessee twang in his voice had traveled the world. He was good ole’ down home folk. However, he’d been to every continent except Antarctica. He’d sailed through the dangerous seas of World War II. He’d been in Vietnam during the fighting and even visited a nephew serving in the US Army there. He’d seen the world but loved the valley that held his family farm. He’d come back every summer to cultivate that land, to play with kids that showed up, to fool strangers into thinking he’d never left those East Tennessee hills.

One story he told was when he was a young man his mother sent him to town to get a new broom. At the time the transportation available was their old mule. Herbert was a large fella so his legs hung awkwardly off the mule as he rode to town for the broom. He got the broom and was riding home holding the broom to the side and plodding away on the hair too small for him mule. That was when he spotted his sister Sammie Sue with her new beau. She turned red and ignored her baby but not little brother distracting the beau. Well, being one who couldn’t resist a good laugh Herbert shouted “Howdy” to his sister waving the broom. He made making sure that not only the beau saw him, but everyone else on the street did too. As he’d tell the story his smirk would spread, his eyes sparkle, and he’d end the telling with a good laugh.

He was one who loved to laugh. The laugh was a warm and welcoming one rolling up from his belly, erupting as a chuckle, then breaking into a full laugh would roll out making all who heard it join him. The big man never seemed threatening but always seemed loving, cuddly, and safe. The kind of protector a child and a country deserved. The kind of man who was pleased to oblige both.

The last conversation I had with him was one of equals just like the day I’d eaten the sour grape. Except this time we talked of warfare, Navy, ships and service. He as a man who’d retired from it, me as a wife of one doing it. He’d showed me a picture of his ship. Then he turned it over and showed me the billets of his service, various ports of call, missions we’d call them in US Navy. He told of life aboard the ship, port calls, and fear during war. My son was there to hear it from one who had lived history. Unkie was tired when we said good-bye but it was a good kind of tired. I knew because that grin that had welcomed me all my life was still there on his lips.

Last week I drove to Tennessee to attend his funeral. We all mourned our loss. Then over a fellowship dinner graciously given to the family by his church we began to laugh and grin remembering him. He brought us together as a family with smiles, memories happy times we’d all shared with him. I am proud to say that good man, Herbert Rolen, was my Unkie.

March 3, 2011
The Characters I’ve been

I have found how to live more than one life in this life. Really. I’ve had many lives since I was born, even carrying into adulthood. I’ll admit I enjoyed some more than others. None do I want to do again. That’s going backwards and as I like to say “Been there, done that, got (or didn’t want) a tee-shirt.” Things that weren’t fun aren’t worth getting a tee-shirt to remember.

I guess my first change in life was when I was in pre-school. My parents moved from Chattanooga, Tennessee where I was born to Fort Lauderdale, Florida. I LOVED it. We lived in an apartment building which I thought it was constant vacation living like a hotel. We had a winking burger sign out our kitchen window that lit up not only did he wink at night but he waved too! Dad had a yellow car that belonged to his company it was neat looking but I didn’t get to ride in it. We lived near where Flipper was filmed. The beach was grand and there was lots of sun. Once we found a police phone receiver in a parking lot. We went trick or treating without leaving the apartment building. I mean really how can you beat living in a place like that? On a visit back to Granny’s (my paternal grandmother) I informed her “I am a FLORIDA girl now.” Yes I remember saying it and holding out my brown dress with big yellow sunflowers print to prove the veracity of my statement. Little did I know I was on the odyssey of my second life in this one.

Apparently a winking waving burger sign out the kitchen window at night wasn’t what Mom and Dad were looking for in a place to raise a their daughter. We didn’t live there long before we moved back to Tennessee. I didn’t know it but Florida would be home at least two more of my lives later down the road.

I was a city kid that moved to the country. Then I was the country kid that went to the big college. I was a photographer in there for a bit. Then I was and still am a military wife. I worked for a nonprofit organizations as an office manager. Then I was an administrative assistant for one of the first in-house HMOs in upstate New York. Then I was a fine jewelry salesperson. Then I was a submariner officer’s wife who was looking for work. Then I was an insurance agent, followed by marketing researcher, followed by Health Club manager, followed by: a Weight Watcher’s lecturer, grad student, receptionist, office manager, real estate agent, temp worker, administrative assistant, Mary Kay Salesperson, Regulatory Compliance Specialist for management of hazardous and radioactive waste, stay at home mom, and now a

Those were just the job lives so far. We all go through changes and honestly if the order was shifted a bit I’d be a different person today. Each experience dovetailed into the previous and the next one to weave me. I look back at myself at any of those stages and the me of today would have handled them differently. That’s why they seem more like different lives than chapters of a life.

I always remember when writing that characters that are well done grow over chapters and aren’t the same person at the end of the tale as they were in the beginning or middle. That’s what makes a good story. I like to think the same thing applies to life. At the end of each chapter I’m not the same. That means I’m living a good life. I’m a great character because I change over the arc of my life story. Okay I’m not a literary character in that my growth isn’t mostly internal like say my ancestor that lived in the same house all her life. I’ve changed physically and moved to various settings. So I’m a dynamic character formed not just by internal dialogue (though I do talk to myself ALL the time so much so that sometimes I wish I’d shut up in my head) but by external challenges too.

In the end the thing that makes life interesting for me is trying new things. I guess some would say I’m a jack of all trades master of none. Maybe I am but at least I’m entertained by my life. I’ve always got an interesting story to tell from all of it be it mine or a person I met along the way. I guess that’s why I ended up a writer for now at least.

January 6, 2011
The Things I Don’t Miss About Christmas

Many people paint a rosy picture of their childhood Christmases. In hopes of being a bit more practical I will admit there are many things I don’t miss about my childhood Christmases. Not that they weren’t great Christmases but there are some things I’m thankful I DON’T have to do any more.

I don’t miss getting dressed up to sit around the house. Yes, my Nanny (what I called my maternal grandmother) required everyone to look like a Norman Rockwell painting but better dressed. Didn’t work, I was uncomfortable in a dress or skirt and knee socks trying to play with my new toy. Give me jeans any day and I’m a happy camper, better yet sweats to just wear about the house enjoying myself.

I don’t miss having to make my bed and display my gifts. Well I didn’t HAVE to but my Nanny liked it. It did make writing thank-you notes much easier. Besides it’s easier to play with Barbies on a bed when you are in a skirt than in the floor.

I don’t miss the good china. Yeah it’s nice and I carried that stupidity to a new level when I was a young married woman by having specific Christmas dishes (well we used them all winter because they were winter themed). No really the meal tastes just as good on every day dishes and is much less stressful to do.

I don’t miss all the stupid school stuff. When I was in 5^th and 6^th grade our class went about singing to different places and putting on some odd variety show. We wore orange-yellow shirts with our names on them in fuzzy purple letters (our school colors were purple and gold but gold was expensive so orange-yellow stood in). I’d “blossomed” to a C cup by the 5^th grade and they had to shorten my name to fit on the shirt. It looked like one of the girls is named Mary and the other Lou. I don’t miss that.

I don’t miss the oyster stuffing. I like oysters steamed or smoked. I don’t like them in stuffing. Enough said.

I don’t miss the cut up stuff in the gravy. Why my grandmother insisted on chopped boiled egg and chopped turkey giblets put in the gravy is beyond me. I like my gravy plain like my coffee. They’re both beverages right?

Really, this time of the year many people wax nostalgic about their childhood Christmas. However being the cynic with a good heart I don’t want to gloss over the stuff I didn’t like (besides Mary and Lou are still hanging around, albeit a bit lower now).

Yes, there are things about my childhood Christmases I miss. They can all be summed up by one miss—I miss the anticipation. I miss the build up to Christmas. The excitement was so much I felt was going to burst and squirmed with delight at that feeling. It built so much until on Christmas Eve night I couldn’t fall asleep and my parents would take me on car rides to get me to go to sleep . I’d be in my pajamas with a blanket watching the dark sky and Christmas lights go by until I fell asleep.

No for me it’s gone. I get glimmers here and there of the thrill. The closest sustained anxious feeling like that is when I race from the car to the bathroom in Target wondering if I’ll make it in time. (Hey there’s anticipation and squirming involved with great joyous relief when I get there). No the anticipation isn’t the same.

Still looking on the bright side, I get to wear sweats, not wear the girls names about in public, enjoy a plain gravy while eating off my every day dishes, and skip making my bed that day. All in all life’s pretty good.

December 25, 2010
Entry to the Blogosphere

Bathysphere4826 by Bob Richmond on Flickr. Image used through the Creative Commons 2.0 Attribution license.

Welcome to the first post in my blog. I’m not real sure where to start. Do I jump in babbling about the topic that entertains me for the day? Do I introduce myself? Do I set a statement of purpose for the blog? Do I need a bathysphere to enter the blogosphere? Maybe a blogysphere?

Since I can talk about anything, I know I have the first one covered. That’ll mostly be what I do, jump into a one-sided conversation on something that strikes my fancy. It’ll become two way if you comment because I will reply.

That brings me to introducing myself. As the blog says, I’m Mary Louise Eklund. I wear a lot of hats in life. I’ll write about all of them here. I’m a published writer of short stories. I’ve been published in Terribly Twisted Tales and most recently Steam Punk’d. I have more in the works. I’ll shout out when they are coming out. Given that I’ll write here about writing, words, language, reading, and all the stuff related to that. What I like, what I find frustrating, my process, inspiration, blocks, and all the stuff I go through trying to write.

I enjoy photography as a hobby. You can see my photos on flickr, again under my name. The most recent ones appear on my sidebar. I’ve sold a few in my time. I even worked as a photographer for a bit in my undergraduate days. I like going out and making photos of things, not so much into photographing people. It’s not that I don’t like people, I love to watch people. I just like to take pictures of things because they don’t fret over how they look. It’s also easier to find stuff that’s willing to pose and release for publication isn’t an issue.

On the people topic, I am into genealogy as a hobby. I love the stories I find, the interesting facts, and the thrill of the hunt. I like trying to solve the puzzle of family lore or where did so-and-so end up. Like Mark Hicks my 3^rd great uncle that went to the Confederacy in the Civil War when all the others in the family were Union. His brother was a Union Calvary officer. The family never welcomed Mark home and blamed him for turning in his brother-in-law who died in Andersonville. Mark wound up in Arkansas destitute and living on the dole. I found him. Those stories and the questions raised as I work through the information I have will show up here. I’ve even got a story inspired by my genealogical research and expect more to come from it.

I make jewelry. I do beading and am trying out resin pouring designs. I will eventually sell the stuff. I’ll link to that here when it’s up and running. I’ll chat about my working on it and other crafting. I crochet and take various courses in other things that hit my fancy. So far I’ve enjoyed fused glass, pottery, and precious metal clay working. You’ll get all about those things too.

I’m a family person. I’m a mom of a 17 year old who is in his senior year in high school. I’m a wife of a busy business man who is also an officer in the reserves. I’m also the only child of aging parents. I’m a person with chronic illness that’s manageable but not curable. I’m a pet parent, 3 cats and a dog. Those things I’ll keep to a minimum. If it involves another person I don’t want to say more than they are comfortable with sharing. I don’t want to whine and complain about health, there’s enough blogs made up of kvetching. However, I’m sure some off it will come through at times.

That takes care of introducing myself and what I’ll write about. What do I intend to do here? I’ll post regularly. My goal is at least weekly but hopefully more often. I’m sure it’ll depend on the ebb and flow of the other areas of my life.

December 24, 2010