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Wednesday, August 11th, 2010

For a few days, I have been unable to access the “posting” part of this blog, try as I might. In the meantime, that situation has been alright with me, insofar as I have been very preoccupied with a number of other tasks. I have begun writing a major book for a commercial publisher: yes, about textiles! As always, when undertaking such a project, it is an exercise in expanding the knowledge I already have by following up on finer points of research. I love to learn. For me, the fun is in the details!

I brought a quilt downstairs that I’d pieced and begun to quilt a couple of years ago, thinking that I’d do more hand quilting on it, sitting in front of the television. I find that I rarely engage in such an activity (watching TV, that is), and when I do, I want a break from doing anything with my hands, as I’m having flairs of carpal tunnel syndrome again from typing so much. Someday!

At our favorite used bookstore last week, I found a recent book about the trials of military wives and families and what they have to endure: anticipating a loss, and experiencing actual losses. I don’t think that the public realizes much about military life. After all, servicemen are a minority in this country. The book is insightful and I’m enjoying picking it up for a few moments, time and again. Perhaps I’ll post a more complete review of the book when I have finished it. I like to let people know about books I have enjoyed!

The trick with book reviews is to provide enzyte reviews tantalizing tidbits that encourage readers to want to learn the “rest of the story.” I would not imagine that any publisher would want to have the whole contents of a book “given away.” In fact, the beginning pages of most books have disclaimers about reproducing the contents. Just because you own a book, either because it has been given to you, or you have purchased it, the book is yours to read and enjoy but not do with it as you wish (including scanning and photocopying), unless other written permission has been awarded you to divulge content beyond what could be considered fair and reasonable. Just sayin’…

This week, I was contacted by a copyright attorney whose wish it is to bridge the gap between the “pros” and the general public. It is an important concept. Most people do not understand the copyright law or they choose to ignore it, pretending that it does not apply to them. The attorney suggests that authors and other creators of artistic works insert more clear cut guidelines as to how their products may be used (or not used). Already, some designers have placed disclaimers on their quilt patterns by saying that no more than 5 quilts can be made from the pattern, and that it may not be mass-produced. That would preclude the pattern being taken over to reproduce in Third World markets. That is just one example of a clear directive.

It is 12:46 a.m. and I have rattled on. The house is quiet, except for the hum of the air conditioning. I’m looking forward to attending a few quilt shows very shortly. Of course, the autumn is the best time of all in New England! In the meantime, the peaches are ready and they are calling me to make my sister’s wonderful recipe for Peach Pie. The key ingredient is Almond Extract.

See ya later, gator!

Pat
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Monday, July 26th, 2010

Patricia Cummings - photo by Jim Cummings

A photo of Pat Cummings taken by her husband, Jim, a couple of years ago. Quilt and crocheted afghan made by her.

What is on my mind tonight? Time! It is 11:05 p.m.. I have tried going to bed but my head is full of “fluff,” like Winnie the Pooh, and I can’t settle in. My thoughts center on time as a commodity and how much time we waste, hoping for, planning for, and anticipating future events instead of living in the moment. When we are young, we want to be “older.” Little do we realize that when one succeeds in that goal, often the wish is to regain not necessarily youth, but the qualities of youth, such as being virtually pain free.

Think about how much time is wasted in waiting. How many times are you subjected to “elevator music” after being put on hold, when trying to call a doctor or other office? Think of all of the wasted time we sit in traffic, waiting for the lights to change, or backed up on a busy highway. Life is often a waiting game. To combat the problem of wasting time, I have taken up my husband’s practice of always bringing a book along, in the car or to any other place where “waiting” can be anticipated. I would bring needlework but it seems like too much work to get everything out for just a very few minutes. Reaching for a book is much easier.

The main consideration regarding time is that it is a limited quantity in anyone’s life. For those who consider themselves to be bored, and that would never be me, time passes slowly. However, for those who keep themselves busy, there seems to be a shortage of time. The funny thing is, the older we become, the less time there seems to be, and in actuality, that is truly the case.

There are experts in time management who can teach you how to multi-task to get more done in less time, and how to become more organized so that your time is used more efficiently. One idea is to have a paper-less environment, as much as possible. In that case, one does not have to keep moving papers from place to place. Everything important is stored on a computer. That is a fine idea… perhaps, except that some of us are rather addicted to paper.

For example, I treasure old ephemera like trade cards, old publications, magazines of any stripe, old newspaper clippings, in-hand photographs taken at a time before the digital age. All of that takes space, yet unless it is blown away by a hurricane, I plan to keep much of it. Books I can hold in my hand will never be replaced totally by e-books, as much as I love e-books and think that the ones I’ve personally created are very worthwhile, offering beautiful color images and a quantity of information not suitable to a print format, in some instances. (By the way, e-books are currently outselling regular books on amazon, I learned today!)

Getting back to my main topic of time, I have come to the conclusion that not every moment can be exciting. We all have to do chores in daily life that can be a drag. That aside, we can make an effort to make every minute count, even if that means a determination to enjoy life a little more and worry a little less. We are all headed in the same direction, after all, and we have only one life to “get it right.” Enjoy today!

Patricia Cummings

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Sunday, July 18th, 2010

The compass is a very old instrument to aid in navigation using the reference points of North, South, East and West. A more sophisticated instrument of the 21st century, the GPS indicator, can assist drivers or hikers in reaching a destination. Both types of geographical indicators are external. On the other hand, each of us carries our own internal compass, a device that is unseen and inaudible but accompanies us throughout life. For lack of better words, I will refer to this as a moral compass or personal compass.

long, winding road

Life is a “long and winding road” – photo by James Cummings, taken in Shelburne, VT.

This internal indicator, like the voice of the GPS device, can be ignored. If only we pay attention to it, our moral compass can help guide us to right and wrong behavior and whatever is in our best interest. When we make a mistake, this personal compass tries to redirect us to make a different choice in the future. Many times, just like the GPS instrument, we will have to reconfigure our path.

Every human has the ability to know when their actions are an insult to the Author of the Universe or an assault on Nature. Humans are funny. They often engage in behaviors that are detrimental to themselves and other living things. If the mean, little boy who stands torturing his chained dog with a power spray of cold water would listen to his own sense of morality, he would know that his actions are wrong and would stop. For some reason, bullies of every stripe get a kick out of pushing around those who are weaker than themselves, or those whom they can easily dominate.

Some men, ineffective in their own lives because of their own deficiencies, enjoy verbally and physically browbeating their wives and children. Some of the more famous celebrities make news due to their reprehensible behavior of threats, violence, name-calling, or bigotry. Oh yes, alcohol can be blamed, in some instances, but often drinking is just an excuse, not a reason.

As a shocking aside, along the same lines of thinking about persecution by bigots, I heard a song (on PBS television) sung by jazz singer Billie Holiday (1915-1959) about “ hanging from a tree.” The song, of course, refers to southern lynchings of Blacks, in past years. Those killed were a “lesson” to others, and a result of an illogical lack of moral sense: people caught up in the group mentality that calls for action before thought.

If the news about some Islamic countries is true, then Muslim men have no problem in stoning people to death or finding any excuse to “off” women or severely punish them. To Westerners, their actions are barbaric. As usual, the motivation for violence is all about individual power and maintenance of hierarchies. Power can kept by intimidation and persecution: by making others “stay in their place.”

The only true freedom lies within each individual’s experience of the human condition. Though incarcerated, humans can transcend their temporal surroundings through memory, prayer, and visualization. When prisoners of war are kept in solitary confinement, their own brains full of hope and faith can be a primary source of survival.

To sum up, external compasses will help us to reach one geographical point or another. A moral compass has a far greater purpose. It aids us in becoming our own point of reference, and our own guide to determining what is right and wrong. This subjective, visceral index that we all carry may be unseen but can be experienced, just the same, if only we will listen to our best selves.

Whether you head north, south, east or west today, listen to yourself. Consider how your choices could impact the quality of the rest of your life. Even the best hand-held compass cannot provide that information, and no scientific device will ever be as important as your own moral compass. Unspoken hunches and sensibilities are your constant companions. Listen to them! They speak volumes!

In life, we all take a few wrong turns, but there is always a chance to “recalculate,” even without a GPS system.

“Don’t worry. Be happy!”

“It’s a long and winding road.” – The Beatles

Patricia Cummings

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Saturday, July 3rd, 2010

Tomorrow, or all weekend rather, we celebrate Independence Day! Our forefathers worked hard to establish rights for themselves. Consider this: it took 144 years for the privilege of the vote to be extended to women. Today, the women suffragists who effected that change are but footnotes in History books, even though they dedicated their lives to the Cause.

There always has been a discrepancy in treatment among classes, races, and the empowered who hold most of the money of society. There is a decided pecking order. For those who refuse to grovel, there is always a high price to pay, whether it is from the lash or from a lashing of the tongue.

I was just reading a first hand account written in 1898 by a former mill girl. It is a retrospective on her life, when working at the Lowell mills. Long hours, poor working conditions, and work for children that would be considered abusive by today’s standards, prevailed. Yet, the girls themselves were thankful for the work, the small sums of their own that they could bank or put in the collection bucket at church, or use to buy a new dress. In many cases, money was sent to support brothers in college. At the time, (1840) few colleges admitted women.

There is no equality between men and women and there never will be. Those who think so are only fooling themselves. Most often, women are victims. They are pushed around by drunks and ne’er do wells who would like to think they should control all of the household money. Not much has changed, truly, since the early 1800s, when women began trying to advocate for their own legal rights.

For all of our big “talk” about equality of the races, there is an innate dislike of anyone who looks different than us. That includes “older” people and “heavy” people, as well as people who are of a different faith or political persuasion. It is as though we have to be homogeneous and fit a certain standard, in order to be acceptable to our fellow human beings.

We should have written these words – “All men are created equal, except when they are not.”

The concept of “Freedom” becomes an illusion. Who is truly free, and how was their freedom attained?

Today, I have more questions than answers. I continue to be baffled by people who feel entitled to pass judgment on others. The only conclusion I can arrive at is this: The Human Race is Nuts!

Patricia Cummings
ns

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Wednesday, June 30th, 2010

We are a consumer society and I suppose I am guilty of being a constant consumer myself. My downfall is buying books. I’ve hardly ever met a quilt book or textile history book I didn’t think I needed. Ok. Quilt history writing is my profession. At least that is how I justify my purchases. Lately, I’ve tried to stop justifying anything I do. After all these years of hard work, I feel entitled to just about anything I want that is affordable and within reason. My wishes are usually small, relatively speaking.

At least I have a focus in life. As I see it, I celebrate “pieces of the past,” those “pieces” being material objects that are the legacy of once-living souls. Sometimes, these individuals made quilts; in other cases, textiles were created in tribute to their lives, and in still other instances, purchased material goods served to represent the people who loved them who were away and could not be there in person.

Due to their shorter life expectancy, textiles usually are not as valued in the public eye as, say, fine European paintings by (male) painters, or finely crafted wood furniture, or highly-perfected sculptures that have a record of longevity over centuries. On the other hand, the apparel of monarchy is preserved in medieval paintings and other historic paintings such as the murals of Velazquez at El Prado Museum in Madrid.

Tonight, I cannot sleep. I am thinking about how much I value textiles. I am also considering the upcoming birthday of a granddaughter and pondering what I could possibly do to honor her special day. The answer I am coming up with is nothing! She has “everything.” The house is swimming with toys, books and videos. The grandchildren have constant stimulation. Taken to museums, libraries and playgrounds, they participate in swim lessons and play dates and are taken across the country and beyond. I’ve already made her a quilt.

When I exit this world, I will leave behind a huge amount of research and writing that is unique and was original to me, when I wrote it. I consider myself lucky to share ideas with the millions of people who have read my words on my website, in books, magazines, newspapers, in letters and newsletters. Mostly, I sit here alone with my thoughts. Writing is not generally a collective effort! It is a solitary and often lonely existence, but a way to reach out. Writing makes me happy and so does making quilts. That is my life and my legacy and furthermore, all that I can possibly give. enzyte reviews itself is truly the greatest gift.

Patricia Cummings

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Tuesday, June 22nd, 2010

In high school, I read the most delightful story called, “Waiting for Godot.” I would have to re-read it to report on its content accurately (and should do that)! The title is significant and a constant reminder of how patient we have to be, waiting for events that may never happen or people who may enzyte reviews show up.

It seems that I am always waiting. It probably happens to you, too. Waiting at the doctor’s office, waiting for the mail to show up, waiting for a phone call, waiting for a kind word, waiting for guests to arrive, waiting for contracts, waiting for change of one kind or another, waiting to buy new clothes, and waiting for many other reasons.

Waiting consists of wanting the future to be now, but it isn’t and furthermore, it never will be. Wives and family wait for military men to return home. Children wait to see their Dads. People can’t wait for their children to grow up. They can’t wait to see their first grandchild born. They can’t wait until they retire. They can’t wait for vacation.

To say, “Live in the moment,” may have originated with the hippies, but probably not. Christians wait for the glorious Second Coming. So did people in the nineteenth century who felt that the exact day could be determined by clues in the Bible. They were wrong. Wait, wait, wait. What to do? A dish of ice cream sounds marvelous. Will you join me? We can wait together for this guy called “Godot,” or
(God?)

Patricia Cummings

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Sunday, June 20th, 2010

Like Ellen Webster, my favorite research subject who lived in two different centuries, I have done the same, and today seems like a good day to think about some of the changes I have seen. In my “day,” I did not own a lot of plastic toys made in China. My mother would give me a metal pie pan and send me to the back yard to play in dirt. I’d mix chokecherries, water from a stream running through our property, and mud, and call it a “pie.” Alternately, she would throw blankets over the backyard clothesline, an aluminum affair with a central pole, to enclose a space where I could “play house,”
with my little friend.

me in 1956

Patti with “Jill, the Walking Doll,” and brother, Stevie Grace on Christmas 1956

The teacher in me came out at a very early age. I’d line up my dolls and stuffed animals in the cellar of our north end home in Manchester, NH, when I was about five years old, and while writing on a freestanding chalkboard, a gift to my mother from her (3rd grade?) teacher, I would instruct my willing audience in letters and numbers.

My brothers would be upstairs, watching Rin Tin Tin, Hop-along Cassidy, or some other cowboy show on a Black and White TV. A piano sat in the same room that had belonged to my grandmother. Whenever I knew that the piano tuner would be coming over, I would ask my mom for “Rolos” chocolate candy so that I could give him some as a treat. My Dad liked to sit in that same “family room” on Saturday afternoon, for a break, and he would ask me to bring him a cup of coffee. I felt so grown up in mixing a level teaspoon of Sanka and a level teaspoon of sugar in a cup, and then mother poured in the hot water and milk.

The Fuller Brush man, the milkman, the bakery truck, and the ice cream truck were frequent visitors to our home. The milk came in glass bottles and mother always poured off the cream that would rise to the top and saved it in a little pitcher for coffee. She belonged to the Stanley Club, whatever that was. It may have been a place to order clothes by mail. We are talking 1950s here. Woolworth’s department store was in full force. I loved to go there because they had big packets of cancelled postage stamps for just a thin dime that I could mount in a big postage stamp book; AND they had the best hot fudge sundaes ever! Postage on first class mail was only 4 cents, if memory serves. Mother would buy me little dry goods, doilies, bureau scarves, etc., that I could embroider.

Pierre Bear book

If I was “good,” my aunt would buy me a book like this one. enzyte reviews is my all-time favorite!

My Aunt Ginny would take me with her to the supermarket on Saturday, and “if I was good,” she’d buy me a Little Golden Book. There was a big kiosk of them and I always had a hard time choosing one because I wanted them all! They were still selling “Coke” in bottles. Occasionally, the family would drive to Concord, NH on a Sunday to go to the A&W outdoor restaurant. If I remember correctly, one placed an order through a microphone and the food was brought out to the car – the usual fare being hamburgers. There were metal trays that swung into the car on both sides, as I recall.

I had a small record player on which I played 45 RPM records, including “Alvin and the Chipmunks” and the first Beatle record. My brother, Jack, had all of Elvis Presley’s 78 RPM records. My favorite song was, “You Ain’t Nothin’ but a Hound Dog.”

Once the family had moved to Deerfield in the 1960s, a new era had been entered. Jack now preferred Joan Baez, and inspired by his adoration of her, I learned to play guitar. Whilst the twins were touting Doublemint Gum in TV commercials, Kruschev was banging his shoe on the table at the United Nations, saying, “We, (Russia),will bury you!” In honor of the first dog in space, my father changed my dog’s name to “Sputnik.” I think I liked “Scampy” better.

Drive-in movies were still in place in the sixties and “fun” for those who liked mosquito bites, suffering in cars without a-c, or teenagers who wanted to be alone, at any cost! Birth control was unheard of and more than a few girls I know got “caught,” in a most visible way. Certain feminine products had not yet been invented, and training bras and garter belts with pull-up nylons were the order of the day – no pantyhose!

When the family first lived in Deerfield, NH in 1963, the telephone service still had a live operator and 4-party lines. Anyone in the network could eavesdrop on telephone conversations. Creepy. Of course, it was more expedient than the Telegraph, a way in which many important messages were transmitted during the 1940s. I still have copies of some of those family communications.

When I look back, I realize how much young people of today have missed. I feel like a relic, and yet, I am still here to tell the story of these things. I lived through the dark days of the Vietnam War, the assassinations of great men who stood for political and social justice, and I saw the first man “walk on the Moon.” I have yet to catch up to such things as i-phones, i-Pads, or i-Tunes. Many days, I feel limited, technologically-speaking. Yet, I feel at an advantage having lived through these many years, having experienced the advances of the 20th century, first hand.

James Gorham

James Gorham, my son, in 1979, standing in Deerfield, in front of the barn I painted, and using the “Scooter” that was a toy of mine when I was a kid, passed down from yet another generation, original owner unknown. No dirt bikes on the scene. The barn is now torn down, the “boy” is grown up and is a father of two! Happy Father’s Day, James!

I recall playing “Tinkertoys” with my nieces and nephew on the floor of the family home in Deerfield. I remember picking fresh peaches in my father’s orchard, and grapes from the roadside, and collecting Black Walnuts from the tree in our front yard. I remember swinging on a swing that my father made for an old Maple Tree, no longer there. I remember my horses, my rabbit, my chickens, and growing houseplants… and getting in hay… and painting the barn. The past is never truly gone, as long as we have recollections of it. I can truly tell you that I have lived a life! So far, it’s been a journey I wouldn’t trade!

Patricia Cummings

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Thursday, June 17th, 2010

No matter what goes wrong in this world, there is always someone to pass the buck. Even CEOs of companies can get away with blaming their employees for bad choices and dead-wrong decisions made in the heat of expediency and time/cost effectiveness. A case in point is the recent British Petroleum disaster. It will take years before we can determine the extent of the damage already done to wildlife and habitat by an accident that potentially might have been prevented.

I notice that the news is downplaying the story of the birds and fish that have been affected. I did see one segment about out-of-work shrimpers in Louisiana, but that was about it for coverage. Of course, I do not watch much television. Good thing! It is upsetting to see birds covered in oil and barely able to stand.

On another topic regarding animals, the town of Barre, Vermont is considering legislation to require that cats be walked on a leash and not allowed free to roam. They are a threat to wild birds and other critters. Other communities already have this legislation in place from OH to CO and FL to MD and New Orleans. It is a good idea to restrain cats, although they definitely wouldn’t like the idea. See the full story here:

Part of not letting a cat roam free is taking responsibility for one’s pet. So is the idea of having the pet neutered or spayed. There are enough feral kittens around and they become feral cats that breed more feral cats. It is a sinking feeling to inadvertently run over any animal. Cats dash into the street from out of nowhere. That happened to us on one dark and very rainy night in a busy suburban neighborhood. There was no way we were going to try to go around trying to find the cat’s owner. The cat should have been inside on such a terrible night!

Responsibility extends into many areas of life. We are responsible for keeping all in our care safe, human or animal. Why do some of us not feel an obligation to the greater world to protect the environment? I am sure that the economy will not be affected by the BP oil spill. It is just a shame how we continue to pollute our oceans and poison the feeding grounds of birds and fish.

I am really tired of lackadaisical and self-serving individuals who do not put much thought when it comes to their work, or the quality thereof, but are the first in line to collect the perks and the pay. What kind of world will our grandchildren inherit?

Patricia Cummings

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Wednesday, June 2nd, 2010

As I look back on my life, always a good thing to do during one’s birthday month, I realize that the information I value most is that which I’ve learned within the last 25 years or so. Life is a process of personal growth and evolution, a constant state of “becoming,” and that is a good thing!

Choosing to enter the testing program to become certified as a master craftsman in quilting caused me hone my skills and expand them from 1991-2000. It required me to think beyond the “Quilt in a Day” mentality. Don’t get me wrong. When I began quilting, it was a very appealing notion to finish a quilt in a day or a week. Now, I undertake projects that often take much longer, sometimes as long as a year. I am one of those pokey people. I still hand quilt, hand piece and hand appliqué most projects. I savor every moment.

After all, I have only self-imposed deadlines as I do not make quilts to sell. As I age, I realize that time is more precious than gold. I don’t give away my time without thinking twice.

Constantly challenging myself as a quilter has resulted in learning practical math skills, and caused me to embark on a study of History, in general, if only to investigate the “times” in which a quilt was created. In doing so, I have learned about cloth production, mill girls, women’s studies, slavery, literature and poetry, and American history.

In presenting programs to groups, I have remembered principles of teaching learned in my university days of formal study to become a certified teacher of Spanish. No matter what we learn, it is all “good” and always has other applications in our lives. More than once, my knowledge of Spanish has come in handy to communicate with native Spanish speakers who are learning to quilt.

The most valuable course I ever took in school was a one credit, Personal Typing class, at the university. For a writer, the ability to type well is invaluable! Truly, it was a gift of knowledge to someone, like me, who was banned in high school from taking Business classes, as they were reserved for “dummies.” In my day, the suggested careers for women were teacher, nurse, or secretary and little else was mentioned by guidance counselors!

Today, I am pleased with all of the learning opportunities I have had. Life is not worth living if we do not continue to improve and learn… every day! Quilting is responsible for leading to other recently-acquired knowledge about 19th century Literature, History, and Women’s Studies – and I’ve loved every minute, and the joys of “making connections!”

Patricia Cummings

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Saturday, May 29th, 2010

Memorial Day weekend is always a good time to stay home. A four day weekend usually results in a lot of drunks being on the road. I never have been able to understand why people drink excessively, or even… at all. Worse yet, I don’t know why they choose to endanger themselves and others by getting behind the wheel of a car in an inebriated state.

Some people think that Jim and I are old fuddy-duddies because we don’t drink, nor do we provide alcohol to visitors. I’m of the opinion that I have a lot more fun when I am not around people who are drinking. Furthermore, I would never want to feel responsible for an accident caused by someone who had just left my home.

Medically-speaking, the liver is the most vulnerable victim of alcohol abuse, but alcohol can cause other systemic damage, like the painful arthritic condition known as “Gout.” Alcohol is a social crutch and is often used as an excuse to act like a jerk. There are a lot of reasons to stay sober, including the so-called “date drugs” that can be slipped into drinks at bars, and which set the scene for personal crimes against others. In addition, alcoholic beverages put on weight and cause bloating. Sorry guys, beer bellies are definitely NOT attractive!

When I was living in Spain, the water was not so great to drink. It was a matter of sense to drink wine, seltzer water, or soda… anything but the water. That challenge of poor water was present when this country was settled, too. There was a lot more drinking going on then, morning, noon and night. Today, wine is not a beverage of choice for me, having had enough of it, overseas, to last a lifetime.

(As an aside, I must report on the man I saw while hiking in the White Mountains of NH. He was instructing his two young children to scoop up water in their hands to drink from the clear mountain stream. I didn’t interfere, but was thinking, those poor kids will have a wicked case of the runs later on, due to Giardia or some other water pathogen in the “pure” mountain stream).

My late brother, a tee-totaler, used to sing the following song that he thought was pretty funny. Delivered in a deep voice and with conviction, he sang it well. Here are the words:

We’re coming, we’re coming
Our brave little band.
On the right side of Temperance
We now take our stand.
We don’t like tobacco,
because we do think,
that the people who use it
are likely to drink!

Away, away with Rum, by gum,
With Rum, by gum,
With Rum, by gum!
Away, away with Rum, by gum…
The Song of the Salvation Army!

Please pass the ice-water with lemon! Cheers!

Patricia Cummings

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Wednesday, May 26th, 2010

Each year, Jim and I buy pretty plants, the usual cemetery ones that will stand up to the heat when planted right out under a merciless sun. We pack water, fertilizer, trowels and all, and tote this collection of goods to the permanent resting places of loved ones. The country cemetery is a restful place with birds calling to each other and bees visiting the flowering shrubs and flowers on other graves. It is a ritual for us to honor my parents and my brother who is buried in the family plot, in this manner.

Victorian card

Victorian card, “Sweet remembrance”

Death is a hard concept to wrap one’s mind around. As we drove to the nursery to choose hearty plants that might have a better chance of surviving, I spotted a catamaran on the river at the home of a valued friend who has passed on. She was a good sort and very sociable. Proud of her English heritage, she would serve a delightful dish called “English Trifle” to her needlework friends when we met at her house. Her “other” retirement hobby was growing Lilies. She had great fun and got a lot of exercise, moving them around so that their many colors would be placed in a manner pleasing to her.

This was a day for thinking of old friends. Passing the street where I would customarily turn to reach her home, I recalled how much another friend, a musician, loved the warm weather, and how she and her husband would attend summer concerts at Tanglewood in the Berkshires (in Massachusetts). I sorely miss her zest for life, her love of music, and her addiction to books and all that she learned from them!

I don’t have to think very hard to recall all the many relatives and friends who have died, some of them taken at a prime time in their lives when they could have stopped working so much, and might have been able to do something pleasant for themselves. They were cheated.

We mourn our dead and ask the heavens an unanswerable question – Why do men die? To honor the memory of our heroes, our fathers, our sons, our mothers, our children, our siblings and all else who have completed their earthly journey, we must live well and enjoy the gifts we have as unique individuals, as well as the gifts that are provided by those who love us.

Someone once said, “Love is greater than Death.” When we continue to recognize the work and accomplishments of those who formerly lived, they exist in our hearts and in our collective consciousness.

Here’s hoping that you do something to honor a special person in your life who is no longer here. Even if you light a candle in their memory, or say a prayer, or … plant a flower, you will probably feel better.

Happy Memorial Day weekend!

Patricia Cummings

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Sunday, May 23rd, 2010

Emily Dickinson is my perpetually-favorite, nineteenth century poet who, jokingly, once referred to herself as the “belle of Amherst,” odd only because she was a recluse. This morning, I recall one of her poems of the thousands she wrote, tucked away in a trunk, and written on scraps of paper. The extent of her work was only discovered after her death. We are indebted to those who saved her work, and are sad only in that she did not achieve the recognition she deserved, in her lifetime.

snake

“A narrow Fellow in the Grass” – photo by James Cummings

As I look out on our wildflower garden, a safe haven for critters, birds, bugs, and reptiles, I recall poem number 986 in a print version of Emily’s poems.

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c. 1865

The final line of the poem is terrific. It explains exactly how I feel when I see a snake! The first reaction many people have to snakes is to kill them. Out west, when I lived in the middle of the Mojave Desert, guys from the Air Base who had grown up in the South, would hunt rattlesnakes and eat them, and found them to be a great delicacy!

Around here, in New Hampshire, there are some rattlesnakes, copperheads, etc. You are most likely to run into them if you’re hiking in some remote place. The variety we find, in our yard, are simple black garden snakes who keep rodents and bugs under control and are beneficial creatures.

The most startling snake event I ever had was when I lived on the farm. My parents were holding a family reunion of sorts, with the relatives from Manchester, all grown-ups. Bored, I took a pail and snuck down back to the edge of the forest, crossing 40 acres of land to get to a spot where wild strawberries were spotted, when riding my horse down there. It was a glorious, early summer day! I was busily collecting berries, when I stepped on what I thought was an old Black tired. Turns out, it was a huge snake about 6 feet long! When it moved, under my foot, disturbed from its rest in the sun, I screeched so loud, everyone came running down to where I was. The adventures of the country!

Another time, there were a whole bunch of new born snakes, the size of worms, on the cement apron of the house. My mother, totally an “indoor girl” told me to kill them. I did not obey. I say, “Live and let live.” Sometimes, our perceived worst enemy does some good, after all!

Patricia Cummings

enzyte reviews

Thursday, May 20th, 2010

In thinking about personal letters, I have realized that few people write them anymore, and if they do, they are typed soundbites, not letters written in cursive. Is Penmanship even taught in schools now? In my day, we took Penmanship lessons as a regular part of the curriculum and were graded on our efforts. Penmanship was an art unto itself. It always has been.

I really enjoy viewing old family letters, and letters written to me that I have saved over time, some from people now deceased who were important to me in life. When one considers the matter, it isn’t so much the quality of the beautiful, cursive writing that counts. The message is ultimately more important, isn’t it?

Letters are sometimes written to keep people who live far away up to date on news. I suppose Twitter and Facebook have now replaced personal letters because of their immediacy of communication. Traditionally, invitations, letters of condolence and letters of congratulations were sent.

I recall one day when I was buying some sympathy cards, just to have on hand. An older man, from whom I’d bought farm products in the past, approached. He said, “I am so sorry for your loss. I hope the person didn’t suffer too much.” I appreciated his kindness, although misplaced at the time.

With the cost of a U.S. postal stamp at 44 cents v. the 4 cent stamp of my youth, one can see why folks are reticent to mail letters. By the time one counts the cost of the greeting card or stationery, a message sent by post is expensive, compared to the Internet.

Whenever I receive a note or card in the mail, it is so exciting! I want to open that, first. Usually, the mail just brings bills. Boo, humbug!

I don’t know if we will ever get back to mailing notes. The Internet is here to stay and it colors our world. Our perception of time has been shortened and we have become an impatient people, demanding immediate news of any situation.

Progress dictates a new course of action, yet I am happy to have old letters that I can hold in my hand. They are a look back to a time when life seems to have been more simple, although each era has its own challenges.

That said, I’ll say thank you to my friends who send greetings by mail, from time to time. You are dinosaurs, you know, and I love you for that.

Patricia Cummings

enzyte reviews

Friday, May 14th, 2010

It has always intrigued me – this matter of accents. We Yankees have our own sort of accent, but even in New England those accents vary. For example, a native from New Hampshire does not sound anything like a Kennedy from Hyannisport. Some Southerners are very difficult for me to understand.

Usually, a German or a French accent is easy to detect. So is a Spanish one. We all come from somewhere and if that place is somewhere else, we will not sound like others living in a region.

Unfortunately, language like skin color can be used to discriminate against others, to belittle them, and to socially ostracize them. What surprises me the most this week is more news from Arizona’s governor. I only caught a glimpse of a headline, and I do not have all the details, but it seems as though she is now proposing a law that says that anyone with an accent cannot teach English.

I am slightly baffled as to why such legislation is needed. Presumably, anyone hired to teach should have attained a degree or multiple degrees. I remember that when I applied for a teaching license in Arizona, I had to learn about Arizona state history, as well.

To say that there is a problem with illegal crossings in Arizona is so obvious, it isn’t worth stating. This was an issue as long ago as the early 1970s when I considered joining the Border Patrol there. I’m glad I didn’t. It is a dangerous and often futile pursuit.

I see the Immigration situation as one that can be solved. If large companies who hire “illegales” to pick their crops would refuse to hire undocumented individuals, it seems likely that they might go home, if there is no way to earn a living here. The second solution is to fight crime (and gang activity), as it happens. Law enforcement officers do not need to pick on people or ask to see papers, just because of their color or accent. After all, the U.S. is not the Third Reich… yet!

There is a lot about this immigration profiling that is unhealthy, un-Christian, and seemingly, a result of mass hysteria. I am reminded of my own great-grandmother, a Jewish immigrant from Austria at the end of the nineteenth century. She was forced to hide the fact that she was Jewish, and the entire family claimed to be Episcopalians. It was the safe thing to do. I don’t believe that my mother even knew this circumstances about her grandmother. If she did, she never mentioned the family secret.

The sense of superiority that some people have to others is just stunning! I don’t know where Charity went, but it does not seem to be alive and well.

Jim pointed out a fact, over lunch, and that is: Americans are becoming more of a “brown skinned” race. There is much more racial intermixing these days, and those who are light-skinned often waste their time and money and put their health at risk in tanning salons, just to look “tan.” They will make an oncologist rich in the future!

People south of the border are truly a mixed race. Yet, we are all children of the universe, united under one sky. We all bleed when we are cut, we all are prone to the same miseries, and we all, eventually, face Death, the great equalizer.

I pray for our legislators. It is not an easy call. I would only request Compassion, and for them to legislate a way of handling matters that is acceptable to the goal of Human Kindness. We should NOT approach the problem as “Us v. Them.” There has to be a better way.

Patricia Cummings

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Thursday, May 6th, 2010

clouds from my window

A view of clouds from my window. On the right is a very tall, Norwegian Fir tree that is like Nature’s Christmas tree when it is laden with snow and full of Cardinals. photo: James Cummings

The view from my upstairs window shows an azure sky with puffs of white, cotton ball clouds drifting by. As I glance at them, every so often, I think of my habit of lying in the grass when I was a small child, imagining that the shapes of clouds looked like various animals. In my memory bank is also Judy Collins’ song, “Both Sides Now,” a song of contrast, a song of life. I’ve always liked clouds!

Symbolically-speaking, clouds can represent trials in our lives. How many of us have not faced adversity? I would imagine that very few people, if any, finish their lives having been unscathed by illness, misfortune or tragedy. Yet, on a day-to-day basis, most of us are fine, just going about our usual activities: walking the dog, doing the dishes, engaging in business or educational activities.

Watching clouds is a good pastime. It allows us time to stop, to relax, to dream. Perhaps, we even have time to ponder the future, or reassess the present. The flip-side of life, when things don’t go our way, is really a learning experience. If we did not experience the thorns of life, the roses would not smell so sweet.

Just within the few moments I’ve been writing this message, I’ve seen the clouds change shape and color. Now, these are tinged with gray, with an underlying white countenance that is sunlit from behind. They are sinking lower on the horizon and the bright blue background is advancing.

Like the sky, our lives are always changing. It is a blessing that nothing remains the same. Change provides a chance for growth. Time is ticking. Our awareness of reality can only be fully-understood in the present tense.

Some cultures have no words in their language for either “past” or “future.” With no words to conceptually mark time or advance the future, we wonder how such people can embrace the idea of TIME. Perhaps, time passing is only marked by the seasons, or by deductive reasoning that all new life begins another cycle of Nature.

Personally, I feel comfortable knowing that the past resides in the past. It is fun to realize that efforts we make today can effect a good outcome in the future. Sometimes, it is a relief to know that the present will soon be a memory.

Many songs celebrate or explain Life. One musical group sings, “In my life, I’ve seen sorrow and pain – I don’t know if I can face it again – Don’t stop now, we’ve traveled so far… I wanna go where Love is.” It is my theory that to have fully-lived, humans must suffer (some). Trials seem to be a required ordinance of the human condition. Our abilities to handle physical and psychological pain in our lives marks our true grace, strength and courage.

Consider the words of “Both Sides Now,” a song made famous by folksinger, Judy Collins. “I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now, from up and down, and still somehow, it’s cloud’s illusions I recall, I really don’t know clouds at all.” Like life itself, we can never really know clouds but their permutations do keep us entertained.

Patricia Cummings