The Almost Daily Thread

musings from the blue chair

Name that antique.

Olivia modeling the paper dress.

Olivia modeling the paper dress.

I WON THE LOTTERY! The lottery for tickets to the Antique Roadshow. Antiques Roadshow  Me and 6,000 others. Charleston, WVa.

In the weeks leading up to the event I thought and thought about what to take with me. I reviewed what I still have that has filtered past in my 65 years! Several pieces of furniture have passed to and through me. I have Grandma Hazel’s china doll and parasol. I have Great Grandma Emma Susan’s quilt. Aunt Ethel’s crazy quilt. I have a couple of wooden kitchen utensils which came from an excavation in Warsaw, KY near Grandma Betty Rea’s restaurant. I have a wooden box that came up the Mississippi on a flatboat at the turn of the century with Grandpa John W. Hall’s name painted on top. I have an amethyst pin that Aunt Francis sent me as an engagement gift that was passed to her from 2 generations. I have too many things to list from Uncle John.

What I decided on were things from my own lifetime. Not ancestral pieces. Those I could never sell and if my kids sell or trash them, well, I’ll be dead and I won’t know.

Each ticket holder is allowed to bring two items. I settled on a paper dress Hazel sent me in the 1960’s, maybe 1967. Why? I have no idea. I recall nothing of the where, when or why she sent it. It’s a black and silver weave. A dress up, paper mini dress. (I did like to play paper dolls. Remember the Betsy McCall? I had a box for each doll and her clothing.) Anyhow, the paper dress is sleeveless. Very simple with a button at the back of the neck. A-line. I wore it a few times, I am sure to dances. I remember having a specific slip to wear under it because it is very see through! I wonder if I wore patterned hose with it. I do wish I could remember the shoes I wore. I am pretty sure I wore a long, silver necklace and dangley earrings. The unique dress survived many moves, in tack, and even survived my daughter wearing it to adult Halloween parties. I have taken good care of it, kept it away from lighters and open fires!I suppose because I hear Hazel in my DNA saying, “Save it. It might be worth something someday.”

Lorel modeling the dress.

Lorel modeling the dress.

And I decided to take three signed baseballs from events in 1980, 81, and 82. My best friend, Lisa, was then Director of Tri-State Fair and Regatta which worked closely with Ashland Oil, Inc as a summer concert, event venue. And, Clint Thomas was Negro baseball star in the 1920’s and 30’s, a native of Greenup County Clint Thomas . The then editor or a reporter (I don’t remember who) representing the Greenup County News approached Ashland Oil to sponsor an event honoring Mr. Thomas. The first year several players showed up. The second year, Mr. Thomas was celebrating his 85th birthday and the reunion grew. I remember 35 or so players in attendance. They brought pictures and memorabilia and suggestions of where to find other players. Most had disappeared into the mainstream. The players in attendance laughed and shared stories. They were old men being recognized for the first time as a group. It was 16 years after the Civil Rights Act was signed and equality, as we well know, is not quickly integrated.

Dinner was served and Bowie Kuhn, the then commissioner of baseball, and Willie Mays spoke briefly. Neither stuck around for signing. After dinner the tables were arranged so that attendees, maybe 75 people, who were given baseballs as part of their ticket price, walked around and got player signatures. Satchel Page was there in 1981, oxygen, big smile and all. The players were honored and thrilled to be recognized and to see each other again.

We did a repeat performance with more players and more in attendance the next year. Satchel died before the second big event took place.

Ashland Oil and the Ashland Chamber of Commerce and other groups were in the process of establishing a permanent home for the Negro Baseball Leagues when Cooperstown stepped in to take over  Baseball Hall of Fame.  The Negro Leagues are now fully recognized in their own venue at the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum in Kansas City.  Here there is no “getting in.”  They are working to recognize all of the Negro players.

So back to the Antiques Roadshow! My baseballs are worth a fair amount of money, yet most prominently, as I write and research this I am becoming aware that maybe I made a slight difference in some major cultural events.

Just by happenstance! I lived my childhood in the time of separation. I grew up with no ethnic diversity. White only – all the way through high school. My prejudices were ingrained but not deeply, not bitter. Really they weren’t an issue so much. It is my understanding that Grandma Betty Rea crossed the boundaries more than anyone. She was more comfortable in the mixed-race kitchen than as the manager of her own restaurant. I was sheltered and innocent of much of the violence and struggles of my times. 1964 my first year of high school. The riots didn’t really touch my daily life in Ashland, KY.

I was a young adult going to concerts at the Charleston Civic Center, where the Antique Roadshow was held. I saw the Moody Blues and Crosby, Stills and Nash, 3 Dog Night (driving a 1940’s hearst what was the family car for a while.  There’s a story!). I heard Willie Nelson and we followed his band to a bar. In fact, some of the band members rode to the bar in my 1957 Chevy. Turquoise and white!  I guess we traded in the hearst.  Fun night! During these years I worked TSF&R because Lisa always generously handed me volunteer jobs for nearly all their public venues!

So back to the Roadshow! Here’s the question. Does the fact that I showed up with relics from my own life make me the antique? OMG, I think so! Because the whole day was a reminiscence back to my youth.

And what I realize is that I and many others in attendance were the antiques! A crowd of primarily baby boomers, a generation shows up to an aging Civic Center that is, for this venue, orderly and quiet. Only a whisper of the past crowds. We were now lead like sheep in the wavy Disney line set-up. Nearly polar opposite the boisterous, ecstatic, lively teenagers coming to hear our favorite music. So boisterous and daring as to even slip under the scaffolding of the stage to shake hands with Kenny Loggins and slipping back into the crowd before being arrested or escorted out!

What I realize is that the people in attendance are the stories. The people who have a few years under their belts. We are the memories of our lifetimes no matter what physical souvenir we salvage from the experiences. One of Aunt Ethel’s stories is that she voted every year from the very first time women were allowed to vote, in 1920, and she lived to just a few months of being 103 in 1997 19th Amendment.

My interest is in vintage unusual things. I wanted to see the Roadshow appraisers, and Mark Walberg! Attached to this event, my story’s chapters include music – the awesome experience of music in the late 60’s and 70’s, how it spoke for and to us, filled us up, healed us, connected us. Another chapter here is my miniscule contribution to racial equality not because I was involved directly but because my best friend volunteered me for whatever she got involved in! And we volunteers in the small, lazy town of Ashland, KY opened a door to society taking some steps to right some wrongs.

Oh, and the dress? I forgot it. Yep. I remembered my phone, well most of the day! Maybe as a teenager I would have remembered . . . nope, I probably would have forgotten it then also. Maybe I’ll win the lottery again next year. In the meantime, the dress hangs safely. And the baseballs have brand new wooden display cases. Not those ugly plastic ball holders for my piece of history! And maybe they should go to the NBLM in Kansas City to sit in their rightful place with the big collection.



Forgiveness is letting go

Forgiveness – a post I promised Leigh for her latest blog activity. Yes, I took on yet another task – and I forgive myself for that! And I have enjoyed it. Thank you, Leigh.
Forgiveness is “it”. The apex. The secret, the mystery to personal freedom. The Heart of the Matter. The back hoe of uncovering the truth of who we really are.
Forgiveness is taking responsibility for oneself. Seeing the God-seed in all others, allowing them to be who they are in their personal choices.
Embracing the oneness and the humanness of all created, for me, a playing field of possibility. Supported by taking the stance of an observer with my Libra mind set, I am quite capable of assigning various points-of-view to others and to many situations. From here I can more clearly see and allow detachment and create new/different attachments. Giving these options to others I more clearly understand that people reach choice because of their previous occurrences. So. . . I did this because of this or that. S/he chose this as a result of . . . We follow our story lines.
Without attachment to the story line and sending the energy of truth, peace and love to every person, place and thing involved, I feel, blankets an event. Often I send my prayer energy to all those involved in wars and that compassion and tolerance surround all concerned. I try and not separate good guys from bad guys who am I to say? Because we all are people walking on the earth at the same time with varying backgrounds and beliefs. So I attempt to suspend my judgments. I include in my prayers the earth who is being bombarded and punctured with explosives and absorbing the blood of her inhabitants. I now will add forgiveness because if past wounds are not addressed, not attended to, they fester and create infection to current events. I admit I am not always successful in suspending my personal judgments to war and violence.
Forgiveness of others, especially strangers, can be a walk on the beach next to self-forgiveness. Particularly big situations like addictions or self-sabotage, or choices that cause pain. But even forgiveness for the negative thoughts that hop through our mind chatter. Thoughts of doom and gloom. Thoughts of revenge, anger, victimization. Thoughts of lack and blame. I am noticing these thoughts more readily as they bubble up from some deeply buried angry place like oil from the sunken ships at Pearl Harbor.
I am a pretty easy going kinda girl. I am very capable of allowing others their choices and not being “too” critical. Yet, I do have opinions and will often state them, however, I don’t feel I pressure feed my opinion – well accept for maybe the constant anti-GMO postings I put on Facebook!
I admit that I do not understand people’s choices sometimes.
I do not understand corporate or personal greed at the expense of others less fortunate or the environment.
I do not understand greed.
I do not understand mean.
I do not understand, “my God is better than yours.”
I do not understand intolerance. In fact, I have a very low level of tolerance for those who are intolerant! (Hummm.)
I do understand less than, self-sabotage, a sense of abandonment, low self-esteem and victimization. And I do understand that forgiveness of a situation requires me to release others I hold accountable along with myself for attaching to a given situation. Un-accepting a role unfitting of my true self has been the process that opened me to rising above and of allowing others their process. Like forgiving my parents for dying and leaving three orphaned children. When I release them, I am free to witness the lovely, safe, loving childhood they provided for us. A firm foundation. AND, searching for answers is what placed me squarely on my spiritual journey.
Currently my biggest forgiveness issues are:
To repeat: I forgive my parents for dying so young and the crippling, numbing pain surrounding each scenario. Following their deaths – 5 years apart – I stumbled through all the grief stages, including anger at them, anger at God, anger at the world continuing to exist without them in it. And yet through the years and all the self-exploration my abandonment issue has been replaced by a more self-reliant, confident me. As I forgive them for dying I developed a sense of independence. I learned that food and lifestyle choices directly affect the physical body. I learned that family, being a sister, a parent and grandparent, is enormously important for me.
A forgiveness issue I now am work with is my thought process. I want to think more positive, clear, loving thoughts and find solutions while accepting that I don’t have to like everything I witness in the world or see within myself. On that personal note, which is the only place I can effect change, I am not going to get everything checked off my to do list today,
I forgive myself for not getting radishes and kale and carrots planted before leaving for Cincinnati.
I forgive myself for not having Dave’s birthday present wrapped better, for sitting in my chair with the last bit of coffee instead of jumping up to run the sweeper before I leave.
I forgive myself for not flowing more, for not taking the picture for the cover of A Fairy Move so it can get published on Kindle.
I forgive myself for not loving the 20 lbs I do not ever lose, for wearing a shirt with a spot on it.
I am not perfect. And who set up the perimeters for my self-imposed definition perfect anyhow? How did that model of perfection get into my head? And why do I keep it there?
So, maybe, just for today, I could accept myself for who I am in this moment. Work all this forgiveness into a gratitude process and perhaps those clouds of self-doubt will dissipate and I will be a more content version of who I really am.
And so when I forgive, I release attachments to the self judgment and I am simply being the best me I’ve got to give in this moment.
With that, I willingly share my thoughts on forgiveness without attachment as to how you the reader receive it’s contents. After all, it truly is none of my business what you think or do. Although, I would like for my story to create something of value for you and your choices. I know I cannot choose for you.
I give you permission to also release attachments to self judgments and simply be the be the best you you have got to give in this moment.
Let’s see if we can do it all day.
And sing:


Anti-Inflammatory Lemonade

Here’s to your good health!
Thank you Sindy!


Anti-Inflammatory Lemonade:
1 cup of fresh squeezed lemon juice:
(4 -6 lemons)
4-6 cups of clean water (to taste)
1 tsp of ground turmeric
1 tsp of cinnamon
Pinch of volcanic salt
(Himalayan Salt)
1/2 tsp of liquid stevia (or to taste)
Optional: 1 tsp ground/fresh ginger
(See Disclaimer)

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