Against the Wind

Shrinkwrapped hits one home with this one.

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Tania wanted copies of the photos of the ancestors. I took these over the holidays.

Charles Stewart, Ira Jay, Ina May, Ida Fay, Addie Howell Stewart

Photo taken approximately 1898

From her autobiographical remembrances (p. 47)

8.1 Childhood Diseases

Mamma said I was a sickly child and diseases that I failed to contact by myself Ina and Jay brought home to me from school. When I was about six years old I had a bad case of diphtheria which was soon followed by scarlet fever–and this, in turn by measles, mumps, chickenpox, and probably others as well. Following the siege of diphtheria and scarlet fever the house, according to the medical practice of the time, had to be fumigated by burning formaldehyde fumigating candles. For this procedure the house was tightly closed and all of us remained outside for several hours. Of course everyone was glad when the doors and windows were opened and we could go inside.

Talk about adding insult to injury! After the siege with diphtheria they cut off my hair leaving me almost bald. No girl wore short hair. And if that were not bad enough the doctor said I must wear glasses; all told, I looked like a freak of some sort. Extremely few children wore glasses in those days, though I strongly suspect that many of the youngsters needed some type of visual correction.

8.4 Grandpa Lives With His Children

From the list of family data,… you will see that Grandpa and Grandma Stewart had nine children. When all of them were grown and gone from home Grandpa and Grandma left the farm and moved into Ottawa. For a time the lived at the west edge of town just across the street east Mt. Hope Cemetery. Later they moved to a five-acre place on the east side of the city, in the 900 block on the west side of Lincoln Street. Here Grandma died May 13, 1906. There after Grandpa lived around with the children who were in, or near Ottawa on a cycle of about a year at each place. At our home Papa had a carpenter shop on the rear portion of the lot. This was enlarged when Grandpa came to make room for his horse, Old Bell, whom he hitched to the buggy when he wanted to go to see friends or relatives. The addition of Grandpa to our household made a few modifications in out daily routine, two of which may be of interest.

Grandpa was very strict in observance of the Sabbath (Old Presbyterian.) That, in itself, did not bother us children much for we were brought up to remember the Lord’s day and keep it holy but as Grandpa interpreted the commandment singing of psalms on Sunday was extended through the week and to the exclusion of all other melodies. If Ina or Jay or I sang a song that we had learned at school he would ask, “Is that a psalm (pronounced, sam, with a short a)?” We had to do our singing when he was not at home.

Another of his eccentricities pertained to the Sunday morning newspaper. The folks were long-time subscribers to the Kansas City Star and Times, partly because they enjoyed reading it be chiefly for the information obtainable from it that was helpful for us children in school. Grandpa enjoyed the paper, particularly the large edition on Sunday, but he considered it a sin to read the newspaper on that day. To start the week out abreast of world and local events he got up at 5:00 Monday morning to catch up on his reading, thereby disturbing the entire household, much to Mamma’s disgust. She was outspoken in the matter and remonstrated with him rather forcefully saying that the sin of depriving the family of an hour or so of sleep was far greater than that of perusing the paper on Sunday–but to no avail. He continued on the same routine.

Grandma left many wonderful remembrances in her section of the autobiographical memoirs she and Grandpa compiled in the years 1974 and 75. Her memories of Ottawa University are lovely to have, as I graduated from Ottawa in 1972. At least one of my Fakhoury cousins did as well. John and Mako are Ottawa alum, and perhaps Mark.

Mother often commented on how there are clever and smart people and there are wise people. “My mother was wise,” she often said. I know Grandma was dogged about not carrying tales and enjoyed her life in Lawrence right up till she left her home. When she was in the process of moving to the Presbyterian Manor in Lawrence, about 1976 or so, she prayed with Mother, “Lord give me strength to do what I do not want to do.” I doubt she complained more about that most difficult move.

Just a brief note before bed.

The election is over.. Fourteen hour very slow day. Ten voters total.

Cameron and Quentin are coming over to spend the night so Tara and Darryl can run in the Tiger Run tomorrow.

The photo of the day is a flash back. January 6th, I finished my first segment of the row robin quilt for this year. I used pieces that I’d abandoned as unfinished projects and incorporated them with a new block I drafted up for the project, and used a lot of fabric I seemed to have accumulated in royal to electric blues. I read that blues are some of the hardest colors to deal with in quilting because of the variations in blues and they way they can kill each other together. So we’ll see how the SOTC (Sisters of the Cloth) do with the project over this coming year. I’ll get a quilt to make out of this.

Tania and Bartley compare their pregnancy bellies. Tania’s winning, but Bartley, ever the gentleman is standing in front of the evidence.

As I’m trying to figure out how to deal with photos as I go into some seriously big photo seasons, one thing I want to do is to go back and print thumbnails of the thousands of photos that I have, and make an album. I don’t exaggerate. It really is more than two thousand. Most are not worthy of cataloging. The photo diary of 10 years with a camera is crying to have something done. How do you preserve your digital photos?

Blogging should probably be accompanied by “news photos.” That would be something more fitting to the day at hand. The picture posted today is from January. The calendar says it’s the end of March. And I keep taking photos. Something needs rethinking here.

Photography and Bridge intersected today. I did get one printed for my bridge partner. Good thing I remembered to pack it in the car as the partnership went belly up today. I’ve had a low grade headache ever since. I hate conflict, but I worse hate someone threatening. I strongly suspect my partner was tired of playing with me. She made a totally reasonable request, which she more appropriately could have discussed over the phone away from the table. That sort of irritated me. But then we had a bidding misunderstanding or two, and it excalated into her comment that maybe we shouldn’t play, or something to that effect. I responded a bit emotionally, and the partnership is toast. The thing that bothers me is that I really don’t know if she wanted to break the partnership and figured that was the way to do it or … or what? I can’t think of any reason to assume that I as the partner was purposely forgetting what we play.

Or… was my frustration coming out in purposeful forgetfulness. I’ve been accused of being passive/aggressive. Perhaps it was passive aggressive “forgetfulness” which hit the boiling point.

Anyway, I enjoy bridge and one aspect that makes the game interesting is the partnership game. Part of playing with a partner is figuring out how to keep your partner happy. Today I got a fundamental lesson in partnerships gone wrong.

Has your spring gotten harried and hectic as we cruise into Easter? I’m sure running like a hamster on a treadmill. Gotta finish my income tax. Get all the packing and preparing done for cruising. Two of the three daughters are moving as of the first of April. Row Robin needs to be finished for a date coming up… I’ll be gone for a month essentially, so I’d better get this done and shipped. The next due date almost has to fall during cruise time. Jane says she’s got hers finished. I got all those pieces parts onto my calendar so I can do what needs to be done. Today was a bridge day and evenings are for online bridge and blogging. But I did work in a guild board meeting. I also pulled out the flash attachment I bought with my camera and have rarely used and learned a bit about using it this morning as I photographed the finished Round Robin from last year. It’s got a label and it’s ready to go. The top of the last Houston shop hop quilt is done as well. That’s a queen sized quilt that needs the quilting machine. Don’t think I’ll have time to schedule time to quilt it before I go.

Ugh 99 spam comments to delete. Swat! Swat! Swat!

I awoke this morning to a dream about missing a graduation again. At Nunez, the faculty were required to attend graduation. It was a no excuse affair. I missed the first one. I’d graded all my papers, turned in semester grades, and enjoyed a few days off after the semester to relocate some of my life. One morning I woke up and realized I’d gone to play bridge the night before, and I was supposed to go to graduation. When I reported for summer school, and fessed up, I got no end of ribbing about “forgetting graduation.”

In my dream I’d missed another in a series it seemed of graduations. It had a total “Groundhog Day” feel to it. When I wrote in my morning pages, I found all sorts of symbolic material there, it details of the dream and in the sense of “missing the mark, as usual.”

Yesterday was a full one. A friend from the now defunct writer’s group asked me to go with her a long while ago to the E D White H. S. reunion day at the Fair Grounds, New Orlean’s race track.   She somewhat expected to be the oldest alum there, but there was a fellow who was a year or two ahead of her there as well. We sat at the table with him and his daughter, bet on the third through sixth races, lost our little wager money had a lovely lunch and came home. Well… sort of came home. I had to go see Marianne’s new apartment, drive by Tania’s new apartment and then drive home. When I got home I had to force myself, truly force myself to drive back to New Orleans to the Museum of Art for a benefit for Camp Tiger. LSU Med students put together a camp for some of the special needs kids in New Orleans during the summer between their first and second years. So this was Tara’s event. I made it to the auction. Thank goodness Marianne and Kate were there. They were entertaining enough, and I got there late enough the door keepers had vacated, so they forgot to extract my $25 entry. My contribution was the collecting up of donations that I did a while ago. That was good enough for me.

A busy day, totally out of normal routines feeds the well of creativity. If I can just find/make the time to be creative…but I did have a dream window.

H– the EB White graduate did share some stories and concerns. E D White is in Thibidaux, named after a supreme court justice from the area, likely a graduate of the school before it bore his name. The School has had it’s 150th anniversary.

One memorable story H– shared was of her family. Her great great grandmother was widowed in Paris. Her father was a government functionary; France was still in the throws of it’s horrendous revolution in the 1830’s, and the widowed ancestor had to make a living for herself and her young son. He was placed in a catholic boarding school, and she headed off to St. Petersburg as a french language teacher. When her son graduated from his schooling, the widow came to Paris, and she and her son set sail for the new world. They sailed into New Orleans, as the Yellow fever epidemic of 1853 was subsiding. The safest course seemed to get out of town to the countryside to avoid the plague. The fathers or brothers of the catholic church in Thibodeauville were looking for someone to teach music, and so, H–’s great grandfather and his widowed mother packed their trunks and headed down the road. The road didn’t lead all the way to Thibodeauville. At a point about four or five miles short of their destination, they were obligated to get onto a flat boat, and be ferried on down the bayou. The reported reaction to this journey is the comment, “My GOD! From Paris to this ditch!”

The alum of the catholic high school over the years looked pretty prosperous, the cajun accent is still pretty distinct in the crowd, though H– and her near classmate showed none of it.

Looking for the photo of the day, I remembered I’d reached the end of the swamp photos, and then I recalled that I’d somehow not used my favorite photo of the bunch. So THIS is the last of the swamp series.

One thing that retirement and lots of unstructured time gives me is time to find out odd facts about my own behavior. Looking at my size, this should surprise no one but me. But I habitually medicate ruffled emotions with food. “So do you eat to live or live to eat?” my father would ask. Funny, he never had to fight weight problems. Mother on the other hand, knew how to serve up a bowl of ice cream over any emotional upheaval. She just exercised a lot of discipline and was always aware of the scale so she never got supersized.

Today, I went to the bridge game hoping to find an interesting teachable moment in the game. The plan, in my mind was to grab a couple hands and take them to the lesson time Friday night, as I’ve volunteered to teach a mini lesson before the game. So after the game, as I had no hands that grabbed me, I took a couple that my partner and I got zeroes on and brought them home to duplicate. That way *I* will learn something even if my lesson isn’t so snappy.

What I did was pick up the boards for the hands that I was going to use, and THEN, boards that replicated the dealer and the vulnerablity conditions, so I could have two tables play them and compare.. anyway, I took four of the metal boards from the box of boards at the bridge club. I’d no more than gotten home and started checking what the stock market had done, than my cell phone rang. They were going nuts looking the club over as they tidied up after the game looking for those four boards. Some detective work had gone into figuring that I’d taken them…and the conversation ended amicably. Nonetheless it took a whole bag of microwave popcorn for me to drown the guilt at having put people out for something I could have so easily have said, “I’m taking these and will return them before the game Friday.”

Two side points here…

*POINT ONE* I always read something that claims to explain the differences between the sexes. Today I saw this article in the Daily Gut, saying men are scumbags and will shag anything that will let them, and women look for their entertainment in emotional games. Maybe that’s part of where I’ve gotten the war of the sexes so wrong?? I don’t like emotional games. I have enough trouble handling my own emotions. I don’t need to play with other people’s minds like they’re toys. Oh well. Doesn’t change the fact that I miss having a man in my life.

*POINT TWO* If you volunteer to teach a mini lesson, can you ask for a donation? I could use a little cash, and I find that if you don’t pay for something you don’t really value it. I think I’ll give a lesson worth paying for. I’m willing to be fed or given something useful of any sort, or I’ll take cash. I’ll try to figure out.

Home again from quilt guild meeting. Time to post a photo and call it a night. I’ve still not gotten the boards made up, but I’ve knit through a big skein of yarn for the prayer shawl ministry.

Turtles on a log… last of the swamp photos from this winter trip.

Getyinh to a photo, I found this You toob! Take a listen to some of this. This is Pure New Orleans energy taken to a wonderful level. Eight minutes, and we’re kind of ghettoized in our musical tastes but this is wonderful energetic sound, synthesizing a lot of the joy of living in N. O.

How do you greet the day? Does the alarm vault you from the bed and into the day grumbling about leaving your covers? This day of mine is greeted in a most delightful way. I had some middle of the night sleeplessness, so I read more on the chapter of Great Expectations which I am reading most nights in bed.

Great Expectations as you recall has a couple of dream like stories woven together. My dreams are not nearly so complete in their characters and the weaving of them in their situations as Dickens manages. Still Dickens must have arisen from sound sleep to capture the marshes on the far reaches of the Thames, and the convicts escaping there. It must have been after a night of indigestion that he conjured up Miss Haversham, and her weapon of revenge on the hearts of men, Estella.

This morning I was reading the chapter where Pip is returning with Estella to visit Miss Haversham, and witnesses the first time differences between them. Miss Haversham wants Estella’s love, after spending years showering her with her own twisted love/hatred. But alas, Estella is not bent to love, only to break hearts. Estella’s response to her guardian’s wish for her love is as follows

“I begin to think…that I almost understand how this comes about. If you had brought up your adoped daughter wholly in the confines of these dark rooms, and never let her know that there was such a thing as daylight by which she has never once seen your face–if you had done that, and then for a purpose had wanted her to understand the daylight and know all about it, you would have been disappointed and angry?”

Finally the clock reads 5 ayem, and I will allow myself to get up, rejoicing that I’ll have more time in the morning, and can read my Bible verses for morning prayer, as I’ve been following the Book of Common Prayer this year. All three selections struck like arrows to the heart so I’ll share them.

The readings always start with a Psalm, or today with two as they are both short. Short and sweet, I usually don’t bother if there’s a second Psalm, but today you see there was time. And I was glad for it. Psalm 93, Five verses declaiming God the first force above the earth’s forces, specifically storms on sea. And Psalm 96, “Sing a new song to the Lord,” a call to praise the “Above All.”

There follows an Old Testament reading, Genesis 45, which is winding toward the of the tale of Joseph reuniting with his brothers, sending them to bring his father into Egypt, as there remain five more years of famine. This sets up the historical placement of the Isrealites in Egypt. God of Isreal is revealed through history. The history of the miraculous exodus is the foundational event in that history for Judaism, and by extention, Christianity.

And finally I Corinthians 13, that marvelous passage on love, “If I speak in the tongues of men and angels, and have not love…”

Alas, poor Estella, admired and unable to love, never introduced to any but the most twisted of love.

And lucky lucky us, entreated to move in all things toward loving. Loving the “Above All,” and one another.

Anyway, that’s my morning reading. Now into the day. The Psalms mentioned are quoted in full after the photo. The photo is still from New Year’s Eve, but oddly appropriate. I went over to the swamp just this last weekend to photograph spring springing.

Psalm 93

1 The Lord is king! He is robed in majesty.
Indeed, the Lord is robed in majesty and armed with strength.
The world stands firm
and cannot be shaken.

2 Your throne, O Lord, has stood from time immemorial.
You yourself are from the everlasting past.
3 The floods have risen up, O Lord.
The floods have roared like thunder;
the floods have lifted their pounding waves.
4 But mightier than the violent raging of the seas,
mightier than the breakers on the shore—
the Lord above is mightier than these!
5 Your royal laws cannot be changed.
Your reign, O Lord, is holy forever and ever.

Psalm 96

1 Sing a new song to the Lord!
Let the whole earth sing to the Lord!
2 Sing to the Lord; praise his name.
Each day proclaim the good news that he saves.
3 Publish his glorious deeds among the nations.
Tell everyone about the amazing things he does.
4 Great is the Lord! He is most worthy of praise!
He is to be feared above all gods.
5 The gods of other nations are mere idols,
but the Lord made the heavens!
6 Honor and majesty surround him;
strength and beauty fill his sanctuary.

7 O nations of the world, recognize the Lord;
recognize that the Lord is glorious and strong.
8 Give to the Lord the glory he deserves!
Bring your offering and come into his courts.
9 Worship the Lord in all his holy splendor.
Let all the earth tremble before him.
10 Tell all the nations, “The Lord reigns!”
The world stands firm and cannot be shaken.
He will judge all peoples fairly.

11 Let the heavens be glad, and the earth rejoice!
Let the sea and everything in it shout his praise!
12 Let the fields and their crops burst out with joy!
Let the trees of the forest rustle with praise
13 before the Lord, for he is coming!
He is coming to judge the earth.
He will judge the world with justice,
and the nations with his truth.

A couple of new books on the Crusades have come out, and they’re the basis of an article, Recuers, not Invaders in the WSJ today. It may be behind the pay wall, but the article starts:

The recorded past and the remembered past are seldom the same. Nowhere is this more evident than with the Crusades. The Crusades were a belated counter-offensive of Western Christians to come to the aid of Christians of the East in defending their lands against the further expansion of Islam and to free the holy city of Jerusalem from Muslim rule. In the year 600 most of the Middle East, from present-day Turkey to Iraq, including Egypt and the southern Mediterranean coast, was Christian, and its principal cities— including Alexandria, Antioch, Damascus and Jerusalem—were vibrant centers of Christian life and culture. Within a century the entire region came under Muslim rule. The Byzantine Empire, which had reached from the Strait of Gibraltar to the Persian frontier, was reduced to a Greek state in Asia Minor, Greece and the Balkans.

…

The story is told anew by Jonathan Phillips in “Holy Warriors” and by Thomas Asbridge in “The Crusades.” But there is more here than a historical account. Both books tell another, no less interesting, story as well: how the memory of the Crusades was formed in modern times.

And an image used in the article

In the image you see some sense of the hoard of the Crusaders. They flowed across Europe causing no end of dismay in Constantinople, but Christianity needed rescuing. It didn’t need the history of taking out Jewish populations, but they did establish “Frankish” kingdoms in Jerusalem and the Near East. Those kingdoms perservered for a few generations, very few, and Islam beat them back. The war is still on. Islam refuses to live in peace with the Christians or the Jews. Muslim attacks on Christians are noted frequently, but do we ever move out of our torpor? It’s much easier to believe the “religion of peace” sop that is contantly thrown our way. It’s misinformation, nothing more, nothing less. Martyrs are still dying for the faith. We yawn.

Earlier today I clipped this video. LONG time since Saturday Night Live hit a home run like this one!

Hope you had a happy “Pi Day” (you know 3/14)

Maybe it’s because it’s the only way I know of to have a few people pay me any mind, but I *DO* enjoy teaching…i.e. sharing things that I know and love and can sort of explain.

So lately I’ve been acting on impluses a lot more than would be my typical behavior. I’ve considered for a long while that I could easily give up the minutes that I go out with a lovely group of women and eat out before playing bridge Friday night, and I could give a mini lesson before the bridge game. The impulse was that I mentioned it to J & W, and now I’ll be doing a mini lesson every week. Hmmm… so now to look for an interesting hand every week.

I’m no Frank Stewart, a well known bridge writer, but I’ve been watching for interesting hands, and found this one by playing in the 2/1 teaching game, in a team format.

I’m going to be pushing my html past its limits in a hurry, but, here are the hands.

West deals. What’s your bid as West? Follow it around and predict and auction. What’s the best contract for E/W? and for N/S? At our table it went (3c p 4c 4s) (p p 5c p) (p p x..)
Unfortunately E/W make only 4c. At the other table (our teammates are seated N/S at a table playing the same cards) the opponents were allowed to play 4c making. If east passes 4s, it makes. So, 5c x saves 320 points for our team, but it’s still horrid result. What’s the lesson in this hand? I’ve got a week to work that out. Bridge teaches nothing if not humility!

Who gets the credit or the blame for this result?

I’m thinking ahead to the HTML to make this look ok.. need a table…no big deal, except that I’ve forgotten the tags and how they interact.

And a photo for your enjoyment.. lots of swamp photos. I went to the Boy Scout boardwalk in the Big Branch nature preserve today and walked and photographed spring in the wetlands. This is from Christmas. One of the tour boats for the swamp tours.

I’ve been slacking in a serious way. I just never get to blogging these days. So Sara noted that across 5 generations Tara looks a lot like her great great grandmother Addie. I promised I’d post two side by side photos. But Tara doesn’t like any picture I ever took of her. So here’s Tara.

Doesn’t look a thing like Addie. Photos taken in the 40’s didn’t require great long periods of holding still, but the habits of photographers and their models were well in place; a photographic subject didn’t smile because you wouldn’t hold a steady expression long enough to make a good image.

Yesterday Deb forwarded me a copy of a design contest that truly looked like a lot of fun to me. So I’ve knocked myself out copying the photographed files of the fabrics, trimming them so I can use them in EQ (Electric Quilt) a piece of design software. Not working. The larger scale prints show up as small splotchy sorts of prints and rather unattractive blocks. Yitch.

Not a good productive day. Not at all. But quite pleasant anyway.