Category Archives: Memories

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The Last Day Of Melanoma Awareness Month

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Some of you may know my story when it comes to melanoma. I wrote about it in detail here and I’ve shared stories of some special people in my life who died young from melanoma.

Marty and Jennifer both had an impact on my life well before cancer took them, but that they both died from melanoma connects me to them in ways deeper than just the good times we shared.

This video is one that has been making the rounds this month and I’ve seen it on a few blogs I visit. I almost skipped it thinking what else do I need to know about this dreadful disease, but I discovered a few facts I hadn’t known and it prompted me to write this post.

No matter if you’re 16 or past 70 like my friend Patrice’s mom, Marilyn, who died only seven months after her diagnosis, you need to know what melanoma looks like and how quickly it can take your life or the life of someone you love.

Spend a few minutes on The Skin Cancer Foundation’s site and forward this post or parts of it to people you love.

May is Melanoma Awareness Month and awareness can save your life. I know because it saved mine.

With my melanoma history, my daughter’s chances of skin cancer increase by 50%. Sunscreen and skin checks by a dermatologist are vital along with a good awareness of how her moles normally look so she can tell if they change in any way. She would likely say I was a bit of a nag as much as I talk to her about checkups and sunscreen, but watching people you love die from something that might  have been preventable is a horrible thing to witness.

Most people think they know enough about melanoma or they think it only affects you when you’re older, but sites like this one meant to educate a younger generation say that melanoma is the second leading cause of death in 15 to 30 year-olds. Facts like these are worth paying attention to so please listen and please talk to the people you love.

Don’t say goodbye to someone too soon.

A Last Goodbye - Patrice & Joe At Their Mother's Grave

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Memorial Day Memories In 2011

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For much of my life remembering the war dead on Memorial Day has been about those lost during WWII or the Vietnam War. It was easier when I was younger to balance a plate of barbecue while watching a parade of war veteran’s marching to honor fallen comrades. It was more distant then, less personal.

There were stories of course like those I heard about my great-uncle Hugh Lee, who died in France during WWII, but nothing close enough to affect me personally. Having died years before I was born, it was my father and my great-grandmother who talked about him the most and made him more to me than just a name on a gravestone in the family plot.

Gratefully, he was the last in our immediate family to die in service and while my father and I both spent time in the Army, neither of us were faced with military conflict.

At fifty, I struggle to read the news reports of war related deaths especially when I see that some of the people dying are my daughter’s age or younger. I can’t imagine their parent’s grief. I don’t want to know how that feels.

What I do know is how important the stories we share are no matter if they happen at the cemetery or over a plate of barbecue. I won’t be doing either today, no visits to war memorials and no family gatherings with food or conversation, but I will remember and not just my family.

I’ll spend some time today with the stories I usually can’t bear to read because this is a day for remembering and for acknowledging the loss that some people can never forget.

Here’s one of my stories from last year. If you have a link to one you’d like to share, feel free to leave it in a comment below.

 

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An Update From The Edge

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Where do I begin …

Let me first say how moved I have been by the messages of support and encouragement I have received since my last post. I have had weepy moments reading and rereading your kind words and your suggestions as to how I might find some peace have been a great help to me. As I’ve managed to move through panic and a mix of other palpitation inducing emotions, I find I am learning some unexpected lessons in letting go.

I spent time yesterday with two close friends who have been helping me enormously with some of the logistical issues I’m dealing with now. Their kindness, and generosity of time and resources have been such a gift to me and their support has made it possible me to move away from a temporary ‘ Chicken Little ‘ mentality that made me feel a bit crazy last week.

As important as their physical support has been, I also had two separate conversations with them that were illuminating and likely to be life changing. You know how people can say something over and over and you think you’ve heard it, well bless them both for their tenacity and willingness to keep repeating themselves because it finally got through my filter. By filter, I mean the voice in my head that wants to qualify, justify, or explain, instead of considering a different possibility.

This time, I think got it and I’m not sure that would have been possible with being so wide open emotionally from the unrelated issue I alluded to in my previous post.

Despite being in such a scary place of uncertainty last week I am managing well now day by day and doing what I need to wrap things up so I can go home to Cornwall and John. I have had so many offers of help and support so many that I am deliberately not naming names here for fear I might accidentally leave someone out.

To all of you who’ve left me such kind messages, I thank you. You helped me leap to the next place which turned out to be a better one. Not all the issues are resolved here, but I do feel better about what comes next.

xo

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Facebook, A Virtual Social Circle

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Wylly Folk St John House (date unknown)

Some of you may remember from earlier posts that my great-aunt, Wylly Folk St John was a children’s book author who enjoyed a good bit of success with the mysteries she wrote primarily during the 60s and 70s. I’ve mentioned how she also wrote for years for the Atlanta Journal and Constitution and how she gave the very best presents on birthdays and at Christmas, but I don’t think I’ve shared much about the house she lived in with her husband, my uncle Tom.

I believe my sister Margaret sent me this old photo of their home. I’m not sure when it was taken, but it looked much better than this when I was growing up. I have some very clear memories of their home in Social Circle. With a name as inviting as one suggesting a gathering of friends, I sometimes wonder if it was the name that drew her to the small town or its proximity to Atlanta where she worked part-time for the newspaper.

Pictures of this house take me back and I can almost hear the rustle of her clothing as she moved though its rooms and the unique sound of her voice calling to me to join her in the kitchen. Lyrical with an edginess that’s difficult to explain, her southern born Savannah raised roots were very apparent, but didn’t dominant her accent as much as the rise and fall of her speech patterns. Writing this now, I wonder if there’s a recording somewhere of her speaking.

My cousin Jenny sent me a friend suggestion on Facebook this morning for the woman who is living in Aunt Wylly’s old house now with her husband. Say what you will about Facebook and privacy issues, but being able to meet the people even if only virtually through the internet is a gift with surprise deliveries like the one I received this morning.

Jenny said they’ve done a wonderful job restoring the house and have some great stories about the process. It shouldn’t be hard to guess who I’ll be sending a message to when I have a minute. You know I’m keen to hear stories in general, but to learn more about things they may have discovered in the renovation process, I can’t even begin to tell you how excited that makes me!

Jenny is the blond child in the photo below. She and her sister Becky were flower girls at my mother and father’s wedding on a December day during the last few weeks of 1959. We haven’t seen each other for years due to geographic distance and opportunity and our communication has been limited to sporadic letters and Christmas cards until recently when we renewed our contact through Facebook earlier this year.

Becky & Jenny - Flower Girls - 1959

Writing this post, I thought about how Facebook is a sort of virtual social circle and while not the Social Circle that Aunt Wylly called home; Jenny’s link and friend suggestion have created an opportunity for me to meet someone I might never have met otherwise.

What do you think about social networking sites like Facebook, do you love or hate them and have they brought you any new friends or reunited you with old ones you didn’t expect to ever see again?

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200-Year-Old Love Letter Inspires Online Serial Novel

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Graham Simpson (Internet Photo-Gloucestershire News)

Ideas can come from many places when I’m writing. Often it’s a product of my desire to know the rest of a news story and if there isn’t one available, my mind will certainly fill in the missing pieces. Such is the case with the serial novel I’m writing and posting on Gifts Of The Journey. If you missed the first two chapters, you can catch up by clicking here and here.

I’ll be writing a new ‘chapter ‘ each week, none of which will be too long to read in a few minutes online so don’t let the word chapter put you off. Even though I am having a good time with it and can see that some of you are too, I would love to see how much of an audience we can build together.

With that in mind, I’m hoping you will take a few minutes to send it friends, blog about it yourself, or post a link on your social networking sites especially as we are only two chapters in and it’s still easy to catch up.

I may not be Charles Dickens, (‘King’of the serial novel) but I do have an intriguing tale evolving in my head that I think you and possibly your friends will enjoy. Rest assured, I’m writing a chapter a week so it could go off in directions that haven’t occurred to me yet and every chapter is a bit of a surprise to me as well.

One thing I found about writing in this style is that once you put it out there, you can’t go back and change an event if you change your mind. You have to find a way to write your way out if you get stuck in the history of what you’ve written. It’s already happened to me a time or two and I’ve decided that I am loving the challenge this involves.

Background

Some of you may have noticed a similarity in ‘ Dear Madame’ to a recent news story and I want to share a bit of the details so you have an idea as to why some aspects of my story may seem familiar.

Earlier this year, an upholsterer in a shop in Tewkesbury, England found a 200-year-old love letter stuffed deep in an armchair purchased in France. After posting the letter on Facebook to have help in translating it, the romantic missive created a bit of media attention here in the UK when the BBC picked up the story. No one knows more than what is written in the letter and like many others, I wondered what the rest of the story might be.

Not long ago, I wrote a post challenging my readers to leave a comment so I might use one to write a mini short story. I found myself stopping at a point when there was still a story to be told although the story direction had not yet revealed itself to me.

Some of my readers seemed to enjoy it as much as I did and wished to hear more of the ‘Dear Madame ‘ storyline and it was while writing the next chapter that the idea came to me and the story of the two lovers and lost letter began to take shape.

Of course, the love letter is not the whole of the story, but only one part that will reveal itself as the story progresses. I hope you come back and see where it goes each week and thanks for sharing it with others in your world.

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4/16/07 – A VT Mom Remembers

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Virginia Tech 4.17.07

We are strong, and brave, and innocent, and unafraid. We are better than we think and not quite what we want to be. We are alive to the imaginations and the possibilities. We will continue to invent the future through our blood and tears and through all our sadness.

~ Nikki Giovanni

I woke this morning to see this quote on my daughter Miranda’s Facebook page along with a few words of her own noting the significance of this day for her and for many associated with Virginia Tech and its community. She has shared with me some of the private ways she remembers the 32 who died that day and I’m grateful that she has found a way to honor their memory in a way that hopefully gives her some sense of peace.

I say hopefully, and peace, with more optimism than I really feel because I’m not sure how one who has been in the middle of something so violent and unexplainable can ever really let go of some of the questions that have no answers.

This is not the first time I’ve written about this day and likely won’t be the last. I know the events of 4.16.07 have had a lasting impact on my daughter and I worry as a mother does about the silent sorrows that remain hers alone, the thoughts she chooses not share.

My father died 20 years ago, long before Miranda could know him well enough to have any memory of him and for the last few weeks I have been hearing something he wrote. It’s been in my head on an endless repeat cycle almost in the way you hear a tune that won’t go away and I’ve been puzzled as to why until just this minute as I was considering my daughter and how inadequate I’ve felt over the last four years watching her deal with her memories on her own.

People we love reach out to us in their own time or sometimes not at all and if it’s your child, watching from the sidelines can be a difficult position to occupy. I tend to be emotional and very open with my feelings, giving in easily to my tears now after years of holding back. Miranda is more stoic and more like my dad, tender-hearted for sure but private and contained. It’s interesting that I’d not noticed that similarity until today and it comforts me to feel as if my dad were reaching out in a way with some paternal advice reminding me of who I once was and how our positions are now reversed.

The words that have been with me the last few weeks seem perfect in this moment and the meaning clear as I struggle with my own memories and search for ways to support a daughter who seems fine on her own. I am quoting my father when I say to my daughter as he once quietly said to me, ” I am here as you need me. “

And I add to his words my own, saying, ” In this, and in all things, I am here as you need me “

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Not Half, But Whole – Remarriage & Children

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Bryan Cooper, Cullene Harper, Jennie Harper, & Elizabeth Harper - April 14, 1975

Young children can’t always grasp the concept of how they are related when parents divorce, find new love, and have more children with new partners and spouses. When they each bring children from previous relationships to the new family, the soup becomes an even more complicated mix of half and step siblings making it sometimes necessary for a flow chart of sorts when explaining family ties.

I’m the eldest of four girls with only two of us having the same set of parents. Born in 1962, Margaret and I are two years apart. Ten years later, our sister Pam was born into our mother’s second marriage. I remember hearing words like half-sister then and even though I was a reasonably intelligent 9-year-old, I was a bit confused by the concept especially having only just met four step-siblings that I don’t remember ever seeing again.

By 1974 my youngest sister, Jennie, was born on Easter Sunday and being halfway through my thirteenth year, I had a better understanding of the half not whole concept at least in theory. Nicknamed Bunny, by her granddad, she was the child of my dad and my stepmom, Cullene.

Margaret and I were living in Tennessee when the news came of her birth, having been moved away from Georgia by our mother after a judge decreed my dad should be able to see his children more than one Saturday a month.

By the time Jennie was celebrating her first birthday in the photo above, I was living in Georgia with my dad and Cullene watching them navigate through territory that looking back, was more recent and familiar to me than it was to them.

Jennie was born to Cullene when she was forty having passed the age when she thought she’d ever have a child and with twelve years between my dad and his last diaper change, I’m sure he felt as if he were learning everything again for the first time.

In my life with my mother and sisters in Tennessee, I had been largely responsible for overseeing Pam’s care and knew the kind of childcare things that an older sibling knows when there’s a big difference in ages. ” Watch your sister, ” was an all-encompassing directive that could include bathing, feeding, or playing, and I was good at it.

While planning my escape to Georgia only six months before this picture was taken, I hadn’t realized that saving myself might mean losing my sisters. After I left, my mother cut off all communication and moved my sisters to another state changing my sister Margaret’s last name in the process. I lost my relationship with Margaret for the ten years that followed and four-year old Pam grew up with no memory of me, a situation that she and I have never recovered from. Despite my previous efforts, Pam and I are strangers.

In the image of above, you can see me hanging on to my sister Jennie’s birthday hat. After my move, I remember feeling as if I were free-floating and barely secured, much like the hat with only the tiniest bit of pressure keeping me grounded and in place.

That I am only half in the picture feels like an apt metaphor for how I felt about my life then. Everything familiar was gone and even though I was finally safe from the life I had been forced to keep secret, I was struggling to adjust to one without my sisters, Margaret and Pam, and my mother too, despite her treatment.

I began this post with a whole different focus. I was looking for a cute photo to add to a Facebook greeting for my sister’s birthday when I found this one. Having recently had a conversation with John about children and how little they may understand the half versus whole concept when new siblings arrive, I was struck by the memory of this time in my life and today’s writing shifted direction.

My youngest sister Jennie is 37 today, an age I remember so clearly it feels like five minutes ago. I’m sure she would say I’ve been trying to boss her around her whole life while dispensing advice as if I were a third parent or an older aunt, but I have always seen her as my sister, the baby for sure, but always whole and never half.

Although not the big birthday post I’d envisioned, I want to say, ” Happy Birthday Jennie,” from your sister Elizabeth, who once felt half, but now understands whole.

Sisters - Elizabeth, Margaret, and Jennie Harper - 1974

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What To Wear When You Work At Home & Other Thoughts

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It’s 9:15 here and I’m still in my jammies. In a few minutes, I’ll change into my work clothes which often look like the photo below that John took of me the other day. That’s me with my sweet little Canon G11 that allows me capture most of the images you see here, at least those I’ve taken since September 2010.

My work at home attire must meet certain requirements, comfort and flexibility for movement are key so I can crawl out onto to the rocks if necessary when I want to get close to my subject. My camera must be in my other hand because I’m trying to get that stick out of my shot without falling in the water.

I need to tell you that this spot is walking distance from the house here in Cornwall and not  a photo from New Zealand as John and I like to refer to it when discussing it in passing as in, ” You know the river spot that looks like it’s from a Peter Jackson movie.”

Yesterday, I attended a planning strategy meeting. I left the laptop and cell phone behind and took notes the old-fashioned way with a pen on some small squares of paper which I carried in my pocket and scribbled on when I had an idea I thought might work for a novel I’m writing. I was interrupted a few times in the lanes by passing cars requiring me to give way. Some even caught me with pen and paper in hand which must have looked funny given I was dressed for a run like in the first photo. (The photo below is one of the lanes in summer)

There were some other distractions though, seven to be specific. Unlike the old days when a colleague might drop by to discuss a project, my distractions were a different sort. Having intentionally left my camera at home yesterday, I have to substitute a couple of older photos taken on days out like yesterday. Distractions that like to give your hand a lick and wag their tail with delight are always welcome in my world.

This was taken in the buttercup field I’m always referring to in other posts.

Here are a few examples of past work clothing.

I had to wear this look five days a week for three and a half years. It made getting ready for work in the morning very easy.

I’m on the far left in this shot taken during my pharmaceutical career. I won a sales award that night. Judging by the look on my face this must have been taken before I won it. This company did not like for women to wear slacks to work even if it was a suit. Not sure how the woman in the back pulled it off. ( I never realized the size of those shoulder pads, yikes! )

This was taken on a day when I did a presentation along with a local physician who talked about HIV related anemia. I remember this day very well because an older man on crutches (permanent, not temporary) came up to me later and shook my hand. He held it a bit longer than one normally would and said, ” You’re a writer ” which was totally out of context for the event and certainly unrelated to anything I had said that day. I remember I got all teary and had to work to keep from crying.

His look was intense and later when I asked someone about him, they said he had a gift for knowing things and that people went to see him for help. They stopped short of saying psychic as he didn’t like to be called psychic, but said he was known for helping people with his gift. It was certainly an unexpected gift to me that day. To have a stranger sum up something so important, something I barely allowed myself to think about as a real possibility given my work schedule and other things, well … I’ve never forgotten it.

I worked with these ladies on projects a time or two. This one was a breakfast on World AIDS Day. Three of us were working for pharmaceutical companies while Debra at the far left, organized the breakfast and worked for a local hospital at the time. She went on to work with Karen who is standing behind me. Karen ended up working for my old company when she and Debra where downsized from her longtime employer.

Sometimes my work day attire was more fun that other days and I had to hang out with half-naked men. No jokes please about that fanny pack or bum bag, depending on your country of origin, that I’m wearing around my waist. It was a company giveaway and I had to do it.

This was a bad phone photo of me dressed for work in 2008 when I was working for a local hospice. I was in a doctor’s office at the time and wanted to email John a photo of me at work. Can you tell I like black?

 

Elizabeth Harper - Wedding Photographer 2009

Here’s a job I love doing and what I generally like to wear when I’m working. (Note … I hate to shoot posed group shots like this and only do it on request) I’m not sure who to credit for this photo.

John took this one of me shooting from the balcony of a church in Barford, England as the bride was entering. I like to wear black when I photograph weddings and so far no one has yet to confuse me with a waiter. If anyone ever asks me for a drink, I’ll just smile innocently and say, ” Yes please.”

That’s it for today, I’ve got to tie on my work shoes and hit the road for another planning meeting. Sometimes I talk to myself when I’m working through plot lines and yesterday I got caught by an older man who I didn’t see working behind a hedge in his back garden. I felt obliged to stop and explain and I’m still not sure if what I said made sense. His Cornish accent was pretty thick and one can only say, “Pardon?” so many times without feeling foolish. It’s the kind of thing that could come up later in pub conversation as in, ” Aye, did ya know that American girl talks to herself when she’s writing her notes in the lanes. “

Sounds like a partial blurb for a book jacket in a way … American author, Elizabeth Harper, wrote much of her first published novel on notecards while pretending to run through the lanes around the village in Cornwall that she calls home. It was only after hearing a bit of good-natured pub chatter about her antics that she decided on the title, ” Mad Lizzy ” for this well written first book.

It’s actually not the name of the novel I’m working on, but I like it so well that I might use it for something later. What do you think?

 

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Finding The Inspiration For “Dear Madame”

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As promised, I’m back to reveal the winner of the randomly drawn comment contest. If you guessed Patricia, you’d be right. Patricia’s comment was the one selected by random.org, but I have to say that I found parts of some of the other comments popping up when there was an opportunity to be included.

When I sat down to write the mini short story on Thursday, I had a vague idea of direction based on Patricia’s comment about her mother and her research into their family history. With only a few hours to devote to the project as we were expecting John’s daughters for the weekend with one arriving that night, my Thursday had a few other things demanding my attention and distractions were everywhere.

I always wish to deliver interesting writing, but initially I felt bored by my idea and struggled with the opening paragraph as well as the direction. This changed when I allowed the words to just come and Patricia’s character to show me who she was instead of forcing her to be rigidly defined by what I thought she would say, think, or do. I tend to think first of all the things my characters would never do instead of letting them have more choices. I often did this with my characters when I was acting as well and lack of choice is no good for writing, acting, or real life.

Real life … just writing that makes me wonder if I’ve been braver and more risk taking in my life than I allow for my writing and my characters. I’ll have to give that some thought.

If you had trouble deciding which comment I used, it might be because of the bits of others I mentioned including as well. Windy’s comment had much of her history in a few short paragraphs with one containing the number 17 and it’s significance in her life. Heiko also included numbers in his comment and so the number 6 found its way into my story as well. The mysterious letter had roots in Windy’s correspondence with her English pen-pal, although I think you will find that despite the letter’s UK return address, the way it begins with the words, ” Dear Madame ”  is designed to show that the writer is not British, but French.

Thanks to your enthusiasm for this little story and based on your request for more, I’ll continue, ” Dear Madame ”  in a post during the coming week.

I’m including the comments from the initial post found here along with a few follow-up thoughts from me. I really enjoyed your comments and special thanks to all of you commenting for the first time especially those who mentioned they had been reading for a while. It’s lovely to “meet ” you and I hope you will continue to add your thoughts when you feel inclined.

  1. preobrazhenskii on March 28, 2011 at 12:40 pm said: The quote by W.B. Yeats is indeed quite apt, and your post does reflect upon what we are searching for when reading other peoples blogs.
    Preobrazhenskii ~ I would love to be able to get to what appears to be a blog, but your link doesn’t work 😦

  2. I don’t know that I have anything to share today, but I think this is a wonderful idea. I know for a long time I was afraid to comment on other people’s blogs. The evil inner critic inside me would whisper things in my head: “What if I said something stupid? I can’t say things better than they can . . . ” But, adding comments makes this blogging world a much richer place. We learn from each other. We challenge each other. We also feed each other’s ideas and spur each other onto even greater feats of posting. But ultimately, the thing I love the most is the sharing of stories–because there are infinite variations that show one thing, our common humanity.

    Lisa ~ Comments make blogging fun as well as educational (like your post the other day on rejection and publishing) and you just can’t beat the support that can be found in the blogging community. Thanks for coming back.

  3. Hi, Elizabeth, I’ve been reading your blog for several years – I don’t even remember how I came across it now. Hmmm, something about me. I live in the Pacific NW. My dream is to write more, to inspire others to reach for their dreams. I enjoy sharing your journey from afar.

    Rebecca ~ I would be willing to bet you might have found GOTJ from a comment left by me on Chookooloonks as I can see by your blog that you visit there as well. Judging by your photographs, you live in an inspiring part of the world.

  4. I am an 82 year “old lady” living in Indiana with my oldest daughter (I have 3) and her husband. I have one grandson 25, granddaughters 30, 24 and almost 18 (the recent lead in the high school musical Anything Goes). (pause to take the Dachshund out) My husband passed away when my oldest was 14. I consider 17 MY number in life. I was 17 when I graduated from, high school, was married to my husband for 17 years when he passed away, worked for 17 years as a legal secretary for a well known international company in Wisconsin, and was with my last companion for 17 years when he passed away in 2000, so I’m wondering what I have to look forward to in 2017??? I will be 88, so I’m pretty sure what it will be.

    I corresponded with an English girl through high school and until her early death. She named her first daughter Gail, which is part of my name. Unfortunately, I lost track of the family.

    I am an avid reader and was recently given a Kindle. My daughter filled it with books by authors I like and I said they will have to bury it with me, I’ll never get them all read, especially when I keep adding more.

    I enjoy your blog and the lovely pictures you post.

    Windy ~ I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see a woman with your life experience interested in my blog. I smile every time you leave a comment and especially enjoyed when you wrote that you ” pause to take the Dachshund out .”  I would love to know more about your correspondence with the English friend who died. If I knew more I might be able to help track her family and daughter for you. Thanks so much for your kind comments regarding my blog and photographs.

  5. My Grandmother had a glass case of dolls in National costumes from all the countries my Grandfather had visited with his work, and places they’d travelled to on holiday. It was kept in the dining room. I would sit by that case looking at them and imagine their stories. They were all the more special being out of reach – look, but don’t touch.

    Sarah ~ I love the story of the dolls. It reminded me of a quilt I had as a child with dolls in national costumes on it. I really enjoy being able to check in to see your lovely family and New Zealand photos. I’m so glad we had a chance to meet through Hay.

  6. I usually don’t comment on blogs. I have fallen in love with Cornwall through your vivid descriptions and beautiful pictures. I usually stop by every few days during my quiet evenings to see if you’ve posted anything. Today my sister is in the hospital, so I’m here during the day while she sleeps.

    Carol ~ Even though you don’t usually comment on blogs, I glad you decided to comment on mine. Cornwall is so beautiful and I’m pleased to be able to share it. I hope your sister is on the mend.

  7. what a clever idea. I visit you often, usually leaving a small comment but maybe not always – i am horrible with words. I bring up your blog and keep it to the side of my desktop and read on it in bits while at work. Your posts always leave me thinking and many times you leave a link that I follow and then get side tracked. I love your blog, i love the way you write with such intelligence – usually teaching me something new. I can’t really think of anything new to share at the moment maybe i’ll be back with something later.
    (what i wonder about most is, why, when i visit someone’s blog on a regular basis and leave comments trying to make friends – why they can not, at least once, visit me. it just seems rude to me.)

    Leslye ~ Thanks for your kind comments and support. I think we’ve been blogging buddies since the very early days of GOTJ and you were the first blogger I had the pleasure of meeting face to face. I get something from your lovely photos each time I visit your blog.

  8. I love the picture of the tree! And you already know everything about me!

    Suzanne ~ I know there’s loads of stuff I don’t know about you. Loads! I’m always glad to see you.

  9. I have so enjoyed reading your blog ever since I discovered it. I love the photographs, but you are also an excellent writer as well. I probably comment too much.

    I spent some time in England years ago and I thought, if I ever save the money to go to Europe again I will skip England and go to a country I’ve not seen, like Italy or Ireland. Now, however, I think I would love to see Cornwall. It’s so lovely. Thanks for giving us all a window on that part of the world!

    Dee ~ You’re in luck with regard to how close Cornwall is to Ireland so you could see both very easily. You can never comment too much for me and I always appreciate your thoughts. Thanks for your support of both my writing and photography. I always feel a bit closer to my Georgia roots when I read your blog and I’m glad I found it.

  10. Hi Elizabeth,
    I enjoy reading your blogs, and often I think about adding my little bit. Sometimes though, I head out the door and think, “I’ll answer to that one after …”. Great intentions!
    I live in the South Island, New Zealand, and this year sees me attending our local Polytechnic as an adult student. I decided last year to do something I had always wanted to do – cooking. So I am now in my second year of a Chef course. I have other passions and hobbies too, and some of these make their way onto my own blog.
    The picture of the tree and the quote is so good. So true.
    Keep up the good words of encouragement.
    Valerie

    Valerie ~ How nice that you decided to say hello. I like knowing who my New Zealand readers are. Such a beautiful country you have and I’m glad I had a chance to spend time there last year. I liked what you had to say about your Chef’s course, it reminded me of my dear friend Marty who was in Chef’s school when he died.

  11. One of the joys in life for me is talking to and meeting people, I sometimes do it to the annoyance of my wife as she always says `you don`t know them`, she has over the five years we have been married got used to me having conversations with total strangers and finds her self doing the same on odd occasions.
    Some of the ways I have met people are through commenting on pictures on their blog/website/flickr, I actually did the same with yourself, I must have read the whole of your blog sometimes commenting others just reading everything you have to say and the things you do.
    I was disappointed a few weeks ago, I sent you a fairly long email about myself and my travels and work but unfortunately I did not get a reply.
    I did mention in the email that I lived in Somerset and that only Devon separates me from my favourite county of Cornwall, I comment on peoples pictures as I am a photographer and retired from working my lifetime as a Television Cameraman, do I miss my work, heck yes! but being a photographer now in my quiet years keeps me happy and being able to talk to strangers I meet keeps me alert.
    I will pick my number as 26, that was my age when I moved from the North of England city of Manchester to Taunton in Somerset, why! to further my career in Television as there were more opportunities in the West Country than the City Of Manchester as there are less people in the West Country than the industrial North which led to more work opportunities we also had two children at that time and we thought it would be a better environment for them.
    Unfortunately my wife then decided she could not live with me being away from home for days/weeks with my work. Our children had grown up by then and had families of their own, we still got on even though we were divorced, another number which I could add (cheating I know) is 6, that was the day in February this year 2011 which she unfortunately died of a terrible cancer in her neck.
    May I say that the Gifts Of My Journey`s are made all the better reading your blog, reading about your`s and your husbands life, along with the many blogs I read and in some cases the people I have met through their blogs.

    Heiko

    Heiko~ I think I covered you in the comment below. I’ve been trying to get back to a proper email, but can’t seem to get there. I’ll hope you’ll let this be enough. Thanks so much for reading and commenting.

  12. Heiko ~ Let me first say that I am sincerely sorry I did not get back to you. I do remember your email and thought at the time how lovely it was that you took the time to share so much. While I am not the best at email follow up sometimes, I don’t normally drop the ball so completely. I just went back through my email and found yours and promise to get back to you with a proper response. I do appreciate the connections and people I meet through blogging and I’m glad you came back and reminded me of my tardiness. I can assure that it was not an intentional omission, but rather a distracted oversight. Looking back, I feel sure that I meant to share your email with my husband before I replied, as his career was in television too and I just did not get back to it. I hope you will accept my apology. :-(

  13. I hope you will accept my apologies. :-(
    Elizabeth, Accepted Thank You

    Heiko

  14. Hi! I’m the Florida gal who won the CD from you a while back. I did enjoy the music and want to thank you again.
    What resonated with me recently? Actually, your series on your trip to New Zealand did. I had not talked about that part of your blog with my husband, and he suddenly informed me that he would like to move there some day. My husband is a Florida boy who has always said that he never wants to move, yet he is suddenly planning a future like that! Needless to say, I found myself going back and looking at your beautiful pictures again. Yes, even after the earthquake, we think that we would like the change. It would have to be after little boy goes to college, giving us some time to plan.

    Cindy ~ Good to see you again! I’m glad you’ve enjoyed Benjamin’s CD. How funny that your husband has decided New Zealand is the place for him earthquakes and all especially after seeming as if he’d never leave Florida. I need to post some more NZ pics because I have so many amazing shots of that beautiful county. Maybe you could plan a family trip when your son is a little older. We saw a fair amount of people traveling with children. Thanks for saying hello and sharing your comment.

  15. I just began reading your blog. I followed a link from another blog, then subscribed because I enjoy reading your posts and I love Cornwall (it’s so different from where I live in the southwestern US). My mother is a couple of generations removed from the tin mines near St Just, and we shared a wonderful trip to Cornwall almost 20 years ago. If it’s possible to be homesick for a place you’ve visited only once, then I am–and your photos are a wonderful ticket back to that lovely place. I look forward to reading your story as it unfolds.

    Barb ~ I believe it is certainly possible to be homesick for a place you’ve only seen once. I felt that way about the Isle of Skye after the first time I went in 2003 on a trip with my daughter. I went back again in 2004, 2005, and 2008 and John and I will go again later this year. Cornwall has a beauty and pull just as strong although it’s different from the western highlands. I’m glad my photographs make you feel like you’re able to see Cornwall again. Come back whenever you need a little holiday and please say hello.

  16. Sabrina on March 29, 2011 at 6:56 am said:

    I read your blogs all the time over tea before work, or late at night after a long day haha. I am a 22 year old writer who is currently in the USAF. I enjoy seeing the photos of England and your life that you share and the stories make me laugh, make me cry, make me think of situations that I have been in that are similar. I like having a place to go to read something that I enjoy.

    Sabrina ~ I love seeing a young service member who is female reading my blog and finding common ground. You may know about my own time in the military from some of my previous blog posts. I’d be interested in reading your writing, is there a place where your work is available to read? Thanks again for commenting.

  17. Patricia on March 29, 2011 at 7:31 am said:

    Hi Elizabeth –
    I happen to be a new reader having just found you on Sunday the 27th in the comments section of the Shutter Sisters website (Mar 26th entry about “No Trespassing” and the lengths we’ll go to get the perfect shot). I love reading comments and I tend to be a silent lurker but today you inspired me to answer your call to make some noise.
    The first entry I read on your blog was about the UK Census. Seeing those old census records pictured on your site took me back to my childhood. When I was a kid, my mother decided to research and record our family tree. My mom always loved working out puzzles so this was a challenge that appealed to her…find the pieces, put them together, new mysteries revealed or old mysteries solved… I remember summer vacations at my grandparents’ home in the Ottawa Valley area where day trips wouldn’t be complete without a stop to find a particular headstone at one graveyard or another located on dry, dusty country roads (they all seem to be located on dry, dusty country roads…). This also included the bonus of visits to the more mature members of the family from other “branches” of the “tree” who, although were well-known to my mother and grandparents, were really just strangers to me. At the age of 12, this did not spell F-U-N. I suppose that sentiment might be predictable for most 12 year-olds, but it is truly one of those experiences that I find unforgettable (in a good way!).
    Now in my mid-forties, of course, my appreciation for what my mother was working to achieve increased over the years, especially as the family tree grew and spots were being filled with names and historical details. Mom passed away 3 years ago. Amongst her belongings was a giant bin of “research” that I did not have the heart to go through or toss out…I strongly suspect there’s golden clues hidden in there. As the eldest child in my family and eldest grandchild of our clan, I’m feeling the urge to continue where my mother left off. She made it about 5 or 6 generations back on the tree and I think the next step will involve a trip across “the pond” to investigate our British roots. A daunting task but exciting to wonder where it will all lead…hopefully the discovery of relatives past and maybe even present!
    Looking forward to reading future posts and getting to know you better…

    Patricia ~ Well, you know by now that your comment was the WINNER!  I’m so glad you decided to share your story. My husband is very into his family history having picked up where his dad left off when he died. Instead of a “giant bin” of research like your mom had, he opened the garage to find it stacked full of documents his dad had accumulated from his years of research. Thanks again for taking time to comment and please come back.

  18. Mariellen on March 29, 2011 at 8:56 am said:

    Well I share from time to time, in a somewhat opinionated way I fear, but do not blog enough myself – fancy being on a writing course as I am right now ..and not writing much!?! Actually we are writing loads, but in in-class exercises.

    Looking forward to sharing more with you and your readers. Soon.

    Absolutely loved the tree pic, one of your many beautiful photos.

    Mariellen ~ You are never too opinionated for me! You should blog more often as you do it so well. I can’t wait to hear all about your classes.

  19. What a good idea, Elizabeth. I often wonder why more people don’t leave comments and wonder if I scare them with my opinionated ways. I definitely lack your charm, my friend, but it’s hard to be charming with all the crap going on in the U.S. Maybe that’s why I like to visit here, to be transported to a tranquil, lovely place far away from the reach of Fox News.

    Jayne ~ I’m always happy to see you. You get tons of comments on your blog … what are you talking about? If you’re interested in meeting a Cornish man, I’ve been checking one out for you in the village, plus there are loads of people with horses here.

  20. Gifts of the Journey became one of my blog favorites because I’m an Anglophile at heart, especially intrigued by Cornwall. I’ve not been to Great Britain yet but it’s in my bucket list. Your site beckoned also because of the photographs.

    There is no particular story attached to me, wife, mother, grandmother; still working but hoping to retire soon so that I might spend more time on my passion: photography. Right now there are not enough hours in the day to do all the ideas in my head!

    As I’ve followed your blog, I’ve become more drawn in by the personal narrative that you share so openly with us. Isn’t it funny how reading blogs can make you feel like the writer is your friend? It’s the same way with online photo groups. I have a group of online photography gal pals that I feel are friends, and am convinced that if ever we meet in person, we’ll sit and chat like we’ve known each other for years.

    One of the most exciting things about online followings and groups is the opportunity to view life as it is around the globe, see the things that are different than our home base, yet the things that are so much the same. It is indeed, “a small world after all.”

    Dotti ~ I’m glad to read your comment and have a chance to explore your lovely blog. It feels as if I’ve been there before and makes me wonder if you’ve commented in the past. I know what you mean about the writer feeling like a friend and think that’s one of the best parts of blogging. If UK travel is on your list, I hope you are making a plan to get here. I tell people not to wait until you are retired … travel while you are able do and see all that you’ve dreamed of over the years. Come to the UK while you are able to walk the coast paths with ease and climb the mountains in Scotland and Wales.

  21. I’ve been in love with Cornwall since I was a teenager. I first discovered it in the Victoria Holt novels and then was rekindled by it in Frenchman’s Creek.

    I had been to England before, but had never been to Cornwall so in 2004 my boyfriend at the time (now husband) and I took a trip down. I didn’t get to see Falmouth (which is what I really wanted to see because of Frenchman’s Creek) nor did I get to see Bodmin Moor (the other piece I wanted to see) but, I was able to spend a few days along the shore and experience how amazing it is.

    I’m moving to London in 10 weeks…so I’ll be looking for pretty much any excuse I can to go see what I saw in books in my childhood….

    Sarah B ~ I’ve been enjoying your blog for a while although I’m not sure how I found it. I know you’re pretty excited to move to London and if you want a look at Falmouth, I may have some photographs from visits there. John had a sailboat in Falmouth when I first met him and his brother sails out of the marina still so we’re no strangers to the area. You’ll have to plan a Cornwall trip once you settle in London. You’re moving at the best time of the year which is pretty jammy. (British expression for lucky) Thanks for reading and commenting.

    Heidi Partin on March 30, 2011 at 10:07 pm said:

  22. I have enjoyed reading your blog for about a year now. Your writing brings me peace. Your pictures bring me beauty. Peace and beauty always seem to go together, don’t they?

    I am 42 years old and am going through a mid-life crisis, I guess. My outside life is so “normal” but my inner self is in chaos. I am trying to get a grip of that. I have 3 children between 16 and 11. My youngest is high functioning autistic. I know I have been a good mother. There is much more mothering to do still but I can’t help feel unsatisfied. Is this it? I have stayed home all these years to nurture, to love, to clean, and to be there for them. I all of sudden feel quite empty.

    No one has really been there for me. My husband is a good husband; he provides and is there when needed; but we are task masters and no longer dream makers. I wonder when things changed for us. How sad not to know.

    And so you give me inspiration in your journey. Your journey has taken many turns from what I have read and yet you still have enough flame to make changes, to take leaps. Someday, I hope to dream again.

    Heidi ~ You sound as if you are certainly in the middle of what can be seen several ways. Judging by your age and that of your oldest child, you and I became mothers at about the same age. While I only have one daughter, I do understand some of what you are feeling. I think you have summed up the feelings of many your age who are at your stage of life when you said, ” we are task masters and no longer dream makers.” I imagine that you do for others all day long and feel as if you must steal time for yourself. To dream new dreams or find ways to revive old ones, you need to be rested and you need time to think. I’m sure that may seem impossible, but I encourage you to find a way to do that for yourself. I hope I don’t sound as if I have all the answers because I certainly don’t. Thanks for taking time to read and comment and I’ll hope you’ll keep coming back.

  23. I regularly read your blog to see what’s new and there are often surprises – like you were a professional actor. I also check in on 2 other blogs I like – a young mother in Israel – lizraelupdate.com and my niece’s blog – saratoday.wordpress.com
    The young mom is Israel is expecting her 2nd baby or has already had her. She is a trooper. My niece lived in Birmingham, England for a few months for her husband’s job and blogged about it a couple years ago.

    Three is enough for me for regular reading of blogs because it could take all day to have so many blogs to read, although there are many good ones out there.

    My projects for this coming season are planting more in my garden. I will have a booth at a farmer’s market the Fridays in August, and I want to make some more lye soap and crafts for that, besides flowers and hopefully veggies. I have plenty of herbs already growing each year plentifully. I also want to finish painting our basement and paint a bathroom and the living room and clean carpets with our Kirby, which I love.

    Our daughter has been teaching English in Azerbaijan the last few months and will return next week for another semester of teaching, so helping her to get ready to go.

    Jill ~ I am really honored that of the three blogs you read, mine is one of them. Thank you. It sounds as if your summer is going to keep you too busy to blog yourself although I’ll keep an eye for new posts at your place.

  24. Roisin on March 31, 2011 at 8:47 pm said:

    I am one of your silent readers, I never comment (not gutsy enough normally) but will take the opportunity now. Like others I enjoy your photos and comments and I’m lucky enough to also live in Cornwall but further west. I’ve only lived here for 5 years so enjoy reading about places I have not been to yet and places and things I find familar, (such as your ‘dancing ladies’ – I also look forward to seeing them as it means the home stretch is just ahead). Finally, I discovered last year that we share a birthday, although I’m a little younger and would have been toddling around when you were at your concert in 1976!

    Roisin ~ You can’t imagine how delighted I was to see your comment. I can’t believe we live so close to each other here in Cornwall and we share a birthday too. We’ll have to get together for a face to face meeting even if I’m a bit older. 🙂 Please send me an email so I can get in touch with you. (My email address can be found on my “Who am I” page)

  25. I’m Gina, an Irish girl living in Australia. I have commented before. I have no idea how I ended up finding your blog but I find it is one of the more mature ones I read. Some of my regular blogs I read are full of the funny stories of raising young kids and some I read because they are more inspiring, often in a photography sense. I love yours because you combine really beautiful photography with often thought provoking words.

    I often find myself in work thinking back to the topic you have written about. I find I begin composing my own comment in my head and yet not so often actually finding the time to re-open your blog entry to put those thoughts to actual words!

    I look at the statistics of people who visit my blog and I do wonder who they might be. I have found it fascinating reading the comments left here so far. To see the wide range of ages and types of people who enjoy your words as much as I do!

    Gina ~ I feel as we’re old friends the way we visit back and forth. I may not comment often on your blog, but I always stop by for a look when I see you in my google reader. Thanks so much for your kind comments and support.

    Thanks again everyone!

Unknown's avatar

‘Dear Madame’

by

AND THE WINNER IS:

I would like to thank everyone who joined the mini short story contest and took time to say hello and share a bit about themselves. I used Random.Org to choose a winner and hope you will enjoy the mini short story I created based on the comment selected by random.org. I thought it might be fun if you could guess which comment won using my story content for clues. I will reveal the winning comment on Sunday so people can have a few days to read, guess, and say in a comment which comment they think provided the inspiration for “Dear Madame.”

Patricia Reynolds stood in front a cluster of seventeen identical mailboxes not far from the condo where she lived alone. She juggled the shopping bags that dangled from both hands as she tried to keep them from touching the ground while guiding a tiny key into the locked box marked with a bold number six instead of her name.

It seemed she was always struggling with too much in her hands especially when she picked up the mail at the end of her day. She knew better of course, but she had to park so far from her door that two trips always seemed like one too many.

She wished the area around the mail drop was tidy enough to put the bags down, but too many times she’d noticed her neighbors picking up their mail after a walk with their dogs and she hated the way they seemed to regard the area as a last chance toilet break for their animals before going inside.

Moving carefully, she slid the stack of mostly business sized envelopes from the overstuffed mailbox and maneuvered it into the open top of the closest bag. Walking the short distance to her front door she inserted the largest key on the ring into the lock and pushed it open with her foot.

She stumbled inside just as one of the plastic bags tore open scattering the contents on the floor in front of her. Fatigue overwhelmed her for a moment and she felt as if she might cry. Frustrating did not begin to describe the day she’d had and on any other day she would have picked up every bit of the mess now at her feet while thinking about what her mama had always said about cleanliness being a virtue, or was it something about godliness, with patience as a virtue, she couldn’t remember which it was and today she was just too tired to care.

She felt worn out lately, even more so than normal with the recent increase in the amount of paperwork from her sales job. Well … you couldn’t exactly call it paperwork anymore she thought to herself, considering that expression would soon be obsolete as there was so little paper actually involved these days.

The endless call reports they were now required to submit were being done on the laptop that she’d jokingly referred to as Pia over drinks with her friends the last time she’d managed to join them.

As they moaned about how they never saw her anymore, she’d smiled as playfully as she could muster and said, “That’s because I have a new best friend who takes every minute of my day. I call her Pia, which is short for pain in the ass!”

They’d laughed at this poor attempt at humor and were gracious in saying how it was okay and that they understood how demanding her job was, but she had not been herself that night and she sensed something had changed in their group dynamic as well. It was not just Pia or things at work she’d thought on the drive home, but it was more likely the change in her relationship status that had made things seem awkward.

It was funny the way they seemed to miss Jeff more than she did at dinner, the empty chair obvious at the table made for eight. Patricia tried not to notice all the ways they had to shift the conversation over the evening to avoid mentioning him and while she appreciated their loyalty, she wanted to hug them collectively and shout that she was really okay.

There were things she’d missed about him when he’d first left, but sharing household chores and splitting expenses did not make a relationship and she had been okay when he’d announced he was leaving although sad that they had lost the spark of something she had hoped in the beginning would turn into more. They’d been fixed up by friends who loved them both and they had wanted to believe they were the match everyone else thought they would be.

She had soothed any bits of disappointment at their breakup by writing the words to a favorite quote across the glass of her bathroom mirror so that everyday she might be reminded that what she and Jeff had shared, was not really love. At least not the kind of love Pearl S. Buck was writing about when she said, “Love cannot be forced, love cannot be coaxed and teased. It comes out of heaven, unasked and unsought.”

Patricia had no problem waiting for love although she had to admit she was a bit lonely at times and she sighed as she considered another night alone. Somewhere between the sigh and lifting her foot to step over the mess on the floor, she lost her balance as her back foot slipped after coming down on the stack of bills that had fallen with the groceries.

She grabbed at the table on her way down pulling the lamp over with her and landed in a heap on top of the pile in front of the door. The lamp was the first thing she checked after finding herself unharmed and it was then that she saw the letter.

Patricia noticed the blue air mail sticker before she saw a stamp with what looked like the head of a woman wearing a crown. The return address included the letters UK and she wondered for a half second if it had been delivered with her mail by mistake. Running her eyes across the front of the envelope she was momentarily surprised to see a name she recognized although it was not her own.

She shook her head as if to clear her confusion and remembered that she had requested her mother’s mail be sent to her after her death almost six weeks earlier. It wasn’t as if it was the first piece of mail she received addressed to her mom, but this one was different from the machine printed labels on the few bills she’d had to deal with to wrap up her mother’s business affairs; this one was handwritten and looked as if it might be personal.

Patricia turned it over and quickly ran a fingernail under the flap opening it with one stroke. She slid the folded paper out of the envelope noting that one of the two sheets of paper seemed thicker and of better quality than the other and there was an old photograph of someone she did not recognize included as well. One of the pages contained more of the same handwriting she’d seen on the envelope while the other was a photocopy of something that looked very old.

Still sitting where she’d fallen in the middle of the shopping and the mound of bills, she held one page in each hand unsure of which to read first. With the photocopied old letter in the left and the new one in her right she decided on the letter that began with the words, “Dear Madame.”