Tag Archives: Margaret Harper

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Day Two – Unexpected Gifts Of Spirit

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Tower Of London (Lower Right)

Yesterday was a day where I felt contemplative for the most part. The Underground line we needed was overcrowded and Margaret and I made our way on trains that made me feel a bit claustrophobic. After much waiting, we finally arrived at the Tower of London which had a fair amount of people milling around and we split up like we tend to do taking as Margaret put it the other day, “ separate field trips.”

Having been to the Tower before, I went more slowly than I would when exploring a historical space and spent a lot of time thinking about the lives of the people who had lived within its walls as both the keeper and the kept. There is no escaping the burden and responsibility of those who had the power and those who coveted it.

As the afternoon wore on a rainstorm came up suddenly, sending people hurrying for shelter and I went in search of my sister. I was tired of thinking too much anyway … stuck as I was on what memories we leave behind when we die. It is difficult not to think about when all around you are the stories of those whose lives were impacted by their own actions or those of others.

All Hallows By The Tower

All Hallows By The Tower

Walking away from the Tower, we came across a small church of great significance. All Hallows by the Tower has been as they put it a “ A Christian Beacon on Tower Hill since 675 AD. ” If you are ever in London, I would suggest you visit this place where The Saxon Abby of Barking founded the church as their literature states in 675 AD.

Underneath in a crypt there is a small museum complete with tiny cobblestones from a Roman floor and other evidence of city life for almost 2000 years. There is a link to American history as well as details about the almost total destruction it suffered during WWII.

All of its history and artifacts made for interesting reading, but the important part of our visit was found as one usually expects or hopes in its service. Margaret and I happened to arrive as they were getting ready for a something called a Taizé Service which is a short service using prayer, chants and silence. Simple and meditative was just what it was with a perfect mix of scripture readings and music made up only of voices.

All Hallows By The Tower

It was exactly the thing I needed to lift my spirit and an unexpected gift on a day heavy with too much contemplation and dark thoughts. There was biblical reading about, “ all those who seek me … “ and the service finished with a simple prayer that ended gently with the words … “ Have the courage to live your life.”

Afterwards when I stepped outside on to a wet London sidewalk and looked up to see the image below, I couldn’t help but remember from the bible stories of childhood about the message from God found in each rainbow. It was an interesting finish for a doubting, but still seeking ” Thomas.”

While I don’t usually ask for gifts and I am generally funny about receiving them, I wonder if I might ask for one from those of you who are reading this today. It doesn’t matter if you come across this after September 10th, I will still see a comment if you leave one for me. If you would … please take a second to tell me your favorite post I’ve written here at Gifts of the Journey or maybe a little something about yourself if you’d rather.

I’ll be back tomorrow with Day One, the final post of the big birthday countdown and I want to say thanks to all of you who have been reading and commenting over the last few days in particular. It makes all the writing mean just a bit more to know it matters to someone other than just me.  xo


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Day Three – Margaret Breaks The Rules And I Get Into Trouble

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Growing up I always thought of my sister Margaret as the one who could be counted on the follow the rules and I think that is generally still true. You can reasonably expect her to be pretty well behaved until it seems, she has a camera in her hands. Now I’m not saying I’ve been embarrassed in any way by her public behavior, but she has been as they say here, ” told off ” quite bit. That said I want to give you an example of what I mean using a combination of our images.

Remember yesterday when I talked about our trip to Buckingham Palace … follow the picture trail below for the rest of the story.

We arrived a bit later than we should have for the changing of the guard and came right in time to be in the middle of a police officer on horseback working to keep the gates (that open) clear of people. She was not alone in this task. There were other officers on foot shouting to clear the path.

Margaret took this one of me (with the backpack to the left) as I sauntered across trying to catch a photograph of the guards at the gate without stopping. Be sure you click on this to see the police officer in the upper left corner trying to move a woman on who seems to be trying to take his picture.

Margaret managed to snap this one while the officer was shouting, ” Madam, Madam, MOVE ON Madam! ” I was watching thinking she didn’t hear him, but she later told me that she had heard him. This is where I began to think I might need to keep my eye on her.

Okay, I did climb up on the wall but lots of people do that … right?

The next thing I know Margaret is taking pictures like this one.

And a few more like this one.

Hmm, I wonder what she is thinking here.

Uh oh?

Why is she looking at this?

Margaret ?  Hello I think you’re being watched!

Pssst … I think that Guard on the right is looking at you!

Yes, I’m right he is looking at you!

Good grief, Margaret … you are so going to get us in trouble. I’m happy to pay the 17 pounds it takes to get the tour. Leave that lock alone!

One little push here and …

…. we’re in!

Seriously, this is the real way we took most of our photographs of the outside of Buckingham Palace, all except for the one after our tour where I got told off for taking a photo of her too close to the exit door into the garden.

I was so startled that it came out blurry. Hanging out with Margaret I may have to get used to being told off for trying to get the odd picture or two. Wait until I tell you what happened during our trip the V & A Museum yesterday. All I can say for now is, there’s a new way of spelling trouble and it begins with an M and ends with T.

* Update: Based on some on the concerned comments I received below and through emails, I want to clarify that this blog post was meant to be funny and in no way did Margaret do anything wrong at Buckingham Palace. She was not picking the lock at the gate, she was taking a photograph and the gate was open afterwards which enabled people to step up and pose with the guards and Palace directly behind them which the guards seemed to have no problems with at all. So as you can see, there is nothing to worry about it was  just me trying to make the story more fun than the typical series of tourist shots documenting the changing of the guard.

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Day Four – Elizabeth & Margaret See Buckingham Palace From The Outside – In

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My dad would have been really tickled (chuffed, excited) to know that his girls paid a visit to The Queen’s home in London. If you remember from an earlier post, my dad liked the combination of Elizabeth and Margaret and chose our names accordingly. I think it must have been because he grew up in a time when he saw more images of The Queen and her sister together especially since she was born only about eight years before him. I wish I had asked more questions about his reasons before he died.

I feel sure The Queen never even thinks about all the strangers trouping through her grand and glittery State Rooms, but I certainly had a few thoughts while viewing this spectacular part of the palace which is open each year for viewing during the summer.

I have some interesting insights into our visit yesterday along with some funny bits too which I will talk more about in a later post. I promise not to to share all the photos though because it turns out that Margaret shoots as many as I do. Between us I think we both ended the visit to Buck House with a combination of over 700 images. I’m including only a couple of mine from yesterday along with an image I took towards the end of our day when our tourist fatigue was beginning to show.

Elizabeth & Margaret Taking A Break

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Day Five – London’s Covent Garden Where Some People Go To Connect

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Elizabeth Harper - Mac Store Covent Garden -London 2010

After arriving early yesterday in London, Margaret and I spent a short time figuring out a few transportation details and made our way to Covent Garden to see the impressive new 3-story Apple/Mac store and to check our email.

Most people would probably head for a more famous and historical destination like the Tower of London, but with a week of exploration before us we thought a quick email check and Facebook update (mine) was the thing to do first. We had an impromptu photo shoot outside the store later after noting a few things inside that we both coveted.

She took this creative snap of me on her new ( the very latest ) iPhone which is way cooler than the antique one (the first one released) that I still use. She has a cool app that can make images look a variety of ways and I chose one that made my photograph look old and a bit dated which seemed appropriate for a place where people have gathered for hundreds of years. Of course, I mean Covent Garden silly … not the Mac store.

So there I am with my Macbook in hand, coming to you almost live from London.

A quick note before we begin our adventures for today, I am able to check in from time to time so please leave a message or comment if you’d like especially with any last minute things we should not miss on our trip. I printed out all of your suggestions from this previous post and have it with me now.

Thanks again to each of you who took time to share some of your own London experiences and I want to add that do I intend to respond (after London) to the very kind comments you have been leaving me over the last few days especially those from this tender post. I’ll be back later tomorrow with Day Four in the countdown towards my big birthday and likely some stories about today.

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Day Six – The Birthday Girls Go To London

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Elizabeth, Cullene, & Margaret-February 1973

The other day my sister Margaret and I were talking about our birthdays this month. If you have been reading my posts over the last few days then you know I’m having my 50th birthday this Friday and Margaret will be right behind me with her 48th on September 28th. It almost doesn’t seem possible that both us are now significantly older than our step-mom Cullene was in this photograph. Sitting demurely between me at twelve and Margaret’s smiling ten year-old self, I am sure she had no idea the direction her life was about to take.

She was a new bride in this photograph and at thirty-nine never expected that she would give birth to my youngest sister a little over a year later. It’s been 38 years since this picture was taken and several things strike me about this image. Margaret still laughs in the same way she did back then and I still smile large enough to see my back molars most of the time. I don’t think I ever noticed that Cullene is sitting in front of my favorite flower which as it turns out is Margaret’s favorite too.

Two years after this photo was taken and not long after our birthdays in 1974, we were separated by bad circumstances for a ten-year period where celebrating our birthdays was not something we were able to share. In fact, the last time we had a chance to celebrate our birthday’s together in the same year, we were twelve and fourteen and let’s just say right now that 36 years later, we plan to make up for all of those missed birthdays.

We are off to London in a few minutes to spend the next week celebrating the chance to see more of the world together along with sharing a room … something we haven’t down since we were about as old as we are in the photograph above. Watch out London!

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Day Eight – Setting The Example

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Margaret Harper

Big sisters are the crab grass in the lawn of life
~Charles M. Schulz

Growing up, big sisters walk a fine line between setting the good example that most are told is their responsibility and becoming a bossy mother substitute while they are still children themselves. Once they’ve heard that, ” you are the oldest, you have to set the example ” speech enough, they can become rooted in a role model position that morphs easily over time into a caretaker role that can be difficult to give up.

Having a childhood where you are told you need to be the responsible one can create a life long struggle between trying to live your life as you desire and trying to ensure everyone around you is okay. Children need a chance to be children, even those born first. Can you tell where I am in the birth order? I am the eldest of four girls.

Being prepared for worst possible outcomes has been a by-product of the big sister syndrome for me. When I was about six, I remember hearing on the news or in adult conversation that a tornado was possible and the impact it might have on the city where I lived with my mother and only sister at the time. For some reason, I decided that our mother was not on top of things enough to suit me so I took it into my own head that we needed a plan of action complete with an escape route and a place to meet should we be separated by the storm.

Decision made and because Margaret was only about four, and I packed our little kiddie suitcases with a few things I thought we might need and put it all by the front door sometime after our mother had gone to bed. I remember being very surprised the next morning that we had not had to flee in the night and I can’t remember what my mother might have said when seeing the important pile by the door.

We moved from the house in the photograph sometime before my seventh birthday and years later I went back to see it. After a quick look at the front of the still unremarkable red brick, ranch-style house, I walked past the carport and went around the backyard to see the “safe” place I had planned to lead my little sister in the event of a tornado.

The designated place was not such a good pick after all as I had chosen a concrete pipe that while large enough to hold us both, would have been filled with water very quickly as it emptied groundwater from the neighborhood into a depression that ended behind our house.

It is funny the things you remember and what inspires them. My sister Margaret is holding her umbrella on a day that appears sunny and bright. Some people might say … “oh look, she’s showing off her umbrella” because it’s not raining. I see it and think about the natural disaster I was so worried about while the real challenges in our young lives were still to come.

Margaret arrives today from Alaska and will be here for the rest of September. I’ve been planning this visit for months and while I’m not the same worried six-year old, I must admit to a bit of anxiety. I was on iChat with her several times yesterday going over last-minute details and made sure she had John’s brother’s phone numbers ” just in case ” as I later told John so that she would not be stranded in the airport if  ” we were injured in a critical crash or unconscious in the hospital.”

John in his easy-going way suggested something much less dramatic might hold us up while I laughingly tried to attribute my worst case scenario thinking to my creative writer’s mind while really knowing that it’s just me planning for the worst, while hoping for the best.

Margaret’s response to my over planning for an unlikely situation was to say that in the event of our hospitalization, she was still going to see London and Paris rather than hang out at the hospital with us. Spoken like a true younger sister … seriously, Margaret has morphed into a planner with a keen sense of preparedness all her own so the best way to ensure a good visit will be for me to remember that she’s grown and not such a ” little ” sister anymore. We haven’t traveled together or spent more than two weeks in the same space since we were twelve and fourteen so it ought to be an adventure in many ways.

As we were going over her what to pack list I started to tell her that she did not need an umbrella as we had plenty, but she popped a nice striped one up for me to see on camera. Having seen the raincoat she’s bringing as well, I can rest assured that not only is she able to plan for changes in weather without her big sister’s help, but she will be fashionable on the city streets with her color coordinated coat and brolly. Given what I had planned to wear, it might be time to let her set the example for a while.

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Are You Judy’s Daughter

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A few months ago while out on a morning run, I paused to let a man in a small truck pass me near the village green. As he slowed he leaned out of the open window slightly and asked, “Are you Judy’s daughter?”  I smiled as I said no, not knowing who he meant or where Judy’s daughter might live. After hearing my American accent, he knew before I had finished saying,”No … sorry, I’m not Judy’s daughter,” that he had mistaken me for someone else.

I went on with my run pausing to snap a few photographs of the misty January light that covered the low-lying land making it difficult to see clearly beyond what was close up. About a mile or so into my run, I stopped suddenly after I realized that I had answered his question without the slightest hesitation and had in fact given him misinformation because my mother’s name is Judy, making me Judy’s daughter. While he was clearly thinking of someone else, the irony of my response was not lost on me.

Most of the time I don’t think about my mother. She doesn’t exist for me except in memories, none of which are pleasant. Occasionally, she creeps into my subconscious like she did last night showing up in my dreams where she behaved as she has in real life. In my dream, she sat across a table from me refusing to speak or even acknowledge my presence. The table was designed to roll a bowling ball back and forth between two people making interaction even more necessary than the game usually requires. Bowling was something she loved to do and I imagine she still does. I would not know now what she does or doesn’t do only that she has no involvement in the lives of her two eldest daughters or the three children they share between them.

The last I heard, she was living in Madison, Alabama where she moved after marrying Bill, her fourth husband. I took my daughter Miranda to see them marry in 1994. It was the last time I saw her. She cut me out of her life twice, once at 14 and later at 34, covering a span of 28 years so that now she has been absent from my life for more years than she has been in it. When she cut off all communication with me the first time, a therapist said that after a while it would be as if she had died.

It wasn’t. It was painful and sad, but I felt hopeful when she finally responded after an eleven year silence only to struggle through ten more years of distant and difficult communication where only one of us seemed interested in building a healthy relationship.

By the time she stopped speaking to me the second time I was older, a mother myself with a daughter I loved so completely that I was even more confused as to how a mother could abandon a child in the way that my mother had. I stopped caring so much after that and found a sense of peace about her lack of interest that was easy to maintain most of the time.

A few years ago, my mother completed a detailed book of our family genealogy. She was still in contact with Margaret then and sent a few copies of Just Folks to her. Surprisingly after years of silence, she also contacted my daughter’s father so that Miranda might have a copy. It was her first overture to Miranda, her first grandchild, in many years and while she sent the two book volume to Miranda, she never bothered to respond after Miranda sent a note back.

The saddest and most telling piece was that she left all three of her children, me, Margaret, and Pam completely out of the family history. Since she did not include her three children, she also omitted her five grandchildren. When Margaret questioned why she had not mentioned us, she said it was her history and it was about her, making it clear that her children were not part of her history. It is interesting to note that the children of distant cousins made it into the pages of family history as did her husband Bill’s childhood pictures complete with his parents, brother, and sister. Family pets from as far back as 1951 can also be found there in photographs, having secured a place in the genealogy book that her children and grandchildren did not.

So you can see how when I said without thinking that I was not Judy’s daughter, it was because for so much of my life I have not been regarded as such and I think I actually forgot that once upon a time, I was Judy’s daughter.

She will be 70 later this year and with her history recorded as it currently exists, it is a sad legacy that it will one day it appear that she died childless when all around her were her children trying so hard to be seen.

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Tell Me A Story Tuesdays – Saving The One-Shot Cabin

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IMG_1974

“Could this be the place?” she wondered. “Harry lives here?”

Kate thought about this as her eyes scanned what could barely be called a yard. Someone had clearly tried to carve out a bit of green space in order to form a civilized boundary around the house, but the area still looked as if it was just one hard rain away from the jungle taking it back. She gave the house a quick glance looking for signs of movement, but saw only an unpainted wooden house with a sagging porch and a crooked set of steps. The tin roof looked as if it was losing the battle with the wet climate a little each day, fighting tiredly against the rust and decay that was an expected annoyance of life on the island.

Seeing it now reminded her of the old sharecropper shacks she’d seen as a child while riding the bus south to see her aunt in Georgia. She bet her last dollar that this house, like those she remembered, would have no running water or an indoor toilet. Swatting her cheek in what was quickly becoming almost rhythmic in its frequency, Kate unzipped her backpack and began to dig through its tightly packed contents for the special spray she had bought based on what seemed like a reasonable claim at the time. Ten hour relief didn’t seem like an exaggeration when she was standing in the Handy Pantry aisle reading all the bug spray labels, but given that these insects appeared intent on sucking the last drop of blood from her body, she wished now that she’d purchased the Jungle strength spray her friend David had suggested she could find on Amazon. David hated bugs about as much she did, but more importantly, as a physician he knew how dangerous a bite could be particularly in the middle of nowhere like she was at this moment.

Her hand found the spray in the side pocket where she had put it for safe keeping. She almost always forgot where she left things even when she thought she had it worked out with a plan. At 43, she was far too young to have such a crap memory, but she had learned to accept it even though friends and family still struggled with having to repeat things over and over. Truth was, she was too easily distracted by an over scheduled life and a brain that barely took a break even at night to rest. Lately it seemed as if she woke up feeling more tired than when she had closed her eyes and she knew fatigue was a killer when it came to concentration.

Kate ripped off the plastic top of the bug repellent and began to spray it around her head and face in much the same way her grandmother had shellacked her blue hair into place before leaving the house each day. Working well into her sixties, she would have kept at it if the owners hadn’t sold the business where she had created a family of sorts from the people she served there. She thought back to how her grandmother had used that same aerosol hair spray to paralyze and kill the butterflies from her garden leaving them as perfect in death as they were in life.

Grandma Bee had liked the way they had added a bit of color and exoticness to the dried flower arrangements she began to make in increasing amounts after she retired. It was a solitary hobby for someone who by then was already spending too much time alone and she began to close the doors in her life, leaving her church and friends behind almost as she easily as she closed off the unused rooms in her house. Kate thought about the way her grandmother had died slowly over time losing the ability to remember the people around her, until she was only a shell of the woman who had once chased butterflies in her nightgown and slippers, in the privacy of her big backyard.

After giving herself a liberal coating of bug spray, Kate stepped a bit closer to the house ducking under the wash line where several colorful towels were draped over a thin bit of rope stretched between the trees. She could not be absolutely sure this was the place until she had spoken to the person who lived here. For a moment she felt a bit afraid out here on her own, but checking her cell phone she could see she had coverage so she took a deep breath and said, ” Hello, is there a Harry Gribble here? ”  ” Who wants to know?” came booming back from the side of the house where she could just make out the shape of a man lying in a hammock partially hidden by some tall foliage. ” Mr. Gribble, ”  she began, ” It’s Harry, just Harry,” he said, interrupting her in a way that left her temporarily more startled than the discovery that he’d been sleeping very near while she had been giving his house a snooty appraisal.

At least she hoped he’d been asleep instead of watching her during her big bug killing moment. Her face reddened thinking how absurd she must have looked as she drenched herself with enough spray to kill anything that creeped or crawled within a hundred yards of her airspace. Well, maybe a hundred yards was stretching it a bit, but she wanted so much to appear sane and intelligent to this man whose help she had determined necessary in order to find what she needed, on this island in the middle of the Atlantic.

“Hello,” she said, moving towards the still reclining man who appeared to be in the process of getting up. Intending to shake his hand and introduce herself, Kate stepped forward extending her hand as she walked towards him, ” I’m …”  was all she got out before tripping over a root she hadn’t noticed and tumbling forward towards Harry. He came out the hammock faster than one normally would, intending to try to catch her before she hit the ground. As anyone knows, climbing out of a swinging piece of fabric stretched between two trees requires a bit more grace than getting into it and before either of them had time to blink they were both on the ground in a heap.

Oh good grief, she thought to herself and as she rolled over while trying to push him off, their heads collided with a sharp crack. ” Oww!” Kate wailed, holding her head in her hands as she heard Harry Gribble ask, ” Lord woman, are you all right? ” with a tone that that made her unsure of just how to respond. Lifting her head from her hands, she found herself staring into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. ” Kate ”  he said, making it more of a question than a statement, ” You’re the woman who sent me the email, right? ” ” Yes,that’s right,” Kate responded breaking eye contact as she stood up swiftly and began brushing off the dirt she picked up in her fall.

Shaking his hand, she said quickly, ” It’s so nice to meet you and thank you for giving me some of your time. ”  ” Well, as you can see I’m pretty busy so let’s move this along, shall we? ” Harry said, hiding a smile which would have told her right away that he was kidding. He had nothing but time these days and privately he had been looking forward to her arrival. Kate felt her heart speed up as she tried to remember the speech she had practiced silently on the plane. ” Well, as you know from my email, I’m looking for something I believe to be on this island and I came here because I heard that you are the very best when it comes to this kind of thing especially with regard to finding what has been lost….” Kate took a deep breath having just said what felt like the longest sentence of her life.

Pausing a minute before continuing, she noticed Harry was smiling. A little confused by his amused response to what she’d been saying, she took a deep breath before carrying on with her story. I’m trying to track down what I believe to be part of a pirate’s treasure that was hidden here around 1783. She watched in horror as Harry burst out laughing.” I know it may seem funny to you, but you can be sure it’s not funny to me! ” Silenced by her intensity, Harry settled down to listen to what this attractive woman had to say. He found himself drifting in his thoughts as she spoke, watching her mouth without hearing exactly what she was saying until he heard her say two unforgettable words,” treasure map.”

“Whoa, hold on a minute,” said Harry. ” What do you mean, you found a map?”  Kate looked at him as if he was a bit of a disappointment trying to decide if he was stupid or just not listening.” Yes,” she said, ” I have a map ” and began to tell him the story again, but in a slightly different way,

Kate had been living in Italy when she’d received an email from one of her cousins about a decision the three sisters had been forced to make regarding a place that was very special to them all. She could not imagine how difficult it must have been to decide that selling was the only option available for the One-Shot cabin. After the sudden and unexpected death of their mother, the girls had inherited the cabin by the lake which had been in the family since the 50s.

Known as Aunt Wylly to Kate, she was Kate’s grandfather’s only sister and great grandma to her three cousins, Shelli, Mikellah and McKenzie. The One-shot cabin had been purchased years before with money earned from a novella that Kate’s aunt had written for Redbook Magazine. Because this type of story was only published once, it was usually referred to as a ” one-shot ” story which was why aunt Wylly had named the cabin as she did. Kate had already planned a trip back to America, but her cousin McKenzie’s news prompted her to schedule a trip to the cabin and a visit with them almost as soon as the plane’s wheels had touched down.

Renting a car, she stopped long enough to spend one night in her mother’s home and then headed for Lake Nottely the next day. She had laughed and lounged at the lake all day complimenting the girls on the wonderful job they had done with the cabin so it might be available as a B & B. If the economy had not gone into such a downward spiral, this might have worked out so they could have kept it, but it was too late now and Kate had said her goodbyes to the cabin where she had felt such peace as a child. As she sat on the screened porch, she remembered winning a game of Scrabble that she played with her aunt the summer she was twelve. Kate watched the ducks making ripples in the lake as she sat there thinking about the secret creek hidden beneath the lake’s surface that had inspired her aunt’s first children’s book, ” The Secrets of the Hidden Creek.”

Kissing her cousins goodbye, she had driven north needing more time on her own before going back to her mother’s house and turned the car in the direction of the alma mater she shared with her great aunt. The University of Georgia had all of  Wylly Folk St. John’s manuscripts and personal correspondence especially that which related to the stories she’d written. Kate had rented a hotel room close the campus and after a light supper had called it a night. She’d gotten an early start the next morning going straight to the Library and settled into the Rare Books & Special Collections section where her aunt’s papers had found a permanent home after her death in 1985.

Kate spent the day reading the old letters and when she got to the correspondence that included her research for ” The Secrets of the Pirate’s Inn, ” she found a series of notes and letters that she’d never seen before.  Always a good researcher, she noticed a series of numbers that looked a bit like grid coordinates scribbled along the edges of several pieces of paper. Aunt Wylly had always used rhymes and clues in the mystery books that she wrote for children and Kate tried to think like a mystery writer as she worked to decipher the notes. The seven or so pages looked as if they belonged to the book she’d been working on before she died.  While Kate didn’t know much about that last novel, she thought these research notes might have been misfiled by the library staff who thought they belonged in this box because of the words pirate and treasure that appeared in different places. She went over the notes until she her eyes felt grow numb and in the end made copies in her own handwriting before she went back to the hotel to review them in private.

Listening to her story, Harry was beginning to see where this was going. Kate wasn’t just here for some silly adventure to liven up her life, she was trying to save the cabin she had been talking about, this One-Shot place that had belonged to her aunt, the writer. Kate paused realizing for the first time that she was too tired to talk anymore. She was worn out from traveling and right now she just needed some food and a bed. There was so much more to her story, but it would have to wait until later and judging by the look on Harry’s face, she knew he wasn’t going to need much persuasion to join her in her treasure hunt. She hoped he was good as people said he was because there were a few things that were still a mystery to her. Kate felt she had to do something more to try to save the cabin and she just couldn’t stop until she worked it out.

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My story came from the picture above and a topic sentence supplied by Gaelikaa, but the real heart of the story was inspired because today is the birthday of my great aunt Wylly who was more like a grandmother to me than an aunt. I wanted to honor her in a way I know she would understand and appreciate by writing a story with her as a character. She used her grandchildren, nieces, and nephews along with a few neighbor children to solve the mysteries in her children’s books so I thought it fitting she should be a part of mine. She would be 101 today if she were alive, I wish I could share this life I’ve chosen with her, I think she would be pleased.

I used quite a few true facts in writing this story for her and as for the rest of it….well, that’s part of the mystery waiting to be solved.

unknown copy

Margaret Harper, Wylly Folk St. John (holding Pam Jones) Elizabeth Harper  (1971)

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Thanks again to Gaelikaa for joining TMAST this week her story can be found here and  thanks also to Judy Harper who joined us this week using her own topic. You can find her story here.

I want to thank everyone who left a topic sentence for me and for the others wishing to contribute to TMAST. It’s always more fun when others participate and I hope you’ll consider writing a little story of your own next week.

Please go here to find the pictures for next week’s TMAST and offer up suggestions for topic sentences based on the photographs.

Just for fun, all three pictures have my aunt in them at various stages of her life.