Thursday, July 31, 2014

Photo Flash Story - The Party



When David first received the party invitation, he immediately threw it away. Although he liked the couple who had sent it to him, he had no time for parties in his life. All he wanted to do was wake up, go to mindless job, return home and have dinner, read a book and then go to sleep. Sure it was boring yet it was enough for him, even being a resident of New Orleans, Louisiana. The city thrived on history, decadence and magick yet he refused to partake at all. People at work thought him to be a stuffed shirt who was either a serial killer or a child molester; David just wanted to be left alone. Yet, for some reason, he couldn't get the party invitation out of his mind. He walked by its crumpled form sitting in the trash can every morning and afternoon, glancing at it just to make sure that it was still there, only to delve back into his routine and brush the thought to the side. Yet, when Friday finally arrived and he found himself at home after another day of his corporate job, David walked up to the trash can, pulled out the invitation then sighed. Maybe, he thought.

Two hours later, David pulled up to the driveway of the house on Magazine Street and turned off his car. He had known Cheryl and Mark for years yet never truly spent a lot of time with them. However, tonight was going to be different. He stared at the well lit house and sighed then checked himself in the rear view mirror for the third time. Yes, he looked decent enough. David then got out of the car and made his way up to the house, already festering with noise and laughter. Before he could open the front door, it swung open widely, revealing a black woman dressed in a long black skirt, black clogs and a red short sleeved shirt. She grinned when she saw David's nervous grin then welcomed him in. He slid inside while trying hard not to stare; she, whoever she was, was beautiful.
"I'm Julia," she said as she closed the door behind him. "I'm Cheryl and Mark's official greeter and drink gatherer!" David introduced himself in a mumbling tone then made his way to the party, where throngs of people stood or sat with drinks and food in hand. He wandered from room to room, not really taking anything in and yet soaking it all in like a sponge. Perhaps my routine was not the greatest idea, he thought as he walked around. This is what I've been missing! Suddenly, he spotted Cheryl and Mark and the couple rushed over to him and dragged him back to their circle of friends and introduced him to all. He tried hard not to blush as he heard everyone's name then stated that he would immediately forget everyone's name, to which they all laughed. He then felt a hand on his arm and as he turned, he saw Julia behind him. She asked if anyone wanted anything from her. David asked for a drink and when Julia walked off to get it, he asked if he would walk with her.

As they made their way through the festivities, Julia asked him what he did for a living.
"Just the owner of a cubicle at a company," was all he said with a hint of bitterness in his voice.
"Seems to me you'd much rather be doing something else."
"Yeah. You?"
"I work at Octavia Books. Love it!" David did not want to let her know that he'd never been inside that bookstore, although he had driven by it plenty of times. He wanted to go inside and enjoy the bookstore, yet yet for some reason, he found that he could not. They reached the drinks table and he made his then asked if she wanted anything, to which she said no. David wanted to find any excuse to talk with her and keep her away from everyone else, yet stumbled as he sought words. My god, he thought as he watched her briefly talk with other people, she really is beautiful. Julia then made her apology as she waved at another woman then made her way over to her, leaving David alone again. He sipped on his drink then meandered through the party, feeling even more alone than before, only to stop when he felt another hand on his arm. He turned and saw Julia again, and this time she asked if he wanted to join their little circle. He grinned perhaps a bit too widely then joined the conversation. Suddenly, a dam inside of him began to break and splinter, causing trickles of water to seep through. David laughed and joined in with the jokes while casting glances at Julia and her lovely smile. Would she ever consider going out with a white guy, he wondered just as she turned to him and grinned. He grinned back and finished off his drink.

Three hours later, the party began to wind down as guests said their goodbyes to the hosts and took off for either more adventures or the solitudes of their homes. David said goodbye to the hosts and actually meant it when he said that he had a grand time. As he walked towards the front door, he glanced around in search of Julia but couldn't find her. After an hour of being pulled into her group conversation, she slipped off to talk with others, leaving him there on his own. At first, anxiety began to settle in yet it quickly dissipated as he began to feel more and more comfortable with just talking and listening to everyone. He decided not to impress anyone but rather be himself. So, it was that he had lost sight of her and feared that perhaps she might have left early. He walked outside, back into the New Orleans night, and made his way to his car.
"Hey!"
David turned around and saw Julia running up to him. He leaned against his car.
"Hey back."
"Just wanted to say that I'm glad you came out tonight. Hope you had a good time."
"I did!"
Julia then walked up to him and slipped him a small white card, then turned around and ran back to the house. David got in the car and drove off but not before looking at the card under the light: it was her name and phone number, followed by CALL ME! He grinned as he drove off but not back to the house. Tonight, he felt like going somewhere else.

Thirty minutes later, he had arrived. No one knew of this spot for it was deep within the swamps. He turned off his lights and rolled through the solid patch of land then got out of the car and listened to the night. Louisiana nights were unlike any other kind of night in the United States, he thought as he began to run. This place was his second home, so he knew the location of every tree, every hole in the ground and every place where the alligators liked to roam. Yet tonight was different. He ran because he felt the dam break inside. He thought of Julia and what may come of that. As he ran, he felt his muscles pop and twist; it had been so long since he allowed himself to do this and yet . . .Hands became longer and hairier, while his clothing ripped and tore off his body that now ran on all fours. He loped and growled, feeling the dense winds blow through his dark fur. He ran faster, seeing the place where he wanted to go - a small cliff that overlooked the swamps. His tongue lolled out of his mouth as he bared his fangs and soon, he raced up the small cliff. When he reached the top, his golden eyes surveyed the land below. The swamp was alive and so was he. He lifted his head to the sky and howled.

Julia, he thought as he continued to howl.

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

The Living Tarot Photo Shoot - JUSTICE

I'm sitting at my desk, listening to Type O Negative while realizing that it's time for another of The Living Tarot Photo Shoot "subjects" - Justice.

Let me first say that my friend Jada Brisentine was more than a trooper during this photo shoot - not only did she look absolutely lovely that day, but she also portrayed at least five cards! Of course, since Jada is an attorney, her portrayal of the Justice card was quite fitting. Thank you, Jada!

According to the Tarot, the Justice card means balance; strong character; fairness.


The Gothic Tarot



The Halloween Tarot




The Deviant Moon Tarot


May I present to you - The Living Tarot: JUSTICE


 Jada Brisentine as Justice


 Justice is Blind.



 And yet, I wonder what She can really See?



Thank you, Jada, for being Justice!

Sunday, July 27, 2014

The Living Tarot Photo Shoot - The Fool

I have always been interested in the strange and unusual; if I could research it, read it, taste it, see it or anything else, I was interested in it. Such was the case with the Tarot; the deck has always fascinated me and I found it to be filled with mystery, hope, magick and above all else - creativity. 

Several weeks ago, while sitting in my living room and staring at my decks, I wondered if anyone had ever tried to create a "living" Tarot and if so, what it would look like. So, I decided to create the project and throw myself in, no matter what.

The first photo shoot was in Overton Park in Memphis, Tennessee. Although I had posted the event on Facebook, I was not sure just how many people would actually show up. Well, the number that did show up was astounding and I was grateful to see each and every one of their faces. Two and a half hours later, I had taken over 800 photographs and I buzzed beyond comprehension. 

Rather than just show all of the photos, I was advised by my friend, and also The Devil card, Allan Gilbreath, to present them one blog post at a time. 

So, without further ado, may I present to you The Living Tarot!

Let's begin this strange trip with THE FOOL. According to the Tarot, The Fool represents the beginning of a journey; innocent or young person; folly; acting without thought. 

 Aquarian Tarot


 Halloween Tarot

 The Gothic Tarot


Deviant Moon Tarot


And now, The Living Tarot's THE FOOL ~

 Richard Plemons as The Fool.


 The Fool, forever the naive person.


 Death watches over The Fool.


 The Fool and the Two of Swords.


The Fool and the Crew!



Saturday, July 26, 2014

The Hands of Art Project - Allan Gilbreath

Now that my first photo shoot is complete (details in another blog post!), I return to The Hands of Art Project with a "subject" that is not only one of the most eclectic people I have ever known, but also a good friend and my main publisher.

When I first met Allan Gilbreath at Midsouth Con in Memphis, Tennessee, I was beyond nervous; here was a man who was not only the head of Kerlak Publishing in Memphis, but also the author of the vampire novel Galen, a book I had heard much about, as well as a celebrity. I remembered reading Galen in three hours then politely purchasing the sequel, Dark Chances, and devouring that book as well. When I informed him that I was a writer, he merely smiled then said, "Duh." Several months later, I had my first book published with Kerlak - Tales From a Goth Librarian. Since then, Allan Gilbreath has changed the face of Kerlak, now Dark Oak Press and Media, hosted multiple television shows, increased in fame as the Skeptic in the show Skeptic vs. Believer with Kalila Smith, and recently participated in The Living Tarot Project photo shoot as The Devil. And that is just the tip of the iceberg. Allan is clearly a Renaissance Man who refuses to sit still and watch the world go by. It seemed fitting that he would be my next "subject" in this project.

May I present to you - The Hands of Art: Allan Gilbreath.


Allan Gilbreath is the author of the books Galen, Dark Chances, Allan Gilbreath: A Short Story Collection and other short stories. His writing is phenomenal and I suggest picking up his books if you've not already done so. Allan is also the brains behind Dark Oak Press and Media, a publishing company that I am proud to be a part of.




Allan is a master when it comes to building and tearing things down. 




In knowing him all these years, I have been fortunate to eat blueberries, muscadines, asparagus, tomatoes and other delights from his garden. Allan very much has a green thumb.




I have been told stories about Allan's days of being a martial artist and fighter and have actually seen him in action. The man's hands move way too fast for the human eye to see. 




 Once again, Allan has not only a green thumb but green hands, arms, you name it.






Allan is a master of a multitude of weapons . . . 




 . . . .that he handles with such ease.






Allan's main books - all available through Dark Oak Press. Yes, that was a shameless plug.  








Thank you, Allan, for your Hands of Art!

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

WANDERLUST - Iardin, The Eater of Dreams: Introduction



The Indigo Palace slowly spun on its axle, giving the solitary inhabitant a good view of the Threshold below. He placed his hands against the rim of the low wall and peered down with narrowed eyes, hoping to see something that would catch his interest. People scuttled here and there without a care in the world. They lived without having threats to their lives and they blissfully enjoyed every minute of it. Only the solitary figure high above them knew that there was more, much more to worry about. There were things that could suck a man's soul straight from his body and leave the quickly rotting husk on the floor without a second thought. Monsters did exist and they usually took the form of everyone else.

"Monsters like me," said the figure to himself then grinned. Iardin, The Eater of Dreams, left his perch and sauntered back inside of the palace. As he walked down the main marble hallway that cooled his bare feet, he thought of her and if she fared well with his latest request. As long as he had known her, Zaira was known to live up to her word, no matter how dangerous or complex the request would be. That was why he sought only her for his requests; she did not ask questions and did not try to befriend him. She was a Chronicler and nothing more. He reached his bedroom, the final room on the right of the main hallway, and stopped in the doorway. Small puffs of clouds drifted lazily in the room as they tried to form shapes. Some were able to maintain various solid forms while others drifted mindlessly, giving enough energy to change their colour.

"Here now, my pretties," he whispered as one landed on his shoulder. He nuzzled the small cloud and it giggled like a little girl. Ah yes, he thought as he now cradled the cloud in his long slender fingers. "Yes, I remember you. I remember you well. Just a child of six who enjoyed eating strawberries freshly picked from the garden behind your family's home." The cloud barely moved in his hands as he cupped it and brought it closer to his face. "You were brought here, like so many of the others, because you no longer had a home. She who dreamt of you, she who loved you once upon a time, suddenly cast you out. Or perhaps you were stolen from her when she needed you the most. I forget." Iardin sniffed the cloud, feeling his head fill with images of strawberries, sun filled days and a young girl who loved to laugh. Then, he opened his suddenly wide mouth and threw the dream in. As it faintly screamed down his throat, Iardin closed his eyes and took the dream into his own. Now he ran through the garden, eating sun kissed strawberries. Now he saw the girl, lovely to behold with large purple eyes and hair the colour of robin's eggs. The dream dissolved into his body, adding its lowly energy to his immortal form.

He opened his eyes.

Where was Zaira?




(copyright 2014 Kimberly B. Richardson)

(artwork by Jessica Cox) 

Sunday, July 20, 2014

The Hands of Art Photo Project - Jason Negen

Now that my Massachusetts vacation is behind me, it's time to return to The Hands of Art Photo Project. This latest "subject" is a friend that I just met this year and I am beyond amazed at his various forms of creativity. Jason Negen (Dutch for the number 9) is not only an accomplished comic book artist, but he is also a highly talented guitar player and songwriter as well as a lover of Japanese anime, movies and Tom Waits! When I went to his home to do the photo shoot, he played on his guitars several pieces that he had written years ago and I found myself staring at his hands like a schoolgirl the entire time. After we completed the shoot and a tour of his studio complete with comic books, Japanese anime DVDs and WIPs, we sat in his living room and talked about books we've read and wanted to read, films and everything else under the sun for several hours. Not only is he an extremely talented man but also a delight to be around. He also gave me a graphic novel and a comic book that he worked on at his job - even signed it!


So, may I present to you The Hands of Art -  Jason Negen.


I loved asking Jason questions about the comic book process - there is so much to making a comic book. Comic book artists, you have my utmost respect for what you do! 




His hands moved with precision as he played his guitars for me. I couldn't stop staring at his hands and the music that flowed was just too cool for words.




I made sure that I did not bump into him as he worked on this piece. 




Jason's 12 string guitar.





Thank you, Jason, for your Hands of Art!

Saturday, July 19, 2014

Book Review - My Secret History by Paul Theroux

I am a fan of Paul Theroux.

Really, really big fan. I always purchase copies of his books whenever I see them in used bookstores. To me, he is on the same level as Ian McEwan (God of Literature), Joyce Carol Oates, Claire Messud, Toni Morrison, Amy Tan, Alice Hoffman . . . okay, so I have quite a number of authors I simply adore (not to mention some woman who lives in Memphis and writes really creepy work). The funny thing is that I have never read The Mosquito Coast, one of Theroux's more popular works, although I did see the movie and truly liked it. It was from that movie that made me want to read his books. So it was that when I began reading My Secret History, I knew I was in for a treat.



Meet Andre Parent, an American author from Massachusetts who has traveled the world and written about his colourful experiences. We are allowed access into his world from when he was an altar boy with a shotgun in Boston to when he moved to Africa and became a headmaster of a school while "dancing" with African girls. We are also witness to when he discovers that his wife, Jenny, had an affair with another man while he was in Russia, only later to see him take off for India with another woman. There is the Andre Parent who is the acclaimed author and Andre Parent who gets an STD in Africa twice. There is also the Andre Parent who becomes friends with an alcoholic priest and yet another Andre Parent who wants to be a good father and husband. Yet, who is the real Andre, or perhaps they are all part of one Andre Parent? Are we reading the many layers of Andre Parent, or are they actually different men? Theroux wrote a stimulating and engaging novel of a man whose existence causes ripples everywhere he goes. His life is many, all given the same name, and while they share similar characteristics, Theroux shows us that perhaps, they are not the same.

Therein lies the secret.



EX LIBRIS!

Friday, July 18, 2014

Book Review - Simple Passion by Annie Ernaux

Bargain areas of bookstores are like treasure troves - one never knows what one will find at such a good deal. Such was the case with me when, while perusing through the $2 wall at Andover Bookstore,  I located a copy of the book Simple Passion by French author Annie Ernaux. I'd never heard of the book or even the author yet decided to give the ol' college try. After all, it was only $2.


Simple Passion is about a young female author who is involved with a married man who is only known as A. The words are of her frustrations, jealousies and moments of almost insanity as she appears to live for only A. A calls her whenever he wants to see her and the two spend a romantic night together. Then, as abruptly as he drops in her life, he is suddenly gone again for an indeterminable length of time, leaving the narrator with overwhelming feelings of depression. As much as I wanted to hate this woman for allowing herself to succumb to those feelings, I also know what it's like to be in love. Once a connection has been made, everything else slows down in the world and the thought of seeing your beloved eats away at you until they are a mere foot away from your face.

Although the book is slim and I read it within a matter of hours, this was a good introduction to Ernaux's works and her style of writing. The words here are bold and abrupt and nothing is left to the imagination. We are witness to the narrator's almost jump into madness, only to watch redemption at the 11th hour. Even when the expected occurs later in the book, Ernaux's words turn the scene into dark and surreal poetry.

EX LIBRIS!


Thursday, July 17, 2014

A Tale of Two College Towns




I will freely admit that I love college towns. There is no much energy from both the students and the residents that a visitor can't help but get swept away by it. Thankfully, I got a chance to visit two infamous college towns - Cambridge, Massachusetts and Burlington, Vermont. Both towns are wicked awesome!



From my hotel room in Andover, Massachusetts, the drive to Burlington, Vermont is over three hours long, complete with MOOSE CROSSING, BEAR CROSSING and just plain MOOSE signs every 20-30 miles. My eyes kept glancing back and forth, making sure that a large brown animal with huge antlers would not think my car was a challenge to hit it. Thankfully, the drive was moose and bear free, and soon I saw signs for the University of Vermont surrounded by green everywhere. Thanks to one of my cousins, I was told to visit Church Street, the shopping place downtown; after parking my car and walking across one street, I discovered downtown. It seemed as though Pepperland was real after all.



Everywhere I looked, I saw musicians, hippies, Goths, freaks, tattoos, and everything else under the sun and I couldn't help but smile at the fact that I looked normal. Tea shops, bookstores, hip restaurants and even homeless people that didn't really look homeless (one asked me if I liked poetry) welcomed me with open arms smelling of sandalwood (or maybe it was my own sandalwood perfume!) and I enjoyed the embrace. I had found my people, my home away from home.


From what I could tell, Vermontians (is that right?) are very friendly, very laid back and very creative. So much talent in such a state yet it was well appreciated by me. So, I walked around, bought a book from Crow Bookshop and Phoenix Books, ate an enormous burrito with blackberry soda, enjoyed bai mu dan tea with a croissant and simply soaked in Vermont in its natural state. I even enjoyed the pier, situated at the bottom of a very steep hill, and stared in wonder at the mountains across the lake. I did not want to leave.



However, after much sighing, I decided to leave; after all, I had a hotel room in Andover that I liked!

The next day (today) took me to Cambridge after a several hour visit to the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. All I have to say is that in order to visit the museum, one must set aside an entire day. Not kidding. When I finally left the museum and made my way into Cambridge, memories returned once more. The first time I ever visited Harvard was during an outing from classes at Andover. A group of us took the commuter rail into town and set our sights on Harvard Square. Yet, I was beyond shocked when I saw Harvard students playing hackeysack! I honestly thought that all Harvard students wore suits and tailored skirts and dresses to class, not shorts and flip flops! Today, however, was no surprise in seeing students of every race and gender walking around, dressed in whatever they wanted to wear as well as others who were unique in their own way. Once again, I had found my second home.



Newbury Comics was my first stop - CDs, DVDs, shirts, and anything else guaranteed to piss off your family is in the store. Wicked alternative! I walked through the store, trying to find some music only to find nothing, so I left and set my sights on Harvard Book Store, or as I like to call it, the bibliophile motherland. I had heard of this bookstore for years yet never thought I would be able to visit it. Well, that all changed today. I located the store and made myself known, all the while getting very friendly with the Bargain Basement! After leaving with a very modest purchase and a Frequent Buyer card, I decided to walk along the streets and just enjoy Cambridge life. Everyone was everywhere! Once again, I located cool restaurants, tea shops (DADO Tea is awesome - where I had my first Korean green tea!), and stores for everyone, plus I even walked a bit on Harvard's campus.



Cambridge is your typical college town, if one can even call it that since it is literally a stone's toss away from Boston. However, you feel as though you are in a different world just like Burlington - students and locals make their cities open and welcoming. Open minds - open ideas. Perhaps I sound a bit idealistic, but I've always felt that way about college towns. That's why I spend so much time in Oxford, Mississippi. The more I walked, the more I took in, the more I realized that I wore the wrong shoes. So, after getting lost several times in Boston, I finally said au bientot to Cambridge. Not goodbye but see you soon.

I know I will see both Cambridge and Burlington very soon. . . . . .


Wednesday, July 16, 2014

The Mad Ones - Me and Jack Kerouac




When I first read Jack Kerouac, I felt as though something inside of me opened up like a multicoloured flower, petals raised high and reaching for the sun. I felt as though Kerouac had written his words just for me. So, it came as no surprise that, with me being so close to Lowell, I would seek out his grave.

Edson Cemetery, located in the middle of a neighbourhood, is quiet, quaint and nothing near to being creepy. I drove into the lot and parked Jackie then made my way inside the office, to which the employees grinned when I told them just why I was there. Everyone wanted to see Kerouac's grave; my request was nothing new to them. I received my map, thanked them profusely, then set off.


As I walked down the road, I stared at the tombstones, each portraying their history and their part overall to the history of Lowell. Ravens and squirrels were my companions and I no longer heard cars. I was truly in the land of the Dead.



The walk was quite nice and as I approached Kerouac, I felt myself getting a bit nervous; I was about to meet one of the Beat Generation and one of the many reasons why I am an author. I stepped into the grassy square, walked several steps, then saw him. I caught my breath.




I actually said hello and placed my hand on the stone, then sat down next to him and scribbled a note. If you look at the photo above, my note is on the bottom left next to NOV. I felt tears and let them fall. I told him that I wanted to be one of the mad ones and I hoped he heard me. I kept looking behind me, expecting to see a groundskeeper laughing at me, yet there was no one. I focused my attention on the site, only to turn back around. I felt someone observing me yet saw no one. Quickly dusting myself off and getting rid of the ants, I walked back to my car. As I walked back, I cried again. I know - how can I cry over someone who has been dead all this time? Yet, they were not tears of sadness. They were tears of finally meeting him and understanding what it meant to truly live. My return walk made me realize that we are here to live.

And so, I shall. Like a Mad One.


Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Looking to the Past for My Future - Massachusetts Journey Continued

Although my trip is halfway over, there are still so many things I have yet to do. And yet, the things I have done thus far have been more than just fun; they have been a learning experience. Take Sunday, for instance. Sunday was my day to visit my prep school, Phillips Academy Andover, and my family, of whom I had not seen in quite some time. My father is from Lawrence, MA, one of the smaller yet still quaint towns north of Boston. Next door is Andover, of which this blog post will begin.


As soon as I drove into the town, my heart felt tight as the memories came flooding back. There was the first CVS I ever visited; Andover Bookstore still stood in the back behind a building, patiently waiting for me to return, and the hill that I dreaded to climb every time I decided to go into town. Andover had changed so much and yet it still remained the same for me. However, it was not until I reached my school that I covered my mouth with my hand and tried like hell not to cry.Phillips Academy Andover is one of the oldest prep schools in the country and many famous people attended school there. Although I went to Phillips for a summer session, I still consider it to by MY school. I found a parking spot then set out on my adventure. I located the cafeteria, the hall in which we would have tea time outside on the quad in between classes, my dorm Fuess Hall and the graveyard.



The graveyard, as I stated on Facebook, was part of my trail as I walked to breakfast. I always thought it was so cool to be able to walk through such a historic necropolis in order to reach Life and my Calculus classes. After walking and sweating much all the while trying to take it in, I returned to my car and set off for the town. I wanted to walk, think and think some more . . . . and visit a certain bookstore.





The town holds both quiet dignity and hip urban ways, both blending well like the iced coffee I enjoyed as I walked along Main Street. My eyes went everywhere as I took it all in and I no longer felt like a stranger but rather a prodigal daughter who finally decided to return home. And Andover is one of my homes, no matter how much time I actually spent there. I found a nice place to sit and enjoy the rest of my coffee and feel the cooling breezes that caressed my face from my earlier stomp through the graveyard.


When I finished my coffee, I set my sights on the bookstore. Andover Bookstore is a great little establishment as well as the place to pick up some Andover merchandise. The wooden stairs leading upstairs, the feeling of being comforted by the books as well as the laid back staff, all of it I missed very much and soon set my sights on buying things.




The second part of my Sunday was the part that made me a bit nervous - visiting my family. The last time I had seen my father's family was when I was a teenager. Now that I was 40, I was sure they wouldn't even recognize me. How wrong I was. My father's family is large, to say the very least. Aunts and uncles, cousins galore and I was an aunt to many children whose names I had forgotten after several minutes. My reasoning was that I spent the time laughing, learning and listening in no order and all at the same time. One thing I love about my family is that they are mixed - black, white, Hispanic, Japanese and everything in between. Beautiful people with wide smiles and loving arms - the nervousness melted away.




I also learned quite a bit about the "racism" in the North and how different it is as compared to the South. Although the two areas are part of the same country, they are radically different. I also learned that, in thanks to my Aunt Linda, the family can be traced to the Revolutionary War and parts of Nova Scotia. I was asked if I wanted to have a copy of the history and I emphatically said YES. I had tried once to discover my mother's genealogy years ago and got as far back as three generations with bloodlines in Mississippi and Louisiana. However, to state that your ancestors fought in the Revolutionary War and were later transported to Nova Scotia was quite the feat. As I looked around the living room, watching everyone say their goodbyes and  "see you soon"s, I knew once more that I had no reason to worry about the past.




The past is alive and well in Massachusetts, giving me more than hope for the future.