Ye Ole Lamplighter

The Wonderful World of Creativity

2011-09-28T14:03:00.000-07:00

This week, I received an e-mail from one of my readers who had just completed the third book of the fictional trilogy that I wrote. She typed: “I finished "Where the Muses Gather"....thank you. It was a great trilogy! Felt in many instances that I was there with Clarisse, David, Guy and all the others.”

Her last sentence summarizes the goal I unconsciously achieved in the writing of the story that I consciously wrote. However, this is exactly what we, as readers, want in the books that we read and we, as writers, hope to achieve in our creative offerings.

Allow me to clarify: The goal is conscious; how we achieve that goal in our own writing may well stem from the unconscious as we, the writer, identify with our own characters no less than actors playing a role on stage. However, unlike actors in charted and scripted waters, the writer opens new ground, new pathways creating what may one day be played out on stage. The writer creates the essence and being of the characters, their scenarios, and their settings.

People ask me often if I am Clarisse in my books. Clarisse is a writer and intuitive so therein may be the only real identity this character has with me. However, on a subliminal level, Clarisse took on aspects of my personality without any conscious effort on my part to cloak her in my garments. Her characteristics and reactions to problems in her life somewhat reflect me. With the passing of time, I can now reflect on many characters in my books and see bits of myself in their style, their expressions, their emotions, their reactions to life.

Is this the meaning Dr. Carl Jung taught us when he shared that the journey to the collective unconscious required us to go through our Shadow into creativity? Yes, I can identify with one of the characters who is addicted; I too have an addictive personality and both of us paid a price for our addictions, his being gambling, mine being smoking. Mary, the joy of all who knew her, life of the party goes through failing health into a transport chair and ultimately death. Yes, I can identify with Mary. One character found dead on the kitchen floor…oh yes, I can identify with that experience also!

My point is that as writers we may utilize personal experiences and even our own traits while in the process of developing a character who may take on a life of its own. Several of my characters qualify. It is an amazing process both to see bits of oneself in the creation, and to meet new aspects unplanned that simply reveal dimensions undreamed.

So reading the few words of my reader being drawn into the midst of the characters in the trilogy obviously has given me pause for thought and reflection as to what brought this about. While I strive to live by my own motto of being true to myself, this carries over to every character in my writings! Believable characters with virtues and vices provide us identifiers as do their mini-dramas of everyday lives.

Isabelle, the prequel to the trilogy is being written after-the-fact! She is unfolding a very strange wrinkle to the total, the setting being Marblehead, Salem, Boston and Cambridge, Massachusetts and her move to Walden, New Hampshire. (Walden cannot be found on any map)!

I wonder how many novels we’ve read that like my reader’s experience, drew us into them, allowing us to live their lives page after page until we closed the covers for the last time.

Writers of fiction such as Diana Gabaldan, Susan Howatch, Anne Siddens, Richard Paul Evans come to mind as those who kept me up many nights well past bedtime, unable to close the covers of their books that held my attention and gripped my emotions!

In my opinion, these are the true storytellers! These are role models to emulate! Meanwhile, back to my keyboard! Wait, do you have authors or fiction titles you wish to recommend?

The Makings of a Trilogy

2011-09-02T14:43:00.000-07:00

On December 20, 2008, I typed the first sentence of the first chapter of my first novel, The Siamese Silver Pendant, the first of a trilogy. Admittedly, the first chapter was a struggle. I would eventually transform Chapter 28 into Chapter 1, a flashback of the elder protagonist, Clarisse Lapointe, telling the story from a different perspective.

Such joy I experienced in writing this first novel. Indeed, I was experiencing a daily dose of enjoyment as the story unfolded. From start to finish, 12/20/09 to 1/18/09, the first draft was completed, sixty-one chapters.
On 1/19/09, I decided to write an epilogue to assure the reader of the ongoing life of our protagonist.

I was well into my second novel, The Odyssey of Love, when the Pendant appeared on Amazon on May 9, 2009.

Amazon posted the following book review for The Siamese Silver Pendant::

"The saga of youth and the sojourn of elders, The Siamese Silver Pendant is the story of young, passionate, and forbidden love that crosses the threshold of time into eternity. It is a heart-wrenching story of secrets and revelations that are life altering as young people grapple with adulthood and its responsibility. The story unfolds in Walden, New Hampshire on a summer's eve when four young people's paths cross in a unique and astounding way. Is it Kismet? Is it the story of soul mates who reconnect? If so, is it good karma or bad karma to process in this lifetime? Is this in Divine Plan, a meeting of people who would assist one another in maturing, in spiritual growth, in maturation? Is this a chance meeting, a coincidental encounter that filled the lives of four young people for an entire summer? Whatever the conclusion this is a bittersweet story of joy and sorrow, of betrayal and revelation - a story of love for all ages."

The second in the trilogy, The Odyssey of Love, proved to be an unfolding drama of the lives of the characters met in the first novel and no less enjoyment in the recording of events. Yes, at times I felt like a journalist reporting a scene unfolding before my eyes! Deep into the creative well, I was in awe of the ideas that surfaced in the daily freshly drawn bucket. I finished the first draft of Odyssey on 2/4/09 that I began mid-January.The final product was submitted to the publisher mid-summer but would not be published until 11/2/09.

The Odyssey of Love book review on Amazon reads:

"The Odyssey of Love reveals the ongoing life of those that you met in The Siamese Silver Pendant together with the introduction of new characters. As Lakeland paintings begin to draw millions of dollars at auctions, the dream of Clarisse and David Maguire expands to enfold a living art institute in New Hampshire; a place where classes across the art spectrum would be made available to everyone. Guy Lakeland's sons, young Guy and Trevor, agree. The "Ole Bradford Manor", as it was known in Walden, New Hampshire, comes to the fore in its dilapidated state of ruination, crying out for restoration and with it, a one- time resident who makes her eerie presence known. Love, joy, sorrow, mystery and intrigue -- Walden, New Hampshire will never be the same given the thumb prints of the Maguires', the Lapointes', the Lakelands', and the Buckhannons'. The Odyssey of Love is a journey that will grip your heart."

The third book in the trilogy, Where the Muses Gather soon followed and completed on 9/27/10, off to the copy editor, Robert Way who was my gift amidst some rough seas! On 2/21/11, I managed to obtain release from book contracts with the original publisher and moved my work on to Lulu Publishing with my professionally edited mss of the Muses. Available for purchase at Lulu Publishing and directly from me, Amazon is out-of-stock but will be selling in the future.

Amazon's book review for Where the Muses Gather:

"Where the Muses Gather, the third in the trilogy,preceded by The Siamese Silver Pendant and The Odyssey of Love, is the culmination of dreams of a family to provide a unique art institute in a small New Hampshire town. The book's prologue will introduce you to the families involved, but nothing can prepare you for the events and surprises that beset this community and the institute. Enter the criminal element and witness how good proves victorious in battle. Lakeland paintings bring in millions of dollars, a natural magnet for art thieves. Love, mystery, intrigue, faith, the paranormal, genealogy, travel throughout New England all play a part in this page turner. You may laugh, you may cry but the Muses will entertain you to the last page.

My fourth novel, Isabelle, a prequel to the trilogy, is well underway. This elegant lady crossed centuries in her existence from Marblehead, Salem, Boston, Cambridge and on into Walden, New Hampshire. I expect to introduce Isabelle when the irises bloom, her favorite flower. She planted many beds on New Hampshire soil.

I hope you enjoy the reading as much or more than I've enjoyed the writing of this trilogy! Welcome to my world.

ANNOUNCEMENT

2011-09-01T21:53:00.000-07:00

It has indeed been several months since I blogged on this site for many reasons. However, I've returned to announce the good news to all!

I have completed the three books in the trilogy as committed; all are printed and ready for sale directly from me or from Lulu Publishing. Yes, I was fortunate to be able to cancel the contract with the original publisher on the third novel before we had gone to press. I chose to take the book to Lulu. The same became true for the contracts on the first two books, effecting cancellation within three months of the mutually agreed decision.

Lulu tells me the books will be on Amazon within 6-8 weeks. I don't know the reason for the delay but meanwhile, the books are available, as I noted, from Lulu or from me directly.

The trilogy includes The Siamese Silver Pendant, The Odyssey of Love, and Where the Muses Gather. A fourth book, a prequel to the trilogy, Isabelle, is in process. After you read the third in the trilogy, you'll appreciate why Isabelle had to be written.

You may go to my web site: http://www.claudettelkiely.com/ to learn more about the books and how to order.

In the meantime, I'll post additional information here about the books at another time.

"OMG" - NEW RELEASE

2010-12-19T09:41:00.000-08:00

NEW RELEASE: Christian Country Western singer, Gayla Earlene has a new album, "OMG" that you may hear at her site. I am humbled to share with you that I am the co-writer with Gayla on #7, "Let Me Love You Through Eternity". www.gaylaearlene.com

I wrote the original poem nearly fifty years ago, knowing it was music but I couldn't write music! So there it laid in my poetry collection. I had made a couple feeble attempts to show it to local musicians to no avail.

Thanks to an avid CW fan and relative, the dust collecting days on that poem have ended. My cousin handed this to Gayla at a CW week-long concert in 2008 in Manhattan, Kansas. My business card was stapled to the paper. Within months Gayla asked my permission to use this. She did some rewrite to better suit her and her music style. The rest is history.

She will release this song as a single after the first of the year. She wrote to me of the heightened expectations for the song. In her e-mail this weekend, she shared: "The compilation disc company that I've been going out on thought this would be one of my biggest songs, we'll cross our fingers and see. I told him, well for Claudette's [sake], I hope it goes to number one!!! Anyway we hope it will touch the heart of somebody and make a difference in the world."

The Human Spirit.......

2010-10-09T15:53:00.000-07:00

This week I received a lovely note from my recently found cousin in California. She praised me for my undertakings. Always nice to be appreciated but before I had time to puff up and spread my feathers, I looked upon the art work of her note folder.

The lovely cover of her folded note card depicts a peacock peering into a lush garden of many colors while the background displays a covered part of the walkway, the roof supported by doric columns. Given my appreciation of Greek pillars as well as peacocks, much less a beautiful garden, I stared into the art a few minutes,shades of lavender, purple, rose, reds, white, yellow, greens, etc.

I mused at the irony that while the peacock could strut his stuff, here is this gorgeous garden giving challenge to color display but the peacock's tail is closed! He was not competing, he was appreciating and sensing wonderment, without a doubt!

I turned to the back of this folder and much to my amazement, I discovered that the artist,Elodie Cazes, is a mouth painter! What a realization, yes a shot of reality I felt staring at her name: Elodie Cazes, Mouth Painter. Immediately I saw a survivor, one who triumphed over great odds to create works of beauty!

At the bottom of the card was the name of the group to which she belongs: The Mouth and Foot Painting Artists, their address in Georgia. I immediately googled and found myself lost in a world of artists with with brush in mouth and between toes, creating works of art!

I'll copy and paste their history for you to make your own discovery or perhaps purchase greeting cards, calendars, etc.

The Mouth and Foot Painting Artists' history

The roots of the MFPA go back to 1956, when Erich Stegmann, a polio-stricken mouth painter, gathered a small band of disabled artists from eight European countries. Their ultimate goal was to make their living through their artistic efforts, and to obtain a sense of work security that until then had eluded them.

Coupling his creative abilities with business acumen, Stegmann established the MFPA as a co-operative organization that reproduces its artists work mainly in the form of cards, calendars and books.

From the small group he gathered for the inaugural meeting of the Association of Mouth and Foot Painting Artists, the group has now grown to represent approximately 700 members, from over 70 countries around the world.

One of the main themes of Stegmann’s credo was that the MFPA must never be regarded as a charity simply because its members are disabled. To Stegmann, the word "charity" was as abhorrent as the word "pity." The Association maintains that it is not a charity and does not qualify for charitable assistance.

To this day, the MFPA’s motto in the United States remains: “Self Help – Not Charity.”

Truly, this is an uplifting site to explore in the sense of appreciating the survival of the human spirit against some pretty tremendous odds.

THE MAKINGS OF AN IMPOSTER

2010-10-03T18:13:00.000-07:00

Events this week on Senior Friend Finder as well as the world beyond struck a chord with me. The death of actor, Tony Curtis, prompted recall of one film in which he starred, playing the role of Ferdinand Waldo Demara. The film “The Great Imposter” (1960) reveals an extraordinary life of an actor who played his roles well beyond Hollywood in the real world of everyday life and people.

In coming to Blogspot with my prepared blog, I have noted my last post was "Gift From the Sea" and Demara was mentioned in it re: my visit to North Haven, Island, Maine. This blog will expand upon his masquerade!

Born in Lawrence, Massachusetts, December 21, 1921, Demara left home young and began his career of masquerading as a civil engineer, Benedictine and Trappist monk, teacher, assistant prison warden, psychologist, editor, cancer researcher, and naval surgeon, among others.

His talents included phenomenal memory and intellect demonstrated while serving as a surgeon on the HMCS Cayuga. According to the CFB Esquimalt Naval & Military Museum document, their article opens: “He was an audacious fake and master deceiver and he remains one of the most intriguing figures in Canada’s naval history. Not bad for a man who was neither a sailor nor a Canadian citizen.”

Demara joined the Royal Canadian Navy in March 1951. He used the name of Joseph Cyr and offered his services as a professional physician when he entered the recruiting office in Saint John, New Brunswick. Demara aka Dr. Cyr was commissioned as Surgeon-Lieutenant and assigned to a naval hospital in Halifax before his service on the HMCS Cayuga headed for Korea.

As Dr. Cyr, Demara performed numerous minor surgeries, including dental work on the infected tooth of Cayuga’s commander, Captain James Plomer. Demara studied texts and learned techniques that he applied as well as tapping into the Sick Berth Attendant, together with “generous supplies of anesthetic antibiotics”.

The referenced article states, “Following a commando-style raid off the west coast of Korea, three seriously wounded casualties – all South Korean guerillas – were brought aboard Cayuga. Cyr aka Demara is said to have removed a bullet from a man’s chest and amputated a foot. His patients not only survived, but Cyr’s fellow offices were so impressed with his coolness that they planned to put his name forward for a medal. Talk of such an award, and the attention surrounding his Korean exploits, turned out to be Demara’s undoing.”

The real Dr. Cyr’s mother read the news of the award. Her son, Dr. Cyr, practicing in Grand Falls, New Brunswick realized that Demara, while posing as Brother John, a novice monk, who befriended the doctor had actually stolen his medical credentials.

“The RCN, thoroughly embarrassed by the entire affair, declined to prosecute Demara”, notes author Edward C. Meyers in his book about the RCN in Korea, Thunder in the Morning Calm: The whole episode, Ottawa decided, was best forgotten as quickly as possible. On his return to Canada, Demara was very quietly, and honourably, released from the service, issued re-hab and back pay plus active service credits in the amount of just under one thousand dollars. He was then driven to the border and turned over to the United States Immigration Officer at Blaine, Washington. The Americans had nothing against him in the way of outstanding warrants so, after a few routine questions, they let him go his way.’”

Demara’s masquerades were not over. He went on to become a law student, cancer researcher, deputy sheriff and teacher. North Haven Island, Maine welcomed him as Latin Master in their high school. The kids and parents loved him, and when I visited the Island, I heard nothing but accolades about Demara and what he brought to these young people. The people actually went to court en masse to represent him. The bottom line was that authorities escorted him from Maine and told him never to return. He had been instrumental in the junior college, Notre Dame Normal School in Maine where he also taught, being accredited as a four-year institution. He also taught in Point Barrows, Alaska.

His varied career includes Deputy Warden at Huntsville State Penitentiary, maximum-security lock-up in the Texas prison system. Added to that, he became auditor of Lamar Hotel in Houston.

Ferdinand Waldo Demara, Jr. explained his motives as, “Rascality, pure rascality.”

One thought to have a genius intellect with a photographic memory, his final role was that of Baptist minister, a visiting counselor at Good Samaritan Hospital in Anaheim, California. He also lived at the hospital. In spite of his uncovered past, two doctors, Chief of Staff, Dr. Philip S. Cifarelli and Dr. Jerry Nielson, his friends, personally vouched for him and he was allowed to live at the hospital until his death.

Demara, a diabetic, had both legs amputated. He died June 7/ 8, 1982. Cause of death is listed as cardiovascular disease. He was sixty years old.

Ref: Wikipedia
Life Magazine July 6, 1959 “Uproarious Trip with the Master Imposter”
Time Magazine Dec. 3, 1951 “Medicine: All at Sea"
CFB Esquimalt Naval & Military Museum "Ferdinand Waldo Demara: The Great Imposter
Academic Dictionaries & Encyclopedias
Socyberty, "Ferdinand Waldo Demara, Jr. The Remarkable Imposter
Robert Chrichton wrote a book about Demara: The Great Imposter

Note: His date of birth is sometimes given as 12/12/21 and 12/21/21 and his date of death as 6/7/82 and 6/8/82. I've been unable to verify to-date.

A GIFT FROM THE SEA

2010-06-21T20:44:00.000-07:00

Reflections from 1957

We left our New Hampshire offices mid-day Thursday and eagerly headed for Maine. I was quickened by the prospects of what lay ahead of us, a totally new adventure for me. My co-worker’s parents owned a summer home on North Haven Island, twin to Vinalhaven Island, approximately fifteen miles out to sea in Penobscot Bay, Maine. Her parents had suggested she invite me to join them for a weekend, an invitation which I excitedly accepted.

It was imperative that we arrive in Rockland, Maine in time to catch the last ferry going over to Vinalhaven and North Haven Islands. There was no time to stop for dinner so we had sandwiches packed ahead and coffee from our thermos.

“Do you get seasick?” my friend asked as she drove. “Seasick?” I replied, “have no idea, I’ve never been to sea.”

I would soon learn whether or not the sea would make me sick as we drove our car on to the ferry more than six hours later. A few miles out, this landlubber took to the seas like a pro, my tongue licking the salt spray from my lips, the sea’s winds blowing through my hair, and I stood in awe of the beauty of it all. My friend smiled as she glanced over at me standing near the rail; a smile of seeming relief and amusement. I smiled back, happy to have come this far without incident that bore the undesirable label “seasick”.

The summer home at North Haven was large, accommodating her large family. My scant memory of its interior is one of a very neat and tastefully decorated but rustic home, complete to visible rafters. The atmosphere was made for the red and white checkered tablecloths that covered a very long picnic table in the kitchen. The unpretentious living room was equally comfortable to curl up on the sofa, in a chair, read one of the many magazines lying about. Upstairs, double beds, bunk beds, cots, stacks of bedding piled high, the guest was invited to pick her spot and make her bed.

In the morning, we awoke to sunlight streaming in through our windows. Today, we’d discover North Haven and Vinalhaven Islands. The scent of breakfast being prepared was followed by a call from mother to join her. Over freshly ground and brewed coffee, Mom shared with her daughter all the latest island news and gossip. She also had a way of including me in the conversation that had no relevance for me but such was her gracious manner.

It was 1957 and among other tidbits was the news that kept the island buzzing for a long time. Ferdinand Waldo Demara, alias Martin Godgart, who was later known as “The Great Imposter” had been arrested at North Haven for “cheating”. He had claimed he came from Brooklyn and no one had checked his teaching credentials. He had endeared himself to students and parents alike as a teacher in the Island’s school. He involved the children in Sea Scouts, and other activities. He was so loved, that a contingent had gone from the Island into the court at Augusta where he stood trial. They went to plead for his release and return to the Island to teach their children. The court released him but only to leave the State of Maine and never return.

We toured the Island, driving around although cycling is the usual mode of transportation which we also undertook later. Vinalhaven is eight miles long with miles of paved roads. North Haven has paved roads but at the time, were mostly inland, nothing along the beach.

We took the 16’ boat out to tour around the island. This was also a new experience for me; although the waves at times seemed threatening, my friend seemed unabashed, encouraging me to relax. With a laugh she encouraged me to use the available large tomato can to scoop water that had entered the boat.

However, our boating would soon turn into a major struggle against a squall that whipped itself up fast. We were too far out to return to shore quickly or easily. The skies had turned very dark and the winds were whipping us about, causing heightening waves as it stirred and churned the waters. The sea had turned angry and dark before my eyes.

Water was now coming into the boat in a quantity greater than I was capable of scooping although working as fast as I could to lower the level while realizing I was losing. It was clearly evident the captain of this sixteen footer, however skilled, was now clearly showing stress and her “scooper” was nearing panic stage. At last, she steered us to calmer waters and we headed into shore, relieved to dock. She then assured me that the Coast Guard were just over there, pointing in a direction that seemed not too distant. Had we been thrown overboard or capsized, they would have come to our rescue! As they say ‘down east’, “Ayuh!”

Well, that night at the much anticipated dance, we met the Government’s “would-be saviors of the damsels dumped into the deep”. A group of them had a good laugh at our expense. They had the glass on us, watching our every move and claimed to be ready to rescue if need be but we were their entertainment that afternoon. This landlubber had been duly baptized in the Maine waters and was now ready to dance the night away as we did.

The next day was clamming day. When the tide went out, we donned the hip high rubber boots, grabbed the clam digger tools, the mesh bags in which to put the delicacies after we dug them, drag the bag and let them wash out. I found myself sloshing about in the muddy bottom of Penobscot Bay, sometimes face down having slipped and fallen into the shallow water pools that covered the mud. We were laughing uproariously, having a grand time, and digging where ever a clam would spout and bubble under the mud. We filled our sacks and by that time, happy to trudge back to the dock and remove the boots. We were quite the sight; tosseled, wet and stringy hair, mud smudged faces, our arms streaked with mud traces. Vanity had taken a holiday!

My first time digging them but clearly, I had no intention of eating those clams! I was raised to eat whatever I was served but how could anyone expect me to eat these creatures? Much to my horror, this was all there was for dinner! French bread and butter for those who wanted any and I was about convinced that would be my dinner!

Tubs of melted butter and tubs of clam liquor,water from the steaming used for bathing the clams, were strategically placed about the table. It was evident some type of ritual was unfolding. We were served large dinner plates heaped with clams! No one surmised my discomfort fortunately.

I stared at my plate not having a clue how to go about this culinary adventure. I stared a few moments too long. It became noticeable as I studied the actions of those around me, hearing, “Yummmmmmmm” first from one then the other. My friend began to laugh and asked, ‘Haven’t you ever eaten these before?”

It was unheard of in Maine not to have eaten steamers! Well, I opened one, bathed it, buttered it and placed it in my mouth. It was too big to simply swallow, I was forced to chew. Soon I could be heard joining the "ymmmmmm chorus", and adding, "Wow." I went through more than one plate of steamers at that meal and have eaten many bushel of steamers since.

After cleaning the kitchen, prepared to go out for the evening to a beach party for which plans had been made at the dance the prior night. It was agreed all would meet at the Morrow’s place for the party.

Well, the Morrow’s place was exactly that, The Morrow’s Place! -- the summer home of Dwight Morrow, U.S. Ambassador to Mexico, father-in-law of Charles Lindberg and father to Anne Morrow Lindberg. Anne had written ‘GIFT FROM THE SEA, completing it that year as I recall, while sitting on the beach where we were about to party.

The guys gathered twigs and wood, made a rock enclosure pit for the bon fire. They managed to have it glowing brightly when within minutes the estate’s caretaker arrived! Yes, our party time at the Morrow’s place was shorter lived than had been anticipated. However, nothing, to this day, erased the awe of this young woman, to have shared the beach of this fine writer, Anne Morrow Lindberg, much less the proud boast to have been tossed off the Morrow Estate! My one and only time of being tossed out of any place; therefore, nice to go in style!

We regrouped and located another party spot to carry out our plans. The nightcap on one of the most unique adventures of my youth would end too soon and it did.

Following a long night of sound sleep, we awakened late in the morning. We made a light breakfast. Today was to be another clam digging day; not just for the house but for me to take home a peck to my dad who loved them. I felt like a pro out there in my attire, managing the digger tool much more skillfully as well as realizing I was staying on my feet longer in my hip boots.

We managed to complete our task, return to the house, shower, pack and ready for the seven hour trip home. Admittedly, I didn’t want to leave and would have been happy to eat clams daily! We were career women and commitment called us both back to work on Monday.

As I stood silently on the deck of the ferry, my gaze remained fixed on the island that I was leaving behind, perhaps forever. It faded from view but not from memory. It is filed among memories of those experiences
that enrich body, mind, and Spirit.

Dr. Carl G. Jung - From His Innermost Depths

2010-05-18T12:03:00.000-07:00

Anyone interested in the late Dr. Carl Jung who are unfamiliar with the posthumous publication of his Red Book may enjoy tapping into the NY Times article "The Holy Grail of the Unconscious" by Sara Corbett. Very lengthy article but informative of the journey of this book coming into publication after so many years.

Amazon is asking $122.85 for this tome. However, the bonus of a visit to Amazon is the introduction of Michael Dira of the Washington Post Book World who has written an excellent and lengthy overview of the book. Used copies of the book are selling for more than new copies!

A Jungian friend brought her copy to my home yesterday and what a journey it was going through this more than 400 page tome, printed on high quality parchment, 18" x 12.l" x 2.4" and weighs in at 9.4 pounds. I turned every page, stopping at those of special interest due to the art work.

Dr. Jung recorded his inner world in calligraphy script, written in German complete to mandala art and meticulously exquisite calligraphic lettering. The second half of the book provides the translation into English by a London-based historian, Sonu Shamdasani, who spent three years persuading the family to endorse the publication of the book and allow him access to it. Sonu, 46, spent more than five years on the translation of this work. It is claimed that "He has studied Jungian psychology for more than 15 years. He is particularly drawn to the breadth of Jung's psychology and his knowledge of Eastern thought, as well as the historical richness of his era, a period when visionary writing was more common, when science and art were more entwined and when Europe was slipping into the psychic upheaval of war."

The mystery of the hidden Red Book in a cupboard in the Jung home is covered in the NY Times article.

We have Stephen Martin and Sonu Shamdasani to thank for patiently working with the Jung family and eventually convincing them to release this work. They co-founded the Philemon Foundation, a Jungian foundation and did the fund raising for support of the work on the Red Book.

Last night, as I have not infrequently done over the years, I took from my book shelves, Memories, Dreams, Reflections by C.G.Jung. The date on the inside of this treasured book, a gift from a friend was February 15, 1971. The pages are yellowed, the binding shows cracks where pages threaten to detach. While the aging paper is not healthy for my unhealthy lungs, nonetheless my sentiment and nostalgia as well, sent me to Amazon to reorder this book, a brand new edition but later printing to avoid the paper dust/mites. I will retire my overworked but treasured copy with all its marginal notes. I am smiling thinking that one day one of my children, grandchildren or even great grandchildren may learn a bit about this ole gal from marginal notes linked to Jung's paragraphs but hopefully, to pursue the journey of this enigmatic genius who like no other, probed the depths of the psyche, dredged up the creative genius of his being! A mystic indeed as well as a great depth psychologist.

As Jung was overheard to have said, "Thank God, I am Jung....and not a Jungian." It is easy to understand his view, is it not?

LOCKS OF LOVE

2010-05-15T18:49:00.000-07:00

I wondered if I was reading a chapter from Gift of the Magi when my granddaughter announced, "Gramma, I donated my hair!"

My twelve year old Pocahontas look-alike grew her hair to her butt in order to meet the requirement of ten inches of hair to donate to Locks of Love. She has talked of this for over a year while the growth process continued. She obviously meant every word of her commitment and the deed is done. She is left with shoulder length black locks.

Locks of Love is an organization that provides hair pieces to children suffering hair loss from chemotherapy treatments and permanent hair loss due to radiation but also including other conditions. Chemo children will eventually regrow their hair so priority is given to those children with a condition that denies future growth.

Another organization,Wigs for Kids, also provide free wigs when parents demonstrate financial need.

There are guidelines for hair donation, the minimal length being ten inches. The guidelines are available at the organizations web sites. This human hair collection is an ongoing activity in both the United States and Canada.

Hairpieces are for both girls and boys and a child can receive a maximum of five. The cost of manufacture of these pieces runs over a thousand dollars and Locks of Love and Wigs for Kids pay the tab. Parents earning less than $100,000 annually is the cut-off income line for free hairpieces.

Several hair salons offer discounted or free hair cuts to those donating their locks. Some will mail the package for the donor also.

I should not have been surprised with my "grandie's" purposeful hair-cutting venue. A couple years ago, one of her classmates was hospitalized in Boston, her mother driving back and forth, not financially comfortable, so the teacher took up a collection for her in the school. My granddaughter left school, went home, took out her savings bank nearly filled to the brim, dumped it in a bag including the paper and announced that she was giving this to the collection for Amanda's mother. None, not even she, knew how much was in the container but it all went for "a friend in need".

May her humanitarian motivations continue in service as she moves into adulthood!

A By-Gone Era

2010-05-03T16:22:00.000-07:00

Today, as I reviewed the hats worn by the ladies in attendance at the Kentucky Derby, I felt a pang of nostalgia. MSN presented their selection of the top ten. I could but wish for more.

Names of hats like Witchy Woman, a stunning black wide brimmed number, Flip Floppy, the brim doing just that, Share Blue, a dramatic creation in blue, and more captured my attention for several minutes admixed with memories of my own hat collection in the 50's and 60's.

Among my small collection was my favorite, a wide brimmed manila colored stiffly woven/crocheted straw,the rounded rib woven crown banded with wide black velvet ribbon one and one-half inches terminating into a lovely simple cross-over bow. The bow's tails crossed the brim and peered slightly over the edge. It was truly a stunning creation, one hat of all that I never minded wearing when an occasion called for same.

Another I had made by Margaret Rooney, the single milliner of "Hats by Margaret". She was a talented and skillful milliner in Holyoke, Massachusetts. It was a five inch high drum style with narrow brim, (without the brim it would be called a Pill Box). The entire creation was covered with pheasant feathers while strutting a couple feathers reaching heavenward on the right side! It was a magnificent hat of a more modest style than my look of the south in my wide brimmed number.

For the perfect summer wedding, my bridesmaids and maid of honor had similar wide brimmed hats designed by the same milliner. These were in layers of sheer fabrics in pastel shades matching the gowns.(Fortunately, Margaret worked for reasonable wages!!!)

However, given my limited hat history while delightful for me to ponder, on a more serious note, I wondered if we may one day revert to this elegant fashion. I see sun hats imitating my wide brimmed straw and since I have to be cautious in the sun, I just may buy me the inferior copy of the one I loved in my past.

Summer catalogs once showed a few dresses but offered vast numbers of shorts,capris, slacks, etc. Today, I am seeing more summer dresses in our catalogs so it seems we are retro in 2010. Even the styles bring back memories of the designs of the "halter dress" that we wore. There is nothing like a free flowing A-line halter dress for cool comfort!

If we have style/trend setters out there, I'd like to ask about this retro look? What are you gals seeing?

Do you see hats making a comeback in fashion? If so, do you see a comeback of hats only as part of sophisticated fashion or for all women for special occasions? I wonder if men like women wearing hats as part of the "gussied up" look.

(I pose this question keeping in mind it is tough to steal a kiss underneath that brim!)

Old Recrods, Photos and the Stories They Tell

2010-04-28T13:21:00.000-07:00

This week, I have spent a considerable amount of time working alongside my youngest son who has undertaken the intensive research of genealogy. Missing among the family histories of both his parents is my husband's, his dad's, Irish ancestry behind his great- grandparents in Ireland.

My son is buried in immigration documents together with Census Records that are available through 1930. Unfortunately, 1940 census will not be published until April 2, 2012, allowing the privacy of 72 years between the publication of census documents. (As of this date, April 28, 2010, there are 704 days remaining until Monday, April 2, 2012 per Ancestrydotcom that tracks the countdown for genealogists).

Being the pack rat I confess to be, I had him bring out the thirty gallon plastic container of photos that reach back to the "turn of the century", the early 1900's into the "turn of the century" the early 2000's. (Intriguing to reflect upon the crossing of the centuries).

Perhaps the earliest of the photos were the weddings of my grandparents, both paternal and maternal dating back to 1902 and 1903, immigrants from Canada who sought a new life in the United States.

However, I approached the many photos with an attempt to objectively reflect upon the stories they might speak to me and the memories they may recall of stories told to me. I was aware of being the stranger to the history behind my birth and beyond in some instances. The clothes they wore, the expressions they wore, the positions in both formal and candid photos, etc. all had a story to relate.

Amidst it all, the story of my roots was interrupted by one photo, that of my seven year old brother and me at the age of eleven We were sitting on the front molded concrete stairs of an artistic cement block house, our home, posed for the photo. It was obviously cold as we were wearing outer winter attire including a triangular folded white kerchief on my head.

As my eyes moved downward, scanning the photo, recalling the red coat with brass buttons, I looked upon my shoes and lingered, flooded with thought! I felt the pain of poverty and the impact of Yankee frugality to wear it, repair it, replace it only when it no longer fits but then to give it away to another. These tie shoes were well worn. Interestingly, I wonder if they really fit given that both laced sides of the shoe came together on my very narrow foot that later, in my teens, required specially fitted shoes of a combination last.

I no longer wonder why I so love shoes and have so many pairs in my closet, including name brands!

However, the impact of this photo went beyond the content of my closet. I tried to imagine, with both parents working in factories, where we placed on the food chain and my best guess is borderline between poverty inching into low mid-income.

Moreover, coming from such a background, I felt tears well as I looked about my surroundings, my setting and recognized the miles my life has traveled. I thought of all that I have had that my parents couldn't dream of having in their limited world given their elementary school education and opportunities. Nonetheless, they continued their trek and made their earnest effort to provide for their children who, while not experiencing the amenities of wealth, had come from a family whose roots and example provided gifts of values, of ethics, of self-esteem and respect.

Indeed, the story of the shoes connected me to a world left behind but one that I can wholly appreciate today.

I think that MOTHER'S DAY and FATHER'S DAY will take on additional meaning in 2010 and my reflection will be one of ongoing gratitude and pride.

HOW DID I KNOW?

2010-03-25T11:55:00.000-07:00

This morning, I opened my mail and found an ad from Amazon Books -- not unusual as I buy from them frequently. However, the content of this one found me staring into the screen in disbelief. Staring back at me is the face of a woman on the cover of the book: Portrait Painting Atelier: Old Master Techniques and Contemporary Applications by Suzanne Brooker and Domenic Cretara (Hardcover - Mar. 9, 2010)

Allow me to explain, please. As many of you know, I wrote and published two novel of a trilogy in 2009, the third to be completed in 2010. When I began writing the second one, The Odyssey of Love, much to my surprise, my words were portraying the world of an artist! In the first book I had no clue of this role for this character or the prominent role he would play in the trilogy. Thus, it seemed I was confirming what writers oft say of their works, "It wrote itself".

Not only did I not know the turn this series would take but also I know little or nothing about art although I appreciate much of it. Ah, yes, as you may know, creative writing teachers will advise students to write about things which they know! Clearly, I was in over my head, so I thought.

Here is the crux of my personal mystery drama! In one chapter, I described one of the artist's works that I could plainly see, as I had many, in my mind's eye. The painting is titled Are We Home Yet?. This is a painting depicting an Irish family in a past century coming through Ellis Island to a new life in America. The longer I pondered and the more I wrote, the clearer it became to me that the artist used an "old masters technique" to depict the long obscured line of immigrants behind the family approaching the counter. How could I possibly know this?

The mystery of this hinges on the fact that while I appreciate art, I know nothing about techniques, old or contemporary. Yet, I knew I was viewing an "old masters' technique" while not only asking how I could know this but also who could validate or invalidate my thinking. However, at a deep place, I knew I was correct in my thinking yet hesitant to trust myself!

My first consideration was to ask the artist who posed for the book's cover. He not only validated my knowing but also explained a bit as to how the masters applied the paint to achieve that which I described, etc.

Therefore, I trust you can appreciate my amazement that this day here I am, face to face with this book about the old masters techniques.

I am telling myself, "Stay tuned, there is more to come!"

Catching Up........

2010-03-19T12:41:00.000-07:00

It has been such a long while since I posted to my blogspot site but there is good reason for that. Soon after the blog that appeared just prior to this, pnemonia caught me unaware of the damage it might do to my health and my life long term. Yes, I had three hospitalizations, spent seven weeks, two separate treks, in the in-patient physical therapy rehabilitation program in two facilities. I am home since February 24 where I have been attended by visiting nurses coming in two or three times a week to ensure I am indeed processing.

Yes, I am feeling stronger day by day and spending more time on the computer these days. This brings me to my writing and the book that yet awaits completing, Where the Muses Gather. I am receiving good reviews on the first two, The Siamese Silver Pendant and The Odyssey of Love.

I am feeling the creative energy beginning to churn and ideas are beginning to flow. Great feeling that holds promise of good days ahead and hopefully positive production.

Signing off, the muses await.......

BOOK RELEASE - The Odyssey of Love

2009-11-15T22:04:00.000-08:00

I am pleased to announce the release of my second novel, The Odyssey of Love.

November 2, 2009 at nearly midnight on this date, the publisher and I managed the last tweak to a beautiful cover, ensuring the quality before releasing to the printer. I went to bed exhausted but one happy author, for sure.

You may purchase autographed copies directly from me. See my web page http://www.claudettelkiely.com/ or write me at clk1936@charter.net

I have a few copies available of the first novel in this trilogy, The Siamese Silver Pendant.

Easy Christmas shopping - an autographed book!

Shriner's Hospital, A Little Girl, A Big Miracle

2009-10-31T20:27:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I spent a little time sorting books from my full dining room closet that I had converted to bookshelves. I lifted Dorland's Medical Dictionary, 25th Edition with its thin gilded edge pages from its high resting place since 2003. I had bought the book decades ago but moved it here with me, although having less use for it. I held the book in hand, pondered the many post-it notes marking places I had stopped to read and research.

Why did I have such a tome? -- Hundreds of hours spent in the hallowed halls of medicine from home,local docs to Boston hospitals from the earliest ages of my five children when it was learned that four of them have an incurable neurological disorder. I studied, I researched, I took notes furiously, hanging on every medical term thrown at me. Thus Dorland's.... not all docs translate their language well for laypersons. (Today we are blessed with WEB MD)

As I removed all the post-it notes, marking those pages where I rested to read, I noted a tassel of aqua hanging off the back binding area. I pull on it and held a lovely rainbow book mark in my hand.

Across the rainbow in gold letters, I read: "I believe in God because of rainbows." OK.... then I turned the card over.

There I read through tears: "To Mom -- on the occasion of my final visit to Shriner's after nineteen years. (name) 10/31/84."

Yes, today is a milestone of twenty-five years for this child who grew into womanhood under the umbrella provided by Shriner's doctors and their hospital.

I recall once again, that day when she turned eight, a party at the hospital to proceed planned surgery to fuse her ankles, to take pressure off the diseased tibia.....the doctor concluded, shaking his head, "We can't explain it but good bone marrow is replacing the diseased. We won't be operating and but for wanting to provide you the dental care tomorrow, we'd discharge her tonight."

(Diseased tibia, if broken was a guaranteed amputation as there is no healing diseased bone).

He explained that they had walked her miles in the hospital, x-rayed beyond the point that was required but they had to know what they were seeing when such a short time ago, only diseased bone was shown on x-ray.

I looked at him and asked quietly, "Doctor, do you believe in the power of prayer?" As his tears welled, he dabbed his eyes and walked from me while his nurse did the rescue saying, "At Shriner's we believe in many things including prayer." The doctor returned to discuss further and looking deeply into my eyes just shook his head in wonderment.

I never doubted the sacred soil upon which I was standing that night.

In a forthcoming book, I will share more of this child's/woman's miracle but she rejoiced at that age, at long last, to be able to wear "boys sneakers" like the other girls were doing in 1971. The essence of the miracle for her was to become like everyone else in her social group.

In a short time, the brace on her leg was permanently removed. However, upon returning to school on Monday, she found the beautifully wrapped gift box in the center of her desk contained the symbol of her hope, a gift from her teacher and classmates - a new pair of boys sneakers.

Shriner's tracked her to the age of twenty-one, not a dime charged to her parents or our medical insurance.

Shriner's the world over have supported their own hospitals and every patient, regardless of finances, received totally free care. A couple months ago that has been changed and to keep the hospitals going, they will begin to charge insurance companies.

I encourage all to support their work, knowing first hand, the tremendous outpouring these hospitals provide to children globally.

October 31, 1984 ..... a Halloween not to be forgotten, indeed!

BOOK REVIEW

2009-10-08T22:48:00.000-07:00

Exciting news! My first novel, The Siamese Silver Pendant, has received its first official book review from Coffee Time Romance. The book is rated "four cups" out of a possible five that the group states is rarely awarded so I'm taking my bows! New to fiction writing, I took a leap of faith and given this review from those who are steeped in the genre of romance novels, I am breathing a deep sigh of relief.

Progress

2009-10-03T22:53:00.001-07:00

I am pleased to receive a copy of the cover design sent to me by my publisher at the close of the week. Minor tweaking and it will be ready to go.....just a font color change and slight repositioning will do it! I am so pleased to see it all coming together at long last. I don't have a release date at this time but as soon as I know, I will publish it here and on FaceBook, as well as on my web site. Feel free too go there at www.claudettelkiely.com if you wish more information.

ANNOUNCEMENT -- THE ODYSSEY OF LOVE

2009-09-24T19:42:00.000-07:00

I am pleased to announce that my second romance novel, The Odyssey of Love, was transferred to the publisher, SAGA BOOKS, today, 9/24/09 at 1:01 pm EDT. The editor is working on the cover design that will feature professional artist, Robert H. Way who resides with his wife, Denise, in North Carolina. Robert grew up in New Hampshire, the setting for the book, and I'm proud to hang on the same family tree with him. When time permits, I'll post more of the book synopsis and biographical data on Mr. Way. For those who have been asking for a release date on this second book, I ask you to be patient....it is forthcoming, I promise. Now on to complete book #3, Where the Muses Gather to complete this trilogy focused on NH. This is about
one-third completed in draft form so a few more weeks and I'll type the last word.

Oh for those of you who have asked of my paranormal book, maybe early 2010 (if the 'crik' don't rise!) and I know, it has been a long time in development -- my own! Thanks for your continued supports.

Let Us Remember

2009-09-11T13:10:00.000-07:00

Today is indeed a date that will live in infamy, 9/11 when terrorists invaded and wrought destruction in New York City. It is good to remember and pay respect to those who served, those who died, those who sacrificed. However, life goes on and we have to move forward, with complete awareness of what was and what could be but not to live in fear.

So today, let us dry our tears and rejoice in the heroism of that horrific
time when Americans rose to the needs of one another in ways
unimagined.

Let us dry our tears and acclaim those who laid down their
lives to help others.

Let us dry our tears and celebrate in the legacy of universal
love demonstrated by humanity in this crises.

Let us dry our tears, bow our heads, and give thanks for the
Spirit of America and its citizens who rise to the hour of
need here and abroad.

Indeed, let us stand tall, proud to be an American.

In the Interim.......

2009-08-08T19:17:00.000-07:00

Not everything falls into place as we may ordain it will, and such is the fate of The Odyssey of Love, delayed a few weeks from publication. I had hoped to see it together in July but now uncertain whether August is hopeful. The editing process has been held up and once back to me, I'll once again edit ,and hopefully, it will be ready for print.

In the meantime, while I was hospitalized for pneumonia a week in June, I wrote 'the missing piece' for the third book, Where the Muses Gather. Weeks, I had mulled the notion I wanted to script but it simply wasn't going in the right direction. I tossed about the initial idea but nothing had jelled!

Voila! One day, I sat up in my hospital bed, grabbed my green notebook and began to write. It was there, just waiting to be recorded! I wrote for a few hours. The chapter remains in the green notebook, waiting for me to type it into WORD and rework it. I might make that a project for this week while I take a rest from reworking some of the chapters of the third book already written.

For those of you waiting on the second book, The Odyssey of Love, I appreciate your patience. I will notify everyone as soon as it is printed and delivered to me.

The Siamese Silver Pendant Is Published

2009-06-06T21:05:00.000-07:00

The Siamese Silver Pendant is now available from me, from my publisher, (SagaBooks in Canada), or the many distributors online such as Amazon, Barnes & Noble, etc. Today, I learned it is marketing internationally (see blog below re: UK's Waterstones).

The saga of youth and the sojourn of elders, The Siamese Silver Pendant is the story of young, passionate, and forbidden love that crosses the threshold of time into eternity. It is a heart-wrenching story of secrets and revelations that are life altering as young people grapple with adulthood and its responsibility.

The sequel, The Odyssey of Love, has an expected release date in July. It is currently with the copy editor and a few treks back and forth, it will be off to the printer's.

The third of this trilogy, Where the Muses Gather is in process and expected to be ready for a mid-November release date, in time for Christmas.

Feel free to contact me on my web site: www.claudettelkiely.com or write me at
1981 Memorial Drive, Box #167, Chicopee, MA 01020-4322 if you wish to receive a copy.

New

2009-06-06T21:03:00.000-07:00

England and the Book Industry
Jun 6, 2009 11:11 amMood: curious, 43 Views
I trust you can appreciate, now that I have a single book out there among millions, it behooves me to watch the industry's trend (tic). However, all joking aside, I had an eye-opener this a.m. as I googled to see if and how my book may be listed. Does the name "Waterstone's" mean anything to any of you? It didn't mean much to me but I began to read of this UK book distributor and dealer.Known as the "British Book Specialist" I could readily appreciate the reason for the title, upon reading of their ownership of stores across the UK and Europe. They took over Hodges Figgi's in Ireland, Hitchard's in London. They took over Borders in August 2008 that includes stores on Fleet St., London Walls, Holburn, Wardsworth, Axbridge, Finchely and Canary Wharf. ("those far away places with strange sounding names" ).There is much more to learn of this company, other than they have now granted my work international status. I am fascinated by such a massive takeover of the book market.Just when so many of us have been concerned about the downward spiral of the book business, here is Waterstone's investing in all the tomorrows of the industry, buying up shops and going online.Leave it to the British to recognize the lasting values of literature, values of the creative spirit.I hope several in here, more 'in-the-know' than am I, internationally, will share insights of Waterstone's mission.Once again, an ally across "the great pond".... I tip my hat to those with such forsight.One of my roads not taken was bookstore ownership. I had a dream of a family bookstore, complete to reading rooms, coffee pot and tea kettle corner, etc. and we found the right building at the wrong time. Disconnect from dream, move on....later met a bookstore owner in a totally different setting and he reassured me of the wisdom of "moving on and away from bookstore ownership". Soon thereafter, along comes Barnes & Noble and desiccated bookstore owners in our area.....I could have been among them.It all began with those two little woven linen books my parents bought me as a tiny toddler, The Three Little Kittens and The Three Billy Goats Gruff Little did they realize that reading the same book to a child, several times a day, a toddler just might remember the story word-for-word. Oh well, for all they told that their little wonder girl could read, eventually she did learn that skill also but the kid had one-hell-of-a-memory. Thanks mawwwww.

Did I Miss The Party?

2009-04-18T08:03:00.000-07:00

When New Year's Eve, 2009, arrived, I was mid-way the completion of writing my first novel, The Siamese Silver Pendant. I finished the book in three weeks, sent the synopsis and first three chapters to the publisher who accepted the book for publication. Currently, it is with the copy editor who is making her final pass this weekend.

You may review the synopsis and first chapter on my web page: http://www.claudettelkiely.com/ . If you leave a note, I will notify you when the book is released.

The sequel, The Odyssey of Love, is now finished and I have sent the synopsis and first three chapters to the publisher. It will also be published by the same publisher.

The third in this trilogy, Where The Muses Gather, is approaching completion.

Hope you will join with us and I'd like to hear from every reader of my first novel.

2008-12-16T16:55:00.000-08:00

WHAT CHRISTMAS MEANS TO ME ©

Claudette L. Kiely

The tinsel and the trimmings
Gift wrap and ribbons too,
The ‘hustle and the bustle
Is this what Christmas means to you?

The cards and fond memories
The wreath hung upon the door,
The candle lamps at windows,
And oh! – Just so much more!

The turkey and its fixin’s,
Special breads and cookies too,
Ribbon candy and the egg nog,
Is this what Christmas means to you?

The Yule Log burning brightly,
Carolers singing ‘round the door.
This is what Christmas means to me,
Yes! -- This and so much more.

Love wrapped within the giving
Children's laughter 'round lighted tree,
A radiant glow from the lighted Crèche,
Yes! – This and more is Christmas to me.

The mistletoe and holly,
Children good, -- as good can be!
Family and friends, love, peace and joy,
All this and more is Christmas to me.

At the heart of all the merriment
Is the Christ, who leads us on,
The Greatest of all Masters, came to earth
On that First Christmas Morn.

2008-12-15T13:38:00.001-08:00

A CHRISTMAS GIFT OF LOVE ©

Claudette L.Kiely

Love comes packaged in many different ways. In the final analysis, however it may be packaged it is unmistakable.

This is the story of a little boy who at the tender young age of five understood in his own way the meaning of Christmas, of giving, and of Love. He knew how to roll it all into one package.

“Mom,” Johnnie said, “I want to give Santa Claus a present this year. Please make one of those candy dishes in the shape of a Christmas tree so he can use it for his cookies and candies.”

It was December 1964, the busiest time of the year for mother who owned and operated a ceramic studio in addition to raising her five young children, the oldest being Johnnie.

Swamped with her holiday workload, she quickly explained that Santa’s gift would be cookies and milk as in years past. Johnnie persisted. Who could resist that darling upturned and pleading face?

The Santa line was very long in the city’s largest department store. There stood mom, patiently waiting, with her brood of five. Johnnie clutched his beautifully wrapped gold package, his gift for the old gent. At last, their turn arrived.

Without ceremony, Johnnie thrust has gift toward Santa saying, “This is for you!”

Santa looked at Johnnie, he looked at the gift, then to mother frowning quizzically. Mom nodded with a smile, softly saying, “For you.”

Without hesitation, Johnnie simply stated, “That is for you and Mrs. Claus. You always give presents and don’t get any so now you have one.”

Santa laid the gift aside and lifted Johnnie to his knee, thanked him and checked his list as he did Johnnie’s siblings. His gloved hand reached up and touched his right eye that glistened with moisture. He bade this little family good-bye concluding with a hearty “Ho ho ho”.

Christmas 1965, Johnnie now six, -- it was to be very different from the last one. Johnnie laid on a hospital bed in full body cast in front of the large picture window in his home. He watched his brothers and sisters playing in the snow. Johnnie had fallen from a merry-go-round on the playground at school and suffered a slipped capital femoral epiphysis, requiring a cast from toes to underarms, across the chest.

Day by day his sadness mounted because he could not visit Santa Claus. He had coped well with his condition both during his long hospital stay and now at home. He had coped with his own immobility, always requiring assistance from others. However, not to be able to visit Santa was obviously making a deep inroad into this child’s emotional well-being.

Hearing and seeing the sadness of her little boy, mother phoned the personnel manager of the department store where annually she had taken the children and where last year Johnnie had presented Santa a gift. She asked to hire the store’s Santa after hours, the only Santa John had ever known year after year. She explained John's condition and his inability to come into the store. The Personnel Manager assured her he would get back to her.

Hours later, the telephone rang. The personnel manager told mother that she could not hire Santa, it was against contract policy. However, he explained that Santa was free to do whatever he wished after hours, including borrowing the store’s Santa suit and bringing the department store’s owner to Johnnie’s house if mother would approve the extra visitor. No charge of course, it was not allowed – contract regulations!

“Mom, mom, come quick, it’s Santa and another man!” Johnnie, from his bed by the window, had seen the black Cadillac drive into the driveway and Santa emerged. Wide-eyed Johnnie repeatedly said, “It’s him, it’s really Santa, look!”

By now his brothers and sisters were climbing on to his hospital bed to glimpse their special visitor. Santa reached into the back seat and brought forth a large square box. His driver came around the front of the car and the two men climbed the stairs into a child’s world like no other this child could have imagined.

Mother, with tearful eyes, greeted the “Man of the Hour” and his partner. Santa looked at her, stared for a moment, frowned and went into the living room. It had been a knowing frown, a look of surprise – he had a vague recall of this woman.

He went to Johnnie with the "Ho Ho Ho’s" to be expected and shook his hand. “Oh my, you are the young man who gave Mrs. Claus and me the nice gift last year. You know, we used it last year and are using it again this year.” He told Johnnie how much they liked his present.

As he held John's hand, he looked into his eyes and with a serious tone said, “Johnnie, that dish captured the meaning of Christmas, and we thank you.”

By now all the children, ages 5,4,3,and 2, had gathered at Santa’s knees, giggling, jumping up and down, gleefully excited. After all, it is not every day or even every year that children have a visit from Santa mid-week, during the day, in their living room.

Santa patiently listened to each child's wish list.

“Now tell, young man, what happened to you that put you into this cast?” Santa asked. He listened intently as John shared his story. He reassured John that he’d soon have the cast removed and he’d be up and running again.

He then opened the large box he had brought and each child received two whistle pops that immediately produced cacophony of the most beautiful type. He handed the box to mother to dole out the remaining pops day by day.

Santa stood and looked at mother again. With glazed eyes, he shook his head as he reached for her hand. It was time to leave, the North Pole awaited. Mother escorted the two men to the front door, shaking their hands appreciatively, her eyes also glistening through her joy.

My tears are flowing once again as I recall the warmth and joy of that hour in my son’s young life. “Yes, Johnnie, there is a Santa Claus!"

UNIVERSAL RAPTURE

2008-12-14T18:52:00.000-08:00

UNIVERSAL RAPTURE
Dec 27, 2006 3:48 pm
For me, it is all there at ocean side, apart from the noise of the crowd. It awaits us all, each and everyone.

It calls to “the Mystic” within to commune with all of nature, with the Universe itself. At the ocean, in the mountains, in the desert, the Universe speaks in Silence. “Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place and rest a while.” (Mark 6:31)

I drove to my favorite ocean side spot in Kennebunkport, Maine one beautiful summer day. I parked the car and climbed on to the rock ledges to think, to ponder, to absorb, to meditate.

The cumulus, fluffy white clouds overhead, stitched into an azure blue tapestry of the sky provided the setting of His Handiwork, reaching as far as the eye could see. The ocean’s reflective waves steadily and rhythmically lapped the shoreline, allowing the tiny white breakers to plant their delicate kisses upon each rock before departing the shore.

The gentle movement of the summer’s breeze carried the salty mist spay, dampening garment and flesh alike. It causes one’s lips to tingle with excitement as tongue reaches to taste the salty brine.

Streams of sunlight bathed land and sea beneath the slowly moving clouds causing a momentary interplay and exchange of shadow and light, the dance of Life. A total sensate experience of earth, air, fire and water, these gifts of the Universe are presented to each one’s receptive senses.

Immersed in such wondrous beauty, to be wholistically touched in body, mind and Spirit, one is transformed. Time passed without recognition of minutes or hours. The sun began its journey behind the horizon, an orange glow, a ball of fire slipping slowly down behind the stage floor of the ocean.

I stood, stretched my arms to the Universe, bowed and thanked the Creator of it all.

I had arrived an observer. I became a participant. I departed a poet whose Soul comprehends that which consciousness fails to describe of the spiritual intensity of the experience.

We are at-one-ment with the Universe, with Life

SWEET, SWEET BITTERSWEET

2008-12-14T18:29:00.000-08:00

SWEET, SWEET BITTERSWEET ©

Claudette

Summer’s legacy to youth and age
Is read in Autumn’s array.
The brilliance of blazing Autumn endures
In the bittersweet gathered today.

In its berries orange glow of glory
Which cling to aged stock;
Nature constructs a bridge in time
Upon which all may walk.

It beckons to the young and the old
On a cold and bleak winter’s day,
To enjoy the warmth of the summer’s sun
Invited by autumn to enhance her array.

Indeed, the joy under the summer’s sun
Linger on in fond memory.
The orange glow of the bittersweet
Is her living legacy.

A camper’s fire defying death,
The warm glow of the last dying ember,
Is rekindled anew in memory –
Orange in white December.

The sun setting o’er the Isles of Shoals,
A lover’s promise to remember,
The sand which glows with the foam’s caress –
Orange in white December.

The blossoms in the bridal bouquet
Promise a dream of splendor,
Tossed into the hands of a waiting maid –
Orange in white December.

Indeed, the joys under the Summer’s sun
Linger on in fond memory.
The orange glow of the bittersweet bush
Is her living legacy.

Welcome To My World

2008-12-14T18:15:00.000-08:00

I view my blog as a garden of thoughts providing a place to meet, a place to greet, and a place to share. I hope you will visit often.