Hurricane Carla

Hurricane Carla 1961

by

B.D. Adams

©2017

M

y Texas memories can be one after the other of happiness and childhood delight. Some of them, though, could be scary and alarming. Like my memory of Hurricane Carla.

   We moved to Victoria, TX, in 1960. I was on the upside of being ten-years-old. We moved to a suburb where many other kids lived. A modern way to live.

   We moved to Victoria because he became the head Physical Therapist in a bigger hospital.in Victoria. Victoria was between Houston and Corpse Christi.

    When we got to Victoria, we were closer to the Gulf Coast. Since my father was a boatman and a fisherman, we would go to the coast very often. We would tow our boat to there every time.

   Our main place to go was Port O’Connor – about 50 miles south of Victoria. With the storms I could remember back then, were some Gales or rain storms. The idea of anything worse was not considered.

   Then, in September 1961, I was 11 -- it became considered that the brewing storm in the Gulf of Mexico could hit Texas. Schools were closed until further notice. This was the first time I can remember that I actually watched the news and weather. I had no idea why it fascinated me, but it did.

   Then the news became definite that Hurricane Carla, as the storm was named, headed to Port O’Connor. The sustained winds were now expected to increase to 100mph. My mother and father had done the preparation to try to hunker down the house – a single story structure (no basement or crawlspace). The windows, front and back, had been taped with masking tape to keep the glass from splintering. My father had bought a large roll of plastic, in case a window did break.

   To a kid, this was exciting! Little did she know that the begeebies would be scared out of her!!

    September 12, 1961, the winds began very strong along with the rain – the sideway rain! It was daylight like around early afternoon. The sound was so horrible!

   As the storm intensified, if I was educated with The Tempest, this was what I would envision for Shakespeare’s sea storm!

   I watched out the front windows. There was so much debris that flew around. We would hear as the solid pieces would hit the house! There was little detail to see, but all the house could be seen. Many neighbors stayed, but just as many evacuated.

   Then, we heard and saw, an even more horrible sound, as a neighbor across the street lost their carport!! Thank goodness, they weren’t at home. (After the storm, we learned that the wall on that side caved.)

   My mother, being an average mother, made like a sleep-over in the living room; blankets, pillows, even a few sleeping bags. She made sandwiches for our supper. There was no electric, but we had candles and a couple of camp kerosene lanterns.

   It was night now – the storm still wailed. My mother kept trying to get me to sleep, but there was no way I could sleep. My younger brother had no problem. After supper he fell asleep.

   Then, quite surprising … the winds stopped. My father made note that we got a corner of “The Eye.” We went out the back door and stood on the concrete slab that was a porch, sort of. The water was deep here.

   I looked to the sky and saw the stars and a bit of the moon. I could see all the junk that lay all over the backyard and against the fences. It was a little spooky. Also, frogs were heard. Weird!

   “Is it over?” I asked my father.

   “No – now we need to fortify the backdoor. This is round two,” he calmly informed.

   And, he taped around the backdoor to try to keep the rain/water out. No sooner than we talked, the storm came back even fiercer!!

   It was like something from Disney’s “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice.” All these junky pieces on the backyard flew up and banged loudly against the house!

   Then, there was a nasty loud crashing bang at my brother’s bedroom. His window at the back was broken by a shingle that sliced through the screen and broke the glass. The wind was so violent, my father couldn’t get the tape to tape the plastic!

   He took a bed blanket and stuffed it into the window, and then opened the closet door to better reinforce that window.

   Now, the only sound heard from that window was a wheezing – a constant wheezing. My father closed the room’s door which helped.

   I did finally fall asleep. Had no idea of the time. It was just dark – dark, windy and upsetting.

   When I woke, there was still some wind and rain, but much calmer now. The sky was becoming brighter.

   My father had the Coleman Stove going so he and mother could have coffee. The bathtub had been filled with water because it was known that city water wouldn’t be good for many days. He used the antique coffee pot. The aroma of the coffee was like assurance that the storm had passed.

   Hurricane Carla was a Category 5 storm.

Christmas Is Always Nigh!

Christmas Is Always Nigh!

By

B.D. Adams  ©2016

   Ah, ‘tis the season. Love and joy abound. People you don’t know smile and say Merry Christmas, Joyeux Noël, Feliz Navidad, or Fröehlich Weihnachten.

   Most every family, I would think, has a story or two about Christmas. I wrote a story (The Best Christmas, circa 11/2014) about my son when it seemed he still believed in Santa Claus. He knew about Santa but didn’t want me to be disappointed that he knew the truth. Of course, more than anything, he probably didn’t want to get fewer presents. And, of course, he found out he would continue to get presents even though he knew about Santa.

   This story, however, is a story from my childhood. About how I learned something from my vintage grandmother. Isn’t that how we learn? From older family members?

   It was 1960 or 1961 – I was 10 or 11 -- and I knew about Santa Claus.

   This was summertime. I was visiting with my paternal grandmother. I called her DeeDee. She lived in Rosenberg TX – not far from Houston. My family and I lived in Victoria, almost 90 miles from Rosenberg. My parents allowed me the time with her

because I was a well behaved little girl and I dearly loved DeeDee.

   We had just returned from a beach outing on Galveston Island. This was my all-time favorite place to go. DeeDee would go in the surf with me. A fabulous memory!

   We showered (separately) to wash off all the salt water and sand.

   As I showered, DeeDee made an early supper of fresh caught fried Gulf shrimp and her homemade Cole Slaw. Always so delicious! We sat at the small kitchen table because it was only she and me.

   We would talk while we ate. Our subjects would go all around from her friends and routines, about my friends, school, my brother … and so on. She always encouraged me to be politely verbal especially about my brother.

   One of my subjects went to Christmas, how I wished it would get here sooner. To spend Christmas with her, go to church with her, to sing the songs about Baby Jesus. And open the presents!

   DeeDee softly laughed.

   “Why are you laughing? You like Christmas, don’t you?” I frowned slightly.

   She grinned widely and said, “Of course, I do. However, sometimes I wish it would take longer to get here.” She winked at

me as she finished her Cole Slaw.

   “Longer? DeeDee, it takes forever now! I mean it's five months away,” I argued.

   “Sweetie, for me it’s five months closer,” she said with her heartfelt smile.

   With my confused expression, DeeDee tried to explain as best as she could.

   “I used to feel as you when I was your age. However, as I got older, it seemed that Christmas was always just around the corner. You’ll see – after you have children of your own, you’ll understand.”

   She motioned for me to come to sit on her lap, which I did. Then she gave me a wonderful hug and kissed my forehead. “One day, you’ll understand.”

   And, as time passed, I understood my grandmother’s meaning. At one time, I even passed her lesson on to Jacob, who will do the same for his children.

Merry Christmas!

Med Article

A Drug By Any Other Name

By

B.D. Adams ©2016

   Not being someone who scrutinizes all items in her life, this tidbit managed to get my attention. This last week, I glimpsed something on a TV commercial that perked up my eyes!

   As most people who know me know, I had a hemorrhagic stroke many years ago that has made me somewhat disabled on my right side.

   No sympathy here, readers. This is part of this real story and just a fact.

 One morning several years ago, when I was watching the Today Show, Katie Couric was interviewing a doctor about Over the Counter (OTC) drugs that would cause very high blood pressure and could cause heart attacks and … yes … could cause strokes. Cerebral Vascular Accident (CVA) -- hemorrhagic strokes, bleeding in the brain!

   There were many OTC items shown on the table in front of Katie and the doctor. On the table, I saw there were a couple of things on the table that really made me take note of this interview. There were OTC diet pills. Supposedly, “safe” OTC diet pills, however they could cause very high blood pressure. The one brand I had taken was shown. It was made by the pharmaceutical house Novartis. I just wanted to lose a few pounds, so I bought and took this brand because I felt it would be all right. On the box and the sheet inside the box, nothing was listed about any horrible side effects like heart attack, stroke or death. If I would have seen that warning for this pill, I would not have taken it.

   As it goes … buyer beware! When something is sold in a grocery store, wouldn’t it be deemed as safe for the public? Those pills were proven to cause extremely high blood pressure!

   There was a trial, but the jury decided that the pill made by Novartis did not cause my stroke. There was testimony, by several medical witnesses, that showed the people at Novartis knew their pill was NOT safe. However, the jury believed the drug company.

   A few years after the trial, it became known to me that Novartis had bought the rights to Excedrin, an OTC pain med I had taken for many years. A tablet was even used by the defendant lawyer at the trial to show, possibly, that I was “confused,” couldn’t tell one pill from another. Well, I shot that hypothesis full of holes.

   The diet pill I had taken was very small and white, not cream colored. (It was proved a white pill had been made and distributed to the grocery store where I bought it.) The Excedrin tablet was much larger and had a green tint to it, like the green on the box. Since I had been a pro photographer before the stroke, I could see the subtle tints. I didn’t say what the defendant lawyer wanted me to say. She was flustered.

   I decided that I would never take a medication manufactured by Novartis ever again. Small endeavor, but this was my way to boycott that company. The only way I would take any of their medications would be if IT was the ONLY medication that would save my life. But even then, I would balk – want other opinions.     

   Because of my boycott, I was forced to take generic brands of Excedrin. Plus, I made sure the generic tablets were NOT manufactured by Novartis, as well. I was amazed at how many medications -- brand or generic -- were made by such a dishonest, disreputable company.

   Now, I read better all the items that might concern my health on WebMD or Google. Even with doctor prescribed medications. Like Estrogen, which I learned could cause stroke from blood clots. So, I declined the doctor.

   I had even refused a prescribed med because the manufacturer was -- you guessed it -- Novartis. Then the pharmacies made note – nothing made by that company for this customer.

   As I mentioned above, I noticed a television commercial about Excedrin recently. I had seen the new commercial only a couple times, but paid it no mind. Then, for whatever reason, I noticed a manufacturer’s logo in the upper right of the TV screen. It showed “GSK.” That meant GlaxoSmithKline pharmaceuticals, an English company. Novartis is European, but I have had no gripe with GSK.

   Well, I did my research to see if Excedrin was indeed now being made by GSK and not Novartis. My research showed that GSK and Novartis had merged, but it appeared to me that Novartis was being phased out, possibly from the OTC meds and others.

   If this is correct, I am elated! I can again take the Excedrin brand. I hope GSK is more honest and forthcoming than Novartis.

   This article is not to bury anyone or over praise anyone. It is to act as a warning to the unsuspecting person who wants to take a medicine or is taking a medicine. I didn’t get stroked by the first pill. I took three pills, then I was blind-sided one afternoon. No warning, my right side stopped working. I spent two months in the hospital’s rehab center, however, I have progressed over the 18 years. I have had no other major malady such as heart attack, cancer or another stroke.

   My advice to anyone is to research any medicine your doctor might prescribe or what is now being taken. Especially, if the side-effects have been more than “uncomfortable.”

   There are many sayings like “Buyer beware” and “Different strokes for different folks.” Yep – in the pharmaceutical world these are true.

Remembering David Bowie

The Man with Two Different Eyes

by

B.D. Adams  ©2016

I read the news today – January 11, 2016 -- that another creative artist has gone away. Gone away. I cannot bring myself to use the word … died. A very unusual person with one blue eye and one brown/hazel eye.

David Bowie – David Robert Jones – has left from beside us. The creator of Ziggy Stardust, of Space Oddity, of Changes, of Fame, or Ashes to Ashes of many, many musical compositions has left us. As with many people of the 1970s and 1980s, music was a big part of the world. If asked, you can probably say what music you remembered for any event.

My husband, son and me went to see Bowie’s Serious Moonlight Tour 1983, when we lived in Germany. Of course, I had bought the Let’s Dance album, so my son, only 7 years old, recognized the songs from the album and was enthralled with Bowie and the concert! It was his first Rock Concert, but in no way his only. I educated him well.

I realize that Bowie was not everyone’s “cup of tea,” but he was a musician of memorable songs. His announced bisexual behavior upset many people. However, he also said that that was more part of his made-up persona, not that important in his life.

When I was an impressionable teenager, The Beatles was one music group I listened to, as well as to the Rolling Stones when they jumped in. However, David Bowie was all by himself! Those of us now in our 60s and 70s will never forget his voice, forget his musical arrangements.

When I first heard Space Oddity, it was not just a hard hitting rock and roll piece with repeated lines. It had a hint of folk music (acoustic guitar), storytelling and current events. It grabbed me. And yes, a lot of his music was hard hitting, heart ponding rock and roll in his style, but most of his works were lyrical.

David Bowie was not a religious icon, but for the music world, he was an innovative music icon. Others have copied or emulated or imitated, but never surpassed.

If you have any Bowie music – vinyl, 8-track, cassette, CD or MP3 – put a record on the changer, insert an 8-track or cassette or CD into the player or dial up David Bowie’s music to pay homage to this music maker. Like Buddy Holly, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, John Lennon, Michael Jackson and so many others … the music never goes away. 

CD Cover Graphic

Christmas 2015

Christmas, by Any Other Memory …

by

B.D. Adams ©2015

   Seriously – let me think. Christmas. This has been my 66^th Christmas. 66^th!! Wow – have I really managed to live this long? Amazing.

   This 2015 Christmas has reminded me of the Christmas’ in southern Texas. Victoria, TX. A warm Christmas. Actually, rather cool by southern Texas standards. I believe yesterday – Christmas Day – the temp here in Alton, NH, was 54° on the thermometer on the north side of our house. My, my … mid-fifties in Alton, NH. On Christmas Day!!! And no snow, at all covering our roof and yards.

   I remember when I got my first bicycle on Christmas. Such a thrill that was! Of course, it was warm. Rode my new bicycle all day with the other kids in the neighborhood. Ah, memories.

   Do I remember EVERY Christmas? Heck no! My memory is still pretty good for my age and condition, but it is not a computer with storage chips.

   As already mentioned, I remember when I got my first bicycle. I remember my first puppy, a Dachshund, a few years later. Another one was my first Christmas in Ohio. Mt. Sterling, OH.

   Talk about an environmental shock!! My first husband and I went to Ohio (where he was from) just before Thanksgiving in 1969. It was cold, but I thought boastfully that I could handle that -- tough Texas girl I was. Then, just before Christmas, it snowed!!! Well, this Texas girl wasn’t prepared for two feet … 2 bleeping FEET … of snow! I honestly thought I would die!! I wasn’t an Eskimo, nor a Viking. Well, I survived that Christmas and many other after that one in Ohio.

   After experiencing several winters in the north, I began to appreciate the change of the seasons. That was what kept me in the northern, colder climate zones.

   Also, my Christmas memories encompass much of the times when I was rather financially poor, especially around Christmas. One year, I couldn’t afford a tree or many gifts. So, inventive me, I had straightened some metal coat-hangers to create a “fake” tree of an antique coat rack. I had a string of colorful lights and I hung the string from the top of the coat-rack which thrilled Jacob, my then very young son. Actually, I surprised myself with how nice this tree was.

   I was able to get a few gifts for Jacob, which would be from me and Santa, but nothing for my mother, grandmothers or aunts and uncles. Well, Jacob and I got creative again. I would shop at the second-hand-stores in Columbus. In one of these stores, I found some rather nice, small wicker baskets. We decided to bake cookies and put them in the baskets and mail to the families in Texas. Jacob learned that “giving” can be fun and tasty. Was I surprised when our small Christmas gifts were so praised by the family recipients. I was afraid, though, that my mother would begin to send “care packages” again. But, she was cool.

   Then there was the Christmas that almost was not! Not as poor, actually was fairly flush! Busy, very busy with doing advertising photography that one year.

   Tom Etter, my boss and long-time friend, me and all of the other people in the studio were swamped with work for Lazarus Department Store. We had tons of decorations that cluttered the studio, but were necessary to keep stored -- all the trappings for Christmas. The store began their Christmas advertising – doing the photography for that season – in august. Close to the holiday, we would work until very late each day and on every weekend. We were shooting (cameras, not guns) up until the week of Christmas.

   One evening, three days before Christmas, I was hit with the realization that I hadn’t done MY Christmas shopping! I think that was the very first panic attack I ever had!

   Frantically, I called Tom. I wanted to borrow his car – I had no car. I needed to go to a mall. As I remember, he was hesitant about letting me borrow his car because he and Joan (his wife to be) needed to go somewhere. I promised I would book two more weddings to photograph this upcoming spring wedding season. Well, I got the car, speedily did my shopping, called my Texas families that their gifts would be a little late this year and was able to wrap Jacob’s gifts to go under the real tree … that year.

   After that year, Tom and I decided we would be better about taking care of our important personal needs. Like Christmas. Even after I wasn’t working with Tom, I have maintained the idea to be more pragmatic about schedules – all schedules.

   There are other Christmas’ I remember, mostly happy, grateful and surprised by some gifts, but the ones shared here were the ones that I immediately think of if asked.

   However, this year I will remember because of how unseasonably warm it was and that Daniel and I gave Patriots shirts to all the grandkids.

   I truly hope everyone remembers this Christmas or any

other one that specially comes to mind. Christmas can be demanding and stressful. It can be pleasing and very happy. Mostly, it is the time to remember that family is important.

   And to just smile because it is that time of year. 

            Footnote -- December 26, 2015, the Sun Bowl came on the TV after the the Loiisville v. Kentucky basketball game. That in itself is not important, however, the Sun Bowl is in El Paso, Texas, and it was snowing. I guess Global Warming is not happening there today.

Terrorists at Paris

And Paris Cries

By

B.D. Adams

©2015

     On this typical Saturday afternoon, here in the United States, my fiancé and I were watching college football. I wasn’t at my laptop, but decided to see if I had any emails. That’s when I saw the Yahoo! homepage account of what was going on in Paris!!

     As when I first heard on the radio station, in 2001, about a plane that crashed into a building in New York City, I wasn’t aware it was a Tower in New York City. Once I turned on the TV to understand what was happening in NYC, the reality bit hard. The same as when I first became aware of what I was reading about in France!

     Terrorists in Paris!! Many already dead and even more wounded!

     I said to Daniel, “Turn to CNN. Something horrible’s happening in Paris.”

     When I saw on the news station that my beautiful Paris was under siege by terrorists, “Oh, my God” went through my mind and came out of my mouth many times.

     The other word was, “Why?”

     No crying, but misty eyes at what this meant. Of course, my deduction was that ISIS was responsible … and they were, as learned later!

     The City of Light can now be described as “The City of Fear!” Now, they will not feel comfortable with whom they might see near to them. Rather like New Yorkers after the Towers were destroyed. Paris has been marred by uncouth, hateful churls that didn’t have the decency to respect a city of art and culture.

     The terrorists had absolutely no respect for beauty and history in their world!! Fine – destroy the history and beauty of your land. Why destroy, cause mayhem in a land many hundreds of miles/kilometers away that took in the refugees from the world these terrorists had destroyed?

     Granted, the terrorists hadn’t destroyed monuments or museum pieces (as far as what has been reported), but Paris is a state-of-mind, not only of tangible items.

     I had been very fortunate to visit Paris many times when my husband (at the time) and I lived in Germany (read other Blog Posts). We had been to the Louvre to see the fantastic paintings and all the ancient artifacts and all the monuments that Paris boasts.

     Many times we would sit at sidewalk cafes to enjoy wine or beer along with Parisian foods.

     My ex-husband was a marathoner and would go on his training runs in the mornings in Paris while I would enjoy coffee and a pastry and read a magazine to await his return. I am so thankful nothing like that happened when we were there.

     Even with the attack on the Towers in New York, there will never be an answer to that huge, unbelievable WHY!!!!

     These men committed murder … yes, murder … of non-military people, nowhere in their war-zone. Unbelievable!

     And that is the other question. Where IS THEIR war-zone? If they are truly trying to make the world their war-zone, are these churls really that inane, that stupid?

     I mean, even the Russians seem not on their side. Granted, Russian assault-rifles had been found in a car parked on the street and by the killed terrorists, who died mostly by their hand -- suicide. However, those weapons could have been gotten by many other sources.

     My memories of Europe, which of course include Paris, are now tainted by this horrible, nasty … no word really describes my feelings. However, my mind will remain with these people of love, art and integrity!

     Will there be other mindless acts of devastation or murder? Probably. I and others can only hope, beyond hope, that these military misfits will be found out by people in their religion – whatever religion that could be -- or families to discontinue this very unnecessary slaughter!

Pray for Paris

And all other cities and countries hurt by ISIS!

Venus de Milo -- Louvre

What Time Is It?

What Time is it?

By

B.D. Adams  ©2015

It’s

 been the best of times … it’s been the worst of times. That could describe most any decision to move to or from a place. I am not Lucie Manette, in A Tale of Two Cities. I’m not perfect and nowhere near ideal, according to Dickens description of his heroine.

            The tale of two cities was about what went on with London and Paris around the French Revolution. Two decisive cities.

My story would be more a tale of why would two modern day twenty-year-olds even think about moving to a place so different from how they currently lived. Not during a revolution, unless you count the generation revolution. My tale happened many years ago and could have been a horrible disaster for me.

            This was when I was in Columbus, Ohio, in 1972. I was 22 and in college at Ohio State University. Ed, my boyfriend, was 24 and at OSU, also, and a senior. I was working on my sophomore year – hadn’t begun my major’s classes; Fine Art. In under a year, Ed would graduate. His major was philosophy.

Ed was a guy who liked to dress casually, not dumpy, but blue-jeans and flannel shirts --kind of like mountain attire. Would roll his own cigarettes (tobacco only) and liked rock-n-roll and Bluegrass music. So did I, however, I didn’t smoke.

We lived in a small bungalow house that was behind a larger house in the campus area; a Victorian style, rather old. The backyard was long and narrow, as was most of the older homes in this area. The big, main house was divided into smaller apartments. Two first floor and two second and one attic studio. Not every apartment was occupied, but the ones that were had tenants who were good people. All students.

This particular year, the cost of food was horribly inflated. With some of the other tenants, we made a big garden, a communal-like garden. The cost of meat was more than outrageous, as well. Ed and I decided to raise rabbits for our meat. He built the hutches. I fed the adults rabbits and the young ones and helped to keep under the hutches clean.

The rabbit’s droppings were fertilizer for the garden and we sold some to other houses with gardens. Fairly profitable.

Ed killed and skinned the rabbits, I gutted and cooked. A bit gruesome, but rabbit was good eating and only cost the fee for their food.

The bungalow was actually, at one time, the garage for a vehicle and the above was the living quarters for the “help.” I lived in the quarters. Ed’s open apartment was the one-time garage.

We kept our separate homes because we both needed our space. My homework, his thesis work. All in all, our relationship went pretty well.

Then, our conversations began to sound more serious. It kind of went like this:

Ed:       I’m graduating next Spring. (Spring 1973)

BD:      Yes, I know.

Ed:       You want to stay in school?

BD:      Probably. Why?

Ed:       Wanna stay in Columbus?

BD:      OK, Ed. What are you getting at?

Ed:       Oh … I’ve been thinking.

BD:      Yes … about what?

Ed:       Going to Kentucky.

BD:      Kentucky …

Ed:       Yeah, Kentucky. They have “hollers” there, deep in the hills.

BD:      Hollows … like in Sleepy Hollow?

Ed:       Sort of. (a small giggle) No headless horseman.

BD:      That’s a relief.

Ed:       In the Hollows, nobody bothers you. (points to antique musket rifle, still worked)

BD:      You want to shoot hillbillies in Kentucky?

Ed:       (small laugh) Of course not.

BD:      Whew. (wipes forehead with fingers)

Ed:       I’ve checked it out – I can teach there with my degree.

BD:      Teach. Teach philosophy in Kentucky – like in Louisville?

Ed:       No, silly. Teach children in whatever Hollow we decide to live.

BD:      Live in a Hollow in Kentucky? Teach children?

Ed:       Yes.

BD:      Hmmm … let me ponder that idea.

Well, that was how it all began.

Oh, yes … it was made known that there would be no electricity where we’d live. A well, but no running water. We’d need to cart water from the well and heat the water at the fireplace for baths or to wash clothes or dishes. I couldn’t have any of my “dry-cleaning” garments. Ed would build a loom so we could weave cloth.

We would have animals, but not for pets … for survival. A few head of cattle (beef and milk), pigs, sheep, chickens and ducks. It might take five or so years to truly become self-sufficient.

I checked books out of the OSU library to learn how to make candles, how to do canning, how to weave cloth, even how to spin wool to make thread or yarn.

The Hollow we looked at, near the Daniel Boone National Forest, had a small, general store. We could buy or trade for whatever we needed.

And, there was a log-house, not just a cabin, for sale that had caught our eye. Measured about 1,100 square-footage. Had a fabulous fireplace for warmth, plus a wood cook-stove with a separate chimney. The main, big-room had a few support posts that held up the roof, with a cozy upstairs bedroom. All the windows, that opened outward, were glass, but had the look of age.

There was a barn, but not all that big. Ed said he’d add-on to it, maybe attach it to the house. Also, there was a room built connected to the house, but somewhat separate. Could be used for Ed’s pre-school to teach the Hollow’s children.

In all honesty, the idea was intriguing. Rather romantic. Live in the wooded hills where things were still not all that up-to-date, modern. Be secluded from the mainstream. My imagination took over rational decisions.

We had long discussions of our ideas for this new way of living. We would keep his Dodge Mini-van, only for emergencies. Our bicycles would be used as we used them now. I could ride mine to the country store; albeit a more bumpy ride.

However, things began to unravel. All our ideas were workable and detailed for 2 ½ seasons, but not for the rain and winter seasons in those hills. Carting the children to Ed’s school would almost be impossible for the parents. The snow drifts were very high at times, Ed learned. The snow, ice, slush and mud were not calculated in our plans.

Even for our situation, it would be a hardship to maintain the animals, keep them warm and dry, along with their feeding and water. The barn was not insulated – the water would freeze overnight. Even the well could be ice-covered which made it hard to break. There were many stories of hens and ducks that would not lay in the winter. We had planned for the eggs to be our staple.

Well, Ed and I faced the idea of our new way of living without blinders. Could we truly live all winter inside that house? Would we go bonkers with “cabin-fever?” Reality slapped us with the words of, “Snap out of it!”

We weren’t Kentuckians of the 1800s. Daniel Boone and Davey Crocket had died at the Alamo over a century ago. Who were we kidding? Ourselves, of course.

As I said before, it was a romantic idea.

Ed and I discontinued our romantic relationship, but we did continue as friends. He graduated and went to work for the Ohio EPA. His degree was in philosophy, but any degree was good for the EPA. He got a good wage and a new girlfriend.

A few years later, after I left college, I became a commercial photographer. That was a good move for me.

In my present way of living, in 2015, I live in a cut-out area of a forest in mountains in New Hampshire with a fellow I plan to marry next year. With this house, we have electricity, hot & cold running water from a well, propane gas oven and a wood stove for winter heat, plus a kerosene heater. Also, there is a two-car garage we call a barn.

Roads are plowed in the winter after a New Hampshire snow storm. Rustic living, but not like what I envisioned back in 1972, but it definitely has that romantic feel.

Right now … it is the best of times.

An Author

To Be An Author

by B.D. Adams ©2015

 

 

 

“A

nd, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

 

Most of my young life, I was asked that question by older folks who thought they were being wise or studious. Mostly, they just wanted to show they were wiser than my little self.

How I hated that question. Once, being in a bratty mood, I answered, “I want to be the president.” That brought snickers and looks from the men that said, “In your dreams.”

The women were no better with their answers. Always, they would piously smile and offer, “You want to be a Mom. Right? Or a secretary or nurse first – and then, marry the boss or a doctor!”

Bull-pucky!! I was a Texas girl and wanted to be the boss! I was born in Ft. Worth and lived in Texas until I was 18. Then, moved to Columbus, Ohio, to attend Ohio State University.

Because of the social stigmas, I lived my life according to “Hoyle.” My mother was an avid Bridge player in the ‘50s. I never learned to play that card game. I was more into Poker and Pool and Tennis. Because my father taught me to fish, swim and play tennis, I developed a competitive personality. I learned how to play pool/billiards all on my own. I played pool in any bar or hall I’d go to. Still have my cue. (check out my Blog for “The Rolling 8 Ball”)

Because of my tenacious/competitive nature, I became a pro photographer. My longtime male friend trained, educated me in photography. He knew I was an artist and wanted to use my artistic know-how to be in his studio.

For over 25 years – in different studios around the country – my career was in the photo arts.

As the direction of my “luck” went, however, I had a hemorrhagic stroke in June of 1998. My right side was taken from me. I was in Columbus surrounded with my friends and competitors. Most didn’t know how to be with me, once I was out of the hospital.

Talk about a change! I was forced into “early retirement” from photography. Oh, I tried to
maintain my vocation, but when you had limited, and I mean very limited use of your right leg and hand/arm, photo equipment was more than a struggle.

I had a few friends who encouraged my continued reconnections with photography. My dear friend who taught me photography, gave me a recorder to possibly write about my condition. However, even I knew my limits. I needed more physical therapy to better become mobile, more regular.

My condition became as better as it could with all the therapy. However, I became tired of all “pity” I heard from people, especially from many I knew. I needed a change. I relocated to New Hampshire to live with the encouragement of a woman I had met on-line in a Chat-Room way before the stroke. I loved NH!

Once in NH, my friend introduced me to the fellow I now live with. How nice.

Since I had been able to type – took typing in high school – I trained my left hand to do ALL the typing. Forget “blind typing.” Because I could type, I was able to get a few jobs in NH. Unfortunately, though, I was always too slow because of the stroke’s condition. My “nice” bosses would lay-me-off, so I could get unemployment.

I was not happy with this treatment, but I didn’t begrudge them. This was business. Even the last job I had in a hospital, through Community Action for senior citizens, I knew why the supervisor wouldn’t allow any “real” training for me. “This was NOT a training hospital,” so I had heard her say. I guess she never heard about the Ohio State University Hospital. They were proud of that description.

Well, all the other employees were constantly going through “additional training.” I hadn’t had education in “medical coding,” but I did have a couple of years of liberal arts education at OSU. Didn’t graduate, but I was trainable (my time with photography). When I left the university, I had a 4.0 GPA. I believed she didn’t like that I attended a liberal arts university. Perhaps, she didn’t. I had had enough of her attitude, so I decided to really become “retired.” I left that position. That supervisor, I begrudged.

At this age, I was 62. Tired of banging my head against all the preverbal walls for employment, I went back on Disability and decided to try my hand at writing.

I had already gotten my Blog going and had written a few stories. I really enjoyed this. However, a novel had rattled around my brain ever since I was in the hospital’s rehab when I had the stroke. Something took place in my hospital room that gave me the idea for the novel. A nurse and a patient came into my room one night. I woke up and asked them why they were in my room. They left. Hmmm … I thought to myself. This could be a story.

I began to write my novel in 2006. Once I decided to be retired – stopped trying to be employed -- I worked daily on the manuscript. It is NOT the Great American Novel, but is the novel I felt compelled to write. My dear photo mentor had given me the idea to write about my stroke’s story while I was in the hospital, but when I tried to write the non-fiction version, it bored me! I felt the need to make it juicy, which I did. Therefore, it is a work of fiction.

Of course, writing a full-length novel is much different from writing a two to three page short-story for the Blog. The story entails true accounts of medical situations for me. So, there is some reality.

Mostly the novel is a suspense/thriller, with a touch of romance. Not all, but many stories need a hint of romance … and some humor. I kept it as much PG-13 as I could, with a bit sex.

 My heroine is Liz Jacoby (me), a stroke survivor rehabbing in the hospital’s Rehab Center. Of course, I have written her differently from how I actually was in the beginning of my hospital stay. My antagonist is Pete Young, The Spider. He’s a small man, a jerk of guy, who is in the rehab from an accidental, self-inflicted gunshot wound. He refers to Liz as “not all there” because of the stroke. Pete was supposed to kill a man, but he was shot by his target, instead. He and Luke, his boss, pick my room to “talk” about why Pete was in the hospital (see the thread?).

 If you read my book’s description and/or the first chapter, you might be surprised how a still stroked mind thinks/writes. Hence, the old saying, “Different strokes for different folks.”

I have been lucky here in New Hampshire. My live-in boyfriend, soon to be husband, has been my steadfast fan of my writing. He reads everything I write. Within the last year, I became involved with the Gilman Library Writer’s Group in Alton, NH (where I live). A small group, but should increase soon.

The Group’s monitor has been very encouraging for my novel! She has offered her “grains of salt” to add to or change the manuscript to make it better. Plus, one of the Library’s following authors, Anura Gurugé, who lives in Alton, has guided me to publish the manuscript, once I felt it was worthy.

On June 4, 2015, the Gilman Library had a program on “How to Self-publish You Book,” given by Anura. He chose my novel to show how it is done and how easy it is to do. I became a published author on Amazon! It is a full-length novel, an eBook for Kindles. I’ve been on cloud 9 since June 4^th!

Without the ability to do things physically, I retrained my brain to continue to think, to mentally create, to write. It is believed, by me and others, I have accomplished this.

“What do I want to be when I grow up?” Right now, an author sounds very good.

 

“The Spider Sat Beside Her”

A Novel

by B.D. Adams --- on Amazon

 

 

Dear Reader,

Please buy the eBook (99cents) to show Amazon that I have people who will buy my work. If you read what you buy, you will be entertained.

Boston Reprint

The Days Boston Stood Still

 B.D. Adams

© 2013

This is a reprint of my feelings about the Bombing at the Boston Marathon finish in 2013.

 

May 15, 2015

Today, the Death Penalty was made known for the Boston Bomber, Dzhokhar Tsarnaev. His penalty was for four deaths -- three at the marathon, a policeman when they were chased -- and numerous maimed because of his actions. I never wish bad for people I do not know, however, in this case, I am glad for this decision. Mostly for the survivors who deserve closure for what they were forced to go through.

I salute the folks who made this decision.

 

I am a sports enthusiast! I love to watch football, some basketball, car races and tennis. Before I had my stroke, I played tennis and I had been a runner. Not a marathoner, more like to a miler.

My former husband was a marathoner. I would ride my bicycle with him while he would train.

In fact, he qualified for the Boston Marathon one year! We were so excited!

Any person who has participated in that marathon (or any marathon, for that matter) can understand what it means to just finish that kind of race!! Forget the idea about winning ... just to finish without throwing up at the finish in front of the cameras is no small feat!

On April 15, 2013, like many other folks, I watched the Boston Marathon from the beginning to the finish of the top runners. So happy, I was for the winners and the finishers I saw! Afterwards, my boyfriend and I opted to watch other television programs (a movie). Then, we decided we wanted an early supper of Chinese, so he went to pick up our meal. I continued to watch a TV program on cable. This was around four o’clock.

When he came back home, he left the food in his SUV as he hurried inside and frantically asked, “Have you seen the News?!”

I switched to CNN ... and then, saw the horrifying scenes of unthinkable mayhem!!

Why would someone set off bombs at a marathon finish? The Boston had always been an “ambassador event” ... so many nations were in this race. That was obvious by all the flags at the finish line!

Like most everyone, I stayed glued to the News stations. It was so unbelievable that two young men could turn a city like Boston into a zone of terror, made in fear!

When the “persons of interest” were made known, I was amazed that these young men ... brothers, Tamerlan (the older) and Dzhokhar Tsarnaev ... were not seemingly part of terror factions; like Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan or Ireland (of all places).

Their national home was Chechnya!! It’s a small country in the southwest section of Russia. This country has dealt with wars and discontent for centuries! Of late, however, they hadn’t seemed angry with the US. Unless you figure in the Islamic factor.

As more was made known of the brothers, the older one stated on a social media

venue that he “didn’t understand Americans,” he couldn’t “make friends” with them. My words to him would have been, “Then, move ... go some place else, go back to Chechnya.” Perhaps others had made that suggestion, as well, which did not please him.

He had a wife and a three year old child. Why do this to a child? As it is known, he did not survive his attempt to out-run-the-law.

The younger brother was evidently an aspiring medical student. This would please most any mother ... for her son to be a doctor!

He did survive, but with his brother’s death, he should have given up! This is not going to be like Osama bin Laden’s event. This boy is in the United States with the full determination of our judicial system and all the fame seekers with their own itineraries!

I’m sure the younger brother was a likable fellow. Everyone who was interviewed said this. However, whether the older brother instigated this change in his younger brother’s personality or not, the fact remains he made his choices! They both did.

Personally, I am so glad and relieved that both bombers were found and put away without the added mayhem of more huge explosions, more blood and death! The killing of the MIT policeman was so unnecessary, just so senseless, as everything they had done!! They went to the lengths to make fairly sophisticated bombs ... was that all they thought they would need to do? Didn’t they think beyond the bombing? Did they think they would not be found out! Their lack of reasoning escapes any rational thought!

Were they going to pull a “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” shoot-out? Well, they failed at that. Were they more involved in terrorism than the FBI/CIA had informed?

My thoughts are with the injured people (dead and still healing) and their families. Also, my hopes are with the families of the bombers/killers. Hopefully, they will understand that Americans, born here or legally immigrated, will not tolerate killings, no matter how flowery their families and friends speak of the killers or how indignant they feel of how Dzhokhar was hunted! He is a killer!!

And now, let’s hope we are not inundated with copy-cat bombers at other sporting events!!

I am a Texan, an Ohioan, a New Yorker, a bit of a German, and a New Hampshire-ite (for 11 years)! And, as of April 15, 2013, I am a Bostonian!!!

 

Boston Strong --- Forever!!!