I love those creative little art pieces scattered all over Facebook…with the girl knitting by the fire, with a dog and cat by her side……
But why is a woman always portrayed knitting or reading. .Why can’t she be out photographing the night sky or refinishing a beautiful antique piece of furniture?
Okay…….so I was sitting on the sofa, by the heater last night, listening to an audio book, knitting a fuzzy scarf for my granddaughter……
In my mind, I was photographing the night sky…..
Oh, and the audio book was “The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry”…I recommend it. I finished both last night, the book and the scarf. My granddaughter loves fuzzy things, I found the fuzziest wool I could find….a horror to knit, but lovely in the end……much like the book
I wrote my own Pilgrimage book…….about the final journeys of many wonderful beings.
You can find it here on Amazon…
Listen to it while knitting, or take it along on your next photographic adventure when the clouds shadow the stars and moon.
Yesterday was not one of my better days. A trip on the stairs ended in a knee brace today. But after what sounded like a ton of bricks hitting the hardwood floor…….I got up. Albeit, slowly, holding on, but I got up.
We used that phrase so lightly….like a ton of bricks. You know what really sounds like that, a body falling from a skyscraper. And that is just what they did, jump into the abyss, knowing they would never get up again, at least not in mortal form.
I was close by 22 years ago, I didn’t watch on a TV screen, I watched through my eyes. I can remember it like it happened this morning. I can see what I wore, hear what I said, feel what I felt. I truly thought it was WWIII and wondered if I would make it home again.
I wonder about the thousands who never made it home. Those that shared one last romantic moment with wives or husbands that morning; those that left the house in anger over something stupid. Those that had a cold and wondered if they should take the day off. Those that had a lunch planned with friends in a few hours. Just everyday moments………everyday lives.
Some must have felt wonderful that morning, some must have felt down. We all have good and bad days….the ups and downs of a staircase. But not one of them thought his or her days would end in such a way that morning.
I wish I could say our world has better days ahead. But man will not change. Mankind has two sides,, the compassionate and dark…..the better and bad ways of our souls……..And we must brace ourselves for this reality.
Today is the anniversary of my father’s birth and also the anniversary of modern day’s most horrific days of war.
Hiroshima is more than a mark on history for me, it may have been the reason I write these words today. My father’s Navy ship was ordered to turn around, a couple of days short of their destination point. Their destination, well a bomber called the Enola Gay changed that course.
The suffering that ensued was immeasurable. The suffering saved immeasurable as well…….I fear my dad would have been one……and me, well, I wouldn’t be.
My dad hated to travel. My mom wanted to see the world. My father never spoke of the war; I wanted to ask him so many questions, but it was a subject I knew best kept closed. After my dad died, I sorted through his possessions and found the ship’s log book he kept from WWII. My dad had been to so many places, exotic places, the places now only the rich and wealthy choose as vacation venues or Robinson Crusoe readers dream about. To him, they were places of war, travel meant suffering, not pleasure to him.
He never spoke of any of them except one…….once he spoke of Hawaii…….I hated it, he said. Hated Hawaii…..hard to imagine……….
But maybe Hawaii didn’t mean leis and luaus, it meant stopping at Pearl Harbor to him.
Now, I understand.
I read stories of Hiroshima as a young girl…….the suffering of those not evaporated upon impact was immeasurable…….the skin falling off, teeth falling out, diseases…….hard to imagine. My life never existing……..sometimes I imagine the what ifs if a ship didn’t turn around on an early August day.
Peace, (Dad is circled in his Navy photo) I wonder if all of them made it home too.
Today is my dad’s birthday…..he would have been over 100 years old. That Navy ship’s orders to turn around was the best present we both could have received……..he got to live to see more birthdays, and I got to be born into this life………The cost…….horrific.
November 6, 2011 Funny, how such insignificant things can become such priceless treasures……. My father will be gone two years this spring…… He was a generous man….each day mounds and mounds of charity letters would come in the mail….he would give a dollar to as many as he could…sometimes, certain charities got more……$10.00 to the Veterans of War……..he was a World War II Veteran ….. He liked Mother Hale’s house, I remember. Also, the Southwest Indian Foundation, we got a lot of fleece blankets from him. They sent him a thank you picture drawn by a little girl at the Reservation school once, I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was a photocopied drawing..……He thought it was so great……….. When he grew too ill to write checks, he asked my daughter to compose a letter for him……his own form letter…..to send back to the charities…. Apologizing for not being able to give anymore…… One of his favorites was the association for the Blind….. They gave him a wristwatch one time as a thank you…..it made an animal sound announcing whatever hour you wished…. The random setting was the rooster…….that thing crowed …..my dad had it counted out……18 times on the hour….. That crow was like a thorn in my side…..the days I spent taking care of him……. Cock a doodle do…..every morning at 9 a.m. sharp, 9 p.m. sharp……18 times……… When my father passed away…..I looked around the home for a keepsake. My hand and heart immediately knew which one …… That wristwatch. I remember last fall when it came time to change the clocks, my husband reset it. We didn’t have an instruction manual….so he couldn’t reset the alarm. I woke the next morning and nothing………….. My heart sank. My husband toyed around with it…….in the middle of the night, around 3 a.m…….I heard a chicken clucking…… This was NOT right…….. My husband saw the sadness in my eyes over an inexpensive token watch……he fixed it. He is never to touch it again. This morning, with the time change, my dad’s watch is on time again…….9 a.m……the rooster is crowing for me. I love that sound…….a sound I hated…….now a sound of remembrance I love. Sometimes, thorns become the roses in life………….
It’s now been a lot more years, but that rooster still crows each morning…… My dad’s hello ❤ Author Shirl Knobloch
In remembrance of my dad…. I hope he is “crowing” with pride at all the stories his daughter has told.
Today was probably a day schoolgirls of a century past, came to dread. First of May….Petticoat Day. A day when prankish boys would try to lift the skirts and catch an innocent glimpse of a petticoat. Petticoat, ask around today’s youth…..how many do you think would know what a petticoat is, or was…… May 1st has been a day of celebrations since Pagan times…..with Beltane Feasts to rejoice in the coming of summer. May was summer in Pagan times….. June’s solstice was midsummer’s mark. May Poles and ribbons gave way to Christian adaptations of Mary’s month; when the Lord’s mother is crowned with flowers and the Rosary, Mary’s prayer, is recited. Communion is given to young children celebrating this milestone Sacrament, when little girls dress up in lace, and white, and crinoline petticoats…… Sometimes, the old ways have a way of meshing with the new…… The Pagan and the Christian……. The Petticoats and the Communion dresses………….
I have no need of an alarm clock. I thought my readers would like to hear the song that greets me every morning.
I have lived with a wolfhound for nearly a decade. For almost that long, I have longed to hear the “howl.” Other wolfhound owners have posted songs on the internet, but my girl was silent….no primal call of the wolf.
In fact, as wolfhounds go, she is quite a big baby. During thunderstorms, we have to sit with her or else she locks herself in the nearest tiny room…..usually the bathroom.
But last Christmas, we brought a little beagle puppy into our lives and pack.
I wasn’t oblivious to the beagle bark; my daughter and her family has lived with several beagles and we couldn’t walk down the street without a loud howl in complete distress because one had not been included in the stroll.
I was prepared for the beagle howl. It came rather quickly.
Now, if Paul Revere had a beagle, his ride would have gone much quicker.
Usually the howl comes when you least want it….mostly, when an important line in the miniseries you have devoted the last month of your life to has been uttered by the lead actor.
And you cannot yell for them to stop…….It’s like “Yay, mom is howling too.“……..
Surprisingly of all, my wolfhound found her voice.
When the beagle howls, she anwers.
Is it some primal call of the wolf…er……beagle?
I cannot look at them during this vocalization or they will stop…….so just listen and imagine a night in the primeval forest or a morning in suburbia………
A dear friend’s little dog had to be euthanized a couple of days ago. She wrote me saying her dog was especially affectionate, staying beside her and falling asleep in her lap. It was as if she knew and was saying a loving goodbye in each moment left.
I think she knew. For years, I had a Reiki office, seeing both humans and animals. The animals that came were often very sick, at the end of their days.
They knew. I am an animal communicator and had many extraordinary experiences with animals trying to convey what they felt most important to those they loved before they left.
I write some of those experiences in my books. Dogs would stay for as long as they could, sometimes too long. The suffering of those left behind outweighed their suffering of lingering a few more weeks in their hearts. As pet owners, sometimes the greatest gift we can gift to our companions is to allow them to go and help them go if necessary. They don’t hate us for doing it; they understand.
Cats are sometimes different. I have had more than one occasion where a beloved indoor cat has suddenly taken a momentary opportunity to run out the door. These cats were very old and very frail. Though neighborhoods were searched, these felines were never found.
Why? Because they chose not to be. Cats will often wander off by themselves to spare their loved ones the anguish of seeing them die. I have seen it happen and remember last visits to my office when their tired bodies were holding on by threads. I never told people what I felt. But I knew that visit would be their last. And often, people would come to my office and tell me their cat had run off and they had never found him or her.
Primates are like that. Elderly troop members will wander off to not hinder the rest of the group. They choose to die alone, a very great sacrifice for the concern of those they love.
I am convinced our animals know. One special poodle told me with his eyes shortly before he died. It was a look of such deep awareness I will never forget it, even after many, many years and many, many dogs that followed.
He came in the room and just stared at me. In that stare was love, goodbye, sorrow, and a lifetime of togetherness we shared. He died hours later in my arms.
Last night, I had a strange encounter. I was in bed, not asleep, I know I was not dreaming.
I felt a nudge against my body; I automatically assumed it was my little poodle climbing onto the bed and settling down against me.
I looked over and saw nothing. I looked down beside the bed and he was fast asleep in his own bed. I know I felt that nudge. It was only for a second before I turned over to see nothingness.
I have come across many stories from pet owners who feel a body or a paw in bed beside them. We can’t all be imagining it. I know something ……a snout, a head, a tiny body…….something pushed against me in the darkness.
And sometimes, one second in the darkness is enough….. ♥
If you would like to read other stories of my work with animals, you may find my titles on Amazon.
Friday, the 13th is most fascinating, for it combines the terrors of two evils into one terrifying day for some. The fear of the number 13……it has a name, but spelling it would take up a few lines of this blog, so I shall pass on that attempt. Add the fear of Friday, so many cultures fear this day of the week; combine the two, and you have a reason for some not to want to get out of bed today. The number thirteen literally could mean bread of life for bakers in 13th Century England.
Bakers could be penalized, fined, or even lose one of their kneading hands if they were found to sell “short”…… So bakers, worried that one loaf might burn, might be unsellable in the dozen….would bake an extra loaf…..the 13th…..the baker’s dozen. This insured that the weight of the wheat in the loaves would not come up short….so thirteen was their assurance of a prosperous, happy life. Twelve was always revered as a Blessed number, the 12 Apostles, the 12 Tribes of Israel, the 12 signs of the Zodiac, the 12 Gods on Mt. Olympus…..you get my drift. But add a number to that, and it throws the energy of Blessing into imbalance, unrest, fear…… Friday was thought to be an ominous day ever since the time of the Canterbury Tales. Don’t undertake a journey on Friday…. Investors think upon it with dread………Black Friday. A day for Crucifixion. Friday, itself, is named for Frigga, a Norse Goddess. She was banished to a mountain, and held meetings to plot malevolence with a coven of eleven witches and the devil……you guessed right…….Thirteen. Guess what day of the week these meetings took place……. For centuries, people in this culture regarded Friday as the Witch Sabbath. How about you…… Does a number and name of a day send chills up your spine…..just keep your eyes out for ladders today….walk around them………
Visit my author page at Amazon… Fairy tales, stories of ghosts, and much more. Please browse through all my titles.
This morning, I saw a commercial for an injury attorney law firm. They said they will handle all injuries caused in the Metaverse. I know it’s meant to be funny, but maybe it isn’t so …….
I watched another commercial of a father and daughter on a fishing trip. Only, it was a fishing trip in the Metaverse. They were going on and on about what a terrific time they were having.
Is it me? Am I just too old to get this…..Admittedly, I have never donned these virtual goggles before. But how in God’s name, can a fishing trip of my imagination compare to real time spent with my child…….
I have a nearly 200 year old farmhouse in Gettysburg. Farmhouses and fields are disappearing ……Farmers are growing old. Children do not want the hardship of farming when they have other lucrative ventures waiting in the city.
I am blessed to look out my window and see deer and fawns, an occasional fox and raccoon and tiny chipmunks scampering by.
One day, I fear children will don these goggles and imagine the song of birds, the buzzing of bees, the chatter of chipmunks and squirrels as they run across the lawn.
We are losing our trees to wildfires, losing our ice to climate change. Animals are coming into “human territory” (it was all theirs before)….and being killed for simply being, if fire and starvation doesn’t kill them first.
I see the world changing and not in a good way. Human interactions have suffered greatly due to the pandemic and technology has caused our childrens’ eyes to be cast down on electronic devices, rather than toward the eyes of friends.
Human emotions are being channeled into the Metaverse……in time, will this be the place our hearts dwell. I hope not.
Speaking of dwelling, all kinds of beings live at my farmhouse…….sometimes, inside it.
I heard noises inside my kitchen wall the other day. A couple of years ago, a family of skunks had decided to climb through a vent and make themselves comfortable close to our bedroom wall. At night, we heard the hungry cries of babies and the constant running in and out of a tired mother searching for food. We let them stay. When they were grown, they left.
Now, whoever this family is, they have found a place to grow inside the walls of my historic log cabin.
I hope they grow healthy and decide to leave the way they came in. That’s all I ask…..safe haven until they can leave.
I hope our world’s safe haven will not be only found one day out in the Metaverse……for that would be no world in which I would wish my descendants to inhabit.
Blessings in our actual Universe……not the Metaverse one.
The Roses and Thorns of Life 