Allegiance to the Flag

From Youth's Campaign 1892

Whenever we would say the  pledge allegiance to the flag in elementary school we placed our right hand over our chest. I remember doing this when we lived in the south, but not up north. However, it was not too far in the distant past that the salute was different.  In 1942, the Hitler regime began using the same salute that we did for years prior to WWII.  It is called the Bellamy Salute.

Francis Bellamy, a Baptist minister, wrote the original "Pledge of Allegiance." Until 1892, there never was a Pledge of Allegiance. Daniel Sharp Ford, owner of the magazine "Youth's Companion" was on a mission to have a flag placed in every school in the States.  He asked Bellamy to write the pledge and it was published in the magazine.  It caught on like a wild fire and before you know it the pledge was being recited daily by children across the country. Not only was the Pledge of Allegiance being said at school but in other venues as well such as: public gatherings, campgrounds, and even congress.

So, what does one do with their hands while reciting this allegiance to the flag? You cannot let your hands dangle, they must have a part in this. It was decided that the participants hold up their right arm and it extend it towards the flag.  It looks rather odd to those of us who have never done this. 

By the 1930's when news reels came from Europe and "Heil Hitler" was being said with the same salute the stance fell out of favor with the American public. It was decided then to change the way we saluted our flag and we then began placing our right hand over our heart.  Isn't that where our hand should have been all along?  

1812: The war that we don't remember much about

History was not my forte when I was in school. Actually, I dreaded history as much as I did math. The teacher gave facts in such a mundane way that I lost interest early on.  I remember talking about the various wars, but I don't recall ever discussing the War of 1812. Not ever. But it could of happened on a day that I laid my head down on the desk and drifted off until the bell rang. 

I didn't really become interested in history until I started researching my family's lineage. Now I know a lot more than I ever did.  When a friend from work told me about the re-enactment that takes place in La Fontaine, Indiana every autumn, I jumped at the opportunity to learn something about a war that I knew little about.

In a nutshell this is the three main points of the war: 1) Americans would be kidnapped, the ones with English accents, and would be impressed to serve on the side of the British. 2) The British interfered with American trade and France. For some reason they wanted us to pay them a tax in order to trade with the French. 3) Finally, the English stirred up Indian warfare.  

One of the good things that the British did was that they blocked slave ships from coming to the United States and any slave who escaped to Canada was considered free.  

On June 1, 1812 war was declared, lives were lost, and the Indians were defeated. Then the move westward began.  

My nephews and I sat and watched as the re-enactment took place and I wondered if there could have been another way of settling the differences. 

For some reason each people group thinks that they are supreme and expect the rest to bow down to them, which causes a lot of strife. 

And yet, war is still prevalent in our world today.  

This reminds me of a quote many use from Rodney King, "Can we all get along?" 

Learning about The Miami's

I wrote a post a few weeks ago about Chief Richardville,a native Miami Indian\French man who lived here in my home town back in the mid 1800's. He was one of the wealthiest men who lived here when he died. The first Saturday of the month from May - November there is something happening at the Richardville house. Today, there was a tour of the house and a dancer.   I have lived here for a long time and sadly didn't know about this place until a couple of years ago. That is one reason why one should be a tourist in your hometown.  There is a lot of history wherever you live. 

When I entered the house I was somewhat disappointed because of the condition of the inside. The outside of the house was worked on first before the inside can be renovated. They had to make sure that there wasn't any water leaks before the work began. 

In 1881, a house fire nearly destroyed the home. Two fireplaces shared the same chimney which caused a lot of soot build up and eventually caught on fire.  

Every mantel was covered with pictures of the family, especially Richardville. The above two pictures are of the great great granddaughter of Chief Little Turtle, Louisa, also called Ma-tek-kah.  She was wearing modern clothing of the day in the photograph and was probably taken in the 1860's. The second picture is the description of the photograph above it and a bit of history. 

After the tour we went outside and watched a young lady demonstrating traditional dances of the Miami tribe.  Pronounced Me ah me.

This is a closeup of her dress which reminds me of the coins that belly dancers wear on their hip scarves to make noise when they dance.  This offers the same effect. 

It seems like every part of the body is elaborately decorated with colors, scarves, feathers, and fur.  

The fur that is attached to her braids are otter skins. I had never seen that done before and it is lovely to look at. Her dress was made of a light calico material, which is cool during the summer months. 

The feathers on the fan came from a bald eagle. The dancer had four white dots on her face and when asked what they were for she said decoration only, nothing more. I came away from this brief encounter with a little more knowledge than when I arrived. The sad part is that the Miami Indians are now located in Oklahoma and is the only federally recognized tribe. The only Miami's that were allowed to stay here were the ones related to Chief Richardville or had a white parent. On the whole there is a population of about 3000 here. In August,there will be a pow wow in a city nearby.  I plan to attend this event if I can. Someone asked me today if I was a historian. No, but I have a lot of interest in the world. There is so much to learn and it seems like so little time to take everything in. 

Home Sweet Home

I imagine it was at one time, home sweet home.  This log cabin is located in Hamilton, Indiana on a country road somewhere. There was an addition to the house in the 1800's according to the style of the structure. Can you imagine living there? I am such a city girl that I cannot fathom living way out in the "sticks".

When I was little, my parents took us to the ridges in Tennessee to see Uncle Horace and Aunt Dude. They lived in a log cabin. I remember sleeping there and the lulling sound of the rain pinging on the tin roof during the night. Those were sweet times. Waking up to bacon,eggs, biscuits and gravy for breakfast. Drinking spring water from a pail with a dipper was normal.The smell of the fresh chopped wood pile that lay on the ground next to the porch still lingers in my memory.  

As a friend and I drove around the countryside a couple of weeks ago, I was a little saddened at the shape of the barns. A part of history is falling down around us and we are not paying attention. The barn is a symbol of life and hard work.  Where people actually raised the food that they ate. Many were not rich but had enough to be satisfied.  As time passes, things change, and so do our ways. We build bigger and better structures with farm equipment that can do the work of 20 men. But somehow it is comforting to pass an Amish man still plowing his field with the strength of a mule. 

Little Red Barn

I like barns. There is something about those old structures that catch my eye. The red paint slowly peels away exposing bare wood or the advertisements written on the sides, front or roofs of the barn takes me back to my childhood.  Do you remember driving down the highway and looking at the scenery?  I have memories of  watching for signs that said "See Rock City" as we traveled south to Tennessee during our summer vacations.  Then there were the advertisements for "Loco Joe's" which were overrated gift shops with a cafe and most importantly restrooms.  Those were the simple times when we talked at dinner and the whole family sat around the table. We laughed and most importantly we were together.  It was before we let electronics take over our lives.

The other day we were waiting for a table at a restaurant and a family walked past us.  Each child had a tablet in their hands. Hmmm, I wonder how much they had to say at dinner. 

For the love of Cowboys

Photo courtesy of DreamWorks Studios

When I think about men, which is often, I think about those macho types who come to rescue a damsel in distress. My mind automatically goes to the Wild West. A cowboy walks into the saloon with his hat tilted forward on his brow, the ruggedly handsome face hidden by shadows. His footsteps are heavy as his boot spurs make a clunking sound with every step. There is no need for a words, because he has spoken volumes already with just his presence.  I know that not all men are rough and tough, sometimes I wish that they were.   

A friend of mine asked me to photograph her family members while at a reunion.  I gladly brought my camera and began shooting pictures.  About an hour later a man walked in.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw him.  I turned my head to get a better look at the man. A cowboy. My heart skipped a beat at the vision I saw.  Sitting on his head was a hat made of straw with a decorative band neatly placed above the brim. His Texas style button down shirt with rolled up sleeves worn with tight fitting jeans caused my mind to go back to the saloon I envisioned earlier. His boots, pointed toe and all, finished off his ensemble. 

"I need your picture," I bravely said. "You look great!" 

He asked if his picture would end up on Facebook or some place similar. "Most likely," I said.  Then we made our way outside. 

"Can you try to look macho for me please?" 

"Cowboys aren't macho anymore," he said.  I beg to differ with him. 

Memories of Christmas

When the nights are long and the air is cold a little jingle begins to play in the air. The snow begins to fly and we snuggle inside our homes for warmth.  It is then that my mind goes back in time to when life was innocent and the best time of year was Christmas.  There was a tree in the corner with gifts all around and the lights twinkled as they nestled in the branches.  The anticipation of gifts is all that a child thinks about, especially me.   

 

My parents were not big on celebrations and they definitely didn’t get excited like my brother, sister, and I did.  We always opened our gifts after supper on Christmas Eve and on Christmas day we had a big dinner.  The dinners were not the normal ham or whatever is supposed to be traditional for the holiday.  We would have BBQ ribs with whatever sounded good to Mom that day.  The rest of the holiday we lounged around and enjoyed having the day off. 

When my brother and I were about three feet tall, nothing really got past us.  If something was hidden in a low place we were definitely going to find it.  In the mid 60’s, when fire engine pedal cars were all the rage, we “found” our Christmas present in a hall closet.   For some reason Mom thought that if she buried the pedal car beneath some blankets we would not find it.  One day when my parents were still in bed, my brother and I decided to uncover the pedal car and take it for a spin.  We rode in it up and down the hallway.  Mom heard all of the noise and got up to find out what was going on.  “Hey Mom, look at what we found”, I said. She was not amused.  I really don’t remember what happened after that. More than likely she made us put it back in the closet until Christmas.

 

Observing all of those presents piled high all around the tree was so thrilling when I was a girl.  I remember that there was one particular present that I just had to know what it was.  Each night while no one was looking, I would pick up the package, shake it, and then put it back down.  Eventually, my fingers gently made their way to the taped edge.  Maybe the tape will give way without mom noticing that I have been picking at it.  The tape never budged and the more I toyed with it the worse it looked. Curiosity got the best of me and I poked a hole in the paper.  I brought the package up close to my eye and I still couldn’t figure out what the present was.  So, I buried it in the back and decided to wait until Christmas to see what it was; Besides Mom would be really mad if she saw the hole in the pretty paper. 

Dad bought Mom a food processor in the early 80’s, I was a 20 something year old then.  When Mom opened the box she was thrilled.  Dad and I then started pushing buttons while the machine was on.  Then it stopped running.  Dad and I laughed, but Mom cried.  He took it back to the store the next day to get Mom a new one.  The funny thing is I don’t remember her using it very much after that.  But I was in my 20’s then and probably didn’t pay attention to what she did.

I know that Christmas isn’t all about the giving and getting of presents.  I decided to bake a birthday cake for Jesus.   It was a white two layer cake with chocolate frosting. Jesus had to like this cake.  Who doesn’t like chocolate frosting? I asked my family to gather around the table and we sang happy birthday and blew out the candles.  Then we ate the cake for Jesus and told him how good it was.  When my nieces were small we carried on the tradition of baking a birthday cake at Christmas.  Tiffany and Heather still talk about it.

 

 

The year my father passed away we were so poor that we wouldn’t be able to give any gifts. My mother was collecting widow’s benefits and I was only making $3.50 an hour working at the 350 Shop on Broadway.  My church decided to adopt us as their “Christmas family”.  Each of us received a gift plus my family was given a food box.  My present was a turquoise sweater, which I kept for a very long time. I was very thankful for what the church did for us.   I felt as though people still cared for us during our time of loss. 

 

My oldest niece, Tiffany, wanted what she called a “Garbage Patch Doll”.  Scott’s grocery had a contest to be able to win one.  I wrote my mother’s name down and put the entry blank in the box.  I prayed and prayed to win that doll for my niece.  We wouldn’t be able to afford to buy her one for Christmas.  A few days later my mother received a call from the store saying that she had won.  Thank you God!  This was a Christmas miracle. 

Many Christmases have come and gone since then.  Gifts have been given.  Elaborate dinners have been eaten.  But the best part is when we get together and reminisce about “The good ole’ days”.   The pictures come out and the stories are told all over again.  To me, this is what Christmas is all about.  Family is what we are put on this earth for, to love and be loved, there is nothing more than valuable than this.

The Creepiest kind of Pictures: Postmortem Photography

When I was a little girl, I went to two houses where the body of the deceased was being held until the funeral took place.  One of those houses was that of an uncle and my grandfather was placed in the living room. Dead people terrified me.  Their stiff limbs and torso with the unnatural pallor of their skin sent shivers up my spine. I can still see these images in my mind and it disturbs me.

 

I have a pet peeve with funerals. It's with the taking pictures of the corpse. I know that people want to remember the deceased.  But I would much rather have a picture of the person while they are still alive rather than one of them in the casket. (I have a picture of my father that is currently in the basement and wish that I had never seen it.)  While looking at videos on Youtube the other day I saw a snippet of post-mortem photography. So, I clicked on the links and they took me here and here. Eerily, I looked at the photographs with the unnatural poses for the dead. I had a hard time sleeping that night.

Here is what I found out: In the Victorian Era, the mortality rate was very high, especially with small children and babies. The parents wanted a photograph in which to remember the deceased.  They even had posing poles so that the corpse could be photographed standing up. There were many pictures of adults standing up holding their children or men standing alone with a partial view of the stand behind them.  The thing is this, they didn't have that many pictures taken due to lack of money.  So, when someone died they called in the photographer. The family was very proud of these pictures and hung them in their homes, sent them to relatives, and wore them around their necks in lockets.  I don't know about you, but I am glad that this is not part of our culture anymore because, quite frankly, it gives me the creeps. 

P.S. The above photograph is not postmortem, it is a picture of John and Sally Smith with their children. (some of my relatives)

Waking around Salomon Farm

 

The other day a group of people met at this barn for a talk on health and then we took a long walk around the farm. Luckily, I had brought my camera along and took some really lovely shots.  I photo-shopped the above picture and converted it into a sketch.  I am really pleased with the results.

 

The farm is not far from where I work and located off of a busy road.  You would think that it  I was way out in the country some where, but it wasn't.  

 

Flowers in the middle of a field

 

As I was coming to the end of the walk, I photographed this picturesque view of the barn from the road.

 

A country garden 

 

There were sunflowers basking in the sun

 

 Cleome's  filling the garden with their bright purple blooms

And the windmill lite up the summer sky.  I enjoyed my time there walking and photographing.  Sometimes, I wish that everyday could be filled with this much beauty.

Cream Puffs

Now tell me, who doesn't love cream puffs?  Those decadent little puffs filled with cream or custard with lots of powdered sugar on top are so hard to resist.  I have a serious sweet tooth and I am not ashamed to say that I do.  These are quite simple to make, it just takes time and practice.  I made them a couple of times before I got it right.  I filled mine with custard.  I found an English custard mix by Birds which is to die for.  The custard is very thick and with a couple of drops of orange oil you would think that you were in sweet heaven.  

Ingredients:

1/2 cup of all purpose flour
1/2 tsp sugar
1/4 tsp salt
2 eggs, beaten
1 egg, beaten for brushing the tops of the puffs
1/2 cup of water
4 TBS butter, cut into small pieces
powdered sugar for dusting 

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Line a large baking pan with parchment paper or use cooking spray.  In a medium saucepan over medium to high heat add the water and the butter.  Bring to a boil.  Take off the heat and add the flour all at once.  Stir the dough until it is mixed well.  Place the pan back on the heat and continue stirring for a couple of minutes.  If you see a film on the bottom and sides of the pan that is normal. You want to try and get rid of some water.

Put the dough in a mixing bowl.  You can use a stand up mixer, hand mixer, or wooden spoon for the next step.  Mix the dough until it is lukewarm on low. Gradually add the eggs, about a 1/3 at a time.  You want to end up with a smooth dough that is wet, but not runny. If you pick some up with a spoon and try to drop it, it will stick but still fall off, sort of like a blob.  

This mixture makes 12 puffs.  Use two soup spoons or you can use a pastry bag.  Scoop up about a tablespoon into one of the spoons and push it onto the parchment paper with the other.  Place them about 2 inches apart.  Brush the puffs with the remaining beaten egg.  Use the brush to smooth the puff and round the edges. 

Place the pan in the middle of the oven and bake at 400 degrees for 15 minutes.  Then turn the puffs around and lower the heat to 350 degrees for 30 minutes.  If they start to brown too quickly turn the temperature down to 315-325 degrees.  The end result is a hollow puff that is crispy.  If at the end of the baking time the puffs are a little wet on the inside, put a couple of slits on each side of the puffs and place back in the oven for about 5 minutes, but turn off the heat and leave the door ajar.  Allow them to cool.  If your puffs begin to deflate that means that they are not cooked.  Place them back into the oven.  They should be a nice golden brown when done.  Sprinkle with powdered sugar and fill with cream or custard.  Enjoy!

Tennessee Cornbread Salad

I love cornbread, especially the way my mother made it.  It was somewhat thin and had the crispiest crust imagineble. When she would not be looking, I would break off a piece of the crust and quickly eat it, savoring every bite.  Some people put sugar in theirs, others put in cracklins, but I like mine just like Mom's. I have an electric oven and find it hard to duplicate the crust.  So, all I can do is remember how it is supposed to be. 

When I lived in Tennessee in 2001, I tasted the most delicious cornbread salad that one of my co-workers made.  I had never heard of making a salad with cornbread until then.  On a whim, I made it this evening.  I am in heaven.  I brought two of my neighbors a bowl and a co-worker will get a taste tomorrow.  I ate more than my fair share this evening.  No wonder I have a problem keeping my weight down. I make my own cornbread, so no box stuff for this recipe.

Ingredients for Cornbread:

1 cup self rising flour
1 cup self rising cornmeal mix
1/3 cup vegetable oil or shortening
1 egg
2/3 - 1 cup of milk

Preheat oven to 450 degrees F.  In a large skillet,  melt the shortening over medium heat.  Mix the rest of the ingredients and then add the melted shortening.  Mix well.  I leave about 1-2 tbs of oil in the bottom of the skillet to help crisp up the crust.  Place in the oven and bake until the bread is brown on both the top and bottom, about 20-30 minutes.  Once done, set aside to cool.

Ingredients for Salad:

2-3 roma tomatoes or your favorite brand of tomato, chopped
1 green pepper, seeded and chopped
1/2 large onion, chopped, about a cup
1 lb of bacon, I used turkey bacon instead
2-3 cups of mayonaise
2-3 heaping soup spoons of sweet pickle relish
1/4 cup of pickle juice or to taste
black pepper to taste.

In a large skillet cook the bacon over medium heat until crispy.  Drain on paper towels.  When cool, crumble the bacon into small pieces.

In a large bowl, add the tomatoes, pepper, onion, bacon and 3/4 of the cornbread.  Add the mayonaise, pickle relish and pickle juice.  Toss lightly.  I used about 2 cups of mayonaise, but if that is too dry for your taste add more.  Chill for a couple of hours and then serve.  If you are anything like me, I couldn't wait but ate it right away.  Enjoy!

All Things Natural at Salomon Farm

On Friday morning, I went with a friend to a local farm for a look around.  There was a lot of local talent there who used natural fibers to make items.  

 

There were alpacas

and goats 

(now I know where goatee comes from)

  those who spin

(my friend Ronia who makes the most beautiful silk scarves and other things, more on her soon)

those who teach

and last of all, a trailer to haul those critters around in.  I had the most wonderful day there.  I met new people and reacquainted myself with those I hadn't seen in a while. 

Music of my Youth and a Whole lot of Shaking Going on...

Music is such a big part of my life, especially when I was young.  We grew up listening to Jerry Lee Lewis, Conway Twitty, Elvis, Merle Haggard, and Dolly Parton.  I loved to listen to Donny Osmond, Barry Manilow, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Tom Jones.  I would wake up very early in the morning and put a Barry Manilow record on, singing right along with him while I got ready for school.  It would drive my family crazy.  In those days, we played albums on a record player.  I had one that was portable and I would take it with me outside on the porch so that I could continue listening to my favorite singers. 

Yesterday, I looked at videos of Jerry Lee Lewis on line. As I wrote before, my dad was a big fan of his.  There isn't a record out there of Jerry Lee that my dad didn't have. I found a video that made me laugh, clap my hands, and shake my stuff. Plus Tom Jones was in the video too. I liked Tom Jones as a girl, besides he was gorgeous. While watching the videos, my thoughts took me back to a time when I remember dancing with my mother and brother in the living room. I was a teenager then and dancing with ones mother was not cool. But we didn't care. The music was loud. I grabbed my mom's hand and we would dance to the music together.  The video is from 1969 and honestly, I love going back and listening to this music. It has soul, part of my soul!

Mark Edmonds: A Photographer, A Painter, An Artist

I have admired Mark Edmonds photography for a couple of years now. He lives in the same town in Tennessee where I was born.  Marks interest in art was piqued when he was a child as he  looked through religious literature and admired the paintings by the masters.  Art is all about light and its usage in the image he discovered as a young child. His father owned a square Kodak camera that only took black and white photographs.  His father took hundreds of pictures and Mark would spend hours looking at those pictures.

Black Velvet by Mark Edmonds

"My first real experience with photography came when I was 18. With my first real job, I bought an Olympus 35mm film camera. I had no idea how to use it, but I did have the determination to learn. There was no going online with photography sites or easy access to the experience of other photographers like today. I went to the library and drove 35 miles to Chattanooga bookstores for the information I wanted. I spent a lot of money on film and processing. I carefully kept exposure logs of the images and settings I used and before long I began to understand how the camera worked and how to compose the images I wanted to take. I moved on to doing double exposures and working with various filters after purchasing a Nikon FM2 and a couple of lenses."



Red Caboose by Mark Edmonds

When he married his wife, he joined the police department.  The instructor advised him to find a hobby. Mark bought a set of pencils and art paper. Then he started drawing pictures and eventually on to portraits.  As time went by and his eyesight not like it used to be, Mark turned to photography as his creative outlet for the second time.  

Winter Pass by Mark Edmonds

His motto: "Art is the manifestation of the imagination. It doesn't matter what tools you use to create it...imagination is the best technique you can carry in your artistic tool box. There isn't a magic button."

Contact Mark @:

facebook.com/mark.edmonds.art

customlightphoto@aol.com

Mark Edmonds - Google +