The Seven Candles of Christmas

http://youtu.be/WqFAQ2ODMZw [Go Light Your World]

A few years ago, a friend told me about a tradition of hers: the lighting of seven candles of Christmas in remembrance of and to signify the true meaning of the season. I’d never heard of it before, but I thought it was a lovely sentiment. Wow. Light a candle, and in essence, light up the world. There’s no story here - no memories to reflect upon. This post is merely a sharing of - passing on information regarding a holiday tradition that many around the world practice. I offer it here for consideration as something you might want to try this year; I tweaked it a bit with my own little spin. And, if you are so inclined, I hope you’ll not only light your candles but pass them on so that they may burn bright! Blessings One and All!!!!

Light the first candle for the one whose birth we celebrate on Christmas Day. May the fire and light from this candle shine brightest for all the world to see and feel the warmth of its glow.

Light the second in honor of the gift of God’s love. May the light from this candle touch every heart - those who believe - however you believe - and those who do not. Especially for the non-believers, may the light from this candle allow a dawning to occur within you, because we all need something to believe in.

Light the third candle in honor of your family–your children, for they are truly among your greatest treasures.

Light the fourth candle to honor the women and men in our armed forces - the standard-bearers of our liberties, who fight and sacrifice so much of themselves so that we may have the right to celebrate Christmas [or not] in accordance with our personal beliefs.

Light the fifth candle for your friends. Our friends are the family we create for ourselves. They are our self-made blessings. God gave us our families; we pick our friends. Therein, lies the perfect balance of light and love. As with our families, friends are among our greatest blessings.

Light the sixth candle for those less fortunate - the have nots - the forgotten ones, those who suffer: for those people who have lost their jobs; the homeless; the mentally ill who wander aimlessly through a society that does not understand them; for the mother and father who have no food to give their child - no money to purchase even a loaf of bread or a gallon of milk; for those children who go to bed hungry and disillusioned; for the abused who have lost all hope; for the chronically ill and lonely who know pain more than anything else in their lives yet daily persevere. May the glow from this candle guide our conscience and give us compassion as we remember them, and may it burn brightly for those who are existing in any of these predicaments, who need a guiding light to help them find their way out of their individual despair and onto the pathway to a truly glorious earthly life.

Light the seventh candle for those who are believers of goodness and grace: the optimists of the world. Let it burn to honor those who still have hope in a weary world and  who keep a positive attitude amidst a tempest-tossed storm of uncertainty regarding plans, future, and the direction of our nation and its people [as well as the world at large]. Let us remember those who continue to inspire and endure as true examples of God’s grace. May the light from their candles always burn with an indescribable brilliance, serving as a testament to the idea that "this too shall pass" if you believe with the hope of an assured heart that "better days lie ahead..." Let this candle shine brightly as a reminder to others that endless possibilities come to and for those who maintain a hopeful heart.


May the blessings of the season be with every one. Christmas is a time of pure celebration: celebrate the joy and love that come with giving; celebrate the good tidings we feel when we share our abundance with others; celebrate life for this is the season of reflection and love. May you, your family and friends find the peace that the light of these seven candles imparts on the world. May the seed that you sow of love, grace and happiness advance the light forward so that the light of the Seven Candles of Christmas will be magnified by all who see it each and every time someone sees them. Our greatest prayer en total as we celebrate the lighted candles is Peace on Earth. May you know it and may you pass it on. God Bless you and yours this holiday season with health, happiness and joyful appreciation for the gifts~messages that the seven candles impart to each one who partake in this experience. Now, Friends...take your candle or two or three and go light your world so that others may see your light, catch your flame and pass it on, until all the world is bright and beautiful with love, hope and peace’s illumination and see if we can maintain it NOT for just a season, but for always.... Amen.

All My Blessings...

http://youtu.be/xBtKRKM3a9o My "Thanksgiving Blessings" video
*Please take a moment to watch the video...

　
"What we're really talking about is a wonderful day set aside on the fourth Thursday of November when no one diets. I mean, why else would they call it Thanksgiving?...

...Thanksgiving dinners take eighteen hours to prepare. They are consumed in twelve minutes. Half-times take twelve minutes. This is not coincidence." ~Erma Bombeck, 26 November 1981

Have you counted your blessings this week as we come upon Thanksgiving? I’ve counted mine, but I don’t simply wait for Thanksgiving day to do that. Although, I say an extra special prayer of Thanksgiving for all the blessings God has seen fit to enrich my life with. If I was sitting in Santa Claus’ lap, given my LONG list of blessings, I would definitely tell him that I was a GOOD girl! Here’s the thing about blessings: it’s not so much about having the best of every material possession out there. It’s about appreciating and valuing all the non-material treasures in your life: family, friends, a home, a full pantry, and two munchy little puppies. It doesn’t get any better than that!
I wish it was mandatory that people spent time with loved ones and reminisced. It’s more entertaining than any video game out there, and the laughter that comes with happy memories - not necessarily happy ones at the time, but ones that seem almost riotous now...is not something that you can put a price tag on. Wow, if you charged for that, I daresay we’d all be in that 2% of Americans who have more money than they’ll ever spend in five lifetimes. But, I digress...this isn’t about money or the lack thereof. This is about something much more important than money: love–grateful love and appreciation for all the people in our lives who put up with our moods, our grumps, our quirks, our faults and frailties and love us anyway, despite all those things.
There’s just something fun, for me, in sitting around with family and close friends and hearing old stories from everyone’s childhood. I’m familiar with my brother and sister’s stories. I was a participant in many of them, along with my some of my friends’ memories. It was my granddaddy and Daddy who could tell stories about growing up that had you holding your sides, while snickering and snorting with laughter. It’s an art - being a good story teller. It didn’t matter whether I knew the people in their stories either, because a good story teller can make you feel as if you know them. I like to think I learned that from both of them. I like to think that I’m a good story teller and that it doesn’t matter whether or not you know the main characters in the tale of my life. I hope that I describe them in a way where you feel like you do know them in some way and love hearing about them as much as I love sharing memories of them.
God blessed me with an amazing array of family and friends. There are some friends who were plunked down in my life straightaway - like placing a picture on a table. The "this one goes here" philosophy, I call it. Then, there are other friends who came, not from the divine one’s straight-away handing of them to me, but with the help of one of his bright lights.
Marie Osmond helped out with that regarding a special group of my friends. I’m sure everyone knows who Marie Osmond is. The Osmond family has been a staple of my life since I was old enough to say "one bad apple". I’d always watched Marie and Donny on television [Friday nights/8 pm] and I’d followed the Osmond brothers for years prior to that. Who my age didn’t dream of being Mrs. Donny Osmond? My sister led me to believe that Donny would never pick me over her! I didn’t listen. I figured as long as we were both living in dreamland, my dream was as real as hers and had about as much chance of coming true. Needless to say, Donny passed us both over for a lady name Debbie. I thought Pam and I were pretty close to the front of the line, but Debbie was obviously closer. He made a good choice because they’ve been married for over 30 years. Still, sometimes, my sister and I lovingly recall those days when being Mrs. Donny Osmond was a sight off in our horizon no matter how off-the-mark it was. More aptly defined: not close and no cigar. It happens...
With Marie, however, when I watched her, I knew that she was going to have a special impact on my life. Don’t ask me why, but I felt that long before I ever met her. Does that sound like a grand statement? Perhaps. Some people know at an early age that they were destined for greatness. [Oprah comes to mind with that thought.] Others of us know that great things will happen to us. That’s MY category! Marie led me to some very special friends: Linda, Kelli, Rebecca, Ken, Kristin, Judy, Linda, Paul, Bernay, Tammy, Lynne, Mary, Tanya...the list goes on and on. How do you thank somebody for gifts like these? I don’t know? I’ve expressed the appreciation to her before, and she gets it. We are that kind of blessing to her as she’s told us many times before. We’re doll collectors. I don’t collect so much anymore, [disability and the financial limitations that come along with such can limit a person’s spending abilities] but for a time it was all pink boxes and ooh-ahs.
My "Doll Friends" still provide the ooh-ah moments. They are a special group of people – the kind who learned to keep the wonder and magic of childhood alive in their hearts no matter their age. It’s a pure wonder moment to open a box and find a beautiful doll inside; to allow yourself the freedom to be a kid again and let yourself squeal and giggle with wild abandon! It’s a great feeling to be dazzled by something and know there are other people out there who are dazzled by those same things.
My wish for the world is that the childlike wonder that we had as children would never go away. I think it would be a wise idea if for a half hour every day, women and men played with dolls or bears or Tonika toys, Legos – whatever your pleasure – had tea parties. Turn off the computers, the phones, the mind and let yourself wander back to a time when playing was as easy as breathing. That’s the beautiful thing about Doll Collectors, Bear Collectors and toy collectors in general. They’ve not forgotten how to play or that it’s important to do it, no matter what your responsibilities. Play creates energy and energy flourishes when sparked. Trust me, as someone who can’t run around physically anymore, I know how important the ability to continue to play albeit in limited ways is. You don’t have to run around necessarily to play though. You can do it exuberantly sitting in a chair with a "feel good" in your hand like a doll or bear and let your mind and your giggles take you back to that special place of wonder, or as I like to call them: the Mrs. Beasley and Kitty Karry-all days.
I think we’d all be in a much better place mentally, spiritually, physically and emotionally if we did that: still took time to play. My Doll Friends know how to play. Lord! You’ve not been to a party until you’ve been to a gathering of doll lovers, and Marie Osmond knows how to throw a good party! I’ve been to three or four of her shindigs with my merry band of Doll Friends, and we can rock a house, I’ll tell you that much. Everything else that has happened there is like the Vegas motto: "it stays there!" It’s just understood.... And, in case you don’t truly believe that doll people can have the kind of wild, wacky fun that many classify that term as having, let me just say that our CNY delegation has a few of us on standby with bail money ready should they ever need to make that one phone call. And, we’d be there for them in a New York minute too if the call came in. Oh, I laugh at just the thought of them and some of their hijinx - all legal, mind you. I’ll stop there because I can hear all of their voices chiming in loudly right about now, reminding: "It stays here, Jhilly! Remember, it stays here!" I can keep a secret! Playtime with my brother’s blonde little toy filly with the chain and saddle is evidence of that!
Genie Francis led me to "S’More" very dear friends, and most of them will get that reference. Dee, Luci, Sus, Lori, Sue, AuntB, Tomi...that list goes on and on too. Blessings, every one. Genie, like Marie, is a sister-friend. She’s someone who I watched on tv as a kid and knew our lives would cross later on down the line. It was another example of that in-explainable "knowing". Genie’s gift to my life far outweighs all the joy she brought simply from entertaining me. She’s brought me, like Marie, to some of my dearest friends. Isn’t it amazing how God uses people and places to build bridges of love and friendship? I think so anyway. There again, I can never appropriately express the gratitude I feel toward Genie for being the conduit through which many of my dearest friends came.
Then, of course, there’s Terri – my oldest friend in the world. I’ve known her for 44 of my 48 years. She’s one of those kind of friends who, it doesn’t matter how long it’s been since we’ve spoken, when we do, time has stood still. We pick right up where we left off. She’s traveled the world-literally and done things in those adventures that I can only dream of but would be too chicken to undertake. Backpacking across Europe at 18 comes to mind. I’ve found, the older I get, the more I realize that God always gives us at least one friend through whom we can live vicariously. Terri is my vicarious friend! I’ve gotten to piggy back on her adventures through her retelling of them, and felt as if I was right there with her in some instances. She’s saved me a lot of travel expense, but the sights that her eyes have seen leave me envious at times – not in a covetous way but more along the lines of wishing that I’d have had more of a wanderlust spirit like she has. I appreciate passion, and Terri has always had a passion for it. It’s one of the things that I appreciate about her.
Then, there’s my A.B. who was put in my life so that my universe wouldn’t seem so, oft times, singularly chaotic, because we always jokingly said we shared parallel ones. She was also put in my life, I think, because God knew I’d needed an angel here on earth. That’s what she is to me: my earth angel. It’s also what drew us together – our love of angels. She is a friend who I don’t have to necessarily converse with to know what she’s thinking. Do you have a friend like this? We can both look at something, then at each other and our eyes take over the conversation. Those kind of laughs are the best – when people look at you and another person who are laughing but haven’t said a word and wonder what wonderfully funny thing it was that they missed? Some of my best laughter is shared with Karen. Some of my best times have featured her. One of my greatest blessings has her name written on it.
When I speak of angels, I can’t forget my true angel-friend, Sheri. She left us much too soon, but for the 38 years that she walked among us, I and her family give thanks. She was my Jr. High School best bud - the one I tried my dreams out on. I knew if I told her what I hoped to do with my life and what I wanted to be, that if she didn’t roll on the floor in hysterical laughter, that I might not have been too far off the mark. Sheri never laughed. Ten years ago, the Monday after Thanksgiving in 2001, my mother called to tell me that Sheri had been diagnosed with cancer, and they’d given her roughly four months to live. There have only been a few times in my life when all the air was literally sucked right out of me. That was one of those moments. It gave me pause. It was information that my mind didn’t know how to process or grasp. It suddenly put everything into perspective for me and made me realize what a precious commodity time is. I began to write to her weekly, reminding her of things that we had done as kids and things that she had said to me, because my mother had told me that she was trying to put together a journal for her daughter, who, at the time, was only four. Just four. God, my heart still breaks at the thought of THAT reality. Prayer takes on a desperate tone when you’re pleading for someone’s life. I had a lot of desperate prayer that year. I didn’t mind doing 10,000 knee bends for Sheri. Some things are worth that effort. The friend she had been to me...well, she was worth it.
I remember immediately sending her a teddy bear - one that I had gone and carefully hand- picked especially for her. I hugged it so tight - one of those "squeeze your eyes shut" hugs that contained all the love and positive energies I could muster, because I knew that she was in the fight for her life. When that time comes, a person needs all the positive reinforcements they can get. I told her that the teddy bear was my church’s symbol for God’s unconditional love for each of us, and that I wanted her to have a bear because I knew that sometimes in life, we all need a little something extra to hold onto and cry into, when we’re sad or scared. There’s something comforting in having something like that beside you when you’re having just such a moment. Her mother told me that she took that bear with her a few times to her chemo treatments. It made me feel good to know that I could do something that helped her during that time - made her feel not all better, but a little better as she traveled down that tough road. I also told Sheri that I believe in miracles, and told her to hang onto that thought because a miracle was out there for her. We had all hoped and prayed that the miracle would be a complete healing, but, sometimes, God’s idea of miracles and ours are different. Sheri was a beautiful flower, and God wanted her to decorate his garden. I can’t blame him for that. Beautiful flowers are young and vibrant. That’s what Sheri was. She lived eight months longer than originally given with her diagnosis, and therein was the miracle.
Her mother told me after she passed how much my letters had meant to her. I wrote her every week or 10 days, even if it was just a card that I signed with love attached. She appreciated my letters. She’d laugh and wonder how in the world I’d remembered those details from so long ago? Sheri would remember them too after I’d brought them back to the forefront of her mind in the vivid detail that I’m known for recalling. Then, it all came back to her too. Her mother said she marveled over my memory. I get that a lot. It makes me smile.
The first anniversary of her death, I remember getting a card from her mother. She had been going through a box of Sheri’s things and found a partially written letter that Sheri had written to me but not finished.  For whatever reason, she hadn't been able to throw it away.  Her mother sent it to me. What a gift. What a blessing it was to learn that, during that most difficult journey of her life, she considered me an extra special one. The amazing thing about Sheri’s illness is that it brought people together in prayer who had never met her. Yet, when I mentioned to my MDF family that I needed special prayers sent up on Sheri’s behalf and for her family as well, they joined hands with me and prayed for her and her family that entire year. The last week of her life, when my mother called and said the time was at hand, those friends held vigil with me for five solid days praying round the clock for her peace–peace of mind-peace from pain-peace for her family. It is amazing to me how blessings don’t just enrich our lives but strengthen them as well. I suppose Sheri has been heavy on my mind because she passed on November 22, 2002, and that date is during Thanksgiving week this year.   It doesn't matter if the anniversary comes Thanksgiving week or the one after.  I never forget her.  I never will...
I’ve mentioned before that I’m a big believer in signs. Well, I am. I met Mattie "J. T." Stepanek a year later on November 22^nd. Oh, that young man was a love light - a true love light! I wrote about him in a separate blog entry - my third actually called "A Heartsong for Today". Mattie was a special blessing to this world – his message of love and peace coupled with his wisdom exemplified just how true a statement that is.
I shared Sheri’s story with him the day I met him, and he shared a few stories with me about his own losses, namely his brothers and sister. He spoke with an assurance and a comforting knowing that better things lie ahead in a place far grander than this. I have never forgotten that. When I count my blessings, I count that experience high on my list and Mattie as well, because it was, as I said to my husband when we left him, that I knew what it was to be in the presence of an angel. I had just experienced that with Mattie Stepanek.
Then, several years later I would receive a special blessing in my life tied again to the date November 22^nd. It was the day when my doctor was born hm hm years ago. I don’t know how many of you appreciate your doctor. I adore mine! She has been a blessing in my life of super-duper proportions! When you begin to have "Tin Man" issues, like I have, and it’s not because I have no heart, rather I need an oil can to grease the cricky wheels of my challenged body to get me going most often than not, at this point. Given that fact, it’s a blessing to have a doctor who is right there ready, willing and able to re-fill said oil can when needed. It’s a blessing to have her admit that while I’m getting a little rusty in some of the old ball and joints, I still shine, for the most part, real pretty. She’s given me lots of scripts over the years, but that one is the most important. Another one is this: when I have moments of value-certainty, because I don’t always consider myself a gold or silver nugget at this point in my game, she’ll shake her head and, in essence, get this figurative message imparted to me: "Okay. So, you don’t feel like you’re gold today. Or silver. Do you know what the going rate for tin is these days?" [It’s almost $8 a pound.] Now, that won’t get you a wild adventure in Paris, mind you, but you can have a high-flying time at Disney World with a price like that – place extra ordinaire for good times and all things magical. Now that I think of it, I think I like that idea. When you look at me, think: she’s a magical trip just waiting to happen! ;-)
Dr. Pam. Seriously, she makes me feel better about myself. As my father would say, she makes me believe that I’m in pretty darn good shape for the shape I’m in! You hold onto what sounds good. Right? I do. I hold onto this thought: Dr. Pam is a BIG blessing in my life!
As I continue to count my blessings, my grandparents come to mind. I had the best grandparents of any kid in the world! That’s MY story anyway, and I’m sticking to it! They were funny, and the endearing thing is that they didn’t always know that they were funny. They were honest and caring. I felt REALLY loved when I was with them. They were unique and original. As previously written, they taught me a lot about life and what’s important. They were important to me. You know someone truly mattered in your life when they are alive, well and constant in your heart. My heart is full with the love and gratitude I feel for having been given the gift of my grandparents. The best....they were, quite simply the best grandparents. Thanksgiving was always a special time for us. Their visits brought many joyful moments to my childhood. I sing high praise for them today.
Jeff. Big brother. If you’ve not read my blog entry about him [He Ain’t Heavy, He’s my Brother], I’ll try and condense it down for you. He’s a character. He was when we were young. He’s every bit one as we’ve grown older. We didn’t like each other very much when we were young. It was that older-younger sibling dynamic at work. He was my irritant; I was his pain. There were six years that spanned our ages, and we had little in common back then except our last name. But, I always remembered something my aunt once said: "you two are like peas and carrots [she said this about me and my sister too]. You’re both sweet in your own ways, and you have no clue how much you compliment each other!" As I’ve gotten older, I’ve begun to realize just that fact: we compliment each other in unique ways. He has become a friend, not just my brother. I am his white sheep of our family, and I’d don’t mind, so much, that classification any more. His comment means that he holds me in esteemed light, and that’s always a good thing. He’s one of the first people I’d call if I found myself in trouble and needing help. It’s not a statement I make about many people.
Pamela Lynn. My sister. Pam is the person who taught me at a very early age about sharing and boundaries. When you share a room with your sister, you must learn the importance of those two things. Fortunately for me, I did. She’s another one who I didn’t become close with until I got older. It often happens when you, meaning me, are the square, studious one amidst a family that had a cool eldest son and a cool eldest daughter. Let me just say this: I’ve never considered myself square. I’m more the short, round type but I’ll grant that I was studious as a kid. Still, short, round and studious people know how to have fun. I’ll never forget when Pam said to me once when we were in our 20's, "if I’d known you were this much fun when we were kids, I’d have paid more attention to you!" Trust me, through the years, we’ve made up for lost time. Like my brother, she teaches me things. She is a grace note, even if she’s never completely believed that about herself. I’ve learned about compassion from her and resilience. I bought her a book once, for her birthday, called Sisters. It was a compilation of essays about famous women and their sisters coupled with a photograph. The last page of the book was blank. It seemed an odd ending to a otherwise fantastic book. It screamed to be filled. I took it upon myself to complete it. On the last page, I put a picture of my sister and me, and wrote my own essay about our sisterhood. I put a quote at the top, which she found funny and was true. It said, "you can tell your sister off in four languages, but if you ever need to borrow a quarter, she’ll lend you a quarter..." Yeah. That’s about right...no matter what, there’s always a quarter in my purse with her name on it.
Speaking of sisters. I was blessed with a second one though we don’t share a blood line. She came into my life when I married her brother. We didn’t start out as good friends. We evolved into that, and there’s many positive things to be said for personal evolution. It started out more like being in separate corners and assessing the other. Kathy was the baby sister and only sister in a family of four children, and I was the "intended" to a brother who she was very close to. It took us a few years to carve out our niche in each others lives, but she is a good friend now. I don’t think of her as an "in-law". I only see a sister when I look at her. She is also one I’d call first when in need because I know that she’d drive 500 miles to get to me if I was in need. She brought Elmer into our lives. For that alone, I can never repay her! As Martha Stewart would say, "it’s a good thing!"
Daddy. I have a few special Thanksgiving memories about my father. Some make me laugh more than others. One in particular involved him regaling the table about stories regarding his children. The "L" word figured prominently. It’s become a treasured memory – brings about MUCH hearty laughter.  The things he said at times and the way he said them...well, those who knew him know what I’m talking about. My father was a real character too. Did I say that about my brother?  Ah well.  It's true. The tree and his apple...lines blur between them sometimes.  Jeff said something to me the other day, and for a moment, I thought I heard my father speaking.  I hear a lot of my father in my brother’s voice now. Tone. Inflection. Things you take for granted when they’re present in your life. Once they leave, you’re left with the memory of their sound. Fortunately for me, I’ve got a good memory, and the sound of my father’s voice is still vivid and clear. I’ve been thinking about him a lot the last few days. I’ve had those come-and-go weepy moments that occur when a loved one has moved on, and we’d give anything just to hear "I love you too, Sug!" one more time...or see his face or feel his hug...to sit around the Thanksgiving tabe and break bread one more time. My father and I – as I grew older and more convicted in my own thoughts, didn’t always agree, but part of the person I am today is a result of his guidance and input. He helped to shape me – to pour the foundation that supports my beliefs and values. For the person I am today, part of the thanks goes to him for examples set and lessons taught, not all perfectly but every one tinged with his human*ness. Within his human*ness, there was grace. That was the blessing of my father. He, too, taught me many important things, namely a special verse of Amazing Grace.
Mother: One sweetest name of love’s refrain. She’s been with me the longest – I’ve been connected to her for more years than I’ve been connected to another living person. There is a profoundness to that thought. Our mothers are the only people with whom we share a true physical connection, where our bodies are literally inside theirs – attached to them. It is the nearest thing to earthly divinity. Man...when you’ve got a good mother that’s half of life’s battle right there. You’ve got a built-in advocate, cheerleader, therapist, advisor. If my mother were a candy bar, she’d be the $100,000 Dollar bar. Anyone remember that candy bar from the 70's? It’s Nestle’s chocolate with caramel and puffed rice – all the good stuff rolled up into one incredible sensation. That’s my mother.
Chuey and Elmer. The Princes of Virginia. Who knew that two little rascals could bring such jubilant chaos into our lives? They are my heart smiles and my love lights. I am the best thing since Wonder bread in their eyes. I believe that about myself where they’re concerned. What could be better than that? It is a glorious thing and a REAL ego booster for a little body to break out into a vigorous and uncontrollable shimy-shake of pure glee when you enter a room. I am 24 k. gold or .925 sterling silver in their books. They still hold me in that light on my "Tin Man" days. Tender mercies. I speak of them a lot. That is a big one right there, and it’s given to me by two dogs who have no clue than I’m physically less than what I was six years ago. All they know is that in the love department, mine is greater than anything they could ever have hoped to have found in this life. Kathy jokes that if there is such a thing as reincarnation, she hopes to come back as my dog. It makes me smile. If you don’t have a dog, and you can afford one, I highly recommend it. It is the best therapy you’ll ever pay for. The giggles are endless. The adoration is non-stop and the love is big. BIG love. That’s what you get when you’ve got puppies in your house; in your life; in your heart... Double thanks I give for them.
Tom. Last but certainly not least as I run through my list of blessings. He’s the man who took a mayonnaise jar and made an arrangement of fireflies that actually sparked when you turned a switch on at the lid. Can you imagine the delight in receiving a gift like that for a romantic like myself? I remember when I was in school, I read a poem by William Wordsworth called, Surprised by Joy, that spoke of a heart’s best treasure. He’s mine. He’s been making my heart go pitter-pat for 22 years. I don’t just love him. I like him. I remember once praying in gratitude and thanking God for giving me my true like-love. I don’t know how many of you believe in soul mates, but I do. It’s easy to believe in something that you’ve found–that you have. I know at this time of year, I’m especially thankful for the blessing of him and a good, strong, solid marriage. His hand is always there when I reach for it...sure and steady like my parents prayed I’d find. My mother is the one who told me, back when I first told her about him, that he sounded like a keeper. Yes. He’s a keeper. My father is the one who proudly boasted to friends, "he’s a helluva nice guy!" Yes. He’s that too.  Rich blessing, my Tom....I hope he knows it always...
Their are other blessings in my life: There’s Aunt Judy, Jackie, Ginny, Doris, Bonnie, Carolyn...so many more stories for so many other days. But, I remember them all on this one...
Thorton Wilder once said that "We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures." Today, more than any other day of the year, I’m acutely aware that my heart is a treasure chest that is abundantly overflowing with blessings. Today, I am ALIVE, and I give thanks for each and every one...

It Was Fascination

Luke & Laura: 30 Years Later

Many pop culture questions stand out in our minds. Some have to do with real events and others have to do with fictitious ones. I daresay that everyone who was old enough to understand the English language, remembers the catch phrase: "Where were you when Luke and Laura got married?" [Just like "Where were you when JR was shot?.. or...President Kennedy, President Reagan and John Lennon." "Do you remember what you were doing when you heard that Princess Diana had died or Michael Jackson?] Real and fictitious MONUMENTAL moments in history - pop or otherwise always seem to stick out in our minds.
Well, it was 30 years ago today that 30 million people sat glue and transfixed in front of their television sets and watched the wedding of the century. [Yes, I believe it rivaled Prince Charles and Princess Diana’s wedding four months earlier....or came pretty darn close] Likewise, you have to remember, this was at a time that VCR’s weren’t prevalent in everyone’s homes, and the internet didn’t exist.
When it’s reported that 30 million people watched the wedding between Luke and Laura, it REALLY means that time stood still for that hour on November 16, 1981, so that people could tune in and see the culmination of a two-year dance: fans waiting for Luke and Laura to bring down crime boss mafioso, Frank Smith, then go off and save the world from the evil Cassadines so that four months later they could finally have some time to themselves, and we, the fans, could finally grasp the brass ring! It was an unbelievably heady time. Crazy? Yes. Momentous? Yes. Insanely good? Oh...hell yeah! It was insanely good!!!!! Silly to some? Probably. But, it was what it was and it was magically, riveting television.
I was in my Freshman year of college. To tell you how significant this shindig between Lucas Lorenzo Spencer and Laura Webber Baldwin was, even our college professors knew they would be sitting in an empty classroom for those two magical days. So, our assignments were handed out prior to the big day with a call to "have fun & see you Monday".... The Professors who indulged their students in that moment were forever considered "cool" from there on out...
A couple hundred of us piled into a small auditorium and watched the wedding on a 32" tv which was the largest we could find at the time. I remember someone dragging it in from somewhere though no one knew where it came from. We didn’t care! We considered it the "something borrowed" element of the day.
It was magic - pure magic. We crammed in so tightly that I’d venture to say sardines in a can had more wiggly room than we did, but it didn’t matter. The camaraderie was like being in a tight space rooting for the home team at a football game, and Luke and Laura’s wedding was the Super bowl of daytime television. I remember thinking with all the hoopla not just among the fans but with the media as well that this was going to be a memory - a long-lasting one. I wasn’t wrong about that! [Thirty years later and the fans still remember.] Elizabeth Taylor didn’t make an appearance for "just anybody" Dahling! She adored Luke and Laura like the rest of us. If it was good enough for Dame Elizabeth.....Yet, even without that added bonus of a big name dropping in as part of the festivities, it was truly something special simply in and of itself. It was the stuff of well....legends. Genie Francis and Tony Geary certainly sealed their iconic status with that wedding...they became TRUE legends that day, and their fans have never forgotten it. It’s like sports fans recalling with awed fascination when The Dodgers won the World Series; when Ali won the Heavyweight Championship or when The Saints won the Super bowl. The Wedding of Luke and Laura was our world series; heavyweight championship and super bowl Sunday all rolled up into one glorious thing. It was the Motherlode of fictional television events. I don’t know whether we’ll have the opportunity to see them again, in the sunset ending that we’ve all hoped and dreamed for them and ourselves, but we hold it in our minds - the happy place. And, for a moment, for one GREAT, shining moment, they were magic, and they shared it with the rest of us as well.
I’ve attached a poem that I wrote a few years ago about Luke and Laura and attached a few of my favorite music videos along with it. Today, like then, I know the ardent fans will be celebrating again like it’s 1981....and why not? It was a heady time in our lives that few things compared to. It’s nice to brush off, at times, the cobwebs of certain memories and celebrate them again - those halcyon days.
It’s also a perfect opportunity to once again say to Ms. Francis and Mr. Geary: Thank you for the ride! It was wild and crazy and fun. It was true roller coaster! You gave us the time of our lives in a story that was brilliant and bodacious and beautiful! There was nothing any better than what you created from the Wyndam’s dance on down to The Triple L, and that last, heartfelt, long-awaited gazebo dance. We are indebted and we are grateful for the legacy – The unrevised version of that great love affair.
Happy 30^th Anniversary, Luke & Laura!  It was fascination then, and it's fascination now - ...still...always...Fascination...

http://youtu.be/LTYQAAManpc Luke & Laura~Fascination video

http://youtu.be/mcy4nzg5dk8 Labk's Incredible video: Every Time I Look at You by Il Divo

Blue Lights in MY Basement

Background to the title of this blog entry:

Years ago when my husband and I lived in Maryland, we listened, on Saturday afternoon/early evenings [4-7 pm on WPFW/89.3 FM] to an addictive show of Andrea Bray's called "Blue Lights in the Basement".  Andrea's show is an eclectic mix of oldies but goodies, great, rhythm & blues, soulful jazz classics.  Her soothing, sultry voice encouraged us to sit back.  Relax.  Enjoy, as we dusted off the cobwebs of some long-ago gems and fondly took a look back and a listen to.  Since then, I've affectionately adopted the sentiment, "Blue Lights in the Basement" to include old movies, t.v. shows, or great works of literature.  Which leads me to this blog post:

I wrote this piece three years ago when a band of Genie Francis' supporters created a group called "Genie's Angels" to fight to get her back on General Hospital. It was a successful campaign and one that Genie has appreciatively acknowledged.  With the recent cancellation of two beloved soaps, and the looming threat of losing a genre that has been a part of my life since I was old enough to recall memories, [hm hm years ago] a friend recently asked if the LnL fans, that's Luke and Laura, for those of you not in the know, could say something nice about them.  I reached back into my files and decided to dust this off.  It's the nicest thing I can say about a couple, who, in my mind, will go down in history as one of the greatest romantic duos ever created.  I will never be able to thank Genie Francis & Tony Geary enough for the many years of entertainment and joy that they have brought me.  But, this is a start...  Sit back. Relax. Enjoy!

An Epical Ode to Luke and Laura & a Love Never Forgotten

©Jhill Perran

August 10, 2008

For me, it began as a slow, simmered "Rise",

while the story unfolded through those incredible eyes.

The anguish, the longing, the heat of their stares,

kept me fanning myself, on the edge of my chair.

There was intrigue and mystery and passion that oozed -

between two, star-crossed lovers who were torn and confused.

And, we saw in the glimpse of that one, awful night,

how one man’s human foible made him a strange kind of Knight.

Luke’s remorse and despair cut to the depths of our soul,

and redemption began from the trust that he stole.

Yes, we rooted for him, and we rooted for her.

It was them who we hoped had a committed re-birth.

Because they suffered and struggled over their formidable love.

It was hard-fought and hard-won - but it fit like a glove.

We could not get enough of their angst-filled, raw, passion,

They were genuinely flawed, yet it was poignantly rationed.

Their story, as told, showed a unique kind of grace.

Luke found his absolution from an unlikely place.

The woman who received his most brutal attack,

found forgiveness within, and she offered it back.

In that moment, we couldn’t have cared for them more,

It was them who we cheered for! It was them we adored!

And that glorious summer, when they went on the run,

when they brought down the mob, without the use of a gun.....

Who’d have thought that one story could bring such fun-filled, pure joy-

than the one that was told through the Left-Handed Boy?

It was short-lived! We knew when that cigar band came off,

We were in for LONG days, but we were in for the haul....

We bore witness to some of the most powerful scenes

of a love that was spoken through the lines in between....

The unuttered words and their subtle nuance,

clearly showed their desire - the profoundness of want.

How is it that two people could make love without touch?

It was all in their eyes, and their eyes said so much....

We felt tingles and shivers and were giddy each minute,

in the way that they told it and how well they did spin it....

And the heat was turned up during summer number two,

diamonds, a yacht - a tropical island to boot.

There in their glory was Luke and his gal,

and his good-looking, sexy, Australian pal.

Yowzah, we thought! Who could ask for much more?

There was a starlet, a "mad" guy and bad guys galore!

Port Charles in the deep freeze, in August no less....

What a yarn that was spun with that name "Ice Princess"...

In the fall, finally! Finally! we all got the dream!

Luke and Laura united with the exchange of a ring....

Like Camelot, the magic was gone much too quick,

Something precious was lost in that cold, foggy, thick...

Oh, I cried when our Laura disappeared in the night,

And, for me, that’s when GH lost its most luminous light.

Luke without Laura? - Too painful to watch it back then,

But I watched in ‘83 when our ship sailed again....

I was there holding on......and holding my breath,

when they finally connected in that earth-moving caress...

In his arms, Laura jumped as Luke screamed out to God,

it was a path only made for Angels and Heroes to trod.

It was splendor and wonder and grace personified,

when those two saw each other, when they embraced and they cried.

One knew in that moment, that fairy tales do come true,

If you believe in such things, and I assure you I do!

It was magic, I tell you - seeing that miracle unfold,

Watching Laura and Luke spinning more tales of pure gold.

True love, it endures. It survives. It abides...

You saw it so clearly when you looked in their eyes.

Nothing and no one would keep them a part!

You can sever one’s ties but you can’t sever their heart!

And therein and throughout, lies the crux of it all,

One heart shared by two lovers can’t be arbitrarily recalled...

No one could keep Laura on an isle with a cool, hunk of steel,

No one would stop Luke from protecting his Angel from evil.

Thus, commenced an odyssey of adventure and fun,

Luke and Laura were together - happily, back on the run...

And the following year, we got the Aztec Adventure,

With that most special scene: the telling of a new, baby Spencer.

Then, they left us to go live their lives off the screen,

but we knew they’d return.....can you say "Halloween, 93"...

Oh, Happy Days! Happy Days! Happy Days, don’t you know!

Luke and Laura were back with their Lucky in tow.

What followed can only be summed up like this:

It was JUST as it was when we last saw them kiss!

The magic still sparked, in the whirl of their dance.

Down the Triple L aisle, and the heat of their glance,

and the way that they touched and the way that they moved,

Made our hearts pitter-pat as we swayed with their groove.

We giggled over hijinx, watched sorrow amidst happier times.

The birth of sweet, Lulu and news of a son: Cassadine.

There were struggles, separations, and severe growing pains,

Yet, through all of those lessons, it reinforced their one, great strength:

Love. Always love. It was love from the start.

Every obstacle faced couldn’t tear them apart.

Yet, the unthinkable happened - papers signed for divorce,

No! No! No! No! No! No! That’s not REALLY their choice!

"Why DID we get divorced?" Tony asked Genie one day.

She replied with regret, "Cuz they wrote it that way!"

Then, we watched them discover what WE knew all along,

It was there with each other where they truly belonged.

They must marry again. It was destiny’s fate!

Luke and his Laura would forever be bound as soul mates.

But, the other shoe dropped, and it blew all apart,

not only our story but these two lover’s heart.

It was disbelief, horror and I gasped "Holy crud!"

When that candlestick hit Rick, then fell with a thud.

What happened in that attic isn’t really that clear,

all I know, was I knew it was my worst kind of fear....

Genie leaving? Laura crazy? Please say it ain’t so!

It felt helpless and hopeless - it was the worst kind of low!

The one thing I felt was how unbelievably wrong,

it was to hush the splendor of their incredible song.

We love her! He needs her! Don’t take her away!

Luke’s humanity. His Angel. PLEASE! God! Let her stay!

Yet, it wasn’t to be and we all watched just how,

These two said their goodbyes in that sad, attic-vow.

Those vows, oh those vows....they serve to remind,

We were gifted with not one but TWO one-of-a-kinds!

When Luke lovingly said "just my Sweetheart and me,"

There was a crumble within and I went weak in the knees.

She was courageous! Outrageous! He said that’s what she’d need,

To throw in with a guy from the wrong-side of Elm Street.

Then, he marveled again at her beauty and grace,

as he vowed his true love, as tears streamed down his face.

I remember that look, when she looked in his eyes,

and she cried in her truth: it’s there she felt safest inside.

Laura told him with knowing, with a sincere, true-love grit,

that he lived in her heart....right in the center of it.

Then, she broke from her hero as he fought not to weep,

he lost all that had mattered. Had Luke sown what he reaped?

Had the chickens come home to finally roost on past sins?

That’s the seed that took hold of his demons within.

In the past, she had seemingly taken each hit,

for the payback that had Luke Spencer’s name written on it.

There was Mikkos, Stavros, Nikolas too,

Laura suffered because Helena sought to punish her Luke.

And if that weren’t enough, we mustn’t forget,

What it cost her because Luke chose her over Jennifer Smith.

As I went into mourning because Laura was gone,

still, my heart dared to hope she would, one day, come home.

And the memories of past times, when their love was in bloom,

kept me buoyed from the despair, disappointment and gloom.

In my mind, "Fascination" memories of a pink-feathered lift,

made my heart smile again, as I cherished the gift,

That Gloria Monty gave us, when she paired up these two,

and made history with daytime’s most-beloved, dynamic duo!

Years past, as we waited and prayed for a fix,

And the magic returned in the fall of ‘06.

Hallelujah and glory and Hallelujah again!

Laura’s back! She’s awake! From ear to ear spanned my grin.

It was wonder and heartfelt - nothing better than this,

when the name "Luke" was called out from those once-quieted lips.

And, we watched sheer relief as Luke turned in pure awe,

once again, gold was mined in the love that we saw,

as he knelt and he looked and he cried "is it you?"

And her hands traced his face as a small-smile broke through.

"Yes, it’s me!" she declared. She’d been there all along,

They could take her away but not silence their song!

It’s too powerful, this love - this story - this pair.

That’s evident! It’s been 30 years. 30! Years! Still, we care!!!

There was a moment - a happening, at Beecher’s Corner’s when they...

went to dance....it was a most sacred, revered interplay.

When her arm went around him and she buried her head,

there was so much unspoken yet so much clearly said.

When Luke held her and stroked her with such sweet tenderness,

It was Tony who assured Genie in that gentle, utterance:

"I know, Baby!"

It was all staring at me, but the lines clearly blurred.

For a moment, I wasn’t certain who it was I had heard?

I can tell you I saw much resolved in that embrace,

It was one more REAL moment of their beauty and grace.

Time had stood still. It had waited for them.

Four years disappeared; wiped away - a faint dim.

The story played out - in the span of mere weeks,

all the love and the longing and the wanting for keeps...

It’s a love story that’s been so much a part of the lives,

not just for the fans but those who breathed it to life.

Once again, we strapped in, for a wonderful ride,

that ended too soon - in the blink of an eye.

What’s the matter with those who are running this show?

Can’t THEY see when they’re holding an ace-in–the-hole?

It boggles the mind that we lost Genie again,

Especially when Tony declared HE wanted his friend,

to return to her home where they had more gold to mine,

but it fell on deaf ears. All requests were denied.

It was too much to bear, being deprived of what’s golden,

How was it that ABC didn’t feel the least bit beholden -

To these actors and their fans who once saved this show from ruin,

from a cancellation stamp when rating-troubles were brewing?

Could they have truly forgotten who put GH on the map?

It was raised up by an unsuspecting Angel and her unlikely Chap!

We still loved them and missed them and wanted them back,

it was humanity and grace that our show sorely lacked.

Thus began an uprising: "Genie’s Angels" campaign,

We weren’t taking this lying! It was clearly insane!

When a show’s lost it’s heart, it’s goodness and luster,

Is change-in-direction really THAT hard to muster?

It appeared so, but we demanded OUR voices be heard,

They could solve so many problems if they’d just bring back our girl!

Clean up the mob-violence - write it again as sub-text,

Get rid of the dead weight! That’s the thing to do next!

Give us love, and joy and some stories with passion:

Luke and Laura, family values, how bout hospital interaction?

That’s what we’ve longed for, prayed for, yet when hope seemed MOST lost,

that she was not coming back, no matter how much the cost...

Something magical happened....in the kindliest knack,

Someone heard us! Praise be! "Mama" Laura is back...

It may be a brief moment with regard to this stint...

But within it, there’s hope that’s much more than a glint.

There’s a story - a sunset - that sets NOT solely on him!

Every road, we all know, leads us right back to them.

LukeandLaura: it’s one idea, one love and one tale.

For the die-hards, this love story is OUR Holy Grail!

We won’t rest til the ending matches up with the truth,

with the narration that was told in the days of our youth.

See, some of us believe fairy tales can come true.

For the fans, there’s one ending: it’s Laura with Luke....

The song that started it all: Rise/Herb Alpert http://youtu.be/ennMD1fPtXA
Genie & Tony dance to Fascination/2006   http://youtu.be/3bUwiEvRaRw  http://youtu.be/SduZbULyu1I The Promise/LnL video by Hypno
 http://youtu.be/AThYV3_Or04  Laura's Incredible Video: The Story of my Life
             
 

The Gales of November...

                                                      

"I prithee,
Remember I have done thee worthy service,
Told thee no lies, made no mistakes, served
Without grudge or grumblings...."
~William Shakespeare, The Tempest,

"According to a legend of the Chippewa tribe, the lake they once called Gitche Gumee 'never gives up her dead.'"

http://youtu.be/hgI8bta-7aw [The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald/Gordon Lightfoot/footage]

About 75 miles from Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan, [pronounced Soo*Saint*Marie] is a town called Whitefish Point. It is the point that forms the entrance to Lake Superior’s Whitefish Bay, which serves as the funnel at Sault Ste. Marie, via the St. Mary’s River, for shipping vessels to enter or leave that greatest of lakes. Beyond the vast and open expanse of water to the north of the bay lies the stretch of water known as "The graveyard of the Great Lakes". The Ojibwa or Chippewa refer to the lake as Gichigami [Gitche Gumee], meaning "big water". Having seen it, I can tell you that "big" is a great understatement for how monolithic an expanse that lake truly is.
The waters there, at times, bear gale force winds from both the north and the west that have been known to take many a lake-faring vessel to its watery, final rest in the bowels of Superior’s icy mansion, as it has been come to be known.
Such was the fate 36 years ago, when a convergence of sorts collided with the gale winds from the west, coupled with the cold winds from the north to create, if not a perfect storm, certainly something boding and ominous that resembled it. On that ill-fated night, November 10, 1975, The Edmund Fitzgerald blipped off the radar and disappeared beneath the angry, churning waters of Lake Superior. She [USSEF] was just 17 miles from safety – off the shores of Whitefish Point, when the lighthouse malfunctioned, and its guiding light went out, as the waves rose, in some places, to mammoth heights - of close to 30 feet. The final, catastrophic blow from water and wind and darkness, took her down with no time, it’s been reported, to make an emergency SOS call.
I was 12 years old when the Mighty Fitz went down. My older brother was 10 months old when she took her maiden voyage on September 24, 1958. I’ll never forget hearing the news story break on the 11^th of November in 1975. It seemed surreal that something so grand a vessel as the SS Edmund Fitzgerald could snap in half like a twig and sink in a matter of 18 minutes to depths of  approximately 530 feet. Perhaps the reason I remember it so well is because it was the day after Veteran’s Day and the day before my brother’s 18^th birthday, when the news came that Lake Gichigami had claimed another ship to join its fleet of downed, broken, and rusty crafts. In any event, that moment in history is etched in my mind, and it’s always given me pause like tragic events tend to do. Or, perhaps it’s Gordon Lightfoot’s haunting ode that came out the following year that made the event even more real in the place I’ve kept it in my mind. Needless to say, that Maritime disaster is one that has stayed with me all these years. Don’t ask me why.
Some things just do that: stay with me.
I remember the year I got married [1995], The Fitzgerald was in the news again, when her bell was recovered from the depths of Lake Superior on July 4^th. It was reported that the bell would be housed at The Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum in Whitefish Point, Michigan. I remember when I heard that news, I thought how much I wanted to see that bell – a piece of actual history.  I wanted to see a piece of that ship - something from an event that, for whatever reason, had struck a chord within me and stayed in the back of my mind. I had also always wanted to see Mackinaw Island and 10 years into our marriage, we went to Michigan to see both.
It was one of our most favorite vacations because, not only was it relaxing, it's a beautiful setting [Michigan is one of the most beautiful states I’ve ever visited], but it was educational as well. We learned so much about the native American culture of that area, in addition to seeing feel-good pieces of history [the Grand Hotel] and tragic pieces of history [The Whitefish Point, Shipwreck Museum]. I highly recommend that trip to anyone who’s never ventured there. We hope to go back some day. It’s well worth the trip.
My reflection of  The Shipwreck Museum at Whitefish Point is a sobered one.  That's how I felt walking in. Inside the museum, it’s not brightly lit. It sets a mood. The first thing I noticed was that Gordon Lightfoot’s song was playing in the background.  It gave me chill - a shiver ran down my back and my hair stood on end as I took it all in, before we began to walk down the rows of differentiated areas that housed the artifacts and information recovered for a number of the 240 ships that Gichigami’s mighty waters had claimed dating back more than a hundred years.
I can’t describe the feeling of sadness that fills a soul when you stand at a booth and see remnants of a once-great ship and its crew reduced to nothing more than remains such as a rusty lantern, an old ore, an old photograph, a faded life jacket, dented canned goods or a bell....a bell that, amazingly, still shines in golden splendor, refusing to be tarnished by the waters that derailed its purpose and further operation. Yet, there is also a feeling of utmost respect for the men who braved those waters and fought those currents for their livelihoods and that of their families.
It is a special breed of human being who challenges the sea. It takes a special kind of fortitude.  I remember after stopping at each individual memorial for the lost ships, looking at the items that had been recovered - reading about them; the ship's last voyage; the conditions concerning its demise and the crew members on each one.  After we'd seen all that was to see inside, Tom and I walked out of the museum and looked up at the lighthouse that helped navigate these ships. Then, we walked down to the beach, which was a straight shot from the museum and lighthouse and stood facing forward, staring out as far as our eyes could see, and knowing that roughly 17 miles out from where we stood, rested the Edmund Fitzgerald.
I covered my mouth as a sigh came and tears formed. I felt Tom’s arm go around my shoulders as he pulled me closer to him, and I wondered what must have been on the minds of those men as waves and winds crashed against them and that ship, as they realized their fate? I wondered what it felt like to see a 30-ft wall of water coming at you? Your first inclination would be to run. But, where do you run to when there’s no place to go? I could feel my heart-beat quicken. I could only imagine what theirs must have done. I think it’s a safe bet, I’d have been looking for a bottle of ANYTHING to take the pressure off, chase the fear away and get me.....well....drunk....At that point, drunk would be welcome relief from what was to come!
My lips trembled as the song played out in my mind, and we stood there looking out at a lake that looked more like a sea. The waters were calm on the day when we met Lake Superior. Can you meet water? I don’t know? We’d never seen it before. It was a lot prettier than I imagined. And, I tried to envision, as I stood there taking it all in, what I’d read of the NOAA’s findings about how conditions on the lake that night rapidly deteriorated. I tried to picture 70-80 mile an hour winds – hurricane-force gusts suddenly bearing down as 25-30 foot waves rose out of nowhere and you knew, being in the middle of all that chaos, that the outcome wasn’t going to be good for anyone on board.
One lyric from Gordon Lightfoot’s song stood out in my mind as I looked at the point of safety that The Edmund Fitzgerald was so close yet so far away from reaching: "Does anyone know where the love of God goes when the waves turn the minutes to hours?" Mercy. I remember standing there and praying that God had shown swift mercy that their ordeal was quickly over. Somehow, thinking about it and taking it all in, I had unsettled moments when I wasn’t sure, but I prayed that it was so, nonetheless. If anything, those 29 men deserved God’s grace and mercy as they dealt with their horrible-horrific fate on that tragic night.
"What do you think happened?" I asked Tom.
We’d both heard theories over the years as to what exactly had brought on the Edmund Fitzgerald’s demise. However, when there’s never a definitive answer with regard to a tragedy, speculation abounds.
He shook his head. "I don’t know," he said. "I’m not sure we’ll ever really know."
I nodded. Yes. That seemed more likely the truth than not.
Still, I thought of the theories that seemed most plausible to me:
One of the most viable theories, in my opinion, is that The Three Sisters came calling that night on the Edmund Fitzgerald. "The Three Sisters" are known as a group of rogue waves.  Those type waves were reported in the vicinity of the Fitzgerald at the time she went down. The phenomenon consists of a sequence of three unpredictable waves which are said to be about a third larger than average waves. The first one would have hit the ship’s deck with a ferocity that didn’t give the ship time to recover fully from its force before the second one struck. The backwash of the third wave then overloads the deck with tons of additional water that made recovery from such a one-two-three punch, improbable.
Captain Cooper of the Anderson, a ship that reached safety that night and was just ahead of the Fitzgerald, is on record stating that his ship was "hit by two 30 to 35 foot seas about 6:30 p.m., one burying the after cabins and damaging a lifeboat by pushing it right down onto the saddle. The second wave of this size, perhaps 35 foot, came over the bridge deck." The Captain went on to surmise that the two waves that hit his vessel continued onward in the direction of the Edmund Fitzgerald and was possibly followed by a third, which would have struck about the time she sank.
His theory suggests that the "three sisters" compounded the dual problems that the Fitzgerald already faced: her known list [leaning over to one’s side] and her slower movement in heavy waters, which allowed water to remain on deck for longer than usual, not taking into account the residual water from the rogue waves.
Then, there exits the theory that the Fitzgerald unknowingly shoaled [grounded] in the shallower water at Six Fathom Shoal, which is just northwest of Caribou Island. At the time, when it was alleged to have occurred, the Whitefish Point Lighthouse and radio beacons were not operable as navigation aids, thus hindering the Fitzgerald from seeing the shallow reef that existed there before the ship possibly raked it.
In 1976, that theory was supported by a Canadian hydrographic survey, which revealed that an unknown shoal ran a mile further east of Six Fathom Shoal than what was shown on its navigational charts. Likewise, Officers from the Anderson observed that the Fitzgerald sailed through this exact area.
However, divers searched the Six Fathom Shoal after the wreck and found no evidence of any "recent collision or grounding anywhere." The shoaling theory was subsequently challenged in 1994, when photographs of the downed Fitzgerald clearly showed a higher detail of the area in question and did not show any evidence on the propeller, rudder or bottom of the stern that indicated the Fitzgerald had, indeed, hit a shoal.
Regardless of the reason or inaccuracy of the theories, the fact remains that on November 10, 1975, 29 men lost their lives as the 729 foot ore carrier they were working on was claimed by Lake Superior, leaving behind ITS own legend filled with questions and mysteries that abound as to how the ship could founder then disappear so suddenly as it did on that fateful night? All anyone knows for certain is that 17 miles north-northwest of Whitefish Point, buried 530 feet beneath the water’s surface rests the once-great Fitzgerald. Just as with the Chippewa tale of the great Gichigami, so too lives on the legend of the November gales and The Edmund Fitzgerald...
　
The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
Lyrics by Gordon Lightfoot

The legend lives on from the Chippewa down
of the big lake they called "Gitche Gumee."
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
when the skies of November turn gloomy.
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty,
that good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
when the "Gales of November" came early.
The ship was the pride of the American side
coming back from some mill in Wisconsin.
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most
with a crew and good captain well seasoned,
concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
when they left fully loaded for Cleveland.
And later that night when the ship's bell rang,
could it be the north wind they'd been feelin'?
The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
and a wave broke over the railing.
And ev'ry man knew, as the captain did too
'twas the witch of November come stealin'.
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
when the Gales of November came slashin'.
When afternoon came it was freezin' rain
in the face of a hurricane west wind.
When suppertime came the old cook came on deck sayin'.
"Fellas, it's too rough t'feed ya."
At 7 p.m. a main hatchway caved in; he said,
(*2010 lyric change: At 7 p.m., it grew dark, it was then he said,)
"Fellas, it's been good t'know ya!"
The captain wired in he had water comin' in
and the good ship and crew were in peril.
And later that night when 'is lights went outta sight
came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Does any one know where the love of God goes
when the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
if they'd put fifteen more miles behind 'er.
They might have split up or they might have capsized;
they may have broke deep and took water.
And all that remains is the faces and the names
of the wives and the sons and the daughters.
Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
in the rooms of her ice-water mansion.
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams;
the islands and bays are for sportsmen.
And farther below Lake Ontario
takes in what Lake Erie can send her,
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
with the Gales of November remembered.
In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed,
in the "Maritime Sailors' Cathedral."
The church bell chimed 'til it rang twenty-nine times
for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they call "Gitche Gumee."
"Superior," they said, "never gives up her dead
when the gales of November come early!"

http://www.shipwreckmuseum.com Link to the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum

Crew Names [Listed Alphabetially] of the Edmund Fitzgerald

Michael E. Armagost 37 Third Mate Iron River, Wisconsin
Frederick J. Beetcher 56 Porter Superior, Wisconsin
Thomas D. Bentsen 23 Oiler St. Joseph, Michigan
Edward F. Bindon 47 First Assistant Engineer Fairport Harbor, Ohio
Thomas D. Borgeson 41 Maintenance Man Duluth, Minnesota
Oliver J. Champeau 41 Third Assistant Engineer Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin
Nolan S. Church 55 Porter Silver Bay, Minnesota
Ransom E. Cundy 53 Watchman Superior, Wisconsin
Thomas E. Edwards 50 Second Assistant Engineer Oregon,
Ohio Russell G. Haskell 40 Second Assistant Engineer Millbury, Ohio
George J. Holl 60 Chief Engineer Cabot, Pennsylvania
Bruce L. Hudson 22 Deck Hand North Olmsted Ohio
Allen G. Kalmon 43 Second Cook Washburn, Wisconsin
Gordon F. MacLellan 30 Wiper Clearwater, Florida
Joseph W. Mazes 59 Special Maintenance Man Ashland, Wisconsin
John H. McCarthy 62 First Mate Bay Village, Ohio
Ernest M. McSorley 63 Captain Toledo, Ohio
Eugene W. O’Brien 50 Wheelsman Toledo, Ohio
Karl A. Peckol 20 Watchman Ashtabula, Ohio
John J. Poviach 59 Wheelsman Bradenton, Florida
James A. Pratt 44 Second Mate Lakewood, Ohio
Robert C. Rafferty 62 Steward Toledo, Ohio
Paul M. Rippa 22 Deck Hand Ashtabula, Ohio
John D. Simmons 63 Wheelsman Ashland, Wisconsin
William J. Spengler 59 Watchman Toledo, Ohio
Mark A. Thomas 21 Deck Hand Richmond Heights, Ohio
Ralph G. Walton 58 Oiler Fremont, Ohio
David E. Weiss 22 Cadet Agoura, California
Blaine H. Wilhelm 52 Oiler Moquah, Wisconsin

U.S.S. Edmund Fitzgerald

September 24, 1958-November 10, 1975

Nannie

* Please listen to the two video clips of Eva Cassidy.

　                        
You do not truly understand something unless you can explain it to your grandmother. ~Proverb

http://youtu.be/nKjjRz0TEUk [Eva Cassidy~Songbird]

The other night, I was telling a friend of mine that it was 13 years ago, on Halloween night, that my husband and I were vacationing in Salem, MA. It was quite an experience to be in that place on that night. One year later, on Halloween 1999, [it was a Sunday], I spoke with my grandmother for the very last time.
I will never forget that phone call – the contents of it. Her last words to me: "I love you too, Dahlin’," ... such a gift to have those be the last words I heard her speak to me. She had been sick for a number of years. She was the epitome of grace in her disability. Her example is one that I try valiantly to hold onto as I live with mine.
Life started taking pieces of her the last decade of her life. She suffered with Phlebitis and high cholesterol, which caused her to loose half of her leg in the late 80's and several years later, half of the other. But, I’ll tell you something: at 89 years of age, that woman could run circles around me with both portions of her legs removed and one hand tied behind her back. She came from a different time - heartier stock, I call it. She was, quite simply, amazing.
My grandmother could have worn out the energizer bunny [my mother inherited that trait from her] "Go! Go! Go!" She was always busy – always doing something. Her hands were never idle, except when she was sleeping.
In her later years, she would oversee the chores done around her house; the vegetables that were picked, frozen or canned from her garden; she would do her therapy exercises from her bed; read her Bible daily, read mountains of books kept at arm’s length on her night table - she had a voracious appetite for reading [I come by it naturally]; and go through puzzle books like a house afire. Her body might not have cooperated with her, but she kept her mind sharp as a tack. That was an important thing for me to witness, because I find myself in that same position: my body not always cooperating with me, but I keep my mind active and strong - just as she did.
I remember once, when I was visiting her for the weekend before I got married, we were sitting in her bedroom, each reading. She asked me to help her adjust her position, and I rose from the chair we kept there, beside her bed, to assist her. She put her arm around my neck as I helped her move a bit. When I sat back down, I looked at her and asked softly:
"How do you do it, Nannie?"
She knew what I meant. She looked at me with those eyes of hers that were a gentle, chocolate brown and said. "I just try to be the best that I can be, Dahlin’, no matter how I am."
Wow, what an exquisite pearl of wisdom! When she gave her pearls away, they were like those great, big Mobe type pearls - bright with brilliance. I have an entire necklace of these type pearls that my grandmother gave to me. She strung them together so masterfully, and I try to wear them often, because it’s good to adorn oneself with the kind of pearls that my grandmother passed down. They’re more valuable than anything you could buy in a jewelry store.
I’ll share two more with you:
After I graduated from high school and was up visiting during the summer, I was sitting at the kitchen table lamenting to my grandmother, because someone I thought was a friend, had said something very unkind about me - basically stabbing me in the back. I wanted to retaliate-defend myself. We were no longer friends because, with friends like that...well, you know the rest of the saying.
My grandmother patted my hand and replied thoughtfully, "Well, she lost a good friend, and it sounds like she’s going to get a harsh come around one day. You need to be the bigger person and let it go."
My brows came together. The last part wasn’t anything I wanted to hear. But, I listened.
"It’ll come back to her," she said. "You mark my words. You may not be there to see it, but if you’re ugly to someone, it comes back to you, and when it comes back, it’s a lot worse than what you put out."
I’ve always remembered that. I strive to keep my ugliness to a bare minimum. [I am human after all...I have my moments] I don’t need anything else coming back on me or being a lot worse than what I put out there! It’s a standard joke in our family that the little black cloud called "WTH" knows our names and knows where we live. It seems, at times, that we’re on "the list", and it’s not the one where Publisher’s Clearing House is handing us a big, fat check with lots of zeros on it. It’s one where a little black cloud seems to have taken a liking to us, and wants to follow us around more often than not. Put another way, as my father use to say, if it weren’t for bad luck, this family would have none at all, because it seemed that we were, more often than not, dealing with some acid-rain situation that came from an ever-present little black cloud trailing after us.
Which is the perfect segue-way for something else my grandmother use to always tell me: don’t ever forget, when you think that life is being especially unfair to you, that there is someone out there a little worse off than you are. Some are better. Some are worse. That’s just the way it is. But, I guarantee you," she would say, "that if everybody dumped their life’s troubles out on the table for everybody else to see, you’d gather all your troubles up and move happily on your way."
Wasn’t she smart? Gosh, I miss her.
I miss her eyes and her laugh. I miss her gentle spirit. I miss her simple yet direct approach to life and the living of it. I miss her food. She was some kind of "mean" cook. No ones fried chicken compared to hers. Bar none, her sweet potato pie was the best around. Her creamed potatoes were smooth and thick, and I don’t know what extra "thing" she did to them, but I’ve never tasted anyone’s whose could equal hers. It was her vegetable soup, however, that was the five-star recipe in her gold star cookbook.  It could not be rivaled. A friend’s father swears that my grandmother’s vegetable soup helped heal him after he had a heart attack.
He said, and I quote, "there’s something magical in this bowl."
It was love. Everything she made; everything she did came from a place of love for her family.
I remember once, when I was a really little girl, she kept coloring books and crayons in the pantry and when my sister and I visited, we’d color at the table while she made biscuits or cobblers or whatever was on the menu for that day. My sister was a good color-er. Her strokes were perfectly even, her shading flawless and she never went out of the lines.
I remember once when Pam held up her coloring to show Nannie, she said with pride in her tone, "Oh, that’s lovely, Dahlin!"
I cried because mine wasn’t lovely. Pam was two and a half years older than me, and I didn’t color as patiently or diligently or pretty as she did. My colors weren’t typical. This was back when crayons didn't come in a gazillon colors. I wanted greenish blue skies in my picture, so my picture showed uneven green crayon marks attempted to be mixed in with swipes of blue. The coloring I did for the girl’s dress wasn’t perfectly between the lines. Pink lines darted out from beyond the black outline. It was a mess. The difference between my sister’s beautiful masterpiece and my abstract whatever you want to classify it as was night and day. I could clearly see it. I didn’t want to show mine to my grandmother, because I knew the difference between pretty and not so... When Nannie asked to see mine, I remember covering it with my hands, and when she urged me to show her, I laid my head on my hands and started to cry.
She stopped what she was doing and sat down in her chair at the end of the table. "Now, what’s all this fuss about?"
I can still feel the pout at my mouth. "I don’t color good," I cried.
She pulled me into her lap and moved the picture over to her so that she could see what had me so upset. She said in a tone of pure marvel. "Well, looka there! Look at that beautiful blue-green sky! I think that’s a fine sky!" [I guess you can see where my mother gets it from...]
"Yes Ma’am," I said, still not certain that it was true. I had wanted it to be a fine sky. I accepted that the sky was good. "But, I can’t color the clothes good."
She thought about it. She wasn’t going to lie to me. That’s something my grandmother just didn’t do. So, she approached it from a different angle.
"Well," she paused, choosing her words carefully. She couldn’t call it pretty because it wasn’t. But, here’s what she said to me. "It’s different, and just cuz something’s different doesn’t mean it isn’t good."
Good wasn’t pretty. I knew the difference.
"Mine isn’t pretty like Pam’s!" I said, still pouting.
"Well, Pam’s been coloring a lot longer than you have!" she said. "I’ll bet the more you color the better at it you’ll get." Then, she showed me what she meant. "See these black lines right here, showing you where the blouse meets the skirt?"
I nodded.
"When you get up to that black line, you color real gentle," she told me, picking up the crayon and showing me what she meant. She moved the crayon slowly against the line until she’d made about a thumbnail’s length of pink color away from it. Then, she began to color with more ease. "You make yourself a little border against the black and once you get a comfortable thickness of your color, then you can start coloring it quicker." And, the whole time she was telling me this, she was showing me what she meant.
"What color do you want to make her skirt?"
"Purple."
She picked up the purple crayon and handed it to me.
"Okay," she said. "Now start against the black line and move the color down slow and steady until you go all the way across."
I did as she instructed.
"Now, fill it in, and watch where all those other black lines are. When you get to them, you just need to slow down and think about what your doing. You’ll get the hang of it." There’s a life lesson in there: when you get to the boundary lines that surround your life, you need to slow down and think about what you’re doing. I don’t think she knew that she was a teacher as well as all the other things she was and did so masterfully, but she was.
I don’t normally brag on myself, but I’m a pretty, darn good color-er now.
I also learned how to cook by watching my grandmother. She was like a painter with her palette of spices. She knew how to couple or combine ingredients in a way that gave true flavor sensations. I never liked math or science as a kid but my grandmother taught me that creating flavors was a building block. You added a little of this and a pinch of that, and just like coloring in a picture book, the more you did it, the more comfortable you became at mixing things together and knowing that certain spices would work well with one another.
My grandmother was part scientist; part mathematician; part magician.
Like my grandfather, she knew how much crop would yield how much product for canning or freezing. She knew how to cure a cold or upset stomach, quiet a croupy cough, ease the pain of a tooth or earache without a medical degree behind her name. She knew how to turn a feed cloth into a dress that was the envy of every girl in class. She knew how to make you believe that your colorful abstract was every bit as good as your sister’s pretty masterpiece.
She was a gracious, southern lady. I remember, toward the end of her life, we spoke of mortality. I don’t think you could go through the things she did - the amount of surgeries she did and not have it be at the forefront of your mind, but she wasn’t afraid of death, because she knew where she was going. When it finally came for her, she was ready for it. She was prepared to leave with its calling. I think one thing that made it easier to deal with and accept - her passing - is that she had told each of us that she didn’t want us to be sad or grieve for her. She lived a good life, and she was ready to go. I remember, when she said those words to me, thinking what a blessing that must be, to have reached that point in your life and be comfortable with the reality of it and at total peace concerning it.
She was fine, for the most part, that Halloween night when I last spoke with her. She took a turn the following day. I think she’d spoken with everyone who mattered - expressed her love and said her farewells, so that when that turn came, she was ready to finally let go.
I remember when the phone call came early on that Tuesday morning in 1999, I hung the phone up and broke down crying - not for her but for us who she left behind. She left a huge hole - an unfillable hole. She was uncommon in beauty and strength and grace. I remember leaning my head back as tears poured down my face. Her words echoed in my mind: "Don’t be sad for me..." And, I whispered to heaven, "Just give me a minute, Nannie! I need a minute...."
I wrote her eulogy. I know we had a back-up plan for someone to speak in case I found that I couldn’t do it, though it’s one of a few things I really don’t recall. I don’t think anyone in my family thought, least of all me, that I could pull it off, because I’m such a crybaby when I loose something of such importance. I get very emotional, and speaking, especially in public, isn’t something I do very well when in an emotional state. Still, it was something that I not only wanted but needed to do to honor her. She was such an honorable woman who taught me so much. It was the least I could do. Don’t ask me how, but I was able to deliver it without breaking down.  All I know is that I prayed for God's strength to do it, and it was granted to me.
We shared a love of books and reading. As a child, as I’ve previously mentioned, my grandparents came to Florida every year to spend Thanksgiving with us. During one Thanksgiving visit, I was in my room reading a book that was too lofty a read for me at the time, and she heard me struggling with it. I remember her coming into the room, and sitting on my bed. She told me that it sounded like an interesting story that I was reading. She asked if she could read it with me. I was grateful, and I handed the book to her. She wrapped one arm around me and pulled me close to her as we read The Velveteen Rabbit.
In later years, many years later, I would use part of the words from that book in my wedding vows to Tom. They were especially poignant to me because my grandmother wasn’t able to be there when I got married. But, her smile was big when she was told some of the words I gave to him, which were words she had first given to me:

"What is REAL?" the Rabbit asked the Skin Horse one day, when they were lying side by side. Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"REAL isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become REAL"

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "But, when you are REAL you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are REAL, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But, these things don't matter at all, because once you are REAL you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

"...once you are REAL you can't become unreal again. It last for always...."

Twelve years ago today, my grandmother went to heaven. I can’t say that there have been moments when I haven’t been sad and grieved for her. After all, I am only human, and she above all knew that. I think she’d give me pass on it.
When I think of her, I think of love, and goodness and grace. I think of a woman with impeccable timing whether it was with regard to taking something out of the oven or knowing just the precise moment when to reach her hand out and extend a cherry lifesaver to a fidgety child in church. She knew that by the time that life saver was gone, church would have let out, and we’d be heading home to share a delicious meal that her hands had lovingly prepared for all of us.
What I wouldn’t give for a cherry life saver or one of her home-cooked meals today! What I wouldn’t give to hear her laugh or read me a few lines from a treasured book! What I wouldn’t give to hear her say one more time, "I love you too, Dahlin’!"
I use to think that songs which expressed a high, grand note of love were limited to men and women who were in love. As I’ve grown older, I no longer believe that is the sole purpose of such songs. Love songs can define emotions between a parent for their child and vice versa, love between two friends or the love shared between a grandchild for their grandmother.
This morning, I listened to a song sung by a special artist to me. Her name was Eva Cassidy and she lived in Bowie, Maryland, which is a small town on the outskirts of where I lived for 17 years. She was my age. She was just breaking out in her career, but the residents in the greater metro area of DC/Maryland/Northern Virginia knew of her. She was an amazing talent. Her voice was rich, smooth....like butta it was. She died on this date too - 15 years ago. There is a cover she did of a song that has always been a particular favorite. I think of my grandmother when I listen to it:

"For you, there’ll be no crying. For you, the sun will be shining. Because I feel that when I’m with you, it’s alright. I know it’s right...
And, the songbirds keeps singing like they know the score: I love you! I love you! I love you, like never before.
To you, I would give the world. To you, I’d never be cold. Because I feel that when I’m with you, it’s alright. I know it’s right.
And, the songbirds keep singing like they know the score: I love you! I love you! I love, like never before....like never before....like never before..."

I love you, Martha Jane Tignor Whitlock, born into heaven on Tuesday, November 2, 1999. It doesn’t escape me that Tuesday’s Child is full of grace... God certainly had you pegged, and that’s what we’ve been left with – those of us who love you still – the memory of your grace...

http://youtu.be/Gk20o_-LZn8 [Autumn Leaves/Eva Cassidy]