Christmastide

 

I thought I'd make this post an excerpt of the current book I've been working on. The chapter is titled "Christmastide" and I'm sharing a very small part of it here. It works for the season a bit. 

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays...Peace and Light to all. 

Christmastide 

By Veronica Randolph Batterson 

©Veronica Randolph Batterson

December 26, 1872

The fire blazed in the hearth, warming the room while the flames licked the bottom of the pot filled with simmering potatoes and leeks. The aroma reminded Josephine that she had not eaten, but for some stale bread and moldy cheese, in nearly four days; the journey had been arduous and its secrecy nearly cost her everything. A much longer journey loomed.  Was he safe? Or had he been discovered by those looking to do him harm? It had been over four months since she last saw him. 

Hunger stabbed at her belly as she watched the woman ladle the soup into a bowl, sloshing the contents as she set it in front of Josephine. 

“This’ll do ye well,” the woman started, “nothing good ever came on an empty belly.” Then she moved to serve the group of men two tables away. The driver, shotgun rider and scout ate ravenously, pulling apart bread and drinking ale, greedily waiting for the mince pies which would follow. 

Josephine ate, relishing each bite as if it would be her last; unlike the men, she was certain to be tasting the food and not just inhaling it. Yet feeding extreme hunger was not the same as feeding for two. And Josephine had not kept much down over the course of the last few months, even though she, too, was hungry. The woman serving the food noticed.

“My mama always swore by honey. A spoonful here, a dollop there. Fixed most things that ailed a soul. Got some hidden in the back,” the woman whispered, sliding the pie in front of Josephine. “If that ain’t fixing ye, a good dram of whiskey never hurt.” 

The woman’s kind eyes watched Josephine with concern as she moved to serve the other customers. The savory and sweet taste of the pie was satisfying and filling. It was not met with the usual waves of nausea that had plagued Josephine at most attempts to eat. 

The front door of the establishment suddenly opened bringing bits of snow, colder air and a fur clad man the size of a giant through it. He shook his shoulders and stomped his feet, shaking off the outdoors before striding over to the woman at the hearth and giving her a hearty hug, lifting her from her feet. 

“Oh, ye nearly scared me to death,” the woman exclaimed breathlessly, eyeing the wrapped parcel the man held out to her… 

(To be Continued…)

I Like...

 One of the best covers of any song is Katie Melua's version of The Cure's classic Just Like Heaven. It's shared below. While it has nothing to do with the words I've written in this post, I do like it. A lot. 

I Like…

A book that I don’t wish to end but can’t stop reading until it does

The smell of coffee in the morning and my need for it 

The familiar things being comforting

My dog sleeping at my feet

Snow falling in the evening when I’ve no reason to be outdoors in it

The nostalgia of hearing a song and what it meant to me a lifetime ago

Wandering antique stores…remembering and imagining.

The scent in the air announcing rain before it actually happens

The way the afternoon sun angles, hinting autumn is near while the calendar says summer

Bonfires, and fire pits in crisp air,

And fireplace glow

Scents of pine, and cinnamon, and nutmeg,

From candles burning and ovens baking

The way a grocery store smells weeks before Thanksgiving through Christmas,

Apples and pumpkins and jack-o-lanterns

Leaves falling, carpeting the earth’s floor, crunching under our feet

That everything is haunted in October.

I Like…

Bookstores and public libraries

Freshly baked bread, the smell and taste of it

Drinking hot chocolate and finding different ways to make it

Always learning

The joy of travel and the greater joy of returning home 

Sleeping in my own bed

Finding art in everything…the way tea pours, the curve of a vase, the shape of a tree,

Music and the peace of mind it gives me listening to it

Writing…composing my thoughts, creating with it

Wine in the evenings

My cameras, capturing magic, freezing time.

I Like...

Spruce trees covered in snow, the branches sloping from the weight of it,

Strands of multi-colored holiday lights woven around it reflecting and muted through the whiteness

Decorating the Christmas tree with ornaments from my travels 

Holiday movies and shows of my youth, shown every year, watched every year,

Wearing hats and jackets and coats, the more variety the better

Anticipation…of good, of normalcy, and receiving it

Daydreaming

Never being let down

Unexpected kindness

Peace.

France

 I recently returned from a trip to France that included visits to Paris, Versailles, and the Normandy coast, with stops at Pointe du Hoc, Omaha Beach and the Normandy American Cemetery. It was a wonderful, itinerary-filled time that I will never forget. 

Below is a screenshot of some of those photos I took, in addition to a few others not from this vacation. In doing it this way, it will at least make it a little harder for the entitled bunch to steal them. 

Honestly, I've gotten really tired of this. So tired that I've consulted an attorney. I will see where this takes me with the copyright and trademark violations, Intellectual Property theft of ideas, harassment and taunting (from the past and going forward). I have a right to this blog and to continue with it; I also own and have rights regarding content. Nearly twelve years of content. 

I have written a few blog posts in the past about this problem. If you like something here, that's great and I appreciate it. If you want to use it, first ask permission. Then give credit and/or monetary compensation for the use of it, especially if you are going to make money from it and claim it as your own. It is what you would demand for your own work, and it's the right thing to do. 

More photographs will be added to my Fine Art America and Pixels sites as I go through them. Please visit Veronica-batterson.pixels.com to take a look. Thanks to all of the honest folks who do! 

It was 1986...

    I love this song.  Even though I'd forgotten about it until I heard it again on Sirius XM the other day. It was released in the summer of 1986, and I remember clearly what I was doing and planning when I first heard it.

   It was during a modeling job I had in Atlanta. I was being photographed for a bridal magazine; through the makeup applications and touchups, dress and hair changes, this song came on the radio during the shoot. It was a stop-everything and listen to this gorgeous song...and everyone did. I also recall it so vividly because I'd been asked to audition for a bit part on Miami Vice, so I was pretty excited about it. It's interesting how songs trigger memories, as do sights and smells.  

   The Lady in Red by Chris de Burgh

Release

 

I attended the funeral of a dear old friend this past week. It’s always difficult to say goodbye, even though physical distance had made regular visits fewer than they had been in the past. Illness, too. The memories of nearly forty years of friendship being all that’s left, and knowing the years ahead are fewer than the years behind make life these days sobering. Too many good ones are leaving. It’s a fate for all of us. A sense of melancholy is hitting me pretty hard right now; I’m also very tired.

Into the Woods

(By Veronica Randolph Batterson; ©Veronica Randolph Batterson)

There’s an empty bridge

Beckoning

Offering what you will make of it.

Into the woods

To escape the realities

Of the somebodies using the nobodies.

To clear your mind

Of the unfairness 

That “lesser” women and men

Being used by the Big Man and Big Woman is the norm

That life doesn’t always give fair shakes,

Regardless of how hard you work and sacrifice.

There’s an empty bridge

Beckoning

Offering what you will make of it.

Into the woods

To take deep breaths

While getting angry,

And screaming with tears, cursing the skies above.

Plotting revenge 

Or reconciling acceptance,

Acknowledging that Grace over spite

Is being an adult,

As is offering kindness to people who don’t deserve it.

A Woman's Voice

 "A woman with a voice is, by definition, a strong woman. But the search to find that voice can be remarkably difficult."  -  Melinda Gates, Philanthropist

I continue to struggle with finding my voice. Much of it has to do with self-doubt and allowing myself to be intimidated. The fear of making someone angry and the deep seated need to keep the peace, and that my silence will ensure it, controls me. I allow myself to be suppressed, even though I grew up full of questions about the world. I promised myself it would be different for me; sadly I failed at achieving that goal. I enable other people's insecurities and inferiorities into bullying me and controlling my actions. Silence is my accountability.

My voice is loud in my published books and short stories. In this, I am proud. When I write, I'm unleashing the voice. Expressions. Stories. Feelings. Thinking. Questions. Descriptions. Loud. Soft. 

While I continue to work on the latest book, the four below remain available. My voice is heard through the many characters waiting to tell readers a story. I appreciate all who have read them and listened to their stories. 

Williamsburg Hill. Daniel's Esperanza. Funny Pages. Billy's First Dance. All are available on Amazon or can be ordered through your local bookstore. The short stories, and eleven years worth of blog posts here are my voice. Mine. Once again, thank you to those regulars and those who drop in every now and then. Shout-outs, shares, recommendations, and recognition are appreciated.

More Music

While there are so many things going on in the world, I'd like to "fire off" about them here. But I won't. Opinions. We are all entitled to them. We have a right to them. Suppressing, stifling and bullying someone because of a difference of opinion is nothing but fascist tactics. 

Sharing some more music instead. These particular blog posts are easy, less messy and are much better than reading the lunacy on Twitter, or any other social media platform. 

As always, thank you.

Latest Photos...

 I'm trying to keep my photos updated on Fine Art America and Pixels. Below are screenshots of the latest ones. To see them and all of the photographs that I have to share, please visit my site at veronica-batterson.pixels.com

Women's History Month

 

March is Women's History Month, so I thought I'd share a select few poems written by women about women. I've kept the last several posts simple and stress-free, which has allowed me to continue with this blog. Balancing demands and life require cutting back a bit. The direction is going forward, and not in reverse (thank goodness!) with respect to the next book, but I'm taking my time with it. In addition to painting with acrylics, I've revisited using watercolors and remember how much I loved it. Slowing the pace with everything is needed. 

As always, thanks for checking in and reading what I share.

A Suggested Campaign Song

Alice Duer Miller - 1874-1942

(“No brass bands. No speeches. Instead a still, silent, effective influence.”—Anti-suffrage speech.)

We are waging—can you doubt it?
   A campaign so calm and still
No one knows a thing about it
   And we hope they never will.
          No one knows
          What we oppose,
   And we hope they never will.

We are ladylike and quiet,
   Here a whisper—there a hint;
Never speeches, bands or riot,
   Nothing suitable for print.
          No one knows
          What we oppose,
   For we never speak for print.

Sometimes in profound seclusion,
   In some far (but homelike) spot,
We will make a dark allusion:
   “We’re opposed to you-know-what.”
          No one knows
          What we oppose,
For we call it “You-Know-What.”

Alice Paul

Katharine Rolston Fisher - 1871-1949

I watched a river of women,
Rippling purple, white and golden,
Stream toward the National Capitol.

Along its border,
Like a purple flower floating,
Moved a young woman, worn, wraithlike.
All eyes alight, keenly observing the marchers.
Out there on the curb, she looked so little, so lonely,
Few appeared even to see her;
No one saluted her.

Yet commander was she of the column, its leader;
She was the spring whence arose that irresistible river of women
Streaming steadily towards the National Capitol.

I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl (443)

Emily Dickinson - 1830-1886

I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl— 

Life's little duties do—precisely— 

As the very least  

Were infinite—to me— 

    

I put new Blossoms in the Glass— 

And throw the old—away— 

I push a petal from my gown  

That anchored there—I weigh  

The time 'twill be till six o'clock  

I have so much to do— 

And yet—Existence—some way back— 

Stopped—struck—my ticking—through— 

We cannot put Ourself away  

As a completed Man  

Or Woman—When the Errand's done  

We came to Flesh—upon— 

There may be—Miles on Miles of Nought— 

Of Action—sicker far— 

To simulate—is stinging work— 

To cover what we are  

From Science—and from Surgery— 

Too Telescopic Eyes  

To bear on us unshaded— 

For their—sake—not for Ours— 

Twould start them— 

We—could tremble— 

But since we got a Bomb— 

And held it in our Bosom— 

Nay—Hold it—it is calm— 

    

Therefore—we do life's labor— 

Though life's Reward—be done— 

With scrupulous exactness— 

To hold our Senses—on—

Oughta Be a Woman

June Jordan - 1936-2002

Washing the floors to send you to college
Staying at home so you can feel safe
What do you think is the soul of her knowledge
What do you think that makes her feel safe

Biting her lips and lowering her eyes
To make sure there's food on the table
What do you think would be her surprise
If the world was as willing as she's able

Hugging herself in an old kitchen chair
She listens to your hurt and your rage
What do you think she knows of despair
What is the aching of age

The fathers, the children, the brothers
Turn to her and everybody white turns to her
What about her turning around
Alone in the everyday light

There oughta be a woman can break
Down, sit down, break down, sit down
Like everybody else call it quits on Mondays
Blues on Tuesdays, sleep until Sunday
Down, sit down, break down, sit down

A way outa no way is flesh outa flesh
Courage that cries out at night
A way outa no way is flesh outa flesh
Bravery kept outa sight
A way outa no way is too much to ask
Too much of a task for any one woman

And a favorite, which I shared here in 2016:

After A While (Comes the Dawn)

By Veronica Shoffstall 

After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security,

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises

And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open,

With the grace of a woman,
Not the grief of a child

And you learn to build all your roads on today,
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans
and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn that even sunshine
Burns if you get too much

So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers

And you learn that you really can endure…
that you really are strong
and you really do have worth,
and you learn and learn…
With every goodbye you learn.

Ireland by Megan O'Neill

 I first heard this song by Megan O'Neill three years ago on Facebook, and thought it so beautiful. The video is lovely as well. 

Take a look and listen. 

Taylor Swift

 I know this small post won't gain much attention in the big picture of things since the world's eyes and ears are on Taylor Swift's upcoming tour and her multitude of accomplishments, but I'll share it anyway. 

Taylor's song The Best Day was played for me by my daughter in 2009 as I drove her to college her freshman year. It was the first time I'd heard Swift's music. It seemed my daughter's message to me in sharing that particular track was an expression of love. For me, for our family, for her childhood years. It is a song that will always take me back to that day; one that I'll cherish forever because of my daughter's role in how I heard it. It goes without saying that the song is beautiful. 

In August of 2018, I almost lost my daughter. It is an indescribable feeling of despair; the yearly anniversary is unwelcome but it's one that I can't make myself forget. Perhaps some day it will be nothing; but for now it continues to be everything because it looms like a storm cloud, waiting to happen. Then it does.

Writing has always been a therapeutic way of healing for me. So in July of 2019 I shared a short story I'd written entitled Precipice. It is how I handled the helplessness of that time. It's fictional, yet it's not. A part that certainly isn't fictional is the way the main character heard Taylor Swift for the first time. If anyone is interested in reading or revisiting this story, it can be found here: Precipice..

Below is the Youtube video of this beautiful song, The Best Day. I'm also sharing a couple more of Taylor Swift's songs that remain favorites of mine. There are many so it's hard to choose. As always, thanks for reading this blog for the last eleven years. It is appreciated.