November 16, 2012
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Friends, Welcome To Thanksgivings
I have befriended a number of friends on Xanga, and most are among the humble and sweet, as if they are mystical sources of energy and kindness on a level higher than most, for it takes some doing to be, an E” Friend. Some call me a friend, and then they disappear, and I presume that is something many of you have dealt with also. Our human nature leaves us to feel duped by a psychopathic being who who enjoys the internet as a kingdom of which they are little masters, and if you could meet them face to face, you would probably not want to waste an hour on them in the first place.
Maybe they should be considered as a plague of boils who pop up, and we are not hearing their words closely enough, for the words become the face and faces can cleverly deceive, and they would be as loathsom and as hollow if we met them, for they presume E-Friends, like so many people they greet every day cannot blast apart their shallow and hollow exterior of those who seek prey. We only need to accept them in the old term of, “Bags of “Hot Air,” or to see that they are as vacuous and as unable to control that they couldn’t be a friend to anyone, for they are good metaphors for the helium ballloon which has no color, but floats out into the stratosphere over some primordial places where such wretches are questionable souls in the first place.
It is ours to look out for, “False Friends,” .and you have all been victims — And yet we hold the irony that we get caught in their little projects and schemes to be seen by us as, “Witty,” and even clever for a while. False friends are a dangerous lot, but I fear our world of having to trust without actually being able to read reactions leaves us easy prey, those of us who were brought up on the symbolism that a person is as good as his or her word, for that door has smacked closed. Ever since the remarkably deceiving, “Social Gladhanding,” was taught by parents as a way of making the life’s connections these same people would use to feed their need for stealing and not making their way off of other’s hard labor.. It does not make sense, but we fall for it. May I say here, “Madeoff,” or remind you of socialites who manage to get passes in to military installations, for they are the kings and queens of guiltless, and they are actually dangerous — able to bring down generals as well as to break down the housing market of an entire nation.
Thus, I am begging those of you who seek friendship from these cyber networks to know that you are playing with fire, and if at the end of this one year you have met a rare few who endeavor to be the best friends –Those who check on you, and tell you the good news, and mutually share moments of solace, joyfulness, and comfort, then you have found a gift which has value beyond the weight measure of gold.. What treasure! Do not disavow those most amazing people; Fail not to recognize your own part in helping to build a friendship, for you have just climbed a mountain, and on that mountain top you took a leap of faith and dared let someone into your life.
Come my friends to this Thanksgiving, gather in the last of the old year’s leaves and let us run and play like cherished children among the spaces where we take each other over the mountains and streams, over dessert sun, and ocean to ocean, and remember each other a moment. It is difficult to think there are friends you may never touch, but they have come to the woodlands to play, to pray, and to thank God that they have found you. “We,” found the precious few who will drop in now and then like a good neighbor, share a cup of some winter warmth, and we may not hear from them for a while, but they will be there. So blind fold and spin, and run recklessly into this place where in one day we can play the tag of old and know that we will always be found, for we have a friend to help us find the way.
Thank you for being here, and as surely as I breathe, then you will be at The Thanksgiving table with me, and you know who you are. The flickering fire is just a reminder that all is well as I knock on your door and thank you; Yes, I thank you all who are part of my own, “Amazing Grace,” so I shall light a candle this Holiday season, and it shall be one which burns slowly and with sweet scent to remind me that you, too, have been virtuous and humbly the better part of who I am.
God Bless You All Through The Harvest Memories, And You Deserve Abiding Thanks,
I am so very greatful for everything. Share the news from home with me, and I will share mine.Barbara Everett Heintz, Author of, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” Award Winning Book In Hollywood and San Francisco Book Festivals 2012 — With Help and Support From My Xanga Friends. “Pinkhoneysuckle,” also supported a portion of Sonoma, California’s annual gathering of book writers and Bay Area publishers and friends to help the food bank in the Santa Rosa area this past year — No great money for us, but we used our dollars and time to help feed the hungry, so “Pinkhoneysuckle,” gives in ways I could not have predicted.
Blessings, Barb, And Maybe The Lighted Candle Will Be A New Reflection Of Our Power To, “Love One Another.” Just Tread Cautiously — For False Friends Come Looking For The Gentle Heart
Comments (10)
I have finally gotten a moment to read in your book, I say read your book, actually Bobby is reading to me and we are sharing. I just got new glasses but am very slow in focusing on reading the print. I guess the eyes wear out the same as everything else. So, Bobby tells me that I can download it from Kindle and make the print as large as I want and we can download that to his Google Pad in order that I can take it with me. I have been so involved with you personally I have missed the gems that you leave here on your blog, for that I am sorry, dear friend and I won’t let it happen again. I see now from your book that there is some things that remind me of my childhood that seems pertainent to the types of things for which you were looking. I was but a generation or two from the Great Depression. I will do better.
Sincerely,
Karen (aka: Mommachatter)
@mommachatter - I icbelieve that you have found part of the message of, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” already, that so many of us were kept quiet about our lives. Our parents, at least mine were part of a class structure which is not supposed to be in this our beautiful America, so we were taught as farm kids that we were consistently working toward life in the world to come and not to question what the root causes of our class system still greatly underestimated in this country; For I believe that I explain very clearly through my own life experiences that I was just one among the many who could not accept that God chose for us our poverty, our lack of self esteem, and that people outside could not know, for we would shame our families.
I believed that a merciful God did not wish up on women to be beaten physically by depressed fathers who could not feed their families, and later I would realize that we were not, “Tipical Americans,” who were, “Just like every body else,” but that we were invisible people on the backroads.
I used to scrub myself, just scrub my body and hair, for I thought that maybe we were dirty, and if I was clean and scrubbed my teeth with salt and soda; then I would be more typical – So why did I a mid-20th century child feel such isolation, and I believe before you finish my book that you will see the picture as I have learned it so arduously that if you are segregated in to groups of poverty, then you’re searching as if life was a maze for those who “were like us, and you feel there must be a picture wall somewhere designating all of us who were selected to be every one else’s fringe element, but I will not give away the story of the woman in, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” for it would ruin it for you, and the coming of age woman who begins to find out that we were misled. Without our services of work and isolation, then the groups above us had no one to speak of shamefully, and it appears to me to this day that many can only find joy in their own lives ant the expense of denying help to promising generaations.
The southern diaspora was a turning point when people learned helplessness was an excuse for no longer showing the pride of choice — My first requests would be to ask those who have the least if they know we are powerful an, “d change agents, and another thing which I share with people as an advocate to the poor is to know that being called such names as, “White Trash, ” and even, “Hillbilly,” is derogatory. Lastly, if they are complaining that they are not receiving, “Aid,” I want them to know that we are compelled to work at something, and unless people are disabled — A work ethic begins the upward climb.
As I saw the PBS series tonight on, “The Dust Bowl,” I noted that Roosevelt came in realizing that nourishment for hungry bodies should be a right, and Praise God, whomever people accept as some higher power above them that there were food allotments given to those families. In my community in the erd world, no one came with food unless you went on public assistance, and our folks would not ask, for that was giving in and failure to teach us the survivals kills which are passed on it honest labor.
I am so please that you have a Kindle to make the letters larger, and I know that my brother’s prologue is a masterfully writen piece not to be taken for granted. He knew something was dreadfully wrong, because he could not keep up with all of the relative’s free labor expected plus run the farm when Dad went north.
I want to make more and more contact to those who lived the woman’s story, however it was told, that they are valuable people, for if society labels them as less; Then we start out by finding each other and start demanding that the status quo is no longer good enough. When I see some realistic entertainment industry bringing much needed help to south Appalachia, then I will believe my book has struck someone in the solar plexus with a mule kick.
Karen, as I said, I am so snowed under now trying to work our Holidays out before my surgery; You are so kind, but I just do not have great time to read all that I must, so thank you for the beautiful message, my very cute mini, but never apologize because you have home and life’s ork to do. You are extremely generous.
Blessings my good friend, and thank you for darring to shake things up by getting the news out about, “Pinkhoneysuckle.”; Being on Amazon and Kindle ready only makes a difference as I get out word one person at a time. Again, Happy Thanksgiving, and I will gget back to your colorful and interesting story. Take care my friend.
Love, Barb
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@Miktyson - I do not know you; but your picture is of a beautiful person whose kind heart found something of mine to respond to. With, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” it is an uphill battle all of the way, for books are not where it is at to change the old ideas about desparate issues we have in America, and I was advised to go to Sundance and endeavor to give my book out there to bring notice to the southern diaspora and how a people lost so much of what made them among the richest and proudest on this earth when their passion for farming, and their bonds to a community were severed. The story was hard to write, for there are those who would not forgive that I would finally tell the truth, but I used ME, my story, and my brother shared his portion in the magnificent prologue. I lived most every word of this, with thousands of others; And how can people recover from an injustice when it has been kept quiet for almost 60 years. Two of my sisters refused to help me in any manner, and when they critqued the writing after I was halfway through with it being posted every day; Then I knew it was their fear of being looked down up on, but I wrote on.
It is that kind of fear which has kept elders for asking for help, and it is that fear that no one gave the diasphora a name. It is the shame and the reoccurring sorrow which have taken the original settlers down to where they did not want to be — Dependent on any one outside of their own labor. The story is easily a movie, and a movie awakens a lot of people who are in hiding who need to come out and welcome holding all who were broken to begin the process of building up instead of breaking down more. With the loss of my parents, I could have cast it all away; But for them and for all of the old and Holy Spirits gone before – I want to put the word out that they are remembered and loved, and walking on the flames of remembrance; I sacrifice all that was private in me to give a picture to this country that Appalachians, especially southern Appalachia where no one came with any hand outs are human beings, not red of neck, nor the goats who climb the hills — Thus, “Hillbillies,” we are and have been resourceful and outstanding human beings. “Pinkhoneysuckle,” calls America to be accountable to the Americans who were so ashamed that mothers would have their babies early if they could and lean over the coffin of another child born without health care.
Thank you for your acknowledgment of me and of my work which started as this blog.
Barbara Everett Heintz, Author, Amazon and Kindle Ready, “Pinkhoneysuckle.”
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