It has been a hard day, one of those where I feel  really stranded in San Francisco, for my husband had taken our one car and our daughter Catherine and he Lesbian friend from Cincinnati, Kelly on what is among their many places together where Catherine and her Dad had set up the occassion for their summer visit.  I have made all too clear how I feel Kelly came about to be my daughter’s lover, and I shall not repeat it, and this is my cross to bear.  Crosses; the Judaic cross, Just to be a Muslim in our world;  It is all filled with a great deal of pain, for we are all judged at a time when being religious is really hard, so very very hard, and the weight of whatever we wear could be easily cast aside — these symbols.  Sometimes when I recall the day of 9/11, I wonder how many, as the last article of faith they had in their hands was a symbol from their faith, and even though they were destroyed by the intense heat from the rubble mixed with jet fuel;  Then most of these symbols were turned back to the very particles and composition of their chemical makeup, I would have held hope that the relics of faith brought innocence and comfort, and that carrying such emblems gave them their first glimpse of a Heaven.

In the midst of the rubble of this day, a cold end of September in San Francisco, I went to my G-mail, and there was a note from a Xanga Friend in Las Vegas, a very unexpected note on a day when comfort was hard to find — A note, and it explained that he had been through a very busy time and that some good things had happened in his life, so I felt that was the first of the graces for which I wanted to respond.  His children are extremely successful and on their way to college for which he looks forward to with them.  A business change has come through which made a lot of his previous work over months if not years bring more good fortune in to his life, and he said he worked hard, so hard for all of it.  I do not know him, but from his words, I believe that his greatest purpose and the tallis he carries appears to be his children, for I remember that he has written of their importance before.  Most of us feel that way, and we place our trust that as they grow older that they too can resolve life issues where they haave contributed to our brokeness at times — That is something to cherish, that the work you did, hours when you gathered stones or planted seed that as you grow older those children will understand what became of you from one point to another.  You even hope that they will know and respect your symbols and your signs, for they were the recipients of all the loving truth you once had there for them.  Let them know me by the signs, and you shall see Grace and Mercy the gifts which you can give.

I continued to read the note, and I could almost hear the voice which came next, for I cherish it more than words can express.  He then went on to ask;  “What can I do for you; my work is caught up, but I have time for you,” this man who hardly knows me but who accepts that I need, have needed, and will need help again,” and that meant more than the ordinary words to me, and, “I cherish the thought, the wonderful and amazing thought.”

It is written on my heart like a portrait, that I have known this person only through this blog, but after some years now;  He has asked me what he can do, and that I am found that worthy of being remembered, of one stopping their day and saying that they have time for me, it happens now and again, but the difference was that I knew this man meant it.  I will remeber his name as a sign, and I will look very hard for a way to say that I cherish that unexpected kindness on a day which could have been a day from hell.  I am in so much pain — physically, for they cannot fix my knees which have deteriorated to the point only replacements would do; but I have a bleeding disorder, and the surgeries are too dangerous.  If I do not take rat poison, literally, that is what warfarin is;  then I will have clots in my lungs, then it is back to an ICU, and my daughter breaks my heart; Oh she breaks my heart, but I cannot fix things.

I want to tell our friend, Mike, that I was so cold in San Francisco today, and I was in so much pain, but you knew some how that I needed.  I told you about my book and what a trip that has been, those who offer help, and I have to hope they believe what they say.  I ask each of you to lose the concept of small talk, and to know that the worst thing you can do is to offer yourself just to sound nice, so it is there — That every person must endeavor to give up 50 years of; “We’ll get together,” and mean the offers of help that you make to people.”  Maybe what it comes to is that to be truthful, to have honor, to cherish — Then these are the makings of a soul, not someone ordinary.

I  wish that I could tell you that I had a page full of answers for him, but this is the truth, that I did not know what to say, for just by being there, writing a note, and offering of, “What can I do?”  I needed that today, and it came like a quiet vessel moving along quiet waters edge.  I thank you, all of you cherished friends who do just what you can.  I will carry your crosses, and I will gather stones to lie gently.  I will pray for peace among our Muslim brothers and sisters.

Another friend raised my book, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” in a spiritual workshop group; Another fills us will beautiful flowers and sunsets, and when I was well I could have taken care of any of you, for I was, “The Nurse.”  What more can we do that to say; Just list it out;  What can I do, but to each of you to whom I cannot even go through the pain of these past few days, then I just want to linger a moment, bless you with all that I have — My signs and that you have brought some comfort, then let it be known that I will cherish

you, and I will need you all of my days.  I wrap it all up in beautiful colors and seal it with my love, and I pray that you shall do this as well for all whom you may.  This is my plea.

“Pinkhoneysuckle,” ON Amazon and Kindle — My story and who I am this aging child of Appalachia and for those who wish to help; Please help me to get the word out about my book — The hidden shame brought to women, children, and men of The Agrarian South — And A Love Story

Blessings to All, and I deeply cherish my friend this day and all who reach with open hearts.

Hello everyone from Xangans near and Xangans far: From South America to Asia, From England, Spain, and to France — With a great leap to Asian brothers and sisters near and to far.  If I had to tell you about the America from which I came, I am certain there would be similarities to the third world farmers who inhabit the great lands of Asia, especially as in China and India as they begin to come in to a somewhat more open world where their grains and foods, their animals and modest hovels as they enter the third millenium are beginning to understand that subsistence farming — with some planning, can feed a family, and if brought together– then perhaps a village.

In my age of growing up; No, we did not have oxen — Daddy had mules when I was a little girl.  We did not go to the river or dirty streams to drink our water, to wash our bodies and our clothes,  we either had some water from a dirty cistern which might be useful for clothes washing and washing our bodies in a tin tub, but for drinking water which was pure and clean, we had to carry it from one of two springs, even as little children in buckets up high hills, so crisp and clean water was never taken for granted, and our primary source of protein were dried beans and bread baked from corn meal and flour — and I know what clothing we had was given to us, though, for a while, my sisters learned to sew earlier than I, for Mama could sometimes have enough milk and egg money to buy fabric from a general store. And my sisters could sew beautifully for young girls, and not one piece of fabric or clothing bought or given to us was ever thrown away, for that would go in to making quilt pieces.

It may sound as if I am telling you the stories from the late 1800s, but this was the lot of many families of the southern most tip of The Appalachian mountains of The United States of America, and I think of three major things which made life different from peasant farmers of our poorest countries of this age where we have moved along since the 1800s, and these are the ideals which saved us from total isolation.  Public health had taken giant leaps due to the Polio epidemics which had spread over the nation and the world, and America had already learned to vaccinate it’s people from the many diseases such as diptheria and typhoid, smallpox, then very soon the Salk vaccine would bring a close to the epidemic of polio where lives were saved with hospitals having wards of iron lungs, so in America;  Polio killed, but more lives were spared because of what was known as, The Iron Lung, which helped the lungs to expand and deflate with the understanding of breathing controlled by the positve and negative pressures needed for the exchange of oxygen and the breathing out of carbon dioxide –thus modern medicine brought vaccines even to the mountains and valleys, to the farthest villages and towns to eliminate much which had killed children by age two, or that crippled them later on. 

Treatment for tuberculosis kept increasing to the point that we would see an end  to the age old killer which was probably best known in colonial times as consumption, though the lungs would be in for a new assault from the cigarette industry, for even women began to smoke thinking it was a glamorous thing to do and good for the digestive, and the deaths from cigarettes across the world was definitely something the Colonials learned from The American Indians and the number of deaths related from cigarette smoking in all ages would probably exceed that of any wars man to man — woman to woman on our planet.  I will make a side note here to say that now we have managed to get third worlds so hooked on cigarettes that the sale of tobacco goes on killing new populations, for citizens of even modern countries have not net counted the deaths which lie before them, or people just do not care.  In areas where pollution is so great that lungs are so damaged from environmental issues are not addressed — Then tobacco is placed on a level of lesser concern.  I cannot say enough about how the advancement of public health moved America ahead in decreasing premature death and damage from disease.  Once no one was ahead of America in these fields.

Public education opened eyes to the possibility of how people could live, not how they lived from day to day in their home lives of farm labor, and the industrialization of America which began in the 1800s would change the world as the almighty cars and trucks, and modern farm machinery changed everything about how much line could be utilized and how those who did not want to work the land saw the factories of the north as the saving grace from the family farm. 

In no manner could we discount what happened as rados, telephones, and televisions gave all people the power to be informed,  so people learned what could be bought, and sold, what houses could be built, and how quickly the idealic mother and father family homes were all supposedly governed by rules of etiquette, and religion which the founding fathers brought to the country just kept building rules and more rules for, “The American Way Of Life,” but that is where we run in to problems — That it was presumed that we were all living and learning in the same way, but so many of us were left behind, for without a class of people without; then who was going to be the dirt farmers, house keepers, cotton pickers, and the tobacco workers.  Big dairy and egg farms were run by individuals and not by companies, so farm workers often worked on these greater agrarian systems just so they could feed a family to feed a dream that one day, they too, could be great land owners, or at the most self sufficient.

Among the longest trails of the poor were along the Appalachian Mountains, the valleys and trails, and what would be called America’s greatest walking trail by John Muir, for these mountains began as far south as The Cumberlands, but even further south into Alabama’s Sand Mountain and Lookout Mountains, and mountains which were more like foothills from Sewanee in Tennessee and the great valleys of Tennessee and Alabama, North Georgia, and all the way to the state of Maine.  Walking it for pleasure was one thing which would come after it became a national park, but  thousands — More like millions of us were just citizens no one saw or cared much about.  We were the poor kids in school, the cotton pickers in the fall, and the tobacco strippers as autumn moved on, and it may come as a surpise to some that until I was in about the fifth grade, I more or less thought Thanksgiving was just in a story book.  For those of us with Christian backgrounds, we knew some people had Christmas tress and presents in mid-century, but just not us, and I was always told about Santa Claus, as were my brothers and sisters, and so until we finally got the picture of St Nick, we just thought we were not good enough, had not loved God enough, and had not worked enough for anything.  We lived, we worked, and we existed in a world where children were born for that one purpose.

Thus, when I hear about the little starving children in other countries;  I wonder if they ever are taught that from The Appalachian Mountains and valleys until this very day, there are some people about as poor as they are.  Our churches had no baskets for the poor, and we would have been ashamed to take them, even if they did, for we were always taught that we were greedy, and our poverty was our fate, because we had not been good enough servants in our homes and churches.  Your heart would break to see all the little towns which simply died out as the farmers went elsewhere, and one big chain store could knock out an entire town’s industry.  All of America is not clean and beautiful, for it would take the Army to go along the back roads once a year to pick up trash, for many people would not use a trash bin if the counties left one there.  Something has been taken, so broken, so disturbing, and it is that people have lost the ability to be community, and the old rules of faith of, “Love your neighbor as you would yourn self,” meaning;  See to others needs has disappeared to words like, “You all better get a double bolt lock on here,” for drugs have so over taken America, and I mean illegal drugs.  Instead of legalizing and making them worth nothing, we keep building prisons and spending federal dollars on s earching out drug cartels.  We are not safe in America, for no one holds parents responsible for teaching their children rules of life, so if you feel like third world any where else, then know that our wealthy nation has built larger and larger prisons to incarcerate the younger and poorer of society instead of taking those dollars  theand seeing that parents are caring for their children instead of taking the last food dime to get one more chemical in their bodies, for they are just living as they were taught.

Now and then I write about my book, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” on Amazon and Kindle by Barbara Everett Heintz, so this is the evening I have chosen to write about it now.  Pinkhoneysuckle is more than the name of a book; It is the story of a people, born in the Appalachians and raised in the valley below.  I am one of them, and no one cared to write about us or to know that we existed, so I tell you the whole story through my eyes, and I will tell it to the world now, for people need to know that most countries still have a ruling class — The rich and the poor, and there is no shame in poverty;  The shame is what you are endeavoring to do to help all citizens have what all human beings need.  “Pinkhoneysuckle,” tells you about the life of one woman who is just many women through my own eyes, what I have lived, who I have met, and the women gone before me along The Appalachian Trail. When I write about the book, I learn even more, and I am learning as many Americans that we need to go back to public health and not jails to treat the drug addicted.

Legalizing drugs such as marijana would be a step in the right  direction, and just knowing that all citizens know that meth amphetamines, crack cocaine, gasoline, and whatever God forsaken substances kids are taking in now to be super bad adds up to super sadness and death.  For those who trade and deal in such material to make money, for you want the glitter for some moment in time, then ask yourselves; “Is it worth the fear of losing your own life, your brothers’, the little babies you have produced, and have you ever dreamt of being a hero instead?  The profit motive is going to go away, and when it does then do you understand that what makes you a valuable human being is the gift of your own labor.  We our out here praying for the perpetrators, for you were once an innocent child as well.

“Pinkhoneysuckle,” has won awards in San Francisco and in Hollywood, for I finally had to write what has gone on in our country, for through us; You may know that we are citizens of a world, and I feel so proud to say that I won a first place in Hollywood for a good book in a category all of its own.  The book, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” calls to America to atone for its own sins.  I have not heard one child yet say they want to grow up to be a murderer, a thief, to destroy the planet with chemicals, and to steal when you do not even need.  Something happened to you, to us, and to a universe where we have lost our way.  Please consider reading, “Pinkhoneysuckle,”  for we were all innocent together, and some were so broken they could not find a way home.  Barbara Everett Heintz – Author, “Pinkhoneysuckle”

The brightest days of wine country are coming up over the next two weeks, and I feel like stopping along the road and just getting samplings of one grape after the other to see how small, and how sweet, to tast old varieties that were kissed by the sun in Italy or Spain, Greece, or wherever families came over from the Mediterranean Villages where it is not a matter of, “Do you drink?”  It would be more satisfactory to understand that most of European or along the Mediteraanean Sea, that a home without some of its own grapes is a sad place to be, and except for a breakfast, then you are going to have wine, for few cultures are born without the enzymes to break down alcohol to be excreeted, a process I could refigure out for you but put out of my memory of physiology a long time ago, so I am preparing my book, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” to go on a journey, for it shall be in my booth in Sonoma as a day to talk about books, the fun of som costume jewelry I  have some fun with, and a few drawings to just say;  Thanks so much for coming to visit me and my book.  I will have flyers, so that I will not have to recant all about myself, but I can turn the tables and ask them about who should come to such a show.

I do not sell things, for it is not in my nature, For in my soul, I was always taught to give.  I could see my Daddy taking a big old red and ripe water melon from a milk cooler which we had been saving a few days.  It would be hot, and we would have offered for them to stay for dinner, and then I could see Daddy his head for a little while, and next thing we knew with his skin burned, him usually stone thin compared to most men, then Daddy would be giving away the most beautiful piece of fruit he had, but now and then some nice soul would say, “Mr. Everett,”  lets all eat this big old watermelon, and he would smile and slice, and in the south, we put salt on it to give it the contrast of sweet and salt.  I could hav gotten down and polishd those folks shoes for not taking away my Daddys best, but I fear the lesson we took from it was — To always give away your best, and all eight children except for our little broken brother, James, knew that is what you did — sacrificed, always give more than you got, and sometimes someone would let us have something, and my heart would crack open, like when Mrs. Marie Mason’s strawberries were so ripe and plum that you ate three and picked one for every berry we plucked.  No berries on heaven or beyond the universe could have been that delicious, and the crop was organic — straight out of the cow born, but it turned these green plants with green berries which just kept getting  riper and fuller, and we enjoyed ourselves to death that morning, and I couldn’t wait to get them home to Mama who would have sent me to fetch mail, but I might even forget the mail if it was strawberry time.

Mrs. Marie had a wonderful laugh, and she smiled a lot and she laughed a lot, and her life was almost like a cackle that she just could not stop, so that is how it was when the strawberries came in.  Nothing could be more beautiful than her garden flowers, the old maids and mums, her dahlias and her rosss, and only when Mama would start feeling better in her later 50s would she get interested in getting her flowers in, for Mama liked to, “Just rest,” though if she was having one of her energy snaps, then, “Help us God,” for she could dig a garden, have done breakfast, and start dinner cooking by eleven o’clock in the morning, and as I sit here and think of the end of the garden;  I feel like I am starving to death!

Now,I know how a lot of you folks feel about Northern Californians, and I used to try to be one, but I have determined that I was taught a different set of values, and there are places where never shall these hearts meet.  I could throw out a lot of stuff here, but let us condense it down to squash, and that my family grew up on corn meal battered fried crook necked squash, but Californians have many ways with many varieties with squash most of the year, and they were a summer vegetable to us in Tennesse, so if the squash was about gone, you could walk the rows until it froze and find a few straw things to throw in a soup, but something has gotten squash in these folks heads in a bad way, and first off, that they are usually aldente, and you make certain you do not cover up their pretty colors, just like sweet peppers, and you can use every legal and illegal spice on them, and it is creative, but “Holy Mother of God,”  may we agree now that when the universe was made, squash were added in for folks with week stomachs, so you simmered the darned things with not much water.  You could make them sweet with a sprinkl of brown sugar and cinnamon plus butter, no darned olive oil you wild and wacky mixed European bloods who really have many populations that can use all of this food in some creative way;  But would you show me some love here, and; :Keep Squash and chicken off of pizza.  There should be a law against any pizza which does not contain ample amounts of pizza dough, tomato sauce, loads of cheese, mushrooms peppers, olives; FGS; the list is endless.  Roll it in garlic; hit me with some anchovy and capers, but would you please just keep your squash down to a minimum of celebrations — This I beg you.

How many times does a recipe call for some zest of squash, and do you want to know why?  The damned things have no taste.  Now,  If you have the patients to slice nice crook necks in cornmeal batter, fry them a layer at a time, enough for a family of 20, because they will all be gone, then you have got something  worth your weight in love and good to eat.  Yellow corn meal and flour, cornbread does not make.  We’ve talked about this before,  but using yellow corn meal in any cooking other than great Latino and American Incian cookery is just a sin.  My cooking lessons are kept to a minimum, for I know it is all a matter of taste, but may we agre that Pizza is wonderful as God intended it –  Pizza dough, tomato sauce, wonderful cheese, and most other things except for squash and chicken. I do agree with a certain being who wrote a book about summer in Tuscanny that southern women are natural cooks.  My friend, Joan Mason Sanders ic just like Mrs. Marie, and those girls can cook. 

I realized I left the vineyards for the garden and my grape tasting, but you have to realize that I am anxious over my book show, for there I will be with my beautiful book, posters of Mom and Dad which will not be sold, for they are mine, and in addition to that it is a Festival and people are apt to be eatting great things like red pork tamales which I could kill for made right.  Betwen wine, food, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” and my awards I will be hanging, for we all know I have won awards in San Francisco and Hollywood, then I am planning a quite lovely day.  I am still hoping some of you Xangans will decide you might want to see what these books are about, for we have wonderful people among us who are writing, putting out literature, books, and poetry among our group, and if Xanga would give us a formal way of advertising our work, then maybe we could reach out more to each other; Or how about a great big old Xanga gathering on Xanga property somewhere next year where we can bring any thing from what me make cake to layettes; Poetry, books, clothes, toys;  But a big Xanga reunion where we can meet, greet, and buy from each.  I read what a lot of you write, and it puts me to shame.  Most people look better clothed, except for you Barbie’s and a few Ken’s, but those who have use ointment on your privates  do not need to see them again.  Xanga Conventions with prizes — Admission charges to pay our debts, and your getting tanked and expcting bail for being a horse’s rear means you have a one way door out and have agreed to a fine.  I think I am on to something here, just thinking about my great weekend coming up.

“Pinkhoneysuckle,” is going on the road, praying for real sells to nbegin with books or Kindle.. I love every on of you who have read about it on Amazon, to the wiser — almost older friends, and to the y oung friends who might be getting the idea;  A lot of American History has been left out, for making 3rd world citizens of your people is very unkind, sending them off to unwinnable wars is worse, and my book is disturbing but most of it is true.

I close tonight’s entry thinking how much fun it is to say, Pinot Grigio, and that I hate Rieslings, but I sure wish The President Of The Mormon Church, knowing what an amazing group of people most Mourmon families are; Dear sir, Mr. President Of The Mormon Church;  You need to please sit Mitt Romney down and talk to that man, for he is making it harder on these poor kids who will have to go door to door trying to get converts when the only Mormon ever even close to a win in The Presidential Election — This man needs you to sit down and tell him that it is not good to offend about 97% of the population with his story of entitlements and what they are;  Can you imagine our poor little children across this land, and our ygrowing old seniors as people who are getting entitlements which is the social security they paid for; And can you imagine the poor, the drug addict, the sick, and the homeless thinking it is alright for them to go to a hospital.  I am serious now, and I haven’t had The Prophet’s background, but if you are Christian which you sing about so beautifully every Christmas, Then Mr. Romney is scaring older people who have not, so is there such a thing as asking him to discuss our responsibility to the sick, the afflicted, the tired, and the poor, and I do not know what is in that beautiful temple, but I think a call to the back room to havrre a few smacks across presidential material buttocks might be in order here.

I am truly sorry to have to bring this up before sauternes, but take it from me; Just old fashioned Christian Brothers Sherryd is going to give you a whole lot more flavor.  I  do wish you could all make it to Sonoma, but if you Xangans are passing by, just say hello, and  I have Christmas treasures for everyone on your list to keep it from being boring.  Hope to see you there, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” Barb

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It is a strange human potential to look back at some point, not just when you are 20 or 30, but even as we begin older age; To look back and to remember the romances that we had as our first and to suddenly miss them, even to go so far as to forget that most of the  time you knew them, your relationship had nothing to do with love as you grow to understand it.  It is Biblical quotes such as;  “Love is lasting,” “Love endures,” and, “Love abides all things,” Lasting, endures, abides, and so many of us were taught that, believed that — Still believe it, and we actually have the sickening trait, we romantics, to believe that somehow and someway memories of us abide with those first loves just as they remain with us to the point we could write down the last miserable time we ever spent with that person.

That is the other dichotomy, that something which hurt so horribly which we lovers could not imagine is the ackward truth that when we loved, we believed that it was mutual, for being held in wonderful arms, feeling warm and sweet breaths which are somehow synchronized like some beautiful song with just the right voice to sing it, so it goes in to a place where it cannot be removed.. We did not walk in to these first experiences of loving with any belief ever that they were just for a moment, and at times seemed like some horrible magic show where our inexperience with loving was going to take us away looking for that feeling again, because when you are new at young love, it is just not how people treat each other to make you feel as if everything inside of you has photographed that moment.  How is it ever in the plan that people appear to give you their body,  their soul, and their mind and that it is just a disappearing act.

When I wrote the book, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” I would be writing about first loves for the first time, and I decided that if I wrote it, that it had to be the truth as I remembered it.  I would run into a couple of problems; For instance, when a couple of sisters started reading about my early love life,” they found it to be just more than they could bear and not to find it sickening.  I do not even remember their exact comments, but it went sort of like, “First you are telling everyone all of this — excrement — about our family, and we do not want them to know,”  and them is you.  Next I hear them acting as if reading about my love life was just too private for them to be assailed with, only  it appears that I was almost the later of us to bloom in those ways, not much, but a little later, so I did all of you, “Them,” a failure, and I left my love life in that book, for none of it was shallow; At least it was not shallow to me, but that I would learn that most people do not have an almost photographic memory for sight and sound, and that I would not last in their worlds as they did in mine, those lovers and me.

The Bible, Poetry by the very best over all literature, songs and sonnets;  All tells us that love is all things we equate with beauty — Forbearing, forever, and for all time.  I waynt you to know that it is an absolute shock to one’s system when you look back and know that those involved– Many of them were having a fling, or worse, thought they were doing you a favor by allowing you to have something of them.  Yes, my friends, now that I am older, I absolutely know that my first loves, except for a few, were narcicistic, shallow witted morons who thought a sweet young thing like me was not going to take it seriously that they showed all the signs of wanting to love me, and they did not carry a big sign which said, “I’m a creep,” and you are a living breathing female, so lucky you are about to have some of the old, “Love Machine,” and then in a few weeks, I am going home to my real baby, the love of my life.

To all of those nimrod, pathetic assanine kooks;  it is hard to now wish you well, but I try very hard, and it is horrid that I have to put up with the fact that I have this curse of a memory.  I even had one jerk tell me he wanted to be in a romance with his girl friend back in Long Island, because he pictured his wife being someone.  I am someone you curssed little drip of long ago, and even if you went back to that girl, she was going to find you in bed with her best old friend, for you were really among the more sad cases that I had known.  I believed you loved me though, and you only chose when things became complex to run;  Yes, I remember you.

I remember some sweethearts too, ones who did not know that I was from a culture of early marriage, for you see Appalachian girls then were expected to marry and to take care of you, and I expected so little for my self, but I wanted a house full of love, this magnificent, incarnate, forever divine love.  It is probably looking like I had more than my share of boyfriends, and in looking back, I did not think of it that way, but it was in my life’s plan to marry, to have children, to become educated more than I was considering I promised everyone I knew that I was going to finish college, and almost three years would go by from the time I left high school until I married.

It would be years before I realized I had this memory thing, and it is not for everything, just life events, places I have been, how a room was set up, all of these little things.  I have a scent memory, touch, and how said that I have Essential Tremor, for to have had this and art put together would have been magnificent.  But to have the curse of remembering first loves, that has been the most painful, because after all the readings, the writings, the poetry, and the magnificent word of God — I had to learn that just as I would feel all that was wonderful, then I would also remember the pain of how it felt to be left behind,  It came as a shock that I was so easily forgotten, for it is not my way. 

What it says about human beings to me though is that they either are born with memory blocks, that some are just horrible people who would use anyone for a moment’s satisfaction, and some are narcicistic and stupid, though more like likely they are narcicistic.  Beware young women, and chose your lover’s well, and for all young lovers, remember that first one if you can, or it says something beautiful about you.  Through you life you will go to that person and to that place again, and you can take the best from it and save it for your own.  That they will not remember, or that they left you hurt and without is their tragic loss, for if, inspite of all that life is going to throw at you, their face,  their arms, and you folded in to a light that will call you from sleep and lie at your feet that longing for it all to repeat once more, then I personally call all romantics to know you, to crown you over love and beyond time as a true lover.

Is this the answer as to why love and misery so often become such companions?   I will keep my yesterdays, even the moments which cry large and anguishing tears, for if I forget, then I was as shallow as the one who went away, or in the new world, who moved on not even aware they left the best behind.

How many Xangans can speak well of their first love, and remember the moment they walked away, or does it have any importance other than to be forgotten among the rose petals which have now been covered by time itself?  How many?

I have a couple of people, one out of a Chinese family she visited in their homeland, and a wonderful Hi spanic man who is generously a nd kindly willing to help me with some of my work bringing it in to his community.  So many t himes when I feel like taking this book out and giving it to help agencies who might enjoy just giving people a nice, clean, and interesting book to read.  But I also believe that a lot of our neighbors south of our borders feel like we are all a bunch of spoiled rotten people who live behind all of these walls when my own growing up home was third world, even when I did not know what that mean.

Part of seeing a world come together is as we gain more and more the ability to computer communicate with friends of the world just by the fact we can code in to a computer and show others how we live.

Here in San Francisco, few people have any idea of how few agencies are open for the poor in the north and east cities, and for so much critique I hear about churches and what they are not, then I am going to let you know that a hungry family will be led to having most of their needs met within strong church communities.  In Cincinnait, Ohio, just like in San Francisco; Restaurant food has a place or places for central delivery, and city gardens are growing up everywhere.  Churches all over the city have their time and place to go and feed the hungry. Layettes are hand put together.

But there are poor cities all over America, a lot along The Appalachian Trail, but in the old routes west; cities have died.  How many come to America to see our poverty, and when we made the trip by car from back east; I felt so sad, for little places k, now to me by reading how our country moved its population are just almost ghost towns, but we are not givng our kids lessons on place like St Joseph, Mo. or Council Bluffs, little New England towns that are American true grit, but food has to come in by transport, for there is not much growing season back in the east.

We now have to sell our books to the world, and if I ever find a way, then I am going to share as I learn, but even our books need to go global; For just look at you gracious and kind souls who are givng yours away, and when you talk about marketing, I cringe, for the hardest lesson is the one that someone will lead you one day; Meanwhile we mourn the loss that our book stores are continuing to die.

You are givers, generous, kind, and I am looking and praying for miracles, for I think I did it, as you have, wrote a  book which will inspire. You are my friends, but I gave my book away when I was writing it, but now you have to go to Amazon or Kindle.  Thank God, for we have an older age plan, but it is not in getting books published.  God Bless You All!

Good  Morning To All,

I just lost a very long blog — Lots of little things — Gratitude for all who has helped me with the book, and by some great miracle;  It could become film, and only today by a tender mercy, I have been working with a gentleman who is gsucoing to help me get news of it in some Spanish speaking papers here in San Francisco, and also introduce me to Mexico City.  I know that you get really tired of reading about, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” but I cannot thank you enough for those who intervene and endeavor to help me with those things which are just beyond me.

I would be delighted to see any of you at the large book show in Sonoma, California on September 22nd.  It is not a competition, only some of us like to see who can sell other things as well as books, and you can sit down at my booth, and we will have a chat!  I have a good friend who is a wise man and whose family lives in Mexico city, but now that he is a lawyer in America, he just loves his other company, and he is going to help me to  get some computer updating on the book.

“Pinkhoneysuckle,” is a timely book, and it is many things from a story to lost innocence, so it has been hard to market, because it does, or has affected so many lives.  I pray for all of those people who still can not tell you of their lives, for they feel they will be called, “Poor White Trash,” so America has never been very kind to its  mountain folks except for the towns which pop up and carry either artist works the people cannot afford, and so many who just thinks it is the way of a home just to break down, so then you get another one, so loosing becomes a cycle.

Where am I with it all now?  A few blessed people have taken it in to their work, community, or social settings, and I am awaiting a couple of things which came out of Hollywood, but those folks are  busy, and it is shame provoking to me to ask them to help me with my work when they have precious little timme in their own lives.

My brother thinks I have just given up, but it is a way better book  than to do that, and somehow and someway I will find a way.  I notice that we are getting more and more free classes in the internet to address marketing and all such things we need to know about, but I cannot tell you if it adds to book sales.  Just know for certain that your best help are the people who give a dime about you.  I will go on record to state that I do not believe all of, “The How To Dollars,” were not  here a few years back, and it leaves many of us shocked needin to advance ourselves with a computer arsenal which we call books I do thank you all so much with blessings beyond my heart. for I feel cheered up to pick up your notes and to start reading.

But I will not tell you of  places where I like to read most.

Love To All, Barb

1

I

Mary works harder than any young person that I know, and she will be twenty five years old at the weeks end, and I miss her so, partially because I know who is going to watch over her while she watches over every animal, person, place, and thing when I cannot be with her to say, ” This is going to be a time for, Mary, and we are going to go out and to buy some clothes for you, but where do you want go to lunch  and it has to be a decent restaurant, not some hole in the wall place, for Mary is like that unless you make her choose something;  then she will ask you for the least of anything for herself.

When I am with her, my heart breaks that I will never see my mother again, for my mother was like that about all things, and if we gave her something nice for Christmas, and someone said, “Oh I just love that,” then before we knew what happened, then our mother would have handed her present over to the othery admirer, for in themselves; they have a hard time loving the person they are, for their ability to love extends so far beyond the ordinary human being.

I can see them both with their heads down when I would be trying to get them to make a decision for their own small items of need, just ordinary things, and they would be endeavoring, “Not to put you out,” for that is what they think they are doing with any kindness shown them, and I want to open my heart and to tell them that they are worth more than anyone under heaven — Much less any thing, any power, any dominion, for their hearts were made of pure gold, and it will never be flecks of dust; “No, strong and pure, will not corode over time, they are aboe all things and people, for few know how to love beyond them.”

My daughter could only think of one thing she wanted this year, and it was a trip to The Ohio Rennaisance Fair, and times are hard for her.  She worked every hour she could get in this summer to have her car break down after too many drives to the horse farm where she had her favorite horses, worked them over, like no one else, but the owner — with his lazy bunch of kids could not pay her minimum wage to keep driving for one hour to continue doing all that she did at those stables.  It was too easy to find poor high school students come in than to give Mary a minimum wage job and to see her go, and she used to tell me about how one of the poor horses had a calous worn in to his neck where the poor thing tried to look out just to imagine that he was running wild and free, being a little colt on a spring morning, and I kept thinking,  “What is wrong with this picture.” 

First, I am not an animal person, but you will pay someone five or six hundred dollars a month to feed your prize horse, have his stall mucked out twice per day, hardly check on it in the winter months, but then you come in presumming your animal has had, “What?”  Then you start coming in with little regards to the staff, do not notice my girl shoveled the horse manure out of the iced over dung last winter, so your horse could have a place which appeared clean when you show up.  And, Mr. Owner, just a sweet old thing can’t imagine who to go to on the staff, because every one else will quit if they are asked to do such a degrading job, but My Mary, She will shovel the muck in his frickin’ truck, and when it get’s full, then it can be used as a load of manure for the highway department.

You must not love your horse very much, except for one gal who at least worked hers out most days, but the work you are having the horse to do is uppity, “Horse Manure,” no horse should  have to do it, so called, “Dressage,” movements a horse is going to have to go through to look as if they had ballet classes as a lttle colt.  Yes, God gave dominion over the animals to man, for their use;  Not to be horse dancers, so if this ticks all of you, “Dressage,” types off, then I hope that you sit on a tack today and have to try to get a tack out with an arm that is in a sling, because some fool decied that you should, as a human being, be able to go from tree to tree like an ape!  That is what I think of people who use horses for such pathetic pursuits, and to the barn owners who see to minimum standards of care, If you are one of them;  Then I think less of you!

My baby has worked all summer though, because her husband was having a wrist fused from problems which began a long time ago, but which hot him out of the Airforce early.  You see; Rather than take care of a service man properly;  It is easier to tell them they are not service worthy when they, in their last year of service, because they need their wrist fused, can no longer do the required number of pushups.  Worse, their back is so damaged from service related damage; then you really get them out, and put them in The VA system.  You just know for certain though, that the United States service, which I will not name found it to be cheaper to let this fellow who dpes have PTSD, for he was in Iraq twice over all of these years we have watched young men and young women go to the mid-east and come back unable to take care of themselves, for you have not prepared them for the real world again, but Holy of Holies;  You are giving them VA care, and I wish to God in so many ways I had stayed with VA back when I got out of the University College of Nursing and Health, becaause I would have spent the last hour of the last day on duty seeing that those young men got taken care of.  Picture the horse rubbing a callous on his neck trying to imagine running and playing like a colt, and you have yourself a service man poorly equipped to return to this society for care. 

It all sort of fits together though somehow; horses with care by a bunch of high school students — twenty stalls, five to 600 per stall, and good old, “Mr. Nice Farmer,” who could not come up with minimum wage for my daughter who was then going to go home and do what Mary’s seem to do — “Take care of the lost and the hurt.”  A lot of us believe that, “Mary,” is a name which brings something better within each of us, and My Mary does just that for anyone with whom she cares for.  Now she and her husband want some tickets for The Rennaisance Festival.  I am a broken person not, not broke; but I am broken, because I worked myself without a choice until I began to break as a young person, and then when I went in to my profession; I, like Mary, never wanted to have to bother other people for help, so she came by it honestly.

Now I want you to all rest assured that my daughter will get her day with her husband who spends a part of each week at VA, because his care from place to place has really added up to terrible, and his segment of the armed forces who knew that he could not pass the physical exams put him through the test, so he could get less pay as a retired man who was fully disabled than a man who could do something to make a living wage – The early out was the goal, and keeping him in care in a system over wrought now is just another way of him looking bad, because he has two arms, two legs, and was not shot in the head, but he is stuck with pain meds, so you cannot see the disability that comes from that.

Mary was among the most beautiful brides that I have ever seen, and she worried about Dad and I spending too much money.  She worries about the horses she took  pictures of, so when she told me about all of their funny dispositions, then it was like her babies she was showing me pictures of, and she loved those horses that much.  She loved our former parish priest, Father Dave, and she still tells what a wonderful thing it was having him there to help them get the wedding just like they wanted and needed for it to be, for what Mary takes care of and agrees to is for her life.  To her Dad and to me, especially me, for I understand things a woman may need even though I am a little older now; I remember, but you rest assured that those two, Mary and her beloved will be at that Rennaisance Fair, and she will get some other things, because all of her life when she wore vampire make-up, I was afraid she was doing drugs, but what she was doing was endeavoring to cope with me, half the rest of a calloused world, all those people who never even looked at her until her wedding day when a little tiny bud bloomed into this tiny, glorious, beautiful bride, and she became a service man’s wife.

She has already taken care of the world’s most famous dog, UGA, and if you do not know who UGA is; then you better watch one Georgia football game this year when Athens sends out the Football Team.  She is a Hocking College girl, and like her animals, she loves Ohio, Cincinnati, time with me and her Dad, and her big hunky clumsy cat, and most of all now, her service man.  I did not want our baby going off to Georgia back those days, but she landed a vet tech kind of job within less than a week.

I promise everyone of you that she grieves her horses she had to leave behind there near Cincinnati, and I am very glad that I never met, “Mr. Farmer,” because even those high school kids are supposed to be making minimum wage.  That he could not aford my daughter was the absolute worst though, for he never gave benefits either, and to those Dressage owners who want happy horses or even who give one damn as to whether a horse lives over the winter;  Your horse will live, but I think someone should stick you in a stall, muck it out twice a day, and not even hire enough help for you to get you shedding hair brushed off if the spring comes too early;  If I have touched a raw nerve with you, then let me say this a little more harshly; “May you have no one visit you, get a kick in the ass now and then, because you are frustrated, and you bit someone,” and may all of your days seem alike one after the other until you die, because you are seeing that lousy care is taken of your animals.

Where are the review boards for animals in care in Ohio — Dogs, Cats, Horses, pets of all kinds, and where are those big talking congressman at and where have they been over ten years in the middle east?  A lot of our boys are not getting the care they need, for they do not know how to advocate for help;  No, they say refreshingly, “Yes sir,” and “No Mam,” for you trained them to fight in wars, but you did not train them how to live on nothing but whatever work your little hundred pound wife could bring in.

A lot of the giving folks are just tapped out, for you know that you get your hand shook by people like, the president if you have rich enough friends.  I saw in Ohio where a man by the name of Mr. Stan Chesley say that inner city kids had their pools open for the past two years when county money wasn’t available.  I will see that My Mary and her Kevin get to The Rennaisance Faire, have some extra money, and, “When I get home after my next surgery out here in California,” Then you and I are going shopping before Christmas, and we are going to get all new clothes for the winter;  And sure, you can pick out something for Kevin, but it is going to be our day — Just you and me.

I still cry everytime I see you standing at the altar and hear, “The Ave Maria,” and I still cry when I think of having your favorite hymn from when you were a little girl, “Eagle’s Wings,” sung for you at your wedding, for those will carry you any place. You and I have a lot to talk about; So just wait until October’s end, and I will be back for Thanksgiving.

I love you, my girl with eyes as Cinnamon as the Ohio when the catfish are stirring the river’s muddy bottom, or the Cinnamon you and I like on our bread; count on it, I will be there.

Love, Mama

Summer is ending, and we are in the middle of among the most pathetic presidential campaigns which could ever be observed in any country.   How would you feel if you lived in a country where the entire making of a president is choreographeed by a bunch of people that you do not know, and it begins with important questions such as; “How gray should we allow our man to look today?”  — “Well, you know, “Professor, for he is talking to the old fools at the home near, St. Joseph today, you know that place where the wagons stock up before heading west?”  “I would not worry myself one little red dime over that one, “Brainiac,” for your going to be lucky to find ten people in that Ghost Town these days..  “Just let him go aunaturale today!”

They go on to discuss the last mistakes from the last, “Hole In The Wall,” and have terrible memories of the evening their, “Big Guy,” suddenly had an attack of, “IBS,” just before going on, and thank God for the camera guy who had some of that rapid acting — You got the picture stuff that got rid of those pains, for it is hard to have that frozen smile when you are doubling over the microphone about to talk about old people’s robbing the country blind with their, “Social Security Whines,” when, “The Big Guy,” is grasping that microphone as if he was about to deliver a cat right in front of all those folks!  Blessings to the camera guy, and be certain that you buy him a steak for dinner at the next, “Hole In The Wall,” where you got to let him jump off and do, “The Speech.”

“Whose big idea was it last time to let him make a toast at, “Mr. and Mrs. Billionaire’s house when you know he cannot drink that hard stuff anyway?”  The Professor was irate, for then, “Big Guy,” actually turned around and looked at, “The Help,” and that might play well down in Louisville, but in Santa Barbara; FGS; you do not want smiles wasted on the help!”  This is a serious presidential campaign, and maybe Mr. Eastwood needs a chair to talk to, but we have to overwhelm that crowd with how cool our guy is going to be when those Iranians, or was it the Afganistanis start playing war games with those nuclear, made in, “The Devil’s Kitchen,” bombs which could blow us back to the stone ages.”

“Big Guy,” has to show a tender side chimes in Brainiac, and he whispers, “I do not mean the side he turned up toward that cleaning chippie back in Bakersfield, if you are getting the picture, at which time, “Brainiac,” has a late night swill of the best scotch money can buy, and he gets all giddy thinking how much more fun it would have been had the late night camera could have been had she mugged with a swiffer in one hand and a couple of empty glasses in the other,” and they both burst open in laughter just thinking of how the press was going to bend that one the next day!!!LOL! LOL! LOL!  “This is the best job ever, says, “The Professor.”

Then they realize they must get on to what a president needs to be talking about, those entitlements! “Damn it, ” says Brainiac;” “Here we go again with that Truck Stop Chatter, just when we are having some fun, “Professor,” “Then you got to go getting all serious!” (At this point, Brainiac is endeavoring to see how well it will go over with the American citizenry if they put out a press realese reading; “The President Has Six Toes, And He Has Known It All Along,” so there it is, “Proof, until our, “Mr. President,” gets the nerve to take off his, “Gold Toes,” in front of the world and proves that he is not a sixth toe mix up from some planet where we have never been and where everyone has six toes,and they were all born on the side of the island filled with nuddist and worse,  “Where all mother’s have no earthly idea by whom they had a child with!”

The Professor shakes his head in shame as he debates which a rip roaring, in your face, knock down drag out battle that this is about to become; and he, your windfall of brilliance from the universe could not come up with this one; “Six Toes,” and not five instead of like the other candidates, and this one term president has been hiding it behind those gold toes all of this time.  “If I could just keep my mind off the one reporter whose skirts are hiked higher than Mt. Diablo, then I, The Professor of all Professions, could have turned the tide in this election.  Instead, I have let, “Brainiac,” lead the mood of the country again.  Being the gentleman he is though, he just mocks a bow and lets his onld friend, Brainiac, walk to the front of the room tripping on the carpet and taking the unrehearsed bow which landed him right in the middle of a bowl of red pepper dip, all ready for the mignions who love cheese dips to come in, open some, “Crispy Dip,” and have them one heck of a party cleaning off his face.  “What a job!”  “There is none bettere quotes, “Brainiac,” and they are just counting the votes right now.

“Newt,” should have come up with this one howls, “Brainiac,” and they think they have all the material ready for, “The Big Guy,” to take the stage tomorrow and start the insinuations which the, “Toe Counters,” have suspected all along.  It was such a brilliant idea to take Social Security and Medicare and move them toward looking like America owed you something; well that was big, but it is nothing compared to what one’s socks could have hid for all of these years.

We, their audience, Brainiac and The Professor, move on admiring each other in each miror, for we now have a secret weapon; So, “Kiss off you, “Birthers,” America wants to see some foot!  Every one from LA to New York City are going to be filling socks with everything from sea weed to jelly beans, and it is all because two buddies got together over  the hotel scotch brand and changed the course of the 20th centuries legacy of having started out with some decency, and God himself knows that one thing we cannot abide in this country is a little decency!

Good old Bernie Madeoff sucked every rag tag decent person dry from the gal who got her hair cut at the, “Walk In Salon,” and complained about her teaching job, to those heiniously awful public servants of cities the parties are not going to waste a dime in, and, as we in the business like to remember it; “He Madeoff with it while the gettin’s was good, made out one last time, and lives in prison, not ashamed of the, “Good Old Days,” but sad that they didn’t last a little longer.  Then, “Madeoff,” laughs until the tears stream down his cheecks, and plays, “Prison Hole In The Wall Counting Games,” and then gets ready for a great night’s sleep.

His only regret is that the last time he flew fist class he did not sit next to, “Ralph Ripoff,” for whom he had the deepest of respect, for he was still bleeding ths country of saps dry.  Because for every Bernie Madeoff, there are ten more ordering Beluga Caviar and having pedicures near Times Square soaking their feet in cut glass bowls which Mr. and Mrs. Madeoff used to highlight seasonal colors in their exotic fruits breakfast buffets.  It was a fond ending to what they felt about, “Ordinary People;” who use terms like, “Eat My Dust,” so while all of this is nice and fresh;  He wants to check in to seeing how things are going on out there with his old buddies, “Brainiac,” “The Professor,” and, “The Big Guy!”

You may read more of my insanity and how I got there by looking on Amazon, Finding, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” on Amazon and Kindle, And To Note — That For All That Has Changed In A Half Century; Much Has Stayed The Same!!!

Blessings, Barbara Everett Heintz

I would like for August to close on a note so hope filled that I can hardly wait for tomorrow, and I have been endeavoring to understand what kind of hope that is, whether it is that within the heart beat which sometimes seems to echo at night, or is it the hope for some outward sign that years, days, and hours are compacted into some kind of magical disc which turns with the songs forgotten in time, days which no one could possibly recall but me, for they were left in pockets which could not hold a dime, much less a though, a whisper, or the little birds which will soon spread their wings to see where  the old parents might go to rest for the winter.  ”It is our time, and it is our season,” that is the message from each new flock, and wherever we may go; you might have been there, but we will only know this, for you left a wisp of a feather there, and you wanted us to see, just to tempt us in to the flights of history that you made it there with your flock, and you left a mark, as if to say that nothing should or could be erased.

lI  thank eveery one who wrote in and who gave their responses to how to achieve book sales,  I especially want to thank, Lonely Wanderer in Wisconsin, who took it to a Spirituality group, showed it to them, and requested it as something which they all might could find something in which touched their spirits, for I know this person is spiritual in all the ways some people find is enough — Moved by seasons, longing to be lost in thought, and a person you could have a conversation with — Not having to say a word, and those are remarkable qualities, ones which take some soul time, maybe not connected to the God in church, but ever willing to believe and to receive from others that; “God is.”  He would not argue that point.  He would understand about my sisters and the day they went to Conyers, Georgia, one of the last places which was so heavily filled when a woman was experiencing the receiving messages from, “Mary,” as Mother of God, as Mother and  intercessor for the church, and though he might  realize that making lights spin can bpe done by simply starring at the son, and squinting just right, but he would not take away your  experience if you reported such an event, but he might look for the academic rationale;  Where as I would want to know; How did each of you see that sun?  “Was it like a sparkler spinning in a child’s hand,” or, “Did it seem as if the eartth was going to be sucked in to it like an unexpected cataclysm which would end all time;” and I would not stop with the questions, for I want to believe it all so very m uch..I want to feel the overwhelming presence of God, or to at least fell the HolySpirit is breathing down my neck whispering simply; “Believe; just let your self go and, “Believe,”  Just that simple, asking God to breath down your neck so that life becomes so filled that you want to burst inside.

But my sisteers, the slightly older girls went to Conyers after all of the people endeavoring to get a blade of grass, praying for miracles, seeking si gns and wonders when the first bus loads departed, and the woman had said the messages were ended — Simplistic things such as, “We need to pray the rosary more,” “God is disturbed by our behaviors on this beautiful earth,” All of that seemed to little, for Mary has been known to do some amazingly incredible things, and I  know;  I know; Protestants feel that Catholics worship Mary, which is not exactly the case, for so many of us just think what a strong woman to say to God, “yes,” that she would bring forth the Messiah, not your every day conversation while taking a long walk in to the towns of people’s birth, but this Jewish girl said, “Yes,”  I will do what you ask of me, and this was going to be a fairly big tug of war with her betrothed, Joseph, who was himself an ordinary man — A magnificent and incredible ordinary man.  So sometimes we do ask her Holy Spirit to pray for us, for you could be no closer to The Christ than to have carried him in your womb.

As the girls walked up the somewhat barren hill that day in winter, they sort of started wandering about at some point, and maybe they felt rather uneasy, and they sort of looked at each oother on this winters day, and one said, “Did you smell roses,” and the other one uneasily replied, and they looked at the spot, all around the walking path, and there were no signs of roses.  They were more emotional now, so as they walked on up to where the monument has been built to preserve a sign of a Holy place, they met other people, and our sisters asked if they had any experiences, and it turned out that they had been before and had seen the sun spinning, and after their confession, then my sisters said, Well it feels special to be here, and we did smell the roses,so now the other party was in dismay, for throughout the visitations; It had been concluded that only, “Special People,” smelled the roses, and no on knew exactly why.  They took their time at the monument where flowers were few, and fresh ones would have been nice, and they checked it out for the rose scent, but it was just not there, but they began to walk away, and as they passed the little dip in the road;  Again the fragrance came, and those who were there before just disappeared.  They kept making all kinds of remarks about what it could and might have been, and probably do until this day, but on the day they went, they were so tired and broken;  So much work to do at the home and office, that spiritual awakenings did not seem possible, but they have never forgotten, and who were the strangers
who told them that only special people were given the pure scent of roses, and I just wanted to hear more and more about it.  I know”R they are like me — very skeptical about such events within their lives, so this was a miracle they would not share very often, because there are sections in the south and many other places hostile  even  to the idea that Mary was a virgin, so what is this, “R ose scent,” have to do with a hill of beans,  and just wishing for a little peace one evening, I touched my clean with rose oil, and it was just wonderful, my covers, the gentle breeze.  Mary maust have felt that I was using a thing of the earth to make spread the precious oil, for an hour later,  I was broken out in a rash  so horrible that they had to catch me from running out in San Francisco with the apparel of my birth; So I will wait untill  a spray of roses call ends a life or builds a new one.

The roses of San Francisco this night will bloom too beautiful  settles and the dew drops sparkle waiting for their mother to call them to the her side, and they quietly talk about the Grotto, the times when chilldren would see roses on the mountain top, dance around and sing for, then all the way. Then Mother Of Man born in creation opens her arms to reveal the wings of red roses which never stop their grandest bloom, for there must be petals all over the land just awaiting for the perfet place for the angel pillow to lie down just one night alone,