traveling up and down the blind highway

I have reprinted this story from 2021.
Marguerite Heatley, Turnbull
My Mother, nicknamed Rita, was born on the original Armistice day in 1918 in The Detroit metro area. She was the second oldest of four siblings. Unlike her older sister Dorothy, Rita loved to help care for her little brother and sister.
When she was around age eight, Her Mother was sent to a Toledo hospital to be treated with advanced breast cancer. Grandpa Al Heatley drove all four children to see their Mother each Sunday after church. I found a letter written by Rita to her Mother .
Dear Mommy, We are being good and taking care of cleaning and watching each other. Baby Albert misses you very much. We are praying for you to come home soon.
Love
Rita
Grandma Annie didn’t recover and she died in the late 1920’s
The Depression of 1929 hit hart on the Heatley’s. A widower, with four young children, Al had to hire a person to care for the children and cook the meals. Al was a barber. When money was tight, people cut their own hair.
In her early teens, Rita was sent to Aunt Emily and Uncle Leo’s farm in Emily City. She was amazed that she could go into the garden and pick a
tomato or pull a carrot and eat it.
Rita had been giving some of her food portion to her siblings. This behavior continued when she was our Mother. She divided the food in sevenths but she always had the smallest portion.
She had hope to go to college but with only the five hundred dollars left from her Mother’s will, she opted for Cleary Business school. She was able to keep financial books and perform secretarial tasks.
When WWII was declared, Rita worked at the Willow Run plant, turning out bombers. She traveled with her husband , Bruce to Florida and then to California while he was in the Marines. She continue to work for military officers as a secretary.
After the war, she wanted to stay in California but Dad convinced her to return home to Northville because they both had aging parents.
Settling in a rental cottage in Wall Lake. Rita started to save for a new home in Northville.
Rita could make a nickel stretch to buy a quarter’s worth of food. With coupons, day old bread and over ripe bananas , she baked muffins, and kept five growing children clothed and fed.
My Mother had a deep draw to her Catholic faith. She once joked that if she hadn’t married my Dad, she would have been a nurse or a nun. Good thing for us kids, she married!
After twenty years, we siblings still tell stories about my Mother’s frugal ways. Such as the ten cent bunch of bananas or eat peanut butter or cereal if you are hungry and who gets the last muffin continue to be told at family gatherings.
Rita’s children and friends owe much to this quiet woman. Her way of making a person feel welcomed was well known and remembered. One of her friends called her a Super Mom.
I know that Rita would hate all this praise, but I know that we were blessed to have her as our Mother.
Recently I came across a poem my daughter wrote to me for another Mother’s Day. I lost part of it but I tried to reconstruct it here.
A Mother’s recipe
One heart filled with love
two arms to cuddle a crying child,
Two eyes in the back of her head.
Many hours of bedtime stories.
Willing to sled in the backyard.
Camped outside in a two person pup tent for most of the night.
Shared play with Grandma.
Many cups of tea at parties for Joey and friends..
Watching,, learning, I grew into a woman,
The image of my mother.
Love you Mom.
Ruth
carolaspot@aol.com Mother Memories Nay 12, 2024

While in college, my roommate was a member of the Chicano Student Club. I was interested in their activities so I joined. To raise funds for scholarships, they organized dances with the club cooking the Mexican fare. Tacos, frijoles, burritos and rice were offered to the paid guests. Working in the kitchen, I soon learned several swear words in Spanish. After the meals were served, Connie, my roommate told me the young man I was talking with was making inappropriate remarks in Spanish.
“If you feel me kick you under the table, slap the man talking.”
Soon I was in conversation with a good looking man in an Hawaiian shirt and jeans. As he leaned close and whispered a comment in Spanish, I felt a sharp kick to my leg. Without hesitation, I slapped the speaker.
Later, after I had danced with another young man, he made a comment as he pulled out my chair for me. As I sat down, I felt a hard kick under the table. Turning to the speaker, I landed a hard slap to his cheek.
Before the evening was done, I had convinced many people I knew Spanish, word spread.
“That gringo understands Spanish”. The disrespect and use of crude suggestions stopped. My calf took longer to heal.

Baile

accordion, guitar

sweet tenor croon

words of love

in Spanish tongue

strong elixir

amor

carolaspot@aol.com

May 6th 2024

I have always loved animals, but they don’t all go for me. I have found that as I have less sight, some dogs and cats take advantage of the situation.
My daughter’s cat, Leo, has know me for 11 years. He delights walking just outside my reach. He will flick his tail to thwart my attempts to pet him. Only when he has been alone for several days, will he allow me to hold him on my lap. He demands attention by loud meows.
My nephew brought a new dog to Brian’s 4th of July party.It was hot. The dog was brought to my dad’s quieter place to keep him in air conditioning. I was talking to him. I reached out to give his head a rub. John quickly pulled me back as the dog’s hairs bristled. Later, this dog bit my brother Mike, as he was attaching a leash to walk him.
But the strangest encounter was on a walk in Athens West Virginia on a rural road.
I was walking with my older brother Bob on one side and my younger brother Brian on the other. Sandwiched between them, I felt secure. We avoided barking , growling dogs in front yards. Staying out of their territory.
Rounding a curve in the road, I noticed a small silent dog coming fast from our left side. He raced behind us. Choosing the smallest of our trio, he bit me on both calves before disappearing around the corner of a dilapidated ruins of a barn. There were no houses to ask about the animal. Why he chose to target me is a mystery. I learned that a quiet dog can be as dangerous as a barking one.
Now, I use my cane to ward off aggressive animals. Dogs and cats, you have been warned!

Barking Dogs

Barks and Growls, warn you away.
He does not want to play.
Tail wagging can be approached.
A quiet dog running, can danger pose.

Carolaspot@aol.

Thought the official start of Earth Day was in 1970, my childhood was filled with earth friendly practices, encouraged by my parents. I recall many paper drives. My brothers were paperboys. They would offer to collect undelivered newspapers and collect the read papers from neighbors on junk day. Papers were stacked on the top of the trash can for easy collection. Newsprint was bundled with twine to be taken to a collection site such a local church or organization.
We lived near the start of the Edward Hines Parkway, a 24 mile park along the RiveRouge. When we visited the park in early spring, we would take several bags to pick up litter thrown from passing cars, over the winter months. I would find interesting items on these hunts. Bungee cords, cardboard boxes, Christmas lights and recyclable bottles and cans were collected. I had an interesting collection of bottle caps from these hunts. Old gardening gloves were worn to retrive the trash.
In the corner of our backyard, my mother had a mulch pile Where we deposited buckets of weeds, snall twigs and later grass from mowing. My job was to trim the grass on the edge of the lawn. I would place the cuttings in a bucket. The bucket was dunped onto the mulch pile. Dad would turn the pile to help it turn into compost.
When we were asked to collect the fallen green apples from the yard, the interest in the chore increased when my brothers started a game tossing apples each other. The game suddenly stopped when I was hit by a hard apple, I started to cry. My mother made the three boys pick up every apple before lunch.
There is an old Dutch tradition of sweeping the streets clean in the spring to prepare for summer street events. Often glass, nails and wire would be be swept to prevent the items and dirt from ending up in the storm drains. One summer storm, the drains couldn’t take the rain away. Our street flooded. We went out into the street in our underwear. My brothers floated boats, watched them move in the current. I had no boat, so I splashed them with the flood water. Mom called a halt to the fun. When called inside, I was told to take a bath.
“But Mom, I am clean!”
Mom gave me the mother look, a hard stare with a straight across mouth. Lips pressed tightly together. To this day, this is known as the look. My brothers and, daughter, nieces and nephews know and use it well.
My best recycling effort was to take all of our old comic books and have a sale in front of the house. Given permission from Craig, I sold thin comics for 2 cents and the thicker ones for a nickel. Business was brisk, with favorite comics grabbed fast. At the end I had about a dozen comics. Some had lost their covers, a few were a comic called Treasure chest, a Catholic comic. Taking a page from my mother’s garage sale. I bundled the lot and sold it for fifty cents. The neighborhood bully bought the lot. Later, his father, Duke, tried to return the offensive comics and get his money back. My dad listened and explained that his som had the ability to look over the comics before the purchase.
” There are no refunds or returns”
I wonder what Billy did with those comics? I bet he didn’t recycle them.
So when the Official Earth Day was establish in U.S. in 1970 and World Earth Day in 1990, I was familiar with what we could do to help maintain our world. This year Earth Day is focus on the world vs plastics. It is hoped to reducing the production of plastics 60 % by 2040. Encouraging the use of organic plastics that break down naturally in land fills will be encouraged. Looking for plastics that are labeled as organic could be selected over other plastics.
Those plastic groceries bags are collected by many stores that use them . Taking your own paper or cloth bags to the store will help. Many of those plastic bags end up in our lakes and oceans to be swallowed by marine wildlife. Trying to be mindful each day with our choices we make may seem small but in the long run, they can make a big difference for our Mother Earth.
As an old earth Day ad stated,
“Give a hoot, Don’t pollute.”

Being Mindful

I see tossed cans in the road, I pick it up.
A neighbor dog uses my yard as a latrine, I scoop it up and bury in the flowers.
Trash blowing down the street can be collected and deposited in my trash can.
If neighbors need a hand, I offer one.
We are all on this earth together.

carolaspot@aol.com April 22, 2024

On April 14th, 1912, the great luxury liner Titanic, struck an iceberg in the North Atlantic. Two hours later, on the 15th, the great ship was resting on the ocean floor two miles below in a watery grave. What has sparked the imagination of people about this ship?
The Titanic along with her two sister ships the Olympic and Britannic, were part of the British fleet owned by the Star line. Of the three ships, only the Olympic had a long sailing history. It was scraped in 1935.
What made the Titanic unique? It was reported to be unsinkable due to it’s design. The ship sank on it’s maiden voyage, on a clear calm evening. It sank 400 miles off the coast of Nova Scotia. The social classes of British society, discouraged upper, middle and lower classes from interaction. To this day, historians are not sure of the exact reasons that led to the ship’s demise.
Yearly memorial services for the victims of this disaster are held in several locations. In the Northern Atlantic, on the one hundredth anniversary of the sinking, two cruise ships, one from Hampton England and the other from New York, met at the site and time of the Titanic’s coordinates.

There is a yearly memorial service held in Cove, Ireland on the 14th of April. Featuring Irish music, prayers and the laying of wreaths.Two services in Nova Scotia, Canada will take place on april 14th and april 15th for the victims of the wreck. Over 150 drowning victims from the Titanic are buried in Halifax. This was the closest major port to the last position of the Ship. Most of the sailors on the recovery ship were from Halifax.
I have had an interest in the events that ended with the Titanic’s sinking. Watching the movie,”The Night to be Remembered,” was released on December 10th, 1942. It is noted as the most accurate portrayal of the Titanic’s last sailing days.
I have visited several shows displaying artifacts recovered from the wreckage site.
Historians and scientists continue to explore the Titanic’s wreck with sonar, lasers and ai imaging to create a 3 D image of the ship before it collapses from decay . The ships structure could be erased by the 2030’s.
In 2023, a submersible containing tourists exploded on the way to the wreckage. Only scientific excursions are allowed now.
When victims of ships lost at sea is a reminder of the precarious voyage our forefathers and mothers undertook to come to this country.

The song “O they built the boat Titanic to sail the Ocean blue” was written in 1926 by Earnest Stone.
“O they built the boat Titanic to sail the Ocean blue.
They they built it so the water wouldn’t get through.
But the Good Lord raised his hand, said that boat would never land.
It was sad when the great ship went down”.

carolaspot@aol.com

Here in the upper mid west, we will experience an eclipse on Monday afternoon. This will be the last total eclipse for North America in the 21 century. I have memories of eclipses. We were told not to look directly at the sun. Dark glasses or holes in cardboard could be used to reflect the shadow of the moon as it crossed the sun’s orbit. Pans of water were placed to catch the sun’s reflection. I don’t recall that any of these worked for me. What I remember is the changes in the backyard as the eclipse progressed.
First, the light slowly became dark, like twilight. Air cooled. The sky remained blue to the side of the sun. A corona outline was present where the sun had been. The light was different, A cover coming directly down over where I stood. The area was silent. Birds stopped their songs. I was scared, enthralled, knowing what was happening didn’t diminish the magic of the moment.
My husband, John was working outside on our farm during one such event. In addition to the temperature and light changes, the farm animals reacted by returning to the nests for the chickens. The cows started to walk to the milking barn. Birds became silent as they sat in their nests. After a brief silence, crickets commenced their evening song.
Other insects behavior changed. The honey bees, loaded with pollen, ate stored honey for a flight to escape danger. Ants emerged from holes carrying their eggs. The spiders in the barn started to destroy their webs.
One can only imagine what ancient people thought of this event. No wonder they produced noice, banging on drums and pots to chase away the moon shadow from hiding the light giving sun.
I no longer see the effects of this event, but I will feel the temperature drop. Hear the silence of the animals. Drinking it all in to recall and put to memory by writing about it.

Cookie Moon

cookie moon waits,
to play hide and seek,
behind big sister sun.
Awed, hold our breath.
for normality.
carolaspot@aol.com April 8, 2024

I have mixed feelings about this day. In my family, Grandpa Al was a jokester. He delighted teasing his Grand children. I recall him telling me not to go into the cellar, because it was full of snapping turtles. When I tried to explore, he cooked a green cream soup that he claimed was turtle. He had put food coloring in the mushroom soup. The pieces of mushrooms were the turtle meat.
My brothers played tricks on each other but I was protected, being a girl. This didn’t stop me from preying on them. I would sit quietly in a closet or behind a door waiting for one of my brothers to walk by. Jumping up, I would startle them. Once, I waited in the front closet where coats were kept. As the door opened, I sprang up, startling my Dad. He stopped his fist inches from my face.
My mother was easier to scare. I was known to wait in the front load dryer under the oil tank, and under the basement stairs.Waiting like a spider, I would stalk my victim. I out grew this when I became too big to hide in small places.
This didn’t stop my pranks. Once, I was invited to attend a sleep over at my friend’s church. One of the girls had to leave early to work at her Father’s shoe store. She was not liked. She had developed breasts before many of us. We took her bra when she was sleeping, soaked it in water and placed in the church’s freezer. In the morning, the bra was frozen.
Another friend had her laces removed from her shoes.
Once, when I was visiting my brother Bob in West Virginia, I had the window open as I read in bed. I was told there were no mosquitos that high in the mountains. They didn’t warm me about the bats. I had a bat fly into the open window. I ducked under the covers and yelled for my Dad. He entered with a tennis racket to do battle with the bat. In the morning, I went to take a shower, stepping on the dead bat, in the bottom of the tub.
When my daughter Ruth, was young, she tried to play april fool jokes on her family. Salt in the sugar bowl, lemon juice on the fruit. When the top of the pepper shaker fell. off, I had to put an end to the jokes. Ruth had learned by my example.
I learned my lesson.

A Fool’s Tale
Come all writers of poetry, prose.
A day for fools is proposed.
I start this day,
Before the morn.
jokes remembered,
tasks to perform.
on others to play.
breakfast is served.
a slice of moon cheese,
A cow jumped high,
when I sneezed.
Mother’s milk,
to wash it down.
A worn cap,
I wear like a crown.
Mistakes are made.
Jokes on my friends.
Smile, shrug,
I begin again.
Salt in the sugar bowl,
pepper in the brew.
It’s only one day.
I quietly mused
For we are all fools, so laugh, be gay.
April fool’s are here to stay.

This past week, modern medicine made national news with a genetically altered pig’s kidney transplanted into a 52 year old man. New hope for patients waiting for organs. I wonder if we are looking for a quick fix to our medical problems. Are we spending millions on research and not enough on other medical concerns, such as procuring prescriptions drugs.
Last October, I was told by my endocrinologist that my bones were very brittle. I have had two hip replacements, a pelvic fracture and a wrist/ arm fracture in 5 years. I needed a drug to strengthen my bone density. The problem: the drug “Tymlos” is expensive and not offered by many pharmacies. The search for the steps to obtain this drug has been continuing for over three months.
In January, my doctor wrote a prescription sending it to our local pharmacy. We were informed the drug must be ordered from a special pharmacy. Fine! To date, we have talked to half a dozen people at the drug ordering center. responses included;
” We need a new prescription”
A new prescription has been sent to the pharmacy with the last one good through 2025.
“We need an authorization number for this order.”
We were assured by our provider that they have approved the generic form of this drug.
” There is no file for this patient.”
With the number of calls, there should be a large file of trying to order this drug.
Last week, we thought we had finally made headway. “Yes, I see you can get a starter kit with one dose to check for side effects.”
“Great.”
“You should receive your dosage in 24 to 72 hours.”
That was over a week ago. Calling the center Friday, we were told;
” There is no record of this prescription, We must order another prescription from your doctor.”
So at the end of three months, back to square one. I have two friends with the same condition. They have fallen resulting in several fractures and one closed head injury.
I do applaud the inroads modern medicine has provided, but simplifying the drug distribution may be as important and effect many more patients. The mundane is not showy for news time.
The Wall
Humpty Dumpty walked by a wall.
a slip, a fall, emergency call,
several fractures, broken head
not the same, least he’s not dead!
carolaspot@aol.com March 25, 2024

It started with a poetry workshop. One of the suggested readings was, “Braided Creek.” A book written by Jim Harrison and Ted Kooser , about two poets corresponding poems to each other without identifying the author. This allowed the poems to stand, blend into one book.
I was drawn to this form but I needed another writer to try this. In a meeting, I blurted out:
“Lynda, Do you want to try this?”
After a slight pause, she said yes.
Since both of us are artists as well as poets, we expanded the mail to include a picture, photo or drawing. The poem must be able to fit on a postcard.
Though both of us could use free matter for the blind, we chose to stamp each card to be part of the art. The poems are attached to the postcard with glue or double sided tape. Some of the art is covered with tape for protection.
Now, writing in our third month, I am amazed how this routine has easily become part of my daily schedule.
We have worked through losing friends and family in a brief time. The notes , emails and the poems themselves have given each of us a shared slice of time. Similar to a journal, but with sharing in mind. We carry on.
Our goal is to try for a year. Each time I put my card in the mailbox, I send a prayer with the card. I love the way a thought can blossom into a sharing.
I expanded this card sending to another friend with Alzheimer’s . She can’t write and has to have the card read to her. I hope that she can enjoy the flower photos and the few words to tell her that I am thinking of her.
Only God knows where this will lead. I will hold on for the ride.

Write a card.
Photo attached.
affix the stamp.
lift signal bar.
Delivery placed
In my hands.
In my house,
Art appreciate.
Carolaspot@aol.com

Spring is the time when we set our clocks to spring forward an hour. In the fall, we return to this clock setting. The history of this change can be traced to 1919. During WWI, factories, offices along with other manufacturers, used the longer daylight hours in the war effort. This clock setting practice continues to this day. Arizona and Hawaii are the only states not to use daylight savings time.
As a child, I noted the change by awakening in the dark to get ready for school, My mother sent me to wake each of my brothers. I had to quickly give a back massage before they would wake up. Many spring mornings, I was treated with fog layered streets, casting an eerie glow over buildings.
When I had daylight driving, I had to leave my home as soon as I could see the road. Working longer hours in the summer months, I could write a 40 hour work week on my time card.
Now, with retirement and blind, I don’t notice the difference. I get up when I awaken and go to bed when I am tired. In my world, it is the same. I listen to news announcers complain about getting up early, dragging for days. I shrug and wonder what is all the fuss.
Melatonin not the light change resets my inner clock.

Time Change

Ttick, tock tones the clock.
wind the spring, count the dings.
Dad winds each clock.
Making sure they won’t stop.
Each one, has a voice.
oil workings,
keep parts moist.
Clocks are set to different times,
to allow each chime to shine.
Listen to the chimes at dawn.
I turn over as I yawn.
carolaspot@aol.com
March 11th ,2024