Wordless Wednesday

Today I thought I'd share some photos of my neck of the woods here in northern MD/Southern PA

The Playground

At the end of our private lane there was/is a playground.

My cousins and I would make the excruciatingly long hot walk down the sandy dusty road in order to fly on the swings.  Really the walk wasn't too bad, but 100 yards is a mile when you're only 4 feet tall.  

The swings were the big attraction. 
We would pump our legs back and fourth soaring higher and higher. 
I used to try to go high enough to go up and over the frame. 
I never did though.
Eventually we would dare each other to jump off the swing while in motion. 
The higher you were when you leaped, the cooler you were. 
It always took a few counts to three before I could muster enough nerve to let go and launch myself in the air.  I always relished those first seconds when I was locked in mid-air as if in flight.  But it was inevitable that the ground would eventually rise to meet you.  If you were lucky you landed on your feet and had enough give in the knees to keep your ankles from stinging. 

Sometimes we went and played on the bouncy animal things and pretended to be cowboys and Indians.  Sometimes we climbed. 
Sometimes we rode the merry-go-round and tried to make each other barf. 
Whatever we did, it was always an adventure.

And while the equipment is newer, the fun and adventure is the same.  

Climbing, swinging and a little basketball.

Monday Meditation

Unfortunate Coincidence

By the time you swear you're his,

Shivering and sighing,

And he vows his passion is

Infinite, undying-

Lady, make a note of this:

One of you is lying.

~Dorothy Parker

 

Pistol Packin Mama

No, it's not a version of Aerosmith's Jamie's Janie's Got a Gun.  It's a number one song from 1943 composed by Al Dexter and recorded by Tex Ritter.  When I was a kid out on Pepop's boat hauling crab pots, he often broke into song.  There were songs about Popeye the Sailor Man who liked to go swimming with bowlegged women and songs about Rye Whiskey.  Needless to say, most of the songs he sang he told me not to sing in front of my parents because they "might not appreciate it as much as he did".  One of his favorites and mine too was the song Pistol Packin Mama.  I can still hear his deep baritone voice singing the chorus which was always dotted with staccato "Go's!" when he would indicate it was time to thrown the rebaited pot back in the water.

I still remember the words and I even have the song on my iPod.  Not many 30-somethings can say that.  And I sing the song often enough that the Brat Child suggested I put "Pistol Packin Mama" on the back of my tye-dyed T-Shirt I made for Busch Gardens.

BC: You should put that Pistol Mama on your shirt.

ME: I don't think that would be such a good idea.  Someone might think I have a gun.

BC: You should take one and you could shoot the bad guys!

ME: There aren't many bad guys at Busch Gardens.

BC: You could just put Big Mama on your shirt!

Just call me Big Mama.

Pistol Packin' Mama

Drinkin' beer in a cabaret And I was havin' fun!
Until one night she caught me right, And now I'm on the run

Lay that pistol down Babe, Lay that pistol down,
Pistol Packin' Mama, Lay that pistol down.

She kicked out my windshield, She hit me over the head,
She cussed and cried, and said I lied, And I wished that I was dead.

Lay that pistol down Babe, Lay that pistol down,
Pistol Packin' Mama, Lay that pistol down.
Drinkin' beer in a cabaret, And dancing with a blonde,
Until one night she shot out the light, Bang! That blonde was gone.

Lay that pistol down Babe, Lay that pistol down,
Pistol Packin' Mama, Lay that pistol down.

I'll see you every night Babe, I'll woo you every day,
I'll be your regular Daddy, If you'll put that gun away.

Lay that pistol down Babe, Lay that pistol down,
Pistol Packin' Mama, Lay that pistol down.
Lay that pistol down Babe, Lay that pistol down,
Pistol Packin' Mama, Lay that pistol down.

USS Tulip Memorial Service

Each year near the anniversary of the Tulip disaster, the local Naval Base holds a memorial for the men lost and the 8 men buried at the site of the memorial.

These are artifacts from the U.S.S. Tulip presented at one of the memorial services by the archeologist who dove on the wreck.  The slate pictured was one used by James Jackson who was my great-great-great grandfather.  Many years ago while doing some genealogical research, my dad asked my great-great-grandmother about James.  For a while she refused to discuss him and then one time she offered some information.  She said that he had to join the Union Navy because the Confederates didn't want him.  This information was hard to accept as the truth as the Confederacy was desperate for men.  Needless to say, there are some feelings about the Civil War that still run high.  Later there was some information that indicated James may have been forced into service with the Union.  The Union needed men who knew the local waters to pilot their vessels.  It was insinuated that they were encouraged by gunpoint. I can't say how true that is, but it certainly lends to a colorful family story.  I do know that during Union raids on local farms along the water, the Jackson farm was spared because of James Jackson's service and the fact that it was his farm. 

Either way, the memorial offers our family a chance to get together, share stories and remember those who served our country long ago.

Blown to Atoms

U.S.S. Tulip- Though this photo is most likely of the Tulip's sister ship the Fuchia as no know photos of the Tulip exist.

November 11, 1864- the U.S.S. Tulip, a Union gun boat, is making it's way up the Potomac headed to the Anacostia Naval Base for much needed repairs to its starboard boiler.  The Tulip and its sister ship the Fuchsia were built in 1862 in New York and were originally intended for use by the Chinese military as light tenders. Originally called the Chi Khang, in 1863 the ship was purchased, given a lower profile, christened the USS Tulip and assigned to the Potomac Flotilla Base.

The Tulip was not initially intended to serve in saltwater and the crew had to constantly clean off salt deposits and scaling from its boilers.  Despite the cleaning efforts, the boiler was damaged.  The order was given to Captain Smith not to fire up the damaged starboard boiler.  Unfortunately, Capt. Smith was too concerned about the Confederate snipers and canons on the shores of the Potomac and he disobeyed orders and fired up the ailing boiler.  When it blew, the Captain, the pilot (and my great-great-great grandfather) James Jackson, the Master's Mate and the Quartermaster were located on the bridge directly above the boiler when it exploded.  It was said that they were "blown to atoms".  All that was left of the Captain was his hat.  The explosion killed 49 men and was heard miles away.  Eight bodies were recovered and buried along the shore of St Inigoes Creek. 

Artist's rendition of the explosion. Part of the memorial.

It's along this creek next to the historic Cross Manor (also home to Ted Koppel) that the Monument to the tragedy and the dead sits.  It's the smallest National Park and the smallest National Cemetery.

Monday Meditation

  Failure is only the opportunity to begin again more intelligently.

~Henry Ford

Blocked

I've started and stopped and deleted 5 blog posts this evening.  I seem to be in that in between world of wanting badly to write and not knowing what exactly I want to write, or how to write.  Nothing seems to sound right.  Nothing seems to flow at all.  So, I'm going to share some photos I took from this last Labor Day Weekend.  It was after Hurricane Irene hit and I headed out to Aaron's Beach to survey the changes.  I knew things were different.  I expected my favorite tree to be gone.  I hadn't specifically asked anyone if it was still there and no one has mentioned it directly.  I wanted to discover it's passing on my own.  Walk around the corner and feel the biting pangs of loss- for a tree.  And not just any tree- a dead one.  I like to think of it as living driftwood.  Stuck in the sand like a sculpture from Mother Nature.  Imagine the surprise and (sounding slightly melodramatic I'm sure) the sheer joy of turning the corner and seeing my old friend.  Not that we have been friends all that long.  But what's time in the language of kindred spirits? 

 It's weathered many storms, that tree.  Stood and faced gales, nor'easters, Hurricanes, Hurricane easters.... and it hasn't moved.  It's managed to hang on for another morning.  Still stands straight and strong despite the slapping waves of storm after storm. 

There's a metaphor in there somewhere.

Poetry: Because I've Got Nothing Else

 

Destitution

There's a stray dog barking.

Searching for a home,

He belongs to no one.

His lone wail his only companion.

Searching for a home,

Like the other wild ones.

His lone wail his only companion.

I know what it is to cry alone in the night.

Like the other wild ones, 

I seek shelter from the rain.

I know what it is to cry alone in the night

To feel the pains of need bite harder than hunger.

I seek shelter from the rain.

I belong to no one.

I feel the pains of need bite harder than hunger.

There's a stray dog barking.

~Jamie L. Jackson

For those interested in the poetry sort of thing, this poetry form is a pantoum.  I'm typically not a form poem aficionado only because I struggle with making things fit (I'm more of a free verse kinda person- when I write-which I haven't in about 10 years).  But the pantoum is easy enough and can really have a meaningful punch if done right.  Not one of my better ones by far, but unfortunately, I am revisiting similar emotions that prompted me to write this all those years ago.  

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Monday Meditation

Even if you fall on your face, you're still moving forward.

~Victor Kiam

Veteran's Day Tribute

The simplest words don't seem like enough... but Thank You! to all those who have served and are serving.

Monday Meditation

"When I started counting my blessings, my whole life turned around."

~Willie Nelson

Melancholia

At my window, sad and lonely

Oft times do I think of thee
Sad and lonely and I wonder
Do you ever think of me

Every day is sad and lonely
And every night is sad and blue
Do you ever think of me my darling
As you sail that ocean blue



At my window, sad and lonely
I stand and look across the sea
And I sad and lonely wonder
Do you ever think of me

Will you find another sweetheart
In some far and distant land
Sad and lonely now I wonder
If our boat will ever land

Ships may ply the stormy ocean
And planes may fly the stormy sky
I'm sad and lonely but remember
I'll love you till I die

Lyrics by Woody Guthrie

I stumbled upon a CD titled Mermaid Avenue featuring music written by the late Woody Guthrie and performed by Billy Bragg & Wilco.
I fell in love with it.  I think it speaks to the melancholy writer in me.