Tuesday, November 1, 2022

Editor's Corner


By Mary E. Adair

November 2022

“Thanksgiving day is a jewel,
to set in the hearts of honest men;
but be careful that you do not take the day,
and leave out the gratitude.”
__E.P. Powell

The present calendar has your editor's favorite Holiday which always falls on the fourth Thursday--Thanksgiving! Somehow, it seems more a family shared holiday than even Christmas which can be fraught with purchasing just the 'right' gift, meeting deadlines for school and/or work parties, and the usually cooling weather that seems to slow down everything at the very time one needs to hurry, hurry, hurry! So enjoy November's sports in present or with the magic of television coverage, and settle yourself to enjoy heartier meal menus. 'Tis the season!

It is also the season when leaves fall from the trees. shrubs, and flowers, reminding us that we, too, can someday meet our own falling away time. Faced with the untimely passing of our beloved columnist and poet, Dayvid Bruce Clarkson, we are showing his final column as a tribute for him -- "Reflections of the Day."

"A Mother's Lessons" by Danielle Cote Serar, recounts her feelings on watching her children as they respond sometimes to others rather than herself. "On Trek" by Judith Kroll, addresses thoughts, ideas, and hopes concerning one's "Higher Self."

"Introspective" by Thomas O'Neill, shares his thoughts and memories of Thanksgiving, and his attempt to convey the meaning of that holiday to his students in China. "Irish Eyes" by our Dublin based Mattie Lennon, brings us into the picture, well, the books, he discusses for November, with disclosures from the authors and those familiar with the historic scope of the tales included.

"Sifoddling Along," by Marilyn Carnell, lets fond memories weave her column as she focuses on the little home where she lived as a youngster, and later. "Woo Woo," by Pauline Evanosky, delves into the actual mechanics of learning to channel.

"Cooking with Rod” by Roderich Cohenour, is an encore of one of his post-Thanksgiving meal plans since he is hospitalized for tests and surgical evaluation at this time. Prayers are welcome for the ideal outcome, says his wife Melinda Cohenour. Since she is primarily concerned with his well-being currently, she offers a brief explanation in lieu of her usual information in her column the "Armchair Genealogy."

This issue boasts two articles, one from the hand of LC Van Savage, former columnist who focuses primarily on crafts and authoring more books now. As always. she tells it like it seems to her as she proclaims "Here’s To the Guys Who Brought it Over." The other article, "My Experiences with the Spirit World," is by long-time friend Julie Anne Carey, who was born in Australia, and stil resides there. Do click her byline and read her biography.

This poem by Dan Kangas was brought to mind by her article, so here is an encore of "My Awakening." Bud Lemire's poems are "Cousins, Connect By Heart & Soul," "Halloween At Harbor Tower," "Reflections in My Glasses," and "Feeling The Silence." Bruce Clifford, submitted "On The Outside," "A Boy in the Park," and "Do You Still Dream?"

Walt Perryman's life takes many twists and turns but the Cowboy Poet that he is can always find the words to clue us into his musings and reactions, no matter what. His poems this month are "My High School Reunion," "Hometown Memories," "More Good News," and "My Hospital Stay."

Perryman is also the author of the continuing presentation that reveals the compositions titled "Honey Dog Tales." Chapter Three is in this issue for our readers to enjoy!

We continue to thank our co-founder and webmaster, Mike Craner, whose knowlege and expertise keeps Pencil Stubs Online actually online. He does it well as we are now in our 25th year. Happy Thanksgiving, Mike!

Look for us in December.

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Armchair Genealogy


By Melinda Cohenour

Dear readers,
this month your author has been unable to focus on Research. My precious husband has been hospitalized with a life-threatening infection and although he will be discharged from the hospital, he must immediately schedule surgery.
Hopefully all that will result in complete healing and restoration of his typically active lifestyle. So this month I ask for your patience and for your prayers.

In the meantime, please pursue your own Armchair Genealogy research.
Yours truly,
Melinda Cohenour

Editor's Note: All of the columns may be accessed

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Cooking with Rod


By Rod Cohenour

Our favorite cook, Rod, has just been released from the hospital, and is in the process of scheduling surgery. But he has a trove of Thanksgiving recipes to pull from. This month, we feature one of his former solutions to the bountiful leftovers of a fabulous Turkey Dinner.

Let’s do Leftovers!

      Thanksgiving was really wonderful this year. Daughter Melissa prepared not one, but two turkeys for our dining pleasure along with her fabulous Corn and Cheddar Dressing. My dear wife contributed three classic family favorites – her own Fruit Salad, a classic Pea ‘n Cheddar Salad, and a Waldorf Salad with a twist. Along with hot breads, plenty of pies, and a few other traditional side dishes we enjoyed a feast fit for kings and queens!

      Now, we have leftovers. Enough for a few really tasty sandwiches of course, but what – Oh, What? will we do with all that leftover turkey? Well, my better half has a plan and it’s one I can really support in a big way because my mouth begins watering just thinking about the dish I know she will set before me – her famous Golden Turkey-Rice Soup!

      Gather round, chilluns – ‘cause here is the recipe.

      Bon appetit`!

Melinda’s Golden Turkey Rice Soup
(Melinda Cohenour – Thanksgiving 1998)


  • 4 cans fat-free chicken broth (in the event you do not have clarified turkey broth, a combination works)
  • 6 cups cooked, deboned, turkey (preferably majority white meat)
  • 1 bunch celery, finely diced, including leaves
  • 1 lb carrots, peeled and dimed
  • 2 bell peppers, diced
  • 2 cans cheddar cheese soup
  • 1 can cream of celery soup
  • Water
  • Milk
  • Italian seasoning, about 1 teaspoon or so
  • Poultry seasoning, about 1 tablespoon
  • Ground sage, about ½ to 1 teaspoon


   You will need a Large 8-quart stainless steel stewpot with lid.

   Dice cooked turkey in cubes of about 1 to 1 ½ “ square. Heat turkey broth (if you do not have reserved, clarified turkey broth, use canned chicken broth).

   Add vegetables to hot broth and cook until carrots appear to be tender, but not overcooked.

   When vegetables are cooked, add 3 cups rice (we prefer Mahatma long-grain, white rice) to hot broth, stir and permit to cook for about 10 minutes.

   Add turkey to vegetable-rice mixture, add water to almost the top of large pan. Permit to cook until turkey is heated through again and broth is reduced slightly. Add soups and stir thoroughly, permit to cook for about 10 minutes more. Add 1 quart of milk, turn off the heat, stir thoroughly. Permit to stand about 5 minutes before serving to permit flavors to blend.

      Serve with hot bread and salad of your choice. (Fruit salad is an excellent accompaniment.)

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Woo Woo

By Pauline Evanosky

Methods of Channeling

When I was learning how to channel, I found that I could make up rules. There was the expectation that my guide would talk to me in a language I could understand. That was a given. Why? I don’t know. They could just as easily have spoken to me in Persian or French. But it was English which is my native tongue and that is how we began.

In the beginning, when I first started channeling, I used a Ouija board. The Parker Brothers Company makes them. There are a lot of strong opinions about using Ouija boards. I didn’t care what anybody said about it and throwing caution to the wind was able to make my first legitimate connection to Spirit. At least it was a connection I could understand.

The board is arranged with two rows of letters of the alphabet curving across the board. There are some numbers below them and a Goodbye for good measure on the bottom. Also, very handy is a Yes in the upper left corner of the board with a corresponding No in the opposite upper right-hand corner.

What happened to me in that 2-week window between making contact with Spirit on the Ouija Board and beginning to hear Spirit telephonically was that the planchette moved faster and faster to each letter spelling out the next word. My guide Seth used the blank place on the board under the arching letters to move the planchette and dance for a couple of seconds between words. That was really helpful for me. It was especially funny when he would dance with a smile there. At least, I thought it was cool.

As the days wore on and the planchette began to move faster it began to zip right off the edge of the board. It was irritating because I’d have to pick it back up again, put it back on the board, and try to settle again into the groove of channeling. It wasn’t that long before I had the idea to use something else instead of the planchette which got misplaced one day. I chose a pretty stone to move around on the board. That wasn’t perfect because it didn’t have a pointed corner on it. But I made do.

It was then that it occurred to me that I could just use my finger. I figured Spirit was not moving the planchette at all because when I took my hand off of it, it stopped moving. Spirit was moving my arm, my hand, and my finger. Why then didn’t I just use my finger? If I kept it pointed, then I could tell which letter my guide was pointing at.

However, it occurred to me, and this is where the whole thing gets a little spooky, what if I had a knife in my hand? What if Spirit decided to murder somebody? Holy cow! This was upsetting. I took a deep breath and settled down.

I realized nothing of the sort was going to happen. It just would not happen. That was Hollywood. That was where scary movies came from. That was imagination running amok.

So, here’s where I started making “rules”. I thought about where the Yes and the No were on the board. I thought: What if my index finger was always YES and my pinkie finger was always NO? What if it didn’t matter which hand I was using? I asked Seth to make my finger bounce. He did. Woah Nellie! I asked him to make my pinkie bounce up and down. It worked.

Holy Moly. I was on to something.

I remember the moment I thought I was going nuts. It was when I could no longer follow the individual letters being pointed out on the board. Even before Seth was done spelling a word out, I knew what it was going to be. Even before he’d gotten to the end of the sentence, I knew what he was going to say. I panicked. I knew in my heart I’d gone certifiably nuts. I remember thinking, “This is what it feels like to be crazy.” And that was the first time I ever heard him with my ears.

He said, “Go outside. I have something important to say to you.” I heard those words. I still remember what he said. Exactly as he said it.

I went outside. Dennis was right next to me in the kitchen. I was sitting in the dining room where we had set up our computer. The television was on. There was just a lot of activity and noise where I was in the house.

The front door was right there. I stepped out onto the patio. That was when Seth said to me, “You can hear me now.”

I began channeling on 2/12/1993 with the Ouija Board. It was about a week and a half later, about 10 days when I made that transition from letters being spelled out and being able to actually hear the voice of Spirit. It wasn’t for another 5 years or so that I finally realized it must have been on 2/22/1993 that I began channeling telepathically. That was the 222 I’d been seeing so often for years. Finally, it meant something. And, that something would change the trajectory of my life.

It took me a few weeks before I became comfortable with hearing the voice of Spirit. In fact, the first couple of days it was an audible voice where I could have sworn somebody was standing behind me or to my side talking. Seth’s voice also would come to me in a stutter. It was almost like I would be sticking my fingers in and out of my ears so that I’d only catch part of what was being said. And it was in that period of transition that I still relied on the Ouija Board. However, that was awkward as anything. That board is big and doesn’t fold up. Also, it looks crazy to haul something like that out in the middle of the grocery store to continue talking to your guide. If you want to look crazy that would do the trick. I did try lettering out a board on a piece of paper that I could roll up and put in my purse, but, still, it was awkward and just didn’t look right.

The next rule became something I call “Talking Fingers”. Using my index finger as the yes and my pinkie finger as no I was able to make sense of what Seth was saying. Here’s me saying silently: “Did you say preside?” No. “Was it decide?” Yes.

But, in the time between me being able to hear my guide’s voice audibly and what eventually moved to telepathy, there was this oddball stage where the voice of Spirit had an echo. There were also times when it seemed like many voices overlapping. I-I-I-I sai-sai-said that-that-that it-it-it-it is-is-is-is-is all-all-all-all ri-right-right. It also felt like I kept putting my fingers in my ears over and over again and I would only get the words spoken when my fingers were out of my ears. A totally useless way to communicate. Nobody told me it was going to get better and would last no longer than two weeks. In the meantime, I needed a better system.

I was flabbergasted. I was shocked. My word!

I call it talking fingers.

I still use it 30 years later. And I can use both hands! The index finger of either hand is always yes and the pinkie finger is always no. I suppose if your feet are supple enough you could use your toes, but mine don’t work very well. Also, I suppose you’d have to be barefoot most of the time.

So, when I got a garbled message from Spirit I would ask for clarification. Easier if the answer could be yes or no and I engineered those queries as much as possible to be answerable with yes or no. Like AAAAcatcatcacacacatcancancannotcannothavehahahavedinnerdinndinndinnernownownow. Me: “Did you say “A cat can have dinner now?” NO. What other answer is it? Me: “Did you say A cat cannot have dinner now?” YES. This did not actually happen, but you get my drift.

The rationale I used for talking with my fingers was that my hand moved across the Ouija Board. Who was it controlling my hand? Must have been my guide. Thus, right pointing finger bobs up and down for yes and right pinkie finger bobs up and down for no.

That was the rule.

It was what was to be a short-term solution because after about 2 weeks of that my focus and understanding got better. The thoughts I got from Spirit got faster so that sometimes there was no speaking involved it was just a knowingness.

In the years since I have found uses for talking in fingers, especially in crowded situations. I have never quite gotten to the point where I can walk and chew gum as a medium. It’s sort of like I’m either all the way in or all the way out. So, I use a combination of techniques to channel. It is a hoot to talk to your guide while you are shopping. For practice, in the beginning, and even now when it is just fun I ask my guide to pick out the best fruit or vegetable. As I stick my arm out over the potatoes it starts bouncing around gently. Sort of spooky. My hand hovers over the spuds and with a flourish, it descends upon the one we want. Hey, it’s fun. Also, I’m not very good at picking out potatoes that don’t have black spots from digging them out of the ground. Having Spirit help is convenient.

The other place where talking with fingers is good is where I can’t really quiet down and zip in to talk to Spirit. Imagine this, a lady in Sears in the clothing department who suddenly seems to go to sleep next to the dresses. Wouldn’t you give her a wide berth? I put my hand up near my throat and as I’m looking through the clothes and wait for my fingers to dance.

My favorite of all methods is to channel at the computer. Spirit will either slow down or speed up to suit the recording method. The fastest of all would be audio but I’ve never really gotten the hang of doing that well. But, to get to the computer method of channeling I began with a pen and paper. Which has its upsides and downsides. The upside is to see how your handwriting changes. It is really wonky at times. Big handwriting. Aimless shapes. Big circles. Prepare to go through quite a bit of paper. But, once you get the shapes and wonky letters out of the way and you just clip right along it’s nice. However, my hand would get tired which is why I eventually switched to the computer. Which is a sort of funny story in itself.

My hand was tired and I was taking more and more breaks with the handwritten channeling. It occurred to me that it would be faster if we were to sit at the computer. I asked Seth, “What do you think?” He indicated yes. I said, “Do you know how to type?” So, there I go like a dummy giving Seth typing lessons. In retrospect he sure had me going, but I taught my guide how to type. I think it was the first time I saw the humorous side of my guide. You do not need to teach your guide to type. They already know how.

Editing written channeling is interesting too. I can remember as I edit, looking for misspellings and such, that the guides would jump in and start channeling again. I asked what was going on and it was like I only had so much channeling energy in me and they would say one sentence in the first draft which in the edit would expand. Which is okay with me, as I write that way too. But I remember thinking I hadn’t done something right the first time around. They assured me I was okay.

They will adjust how they channel with each individual. And where there is one way to say it there are three others that would work just as well.

Everybody channels, in my opinion. All the time. All our lives. It’s just that so many of us don’t realize what is going on. What else can we compare our own experiences to? I realized this when I first began to channel. I realized then that I’d been doing it to a lesser degree for a very long time without realizing that I was channeling.

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By Thomas F. O'Neill

I love to teach my students about the thanksgiving season in America. The world can learn a great deal about the value of being thankful for what we have in life and the special people in our lives.

I conduct a lesson every school year about the history of thanksgiving and its meaning and importance for us Americans. I like to explain to my students that being thankful is a powerful affirmation; it brings more of what we want into our life. When we are grateful for the things we have, we will attract more goodness into our lives and those around us.

I have plenty to be thankful for because, throughout my life, people have gone out of their way to be kind to me, and the Chinese here are no exception. In class, I once told my students that when you care for others, you are cared for, and when you love others, you are loved. This special season should reveal our love for one another through kindness because loving kindness gives this special season its true meaning.

The yuletide season also brings out the spiritual warrior within us; it can act like a mirror, reflecting the truth that the real battle invariably lies with ourselves. But it’s also a time to remain mindful and concentrate on the right actions and correct conduct.

This time of year can stream forth a period of transition toward personal growth, heralding new beginnings and new chapters in our lives. Take the time to look at how your entire life has brought you to where you are now. It is no accident that everything you need to move forward and grow is at your disposal – regardless of your current situation – all you have to do is look deep inside yourself. Find your inner light and reveal it to those around you; in doing so, the world around you will reveal its goodness and become much brighter because we all have the capacity to make the world a little more joyful.

    Always with love from Suzhou, China
    Thomas F O’Neill
    Email: introspective7@hotmail.com
    WeChat: Thomas_F_ONeill
    U.S. Voice mail: (800) 272-6464
    China Mobile 011 (86) 13405757231
    Skype: thomas_f_oneill
    Twitter: https://twitter.com/Thomas_F_ONeill
    Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/thomas-f-o-neill-6226b018/
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    Facebook: http://facebook.com/thomasf.oneill.3/


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Sifoddling Along


By Marilyn Carnell

The House on King Street

“The house on King Street" sounds well to do, but this particular house was far from that. In fact, the street was nameless until sometime in the mid-1950s when street signs were installed for the first time. It was named for the original homesteader, Sy King, not a distant European majesty.

Nevertheless, the house I grew up in still has a special meaning to me. Many years passed before I realized how shabby and poor it was. In fact, I was totally unaware that compared with other families in the U.S. we were very poor indeed. Not just the house, but our way of life. Almost everyone we knew was just like us. My dad was a teacher and school superintendent; both were fairly prestigious jobs, but they paid very little. My mom was a full-time homemaker in my early years, but when she started working neither made much money by national standards at the time.

The house was a small frame bungalow that sat on a sloping lot with two bedrooms built sometime in the 1920’s. The best feature was a large porch that stretched across the width of the house. Since Daddy hated bugs, it was screened in and a lifesaver on hot summer days and nights.

The original clapboard exterior was covered with white asbestos shingles at some point. Probably more for insulation than appearance. No one suspected those shingles would be a problem years later. In 1940 (the year I was born) indoor plumbing and a bathroom were added. We made do with

Five of us shared it the little house – Mom and Dad, my sister Zella and my brother, Billy Max. The Warm Morning gas heater in the living room heated that room and the kitchen. The other rooms were shut off to conserve heat and save money. The bathroom had a small heater that we lit in very cold weather or when bathing. The large bedroom that my parents shared with me and my sister was also unheated. We put hot water bottles in the bed to warm it and slept under “wool comforters” that were so heavy we couldn’t turn over. My sister and I slept together on a ¾ size bed. A size between and twin and a double bed. I have never seen another one. Zella went to college when I was 10 and I had the bed all to myself.

When I was about 12 years old, my dad got critically ill with kidney stones and was flown to Barnes hospital in St. Louis to save his life. Compared with today’s medical costs, the bills were minuscule, a little over $300, but at the time they had to borrow money from the bank to pay for the trip and medical care. My mom vowed to go to work and pay back the debt if dad’s life could be spared and she kept her word. After a few part-time jobs, she was employed as a clerk at the Post Office. She loved her work interacting with everyone in the village and took great pride in her official uniform.

The house was a symbol of continuity and remained in the family for more than 50 years. I always knew I had a safe place of retreat if it became necessary, so after leaving for college in 1958, I returned to it in 1978 when I had an opportunity to earn a doctoral degree in food science at the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville, only 45 miles away. A reasonable commute. The house became my home again in 1994 when my husband retired from Campbell’s soup. It was much better suited for two people than five. We kept the house for several years after we moved our lives to the cabin on Big Sugar Creek. Even then we used it for various important things. For several months I stayed there living across the street from my mom using a baby monitor to be sure she was ok without intruding on her space. It was also convenient to have meetings about community projects in town and for a year we “rented” it to an artist friend in need in exchange for art lessons. It made me feel good to be able to help her and I learned a lot about oil painting.

After my mom passed away, there was little use for the little house, so we sold it. There are still times I miss the comfort and reassurance of knowing that I had a “bolt hole” to go to if times got bad.

I miss my little house. It was a connection to my earlier life and holds many memories of a life well lived.

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Irish Eyes

By Mattie Lennon


A number of celebrities were asked what they would do in the event of a nuclear hit. Pat Ingoldsby answered, “I would stand as close as possible to Charlie Haughey.”

Charles J. Haughey needed all his survival skills in the nineteen seventies. Just how much he needed them is laid out in David Burke’s book, An Enemy of the Crown. The author is David Burke, a barrister from Dublin, his father was a fine gael politician-

Burke leaves no stone unturned if his effort to bring to the reader a full account of the campaign by MI6 to wreck Charlie Haughey’s political career. Shortly after Charley Haughey was acquitted in the Arms Trial in 1970, Sir Maurice Oldfield of the British Secret Service, MI6, set out to blacken all aspects of Haughey’s life. It is alleged that “Oldfield was conspiratorial by nature and lacked a moral compass. He was involved in regime change plots and torture in the Middle East, the use of convicted criminals as agent provocateurs in the Republic of Ireland and the exploitation of paedophile rings in Northern Ireland.”

Prominent figures, on both sides of the Irish Sea, ably assisted him in his task. David Burke goes through the pedigrees and track records of all who participated in black propaganda. He refers to, “. . . a shadowy group of conspirators inside the Irish state’s security apparatus.” Burke lists the dirty tricks were used by these spies as they circulated vicious smears in Ireland, Britain, and the US.

The chapter Headed, “It Has to be Deniable in the Dáil”, is truly a revelation. Everything from the part that milk churns played in spying to the pumping out of black propaganda by selected journalists is covered in detail. After years of blackening Haughey’s name in various ways, MI6 played a part in trying to prevent Haughey from succeeding Jack Lynch as Taoiseach in 1979 by circulating lurid stories about him. While he was suspicious of MI6 interference, he had no idea of the extent to which London’s clandestine efforts went to destroy him. His brother Jock didn’t escape either. MI6 set out to link him to the gun that shot Garda Richard Fallon on June 03rd, 1970. Yet the Gardai had established that Jock Haughey had no connection with the gun.

The author describes the British Embassy as having become, “A glorified nest of spies, possibly the largest of its kind in western Europe.”

An Enemy of the Crown, published by Mercier Press, is dedicated to Fred Holroyd and Colin Wallace two British intelligence whistleblowers, and is an eye-opener. And shows material seen for the first time to shed light on at least some of the anti-Haughey conspiracies which took place during the period from the late 1960s to the early 1980s.

* * * * *


Lyreacrompane native, Joe Harrington who is famous as the producer of The Irish Rambling House, radio presenter, former Mayor of Limerick, and songwriter, has just published a book on the very first Butter Road from Kerry to the Cork Butter Market. Joe describes the book, ‘Once Upon a Road’ as a “search for the olden days on a sixty-mile journey through 275 years of time.”

The subject of the book is the road from Ballyduhig, near the Six Crosses, through Lyreacrompane, Castleisland, Cordal, Tooreencahill, Millstreet, Aubane, Vicarstown, to Kerry Pike outside Cork City. It was originally built as a toll road/turnpike, under a 1747 Act of Parliament. The man behind the venture was a John Murphy from Castleisland. "When I was growing up, I remember the dispensary at Pike, halfway between Lyreacrompane and Listowel. I often wondered why it was named Pike. Researching the history of this road over recent years I discovered that Pike in fact alluded to a turnpike/toll gate on this spot from the early 1750s to 1809. It was one of six that John Murphy was entitled to erect on the road all the way to Cork up until the latter date,” Joe told me.

Joe has been researching the history of the road for the past five years and it initially led to him writing a song on the subject; ‘The Road John Murphy Made’, which won the prestigious Sean McCarthy Ballad Competition a couple of years ago. “The ballad was about one man’s trip on the road in the 1750s and the book broadens the story of the road that connected the dairy lands of north Kerry and the famous Cork Butter Market”, Joe explained.

‘Once Upon a Road’ with 364 full-colour pages and 315 images, maps, and photos which Joe was delighted to have printed locally by Walsh Colour Print, Castleisland with graphic design by Easy Design, and Causeway.

"‘Once Upon a Road ‘dips into the local history of the townlands, towns, villages, and settlements through which the road passes. Every mile on ‘The Road John Murphy Made’ has a story to tell and along the way, we will meet Whiteboys and Hedge Schoolmasters, Freedom Fighters and Moonlighters, Famines and Natural Disasters, Mass Rocks and Wedge Tombs, Bronze age hoards and Bog Butter, Lost Estates and Evicted Tenants,” Joe explains. The road even played a part in the slave trade he reveals.

From Ballyduhig, where the road began near the present-day Six Crosses, to Kerry Pike near Cork City the book is a travelogue in time and place. Like the rest of the book, the Listowel to Lyreacrompane section is packed with the happening in the area since the road was built in the 1750s. The killing of the Earl of Desmond at Gleanageenty is revisited as is the adventures of the Earl of Kerry who owned much of the land through which the turnpike was built. Matchmakers, bog slides, new and ancient, and the story of the Lyreacrompane man who oversaw at least three hundred executions in an American Prison fill the pages as do heroes like Amelia Canty and villains like Lucy Ann Thompson. The visit of William Makepeace Thackeray, of Punch fame (or shame) to Listowel is recounted.

The author who spent years and years in this work would, “ . . . like to thank all the local historians along the route who unstintingly related to me all they had discovered about their own area and, on a road known for its ‘straight as a Gunbarrel stretches, to Kay O’Leary, who, so to speak, kept me on the straight and narrow. “

Once Upon a Road is widely available including from Joe Harrington, and Lyreacrompane. Joe can be contacted at 0872853570.

See you in December.

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On Trek


By Judith Kroll

Higher Self

The real you., is still in heaven. We are spirit in heaven, invisible. We come here in the flesh.

Heaven.. Free spirit, unconditional love, part of the universe. No limits.

Earth. You can be a free spirit, you could practice unconditional love, you could be part of the universe. Have limits, but one can explore, and enjoy no limits.. Thru meditation etc. Uncontrolling our minds so to speak.

When we see an actor on tv, and we know they have passed over, the movie they are in makes them still seem alive. If we didn't know they passed over, we would believe they were alive.

Our higher self is pure energy.

We can uses "pieces" of ourselves to come here, and be other places too at the same time.

Since I am spirit, volunteering to come here...why?

That is next chapter, and since we are aware we exist in spirit, then we can help ourselves in so many good ways.

Sometimes we say a guide or an angel helped us out.

It could be our higher self as well.

We do have help for each one of us.

Enjoy the process, it is amazing.

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Tribute: Reflections of the Day

By Dayvid Clarkson


Dayvid's sisters Denise and Margo posted this announcement of his passing on his Facebook page.

Dayvid was blessed with the gift of expressing his thoughts in a way that brought peace to those reading them. This is why we feel it is appropriate to print some of his "Reflections" here to stand as a comfort for we who grieve his absence. Dayvid had a secure sense about where he was heading and often gave us little hints in his writings.

Kindness is an overlooked personality trait. When speaking of our ideal partners, people talk about intelligence, looks, you name it. Kindness is often at the bottom of the list. But when you think about it, isn't kindness what we humans desire most of all?


Our very center of being is akin to the center of a tornado. The eye of the storm, if you will. Whatever happens around it does not affect it. It is eternal silence: days come and go, years come and go, ages come and pass. Lives come and go, but the internal silence of your being remains exactly the same - the same soundless music, the same fragrance of serenity, the same transcendence from all that is mortal, from all that is momentary.


Some people automatically associate morality and altruism with a religious vision of the world. But I believe it is a mistake to think that morality is an attribute only of religion. We can imagine two types of spirituality: one tied to religion, while the other arises spontaneously in the human heart as an expression of love for our neighbors and a desire to do them good.


Oh, Great Spirit Let your voice whisper righteousness in our ears through the East Wind at the break of day.
Let us be blessed with love for all our brothers & sisters on Earth so we may truly live in peace.
Let us have good health mentally & physically to solve our problems and accomplish something for future generations.
Let us be sincere to ourselves and make the world a better place to live.



Dreamtime to me is like sailing across a flat stillness pushed by an unknown wind, wing on wing. It is a time to glide forward along the star paths heading for a mystical rendezvous. I watch as GrandFather Sun slips away and I wave at Grand Mother Moon as I pass. I know the Elders will meet me and greet me with unbridled acquiescence. The depths of compassion and kindness will deepen during my stay and my resolve to practice these lessons during my awake time will grow even stronger. It is a time to renew and remember where I came from. May your Dreamtime be a serene whisper upon your soul. Sleep well, dream deep my Friends.


We will always remember you.

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A Mother's Lessons


By Danielle Cote Serar

Something that has always been remarkable to me as a parent and stepparent has been watching my children “get” something. The moment you see the lightbulb go off and the concept has stuck. It’s especially amusing when, as a parent, you have said something a hundred times but someone else says the same thing and it clicks for them.

I had my own moment the other day. I can see my mom shaking her head amused as she looks down at me. I was listening to a speaker, the topic nothing I had not heard before. But there was a moment and in the way she said it, that just clicked for me. She talked about perfection and a mother’s compulsion to choose and make the right decision, to be perfect. But making the “right” choice requires us to know the future, which is impossible. What we can do is make the best decision for this moment. And give ourselves permission to change that decision if it doesn’t work.

My mom use to tell me these two simple comments in so many different ways. She drilled into me in her oh-so-gentle way that we are perfectly imperfect. That life is dynamic and the decisions are only as permanent as we chose to maintain them. That we have a right to change our minds. And for the most part, I have embraced her lessons. But then I became a mom.

For a reason I’m not completely sure of, I have become obsessed with making the “right” decision. So worried that I’m gonna screw up or more appropriately screw THEM up. But making the right choice is just another word for being perfect. Whatever it was that the speaker said, was what I needed to hear to give myself permission not to be the perfect parent but to be their parent.
Danielle Serar

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My Experiences with the Spirit World

By Julie Anne Carey

My maternal grandfather died when I was six. I knew what death was, but every time I went to Nana’s house I felt that he was still there. Without telling anyone, I would search in every room, behind every door, under every bed, in every wardrobe, and even the pantry. Each time I was frustrated that I could not find Gramps. Twenty years later, while living in Nana’s house, I saw Gramps. He looked exactly the same as I remembered him, thick brown hair, braces, and shirt sleeves rolled up. I got a fright & called to my husband. Gramps disappeared in a silver flash.

When I was a young child my mother would tell me that she often saw her father standing at the end of her bed, or beside the bed. I thought “Isn’t that nice that Gramps is still looking after Mum”. I grew up comfortable with Spirit.

The first ghost I ever saw was three years earlier. I was up late doing the ironing in the cool of the evening in the sub-tropical climate. I went to bed but soon after heard noises like someone bumping the wrought iron railing on the front stairs. I got up and looked out the window, no one there. I checked every window & door & all were locked. I went back to bed. Again I heard noises. I got up again & checked, but no one was there. I lay in bed, on my back. Next thing I saw a figure standing in my bedroom doorway, in a yellow T-shirt, blue jeans, and shoulder-length brown hair. I could not discern a face. I lay motionless. Then he turned with his back against the built-in bar. He was smoking a cigarette. Then he walked towards the centre of the lounge room, and disappeared!

The ghost was my partner’s mate Mike, who had been killed in a car accident when a drunk driver rammed the back of the car in which Mike was asleep on the back seat. He was thrown out onto a rocky embankment & died as a result of his injuries. Mike stayed with me for some time. I would be sitting on the lounge chair & a cold breath would hit my leg. The dog would be sitting on the floor, with her bone nearby. The bone would skitter across the floor without the dog touching it. There was an old fly screen in the kitchen of this old rental house. I would come home from work & the screen would be fixed!

As soon as I put my key in the front door I knew if Mike was there or not. He would play tricks on me, like turning the bar fridge off. I think he was trying to tell me something. I knew if Mike was with me when I went to visit his brother & sister-in-law. Sadly I couldn’t tell them about Mike, as they didn’t believe in spiritual things.

The morning after my mother died, I flew interstate to where she had died. I was waiting outside the airport for my friend who was running late. There was no one else around. Clear as a bell, my mother said “Hello Julie Anne”. This was just 16 hours after her death.

One day I was sitting up in bed. There was a wriggling on the end of the bed. I thought “that’s heavier than a cat”. I said “Is that you Minnie ?” My darling departed dog Minnie to me was the best dog anyone could ever have had. She gave methought transference “Wonder Dog”. Neighbour’s kids had nicknamed Minnie “Minnie the Wonder Dog” She obviously loved that nickname. The feeling of unconditional love that Minnie sent to me was so overwhelming that I felt sure I would suffocate. I had to swallow again & again in order to survive.

In 2010 I met up in Spirit with my first love. We were standing & talking & hugging. He too sent me unconditional love. Thankfully due to my previous experience with Minnie, I knew exactly what it was. This was so satisfying, as we didn’t end up spending our lives together in this incarnation. We came to an understanding that we will be together in our next incarnation.

Spirit animal visits have become a delightful part of my life. I had my appendix removed at age 39. I saw my departed cat Lisa on the end of my hospital bed. This was very comforting to me. It proves that the love between a human & an animal lives on after death.

My cat Lisa had an inoperable tumour in the spinal cord & she was under 4 years old. She was crippled. I rang the Vet & arranged for Lisa to go to Heaven after a weekend of little urination. Lisa gave me thought transference when I returned to the bedroom. She said, “I understand what’s going on”. I said, “I know you do sweetheart”. Several days later it was Show Day holiday. I woke, but lay on the bed with my eyes closed. Lisa jumped up on the bed, saying “Hello, how are you ?” She walked diagonally across the bed & up beside my shoulder. I was able to put my arm over & ruffle her hair, and then she was gone.

Minnie has come through with my Dad in clairvoyant readings done by a friend. My Dad has many of my animals with him. This is so reassuring that my animals are waiting in Heaven for me. Often I feel cat paws walking on my pillow when my cat is not in the room. This brings a smile to my face & my heart.

I had a grey feral cat I called Ming. She was a sweetie, but was forever urinating on everything in the house. Sadly she had to go to Heaven. Soon after I saw her and she said, “Hi, it’s me.” She was letting me know she was okay.

My deceased older brother Justin has lived with me, looking after my cats. At one stage I had 6 cats, so he had his hands full. One morning before leaving for work cat Mariah (boy), got out & I couldn’t get him back in. I went to work & prayed that he would be safe, as he was basically an indoor cat. Driving home the clouds were ominous, threatening a hail storm. I opened the front door & there inside with the other five cats was Mariah. I rang a friend who had a key & often mowed the grass for me. He had not been around. My Spirit brother had brought Mariah inside.

One night there was a knock on my bedroom door. I had a boarder for just a few weeks, but it wasn’t him standing there in the dark, holding my black cat Makita. He handed me the cat, I said thanks, and closed the door. The odd thing was that Makita would not ever tolerate being picked up by anyone, even me. My brother Justin had handed me Makita.

My Dad who is in Heaven often visits me. He knocks things on the floor in the kitchen. That is a sure way to alert me that he is with me. Dad went to Heaven in March 1994. He hasn’t yet spoken to me. My clairvoyant friend said he is trying. I told Dad he needs to try harder, as it has been gone for 28.5 years for goodness sake.

When being attuned for Reiki 1 & Reiki 2 I experienced myself as a Tibetan monk. I was wearing saffron robes & leather sandals. Tears of joy ran down my cheeks. I also saw myself as a Peruvian woman & got the year as well. The first picture I ever saw with my mind's eye was a white llama being hand fed by my partner’s sister. Proof of this lifetime together came through Peruvian music. The sister had a record that I loved, so had it copied onto a cassette. This was in the days before mobile phones. Whenever I wanted my partner to ring me, I would play the cassette. Within 20 minutes, he would ring.

Another time my partner was loading furniture into his trailer to bring over to me. I could hear the sounds he was making with the furniture. His brother-in-law was in surgery for throat cancer. I was home in my bed, worried about him, then found myself in the operating theatre, listening to the conversation of the surgeons, while still being aware of being in my home. One time I sent my partner spiritual healing. He was in bed, opened his eyes & saw a Misty spirit woman in white hovering over him, like an Angel.

At age 14 I was to be leaving on a trip with 2 teachers & girls from my class. The night before departure I dreamed what everyone was wearing, what was said, and the person who would sit next to me. It was exact to what happened the morning of departure. We always wore a school uniform & came from many different suburbs, so were not familiar with each other’s casual clothes.

I look forward to many more wonderful spiritual experiences in the future.

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Honey Dog Tales - Three


By Walt Perryman

By Honey Dog

Honey dog update to all canines

How many of you dogs have experienced this: You are sound asleep dreaming of real jerky, you are startled when your 220-pound master falls down and puts a half nelson on you, Here I am 20, o.k. 24 pounds. Then my master brings out the nail clippers.

I fight back but I do not bite, not sure if he has had his shots. Then while I am trying to not pass out with this slab of meat laying on me, he says, “It is o.k., Honey, I am not going to hurt you, love that girl.” And he goes on and on while my eyes are about to pop out. He finally gets it done before I black out.

Now dogs, would it not be funny if someday when he is sleeping if five men would jump on him, pin him down, and cut his toenails? That would be a hoot!!! He weighs about 10 times more than I do. His poor life would never be the same after a traumatic episode like that. Yet, he does it to me every couple of months. I think I will start chewing my toenails off then maybe he will give up, But I doubt it.

Have a good day my fellow dogs.

Checkup time by Honey dog

Well, my fellow canines do not fall for the old, “Let's go bye, bye" , routine. I can tell by the way my master acts that he is up to something. if you go out in the yard to relieve yourself and you notice your master has snuck up behind you and is catching your poop with a scoop, that is the time to beware.

Then whamo, we pull into that place with dogs and cats everywhere and it hits me like a ton of taste like bacon crap. We are at the Vet’s torture chamber. Oh! Yea my master, my caretaker, my jerk drops me off and walks out, leaves me with strangers. He probably went out to you know where, leaves me there with people sticking needles in me. Running tests on my, stuff!!! Stuff means dog poop.

Then about 7 hours later he prances back in and starts the, “How is my Honey?” I would like to take his leg off, the stupid jerk, baling wire, duct tape, oilfield trash master of mine. I have had shots, fingers stuck up my rear, manicure, cultured, blood test, you name it, I got it. Then here is the insult, they put an Iguana in the cage beside me while I was waiting for my torture time. That was the ugliest big lizard I have ever seen, it just sits there and stared at me for hours, sticking out his tongue, I could not sleep because that dragon was watching me, it was terrible.

Then on the way home my master is gripping, “195 bucks, Honey Dog, you owe me, you are not worth that much, I bet I have a thousand dollars a pound in you,” Anyway he just rambles on and on, the poor ex-drilling foreman goofball. Hopefully, it will be another year before he pulls this again.

So, my canine friends here are some advice, if you go out in the yard to relieve yourself and your master has a scoop, that is the time to beware.

Have a good dog day my canine friends.

* * * * *

(To Be Continued. See Me Next Issue.)
©2circa 2010/2022 Honey Dog
with Secretarial Assistant and Master Walt Perryman

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Here’s To the Guys Who Brought it Over


By LC Van Savage

Have you ever wondered what it must feel like to be very well known? Maybe you already are, so you do know. Congratulations! I wonder if being famous is as fun as it appears to be. An awful lot of people have attained fame over the years of their lives, some good, some not so good. The fame, or really renown, I want to write about in this column today is the not-so-good kind.

I’m not referring to the obvious infamous folks in history; your Hitlers, your Genghis Khans, your Joan Crawfords, your Ivan the Impalers, your Ma Barkers, your Captain Hooks. I’m thinking today about the “ooops” kinds of famous people, the unintentional incompetents, the ones who made a huge negative impact on our nation, maybe the world, because of a simple but well-meant mistake. I'm talking about the “guys who brought it over;” the people who brought something to America they thought would be good for the country that would help get rid of something they thought was bad for the country. Did you get that? I’m not sure I did, but anyway...

Take your kudzu. Kudzu is a beautiful, rich, dark green ground (and everything else) cover that’s literally begun to carpet the world. A vine, it came to Japan by way of China (or maybe that was the other way around) and then was brought to the USA first for forage and fodder, eventually to be used decoratively in American gardens. But it somehow it got loose and has now spread to absolutely everywhere, like an endless, ever-widening green stain. Much of the south is now blanketed with the stuff and it’s slowly choking trees and everything else in its path. I’m pretty sure it’s kudzu’s goal to turn the earth into one huge green ball, and it seems to be working.

The good news is I recently read that an insect has been found that might kill the kudzu and that’s where another ooops might come in; what else will that insect kill? Do we know? We won’t until it’s gone and done it. The guy who brought the kudzu over is already notorious now, although I don’t think anyone actually knows his name, which is probably a really good thing because he’d be in very big trouble, especially from agriculturists and arborists and weekend gardeners. The unknown guy who’s bringing those kudzu-killing bugs over will make his mark on the world too, especially once they finish dining on the last kudzu leaf, and still famished and multiplying speedily, begin to chomp everything else that’s green and growing, quite soon turning entire continents into deserts or slabs of bare rock.

Rabbits were introduced to Australia over a hundred years ago because “there were none,” and boy, are the Aussies sorry. In short order, there were literally billions of those adorable little long-eared fuzzballs, and they stripped away thousands of acres of vegetation. (Hey! Maybe they’d enjoy a gigantically huge kudzu salad!) Then worst of all, those pesky bunnies turned into kangaroos, right?

But come on, even back then, didn’t people know what rabbits like to do best? It seems hard to believe they didn’t. Rabbits are not shy and they never care at all if anyone’s watching, and in fact, I think they maybe like it better when they do. But there you have it; whoever brought the first pair of cute little boy and girl bunrabs to the Land Down Under has achieved his immortality, if immortality is actually granted to anonymous people, and I sure think it is.

Foreign fish have been introduced to lakes and rivers to kill off existing fish that were causing problems, only to have the imported fish thrive so well they’ve grown to where they can now chomp the hind legs off a rhinoceros in a couple of casual nips, making recreational swimming hazardous at best.

Bugs have been imported from other countries to kill bad bugs here, which they’ve done well, but have multiplied themselves to such a degree they’ve blocked out the sun as they’ve gone swooping about looking for new kinds of bugs to eat. Then the birds got into the act and suddenly found themselves gorged with so much bug au jus they began to multiply at a too rapid speed, and they grew and grew to where eventually people in some areas of mainland USA have begun noticing their family pets aren’t coming home when they’re called. Ever. That guy with the original jar of savior bugs has caused a major oooops and he’s really famous, even if everyone only calls him “that guy who brought those @#$&*! bugs over here.”

I guess it’s hard to try to nail all the possible ramifications of the imported do-good things people have put into America to save America. Even the most far-sighted of us can’t imagine the havoc we can wreak when, with every good intention, we introduce this thing to kill that thing, not realizing that this thing often then goes on to kill a whole lot more other things. Good things. Things we like.

And as to being famous, I guess I wouldn’t mind being that, although I’d prefer to be famous for doing something noble, like curing a famous disease or inventing a diet pill that really does “burn up every drop of fat you eat and flushes it away by 8 AM,” or writing the most famous book ever written followed by the most famous movie ever made starring me of course, or even inventing a toaster oven that actually works. But I don’t want fame badly enough to settle for being one of those oooops famous people. I would want my name mentioned through future history in hushed, reverent tones as “that remarkable, beautiful and glorious woman who…….” (you fill in the blank.) And about those poor guys who made those awful and colossal mistakes and got their fame? Quite simply put, it all boils down to one small question; who knew?

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My Hospital Stay


By Walt Perryman

I just spent six days lying in a hospital bed,
With old memories running through my head.

On the 4th day, I realized I was living in the past,
And how my 78 years had passed so very fast.

I’ve been wasting my today's by living in yesterday,
On day 5, something happened in a God-loving way.

I woke from a deep sleep then when I could understand.
That I felt the warmth of my wife holding my hand.

Had I been in yesterday, I would have missed that day.
So, folks live in the present, is what I am trying to say.

I thank God for all the prayers from each one of you.
Got to go now, I have a lot more thanking God to do.

©October 23, 2022 Walt Perryman
©October 2022 Photo by Laura Perryman


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Halloween At Harbor Tower


By Bud Lemire

It was Halloween at the Harbor Tower, it was also Bingo night
Bingo was canceled, because something wicked was causing a fright
Bingo cards were glowing, and flying across the room
There was a crazy witch lady, riding on a broom

Where she came from, nobody really knew
On her broomstick, oh yeah, she really flew
Nobody knew what she wanted, or her demand
Only one person, was brave enough to stand

He stood there, trying to figure it all out
Then he heard his name, Earl gave him a shout
“Charlie, watch out, she's coming your way!”
Charlie thought fast, he didn't want to stay

“She sure knows some good tricks” Charlie said with a grin
As the people watched her, the witch did a little spin
She wasn't ugly, but she wasn't very pretty
Everyone could tell, she sure as heck was witty

Then the witch disappeared, in a cloud of smoke
A voice was heard saying “Is this some kind of joke?”
Everyone kept watching, to see if she was coming back
Kat just smiled and said, “I'm going to the Smoke Shack”

©Oct 16, 2022 Bud Lemire

                         Author Note:

The following week Bingo returned to its normal routine,
and everyone showed up, and it was a great time for everyone.
The witch wasn't seen again. Maybe next year she will visit
West Highland.


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Hometown Memories


By Walt Perryman

Hometown memories do not just fade away,
Instead, I think they get stronger every day!!

I remember every building that is no longer there.,
And so many memories of people, when and where.

I knew everyone in every house and if their dog would bite.,
And long ago in the center of town there was one red light!

There were cotton fields south of town for a long way,
And Grandfalls had a couple of cotton gins back in the day.

Most of the farming stopped when the water went salty,
And the farming was replaced by oil discovered in Royalty.

I may not know many people in town, but what is scary,
I sure know a lot of them out there in the old cemetery!

I guess that no matter where I live or where I roam,
, I reckon that Grandfalls Texas, will always be my home.

©2021 Walt Perryman

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My Awakening


By Daniel Kangas

I walked through the darkness without seeing any light.
A darkness so cold that I shivered with fright.
Wandering along a twisted path of greed,
not even knowing I had planted a seed.
My path wandered on seeming without an end.
I had no goals to reach and no love to send.
Then somehow the little seed took sprout,
And hard as I tried I couldn't pull it out.
The minute I touched this small soul-grown seed,
It sparked with life and grew like a weed!
I saw the light this plant had brought,
And I realized that it was something I had been taught.
It was the tree of knowledge growing in my mind,
I remember at once how I could be kind.
I turned and looked down my dark winding trail,
Realizing I had learned from my darkness,
The darkness changed to a lighter pale.
I looked ahead down my slightly brighter street,
And saw it pass other roads of people I would meet.
I would learn a little from each person I met,
Each intersection,
A person I could not forget.
Then the light began to shine from my still growing tree,
And I had the realization that the light was guiding me.
It had been with me all along in the dark!
but until I needed it,
It was only the seed,
From which came the

©2002 Dan Kangas

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Cousins, Connect By Heart & Soul


By Bud Lemire

Some have said, before we're born we get to choose our family
Whether you believe it or not, I know they mean the most to me
Parents, Grandparents, Brothers, Sisters, Nieces, Nephews, Uncles, Aunts, Cousins too
Years together, they are all there, to spend a lifetime with you

Climbing the Family Tree, is so much fun to do
Finding out how, each relative is related to you
First Cousin, Second Cousin, or maybe a Third
Which generation, now that is the word

How many times removed, can each one be
It's all part of, climbing the Family Tree
I bet there are many Cousin, that I don't know
I sure have met many, as the story will go

Some in person, and some online too
We became close friends, as some Cousins do
Growing up, Cousins were older than me
I find there are tons of them, on my Family Tree

Others are much younger, as each story goes
As you climb your Family Tree, it really grows
Branches are filled with Cousins everywhere
Why there's even one, reading this poem that I'll share

©Oct 15, 2022 Bud Lemire

                          Author Note:

One of the biggest thrills of genealogy next to finding
out about your ancestors and who you descend from,
is finding so many Cousins who have the same interest.
Meeting them, and being in touch with them. They can
become quite close in so many ways. Friends that are
family. It's been so much fun. Thank you Cousins, for
not only for being related, but for being a friend as well.


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Do You Still Dream?

By Bruce Clifford

Do you still dream of unicorns and magical things?
Are you still bright-eyed exploring everything?
Where have the years gone, all we used to know?
Do you still dream of romantic themes?

We were so young, so very young.
I’ve still celebrated you on this day for all of these years.
Where has the time gone?
What have we learned?
Any pain you’ve had to endure has brought me to these tears.

Do you still dream of an entire world left to explore?
Are you still smiling like you did when I knocked on your door?
Where has the time gone, all we used to know?
Do you still dream of fantastic things?

We were so in tune. Just me and you.
I’ve never forgotten what this day has meant to me.
Where has this life gone?
What have we seen?
There has to be a way to get past these broken dreams/

Do you still dream of rainbows and mystical things?
Are you still bright-eyed and forgiving of my extremes?
Where have the years gone, all we could have known?
Do you still dream? Do you still dream?

©10/10/2022 Bruce Clifford

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My High School Reunion


By Walt Perryman

I’ve noticed my High School reunion as I walk in the door.
And how there’s not as many as there was the one before.

As I get older these class reunions are a different affair,
Because I look around the room to see who is not there.

God gave memories to the living like me and you,
So, we can visit the missing ones when we want to.

Isn’t it amazing how quickly a lifetime can pass,
The day is near when no one will be here from our class.

Enjoy every minute and be thankful for getting old,
Because time cannot be bought with silver or gold.

©October 19. 2021 Walt Perryman

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Reflections in My Glasses


By Bud Lemire

Reflections in my glasses, of all places I can see
Interacting with the past, and the future yet to be
So many changes happening, as the world turns
Causing eyebrows to go up, with many concerns

I wander in my memories, of a time I use to know
I let it take me there, as I relax and watch the show
It's so very different, every time I go there
Whatever is played out, I just stop and stare

No, my memories aren't bad, I remember it quite well
With an active imagination, it's a place I like to dwell
I love the present, please don't get me wrong
No matter where I am, I listen to each song

Reflections in my glasses, is where I like to be
It takes me many places, and helps my mind to see
Clouds outside my window, slowly pass on by
As I watch a seagull flying, up in the blue sky

Everyone's perspective, is different for everyone
What we see, what we do, when the day is done
The meaning of what matters most, in the time that passes
Is what I see and what I know, from the reflections in my glasses

©Oct 10, 2022 Bud Lemire

                          Author Note:

This poem has been going around in my head for a few days now.
I thought it was time to write it down and post it. Like a reflection,
it can take your mind anywhere. The past, somewhere you want to
be, or something you have read and imagined yourself being. The
reflections of your life, make you who you are. It's fulfilling to be
the best you that you can be.


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A Boy in the Park

By Bruce Clifford

After you left I still stumbled through the park.
Hoped you would have shown up.
I sometimes stayed there until it turned dark.
Your silence changed me and tore me apart.
It inspired me to write a song called “A Broken Heart”.

I was just a boy who missed you with all of my heart.
I was lost and destroyed.
A lonely boy in the park.

I was just a kid who never understood.
All the things we did.
The one thing we never withstood.

I was just a boy who missed you with all of my heart.
I was lost and destroyed.
A quiet boy in the park.

When you appeared decades after the fact.
I never forgot those days of the two of us where we sat.

After you left I still stumbled through that park.
Wished you would have shown up.
I sometimes stayed there until it turned dark.
Your silence changed me and tore me apart.
I’ve lived an entire life unable to mend this broken heart.

©10/5/22 Bruce Clifford

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More Good News


 By Walt Perryman

I have more good news about my cancer,
Looks like surgery may be the best answer.

The surgeon thinks he can cut the cancer out.
So, that piece of my lung I can do without.

Thank all of you for your prayers for me,
It’s in God’s hands, as we will soon see.

©October 03, 2022 Walt Perryman

Author's Note:

Walt Perryman is with Laura Perryman.
October 06, 2022
Update on health:
I will be having lung surgery next Wednesday, Oct 12th at North Central Baptist Hospital
(in San Antonio - Stone Oak location).
They will remove a section of my lung (where the cancer is). If all goes well I should be in the hospital
a minimum of 4 days and recuperating at home for 6-8 weeks.
Laura will be with me and will give updates on the surgery and how I’m doing after the surgery.
Prayers are welcomed and appreciated!
You might want to pray for Daisy and Laura too - they will have to take care of me!
Pic below by Connie Diane.


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Feeling The Silence

By Bud Lemire

In a world we're raised, to listen to everything we hear
Comes a silence that is felt, when nothing comes to our ear
Can you imagine a world, without any kind of sound
You try your best to listen, yet it doesn't come around

Suddenly! Your hearing has disappeared
A Nightmare! Everything that you feared
Where is the music, that always made me smile
Or the birds in the trees, that use to sing awhile

My TV is on loud, but I can't hear a thing
If someone is calling, I can't hear the ring
Don't knock on my door, I don't know you're there
My hearing is gone, I hear nothing everywhere

It's a scary feeling, I feel incomplete
I'm afraid to go outside, or to cross the street
My alarm won't wake me, if I fell asleep
I'm alone in the silence, with the company I keep

I fear every moment, in this silence I am living in
So much I am going through, I don't know where to begin
I was happy with my hearing, when it was around
Now I am Feeling The Silence, because I hear no sound

©Oct 24, 2022 Bud Lemire

                         Author Note:

When you lose your hearing after having it for a long time,
it can be very hard to find yourself in a world of silence.
All the things you heard, go silent, and you are in a completely
different world. A world without sound. It's the most difficult
feeling. You have to adjust in so many ways. It's not easy.

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On the Outside

By Bruce Clifford

I’ve never felt like I quite fit in.
I’m on the outside.
On the outside.

You let me go then you came back in.
I’m on the outside.
On the outside,

It hurts too much,
It’s hurt for so many years.
The pain never went away.
With me you have always remained.

I’ve never quite liked myself.
I’m on the outside.
On the outside.

I’d rather pretend to be somebody else.
I’m on the outside.
On the outside.

It hurts too much.
You’ve been gone for so long.
Never an explanation.
I’ve never since felt like I belonged.

Why did you leave me.
Where did you go.
I have always wanted to know.

©10/3/2022      Bruce Clifford

Click on author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.