Sunday, February 1, 2026

Editor's Corner

 

By Mary E. Adair

“February is the uncertain month,
neither black nor white,
but all shades between
by turns. Nothing is sure.”

— Gladys Hasty Carroll

We waved bye bye to this year's January at midnight and cautiously welcomed February, the shortest month, hoping for warmer weather. But, then we are one of those who tenaciously long for summer, whatever the month. Only a few of our incoming compositions discussed weather and quite casually then.


Four of our wonderful poets are each represented by three poems so we can present our readers with a nice rounded dozen. Walt Perryman's three are "As Old As I Am", "Fine Thursday Ramble", and "Old One About Children." Bud Lemire's poems are "Freeze Me!" "I Ask My Cousin," and the triumphant "Cherokee Daughter."


Bruce Clifford shows "Before You," "I Love Her More," and "Lipstick Girl." The three encores by John I Blair are "Daniel Boone and Me," "What Is It About Cats?" and "The Year We Had A Crazy Neighbor."


Mattie Lennon of Dublin Ireland discusses in his column "Irish Eyes," writers and all types of writing they do, and how they can research their craft. He tells us about an upcoming treat, "The Marian Hotel" and describes it as a powerful stage drama.  Pauline Evanosky's column "Woo Woo" encourages those interested in finding or increasing their own psychic abilities to ease up and approach it in a simple manner.


Judith Kroll's column "On Trek" has her recalling a chat where various people were adamantly expressing their opinion, unsurprisingly about a subject no one knew what the correct answer could be. Marilyn Carnell's subject in "Sifoddling Along" points out how where one grew up inevitably adds to their vocabulary.


The column "Introspective" has an interesting explanation by author Thomas F. O'Neill, of Spirituality and Religion and how they differ. Melinda Cohenour's "Armchair Genealogy" includes personal information that family trees can now include within Ancestry, for instance. Her recipe in the column "Cooking with Rod's Family" is a long time favorite.


Mike Craner's column "Mike's Place" explains how actual memories can be diluted or enhanced while dreaming. He advises that incidents, events, and such memory making occasions be recorded while the facts are fresh.


It is nice to have our co-founder and webmaster present for this first issue of the new Volume 29 of Pencil Stubs Online. He does manage to stay pretty busy doing such interesting things as being the Santa for train excursions during the holidays. We are always grateful that he keeps our eZine functioning.


We look forward to seeing you in the March issue of Pencil Stubs Online.


Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


Mike's Place

 

By Michael L. Craner

Just read and article about how our memories may not be 100% true, and it basically confirmed what I have long suspected.


Ever have someone relate a shared experience but with different details than you recall? This could be an example of that.


Especially as we get older, we have more and more experiences. Then we go to sleep each night (hopefully) and our brain processes these experiences.


The result can produce altered impressions of the experience and since in dream state we typically re-run the experience multiple times it begins to cement itself in our minds, thus making it a "truth" in our memory, even though some or many details may be false to reality.


Much like how a habitual liar can truly believe their own lies if they tell them often enough.


Keeping a daily diary or journal can keep this in check. For most I'm sure the altered memory is innocent. Something happened, they processed it in sleep, and the new "story" is how their brain dealt with it. It may not be wrong, but its also not historically accurate.


Now, this is akin to digital news, Wikipedia, and such where content can be easily edited and altered, or even deleted (for the most part) changing the facts as seen fit by those who control them.


You can't change what is written or printed so easily. It can be analyzed, amended, or redacted, but you can't easily change what was initially put down.


Even our own minds deceive us unless we keep it in check. So.... write it down. With ink and paper.


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Armchair Genealogy

 


By Melinda Cohenour

USTel and the Magnolia Building

One of Dallas Texas' most famous landmarks is the Flying Red Horse known as Pegasus which sits stop the majestic old building erected by the Magnolia Petroleum Company back in 1922. Known as The Magnolia Building it is dressed with some of the most lavish interior materials. Pegasus was added in 1934.


I had the good fortune to office in that magnificent building as one of the first handful of employees of USTel, which would become the predecessor corporation of Sprint. This month's column documents my early introduction to this prominent Dallas landmark as it was being restored after being saved by the Dallas Historical Commission from the destruction process that had already begun. What incredible memories!!


When USTel was first established, the old Magnolia Building had just survived a close call with demolition, thanks to the work of devoted citizens to salvage the historic edifice. Recognizing the proximity to SWBT's downtown Central Office as key to clear telecommunications transmission, USTel had leased several floors including a group of offices on the 24th floor, the prior executive floor for Magnolia execs. The ancient yet still beautiful woodwork included wooden blinds, custom made for each window, paneled walls of exquisitely matched woods. Deep green velvet drapes still graced each window though covered in decades of dust. The elevator foyer was embellished with pale green tiles, in the center a medallion of tiles, a mosaic featuring Pegasus.


Anita Rufus and I sat on the floor, typewriters (old IBM Selectrics) perched on cardboard boxes, busily drafting up the legal documentation by which the company's Articles of Incorporation, name preservation, and other corporate necessities to meet all legal requirements would ultimately be filed.


Entering the building was quite daunting as the entry foyer housing all the elevator shafts was undergoing restoration. Sand had drifted into rows along either side. Scaffolds stood around the foyer, to provide artisans access to restore the intricate metal ceiling tiles.


That was strange, but once an elevator opened, one was faced with perhaps the scariest ride imaginable: the walls of each car were clad in plywood and many hosted dim or no lighting. One was eerily aware of the resemblance to a wooden, upright, coffin. My first ride featured a few horrific 'Steven King' style surprises. The only floor selected was 24; however, the elevator jerked its way up a few floors, the doors opened revealing the 3rd floor, the space selected for USTel's core of operations - its switch room. This floor contrasted sharply with the entry, a sterile white space of futuristic impact: raised floors, a bank of #5ESS switches, their electronic indicators flashing red and green and yellow twinkling lights. As the doors opened, an influx of chilled air cooled the car. Stark, sterile, vacant, robotic.


A few floors later the doors again flung open to reveal a partially demolished area, ceiling mostly open with huge black cables draped, haphazardly, about the space. Jackhammers had been used, apparently, to break into the walls of concrete bricks. Gaping holes, rubble, more drifts of sand. Just before the doors slid shut, I spied two huge rats!


My, my, my. The memories.

* * * * * *

The Magnolia Building

Texas Historical Commission

April 11, 2020


The Magnolia Petroleum Company’s Pegasus, a forty-foot long and thirty-foot high red neon horse, was placed atop a 50-foot tower anchored to the roof of the Magnolia Building in 1934. At the time, the Pegasus and its 1,000 feet of neon tubing rotated every minute and a half.


It was the city’s tallest point for almost a decade and remains one of its most famous landmarks. Soon after its installation, Dallas citizens could claim that the city, still considered a provincial outpost of cowboys and cattle by the rest of the nation, was no longer a one-horse town.


The Magnolia Building was completed in 1922, at the time the 16th-tallest building in the country, and housed the offices of the Magnolia Petroleum Company.


The building’s architect, Sir Alfred Charles Bossom, British royal baron and member of Parliament, created a blend of Beaux-Arts classicism and modern 20th-century high rise in his design for the building.


Today, the building serves guests as the Magnolia Hotel, a boutique hotel in the heart of downtown Dallas. The building and its red Pegasus are listed in the National Register of Historic Places and is considered a Texas Historic Landmark.


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Irish Eyes

 

By Mattie Lennon

Calling All Writers And Wannabe Writers
And THE MARIAN HOTEL


Are you a writer? Do you want to become a writer? If you answer yes to any of those questions there is one publication that you can’t afford to be without. The Irish Writers Handbook 2026.If you have this publication on your desk or kitchen table you are in a position to consult a team of experts.


If you have published your first book and you are not too well up about publishing you have access to the wisdom of no less than ten writers. Among them household names like who will give you a step by step account of how to deal with defamation law in Ireland.


On the other hand if you are the type of person who sees something in the course of your everyday life but it becomes a persistent image which won’t go away. What do you do about it? Una Mannion quotes another famous writer, Claire Keegan, who tells the reader what she does, “I have to write a story to make the image go away. It’s like an elbow nudging you into examining something you don’t quite understand, but need to."


An essay has been described as something that’s too short to be anything else. Be that as it may, if you are an essay person Susan Tomaselli’s ,Walk the Line: A manifesto on Essays is for you. Ms Tomaselli starts off with, "I came across the phrase ‘taking a line for a walk’ in the notebooks of Swiss-German painter Paul Klee, and I’ve been carrying it with me for decades now. I don’t think it matters that he was talking about drawing: it’s a perfect description of what an essay is.”


Or why not get a few like-minded people and set up a writing group? I did this some years ago and it was a very fulfilling exercise. Apart from fighting with fellow members about deadlines there were no serious hitches. We brought out two collections of writings which went down very well. We even managed to get the foreword of each written by world-renowned literary figures, the late Professor Brendan Kennelly and Lawrence Block. Peter Clarke gives a blow by blow account about what anyone setting up a writers’ group needs to know He even tells you “where to meet!”


If you want to be a poet; and who doesn’t? You have Milena Williamson, Jessica Traynor and Mark Ward to guide you every step of the way.


If you are a competitive person, there are nineteen pages of a directory which gives a list of publishers, eleven pages of agents and seven pages of journals. And contact details for fifty competitions.


What does a commissioning editor look for in a book proposal?


What is the function of a literary agent ? Or do you want a glimpse into the working life of a children’s book illustrator? How do you present your work to a literary festival such as Listowel Writers’ Week? Each and every one of your questions will be answered in the 426 packed pages of this writer’s dream.


Whether you write crime fiction, memoir, YA or want to just find out a little more about how the publishing industry works, the Irish Writers Handbook will be your guide along the way. In this collection you will find some of Ireland’s most talented authors, editors, publishers and creative pro Details from; Wordwell Books, Suite 5, 17, Corrig Rd, Sandyford Business Park, Sandyford, Dublin 18, D18 N6K8.Email: helen@wordwell.essionals offering insight, practical advice and beautiful essays on craft for writers at all stages.


Details from; Wordwell Books, Suite 5, 17, Corrig Rd, Sandyford Business Park, Sandyford, Dublin 18, D18 N6K8.Email: helen@wordwell.ie

* * * * * *


From The Irish Post.


A POWERFUL stage drama written by a survivor of Ireland’s Mother and Baby institutions will be performed in Liverpool next month, bringing personal testimony and lived experience to audiences in Britain. A critically acclaimed play written by a survivor of Ireland’s Mother and Baby Homes is set to arrive at Unity Theatre this February as part of a UK and Ireland tour.


The Marian Hotel, written by Caitriona Cunningham, draws directly on the author’s own experience of giving birth while confined in the Marianvale Mother and Baby Home in Newry. The production will run in Liverpool on February 6 and 7, following a sold-out run across the north of Ireland. Produced by Sole Purpose Productions, the play is set in 1979 during the Troubles and follows 19-year-old Kitty as she enters the institution after becoming pregnant outside marriage. Alongside other young women, she is subjected to a harsh regime of discipline, shame and forced labour — conditions that reflect the wider reality of institutional confinement experienced by thousands of women in Ireland during the 20th century.


Despite the severity of its subject matter, the play also captures moments of humour and solidarity among the women, who ironically dub the institution “The Marian Hotel” as a small act of resistance and shared humanity. The production has been widely praised for its emotional honesty and compassionate storytelling. Director Patricia Byrne has said the play confronts “a dark time in Irish history, bringing the voices of women who were silenced and shamed back into the heart of our communities”.


Cunningham said she hopes the play will encourage open discussion about a history that continues to affect survivors and their families. “I want it to open conversations that challenge shame and silence around experiences that still resonate today,” she said. The Liverpool performances are supported by Fréa Renewing Roots, which provides emotional and practical support to survivors of Irish institutions now living in the north of England. Former residents of Mother and Baby Homes, Magdalene Laundries, residential schools or reformatories who are seeking support can contact Patrick Rodgers at Fréa Renewing Roots on 07432 138682 or by email at patrick.rodgers@frea.org.uk.


One audience member, who was adopted as a child, described The Marian Hotel as “more than just a play — it is a cathartic experience, a call for acknowledgement, and a tribute to all the mothers, daughters and children affected by this history”.


The production is supported by Arts Council England and Culture Ireland, with Sole Purpose Productions core-funded by Arts Council Northern Ireland. Additional funding has been provided by public donations and The National Lottery.


The Marian Hotel


February 6-7 at the Unity Theatre


1 Hope Pl, Liverpool L1 9BG

* * * * * *


See you in March.


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Woo Woo

 


By Pauline Evanosky

Letting the Woo-Woo Flow


Routines are something you don’t have to think about. Having a routine as a writer enables me to succumb more easily to the thoughts that want to be heard. As a psychic, and because I often write about things psychic, I include opportunities to really let the Woo-Woo flow.


At one point in my life, I thought my ordinary side and my psychic side should remain separate from each other.


Thirty-three years into the psychic side of my life, I’ve changed my mind. It is all one piece of fabric. And it’s much easier to think like that rather than to cordon off pieces for one lane or the other.


Just let it flow.


So, I do. At least, I try to.


What is also interesting to me is that my psychic and ordinary sides are both intertwined with my spiritual side. That, too, was something growing up that both knew which side of the room they were relegated to. Now, it is applesauce.


I awaken with a glad heart. And, if I don’t happen to feel very glad about anything, I coax myself with writing exercises, also something I do every day, to get me into the mood. I keep a journal every day. No rules there. Just a place nobody is ever going to read where I just spill it all out. Sometimes, if I have a problem, I can find a solution just by writing. It’s easier for me than going out to play tennis or going to the gym.


The great thing about a journal is that good ideas to write about sometimes leap onto the page. Sure, I’m the one writing, and I have control over my thoughts, but sometimes they leap of their own volition. I call it the magic of writing. If there is woo-woo in it, fine. I’ll accept that. More than likely, it’s just magic that any of us has. Woo-woo is part of that.


In retrospect, once I became a flaming psychic, I realized just how much of my life before was intertwined with being psychic. It’s interesting. I’m sure the same would happen for you, too.


Imagine you were a little kid. It’s easy because you once were a little kid. We’ve got some common ground, so you shouldn’t get confused. You’re at the playground with a bunch of other little kids. You wander over to the sandbox and see kids building forts and streets. They are running little cars over the roadways, under bridges. You’ve never done such a thing. Sure, you’ve played in the sandbox before, but it was always to make cakes and forts. You’d never thought to smooth out roads and sidewalks in your imaginary sand-built world. You take a moment to watch what they are doing, and then you ask if you can join them. It’s how you play. It’s how you meet other people. It’s easy. You’re a kid.


Now, imagine that what I refer to as my woo-woo side of life is the same. I describe it to you. I am matter-of-fact about it. This is what it is like for me. You ask if you can play too. I say sure. That’s all you need to do.


Because you just asked. You don’t need to take a course. All I have are pointers for you. Mostly, what I did was read books and then become a kid as I dived in.


Let’s do this! Let’s do that!


As the years went on, I realized this was my life as it had been before, except it was more fun. It wasn’t all rules. In fact, you make your own rules. This is why no two psychics are the same.


In fact, thinking of them as rules makes me think of areas where you don’t do this and do that instead. Maybe think of them as guidelines. My first one was for the very first days of my talking to Spirit. Everybody and their uncle came in to talk. It was overwhelming to me. It was confusing. I was off balance. I needed time to catch up.


My first rule for the woo-woo: Everyone takes their turn. No talking over each other. I can’t understand. One at a time!!!


The adjustment period was quick. I took one of the recommendations from the book I was using to learn to do psychic channeling to heart. They said for the first year, just talk to your Spirit Guide. Yes, there are a gazillion FIS (Folk in Spirit) out there who would love to talk to you, but just for that first year or so, talk only to your guide. It turns out that was really good advice.


My second rule: Just talk to your Spirit Guide for the first year.


Everybody has a Spirit Guide. He or she is sort of like your guardian angel. In fact, it was explained to me by my own Spirit Guide that folks have more than one during the course of their lifetimes. It varies from person to person, but basically, you’ve got one for when you are young. There is another, or a team, that steps in as you get older. And so on. A lot of times, the Spirit Guides you have when you are a baby are relatives, like grandparents or great-grandparents who have passed on.


These Spirit Guides are not there to ensure we don’t have accidents, because everyone does, and we all learn something from them. My Spirit Guide told me, “We can’t prevent you from having accidents or making mistakes, but we can help you stand up again and brush off your knees.”


I think people like artists and musicians have a better appreciation of their inner selves or their inner spirit than others do. I could be wrong about that; it’s just a feeling I have.


One of the things I had to do to learn this psychic way of life was to lose myself in dreams, in visions, in music. I’m sure it is different for everyone, but it was necessary for me.


Once I realized that there was no way I was going to get lost, I was fine.


I suppose the best way I could describe it is going with the flow. Rather than dividing your day or your year into chunks of morning, noon, and night or the seasons, or even the months of the year, you think of it all as a flowing river. A river where you eat, you sleep, you dream, you work, and all of those things are the same. Getting there will be your own journey.


Imagine that you can take your heart’s desire and move toward it. In a very real way. It’s not hard. You just think about where you want to go and then, with desire, with a determined feeling, you move toward that. It could be having a clean house. It could be earning a college degree. It could be a pleasant garden. It could be a beautiful quilt. It could be a car that you’ve rebuilt.


It could be talking to God.


Hey, thanks for reading. The Woo-woo is not a place to be feared. It is your heart’s desire.
Pauline Evanosky


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Cooking with Rod's Family


By Melinda Cohenour



After completing an extended gig in Sarasota, Florida for Global Signal, I was so pleased to be back in my own Ahwatukee, Arizona home with my own appliances! Mother, Shaun and our little chihuahua Tito really lucked out when I found a fully furnished and equipped home in Sarasota with a lanai, a lovely backyard and a divine adjacency to the barrier islands, including Bird Key and Longboat Key. The experience was one I shall never forget but it took great creativity to cook a meal using the tiny antiquated gas stove that cottage offered. The recipe I share this month is one I adapted from a much earlier Cheesy Ham & Potato Casserole I created when we lived in Dallas, Texas. Many of my memories are tied to special dishes made to please my loved ones. Hope you find enjoyment with this recipe as well.

Bon appetit ~!

MELINDA’S CHEESY HAM CHOWDER

September 2006

INGREDIENTS:

Prepare ham:

    * Meaty ham bone
    * Water to easily submerge bone

Reserved ham chunks to add to soup

Chowder Vegetables:

    * 4 Irish potatoes – peeled and sliced in ½” thick slices
    * 3 carrots – peeled and sliced in ½” slices
    * 3 spines celery – de-stringed, sliced lengthwise and finely chopped
    * 1 large Bermuda or Spanish onion, sliced and diced
    * Pepper to taste
    * Celery salt – scarce ¼ teaspoon for this quantity

Cheesy Bechamel Sauce:

    * 1 cup butter
    * 1 cup flour
    * Pepper to taste
    * 2 cups milk
    * Shredded cheese, preferably Cheddar – Monterrey Jack blend – full 8 oz bag for this quantity chowder. Shred the cheese yourself as pre-packaged shredded cheese has additives you don't want in this dish.

To Finalize the chowder: * 1 can corn, drained

    * 2 Tbsp dried parsley (less for fresh)

INSTRUCTIONS:

1. Prepare ham stock:

    Simmer ham bone in water until tender and stock looks hearty. Remove ham bone, cool until capable of being safely handled. Remove ham from bone and cut in ¾ “ chunks. Stock should be poured into tall, narrow pitcher and refrigerated until fat rises to top and congeals. Remove fat.

2. Prepare chowder vegetables:

    When stock has been de-fatted, pour into bottom of large Dutch oven and add sliced and chopped vegetables. Cover, bring to boil, reduce heat and cook until vegetables are crisp tender.

3. Prepare classic béchamel sauce:

    When chowder vegetables are cooked, prepare cheese sauce. Place butter in sauce pan and melt. When butter is completely melted, whisk in flour, season with pepper and dash celery salt. Permit to cook 1 minute while stirring to prevent scorching. This prepares the roux and rids the flour mixture of its “raw” taste.

    Begin adding milk slowly, whisking while adding. Bring mixture back to boil, stirring constantly. Do not permit to scorch. When béchamel sauce has thickened, remove from heat, add cheese and whisk briskly. This creates a thickened cheese sauce.

4. Complete the chowder:

    Add the cheese sauce to the hot stock and vegetables. Add the cubed ham, can of drained corn and parsley, then taste. Adjust seasoning if necessary. Stir until liquid is evenly velvety.


Serve hot with crisp salad, hot bread and fresh fruit for dessert. Serves 12 easily. To prepare for four reduce ingredient list as appropriate.


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Introspective

 

By Thomas F. O'Neill

True Spirituality Can Bring About Peace


September 11, 2001, changed our nation profoundly, and those who remember what our lives were like prior to 9/11 realize how egregious that attack was and how it changed us. Since then, there is a growing number of Christian fundamentalists in America who depict Islam as nothing more than radical suicide bombers waging war on the U.S. There is certainly a terroristic threat against America by radical Islamic fundamentalists, but they do not represent all of Islam.


Christian fundamentalists also have a habit of distorting history to show how superior they are over the other religions of the world. However, their Islamophobic rhetoric is far from the truth.


When the Christians were experiencing the Dark Ages (400-1400 A.D.), brought on by religious extremism. Muslims were writing about Plato, Aristotle, and other great philosophers.


It was the Muslims' deep thirst for knowledge and wisdom that preserved some of the early literature of antiquity's greatest philosophers. They also preserved the writings of early Christian theologians.


Most contemporary historians - but not all - believe that during the Dark Ages the Christians burned the library of Alexandria in Egypt. The library contained hundreds of thousands of scrolls, literature, and knowledge of the ancient world's greatest thinkers.


The Christians at that time, however, believed that the Bible contained all the knowledge necessary for man's salvation. That belief resulted in the burning of the library and the loss of a treasure trove of knowledge.


There is a particular Islamic sect known as the Sufis, who believe all knowledge is sacred because the human intellect is ours for the enhancement of humanity.


St. Francis of Assisi (1182-1228 A.D.) was greatly influenced by the Sufi belief system. He and the Sufis believed that the spirit of God is implicit and can be known intrinsically by all people, regardless of their religious upbringing. The Sufis and St. Francis of Assisi's spirituality stood in total contrast to mainstream Islam and the Catholic Church's teachings at that time.


The Sufis sought to bring spirituality into the Islamic faith by living and communicating it altruistically. St. Francis was trying to accomplish a similar mission within the Catholic Church of his day.


In the 13th century, Muslim and Christian extremists were slaughtering one another in the name of religion. St. Francis, however, walked into the Muslim camps without harm. He talked to the Muslims about Sufi spirituality and how similar it was to his own.


He was revered by Muslims and Christians alike for his implicit understanding that if you want to be understood, you must touch the hearts of others. He did not accomplish his mission by imposing his will and beliefs upon others. He simply lived his life as he would want others to live their lives; in doing so, others embraced and emulated his way of life.


The Sufi Muslims have a similar mission: to bring about peace in the world through a genuine, authentically lived spirituality.


We mustn't judge all Muslims by fanatical fundamentalists. On the contrary, there are many good and spiritual followers of Islam.


Fundamentalism is dangerous - it forces ill-willed people to live their lives ignorantly due to a lack of spiritual insight and a narrow-minded belief system. You can find these extremists in every religion throughout history.


Religion is shaped by one's parents and by their parents' parents, but our spirituality is what we are born with. Spirituality is the spark, the essence, and the spirit that sustains us and all things. It's beyond rituals and religious symbols because it's the core of our existence. True spirituality is the torch that lights the way, not religious principles that are imposed or mandated on others. It is lived and expressed freely in one's character for others to emulate and embrace.


I did not write this with the intent of offending the religious. I wrote this as a way of expressing how religious beliefs and differences separate people. On the other hand, spirituality can and does unite those who are searching for an altruistic way of life.

Always with love,

Thomas F O'Neill

    Email: introspective7@hotmail.com
    Phone: (410) 925-9334
    Twitter: https://twitter.com/Thomas_F_ONeill
    Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/thomas-f-o-neill-6226b018/
    Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/thomas_f_oneill/
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Sifoddling Along

 

By Marilyn Carnell

Ozark Speech

I moved to a Senior Living apartment a year ago. It has been a pleasant experience, but sometimes I find that when an Ozark expression or idiom slips into my speech people don’t understand what I am saying. I have a similar problem when they use Scandinavian terms like “Uf Dah” (amazement) or “biffy” (toilet).


Recently I went “down the rabbit hole” of my computer (to use a current example – to follow a random path deep into the internet). I stumbled upon several blogs discussing Appalachian words and customs. Their creators assume that the reader will find the terms new and unique. I am familiar with most of them because the Ozarks and Appalachia share a common language. When I was growing up in the 1950’s some of the following words or terms were still commonly spoken. Sadly, they are dying out and the colorful vocabularies shrinking.


One of my favorite words is poke - depending on the circumstances it can mean an edible weed, a punch in the eye, or a paper bag or sack. Lately it is pronounced Poke-ay and is an Asian bowl of fish and vegetables.


Much of my interaction with others is in the dining room. I have to restrain myself from saying things like: “John ate a “bait” or a” passel” (large amount) of beans. No wonder he has a belly ache. I thought he would founder (overeat). It can also happen when I try to explain a word with an example. “Back in the day when we had free range (no fences) the hogs would fatten up in the fall on mast (acorns).” No wonder they look at me anti-gogglin (sideways).


A statement like “I reckon (think) I can. After supper (dinner) I will do that dreckly (directly, immediately). It is as incomprehensible to a furriner (foreigner, not from this place) as asking him “jeet” (did you eat, spoken rapidly).


The end result has been my renewed interested in speech patterns and wonder at how many of the old expressions I absorbed in my youth.


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On Trek

 

By Judith Kroll

My Trek

I was in a discussion on the internet, that I found quite interesting. Of course, I had to examine the ins and outs of the discussion within myself.

There was talk about pictures of Jesus, and how he looks, and people claiming he should have brown eyes and some say blue and or green. From his birthplace, he should be brown eyed, people said.

Now, I got to thinking how to answer that. I love to watch the TV show, ¨Ghost inside my child¨. It is all about reincarnation of little children who remember who they were in a past life.

When they come back as another person, they have different parents. In one picture they were brown eyed, and in the new life they are green or blue eyed. Some were of different races. Some were once in China and now the United states etc. Mendel's peas don't seem to matter anymore once one passes on.

When we return to spirit form, it really doesn't matter, we can be blue eyed one day and green another. I did notice that when a medium talks to those who have passed, they come to the reader in the same form they left, either brown or blue eyed, tall, bushy hair etc, so that those left here on earth having the reading, can recognize the person.

So, if Jesus comes as a blond to someone, we should believe them, because it was their visitation!

I have come to the conclusion that everything is temporary, even our looks. When I return to spirit, I am going to be taller.

Judith

Encore of 1/24/15


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Daniel Boone and Me

 

By John I. Blair

In my heart it makes me proud
To claim my sixth-great grandfather
Is Daniel Boone, the Pathfinder,
Who settled Boonesborough, KY,
And Booneville in Missouri.

I guess my pride’s irrational;
Once I’ve calculated out
What portion of my DNA
Might stem from him
It’s less than two percent.

But genes are not the point;
I figure my excuse is
Rather who he was, and
Who I am, and how we have
Connected through the years.

I love to read about his exploits,
His hunts for bears,
His skirmishes with Indians.
(Although he was a peaceful man
He’d found that passion had its uses.)

He mapped the trackless wilderness
And made his name by taming it,
Yet said if neighbors lived so close
That he could hear an axe
The time had come to move.

Well I can hear my neighbors sneeze;
The bears I dread all trade on Wall Street;
But when I’m scouting fearlessly
Around a freeway traffic jam
I channel Daniel’s frontier glory.

©2006 John I. Blair
Encore


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Cherokee Daughter

 

By Bud Lemire

She was a full blooded Cherokee
With her daughter at her knee
"Mom, can we change shapes like our ancestors did?"
She asked these questions, because she was a kid

She wanted to know all about her ancestry
And how they lived in the land of the free
She wanted to fly as high as she could, into the air
And to explore her spirit and to be aware

A beautiful little girl, with dark black hair
The prettiest smile upon her face, was placed there
She could learn to be brave and be strong
And learn the difference between right and wrong

For her people, things did change
In her life, it turned out to be strange
Voices heard, within her head
They came to her, from the dead

They showed her visions of things to come
Reminded her of where she was from
She stood tall, and she was so proud
Of her heritage, while in a crowd

It wasn't easy, with all they've been through
But they did what only they could do
She became a woman, and raised a family
The Cherokee Daughter, proud of her ancestry

©Jan 11, 2006 Bud Lemire
Encore


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Fine Thursday Ramble

 

By Walt Perryman

I am just rambling this fine Thursday morning,
However, some could see this as a warning.

As I age, I have many more good memories than bad,
And that’s good, considering how many bad ones I’ve had.

I believe that believing in God can always ease our pain.
However, if your heart is not true, then to believe is in vain!

I believe our actions will always show who we really are,
And, to believe and live God’s way, is always better by far.

This may not make sense to everyone anyway,
But I have a question: how are you living today?

©January 2026 Walt Perryman


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Lipstick Girl

By Bruce Clifford

Lipstick girl in this chaotic world.
You bring calm to me.
You help me believe.

Lipstick girl, you’re the heart in the pearl.
You allow me to see.
You’re my everything.

I know you never leave your home
Without your lipstick, lipstick girl.

Lipstick girl in this turbulent world.
Pretty pink or in red.
You’re in the dreams in my head.

Lipstick girl, you’re the smile in my world.
The same moon that we see.
You brought faith back to me.

I never leave my home
Lipstick girl, as we take on the world.
As we’re divided by the sea.
You’ve helped me believe.

There’s no one more beautiful
Than my lipstick, lipstick girl.

©1/10/2026 Bruce Clifford


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The Year We Had A Crazy Neighbor

 

By John I. Blair

It was the year we had a crazy neighbor.
On moonlit nights he’d haunt the yard,

Staring at the treetops where, he told me,
Men were perching, talking to him.

I never knew precisely what to do,
So I’d say something dumb, then look away.

They didn’t scare him much, the treetop men;
But he wondered what they had in mind,

For it was his mother’s house
Where he was allowed to live at large

Instead of at the hospital
As long as he remained improved.

I guess he feared his visitors
Were putting that at risk.

Funny thing: although I thought
I ought to testify that nobody was there,

I never gained the confidence
To tell him that for sure.

©2006 John I. Blair
Encore


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I Ask My Cousin

 

By Bud Lemire

I ask my Cousin, she knows all about it
She's researched it well, and has some great wit
I usually don't research, unless it's something I like
Like genealogy, or what looks great on my bike

She knows things, with business, life, and more
I'm lucky to remember, what to get at the store
She likes to be informed, and up to date
I try to be on time, just so I'm not late

I ask my Cousin, what's happening out there
She has her sources, and she's quite aware
For me, I just wonder, inside my mind
Always something happening, is what I find

Hey Cousin, what do you know
Have you looked out, to see a rainbow
She tends to pick up, on all the news
Me, I'm uninformed, but that's what I choose

There's enough to know out there, but what is true
Too much fake news all over, so what can I do
My Cousin lives it, she knows the truth is happening when it does
I always ask my Cousin, she knows what is and what was

©Jan 25, 2026 Bud Lemire

                       Author Note:

My Cousin would be the first to tell you that she doesn't know
everything. One thing for sure, she likes to keep up on the
latest news and what is happening locally and in the world.
Many times it affects us in so many ways. She keeps me
posted on the important things that affect me as well.
Thank you Cousin, for the answers I don't look for
myself.


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Old One about Children

 

By Walt Perryman

The Bible has many Verses on how we should raise a child,
If we’d read and obeyed them, our world wouldn’t be so wild.

We do have many Godly based children being raised today,
But we have many more, that has never known God’s way!

Many of our children are never taught about God at home.
And so many of those are left alone and are free to roam.

Too many bad parents allow their children to run around wild,
It’s not a schoolteacher’s job to try to fix a bad parent’s child.

I believe all children need boundaries and rules to live by,
Otherwise, most of them will learn how to cheat and lie.

Many children do not have a father living at home with them,
To help their mother enforce Gods rules and their future is dim.

Now don’t get me wrong, there are many good kids too.
All I’m saying is, I don’t believe there are as many of you?

I believe our children are the future of God’s green earth,
And I also believe they need God in their lives from birth.

Our problem is we have had too many Godless generations,
And I believe it is the reason for the fall of many great nations.

Children need fertile soil to grow, as does, Gods beautiful flowers.
And folks, God knows it is not the children’s fault, it is, ours!

©January 2026 Walt Perryman


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I Love Her More

By Bruce Clifford

It was once written in the stars.
Long ago and from very far.
The vertical cosmic reign.
Feeling this way is hard to explain.
I love her more every single day.

I was once drifting in the sky.
Long ago before you and I.
Monuments and raccoon slippers by the sea.
Feeling this way, the only way It can be.
I love her from here to far across the sea.

We were once hovering above the clouds.
Drifting in tandem, singing out loud.
A moment in time while space keeps us alive.
Together we are elevated in this cosmic rhyme.
I love her more than all space and time.

©1/7/2026 Bruce Clifford


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What Is It About Cats?

 

By John I. Blair

What is it about cats

That they never come straight toward you

Like a dog?

Instead they angle slightly to the side,

Pretending they’ve a different agenda

That just by chance will take them

Into your vicinity. And,

If you should wish to pet them as they pass,

They might tolerate it.

©2006 John I. Blair
Encore


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Freeze Me!

 

By Bud Lemire

Freeze me! It's so damn cold
Either that, or I'm getting old
Below Zero temps, old winter is here
Need something warm, to cover my ear

I'll put on my beaver hat today
Not going to freeze, it's not my way
I'll bundle up tight, if I go out
Not going to freeze, but I may shout

In below zero temps, I'll stay at home
A warm apartment, and I'll be alone
I'll work on a project, I have plenty to do
Getting things done, is what helps me through

Don't go outside, if you don't have to be
Stay inside, be warm, be just like me
Don't expose your skin, to the frigid cold air
Wait for the summer, then you can bare

Visions of me on a warm summer day, on my bicycle
While I stare out the window, at a hanging icicle
A car drives by, and starts to slide
Freeze me! I'm not going outside

©Jan 25, 2026 Bud Lemire

                       Author Note:

Don't go outside and freeze,
if you don't have to
These below temperatures are nasty.
Stay inside and stay warm.


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As Old As I Am

 

By Walt Perryman

As old as I am, I thought that I would know,
What I should not do and where not to go.

As old as I am, I should have life figured out,
And be doing what I should without a doubt.

As old as I am, I still need to change my ways,
And not try to live like I did in my younger days.

As old as I am, I feel like I am still learning
That our lives are like a candle that’s burning.

As old as I am, I am still not all that clever,
I often forget; candles don’t burn forever.

©Jan 4, 2026 Walt Perryman


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Before You

By Bruce Clifford

I can’t imagine my life without you.
You’re the girl who make makes me think.
You mean everything to me.
I can’t imagine my any of my dreams without you.

We can both see the same moon no matter how far apart we are.
In September and in June we align a cosmic star.

I can’t remember what life was like before you.
You’re always in my thoughts and oh how I adore you.
I can’t imagine any of my dreams without you.
You mean everything to me.

We can both see the same moon no matter how far apart we are.
In September and in June we align a cosmic star.

I can’t imagine my life without you.
You’re the girl who make makes me think.
You mean everything to me.
I can’t imagine my any of my dreams without you.
I can’t remember what this life was like before you.

©1/5/2026 Bruce Clifford


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Thursday, January 1, 2026

Editor's Corner

 


By Mary E. Adair

“Although no one can go back
and make a brand new start,
anyone can start from now
and make a brand new ending.”
— Carl Bard

Welcome to January 2026!


We nearly made it through December without freezing temperatures until the final week in our sandy, desert area of Texas. Even so, beyond a small amount of rain, driving conditions remained comparatively safe. That's good because driving through or past our town on I-20 is what most people do which congests our highways which can be dangerous. Our town has changed a lot over the last decade but retains a small town atmosphere of friendliness and of caring. Altogether, a lovely place to call home.


Our authors, however, since this is an International eZine, dwell in many different parts of our world. This gives many different backgrounds, different occupations, and cultural aspects, among them, meaning we have an interesting set of viewpoints in every issue.


Bruce Clifford's poem for this new year is "The Promise." Yours truly offers one of her poems in encore, "Fall Garden." It seemed most appropriate as our year was ending paving the way for new beginnings.


Bud Lemire's poems for January are "In The New Year," "Precious Is The Time," "The Best in A Happy New Year," and "A Victory in Life's Game." Walt Perryman's poems for January are reminisces of Christmas time: "What I Want for Christmas," "Our Day After Christmas," "What Christmas Was, Is, or Isn't?" and "Rambling Thought about New Years."


John I. Blair remains our most prolific author, having been a columnist for us as well as having submitted the greatest number of poems through the years. He is currently recuperating from heart surgery done in December but previously agreed that this editor could encore various poems. So, here are four of his poems: "This Is January," "Looking For Spring," "Listening, and "Deja Vu." We appreciate his vast talent for writing.


The article is by one of our former columnists, Ara Parisien. On request she prepared it as looking ahead to the new opportunities we all face in new times. Excellent advice, "Make 2026 the Year You Finally Decide" is not to be skipped.


Judith Kroll's column "On Trek" is perhaps a surprise, if you haven't the pleasure of knowing her. She accompanied it with a picture that was quite similar to her experience. Unfortunately, our inclusion of new pics has a glitch so only those previously in our eZine can be chosen at this time. Marilyn Carnell's column "Sifoddling Along" is a lovely message about making messages. Thomas F. O'Neill recalled some rewarding experiences he had while teaching in China. There are some pics included in his column "Introspective" from that period.


"Woo Woo" by Pauline Evanosky focuses on Resolutions. She is such a busy writer, and her own resolve includes being certain she has time to devote to that preference in activities. Melinda Cohenour, wearing two hats labeled columnist handles her original column "Armchair Genealogy" citing family tales that can be included in one's online Astrology publications, and managing the various recipes and "cooks" in the column "Cooking with Rod's Family." She does the latter column in honor of her late husband who was our cooking columnist. The special recipe this month was our mother's: Lena May's German-Style Potato Pancakes.


Our Dublin, Ireland columnist Mattie Lennon shares a tale by a late friend and one of his own compositions recorded as a song by a friend, for his "Irish Eyes." Our webmaster and dear, longtime friend Mike Craner includes a brief but sincere thought in his "Mike's Place" column. We owe him the idea and concept of this eZine cofounded as Pencil Stubs Online when I had to close my real printed and mailed magazine in newspaper format, "Hobbie$, Etc." That magazine, started by the late AG Adair, went to seven countries, including 42 states in the USA. We wouldn't be here without his ingenuity and enthusiasm. Thank you, Mike.


See you in February which will be the first issue of the 29th Volumn of Pencil Stubs Online.


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Mike's Place

 

By Michael L. Craner

There is too much hate in the world now. It's largely due to misunderstanding, and failure to TRY to understand.

Not ALL Muslims want to kill everyone. Not ALL illegal immigrants traffic and sell drugs, rape and murder people.

Not every teen or veteran is a homicidal maniac.

People need to slow their roll, THINK for a moment. Put yourself in someone else's shoes.

Terrorism is defined as spreading terror to others. If you don't accept the fear, terror, and cowardice they spread, then we are already winning.

Don't hate a country, culture, or religion because someone affiliated with them did something terrible. Blame the person.


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Armchair Genealogy

Armchair Genealogy

By Melinda Cohenour

A Tribute to Daddy Earl, Earl Joseph King

This column is offered to introduce my step grandfather, Earl Joseph King, who enriched our lives. He was the grandfather I knew, as my grandmother had divorced and remarried. Her first husband moved to California, a long distance from our little town. I was fourteen years old before I met my father's father, Everett Carroll. He was a brilliant man and I quickly developed a close bond that lasts to this day. But Daddy Earl was there for me from the day of my birth and holds a dear spot in my heart.


Our grandfather Earl Joseph King suffered from what they called "miner's lungs" after working in the lead and zinc mines. He had 14 pounds of zinc "dust" deposits in his lungs which prevented him from being able to lay down. His last years of life were spent seated on the side of his bed and leaning forward to sleep on a pillow atop the ornate dresser next to his bed. Edema of course was a co-condition which Grandma King relieved by massaging his feet and calves and by bringing in foot tubs of warm water to aid blood circulation.


He never complained that I heard. He was a loving and humorous man who found myriad ways to entertain me in my preschool years. A large limb on the tree outside his window became my pony. Window up to catch the breeze, as I sat astride that limb upon my saddle, Daddy Earl would narrate tales of daring-do as we shared rollicking rides 'cross plains, o'er streams, up mountain passes seeking adventure.


On cold evenings, he embodied the flames that rose in his gas heater with a tribe of "wild Injuns" each flame with his own name and distinct personality. Oh! The adventures we shared!!


Daddy Earl told of first casting eyes upon my grandmother Nora Viola Alexander (Carroll, Fisher, King) at a train station in Kansas City. He was headed to his port of embarcation to Europe where he competed in horse races as a jockey. Grandmother had my infant father in her arms, caring lovingly for him. Daddy Earl told me "That Norie!! She was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen! I found her when I returned and never let my heart roam!"


He worked as chief welder at the Ozark Mahoning Sal-Soda plant in his later years. I remember when Daddy Earl still walked, and worked around their home, and took me places. He made good money because he took me shopping "for Norie" when I was three years old. He paid cash for two new cars ... Both Hudson Hornets, one gold "To match your spun-gold hair Girlie" and one deep green "To match your pretty green eyes!"


I inherited those cars when I turned 13 and got my Beginner's License. I think the townfolk were greatly relieved when those "instruments of doom" as piloted by Grandma King passed from her use! She had a big heart and became the chauffeur for her gaggle of Golden Oldies ... Her elderly widowed lady friends. She'd gather them from their homes for church services, for Golden Age Club meetings, for shopping. That was all well and good EXCEPT for Grandma's eccentric driving habits.


She religiously utilized hand signals albeit her "self designed' signals - ones only the previously terrified townfolk had become marginally familiar with their meaning. For instance, to turn right she properly extended her left arm out the driver's window and pointed an extended finger up and over the car roof. However, her execution of that right-hand turn is where the trouble occurred. To quote her instructions to me when a fledgling driver: "One must signal their intent thusly (she would exhibit the aforementioned arm, hand and finger movements) then pull as far to the left of the road as possible to make plenty of room to turn to the Right!" This involved ALL the roadway, meaning on a two-way Street Grandma King would signal before veering wildly across the road to its far left border ... facing HEAD ON to oncoming traffic (brakes slamming by their drivers) before veering rapidly across all lanes of traffic to now TURN RIGHT.


And a Left Turn execution? Um-Hmmm. Left arm extended straight out to be followed immediately by Mama King veering to the far RIGHT of the roadway before quickly TURNING LEFT.


And the Stop hand signal? She properly stuck that left arm out the window with index finger pointed straight to the ground. Only issue here? Mama King only signaled once she had already slammed on her brake and was fully stopped. (Familiar drivers in our little burg learned when they spied that gold Hudson Hornet "Caution is the Better Part of Valor" ... Grant Mrs. King a WIDE BERTH!)


These sweet memories of my beloved family members are shared in the hope my descendants will read the stories and have a glimpse of the person whose name appears in their family tree.


It is my desire to encourage my readers to include their memories of family members to put "flesh on the bones" of those long gone ancestors. May the coming year bring a renewed interest in researching your ancestral history. The Internet now provides such an incredible tool for family members to build their own tree and populate it with their own ancestors. Get to know them by seeking documents and stories on-line. Get in touch with cousins interested in the same persons. Share photos and stories ... All from your armchairs at home!


See you next month!


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This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


 


Irish Eyes

 


By Mattie Lennon

A STORY BY SEAN MCCARTHY AND MY FEEBLE ATTEMPT AT SONGWRITING

Thanks to Mary Cogan of Listowel Connect I have this seasonal story written by the Late Sean McCarthy in 1986.

The Christmas Coat

Oh fleeting time, oh, fleeting time
You raced my youth away;
You took from me the boyhood dreams
That started each new day.

My father, Ned McCarthy, found the blanket in the Market Place in Listowel two months before Christmas. The blanket was spanking a rich Kelly green hue with fancy white stitching round the edges. Ned, as honest a man as hard times would allow, did the right thing. He bundled this exotic looking comforter inside his overcoat and brought it home to our manse on the edge of Sands bog.

The excitement was fierce to behold that night when all the McCarthy clan sat round the table. Pandy, flour dip and yolla meal pointers, washed down with buttermilk disappeared down hungry throats. All eyes were on the green blanket airing in front of the turf fire. Where would the blanket rest? The winter was creeping in fast and the cold winds were starting to whisper round Healy’s Wood; a time for the robin to shelter in the barn. I was excited about the blanket too but the cold nights never bothered me. By the time I had stepped over my four brothers to get to my own place against the wall, no puff of wind, no matter however fierce could find me.

After much arguing and a few fist fights (for we were a very democratic family) it was my sister, Anna who came up with the right and proper solution. That lovely blanket, she said, was too fancy, too new and too beautiful to be wasted on any bed. Wasn’t she going to England, in a year’s time and the blanket would make her a lovely coat!. Brains to burn that girl has. Didn’t she prove it years later when she married an engineer and him a pillar of the church and a teetotaller? Well maybe a slight correction here. He used to be a pillar of the pub and a total abstainer from church but she changed all that. Brains to burn! The tailor Roche lived in a little house on the Greenville Road with his brother Paddy and a dog with no tail and only one eye. Rumours abounded around the locality about the tailor’s magic stitching fingers and his work for the English royal family. Every man, woman and child in our locality went in awe of the Tailor Roche. Hadn’t he made a coat for the Queen of England when he was domiciled in London, a smoking jacket for the Prince of Wales and several pairs of pyjamas for Princess Flavia

The only sour note I ever heard against the tailor’s achievements came from The Whisper Hogan, an itinerant ploughman who came from the west of Kerry. “If he’s such a famous tailor,” said Whisper, “why is it that his arse is always peeping out through a hole in his trousers?" Hogan was an awful begrudger. We didn’t pay him any heed. Tailor Roche was the man chosen to make the coat from the green blanket. Even though it was a “God spare you the health” job, a lot of thought went into the final choice of a tailor.

The first fitting took place of a Sunday afternoon on the mud floor of the McCarthy manse. The blanket was spread out evenly and Anna was ordered to lie very still on top of it. Even I, who had never seen a tailor at work, thought this a little strange. But my father soon put me to rights when he said, “Stop fidgeting, Seáinín, you are watching a genius at work.” Chalk, scissors, green thread and plenty of sweet tea with a little bit of bacon and cabbage when we had it. A tailor can’t work on an empty stomach. The conversion went apace through Christmas and into the New Year. Snip snip, stitch, stich, sweet tea and fat bacon, floury spuds. I couldn’t see much shape in the coat but there was one thing for sure – it no longer looked like a blanket. Spring raced into summer and summer rained its way into autumn. Hitler invaded Poland and the British army fled Dunkirk, the men of Sandes Bog and Greenville gathered together shoulder to shoulder to defend the Ballybunion coastline and to bring home the turf.

Then six weeks before Christmas disaster struck the McCarthy clan and to hell with Hitler, the British Army, and Herman Goering. We got the news at convent mass on Sunday morning the Tailor Roche had broken his stitching hand when he fell over his dog, the one with the one eye and no tail. Fourteen months of stitching, cutting, tea drinking and bacon eating down the drain. Even a genius cannot work with one hand. Anna looked very nice in her thirty shilling coat from Carroll Heneghan’s in Listowel as we walked to the train. Coming home alone in the January twilight I tried hard to hold back the tears. She would be missed. The Tailor was sitting by the fire, a mug of sweet tea in his left hand and a large white sling holding his right-hand. I didn’t feel like talking so I made my way across the bed to my place by the wall. It was beginning to turn cold so I drew the shapeless green bundle up around my shoulders. It was awkward enough to get it settled with the two sleeves sticking out sideways and a long split up the middle. Still, it helped keep out the frost. Every bed needs a good green blanket and every boyhood needs a time to rest.


The ghosts of night will vanish soon
When winter fades away
The lark will taste the buds of June
Mid the scent of new mown hay.

* * * * * *

And now I’m going to impose on you the words of a song that I wrote about twenty years ago. It was put to music and recorded by singer/songwriter John Hoban. If anyone wants the audio just email me.


There’s Brightness..............

By Mattie Lennon

As a child I remember small farmers
Being depressed at some times of the year,
With climatic conditions uncertain
Turning hopes of their harvest to fear.
Whenever they cursed the bad weather
As the elements failed to rescind
My father, with wisdom, would tell them:
"There's a brightness at the butt of the wind".

When teenage ambitions got twisted:
My identity crisis would loom.
Rejection and fantasy mingled,
Resulting in pictures of doom.
Then.........the Power of Good to the rescue
To counter each negative trend.
My thoughts would somehow be diverted
To that brightness at the butt of the wind.

Chorus:

When the weather of life it looks hopeless;
And dark clouds with disaster seem twinned,
Remember that God will send sunshine.
There's brightness at the butt of the wind.

When the storms of anguish are beating
And I'm lashed by the gales of defeat
When the forecast of life holds no promise
It's still not the time to retreat
A fresh glow appears in my vision
Like a night sky by bright stars sequined.
Then I know then I haven't forgotten
That brightness at the butt of the wind

At last when I'll see the horizon
And that mist (self-deception) has cleared
I'll ponder the journey before me
And confront all the things that I've feared,
Expecting a turbulent crossing
As the Clergy point out that I've sinned
But knowing that Salvation is certain
By the brightness at the butt of the wind

Chorus:


© Mattie Lennon 2005 Music and vocals, John Hoban.

* * * * * *


Overheard in West Wicklow during the festive season:

“Next Christmas Day falls on a Friday.”


“I hope it’s not Friday the thirteenth.”


Have a great 2026.


See you in February.


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This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.
 



Woo Woo

 

By Pauline Evanosky

A Fresh Start

Hi everybody. Happy New Year! I hope your holidays have been fun.


I want to talk about resolutions today. Traditionally, folks use the new year as a time to decide on things they want to get done in the coming year. I always have a bunch of things I’d like to do. Many times, I never get to them, or I get sidetracked along the way.


And then I am angry at myself.


So, the goal here is to get more stuff done without getting angry at yourself.


Many times, when you set a project out for yourself to do, there could be a steep learning curve involved. Say, for instance, you want to learn a new language.


As with writing, you need to set aside time to work on it. I used to think I didn’t have any time for writing. I began in earnest back when I was still working a full-time job. It just didn’t seem to be any room, and for years this put the kibosh on any real writing I did. I blamed my working life on interfering with what I really wanted to do.


How did I solve it? I took one of Toy Robbin’s courses. It was in the days before we had the internet, but we did have computers, where I do my best writing. I checked out a cassette tape of his course from the library. Since then, I’ve attended a couple of seminars that Tony gives periodically. That’s enough to pump you up. And, yes, you can pay money for these things or sit in on the first few days for free.


My solution? I realized there were no extra hours in the day to write. There was never going to be the perfect time to do it. So, I started getting up earlier. And that solved my problem. As time went on, I began to grab whatever moments were free when I was at home to write. Mostly, it was in my journals. And journals are an excellent place to start when you feel like you’d like to write something.


It’s good for the heart when you can pour your heart out. Number one, you’re not asking for opinions, nor are you going to frustrate or cause concern among family and friends. You just stand on your soapbox and shout to the world in your journal.


After years of doing this, it became an ingrained habit. Where I could sit down and write without needing a reason, and that is when eventually the blank-page syndrome stopped bothering me. If the phone rings, I can answer it. If somebody rings the doorbell, I can attend to that.


So, if it is Spanish you want to learn, decide for yourself how many sessions a week and how long you will need. Yes, you are constrained if you’ve got a job, but I know you can do it. I did. And I am not the most efficient person on the face of the earth. I have feet of clay just like anybody else. But I also know I can do stuff.


The other thing with a journey toward something. There may be times you need to detour. Maybe you discover that you’re not sticking to your schedule. Put in place some sort of incentive to address that. Ask yourself what could be a reward if you get the job done? If you were a kid, I’d offer you a bribe with a cookie or a visit to the park. Or, whatever. Can you trick your adult self into doing what you want?


I think you can. I'm working on myself.


For instance, I’ll write like a house on fire. Boom, one article written. Boom, another article written. Now, it’s getting near lunchtime. Boom, I start another article, and I’m about halfway through. I decide to eat lunch, or brunch, which usually is what happens to me. I settle down to read a book. Or I turn on YouTube and come up for air a couple of hours later. Do I want to finish the article? Usually, not. By that time, I’m ready for a nap.


In the last couple of weeks, I made a new rule for myself. I would not allow a partially written story to hang around. I did that for so long that my 12 file (where I put partially finished articles) is about 54 pages long. The rule there was that I’d snag one every once in a while and finish it. Except I never did.


Now, I have one document that I write in. I call it Doc 2. It’s got a schedule on it for all my upcoming articles, so I can keep that straight and meet my self-imposed obligations, but I will also finish it the day I start it.


In my articles for my WooWoo column here at PencilStubs, I always allow them to percolate for a couple of days. I might finish this one tomorrow or the day after. Generally, I will be able to do some editing once I’ve got an article on a platform like Medium, Substack, or my own website. With the WooWoo articles, I need some space to come back and make them more informative and/or interesting.


Anyway, that’s how I handle my writing.


But what about learning Spanish? I have a lifetime membership with Rosetta Stone. Every year, these platforms start having half-off sales around Thanksgiving and Christmas. I did that one year and have access to any number of languages to learn. The other thing I did a couple of weeks ago was to purchase a year’s membership for Lingopie.com at half price. You get to watch all sorts of television shows, movies, documentaries, and cartoons in your preferred language. I also already have a bazillion books for learning Spanish. Such a wealth of resources is available. Plus, if you wanted to, you could go to ChatGPT.com and have a conversation with it in another language to practice.


It seems that learning Spanish and taking the courses I like on Masterclass don’t have the same importance as I give to my writing.


How to address it?


Somebody in Spirit just told me to write in Spanish. Ha, that’s a joke. Donde esta? Where are you? Except there is an accent missing and another upside-down question mark in front of the question. My Spanish is severely lacking right now. I mean, it is terrible. But I’m getting older. I find myself forgetful on occasion, and I need to stimulate some brain cells. My resolutions for the new year? Give more importance to the time I need to learn Spanish and attend my classes on Masterclass.com. Right now, I’m taking a class about acting with Samuel L. Jackson. Not that I’m going to be acting, just as a writer, I felt the need to really get to know my characters when I start writing fiction.


It also occurred to me to write my Spanish dialogue and words in longhand in a notebook.


So, my WooWoo life is the same as yours. Pretty much, and I’ve got the same problems keeping my resolutions as anybody else. I hope, though, that I might have encouraged you to set your expectations higher for yourself this time around. Thanks for reading and Happy New Year.


Love, 🌺
Pauline Evanosky 🌺


Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


Cooking with Rod's Family

 

By Melinda Cohenour



A special treat my MomMay made when we had lots of fresh potatoes were her German-style potato pancakes. Like a really excellent hashbrown patty but with more complex flavor, her potato pancakes were perfectly browned on both sides with tender tasty potatoes on the inside — LenaMay's potato pancakes were a family favorite. (She also made a similar dish using leftover mashed potatoes but that's a different dish.)

MomMay's German-style potato pancakes made a mouth-watering savory treat, ideal for breakfast, a side dish for dinner, or a quick tummy filler.

Bon appetit ~!


Lena May's German-Style Potato Pancakes


Ingredients:

    2 lbs (about 6 to 8 medium potatoes, peeled. Mother used russet or Idaho potatoes. We prefer Yukon Gold now but any firm fleshed potato will work.)
    2 large eggs, lightly beaten
    ½ cup finely chopped Spanish onion (the yellow onion cooks sweeter and gives best flavor for this dish)
    2 tbsp all-purpose flour
    ¼ tsp baking powder
    ½ tsp salt
    ¼ tsp freshly ground black pepper
    ¼ cup rendered bacon grease or fresh bacon grease. If you decide to serve crisp bacon with your meal, use the pan grease to fry the potato pancakes (leave about 1/4 cup in the pan but add more while preparing separate batches as needed. Your choice to strain out bacon bits or leave in with fresh grease.)
    (MEC NOTE: You can add a tablespoon or so of sweet or salty creamery butter. MomMay kept rendered bacon grease always. Never would she pollute these delicious potato pancakes with vegetable oil!)
    Toppings suggested for serving (optional but really add to the visual and taste appeal. Suggest you make an attractive topping AND provide side dishes for your guests to add to their plates as desired): *Applesauce, sour cream, chopped chives, and freshly crumbled crisp bacon, even sliced and browned Polska Kielbasa (Polish type link sausage). (MomMay made fabulous apple butter and, my favorite, Baked Apples with brown sugar, cinnamon and pie spice)


Note about these Instructions:


Our mother made these often and they were one of my favorite special treats. She served them most often for weekend brunch along with bacon or ham or sausage and eggs AND for a real treat some of her braided sourdough bread! Sometimes cinnamon toast ... Or oven toasted buttered bread slices. Yummy.


The point being I watched MomMay make these, often helped so I searched my memory for how she (later, I) made these treats... Here's my

Instructions:

    1. Begin heating a large cast iron griddle or skillet over a low heat with about 1/4 cup good clear previously rendered bacon grease (rendered means all food bits have been removed and grease reduced to a clear liquid then cooled before being added to the storage tin. Never allow the grease to smoke while rendering; heat slowly.)
    2. Wash and peel potatoes. Rinse and place in container of water, enough to cover all spuds.
    3. In large mixing bowl beat the eggs to a creamy texture. Add minced onions, flour, baking powder, salt and pepper and whisk together briskly.
    4. Prepare potatoes: we used a ricer but modern technology offers a variety of ways to shred the potatoes to resemble uncooked hash browns - food processor, manually by box shredder (any type), potato peeler (least effective and labor intensive!)


    Using a clean absorbent dishtowel or linen, squeeze handfuls of the shredded potatoes over the sink to remove every drop of liquid possible. Wet potatoes will not crisp up. Transfer dried handfuls to a separate bowl, then repeat the process. Only after all the liquid possible has been removed add to the egg and flour mixture


    Stir until all shreds of potatoes have been coated.

    5. Turn up heat on griddle or skillet. When a drop of water "skittles" (sizzles and skitters across the surface) the pan is ready to fry your pancakes.
    6. Don't crowd the pancakes. Turn after gently raising the patty to check browning on the bottom. When to your liking, flip.


    Repeat this process until all pancakes have been fried. Add grease as needed and make sure to bring pan heat back to optimal for a fast crisp browning. Keep first batches warm on an oven-proof pan in your oven.

    7. Serve still warm with a dollop of sour cream, sprinkle of bacon crumbles, some pretty green parsley or chives (can use some thin-sliced green onion tops if you choose.)


Delicious with eggs over medium or sunny side up, breakfast meat(s), and nice warm crusty bread. Might add biscuits and sausage gravy.


Offer sides of baked apples, apple butter, jams or jellies, more sour cream, fresh slices of melon or oranges. Crisp sticks of celery, bell pepper, maybe carrots and a side of sweet thick tomato slices. Enjoy!


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This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


Introspective

 

By Thomas F. O'Neill

As most of you already know, I lived in China from 2009 to 2023, and it was an extraordinary experience. In December 2009, I experienced my first Christmas Holiday there. The cities were all lit up with Christmas lights, and they were so beautifully displayed, especially in the city of Suzhou, where I lived.

The lights brought out the Christmas spirit in me. The Chinese also enjoyed celebrating this special season by lighting bonfires. Some sang songs and danced around the large glowing fires.

They also set off large firework displays in the night sky. It was an ancient tradition that went back thousands of years. It's one of their ways of coming together as a community to celebrate their abundance and be thankful for one another. That was just one of the reasons I found this season so special there.


Like in America, parents and children alike also took great joy in Santa's arrival on Christmas Day. I truly enjoyed seeing the young children's faces light up at the sight of Santa, the jolly old soul.


What intrigued me most about the Christmas season in China was that the majority of those who celebrated this time of year were non-Christian. The Buddhists have also embraced the season as a time to give thanks.


It is unfortunate because this has all changed: all public displays of the Christmas season have been outlawed in China. The Chinese Government ruled that the Western holiday traditions are negatively impacting China's youth.


They would prefer the youth in China to celebrate their own cultural traditions. They see Western influence not only as a threat but also as a potential erasure of China's long cultural heritage.


This draconian law did not stop me from spreading some holiday cheer to my students before I departed from China. As you can see from the photos, Santa will always have his devoted followers.


From my heart to yours, I wish you all a very merry and joyous holiday season.

Always with love,

Thomas F O'Neill

    Email: introspective7@hotmail.com
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This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.



Sifoddling Along

 

By Marilyn Carnell

January is not the longest month, but it seems that way. Here in Minnesota, it is day after day of freezing weather. The days are getting longer, but it still feels as though we are shrouded in darkness for too many hours. But January is also a time of new beginnings – an opportunity for a fresh start on projects, visiting with friends and family. Even those many miles away are now accessible by phone or computer. We do live in miraculous times.


Mankind seems to have an innate urge to record or mark events and things they want to remember or observe. We are still discovering examples of their efforts - pictographs in caves and stones, medicine wheels, modified message trees, knotted strings used for accounting – the list goes on and on. We continue to follow that urge, adopting change at a faster and faster rate.


I don’t make a list of New Year’s Resolutions, but I do intend to finish the book I began writing more than five years ago. It is about the Civil War in southwest Missouri. Coping with the changes I experienced after moving into a senior living apartment last February and dealing with the chaos of daily news filled my time. I couldn’t get my head back into the 1860’s with the ease I once had. The book is my version of a cave painting – a picture of a young woman’s life of struggle for survival when the world around her collapses.


My generation growing up in the southwest Missouri Ozarks is the last to have experienced a lifestyle little different from the times following that dreadful conflict. It was as if time stopped for nearly 100 years. As the youngest child of two youngest children in their families, I grew up hearing the last remnants of Elizabethan English commonly spoken, the colorful colloquial expressions and a lifestyle that had one foot in the 1800’s and the other in the twenty first century.


My parents learned to write with a chalk stick and slate. I started school with a Big Chief tablet and a #2 pencil. My grandchildren casually use computers and cell phones in everyday life.


The year 2026 will hold enormous changes that no one can predict. I can only hope that they will draw us together to face them with resolve.


Happy New Year!


Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.