Life Stories By Shel

As a small child, I would sit in the window sill of my second story bedroom window and watch the scene that was outside.  I would see the crooked ole tree that grew just beside the house, extremely close to the edge of the hill side. That tree both frightened me and amazed me.  In the fall when the winds began to whip and the skies were cloudy and dark from a storm, that tree would begin to sway and unfurl its long tendrils and rake its limbs across my bedroom window.  The sound was grating and dreadful and It gave me an awful scare.  In the spring the sun would hit the back side of the house and illuminate that tree and thought it was one of the skinniest trees on our property it would stretch out its arms and sprout shiny new green leaves that swayed softly and gently in the early spring breeze.   Many bird's and the insect's used that tree as home and I got to witness it almost daily for the first fifteen years of my life. That small story is but a sna...

Raymond Stanley Hill  was my maternal grandfather and my hero. I idolized this much beloved old fellow  Every time my Grandpa entered or left a room I could smell his signature scent.  It lingered in the air.  It was a odd mix of High Karate cologne, sweat, tobacco, and sawdust.  His skin was leather like and rough and his hands were hard and calloused. Grandpa had a firm handshake and his fingers were slightly yellowed from decades of smoking Salem Menthol cigarettes.   He was a beekeeper, gardener extraordinaire, farm hand, truck driver, paper mill retiree' and WWII Veteran.  Sargent first class, USA, Army  all the way.  Often times, I'd find my grandpa toiling away the day in his small woodshed that sat off to the side of  house that he shared with my Grandmother.  I would sit in their for what seemed like hours, just watching him.  He'd carefully measure, sand and piece together his beautiful wooden creation's. H...

Copy code snippet The famous 60's rock band The Byrd's sing one of my favorite songs.  Turn, Turn, Turn.  The  lyrics are an adaptation of one of my most beloved passages in the Holy Bible: Ecclesiastes 3:1 I do believe that there is a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to sow. a time to kill, a time to heal and a time to dance.  I try to keep this song and these words in my mind as I recall events that have happened in my life.  Everything in my 52 years of proliferates growth has happened for a reason.  I often look beyond my multiple years to the centuries of life that preceded me and I wonder, did my ancestors believe the same? My season of life is marked by two tragic turns of events.  The first event happened on my Maternal Grandmother's side of the family.  I'll call this the Season of Slain.  My 7th Great Grandfather's name was Benjamin Slane.   By all accounts, he is a true sur...

I have a daughter in Lgoogle.com, pub-2115235636283523, DIRECT, f08c47fec0942fa0google.com, pub-2115235636283523, DIRECT, f08c47fec0942fa0aw who knows how to give good gifts.  She is such a fantastic gift giver that she will gift you with a present that you didn't even know yourself that you wanted, nor did you know that you needed it. I swear this girl is so good at gifting presents that, if there was a place called gift giving heaven, she would have already achieved nirvana. I received one of those glorious presents this past summer for my 52 birthday.   My youngest son and daughter in law gifted me a membership to Ancestry.com.  This very special gift opened up a whole new world for me.  With my new ancestry membership in hand, I began a journey of self-discovery that would lead me to some faraway places and bring me into contact with some very interesting characters. I've always understood that I was a citizen of the good ole USA.  I knew where I fit ...

My path toward discovering my authentic self started many years ago.  I'd like to say that it started  around 1966, but in all serious, I was just at the beginning of life that year.  I was focused on eating, sleeping and waking up my parents every two hours to feed me. My real journey toward finding my authentic true identity started in the early 80's.  I was a young women burgeoning on the threshold of adulthood  when I began to ask my self the age old question "Who Am I?" Truth be told,  I'm still trying to answer that question some 52 years later. I have realized that you cannot define your true authentic identity without first finding out about the people around you.  That leads me to tonights blog.  It's Christmas Eve 2018.  While most folks are gathered around their Christmas trees, I'm home in front of my computer reflecting on this epic, heartbreaking, anxiety riddled fifty second year of my life. The beginning of this year sa...

Dysfunctional Santa. Every family has their tales of Christmas mayhem and foolishness.  Some of the greatest all time Christmas movies are based on family dysfunction.  Think about the movie Christmas Vacation.  Everyone has over the top family members and a multitude of family disfunction.   My family was not any different.  Well, maybe a little bit different.  You see, It all happened one night a long time ago.  It was 1990 something.  Our family was having our typical good ole fashioned family Christmas.  There we stood elbow to elbow.  Sweating our butts off because we had 30 to 50 people crammed  in to a house that could only hold about ten comfortably.  we stood stuffing our faces with  delectable goodies like Uncle Joe's famous pasta and potato salad..  My aunt Doris would make her famous cheese ball that, well, looked a little bit like she rolled it in freshly...