A Family History Book Review: The Smallest Tadpole’s War

September 7, 2017 by oldageisnotforsissies54 Filed Under: Books, Genealogy 8 Comments

Writing one’s family history so one’s family reads it? Now there’s a quandary.

Like most amateur genealogists I have boxes of family research and a fear that when I die they may as well bury the boxes of family history with me. Who would take the time to read through it?

This is a sponsored post that contains affiliate links. I received compensation in exchange for writing this review.

Then again I didn’t want to do one of those genealogy books full of only names, dates, and places. Boring! Most people won’t take the time to learn about their family heritage this way either.

A Family History Book Done the Right Way

Diane Swearingen, though, solved that problem for her husband’s family. Her book “The Smallest Tadpole’s War in the Land of Mysterious Waters ” is historical fiction based on the life of his great-grandfather Thomas Swearingen.

Even better, though, is how she told the story. It is told in a way that benefits those of us not in her family because Thomas Swearingen’s story is symbolic of the settlers who first came to the state of Florida seeking better opportunities for themselves and their families.

The story begins with a marriage, a big move, and an adoption. Its point of view is through the eyes of Thomas’s adopted son. It follows through the lifetime of Thomas which includes territorial Florida, the Civil War, and reconstruction. Most of the story is set in Wakulla County with brief encounters in Gadsden, Leon and Jefferson Counties, all in North Florida, where Florida grew the fastest during this era.

The Wakulla County Courthouse, which was built during Thomas’s lifetime. It is standing today in Crawfordville, Florida,, Wakulla’s county seat. From the Florida Memory Collection.

The story is well documented and a page-turner. Also, I could not put the book down. I wanted to know what was happening to the characters as much as what happened in these areas during this time period. I grew up one county over, and my family goes back several generations there, too.

The book is a quick read, and I believe suited perfectly for middle schoolers as well as adults. It is good family reading. Purchase a copy through Amazon using the link below.

The title itself, though long and tortuous is interesting. The smallest little tadpole is Florida, as described by a Civil War-era politician as being the ‘least important state swimming in the cesspool of secession’. It has double meaning because it is Thomas, too, who started out small himself, as a young man trying to make his way in life.

Mysterious waters is a translation of the name Wakulla, the county where most of the story took place. Wakulla County, located south of Tallahassee, is on the Gulf of Mexico.

From the Florida Memory Collection.

Do yourself a favor? If you want to know a little more about Florida’s history, read this book. This family history story does a great job of describing Florida when Florida was a little backwater tadpole in our great nation.

Wakulla’s beautiful Wakulla River is a spring fed clear water river that runs eventually into the Gulf of Mexico. Today, manatees swim up to winter in its spring. From the Florida Memory Collection.

Learning to Die in Miami: A Book Review

March 17, 2017 by oldageisnotforsissies54 Filed Under: Books 6 Comments

The book “Learning to Die in Miami” is about the thousands of Cuban children airlifted to the USA during the early Castro years. Called the Pedro Pan Airlift, the story is a memoir told by the same author of “Waiting for Snow in Havana,” a National Book Award recipient.

Photo of Cuban Exiles in display at the Freedom Tower in Miami

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I just finished reading “Learning to Die in Miami”. The true story, written by Carlos Eire, who was one of over 14,000 Cuban orphans sent here by their parents in the early 1960s, captivated me. Their parents, desperate to get their children out, hoping to follow as soon as possible; and most thought they could get out within a few months. For many, though, it was years.

Once in the US the authorities placed these children, some as young as three in foster homes, orphanages, with relatives, and sometimes even with distant relatives. Not all stayed in Miami, moving all across the country. I cannot imagine what it was like for the children, let alone the parents.

The Freedom Tower, former home of The Miami News was used as a facility to process, document, and provide medical and dental services for the Cuban exile newcomers.

Waiting for Snow in Havana

I read Eire’s earlier book “Waiting for Snow in Havana” about beautiful cosmopolitan Havana and Cuba before the revolution and immediately afterward. Below are two pictures I found that compare the two cities of Havana and Miami.

Havana, Cuba before the Revolution

Miami in the early 1960s

This second book about his boyhood picks up where “Waiting for Snow…” leaves off; though it isn’t imperative that you read one before the other. Both provided an amazing history lesson into this time period.

For most of “Waiting for Snow” you get a child’s hopeful outlook to a beautiful future, and in “Learning to Die” you get a scary, disappointed wake-up call to what life is like for an immigrant, especially one without a parent to guide and protect them. Sadly, Carlos learns that in America the streets are not littered with cash as expected by a child. Still, there are hopeful and even comedic moments in the book.

A street scene in Havana, Cuba

A Street Scene in Miami

Other Reviews

In reading the reviews I noticed that many didn’t like the book. The author did jump around, and his little “whoosh” cue was used repeatedly to take you back and forth from one time period to another. But I thought it fit into a boy’s story. After all, this was written from a boy’s point of view, because it happened when he was a boy. It didn’t bother me, and I really liked the book.

I also wondered if some reviewers were put out by some of his more conservative views, such as his chastisement for those who want to protect the Spanish language as an intangible cultural tradition at the expense of Spanish-speaking immigrants. He thinks that this holds Spanish speaking people back from achieving their full potential in the American marketplace.

I know that protecting the Spanish language as an intangible cultural tradition created a small problem in my family. My aunt married a Cuban American or so it seemed. Both she and my uncle are now in their 80s; and because his mother required all the children and grandchildren to speak Spanish in her home which I visited on occasion, I made the mistake of asking Uncle Mario when was it that he got to the United States.

I thought it must have been when he was young because he spoke perfect English. Well, I upset Uncle Mario, because his family came to the Keys in Florida from Cuba in the late 1800s. His mother simply tried to make sure the grandchildren hung on to their language as her mother and mother’s mother did for her. Regardless, though, thanks to her my cousins speak two languages.

Wikipedia Map

Growing Up in Florida

Being from Florida I grew up with this Cuban-American uncle, the Cuban Missile Crisis, hearing about the Bay of Pigs, and several aunts and uncles who lived in Miami, all providing me with a picture of the refugee crisis down there in the early 1960s. These two books plus another one written by a dear friend, who also had to flee Cuba with her parents, helped me tie all these events together in context with the history of Cuba.

My friend’s book “The Front Row” by Silvia Morell Alderman, is the story of her parents as seen from the perspective of her mother. Silvia’s father, a justice of the Cuban Supreme Court for 10 years, the last two during the Castro regime, was the first justice to resign upon finding that Castro would not uphold the rule of law. Previously, he served in high government positions for two presidents. He and Silvia’s mother Rosa were student revolutionaries in the 1930s and indeed had a front row seat to the various revolutions down there.

So if you are like me and interested in Cuba and its history, these three books will give you an excellent picture.

What do you remember about Cuba in the early 1960’s? Do you remember the Cuban Missile Crisis? If so, how did your school prepare you for a possible nuclear war with Russia?

Memorial Day: A Forgotten Hero

May 28, 2016 by oldageisnotforsissies54 Filed Under: Books, This & That 8 Comments

Did you know that Memorial Day was originally called Decoration Day? In the old days, it was the day when people decorated the graves of those who died in service for our country. Those graves were decorated with flowers, wreaths, and flags. Today we call it Memorial Day to remember those who lost their lives fighting for our freedom.

Florida Memory Collection

There is a grave in my hometown. All of us kids raised there heard “his” story. He grew up there just like we did. He went to the same school. He played football and ran track and played ball on the high school mound. He lettered in numerous sports.

His classmates, though, said that he was a class star. My Uncle told me the other day that he could out debate the teachers. He said, “We thought he was smarter than the teachers.” He went on to be the Monticello High School Class of 1941 President and Captain of the football team.

He was a natural leader. He wouldn’t prove it, though, until on a remote Pacific Island seven hundred miles off the coast of Japan.

Today, only a few people who personally knew our hometown hero are still living. If he were still alive, he would be 92; but when he was young and running the streets of Monticello, he had blond curly hair and blue eyes. His name was Ernest Ivy Thomas, Jr. His friends called him “Boots”.

Boots is the child to the far left.

By the time Pearl Harbor happened, he had graduated from high school and was studying aeronautical engineering at a small Midwestern college. My Uncle James Roe was also away at Jones Business College in Jacksonville, but he was close enough to come back home for weekend visits. Home was Monticello, Florida, 26 miles northeast of Tallahassee. Below is a picture of Boots in college.

Boots Thomas

In December my Uncle was home visiting his family. Uncle James said that he went downtown that Sunday before returning to school and stopped at a service station on the southwest corner of Waukeenah and Washington Streets. There was a group of men listening to a radio, and they told him that the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. None of them knew where that was. In that moment, Monticello, if not America, was never the same again.

As America’s war machine built, Boots tried to continue with his studies, until he could stand it no longer. He already asked his Mother to sign so he could go, but she refused. He was still only 17.

That summer in 1942, just before his 18th birthday, he talked to his Mother again. His Father passed away when he was fifteen. Boots told his Mother, “I’ve got to go…I’ve got to fight.”

Like so many other young people all across our nation, Boots followed his heart and walked away from his hopes and dreams for his future, his family, his friends. He was listening to a higher calling, a gut pull to give of himself to protect all that we were.

He joined the Marines and boarded a train in Orlando headed for Parris Island, SC. He promoted quickly and became a drill instructor. Later, the Marines asked him to become a drill instructors’ instructor. He was that good at leading men, and the military was short of men that could do the job.

Boots kept asking his superiors, though, to be sent into combat duty; and he finally got his wish.

By the time Boots was 20 years old, his leadership skills were put to a final test on a desolate Pacific island called Iwo Jima, a Japanese-held fortress teaming with over 20,000 dug-in enemy combatants. The enemy was below ground in mazes of bunkers and tunnels, some as deep as seven stories below. As a platoon sergeant Boots came ashore with the Fifth Amphibious Division.

The island was vital to the war for both Japan and America. Our bombers could not get to Japan without the radar on Iwo Jima picking up their positions. On the island were two runways for Japanese Zeros and other planes. On February 19, 1945, the Marines came ashore.

When his lieutenant was wounded, Boots assumed command of his platoon. Their mission was to move forward against the interconnecting defense positions surrounding the base of Mt. Suribachi. In that second day of heavy fighting, the day ended with the 3rd platoon receiving two Navy Crosses, a Silver Star, seven Bronze Stars, and 17 Purple Hearts.

One of the Navy Crosses went to Boots. Thomas realized that the tanks needed help in maneuvering the unevenness and brokenness of the terrain and finding the pillboxes. Throughout the battle, Thomas left his men always in a protected position and raced back and forth between the tanks and his men, standing in front of the tank and pointing out the enemy pillboxes that hindered his platoon’s advances.

He was constantly exposed to enemy fire, so much so that they shot his rifle out of his hand which he has been using to point to the pillboxes. He simply pulled out his knife and used it instead. He survived the day to fight again.

His and his men’s actions and advances on those bloody slopes had been so great that they had by-passed the Japaneseforces and spent the night cut off from their Battalion. It was a battle, though, that would continue for five more weeks.

Unfortunately, Iwo Jima was far from over. The prize, they thought, was Mt. Suribachi, the highest point on the island; and it would take three bloody days to take it. Boots and his platoon were chosen to plant the American flag on its peak. He and his men succeeded.

First Flag Raising on Iwo Jima, Boots Thomas is sitting in front of the flag pole.

That flag-raising was immortalized later in the great Rosenthal Pulitzer Prize-winning photo which was snapped when they took down the smaller flag that Boots and his platoon had planted and raised a second larger flag.

Rosenthal’s Photo of the 2nd Flag Raising

The first flag raised there on top of that volcanic crater stirred the hearts of the thousands of Marines who were down below still fighting. The men below cheered, and the ships and carriers blew their horns. It gave them hope. It gave them resolve to finish the job, which was important because there was still much work to be done.

Boots Thomas quickly found himself in the limelight. He became famous overnight. His photo instantly appeared in newspapers across the nation. He told the reporters, “The honor belongs to every man in my platoon.”

He quickly broke away and returned to his men; and three days later while still trying to finish the job on Iwo Jima, a sniper took Boots’s life as he led his men against another enemy stronghold. He was certainly not alone, though, as over 6,800 other Americans were killed on the island before it was over.

I found an old newsreel about Iwo Jima. You can see it here.

His body was not returned to Monticello until the spring of 1948, three years after the war ended. He was laid to rest in the city cemetery. There is a plaque over his grave placed there by the US Marine Corp. At the western edge of Monticello on US 90 is also a monument raised in his honor.

Two years before he was brought home, the high school football stadium was named Memorial Stadium to commemorate the 18 local boys killed in WWII, most of which had played football on that field and one of which had been Boots Thomas. Little Monticello and Jefferson County (populations approximately 2,000 and 13,000 respectively) sent over 550 men and women into WWII.

One of Boots’s childhood friends Dr. Jim Sledge, who most of his life kept the memory of Boots alive in so many ways, led an effort to write a book about the life of Boots Thomas–from his childhood in Monticello to boot camp to combat and his return home.

I just got my 95-year old Uncle James a copy of the book, and last week I called him to see how far he had read. He said, “I already finished it. I couldn’t put it down. I didn’t turn on the TV for almost two whole days.”

The book is entitled “Call Me No Hero: Two Ordinary Boys and a Tale of Honor and Valor” by R. A. Sheats. It is well researched and well written. You can find a hard copy here. Or you can get a Kindle edition in the link at the end of this post. Several of the photos in this post come from the book.

I plan to sit down and watch “The Sands of Iwo Jima” again this weekend. If I remember correctly, it mentions Boots Thomas in the opening or closing credits. It is a very good movie. It is about a platoon Sargent, who leads his men to do the impossible and then takes a fatal bullet from a sniper. If any of the grandbabies are around to watch the movie with me, I’ll tell them about Boots Thomas and what he did for his country.

Today as we gather around our TVs, let’s remember the generation that gathered around their radios when there was no tv, no Facebook, no internet. Let’s remember the men and women who never got back home. Let’s tell their stories because they were silenced and cannot tell their stories themselves.

For the men and women who died during WWII, almost all of their friends and family have too since passed. Both my Uncle and Dr. Sledge are in their 90s.

I cannot think of a better way to honor the memory of those who gave their all than to tell their stories to the next generation. That is what we Americans should do on Memorial Day.

A Book Update on “The Palmetto Pioneers”

June 25, 2015 by oldageisnotforsissies54 Filed Under: Books, Genealogy, Palmetto Pioneers 2 Comments

I keep plugging away at the book. Here are five things I did this week.

1. I spend two days a week working in two separate libraries. One is the Genealogy Room of the Jefferson County Library in Monticello, Florida, where most of the story takes place. The second library is the State of Florida Archives and Library in the R. A. Gray Building, Tallahassee.

For the last several weeks I’ve been working on Civil War camp life and the building of the Pensacola and Georgia Railroad, specifically the railroad line that ran from Tallahassee to Alligator, Florida. Alligator’s name was later changed to Lake City.

2. The reason I’ve been studying this railroad line is because Mary’s husband William listed his occupation in 1860 as railroad agent. I went into this thinking that he was probably something like the head of a depot, but I found later that these positions were called depot agents. I thought he may have run a depot in either Jefferson County’s towns of Aucilla or Drifton, which was at one time called Walker Mill. Remember that Mary’s maiden name was Walker.

I found, though, that former territorial Congressman Edward Cabell was president of this railroad line at the time; and according to his 1845 railroad company minutes, he asked the Board of Directors if he could hire a railroad agent. He described this person’s job as someone who would handle all of the paperwork that was mounting as they were getting closer to building the railroad. They had not begun to build this railroad yet in 1855, and they wouldn’t begin building it until 1858. They finished it in 1861.

I’m beginning to think that William might have been this railroad agent. Here’s why.

3. I discovered that this same Edward Cable was also the census enumerator for the state of Florida in 1850. In a newspaper article in Jacksonville in 1853, he asked Congress to do a memorial commemorating his six Florida Deputy Census Enumerators. The newspaper listed one of these men as William H. Andrews, so we know that William and Edward Cable had worked together before. I’m still looking for confirmation, though.

4. Also this week I developed a Pic Collage of photographs of William and Mary’s children. I still do not have a clear enough picture of what William and Mary looked like. Here is the collage of four of their children. They are full siblings.

5. I attended an Andrews Reunion in Madison, Florida last Sunday, where I received the picture of Valentine Andrews. I also recently got two more pictures from a Texas relative. One picture was Henry Andrews as a young man and Florida Andrews, who later changed her name to Mary Elizabeth, renaming herself after her mother and stepmother. So here is a collage of William’s children from both Mary and his first wife Elizabeth, including Florida mentioned above.

That’s all for now!

An Update on the Book: Mary Hobnobs with Some Washington Elite

April 7, 2015 by oldageisnotforsissies54 Filed Under: Books, Genealogy, Palmetto Pioneers Leave a Comment

About the book I’m writing, I apologize that you haven’t heard from me since late January. Problem was, though, I got myself involved in the Family History Writing Challenge, which asked me to pledge how much I would write daily. Since I’m a fast writer, I signed up for 500 words a day. No problem writing that many words a day, but I did struggle with acquiring the needed research for the exercise.

By the end of February, I compiled 28 different scenes for the book. However, the research still isn’t complete; and I’m sure I’ll have to rewrite every one of those scenes.

Also, each morning I received an email with suggestions on how to proceed. These emails were entitled, for example, “How to Find Your Focus”, “Creating Your Authentic Ancestor”, and “How to Begin Your Story: A Checklist”. These emails were like workbook pages, and I was unable to go through the exercises that quickly. So this past month I’ve been going back to each of these emails and filling out the information. This exercise has been so helpful.

One of the exercises required some thought into the process of naming the book. It strongly encouraged picking out a name, even if I plan to change it in the future. So I picked out a temporary name. I chose this name because Mary came to Florida from the South Carolina low country southwest of Charleston near the Little Salkhatchee River. South Carolina is also known as the palmetto state. The family moved to Jefferson County in Florida and settled west of the Aucilla River, an area where palmettos grow thick, especially on the river’s flood plain. They arrived there around 1828, so they were Florida pioneers. From here on I will refer to the book as the “Palmetto Pioneers”.

Oak Hammock with a Palmetto Floor

Hopefully, I will do better at keeping everyone posted more often.

Below is another scene from the book–a first draft. First, though, here is a little information to give a little setting.

One reason I chose Mary for my main character was because of her station in life, which changed dramatically when she married. As mentioned earlier, she was raised the daughter of a South Carolina/Florida planter/cattleman. Her family settled in the wilderness in eastern Jefferson County. She had lived in Florida since she was six years old.

Mary married, though, the son of a Washington, DC merchant. William Andrews had joined the army with his friend Robert Gamble when they were both in their earlier 20s. Robert Gamble and William first came to Florida to fight Indians in the 1820s, but they went back to Washington, DC/Baltimore, married and later returned to Florida with their families to settle.

William’s spouse died and left him with four children. That is when he married Mary, whose family lived nearby. Mary and William’s first years were spent living near her father, but by the mid 1850s they had moved into Monticello where William became a sheriff of Jefferson County.

Below is a scene from when they lived in Monticello. We know that they lived near the Cuthbert’s house which was next door to the Episcopal church. Today, the Cuthbert’s house is the house where the attorney Mike Reichman used to practice law. It is still standing.

The scene is a first draft, and it is meant to reflect the differences in the ladies, including Mary and her guests. Robert Gamble’s wife Letitia and her niece Laura come to visit Mary. Laura’s complaints are authentically hers. In real life she kept a diary, and this is what she thought of the area. Here is how it goes.

Mary listened to Laura Randall complain and kept silent. She couldn’t quite understand why the woman was so unhappy. “Mary, I don’t know how you and your family stood it all those years. The mosquitoes scarcely retire in the morning before the yellow flies begin. This is certainly the country for studying entomology. There is an infinite variety of insects.”

Laura Randall was wearing a gown of lilac cotton trimmed in burgandy. It was beautiful, and Mary had never seen one so beautiful up so close. No one from where she lived out in the country dressed like this. She knew that Laura’s father was federal Attorney General William Wirt and that Laura’s family was from Baltimore.

All of this was so new and so very interesting. All the talk from William about these big cities and their beautiful buildings. The information spun around in her head like the setting of a fairy tale, and yet here was one of the fairy tale princesses sitting right here in her living room.

Mary looked around her and was immediately embarrassed. Her living room was sparsely appointed with four wooden chairs, a fireplace, a desk where William worked at home and a small table where she kept her sewing. In one corner was a weave, and on the floor was a new woven rug that she had made herself. Laura was obviously used to much better than this, and yet this was so much roomier and better than what Mary was used to having.

Laura continued “and there is not a piece of rope to be had in this place, but what we really need is a tavern. Just yesterday five men rode up to our door and gave their horses to the servant as if he were an hostler of an Inn. Then they walked right in to breakfast, which was just ready; and we had to make room at the table.”

She shook her head and added, “They had all stayed the night before at Colonel Gadsden’s, riding up at nine o’clock just when the family was going to bed. I really think our neighborhood would do well to support a tavern for these intruders.”

Letitia Gamble added, “I thought a lot of that had stopped. I guess we are too far off the main road now.” Letitia, as if she knew what was on Mary’s mind said, “I do remember though how hard it was in those early days after we first arrived. The house at Welaunee was a double log cabin, daubed with mud and surrounded by dead trees. We finally replaced it moving farther away from the road, and though this land was difficult at first, we finally learned to adapt. Robert was certainly never disappointed. He loved it from the first time he laid eyes on it.”

Then Laura said, “Well, I have to admit that it finally grew on me, too. I do love my garden, and thank goodness we started butchering cattle and hogs and learned to share with others so the meat never spoils. This seems to always put good meat on the table.”

Mary remembered what William had told her about these families, that they were all raised high on the hog, and they didn’t seem to know what to do or how to live in such difficult surroundings. Laura added, “I even learned how to make beer, thanks to you Aunt Letitia.”

Letitia said, “I guess if there is one good thing about this country, it is that it made us all realize the importance of sharing and taking care of each another. One can afford to be an individualist when one is wealthy and live near the finer things of life, but out here with only ourselves and nature, it is an entirely different situation. One must learn to share and to rely on others.”

Laura was looking off in the distance. “Laura, a penney for your thoughts?” said Mary.

Laura looked back at her Aunt Letitia. “Do you remember when I had to nurse your Cecily.” Letitia smiled at her neice, “I sure do.”

She turned to Mary, “That was something unheard of where we’re from, but now we know that it is a commonplace thing down here.” I was depending on a milch cow to feed Cicily, and Laura was visiting. Well, anyway, that afternoon we discovered that the milk supply had spoiled, and Cicily was screaming and wouldn’t stop. Laura, here, just said, ‘Give me Cicily’, and she disappeared. The crying stopped. I knew right then that this country was going to be totally different from anything we had ever witnessed.”

Laura added, “The last time I went to visit mama in Baltimore, we had to take along two milk goats to help me nurse Jonathan. Those goats sure didn’t like that ship and the bleating was horrible.”

So there you have a brief scene from the book. It will change a lot over the next few weeks. The transitions from one person to the other need a lot of rewriting, which will help the reader follow who is talking. Each of these characters will be fleshed out so one gets a better picture of what they look like and how they are expected to act.

Watch for The Book “Far Outside the Ordinary” to Become a Movie — A Book Review

September 22, 2014 by oldageisnotforsissies54 Filed Under: Books 5 Comments

I don’t know where to begin, except to say that I absolutely loved this book. It is a quick, captivating read. Whether or not you can relate to the situations in the book, you will still not be able to stop turning pages. You will love Prissy Elrod’s style of writing.

Southerner Prissy Elrod, the author, is the steel magnolia in this story when she does what she has to do to save her husband, her family and herself. It has a fairy tail beginning and a fairy tail ending. It is what is in between though that tugs at your heart strings.

What many don’t know is that a magnolia blossom is very fragile, and the least little bump leaves a bruise that shows up almost the moment it happens. Prissy Elrod is a steel magnolia. She bruises, but she maintains her outward metal, and she survives. This book is her proof.

There is nothing ordinary about dealing with a loved one and their cancer diagnosis, but what Prissy Elrod did was ordinary. She did the best she could.

What happens to her, though, is far outside the ordinary. There is a twist in the story that is never expected.

All of us who have been in her shoes found ourselves living each day one at a time and making decisions for which we were never prepared, all the while on a cacophony of emotions sweeping us along whether we were ready or not. She captures this in her memoir.

Expect a roller coaster of tears, desperation, persistence, laughter, zaniness, hope, heartache, heartbreak, humor, pain, anger, anguish, sorrow, hope lost, fear, compassion, frustration, and renewal. Sometimes, you will feel the bewildering and competing emotions all at once, like when I found myself laughing through my tears.

Elrod hurled me down into the darkness of despair when she reminded me of my own experiences in this realm, when the unintended consequences make us realize that the decisions were never easy. She tells her story so well.
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Mostly, I was amazed by her candor and humility. Years ago my elderly great aunt who was a prolific reader told me that she was disappointed in the new books. She said that it was as if each younger author was simply trying to out-shock the last.

My aunt felt that contemporary literature was lacking in honesty, and that the stories seemed to be written for their ability to provoke massive fear, anxiety or disgust.

I wish she had lived long enough to read, “Far Outside the Ordinary,”. She would have loved this moving, honest account of a family’s tragedy and perseverance through adversity.

The book has small-town living, fashion, international travel, intrigue, shamans, shady medical clinics, a capitol city’s political high-society, tragedy, miracle treatments, love stories, and the uplifting love of family and friends. Elrod carried me for a ride through her life.

Though a memoir, it reads like southern fiction at its best. It reminded me of a cross between “Steel Magnolias” and “The Help”.

I hope she will continue writing, because she has a voice I would like to hear again. I also believe this would make a great movie. The characters are rich.

She did a great job of describing their uniqueness. I believe the characters will get her a movie deal in the end. They are zany, comical, quirky, and just what we have come to expect in southern movies.

So do yourself a favor and read this wonderful book before it becomes a movie!

Watch for this review! Coming soon! I can’t put this book down.

August 1, 2014 by oldageisnotforsissies54 Filed Under: Books Leave a Comment

Far Out the Ordinary by Prissy Elrod: Book Review

I haven’t read a really good southern story in a long time–at least not one written like this.

Love this book! Will tell you about it soon!

Are Most of our Everyday Aches and Pains Postural in Nature?

May 7, 2014 by oldageisnotforsissies54 Filed Under: Aches & Pains, Books Leave a Comment

So I’ve been having neck and shoulder issues lately on my right side. I’ve had such great success with Robin McKenzie’s books, “Treat Your Own Back” and “Treat Your Own Neck”, that I bought “Treat Your Own Shoulder”.

I began reading it today at lunch. Here’s my problem. After doing a self-test (suggested in his book) to see if it really is my shoulder or if it might be my neck, I discovered that it is not my should. It is my neck. He referred me back to “Treat Your Own Neck.”

I continued to read “Treat Your Own Shoulder” though, because I periodically have trouble in Yoga with my upper arm and shoulder on my left side. It is always a little stiffer than the right. I was hoping to learn how to loosen up that side of my torso.

I’m glad I continued reading, because he confirmed what I found a few years ago about postural changes that were needed. It seems I needed a refresher. Just identification of the changes needed will help me correct these. For example, several years ago I figured out that I had been sleeping on a pillow incorrectly. I liked to lay on my back with my head on my pillow and my shoulders off. I learned as I got older that I needed to have my shoulders supported, as well as my head. So Mr. McKenzie just reminded me to be more conscious of how I sleep on my pillow.

He also added that I shouldn’t sleep with my arms raised over my head. Darn, that feels so good when I’m falling asleep, especially if the night is a little warm. I guess I need to stop doing this, too, because he says that I’m over stretching my arms.

Also, he talked about postural problems with sitting or standing with your arms in a raised position. I sit a lot at my computer and my right arm is always raised when working with my mouse. I just realized that having my mouse higher than my keyboard may be causing problems for my right shoulder. My right arm is always in a raised position, which probably causes problems for that shoulder. I’ll try to correct this. I should have suspected this, because lately I’ve been periodically trying to maneuver my mouse with my left hand, just to give my right side a rest. Was that my body trying to send me a message?

Also, I’ve noticed that sitting in arms chairs with my arms resting also raises my shoulders. I am of average height, but most chairs today seem to be bigger and made for taller people. I have to rethink sitting in arm chairs, and purposely not using the arm rests. I find that if I let my arms rest down by my sides in the chair, I do much better.

I also like to lean from one side to the other, and this is a serious “no no”. I learned this years ago when I drove an SUV which had a nice console armrest between the seats. I liked to lean on my right elbow on long drives. Consequently, I developed neck problems on the right side of my body. I stopped leaning, and the pain finally went away.

So many of our problems are postural. Looking forward to reading more of Mr. McKenzie’s fine book and then getting back to his “Treat Your Own Neck” book

which I keep in my medicine chest.

I don’t remember any of these aches and pains until I turned forty. I guess before then, we healed so quickly that none of these problems surfaced. Maybe all it took then was a good night’s rest.

Digging Around in my Mental Attic?

March 27, 2014 by oldageisnotforsissies54 Filed Under: Books 3 Comments

“I’m so glad I’m not famous. I would hate to have this guy digging around in my mental attic.”

I’m reading the biography of P. L. Travers, the woman who wrote “Mary Poppins”. I found this quote in the book, “Mary Poppins, She Wrote: The Life of P. L. Travers” by Valerie Lawson.

Another quote was from a biographer…

“…biographer Michael Holroyd, who has said,

I discriminate between the rights of the living and the dead…When we are living we need all our sentimentalities, our evasions, our half-truths and our white lies, to get through life. When we are dead different rules apply.”

I have this book and am reading it myself. I’ll review it when I’m done.

Meaning Different Things to Different People

March 25, 2014 by oldageisnotforsissies54 Filed Under: Books, This & That Leave a Comment

I believe that poems mean different things to different people. In fact I even believe they can mean different things to the same person at a different time in their life.

I’m reading “Mary Poppins, She Wrote: The Life of P. L. Travers”. T. S. Eliot is quoted with a few lines from his poem “Little Gidding,” from “Four Quartets”. It spoke to me as a writer, but you must draw your own conclusions. The poem is below.

“What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make an end is to make a beginning.

The end is where we start from.
And every phrase and sentence that is right
(where every word is at home,
Taking its place to support the others,
The word neither diffident nor ostentatious,
An easy commerce of the old and the new,
The common word exact without vulgarity,
The formal word precise but not pedantic,
The complete consort dancing together.)

Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning.
Every poem an epitaph. And any action
Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea’s throat
Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.

We die with the dying:
See, they depart, and we go with them.

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.”

T. S. Eliot,
“Little Gidding,”
Four Quartets

I found that this is just an excerpt from the end of a much longer poem. I also found the following on Wikipedia when I looked up the poem to find out what others thought it meant. Wikipedia says, “The end of the poem describes how Eliot has attempted to help the world as a poet. He parallels his work in language with working on the soul or working on society.”

OLD AGE IS NOT FOR SISSIES

NOTHING IN LIFE IS TO BE FEARED