tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58852579865765198312024-02-19T11:04:49.526-05:00Bev's Antiquing, Schlepping, Schlogging, & Writing Blog SchlogBev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.comBlogger113125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-5104605457457047902019-03-23T14:36:00.001-04:002019-03-23T14:36:21.526-04:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
March 23, 2019<br />
<br />
I wonder why the years went by since my last post in 2013 and then I remember that most of these years weren't pleasant.. They came fast and furious with blessings in the form of the birth of a beautiful new granddaughter, pain of a shattered pelvis for me, and turmoil in my two youngest daughters lives, then my cancer and the blessing of prayers and now on the road to recovery.<br />
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So this post is brief and a test to get me back on point again - whatever that is. Have a Beautiful Spring everyone!<br />
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Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-61952273406494864952014-09-03T18:39:00.000-04:002014-09-03T18:39:06.605-04:00National Mental Health Day -September 4, 2014<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302947998px; line-height: 17.563634872436523px;">My beautiful daughter is now 23, she graduated last year and won two coveted awards, - for "The Most Improved Student, and for The most Literate Student. . She loves - books - writing - and going to the library. I took her often to my classes at Salem College - where she quietly sat next to me and took notes. Because of one of my professors, she began journaling and writing, Akong with this, she loves animals and particularly dogs. She volunteers at the local animal control and has for the past five years, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302947998px; line-height: 17.563634872436523px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302947998px; line-height: 17.563634872436523px;">September 4, 2014 is National Mental Health Day. I have a daughter, a beautiful young woman who is diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder, ADHD, Mild Mental Retardation, and along with Mental Illness because of the brain's dysfunction where her world is still childlike. She looks perfectly normal but those who have understanding and compassion are quick to understand. When this first started, rather where/when I knew something was wrong, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302947998px; line-height: 17.563634872436523px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302947998px; line-height: 17.563634872436523px;">I first closed my mind, as did </span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302947998px; line-height: 17.563634872436523px;">other family members. When her hospitalizations began to over-lap, the seriousness took a major turn. I sat for hours and days waiting just to beg for help. I find myself in this same position ten years later after the first onset,, only the pain of finding dead-ends is taking its toll on my life. </span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302947998px; line-height: 17.563634872436523px;"><br /></span>
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302947998px; line-height: 17.563634872436523px;">PLEASE support this call to make the powers that control the funding for the mentally ill. This is a greater cancer which has yet to be detected but prevails in 1 out of 4 humans. Insurance companies do not and often deny hospitalization because those facilities who contain the mentally ill, simply do that and do not treat these people. I M SORRY,I have said too much, except, I have been told - "There is no "box" TO PUT MY DAUGHTER IN. She is not dead and I dont need a box. Please, once again support NAMI, National Mental Health Day on September 4, 2014 and visit <a href="http://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fact4mentalhealth.tumblr.com%2F&h=MAQG1gU4a&enc=AZPnVl0oJpPJlbIN6UcjUSkCYMKq-NNOcirNV6fof5lc2G4PGO6j9uKKWvkFaOnvkY723HbnvlB4g_X-jRKyo590FffCqWcWOJf7X24xRhgqB70ByOwYGExTpV2aKucQ4gkfYZY_6WNeovBmgLQn_Utj&s=1" rel="nofollow" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://act4mentalhealth.tumblr.com/</a></span><br />
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Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-41533280768472218022014-09-01T13:35:00.000-04:002014-09-01T13:35:08.549-04:00In Loving Memory of Dr. Penelope Niven --- The Mother & Daughter Bond – Published in the Winston-Salem Journal – Mother’s Day Special Section 2003<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Sometimes, the mother and daughter bond is so deep, it goes
beyond words. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> When
Penelope Niven and daughter Jennifer Niven tell each other --- “I love you more
than words,” many people will recognize the fact that even Webster’s dictionary
may not hold enough words to describe that love because both mother and
daughter are published authors. What makes the Nivens’ bond so deep is how they
actively participate in and nurture each other’s lives. These valuable lessons go
deeper than their connection as writers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> However strong mother and daughter relationships
are a part of the Nivens’ heritage. Penny offers, “Jennifer and I have a very
deep spiritual sense, we come from a line of very strong women. The Niven women
in general are very strong dynamic women; there are just dozens of us, so
perhaps some of that is genetic.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Sometimes
the best lessons in life really do come from our mothers. It has only been a
few weeks since Penelope Niven’s mother passed away (sic: March 2003), and it
is these lessons that have helped to see Penny through this difficult time. “Getting
to know my mother as a woman and friend as well as my mother grew and grew year
by year. My mother taught me to cherish the imagination and to be my full self.
These were lessons of a woman’s strength. My mother was a person who could do
all those things in a time when women weren’t quite so adventurous. She was a
pioneer in that when I was growing up in the 1950’s she was already able
expertly to balance family and a career as a teacher. I had so much admiration
and respect for both my parents and for the way they handled that last phase of
the journey of life. They made deep peace with life and when you can do that,
you don’t have to make peace with death.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Penelope Niven also became a teacher,
and is a Professor of English at <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Salem</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">College</st1:placetype></st1:place> in addition to
being a published author. She always knew she wanted to be a writer and credits
her early development, recalling the exact moment at the age of five when knew
she wanted to be a writer: “I can still see how those black marks looked and
that I knew then that I would be able to read words and then write words. I
went home and said I just needed to get busy and learn how to write <i>today</i>.” It was not until after she
turned forty that writing would become her other life work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> The catalyst
for her writing career was a trip to Connemara, the home of Carl Sandburg in Flat
Rock. Sandberg’s home had just opened to the public. This initial endeavor was as
a volunteer to help organize over 30,000 Sandburg papers. While there she met
Lucy Kroll who was Carl Sandburg’s agent. These two events opened the door for
her and she wrote <i>Carl Sandburg: a
Biography </i>which<i> </i>was published in
1991. From this she co-authored with James Earl Jones, <i>Voices and Silences. </i>As an outgrowth of the Sandburg biography she
wrote, <i>Steichen: a Biography</i>.
Steichen was Carl Sandburg’s brother-in-law and a pioneer as well as one of the
foremost photographers of the last century. Other books include a children’s
book on Sandburg, a soon to be released biography on Thornton Wilder and her
newest book <i>Swimming Lesson’s</i>, which
is not about swimming but about living your life and learning to live, and will
come out next spring. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Her daughter, Jennifer Niven however,
is her pride and joy. Penny states that some of the best lessons in life, she
learned from her daughter; “I have the most marvelous daughter ever - on earth and on this planet. Jennifer and I
have always had such a friendship in addition to our mother daughter bond which
is very, very deep. She is my finest work of art and I’ll never be anything
better or more joyful or more significant than being Jennifer’s mother.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Growing up
as the daughter of a writer was an advantage for Jennifer Niven. As a child,
her mother would set a small desk next to her bigger one and they would have
writing times together. Jennifer tells us; “At first I said oh this is fun,
we’re having writing time though it was probably more about me then her when we
were sitting side by side together. Later I realized it was as much for her as
it was for me.” Deciding that writing would also become Jennifer’s life work came
at the age of 19 when she traveled with her mother who was then working with
James Earle Jones on location in Louisiana while he was filming the movie,
“Convict.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Jennifer would travel with her mother and do
things with her that normal kids did not do such as meet many famous people. “I
had dabbled in short story writing and play writing but I had never really
thought about writing for television or for film. Being on that set with James
Earl Jones and in that atmosphere really excited me. It was my first real
first-hand experience and shortly after that I went to film school and studied
screen writing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> After
completing college, Jennifer received her MFA in writing and moved to
California where she became a screen writer. She won an Emmy for a short film
called <i>Velva Jean Learns how to Drive,</i>
based on a story written by her mother. Jennifer Niven’s first novel, <i>The Ice Master: the Doomed 1913 Voyage of
the Karluk was</i> named one of the top ten nonfiction books of 2000. Her new
novel, <i>Ada Blackjack, </i>a sequel to<i> The Ice Master</i> will be released in fall
of 2003.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Jennifer credits her mother for always telling
her, “You can do anything you put your mind to, you can be anything you want to
be, and to never ever sell yourself short or to settle for less. She always
taught me to dream big and that was one of the most valuable things I ever
learned and it certainly has helped me to shape my life. My mother has always
given me unconditional love and inspired me to do whatever I wanted to do. If I
were to have a daughter, I would hope to be as wonderful a mother as my mom is
to me. One of the main reasons I would have a child, would be to give back some
of what my mom has given to me because she has been the most incredible mother.”
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Penelope
Niven says that the work of parenting is one of the most important works on
earth. “Building a strong relationship with children is increasingly difficult
for young mothers. They do not always have the time that they need to be
totally present for their children. This is not their fault but an impact of
the economy and our society. The importance for mothers and fathers is to be
able to be present in their children’s lives. You have to work harder to carve
out the time. I think about my mother and that we lived in a much slower pace
of time and we were able to find balance and true communication. This is a
reason my daughter and I talk on the phone every day – it is as necessary as
breathing.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-44290968006409991872014-06-01T17:20:00.000-04:002014-06-01T17:20:17.391-04:00An Intimate Interview with Dr. Maya Angelou . . .<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I had the pleasure of interviewing Dr. Maya Angelou in 1997
for a local Winston-Salem, North Carolina Triad Magazine. This interview was
really at the beginning of my writers "one-a-be" and a learning
experience from which I decide to go back to college to learn what I didn't
know. All these years I have kept the Tape pf our interview and many times
would play the tape to myself because Dr Angelou so inspired me. The interview is 30 minutes long and while
for me the time went buy to fast. For those who chose to listen, I hope you
gain as much inspiration as I did as well as listen to the end where Dr.
Angelou reads one of her poems . . . .<o:p></o:p></div>
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Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-34856048899959436172012-02-22T10:47:00.000-05:002012-02-22T10:47:15.698-05:00And He Shall Dance Again: A Poem for my Father by Bev Hamel<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">In Loving Memory<br />
<b>William Augustus Alderfer</b><br />
July 1, 1921<br />
February 17, 2012<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><b>And He Shall Dance Again</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">My father and I were connected by a long distance cord<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">of a slim white paper cigarette,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">A nasty habit that oddly comforted me <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">as once a month arrived, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">a slim white envelope <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">bearing his handwriting, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">tidy, neat and even strokes<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">like ripples on a pond<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">mailed from </span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Pennsylvania</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">to </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Carolina</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">, where cigarettes <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">were half the price.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">I fed his addiction,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">a ruse to keep his letters<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">binding him to me. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Pictures in my mind,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">scatter in slow motion through<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">a kaleidoscope of colors, where<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">I see him young with hair <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">untouched by grey,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">tall and strong, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">my anchor in the wind.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">I am a little girl again -<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Take me for a ride daddy, <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">and he lifts me up into the air<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">high above his head<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">I will never let you fall, </span></i><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">he says,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">higher still he thrusts me to the sky<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Now just reach for any star, <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">they’re all yours, </span></i><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">then taught me how to make them mine</span><i><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.7pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">I went away to gather tiles <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">to build the mosaic of my life, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">minutes vanished into days<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">years withered into air,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">I did not see him bent and weak, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">nor slowly drift away.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">He will always be my hero<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">connected now by a long distance cord<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">of billowy clouds drifting in the daytime sky<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">and when the evening sky turns dark<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">we will dance upon the stars that he made mine.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><br />
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</div></div>Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-84064219049953751642011-11-15T18:20:00.000-05:002015-05-29T12:27:48.835-04:00Creating Donovan’s Brain by Bev Hamel<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I am always thankful when the day’s rush hours are over and although each day typically ends in frenzy the same as the day begins, the ending frenzy is more relaxed and fun. Sometimes we all make dinner then homework, baths, hugs, giggles, and a monster mom story, which usually turns into bedlam when girls, dogs, and cats, chase after me from room to room. We act out each story; one of my silly ‘monster mom versus girls’ where the villain is always subdued with hugs and kisses.</div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: 'Droid Sans', Arial, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Tonight I rushed through the routine because of my own homework; a writing assignment for one of Forsyth Tech classes. Finally, the girls are settled in their room pretending to be asleep but will probably be for real soon, so it was okay for me to attend to my own needs.Read more at</span></div>
Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-88115633839046780832011-11-11T19:42:00.001-05:002017-05-27T19:51:45.135-04:00Veterans are Not Just Men . . . Women Were Soldiers Too<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Three pairs of eyes stare out from the photographs of three women, each wearing a Women's Army uniform from three different wars. A photograph of me in my <st1:country-region><st1:place>Viet Nam</st1:place></st1:country-region> era uniform sits next to one of my mother in her World War II uniform along with one of my daughter in her camouflage fatigues from the first war in <st1:country-region><st1:place>Iraq</st1:place></st1:country-region>. </div>
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I see me in my mother's reflection and I see my mother in my daughter's reflection. But it is the eyes that stare back at me, all three pairs, that tells me my inner strength comes equally from the women in my life as well as the men.</div>
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MILLIE<br />
I had always thought that my mother's name was Millie until I stumbled across her birth certificate after she died and found that her given name was Amelia. I think the name Millie suited her better. In this portrait, she is twenty-three and on the back is written; 'red hair, hazel eyes.' Both my daughter and I have brown hair and brown eyes but I think even a stranger would agree that we have Millie's eyes.</div>
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My mother was a beautiful woman in her youth. Her eyes are full of life, of hope, of promise, of high expectations she set for herself, and instilled in me. Her eyes fit her personality, the one that I still remember. Not the Millie I knew during those troubled years of her battle in another war, the one that eventually took her life, the war with breast cancer.</div>
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I remember when I was seven and my brother was stricken with polio. I didn't know the sacrifices she made but realize now the necessity of why she instilled in me high ideals for my own self , for teaching me to be independent, for teaching me to look to my faith to guide me in troubled times, and to believe in myself. </div>
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I was nineteen when my mother died. She never saw me in my WAC uniform. She never knew my daughter Dana.</div>
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DANA</div>
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In this portrait, she looks stern and strong. Her eyes penetrate my very soul, and still have the capability to take my breath away. The first time I looked into her eyes, I was hopelessly lost, hopelessly in love. My daughter's eyes - so big - so brown so deep - like the ocean.</div>
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Dana looks like my mother, and she looks like me. It is in her eyes. They reflect her strength and her courage.</div>
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We are separated by distance but not by heart. And yes, I hurt not to be near her, and my five beautiful grandchildren, two who I have never held but in my dreams. Soon, she will be a grandmother and as I watch my granddaughter Tori and her tummy grow, I hope one day we will all be together again.</div>
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Any given moment of the day I only need to turn to facebook and there they all are, second best though it is, I can watch all of them grow. </div>
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BEV<br />
I look so young in this picture and wonder where did this young woman go. Images of my life and all my yesterdays wash through me like a kaleidoscope of colors. I see thousands of tiny pieces that represent a moment of my life between then and now. In my now moment of life I can still see the young me peering through my glasses. My face shows fine lines of age, though I don't see them I know others do. I know where I have been, I know how I have lived, and I know there is still so much I want to do.<br />
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But lines on faces from age and life - I don't want to erase - each one is memory - good - bad - indifferent. I earned them. I learned from them.<br />
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My mother taught me. My daughters and granddaughters taught me - all of them - because my family is and has been blended.<br />
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I come from family lineage from both American and foreign lands where the men stood up to fight for their county's freedom, but I also came from a long line and heritage of women, who were soldiers too and in so many ways, stronger then men.<br />
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Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-18257420483724665672011-11-10T16:47:00.000-05:002011-11-10T16:47:54.945-05:00Why I Went Square and Ditched My Credit Card Machine<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpVbtGUh2Gj6EA_QYyZ-w37pppYWNoKWHGdZPeb_jBYlABrShIQP2MYdno59p8MZk625mJbtEZPbmQDIkj1xqOEULKhXODywQjRKUhVN-fTUDO2ZpKl6-3TF4TOciHLqggdEVyBSam060/s1600/Square1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpVbtGUh2Gj6EA_QYyZ-w37pppYWNoKWHGdZPeb_jBYlABrShIQP2MYdno59p8MZk625mJbtEZPbmQDIkj1xqOEULKhXODywQjRKUhVN-fTUDO2ZpKl6-3TF4TOciHLqggdEVyBSam060/s320/Square1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Square</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Being Square is the best thing since sliced bread, because now my bank can no longer steal from me.<br />
First there is no longer monthly fees of a minimum discount fee of $15.00 a month or higher. Then there is no longer the $5.99 charge for being in compliance. Then there is no longer the $5.00 access fee. Then there is no longer the actual discount fees each credit card company charges. And then there is no potential additional fees should I wish to speak with Merchant Services more then twice a month, and lastly there is the total avoidance of not having 28% of my merchant deposits held for a new law going into effect January 1, 2012. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWnM0o4Ic9EsnVJU8AWmSnYxFWqCzbX7-KAD4Ci9uok_riA7FV2z4Iq8zPVqHFfw8Th3IK4anj_pE_HAf1S0s7MGoqLwjQHEd_MR0nSyY4mEMlMgDf87pr73X7WhOhYIyXGLvSNwA-OYs/s1600/square2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWnM0o4Ic9EsnVJU8AWmSnYxFWqCzbX7-KAD4Ci9uok_riA7FV2z4Iq8zPVqHFfw8Th3IK4anj_pE_HAf1S0s7MGoqLwjQHEd_MR0nSyY4mEMlMgDf87pr73X7WhOhYIyXGLvSNwA-OYs/s200/square2.jpg" width="113" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Square and Mackie in <br />
MyTouch 4G Khaki</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Square is only 1 inch by 1 inch and is as portable as my cell phone. I just plug it in the top of my phone, tap on the app and speak into my phone or type in the necessary information. I am asked if I want receipt by email or SMS and then I'm done. Money is in my account at end of day and customer goes away happy. <br />
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So today I gleefully called Merchant Services and told them good by. I pulled the cord from the VeriFone, and the land line, and will now be placing it for sale as a genuine antique in my shop.<br />
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Very soon I will be doing this with my land line company and broadband provider, but I am still researching the possibilities which may be finalized as early as next week. Although I have to say I am tad bit nervous because the last time I did that - all hell broke loose.<br />
We'll see.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsPBxZ1cl2dGIylTEeXU_e-EKt3gjIE0D3465UzaCq-18_A0pDgxIXdaaLnJLsicK53dNJ7FDMaCer_ZMZqQrJLQhhbDK2xV37l2ftRFZDds-wOp4XJg7j8643JHEwheBBbOKPw_Iv1BQ/s1600/square3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsPBxZ1cl2dGIylTEeXU_e-EKt3gjIE0D3465UzaCq-18_A0pDgxIXdaaLnJLsicK53dNJ7FDMaCer_ZMZqQrJLQhhbDK2xV37l2ftRFZDds-wOp4XJg7j8643JHEwheBBbOKPw_Iv1BQ/s320/square3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Antique VeriFone For Sale</td></tr>
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</div>Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-58114116004350398352011-10-29T12:53:00.001-04:002011-10-29T13:03:18.343-04:00Thieves in the Night and Reward for Stolen Statues<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoJl96_H8lsLUTNgWHN3peWCD4xuO0dJXIqPUzbkWE8MYIgInyxd7_sKd52V4PsMddruwF9RzEmqn8bBoQT93EW1fuUU2VV1wQVar8RlDpuX2qTxuCVt7ut4wxfznuPeBqhTLpXT09aZo/s1600/store+angle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoJl96_H8lsLUTNgWHN3peWCD4xuO0dJXIqPUzbkWE8MYIgInyxd7_sKd52V4PsMddruwF9RzEmqn8bBoQT93EW1fuUU2VV1wQVar8RlDpuX2qTxuCVt7ut4wxfznuPeBqhTLpXT09aZo/s640/store+angle.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stolen Statues</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR_oPSHNwfpPJcS095FyKr3_eWw5wMzinW8poPcSrO_PBydQt7hFcnkoFdZbmDqJ2vELrq4Up3aceKGpNAs-99nS7tG0gVGYfv5Bmd1P0iC1GiHcbMyJIp5TtpDNG9AqIiCJCAkMJl4ec/s1600/theft+lady.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR_oPSHNwfpPJcS095FyKr3_eWw5wMzinW8poPcSrO_PBydQt7hFcnkoFdZbmDqJ2vELrq4Up3aceKGpNAs-99nS7tG0gVGYfv5Bmd1P0iC1GiHcbMyJIp5TtpDNG9AqIiCJCAkMJl4ec/s200/theft+lady.jpg" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stolen Grecian Lady Statue</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR_oPSHNwfpPJcS095FyKr3_eWw5wMzinW8poPcSrO_PBydQt7hFcnkoFdZbmDqJ2vELrq4Up3aceKGpNAs-99nS7tG0gVGYfv5Bmd1P0iC1GiHcbMyJIp5TtpDNG9AqIiCJCAkMJl4ec/s1600/theft+lady.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;">This morning when I opened the front door of my shop, I looked out to starkness - empty spaces with rings and squares of dirt left by rain around the space where statues once stood. At first I couldn't believe my eyes and then an empty sadness came over me. This was not the first time thieves had pillaged the front of my shop. Earlier this year thieves stole two giant frogs and Easter Island heads. </span></a></div></div><br />
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So we put up more lights including motion detectors. Lights even go on inside and in the room above over-looking the front of my building. We even have seven Yorkie watch dogs, and a daughter whose two rooms are in the front of the building.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmuEAm9rst_fobJZdBK0Pmba2YgJcDp29xIjZ8ffuRrEoiQqcr-77vcgWt9ostu2z8FBt2ayUCoCtFSK1PEgLMHz4_Lh1kDiYFeZrN0KIJRRABGbXuDiBE0VSLZmi95YMyOOAnd5UwQMM/s1600/theft+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmuEAm9rst_fobJZdBK0Pmba2YgJcDp29xIjZ8ffuRrEoiQqcr-77vcgWt9ostu2z8FBt2ayUCoCtFSK1PEgLMHz4_Lh1kDiYFeZrN0KIJRRABGbXuDiBE0VSLZmi95YMyOOAnd5UwQMM/s200/theft+1.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Empty Spaces</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip8tzPaxfQF-ETw7LN0ulqNiFuglSLEa88t3ekf3wwat7Nt1TcZFGsxcHFyKxH7yIbPJ14b1xz8nra-dv8gypbYhd9FYkLcXNd3w8DhkLF77pyoT0Op0SKYsOr4oJ07jTztUQY1JgStw0/s1600/theft+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;">But the thieves came quietly in the night and went off with a total of 12 statues of varying shapes, sizes, and colors. They are all cement and heavy. They are all though, each one unique because each one was painted by me in eclectic blends of colors. I do a good business in selling them, frogs and Easter Island heads being the most popular. I carry them because they add interest and an eclectic look to my shops front exterior.</span></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmNJ-kac83Y-4YYSJe8XQ63Lh2cJSJEUDGeyLQJTy71hxH-zZ0kJC3-x3HWwDd9FHjAnutHq44ohuLproSxJlphuuUK4TSdQlCHLDVn4TwOPliOdNtCS1H_hoC_xNueMyKYyxFbK6qElo/s1600/theft+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmNJ-kac83Y-4YYSJe8XQ63Lh2cJSJEUDGeyLQJTy71hxH-zZ0kJC3-x3HWwDd9FHjAnutHq44ohuLproSxJlphuuUK4TSdQlCHLDVn4TwOPliOdNtCS1H_hoC_xNueMyKYyxFbK6qElo/s200/theft+5.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More Empty Spaces</td></tr>
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So somebody needed them perhaps to sell at a flea market so they can make money. Or sell them to customers because the thieves are yard workers, or avid gardeners. One thing for certain, they are local and they drive a truck or van. All totaled they stole over $1500.00 worth of statues.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8metCJ2DCw3sMjgLOlEObAGicsc7I62VeHLQsS1sLckZx2U26SDentVeKruGj251Hb_PPbN5ybjSxr5yfdhwz2WDsLPiBGhJnj1A9pE4DQso6SuUF0s80lDX5w8rIhbCPLjhneO3pHfA/s1600/theft+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8metCJ2DCw3sMjgLOlEObAGicsc7I62VeHLQsS1sLckZx2U26SDentVeKruGj251Hb_PPbN5ybjSxr5yfdhwz2WDsLPiBGhJnj1A9pE4DQso6SuUF0s80lDX5w8rIhbCPLjhneO3pHfA/s200/theft+6.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even More Empty Space</td></tr>
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I hope they are caught and get their just due.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMv6a_vBaQk-n2d_rhR_5kW-kAkTR664BLbCS_UGy060xlo1L4JIl0HarpF05sZaz6itgbnU1YHTCyO0pZ5gk5PdPpmmLLHyIznyOaVaEtm-9mJr7jskoopH7LmNJTya_X_N_FWRjPRMk/s1600/theft+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMv6a_vBaQk-n2d_rhR_5kW-kAkTR664BLbCS_UGy060xlo1L4JIl0HarpF05sZaz6itgbnU1YHTCyO0pZ5gk5PdPpmmLLHyIznyOaVaEtm-9mJr7jskoopH7LmNJTya_X_N_FWRjPRMk/s320/theft+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More Empty Space</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvhaBXEADnsapK80hZvN_Fy6Qe6ColC7GN20BbY6inJvtzOE6knx_qtt9AoEiss7afkZY2E88y6ZpTzY6T8kVuFh5TvTpzlOwx7DKO0HQ6VJeHmF89fc3C6_4YgMRqnUl8D566yCcd_og/s1600/theft+8+9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvhaBXEADnsapK80hZvN_Fy6Qe6ColC7GN20BbY6inJvtzOE6knx_qtt9AoEiss7afkZY2E88y6ZpTzY6T8kVuFh5TvTpzlOwx7DKO0HQ6VJeHmF89fc3C6_4YgMRqnUl8D566yCcd_og/s200/theft+8+9.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Empty Places</td></tr>
</tbody></table>As for me, I am offering a reward for their safe return. But I doubt it - thieves are thieves after all.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><b>A List of the Gone But Not Forgotten</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">1. Grecian Lady approx 4 ft tall</div><div style="text-align: left;">2. Pair (2) of Victorian Maple Leaf / Pineapple Statues about 65 pounds each - sand painted.</div><div style="text-align: left;">3. Light House Bird Bath - Silver, black, Red</div><div style="text-align: left;">4. Giant Stork/Heron Statue</div><div style="text-align: left;">5. Red Gnome/Elf</div><div style="text-align: left;">6. Easter Island Statue</div><div style="text-align: left;">7. Maui Head</div><div style="text-align: left;">8. Planter with Evergreen</div><div style="text-align: left;">9. Frog Statue</div>10. Tiered Frog Bath<br />
11. Victorian planter<br />
Giant Green Frog as seen on the upper right side of picture.<br />
<br />
</div>Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-91068396761666452912011-10-20T16:19:00.001-04:002011-10-20T19:02:22.671-04:00In Banks We Trust . . to keep coming up with new ways to steal our money.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxAH_vRUJ9x3gXmA6aumFAPWKy9ccgxuJkDxsxNbLZ9X7GXpnEDQFElEUZXNx8YEHOqAkvwhqAkblwIQz66SnwZlfZjMP_7QlAUHzMR5pa-A01pYGvIqh-i_UF6SvUvNDk04OI8_ate3E/s1600/bank.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxAH_vRUJ9x3gXmA6aumFAPWKy9ccgxuJkDxsxNbLZ9X7GXpnEDQFElEUZXNx8YEHOqAkvwhqAkblwIQz66SnwZlfZjMP_7QlAUHzMR5pa-A01pYGvIqh-i_UF6SvUvNDk04OI8_ate3E/s320/bank.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Free checking is like a dinosaur with most banks these days, extinct. Even though my checks are perfectly plain, I think twice before I write one because it costs me $.17 for each check. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Pity the poor banks who now have to<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;">"adjust our pricing to reflect today’s economics</span>" as one was quoted saying in a newspaper article. Oh, but don't worry, if you keep a minimum balance of several thousand dollars to as low as $15, 000 on hand in some of the California banks - you won't be affected.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">To quote another paper, "a<span class="apple-style-span"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;">nd with a new rule that just took affect that</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;"> </span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;"><a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/business/economy/banks-convince-fed-to-raise-swipe-fee-limit/2011/06/29/AGBD8PrH_story.html"><span style="color: black;">limits banks’ ability to make money from merchants</span></a>, it also means paying for the privilege of swiping your debit card."</span></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I expect momentarily for my bank, BB&T, to follow suit with the likes of Bank America, Wells Fargo, Citi, and a myriad of other State and local to join one of the greatest organized theft rings in the country, not to mention the world even though the French started (the trend) first. Give me a break, please, how can you test charging banking customers for using there own money? A debit card is a direct route to a bank account isn't it. It's bad enough if you can't find one of your own bank's teller machine and use another bank - you are often charged twice for the transaction - by your bank and the teller machine's bank. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Are we suppose to feel sorry for banks now because they can't over charge you for bouncing a check or screw the retailer with too high credit card processing fees. Wait a minute - first what you are not being told is that banks have been continually devising new ways to take both consumers and retailers' money. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOo2V0ScgLLaKsIq9O4fcnnLWQiHam7VRvc0YtNcOsLpjeVQMH0G2v-EURYSp61ayghSFs-DmVn3pkcaHi25tPH2wZnPnuOQcqs-xp7HV7OgED5jcMR_vlBoKAA2qv6WxyiqM3sNYq67g/s1600/bank+thief.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOo2V0ScgLLaKsIq9O4fcnnLWQiHam7VRvc0YtNcOsLpjeVQMH0G2v-EURYSp61ayghSFs-DmVn3pkcaHi25tPH2wZnPnuOQcqs-xp7HV7OgED5jcMR_vlBoKAA2qv6WxyiqM3sNYq67g/s320/bank+thief.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wait . . . You're the teller. I'm the customer!<br />
No . . . I'm the teller. You're the customer!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I am both a consumer and a very small retailer and I am struggling to make a decision as not to take debit or credit cards in my shop, and to post a check or cash only sign. While this can and will hurt my business, my bank has been ruthless in slamming my account with fees. They have actually come up with a way to cover their perceived losses. One is called PCI DSS certification fee for the sheer pleasure of being compliant with your credit card machine. (excuse me - this the machine that I had to purchase from their merchant department and who processes all my transactions - but I am the one being charged).Then there is a net work access fee (oh- I pay for the phone line). Then there is the discount due, the card pass through fee is still there, and won't know the difference until next month, but last month, they took a whopping 45% of my sales. This isn't all - I received a letter from my bank as to another new law advising me that they must hold 28% of my payment card transactions due to a new IRS law if I don't comply (but they can't tell me how I need to comply).. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There's more to come and I imagine law makers in every state across the country jumping on Louisiana's band wagon. It seems the state just initiated a new law that bans cash for second hand transactions. This was posted on a Louisiana Eye Witness News: <a href="http://www.klfy.com/story/15717759/second-hand-dealer-law">http://www.klfy.com/story/15717759/second-hand-dealer-law</a>.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I hope you read the lame excuse that it's because the " bill is targeted at criminals who steal anything from copper to televisions, and sell them for a quick buck. Having a paper trail will make it easier for law enforcement."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Yeah - right on again. Just another new plan devising a way to get more of our money. The consumer has to pay with a debit or credit card; the shop owner must maintain a merchant account, and the credit card companies and banks will be happy again. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I can't wait to hear what they come up with next - - - any bets?</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><br />
Hmm - now that I think of the criminals are to blame for this new law - so does this mean that the merchant can only purchase goods with a credit card in order to resell an item, and the crooks must also have a credit/debit card machine? Huh - Did I miss something here?<br />
<br />
Merchant: "Hi Mr Crook - Sure I'll buy it, but I can't give you cash. Do you accept Visa/Master Card/ American Express or debit card?"<br />
<br />
Crook: "Certainly. I have a wireless machine. They're fab"<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-57370198412085402292011-10-04T14:46:00.000-04:002011-10-04T14:46:26.536-04:00Top Spin Ride at the Dixie Classic Fair<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwYqKqG85DWc7c7wFBaPuDNgZ9UKwisSJO8NWamn0ymAXwz26JXyK-yCQsYF77HutPXND8l7khcFyntJGkCqQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
</div>Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-31768376888359628402011-10-02T18:25:00.000-04:002011-10-02T18:25:49.778-04:00Dixie Classic Fair in Forsyth County NC<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNZltp0p9fJdw0mOLO-cHtPs1WTQ7D0c57Y5ypoicP0ufAY_gwjUaTlW53hbynt12gOzsNSixvPjYjuhCkSgjQUoDQ3uGXoEhmoPWLuhe6QBY-AcQrF33RA-i8s0dxXwoFC9-Evu4owbI/s1600/Camel2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNZltp0p9fJdw0mOLO-cHtPs1WTQ7D0c57Y5ypoicP0ufAY_gwjUaTlW53hbynt12gOzsNSixvPjYjuhCkSgjQUoDQ3uGXoEhmoPWLuhe6QBY-AcQrF33RA-i8s0dxXwoFC9-Evu4owbI/s200/Camel2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me Like You . . . YUM!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Today was one of those beautiful Autumn days and what better way to while away the afternoon, but at the Dixie Classic Fair.<br />
<br />
There was a time in my life when I used to go for the rides, but now I go to eat my way through the food, which, seems to get more outrageous every year. Such as the deep fried Kool-Aid and cheese cake. My favorite is the Gyros - The food vendor comes from New York where they know how to make real Gyros meat, not to mention the cumber sauce.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdWpMGePPZmZw-2E0dmNkkotLYrz25Sywoj-0AnD7d1-TapNBuuGPNDO945Z1P8PuXaZWWOwDJ2X8TEBK0HXIcA84FC6bbaBDSkZLoHlweHmU64ylHHiUPJh59j8i1I4AGwSGcAS20RkE/s1600/super+heroes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdWpMGePPZmZw-2E0dmNkkotLYrz25Sywoj-0AnD7d1-TapNBuuGPNDO945Z1P8PuXaZWWOwDJ2X8TEBK0HXIcA84FC6bbaBDSkZLoHlweHmU64ylHHiUPJh59j8i1I4AGwSGcAS20RkE/s200/super+heroes.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Super Heroes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The meat and fixings are so good, I send my husband there several times during the week (because he can get in for free) just to pick up a Gyro to-go-box, and one that we can reassemble at home.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTtNG_WIwRrVd-86v6icxFw1-MPDlBgBzYU8R04s9SUaKhtyhhDDS-STCyRh1MJYWWpwN79Y0KM_NTr7wKfnKDCIuJLo5c9GMUXysakXLvdgFi3dzeL0GRp9JY30xqevpWXX47nVR9fOQ/s1600/Howdy+Doody_Ceaser.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTtNG_WIwRrVd-86v6icxFw1-MPDlBgBzYU8R04s9SUaKhtyhhDDS-STCyRh1MJYWWpwN79Y0KM_NTr7wKfnKDCIuJLo5c9GMUXysakXLvdgFi3dzeL0GRp9JY30xqevpWXX47nVR9fOQ/s200/Howdy+Doody_Ceaser.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ceaser/Howdy Doody/Nero</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Then there are the buildings and exhibits. Every year my daughter Beverly II's school, which is a special education school, participates, primarily through the art department. So the Education building is the second stop (after the Gyros). Earlier last week, Beverly who goes to Carter High School in Winston Salem, said, "Mom, Ms Goodwin asked if I could bring Ceaser to school so that she can enter him in the fair."<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnJeM3O4Q_WQxdlv2izRDFOrpB8ZcZ_D3WDLuqkQNGH_IF44bboZArL4UWixxEdK5LR1CkZ3SgCu4E1Yml2g_ZZkFWBGvycI3d0hzXKaHVia8nUZkcBOC5oYxaXsWQgBzEICQoB9Xdk6I/s1600/Ziggy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnJeM3O4Q_WQxdlv2izRDFOrpB8ZcZ_D3WDLuqkQNGH_IF44bboZArL4UWixxEdK5LR1CkZ3SgCu4E1Yml2g_ZZkFWBGvycI3d0hzXKaHVia8nUZkcBOC5oYxaXsWQgBzEICQoB9Xdk6I/s200/Ziggy.jpg" width="156" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ziggy the Cat</td></tr>
</tbody></table>"You mean Ceaser aka Howdty Doody, aka Nero?." She giggled. She gave the bust to me for mother's day this past May and it has had a place of honor in my house since then. When I look at the face, I am torn between, Ceaser, Howdy Doody, and Nero. I just love the naivety and the kind of kooky happiness and grin that looks back at me.<br />
<br />
"Of course you can, but we need to wrap him carefully," I said.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, I was ecstatic when we walked down the aisle and I immediately say Howdy sitting with a Blue Ribbon next to him.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZkmt2e6hLs31QEIPv4EDUwc_8eXvb285wiJ604rpHfJQ3FQESI-aZvc8L3AOTh7pKlNyJ_lBhMIjkKKdTu8QB-FCQIy6cV4p1aRqszd8PzWZ23b5FEgJEnrw5UXANrItZ2kaj1MZ7ek4/s1600/Carter+Judges+Award.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZkmt2e6hLs31QEIPv4EDUwc_8eXvb285wiJ604rpHfJQ3FQESI-aZvc8L3AOTh7pKlNyJ_lBhMIjkKKdTu8QB-FCQIy6cV4p1aRqszd8PzWZ23b5FEgJEnrw5UXANrItZ2kaj1MZ7ek4/s200/Carter+Judges+Award.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carter HS Class Project</td></tr>
</tbody></table>But behind Howdy was a collective class project which not only had a Blue Ribbon, but a Judges Best in Show Purple Ribbon, and then there was Ziggy (our cat) colorfully hanging on the wall with a Red Ribbon for second place next to him.<br />
<br />
There was only one thing I could do and that was to go win a prize for my talented daughter. I tried bingo first, but that was a drag and after loosing $5.00, I decided to go for the gold.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8QrpSCrDMWopbqZppZAc5JlBugU1HM_6Y0KSS7JzRjrjJJ4BeNRPDMYCXGoKRybW4fR9U6vSkrqO01DH5zsQ2wiPaQuKonRDd7SnaCOBQj0NV2lxPFsKD-T_T3OUdaOV7CRhcqOHBPZ8/s1600/Bevie_Bear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8QrpSCrDMWopbqZppZAc5JlBugU1HM_6Y0KSS7JzRjrjJJ4BeNRPDMYCXGoKRybW4fR9U6vSkrqO01DH5zsQ2wiPaQuKonRDd7SnaCOBQj0NV2lxPFsKD-T_T3OUdaOV7CRhcqOHBPZ8/s200/Bevie_Bear.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Shining Star and My Very<br />
Own Super Hero</td></tr>
</tbody></table>"You know, the booths with the biggest stuffed animals?" I told Beverly II and my husband, Bud the Plumber, "The biggest prizes mean the game is next to impossible to win. It's fixed."<br />
<br />
So I bought a bucket of rings for $3.00 and tossed them on to a bottle and WON!<br />
<br />
It was a piece of cake - almost as easy as eating the deep fried cheese cake.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://youtu.be/Ct8-2ikpO24">http://youtu.be/Ct8-2ikpO24</a></div><br />
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</div>Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-58056088881480998152011-09-25T19:37:00.000-04:002011-09-25T19:37:51.198-04:00For My Father<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-2x_tXd6jPf6OZtxyrT-82duIH2LfznuXOXrx1HIcprMqmdmFoPljpLqATTSqa05JYRIJ2Op-4CfS0V4jbOKaeUMp3EPK6OxB-VDJZ8i7Ohguf6NPs3pJQpTZ_WaZugj3cQ9I0tJjkis/s1600/DSC00273.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-2x_tXd6jPf6OZtxyrT-82duIH2LfznuXOXrx1HIcprMqmdmFoPljpLqATTSqa05JYRIJ2Op-4CfS0V4jbOKaeUMp3EPK6OxB-VDJZ8i7Ohguf6NPs3pJQpTZ_WaZugj3cQ9I0tJjkis/s320/DSC00273.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Like father like daughter, we hide<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">behind gray puffs of smoke,<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">crave the acrid spice of nicotine.</div><div class="MsoNormal">His is Misty menthol, </div><div class="MsoNormal">mine Misty light.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A nasty habit that oddly comforts me </div><div class="MsoNormal">as once a month arrived </div><div class="MsoNormal">a slim white envelope <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">bearing his handwriting, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">tidy, neat and even strokes<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">like ripples on a pond,<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">mailed from <st1:state><st1:place>Pennsylvania</st1:place></st1:state> <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">to <st1:city><st1:place>Carolina</st1:place></st1:city>, where cigarettes </div><div class="MsoNormal">were half the price.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal">I fed his addiction,<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">a ruse to keep his letters<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">binding him to me,<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">by a long distance cord<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">of a slim white paper cigarette.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Always bringing back,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Pictures in my mind,<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">scattering in slow motion through<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">a kaleidoscope, where<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I could see him young with hair </div><div class="MsoNormal">untouched by grey,<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">tall and strong, </div><div class="MsoNormal">my anchor in the wind.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Take me for a ride daddy</i>, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">and he lifts me up into the air<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">high above his head<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>I will never let you fall</i>, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">higher still he thrusts me to the sky<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">beyond the billowy puffs of clouds<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Now just reach for any star, <o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>they’re all yours,</i> he said<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">then taught me how to make them mine.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.7pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.7pt;">I went away to gather tiles <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.7pt;">to build the mosaic of my life, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.7pt;">minutes vanished into days<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.7pt;">years withered into air,<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.7pt;">his hair now grey as evening sky,<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.7pt;">bent and weak, he is<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.7pt;">a pillar toppled by a winter breeze.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.7pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.7pt;">The letters stopped years ago, but in my <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.7pt;">mind <span> </span>they still come<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.7pt;">connecting us by a long distance cord<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.7pt;">A slim white papered cigarette -<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.7pt;">his is Misty menthol, mine is Misty light</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.7pt;">and when night time shadows fall,<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.7pt;">billowy clouds <span> </span>will always smoke<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.7pt;">behind the stars that he made mine. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.7pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_3J8Ir-13ApmhYbjbUz_hjtt10vEAW4H2mARtdyj61O3I4gHYO2VWoKwouNK3vUC7_HLglukNtkdUaGv9kF4gALxh1zrmJw5gqrbbU6guSFhq6XPIilK5gq5DAdFtJySaupp1pQ7tYzA/s1600/dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_3J8Ir-13ApmhYbjbUz_hjtt10vEAW4H2mARtdyj61O3I4gHYO2VWoKwouNK3vUC7_HLglukNtkdUaGv9kF4gALxh1zrmJw5gqrbbU6guSFhq6XPIilK5gq5DAdFtJySaupp1pQ7tYzA/s1600/dad.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.7pt;">I love you daddy</div></div>Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-72851559565222508582011-09-14T18:39:00.000-04:002011-09-14T18:39:59.183-04:00Guilty Sunday Blues<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio2LwVcXoU9ZgXAe0HLVH5OrFgTBOhbDq8sr894xykbDng7304OhXFUpLWdgOScMP578YJsZ2fqJ4_m0tgiwDltnu-fYbxj5TcifQQO_3iZMLutJCiv-cJ_ppQrgakzEn-kf-QTwnZ5FI/s1600/guilty_sunday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio2LwVcXoU9ZgXAe0HLVH5OrFgTBOhbDq8sr894xykbDng7304OhXFUpLWdgOScMP578YJsZ2fqJ4_m0tgiwDltnu-fYbxj5TcifQQO_3iZMLutJCiv-cJ_ppQrgakzEn-kf-QTwnZ5FI/s320/guilty_sunday.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: 'Droid Sans', Arial, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Instead of sitting in church, we are sitting in our car traveling north on Highway 52 from Winston-Salem. Our final destination is the winery at Chateau Morrisette which is nestled in a valley a short distance from milepost 171.5 along the Blue Ridge Parkway in Floyd, Virginia. Once there, my husband, daughter and I will indulge in one of the best Sunday Brunches that I have ever had (not to mention awesome wine tasting). Before we arrive at this destination, I indulge in another ulterior motive for our adventure – antiquing and junqueing along the highway through Mount Airy, North Carolina and Cana, Virginia.<b> <a href="http://allthingsgirl.com/2011/09/guilty-sunday-blues/">Read more at All Things Girl online</a></b></span></div>Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-80149175490151226412011-09-11T11:26:00.001-04:002015-09-11T14:09:10.552-04:00Remembering New York and 9/11<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1928 View Wall Street</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">On this eleventh day of September 2015, I will say a prayer and remember. I will remind myself that life can be taken from us at any given moment and I will try to treasure this day. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">As a child I lived in </span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Pennsylvania</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"> in a tiny town near the center of my father's large family. My mother's family was less than three hours away, in </span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">New Jersey</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"> and </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">New York City</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">. I grew up in a contrast of languages, my father's Pennsylvania Dutch, and my mother's Slovak, Polish, Russian, and other languages which confused me even more. I loved going on long extended visits to see my </span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">New York</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"> relatives. The sounds, smells, and sights of the city became embedded beneath my skin. After we moved to </span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Florida</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">, I quickly adapted to southern living and culture. As a young adult I got to travel to many places, some exotic, and some not so exotic. But this is how we grow, how the world goes around, changing places and changing faces.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicz0H06aIQg2N7bMyr1zG78QpbsXBhVVbzcHIWm-8jwjxHTYoD5fgQiY3ET1AtT2p6Xxb1_YYudVKpYKS66_0L0KSkFWMnpbYUTz1mmIWXK8uQsXE8MS5LsuN_l9C_sd6oBjUtMmOq8mU/s1600/flag.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicz0H06aIQg2N7bMyr1zG78QpbsXBhVVbzcHIWm-8jwjxHTYoD5fgQiY3ET1AtT2p6Xxb1_YYudVKpYKS66_0L0KSkFWMnpbYUTz1mmIWXK8uQsXE8MS5LsuN_l9C_sd6oBjUtMmOq8mU/s1600/flag.JPG" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">I traveled to </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">New York City</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"> on a fairly regular basis throughout my adult life as it is one of the main retail centers in the world. I had to be there during every major market week and many smaller mini-markets throughout the year. My first office in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">New York City</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"> was in the </span><st1:place><st1:placename><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Empire</span></st1:placename><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><st1:placetype><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">State</span></st1:placetype><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><st1:placetype><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Building</span></st1:placetype></st1:place><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">, on the 79th floor. One particular elevator always seemed eerie to me. Sometimes the noise seemed deafening, particularly on the rare occasions when I was the only one in the elevator. I also hated walking the winding corridor to the ladies room where heat and more noise radiated through the walls. The July of the first year after I joined the company, I found out why, although I was still in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Chicago</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"> packing for a trip to the Big Apple. Parade magazine ran a big article on the military plane that crashed into the </span><st1:place><st1:placename><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Empire</span></st1:placename><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><st1:placetype><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">State</span></st1:placetype><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><st1:placetype><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Building</span></st1:placetype></st1:place><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"> on </span><st1:date day="28" month="7" year="1945"><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">July 28, 1945</span></st1:date><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"> --- smack dab into the 79th floor leaving a gaping hole 18 feet high and 20 feet wide and destroying the offices along the corridor to the ladies room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Manhatten 1928</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">I had other offices, one on the Avenue of Americas, and one across fro the </span><st1:place><st1:placename><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">World</span></st1:placename><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><st1:placename><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Trade</span></st1:placename><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><st1:placetype><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Center</span></st1:placetype></st1:place><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">. I used to stop in the deli there for a bagel or breakfast sandwich. Occasionally I even had business meetings at the </span><st1:place><st1:placename><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Trade</span></st1:placename><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><st1:placetype><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Center</span></st1:placetype></st1:place><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">, and friends. I left the corporate world for good when I opened my antique shop, but never forgot the excitement, or sounds, smells and sights of </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">New York City</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">In August of 2001, my husband and I had decided to move to another part of </span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">North Carolina</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"> and had just begun the process of purchasing a plantation and estate, looking to turn it into a B&B along with selling antiques. We had just returned from a final view of the property before making an offer when 911 happened. I know that the world stopped for many people on that day which forever altered our lives from one corner of the globe to the other. For me and my family, we stopped and took a long look around us and realized that home to us, was right where we were and should be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzrGSjhbuMW2hNfvP830eTC1cfV1KqXsMTQMOb9aDSHhZp0_7VuqgICKoHWVxm3tONcxiiTe4MtHUXmSdnONxje4Bv6FJvXmQ9kg81moYAmq61iZwzrqzQuDgc_xodzqQNgwmEJa7srZU/s1600/Manhatten.2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzrGSjhbuMW2hNfvP830eTC1cfV1KqXsMTQMOb9aDSHhZp0_7VuqgICKoHWVxm3tONcxiiTe4MtHUXmSdnONxje4Bv6FJvXmQ9kg81moYAmq61iZwzrqzQuDgc_xodzqQNgwmEJa7srZU/s320/Manhatten.2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ground Zero 1928</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Now ten years later, I realize even more how dramatically my life changed. I went back to College and then on to earn my MFA. I made many changes, some difficult and some because the world as we knew it, had changed. We are and will continue to be in a constant change of flux, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">On this eleventh day of September 2015, the cloudless sky is crystal blue, the air holds a hint of the fall season soon to come. Summer still lingers, but shadows dance upon the walls minutes earlier then the day before. I imagine at the ground zero sight, at a field in Pennsylvania, and where ever people lost their lives on this fateful day, thousands of shadows dancing and I hope that they are at peace, hope they are at rest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-60061886958784802502011-09-10T14:04:00.000-04:002011-09-10T14:04:47.169-04:00Communications Error PART III<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwIme_RFfhgrVVGSU9VrPuqtmlttQDU0F1vh8ON2DGzyHHNpUl_5mfrDhIi1kgrbRscoBbkbw2XJqVtvZgCq-wFCtRqldcBnjROpXe-4NHfkKcfftyRU2YMRjcVjIKPcyMMRcoUH1LaLw/s1600/Shakespeare+Comedy+of+Errors+03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwIme_RFfhgrVVGSU9VrPuqtmlttQDU0F1vh8ON2DGzyHHNpUl_5mfrDhIi1kgrbRscoBbkbw2XJqVtvZgCq-wFCtRqldcBnjROpXe-4NHfkKcfftyRU2YMRjcVjIKPcyMMRcoUH1LaLw/s320/Shakespeare+Comedy+of+Errors+03.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Comedy of Errors</td></tr>
</tbody></table>To say that I am not happy right now, is an understatement.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Pure and simple, the companies that supply my cell phone lines (4), my landline (1) which also happens to be my Internet connection, and now my bank - SUCK. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Having made this announcement, I am certain my service will go from pathetic, to worse. I mention my bank because they keep coming up with new ways to keep my money.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After my last post on Communication Error Part II, my cell and land line service almost seized to exist. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This week did not start out very well. I had no bars on my 4G cell phone, and my land line had no dial tone. Although I was able to get on the internet with some of my computers, the internet speed was less then 1400 kbps. My land phone though, was dead (except if you attempted to call the number, you would get a busy signal).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">First, T <st1:city><st1:place>Mobile</st1:place></st1:city>. Over the course of the past few months, due to many issues including being billed for text from a place called Mauritania, I connected with a supervisor named “Jennifer.” She has supposedly been overseeing my account because of the problems. So much for promises, such as free phones for renewing your contract, and that “Don’t worry, I have everything under control,” she tells me, and for a while I thought she did and did not worry. Our last conversation was that she would call me on September 2nd. I guess she meant a different year then 2011.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjflSD2kz1sFD9i79JutHeUeg0zFKEz233Wtuv0Y377g8ubOtgG5Y58dNfM5TMeNvLijRlmv1nDY3aOoEa7ZrrZMZ6ym4CdJlfWhDYommIt1CnsE5ZSwWh0vkekWlZ9TRwEWRYJeSVMecE/s1600/Moo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjflSD2kz1sFD9i79JutHeUeg0zFKEz233Wtuv0Y377g8ubOtgG5Y58dNfM5TMeNvLijRlmv1nDY3aOoEa7ZrrZMZ6ym4CdJlfWhDYommIt1CnsE5ZSwWh0vkekWlZ9TRwEWRYJeSVMecE/s320/Moo.jpg" width="272" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moo Yorkie</td></tr>
</tbody></table>But this isn't the half of it because I elected to go paperless billing and my T Mobile bill is still mysteriously not available to me, although it claims I owe them $444.00 (less change) for current charges. The bill was $644.00 but they evidently applied a credit of $200.00 based on a phone I purchased in July and which, instead of applying my charge card purchase to the phone, they applied it to a bill which did not generate until 11 days later (but they did ship my phone).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So beginning Monday, and successive days throughout the week, I spoke with numerous customer reps who had thick accents. After hours of trying to explain my months of T Mobile hell and nightmares, my connection with said reps, was dropped. Whether or not they cut me off (which, has happened often in the past) is another issue.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am getting extremely tired of speaking with people who are very difficult to understand and I am still waiting to view a valid bill. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But at least the outcome with Windstream – my landline and Internet carrier – faired better. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It isn’t that I care about my land line although it my connection to the Internet, but I have had this number for almost 20 years and my family often forgets our cell phone numbers. I also keep this landline because on occasion, I accept credit card purchases in my shop. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wont though after <st1:date day="1" month="1" year="2012">January 1, 2012</st1:date>. Accept credi card purchases that is. Not when my bank (BB&T) sent me a letter informing me that they must keep 28% (known as Federal backup withholding). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">HUH????? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYjs1rTXiYwxC6xXL6MV8L9IEDxfN-jeHJRjq70ZEyLng1Q9dnDnM886HUJb65U6FzwwcmmMi_ICGLV_R0lCAuh4PShI6XSIpbf78fmD2zKtkS6HCsCd94aKA3SkDayef6jIhQt1LlVkA/s1600/Cash+Register.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYjs1rTXiYwxC6xXL6MV8L9IEDxfN-jeHJRjq70ZEyLng1Q9dnDnM886HUJb65U6FzwwcmmMi_ICGLV_R0lCAuh4PShI6XSIpbf78fmD2zKtkS6HCsCd94aKA3SkDayef6jIhQt1LlVkA/s320/Cash+Register.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OUCH</td></tr>
</tbody></table>They already charge me $5.00 a month for the sheer pleasure of using a credit card machine. They already charge me a pass through fee meaning just swiping a card through the machine. They already charge me $5.99 a month for being in <i>Compliance</i>. They already charge me a base fee of $15.00 a month as a minimal charge for Charges/debits. They already charge me an additional fee for said credit/debits of up to 6% a month depending upon the credit/debit card name/company. Not to mention that my previously free checking is no longer free and should I wish to pay by check, said check will cost $.18 per check to write. In short, I loose between $400.00 and $800.00 a year for doing business with them. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3tirnZu309vZSaM-xLnTXH1qapWpHohzIvSfa4DLu_ztyReVXqWwab10VzgK6JJ6kA-CXD57tT9sDjG2OqbDbCI3o3Nx6-xe1sRvW40uxklwVEi6j5Px_HeSMh3Q52bylo-gjrpVkopg/s1600/Chewie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3tirnZu309vZSaM-xLnTXH1qapWpHohzIvSfa4DLu_ztyReVXqWwab10VzgK6JJ6kA-CXD57tT9sDjG2OqbDbCI3o3Nx6-xe1sRvW40uxklwVEi6j5Px_HeSMh3Q52bylo-gjrpVkopg/s200/Chewie.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I Have a Headache</td></tr>
</tbody></table> So much for being a loyal customer. Which is why my cell phone company, my land line company, and my bank, who all want my business, suck. </div></div>Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-18585669780034286392011-09-01T14:53:00.000-04:002011-09-01T19:09:57.568-04:00Cell Phones, Landlines, and Communications Error Part II<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbBrTL8bZ0rkqGIKxUAa7bhF0vMdqqUEXdcxX6rfs0tBRlbv2JSWn6xjD7CTzxAOOEt1-3R2lWILnKSDXT5cHumABCmZ6otPjLUVAFBhtRs4yJ6eeZROgq6WXVysGBwwG3dwn7tlvIAD4/s1600/cel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbBrTL8bZ0rkqGIKxUAa7bhF0vMdqqUEXdcxX6rfs0tBRlbv2JSWn6xjD7CTzxAOOEt1-3R2lWILnKSDXT5cHumABCmZ6otPjLUVAFBhtRs4yJ6eeZROgq6WXVysGBwwG3dwn7tlvIAD4/s320/cel.jpg" width="189" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Help. Get me out PLEASE!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">I have been a loyal customer
of TMobile who bought out SunCom and before that I had Verizon, who screwed me
royally. I won’t go into that but it was about “only the primary number"
had allocated minutes and subsequently I was charged $600.00 for additional
minutes, although my total minutes were unused.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">The explanation was very
simple – the line who used the minutes was not the primary number.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">I will fast forward to the
present and the past three months which have totally sucked up every ounce of
patience I thought I had. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">This particular time (yes –
there was another ugly time when I tried to go wireless (and if you care to
read about it – click on <a href="http://allthingsgirl.com/2009/01/communication-error-by-bev-hamel/">Communications Error by Bev Hamel</a>), has been abysmal. It’s
true, history does repeat itself, particularly on Sunday afternoons when I
clean up my computer from a weeks worth of internet surfing, or when my cell phone
contract is about to expire and I need to make a decision whether to stay with
my current company, or not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMvGOHKco2hnBQnonzuzB2YGYX4vEVhtgO0hFpOa5YZ_PyH451eGxhRXoPwf8JDI7PnLys5XP0FW6P1qjSfMBxc9jR5Q9Q00SpgMCHXazwzip0w_XgBSQpYammuMz7MDgO-TOHQApaOuI/s1600/Halloween2+girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMvGOHKco2hnBQnonzuzB2YGYX4vEVhtgO0hFpOa5YZ_PyH451eGxhRXoPwf8JDI7PnLys5XP0FW6P1qjSfMBxc9jR5Q9Q00SpgMCHXazwzip0w_XgBSQpYammuMz7MDgO-TOHQApaOuI/s320/Halloween2+girls.jpg" width="168" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We are!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Up until a few months ago, I
had been happy with my cell phone carrier, T Mobile. I had not been happy with
my two teenage daughters and their cell phone usage, but I was safe – I had
family allowances and could control their usage. What I couldn’t control was
their carelessness in taking care of their cell phones. There have been
mysteriously broken phones, dropped phones in places where one does not want to
go fishing, not to mention confiscated phones that only a parental figure can
reclaim. We have had stolen phones and phones that disintegrated through wear
and tear – but no one admits to being responsible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">This is not T Mobile’s fault,
but the unauthorized text messages and charges to my account when parental
controls were in place, is. No one in my family knows any one from </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Mauritania</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 11pt;">, nor do we even know where it is though through
Googling the number and name, </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Mauritania</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> is a country in </span><st1:place><span style="font-size: 11pt;">West Africa</span></st1:place><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> and an Islamic Republic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Not one of us received a
message – just a charge. Okay so $.20 is nothing, but it does add up. The first
time I called customer service, I was told – text back to “STOP.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“How do I do that? The phone
doesn’t ring and there is no record of receiving the message on our actual
phones. The only way I know about this is because the charges are on my bill!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“That is not possible,” a
very thickly accented voice replies. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdf92NtjFqCBg2AzNBG3sJfEwtzR1gjZJKkFb_qVO_G1NC5DT-HPV9iQ7IWOLJqfAHF0dvYln1FhhrCPNfcZGHYQHk01XqguvmTUlzTxfop0lalA8HRHQ0lcasXCUAtsO9PqjvMSaANl4/s1600/bumble+yorkie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdf92NtjFqCBg2AzNBG3sJfEwtzR1gjZJKkFb_qVO_G1NC5DT-HPV9iQ7IWOLJqfAHF0dvYln1FhhrCPNfcZGHYQHk01XqguvmTUlzTxfop0lalA8HRHQ0lcasXCUAtsO9PqjvMSaANl4/s320/bumble+yorkie.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where is Muriatania?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“Can you explain to me why I
have my phone turned off and I am asleep at </span><st1:time hour="15" minute="0"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">3:00</span></st1:time><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> in the morning? In fact all my other three cell phone
users are asleep as well. Can’t you stop this?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“No,” the voice said. ”We
can’t block International calling or text, besides you have parental control
and family allowances.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">I'd rather have the parental
controls. The messages continued and so
did the charges. I continued to spend quality time on the phone with T Mobile
customer service. requesting the charges be removed. Every person I spoke with
had a different solution. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">So, this was my first problem
– I talked to many customer service people until I demanded a supervisor. But
it still took hours, days and weeks to resolve. I am not sure if this was
finally resolved because I condescended
to renewing my contract, getting new phones, adding an unlimited text and data plan
for my family, with the exception that the two teenage people in my family - have 500 minutes each. One of these people
used the minutes in a few days, and although the text messaging was unlimited,
the other teenaged person, made international calls to </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Morocco</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> (which were not in the plan), while the male parental
figure accidentally downloaded a bloat ware app though I told him the Android
Market is loaded with free apps.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEife838aQ9IuhXt17FcX9LOFhlHhuE9p7S4npi-GzJOzD15izvKc4WrmCNQmDbBJBTBhHk4Dkb82w4Jg1IHs_StjKEcATwPxeUb5VHnV3dfk_d05LCSRgIN_EBJ1rLYnmgolTawNO3C100/s1600/box.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEife838aQ9IuhXt17FcX9LOFhlHhuE9p7S4npi-GzJOzD15izvKc4WrmCNQmDbBJBTBhHk4Dkb82w4Jg1IHs_StjKEcATwPxeUb5VHnV3dfk_d05LCSRgIN_EBJ1rLYnmgolTawNO3C100/s320/box.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ok, so I love my new Khaki Slide!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">This, though is not the last
straw. It seems somehow, my new family plan racked up a whopping $653.00 bill
this month. It seems there was a little
bit of communication error, between customer service reps and supervisors, not
to mention it turned out the free phones we were suppose to receive, weren't
free after all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">If only this was all, and I
wont go into detail, but between the severe storms, earthquake, my Windstream land
line and broad band connection went puff! New phones, new modem, new plan, and
two weeks later, a new bill, I am ready to become a hermit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">However, we no longer have text
messages from </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Mauritania</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> showing up. They are now coming from </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 11pt;">EGYPT</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 11pt;">!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-47226128438624479802011-08-24T13:03:00.002-04:002011-08-24T15:56:42.525-04:00Earthquakes and In Memory Of a Best Friend<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Between yesterday and today, I am in a daze and heartbroken. I have recovered from the event of yesterday, after all it was a mere earthquake.<br />
<br />
Yesterday just before 2:00, I was sitting at my desk when I heard my puppies howling and barking then came a a roar and I felt a rush of energy burst through my shop. The overhead pipes, ceiling fans and even furniture rattled and shook. The phenomena seemed to last for minutes and as quickly as it began, stopped in dead silence. I called my husband and asked him what happened - he didn't know because he was outside. I had him go through the building both inside and out even though I didn't know at the time that what I felt was an earthquake and besides, we don't have earthquakes in Bethania, let alone North Carolina, or the East coast. I heard it on the news later in the evening. It was a weird feeling to find out the jolt registered 5.8 on the Richter scale.<br />
<br />
Then this morning I heard a loud rush of speed, a thud and a thump from the same location by my desk. The noise came from outside the front of my shop. I went to look and saw a man in the middle of the street - he was a neighbor from up the road who had been walking his large dog, a pretty and friendly honey colored Lab mix. A car had zoomed by, going at least double our 25 MPH speed limit and is why I am heartbroken, dazed and numb. I watched as he lifted the lifeless body and took him to the side of the road and held the dog as it died. The car driver never stopped.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9yXxMInwLgNaU4fuEr4dQeY8ZNDbv-j3A0RmnbozLR-TWKJTgKhEx5tWFnpsXot9pSkCr4lcw-AWae2KOecPoNfCf7S-UM1xkGg3eCO-34z-1HXoEHVeRUhGKvQrGmYP2Kty1_b72F1M/s1600/6+yorkies+on+my+bed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9yXxMInwLgNaU4fuEr4dQeY8ZNDbv-j3A0RmnbozLR-TWKJTgKhEx5tWFnpsXot9pSkCr4lcw-AWae2KOecPoNfCf7S-UM1xkGg3eCO-34z-1HXoEHVeRUhGKvQrGmYP2Kty1_b72F1M/s320/6+yorkies+on+my+bed.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I have seven Yorkies and all of them are my best friends. I am so sorry for you my neighbor, and I feel your pain and your loss. We all do.<br />
<br />
<b>POST SCRIPT</b><br />
My husband just returned from the post office which should have taken only a few minutes and instead it took thirty - A van in front of him hit a small dog and took off and left it there on the road. My husband and another man went to help. They saw a tethered leash and an empty collar on the porch. The owner of the dog was inside, but in a wheel chair. The puppy was dazed but still needed care - I hope it will survive. This is a day I just want to stand outside and scream at all the speeders to slow down.<br />
<br />
Tonight I am going to have a free-for-all with my puppies, give them extra treats, and watch their favorite movie. I will let them kiss my face as much as they want and let them help take away the sadness of this day. But then, they always do.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/0PsEToY6mzI?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
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</div>Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-22483233435245864992011-08-13T16:58:00.000-04:002011-08-13T16:58:33.643-04:00Writing History is Like Putting Together a Puzzle<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI4rZ81P90hv2jLOtDVYRrdfOYPw2pUjzzQ0T2DGhKvZ5-0krKjeBUxWXWcGn8IS9jRY0hXKpsPHPYHirHag7xK-EqiQvi8d-hPLyEurQaVEbYYIi60_IQRFuG_NDe_lyjTzdBcNai8BA/s1600/Miller+store_Pauls+Valley3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI4rZ81P90hv2jLOtDVYRrdfOYPw2pUjzzQ0T2DGhKvZ5-0krKjeBUxWXWcGn8IS9jRY0hXKpsPHPYHirHag7xK-EqiQvi8d-hPLyEurQaVEbYYIi60_IQRFuG_NDe_lyjTzdBcNai8BA/s400/Miller+store_Pauls+Valley3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;">Miller and Green Store Pauls Valley, Indian Territory<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"><br />
<i>Although the sign says it is the C. J. Grant Store, the building was the original Miller and Green store and initially operated by Frank Miller before he took on a partner named Thomas M Green. </i></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I know this because of the trip that I have been on --- lost in Pauls Valley, Indian Territory before it became the state of Oklahoma, traveling through time and space from Winston, North Carolina, before it became Winston-Salem, To say that that it's been an amazing trip, is not the least, because I have also met several wonderful historians and writers whose knowledge of the west and its settlement have fueled my research and detective work. The problem is, my puzzle is growing at the same time the pieces are falling into place. The picture above was forwarded to me by OK historian Mike Tower and courtesy of the Pauls Valley Depot Museum. The photograph was taken after 1888, before the building burnt to the ground. Mike tells me that the only reason the picture of the store exists is because C. J. Grant had it moved parts by parts on wagons from its original location, which was located on the confluence of Rush Creek, about a mile south of where the present town exists. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1IgdlLmBl-FRITySYz13vu6mB4r4tH3JfGNQmPBvpXyNX32gfx95DIhd8EVJ3mTgPlAUT3lFygtJ9e3-VAo0UtVCooJFsEtPdlyNzo73toRdFUZQTSCqqRROblnSy5dBdqQyCxM0RxUM/s1600/Pauls+Valley+Bank+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1IgdlLmBl-FRITySYz13vu6mB4r4tH3JfGNQmPBvpXyNX32gfx95DIhd8EVJ3mTgPlAUT3lFygtJ9e3-VAo0UtVCooJFsEtPdlyNzo73toRdFUZQTSCqqRROblnSy5dBdqQyCxM0RxUM/s320/Pauls+Valley+Bank+001.jpg" width="206" /></a> </div>I already knew that Frank Miller sold the business to Grant after Green was killed in 1886. But what I didn't know was from early Garvin County Historical notes that Miller gave half of the business to a Tom Martin who was a nephew of Miller or Green. But then it hit me from already tons of my local Winston Research, Tom Martin was the son of Dr Samuel Martin of Winston, who married Miss Limmie Miller in 1856, daughter of Harmon Miller Esq, and Frank Miller's oldest sister.<br />
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C. J. Grant is Calvin Grant, son of Colonel Thomas Grant who was one of the first settlers in Pauls Valley. The Colonel is the first cousin of Ulysses S Grant. A co-incidence is that the house the former president lived in before and after the Civil War, in Galena, Illinois, is identical to the home that my husband and I restored in DeKalb, Illinois, for JJ Kingsley who is considered the father of Hybrid corn. But before I go off on a tangent and another story I need to write, I need to finish the one I am on, which is an amazing saga spilling from two Victorian trunks, and pieces of papers and letters spanning 200 years.<br />
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</div>Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-27308912707906884022011-08-01T16:48:00.003-04:002019-03-23T14:38:58.513-04:00Pauls Valley Indian Territory and a Man Named Frank Miller<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pauls Valley</td></tr>
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I was going to post a new blog much earlier then this, but because of the state of our Nation's budget crisis, I'd keep the publication up. Sometimes prayers can be far reaching. Besides I have been on a long journey of discovery taking me back through time in researching historical records of place and elements of life for a book that I have not yet determined to be a history book or a historical fiction book.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgENOfjJhRE8QFwFrrfM2V-TJEWTgWrKOXu_cd4Zxcg-Y2va9RDocepJ4e-dm_OAFLS9E57kPH8B45zRJ-B_XuQ0aZuFAoZbqeZd82Rvm5_cH2qBwjilavICIlI-I91Zh3beVh006aSnxA/s1600/Frank_Miller_1870_001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgENOfjJhRE8QFwFrrfM2V-TJEWTgWrKOXu_cd4Zxcg-Y2va9RDocepJ4e-dm_OAFLS9E57kPH8B45zRJ-B_XuQ0aZuFAoZbqeZd82Rvm5_cH2qBwjilavICIlI-I91Zh3beVh006aSnxA/s200/Frank_Miller_1870_001.jpg" width="135" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frank Miller taken about 1870<br />
St Louis </td></tr>
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My quest involves Cowboys, Indians, Pauls Valley, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Texas, and a man named Frank Miller who arrived in Pauls Valley, then Indian Territory from Winston, somewhere around 1870, though he most likely was in the West earlier. The story is an intriguing one because Harmon Miller, Frank's father was one of the first to settle Winston, in the new county of Forsyth, NC in 1849. Before Harmon's death in 1861, the family had amassed considerable property, had a hotel, brick buildings, a mercantile store, and land throughout several counties.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJcfixgU-ypEoysyGv6Irgmma-FaPyFVhsnuIL7aW42xottnPfvdaYH1ffciHDjCj5ec6jsDlKmYynsSZ9eUXWpYDadbXw8cM39EQ4sZqmFOBoF8r91hzyWZUlsDq_LOODFk6fn7Yfmwg/s1600/Jesse_James2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJcfixgU-ypEoysyGv6Irgmma-FaPyFVhsnuIL7aW42xottnPfvdaYH1ffciHDjCj5ec6jsDlKmYynsSZ9eUXWpYDadbXw8cM39EQ4sZqmFOBoF8r91hzyWZUlsDq_LOODFk6fn7Yfmwg/s200/Jesse_James2.gif" width="143" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jesse James</td></tr>
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Frank's two brothers, both ranking officers, were killed in the Civil War. Frank was in the war too, and served at least, some of the war in New Bern and Wilmington - the home of Smith Paul, originally from New Bern NC and who Pauls Valley is named after. We have Frank's brothers (war0 records available, but we do not have Franks. Family history though suggests that he may have been a blockade runner.<br />
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Because of numerous historical facts an some very interesting records and letters, also allude that Frank Miller may have served on the side of the North. This material is intricate, but documented because there were many men of southern origins who did not believe in what the American Civil War was about. That there were Southern deserters who lost there faith in the war and the cause is known - the war took its toll on human frailties.<br />
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The aftermath of the war and reconstruction era, was a nightmare at best,; but southern men who had defected were perhaps more ostracized then even African Americans, and Northern deserter. Although Frank Miller's family roots were deeply embedded in his birthplace, along with the family's land investments that were able to be sustained through many careful and cautious manipulations, even the disintegration of confederate currency, did not create financial difficulty.<br />
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Forgiveness from within the local deeply southern community which Frank Miller lived, would take many years. This was not uncommon and many Civil War veterans removed their selves, as well as their families away from the community in which they had known.<br />
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"Go West, Young Man, Go West" an unknown source quote, published in a newspaper published by Horace Greeley, became the inner most thought of many men - young and old alike. The idyllic image of growing with your country, of greener pastures, of untamed wilderness, of roots- hog - or die, and of adventure - opened up a chance for a new life, and for possibly forgetting and for forgiveness.<br />
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By the early 1870s, Pauls Valley became known as a way station for the cream of the crop, wild, wild west bad buys and gangs; such as Billy the Kid, the James Brothers, the Younger Brothers, so the well known Bounty hunters, along with sheriffs, and the Calvery made frequent pit stops there including Custer. It was not an uncommon sight to find dead men along the dirt roads, hanging in trees, or lying half submerged in water. Some would still have their hair and other's would not. The same way with their boots, which became a must for cowboys - hoping to die with their boots on.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg25PpQZLZKWZVie6ipdME8MtkI7uurpUUFEE_tZK9Qjmi6g-12B1AXLKjrluw0gmScxkQnarLLr-FJ1ges4GYfiSbi4IqHC0owqoqMKX8R9whmlxtxnPDSH9b3D4EZgmfhyQ3gX8DKn8I/s1600/Custer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg25PpQZLZKWZVie6ipdME8MtkI7uurpUUFEE_tZK9Qjmi6g-12B1AXLKjrluw0gmScxkQnarLLr-FJ1ges4GYfiSbi4IqHC0owqoqMKX8R9whmlxtxnPDSH9b3D4EZgmfhyQ3gX8DKn8I/s200/Custer.jpg" width="145" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gen George Custer</td></tr>
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Frank Miller had to have "True Grit" because he operated a trading post, was licensed by the Government to, pay the freighters who drove cattle through the rich valley and supplies to Ft Sill and other Forts within a wide range. He was also the postmaster for many years, raised several thousand heads of cattle on his spread, had a telegraph, financed the first bank in Sherman Texas, Sacremento, Ca, Oklahoma City and in Pauls Valley. (Not to mention back in Winston, RJ Reynolds and his tobacco endeavors, and then his brother in-law - George Hinshaw's bank and the bank that would become Wachovia).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAW-TFK0BHALgaymuwrKCBnHaBnFlKRIIeDMpnB3-LMBbhHcx2zEIrgOWUIz-ae2SwF2ZjRa5xdRO_sTmE6ClM0IrZcpTpkyJn7zYg4c86dwvJ6ia1l_vnf3ycXfaLu6rRRDRH3mJYweA/s1600/pauls+Valley4" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="113" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAW-TFK0BHALgaymuwrKCBnHaBnFlKRIIeDMpnB3-LMBbhHcx2zEIrgOWUIz-ae2SwF2ZjRa5xdRO_sTmE6ClM0IrZcpTpkyJn7zYg4c86dwvJ6ia1l_vnf3ycXfaLu6rRRDRH3mJYweA/s200/pauls+Valley4" width="200" /></a></div>
But back to Frank Miller and the Wild West. By 1872, he had a partner named Thomas Green and in 1877, he returned to Winston, took care of some business, and married Ida Wharton, a prominent Clemmons Doctor's daughter and brought her to his home in the West. She too must of had grit because she bore Frank five children, two boys died in infancy.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj_sN7RuWN9rKdhoen3lc4TlM6MQFTk1zS6PaErChNZ2LgRplBtq3o2BmLA_dRNNQqtibddumogNAQK0IGEB2fQCV6sh0Vyi6rXB77ldr6aBZ6rWjN_pgdWL52kHE4568dS8osjkAAkSo/s1600/Pauls+Valley2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="118" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj_sN7RuWN9rKdhoen3lc4TlM6MQFTk1zS6PaErChNZ2LgRplBtq3o2BmLA_dRNNQqtibddumogNAQK0IGEB2fQCV6sh0Vyi6rXB77ldr6aBZ6rWjN_pgdWL52kHE4568dS8osjkAAkSo/s200/Pauls+Valley2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pauls Valley</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Frank spent about 15 years, that I can document, In Pauls Valley; but the date that seems to point to the family's retrurn to Winston and North Carolina is about 1886, when the railroad came to Pauls Valley. This is also when his partner Tom Greene was killed while herding cattle and preparing for the trip near the Washita River. This is also about the time the Wild West became even wilder. Ida too, was expecting, so I think Green's death was the last straw for her. <br />
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I still have some research to do, but the story has been bubbling inside me for too long a time now and is hankering to come out. In the mean time . . . . .<br />
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Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-61537770535198438532011-07-02T14:22:00.000-04:002011-07-02T14:22:39.279-04:00The First Prayer in Congress published by H. V. Wright, Washington City<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMpEdQQrHsDD7tnLohF6BeZW9PsjGa-v2aIQ3KBmFgwbhitUSN0lOkvUt56xwlOOX_nIci1ctjdGPSs8PSpAVgQFiO8jEl4QqeDpQS3SX5HGPaff429T2pVVOpTKNXysQ36q5Nrjuj1SY/s1600/first+prayer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMpEdQQrHsDD7tnLohF6BeZW9PsjGa-v2aIQ3KBmFgwbhitUSN0lOkvUt56xwlOOX_nIci1ctjdGPSs8PSpAVgQFiO8jEl4QqeDpQS3SX5HGPaff429T2pVVOpTKNXysQ36q5Nrjuj1SY/s640/first+prayer.jpg" width="528" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is one of the first printed copies of <i>The First Prayer in Congress</i> made available to the public and was published by H. V. Wright, Washington City. He notes, "In "Thatcher's Military Journal," under date of December 1777, is found a note containing the identical "First Prayer in Congress," made b the Rev. Jacob Duche, a gentleman of great eloquence, Here it is - a historical curiosity."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The prayer was published in Thatcher's Journal in 1823. You can read more on this historical document at <a href="http://thefoundationforum.com/2007/09/the-first-prayer-in-the-united-states-congress.html">The Foundation Forum</a>. </div><br />
Historians of the 20th Century differ on the actual date and year it was read, but the prayer is grounded in the birth of our nation and as fitting for our stressful time as at any previous time in our country's struggles.<br />
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Enjoy and have a safe and happy Fourth of July! </div>Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-20847163107979635392011-07-01T13:20:00.000-04:002011-07-01T13:20:13.291-04:00Celebrating the First of July<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNo5H-3TtCIp4SjH6PKkBFGojKj2PsKMlHRgdMSBwkt7nIJ1gu2Qhtm_iZndrtAMfzvPwyeIzDhChN_VBWSR721U09AZZFssAUdIuCWb0GW43J_j3EzEOGt-k1yRZtGFF088XrM8kcOIU/s1600/Bombardment+of+Ft+Henry+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNo5H-3TtCIp4SjH6PKkBFGojKj2PsKMlHRgdMSBwkt7nIJ1gu2Qhtm_iZndrtAMfzvPwyeIzDhChN_VBWSR721U09AZZFssAUdIuCWb0GW43J_j3EzEOGt-k1yRZtGFF088XrM8kcOIU/s200/Bombardment+of+Ft+Henry+001.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Bombardment of Fort Henry<br />
by Bill Alderfer</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Today is may dad’s birthday. I will not say the year that he was born, except that he is possibly older then dirt and candles should be banned from his birthday cake.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On the other hand, my dad is an amazing artist, still handsome and brilliant. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My dad is a WWII Veteran, wanted to study linguistics, and speak Chinese, But he had a growing family – three children and a wife who demanded that her husband concentrate on “bringing them up.” including learning cooking, books, and anything that had to do with paper besides books – but real period paper, 16th -<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>17th - 18th <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and 19<sup>th</sup> century material – the stuff that most people ignore or throw away.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Some of the papers came from our 17th Century home in <st1:state><st1:place>Pennsylvania,</st1:place></st1:state> which is how the bug for old homes became imbedded in my life, as did antiques. The papers were used as insulation beneath floor boards and stuffed between log walls and beams.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I remember going through boxes of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>my dad's "stash,” and pulling out an original newspaper with George Washington's address to the troops from <st1:place>Valley Forge</st1:place>. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then there were boxes of old letters and other papers from the Revolutionary War through the Civil War.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Which brings me to the fact that in a few days, on July 4, our country, which is also older then dirt, will be celebrating its 235th birthday.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH4nqklhYIlTrExbO0rsUlb_8q-iF48UKj4mMS_zHKGQSg0XyPjzajSWSDWx0GknBntex2bF4l9RLnCY1iY_GKH45y1ccrHPItImAXikZrKITFanrBGHmIu4pakeArVGyCCvVaPbc086E/s1600/candles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH4nqklhYIlTrExbO0rsUlb_8q-iF48UKj4mMS_zHKGQSg0XyPjzajSWSDWx0GknBntex2bF4l9RLnCY1iY_GKH45y1ccrHPItImAXikZrKITFanrBGHmIu4pakeArVGyCCvVaPbc086E/s200/candles.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">My dad isn't that old, but I sent him one of those talking cards that warns the people who live in the vicinity of his apartment in <st1:place><st1:city>Hatfield</st1:city>, <st1:state>Pa</st1:state></st1:place> - <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to run for cover because there is a fire going on but actually its his birthday cake with all its candles. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I warned you dad --- Happy Birthday!</div><br />
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</div></div>Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-39975603458781722902011-06-12T20:32:00.000-04:002011-06-12T20:32:42.341-04:00Why I Have Six Yorkies in My Bed<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1bgb1ShHoNgmKpFJMs4OOq3pV1NgQ7MTRVPjy9AjotjvZzU_GjulEZ1R7Dl66cJ_c5HclBWdO-yjIZAGtI8XKyMDhJWVwWPTL2QmchYpw4u6ZlE9S0XpYpAZBWzBMs-vQhwIOtrCLvNA/s1600/My+Yorkie+Pups.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1bgb1ShHoNgmKpFJMs4OOq3pV1NgQ7MTRVPjy9AjotjvZzU_GjulEZ1R7Dl66cJ_c5HclBWdO-yjIZAGtI8XKyMDhJWVwWPTL2QmchYpw4u6ZlE9S0XpYpAZBWzBMs-vQhwIOtrCLvNA/s200/My+Yorkie+Pups.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Actually on occasion, I have seven - when my daughter visits or asks us to "puppy sit." Said puppy is my "grandpuppy" and while she is not with us all the time, she remembers and knows who we are. Anyone who believes that dogs don't have memories, let me assure you they do. When Mizzie comes to visit - pandemonium erupts and we have a wild and crazy time. First Zoie and Zack (the parents) attack her, and then the rest of the gang. They immediately run into my bedroom and have a free-for-all on my bed.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSINvxtTANg2Qt_vWkgVGY7rGY5ivZSvTXyrUYEE9cVef43NzGQyS79hkapy1mGtTRwYHpZWGNR6DOUaiYDxZSqs2eebJUPEC7TuhyphenhyphenhNFd-U2Mup5EwL3y0yMMX47UMI0R5-6pKjPW_O4/s1600/Mackie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSINvxtTANg2Qt_vWkgVGY7rGY5ivZSvTXyrUYEE9cVef43NzGQyS79hkapy1mGtTRwYHpZWGNR6DOUaiYDxZSqs2eebJUPEC7TuhyphenhyphenhNFd-U2Mup5EwL3y0yMMX47UMI0R5-6pKjPW_O4/s200/Mackie.jpg" width="196" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I am to Cute for you to be Mad</td></tr>
</tbody></table>This is a daily occurrence and the main reason why my bed never gets made. In reality, life with six Yorkie puppies in our house everyday is a wild and crazy time because the puppies like to party - they are after all Yorkshire Terriers, which is very close to terrors - which right now is synonymous with termites - (they like to chew and are going through an exceedingly long teething stage). Besides toys, chewbones, every paper product imaginable, we have glasses, cell phones, remote controls, every flavor of wood in furniture, pillows, foam, each other, and of course, anything that drops on the floor - such as this Jalapeno pepper, which fell on the floor while I was making "Garnachoes."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoCXplI7synEhR3k0tpDHvTVp9zODLoISsUn8yyjua2qMBwV37qpW50JNuxhLpin6mVMk9Jo3JR7OMtRtLxQ5WB-PkNs9Vie94G90KY8Bh22GHr4s8LK5JwgZhTdWOrEP7bwGQsrLRkNQ/s1600/Yorkie+Jalaepeno.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="124" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoCXplI7synEhR3k0tpDHvTVp9zODLoISsUn8yyjua2qMBwV37qpW50JNuxhLpin6mVMk9Jo3JR7OMtRtLxQ5WB-PkNs9Vie94G90KY8Bh22GHr4s8LK5JwgZhTdWOrEP7bwGQsrLRkNQ/s200/Yorkie+Jalaepeno.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teeth Marked Jalapeno </td></tr>
</tbody></table>So if anyone cares, I am a glutton for my Yorkie puppies and except full responsibility for their care and upbringing. Thet have been potty trained (sort of) since they were three weeks. They are healthy, have all their shots, and one by one or getting neutered. We never expected for Zoie and Zack to have five puppies, but even more so was the fact that I simply could not sell any of them, particularly after being there from birth through it all.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJCu0IlWI2Qo9M9XsKEBeSKTuiO4j0ew5iR5eAeNnf3B_wesqxdkW1cbUhMm76CpMaeSHUlr16Cf5g5-D0Z7pUMuZoRHCsbb7jGqYhGFmtqc4ETXANw3_5qGxxD1_I_FHz3wHiXIVmgtU/s1600/Lizzie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJCu0IlWI2Qo9M9XsKEBeSKTuiO4j0ew5iR5eAeNnf3B_wesqxdkW1cbUhMm76CpMaeSHUlr16Cf5g5-D0Z7pUMuZoRHCsbb7jGqYhGFmtqc4ETXANw3_5qGxxD1_I_FHz3wHiXIVmgtU/s200/Lizzie.jpg" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I am Lizzie and I Love to Kissie You</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I watched as Zoie would rush into the puppy palace and nod her head then bark as if she was counting to make sure all puppies were accounted for. Call me crazy - I am - crazy for my Yorkies and well not having a well-made bed --- who gives a d_ mn!<br />
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We no longer have a four poster bed that one needed a ladder to climb into. All the puppies can climb easily in and out, but more importantly, so can my husband, "Bud the Plumber," when the puppies let him that is.<br />
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</div>Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-77490728866248412312011-06-05T16:37:00.002-04:002011-06-07T11:16:13.274-04:00Why is Bethania North Carolina a National Treasure and a Landmark Town?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVeYJ9cA2fNZmJxG6toJgdxeGwfUN1OQqgyfTCZ65IvzJIxlNME2OFOawQ_EiGX50omSafEcFvh1YpPAZNHo8ZI14cgU5toHfS8_WcghOGcXGpVRI8FqNPzadhrmGh9ay73Kd5euPQOuk/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVeYJ9cA2fNZmJxG6toJgdxeGwfUN1OQqgyfTCZ65IvzJIxlNME2OFOawQ_EiGX50omSafEcFvh1YpPAZNHo8ZI14cgU5toHfS8_WcghOGcXGpVRI8FqNPzadhrmGh9ay73Kd5euPQOuk/s200/11.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">On June 12, 2011, the tiny town of Bethania, North Carolina will turn 252 years old. On this coming Saturday June 11 the town will hold a celebration honoring this event. Few towns in our country, even any country can boast of such extensive record taking, or documentation of family histories. Although the beginnings of Bethania are deeply rooted in the Moravian Religion which is the oldest protestant religion in the worlds, the town itself was settled by both Moravian and non-Moravian families. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYhEBDqLa1FQP8V4OX5tf16iy0yuLmB_nT-Llcwzm-GJpW7bed22J_wl0WEkoZSvnzvtgYfF9xxUaGLjiWuHol2CokVamEJ43XrtuuTHM2KswemPEXOVewGq5ZU2X46HqbjiHAtBCNmwo/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="118" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYhEBDqLa1FQP8V4OX5tf16iy0yuLmB_nT-Llcwzm-GJpW7bed22J_wl0WEkoZSvnzvtgYfF9xxUaGLjiWuHol2CokVamEJ43XrtuuTHM2KswemPEXOVewGq5ZU2X46HqbjiHAtBCNmwo/s200/13.jpg" width="200" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #32381d; line-height: 18px;">Bethania, North Carolina, is the last of its line,a pioneer town founded on June 12, 1759, out of the need to establish the roots of religious freedom. A historically significant town, Bethania is the first planned Moravian town lot in the Wachovia tract of North Carolina. Listed on the State and National Registers of Historic Places, the town became a National Landmark in 2001. </span><br />
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<div class="Normal-P" style="font-weight: 400; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Normal-C" style="color: #32381d; line-height: 1.17em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Colonial homes, some still lived in by descendants of the first white Moravian settlers, line Bethania’s main street and are symbols of how so much of the town’s character remains intact. Simple yet elegantly understated, the homes represent the regional architecture of the colonial era in which they were built.</span></span></div><div class="Normal-P" style="font-weight: 400; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="Normal-P" style="font-weight: 400; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpaDAjWdcBzn7szA9yuLO390nPft-sInpE99v6hrPEAk9kDxZ9VXhsXZv0Su-JYIrPXzbIEJKjfBe7qbyuy0QYaCLy3ilXAiUtSs9D_5kFcxHFt_23MpDKP4ELSPuh29Rh3kBa9bmN1a0/s1600/6a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpaDAjWdcBzn7szA9yuLO390nPft-sInpE99v6hrPEAk9kDxZ9VXhsXZv0Su-JYIrPXzbIEJKjfBe7qbyuy0QYaCLy3ilXAiUtSs9D_5kFcxHFt_23MpDKP4ELSPuh29Rh3kBa9bmN1a0/s200/6a.jpg" width="200" /></a><span class="Normal-C" style="color: #32381d; line-height: 1.17em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The homes have names, attesting to former owners. On the corner of Loesch Lane and Main Street is a tall, stately house that bears the name Johann Christian Loesch. Loesch’s son, Israel, was a U.S. representative during Reconstruction and president of the Cape Fear Bank and the First National Bank in Salem, which became Wachovia Bank. Across the street on the opposite corner is the Cornwallis house, given the name of a Revolutionary War general who spent the night in the home during a raid and subsequent encampment in the town.</span></span></div><div class="Normal-P" style="font-weight: 400; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="Normal-P" style="font-weight: 400; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWrfPSEMDQvGlT6Qd0RK1nr8JVnatiDP8lypuokx8Ro1EPc_1u-8ZPHCp2RBVvD1-CaK6t3cpktF3gxqEX7WhD-xsriUirdC0yK1idh4JvIJ3JEnMqyT81HkFcB9DjeGWQ40l7w0jnU8o/s1600/5a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWrfPSEMDQvGlT6Qd0RK1nr8JVnatiDP8lypuokx8Ro1EPc_1u-8ZPHCp2RBVvD1-CaK6t3cpktF3gxqEX7WhD-xsriUirdC0yK1idh4JvIJ3JEnMqyT81HkFcB9DjeGWQ40l7w0jnU8o/s200/5a.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span class="Normal-C" style="color: #32381d; line-height: 1.17em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Beyond the distinction of its Main Street homes standing as monuments to an earlier century, Bethania was once a thriving industrial and trade town. The Great Wagon Road of the colonial era brought soldiers, settlers and slaves through the town daily. The longest and costliest plank road of the pre–Civil War South ran 129 miles from Fayetteville on the Carolina coast and ended at the corner of Main Street and Loesch Lane.</span></span></div><div class="Normal-P" style="font-weight: 400; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="Normal-P" style="font-weight: 400; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Normal-C" style="color: #32381d; line-height: 1.17em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">What is unique about Bethania today is its history as a community that began as an experiment in melding cultures. Its first settlers were chosen from Moravian and non-Moravian families who created the town in a hostile frontier. In 1766, Bethanians helped found the town of Salem in the newly formed colony of North Carolina, thus contributing to the birth of our nation. </span></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Eg-ahfaMzPP7ztkdqWmQUaEfmEArXPzYrWakOdEVcEYf0VK6VxCLvZxuZW5CRPTbnYXCf2OAFUqdqBtJtpEBI9jD9XCUeCqFdhgwTaKeqCLlKrp21S6k38sBC52nOXmSH_pdqx__UsA/s1600/book+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Eg-ahfaMzPP7ztkdqWmQUaEfmEArXPzYrWakOdEVcEYf0VK6VxCLvZxuZW5CRPTbnYXCf2OAFUqdqBtJtpEBI9jD9XCUeCqFdhgwTaKeqCLlKrp21S6k38sBC52nOXmSH_pdqx__UsA/s200/book+cover.jpg" width="132" /></a></div>My book, Bethania: The Village by the Black Walnut Bottom, published in 2009 by The History Press is not just a history of the founding of Bethania, but of people who carved a life from an untamed frontier. Many families grew, multiplied, and spread into other regions of this country. Eventually many would fight their own relatives in a civil war for different causes and even become permanently separated from their ancestry.<br />
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Please join the town of Bethania on Saturday June 11th. And if you are interested in reading more history of Bethania, excerpts from the book can be found at <a href="http://antiquesinbethania.com/bethaniabook%20excerpts.html">http://antiquesinbethania.com/bethaniabook%20excerpts.html</a>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ojyIV-CmGIn_quYQI0tfQAWAdak5DBdAkgG3DeUmydETp7MvB2PUrZx3t4XlqKWkzS0nVhgfO1NkigUs694_4yehyphenhyphenMOcfR6kuTUC6qzJJjLjj023u6HE2A-tfMDJdFP0H3hg75v4pwo/s1600/DSC_0012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ojyIV-CmGIn_quYQI0tfQAWAdak5DBdAkgG3DeUmydETp7MvB2PUrZx3t4XlqKWkzS0nVhgfO1NkigUs694_4yehyphenhyphenMOcfR6kuTUC6qzJJjLjj023u6HE2A-tfMDJdFP0H3hg75v4pwo/s200/DSC_0012.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Slave Cabin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The images in the book are from original glass negatives taken by J. L. Kapp around the turn of the century and modern day photography by Bowman Gray IV, whose recently published book, As A Man Thinketh and Bo's original photography, can be found here, h<a href="http://www.blairpub.com/alltitles/asmanthinketh.htm">ttp://www.blairpub.com/alltitles/asmanthinketh.htm</a> or VISIT <a href="http://wfdd.org/audio/tauc/TAUC-110421.mp3">WFDD </a>for an audio interview with Bo and I and David Ford.<br />
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</div>Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5885257986576519831.post-24166760634620030132011-06-02T15:49:00.000-04:002015-05-29T10:29:55.494-04:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Bev Hmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15406319045921432438noreply@blogger.com0