Writing Life Stories

If We All Wrote and Read Poetry

2026-05-20T01:50:41.530-04:00

In my ideal world, everyone would read poetry and everyone would write poetry, and as a result, we would all be more sensitive, thoughtful, considerate, appreciative, and whole. ---Scott Owens

Scott Owens is one of my very favorite poets. I like this quote by Scott because I agree. Poets are sensitive to everything they encounter. They appreciate even the small things they see and the people who are often not seen.

Scott says we should be observant and notice everything. He certainly does.

Tomato Man

by Glenda Beall

Ruby tomatoes in small tan baskets

beg me to buy my lunch. Overalled

and raisin brown, he sits slumped

on the tailgate of a rusty red pickup,

his floppy hat a shade against the burning sun.

Will the two-dollar baskets buy

groceries to take home to the waiting

wife who helped him pick the plump fruit?

Or will he go by Bernie's Quik Stop

buy a six-pack or two, and cigarettes

that stain his teeth, tar his lungs?

He thanks me for my business, but his faded

eyes belie a mind that's somewhere else.

Today takes care of today. Tomorrow

he'll be here again, the tomatoes

redder, softer, a few fresh ones

sprinkled in, to appeal to people

who smile and speak,

but never see him.

This poem won first place in the Clay County Poetry Contest many years ago.

First Amendment: Then and Now by Roger Carlton

2026-05-18T15:05:35.650-04:00

Roger Carlton lived in Robbinsville, NC, until he moved north. He is a man I admire and I believe he should have a voice here. This article is appropriate for what is happening now.

October 1, 2025 Column

First Amendment: Then and Now

Last week, Beth and I, our daughter, and our son-in-law attended a lecture by Lech Walesa. Those of us with some gray hair will remember that he was the Polish labor leader who led the Solidarity Movement that brought democracy to a former Soviet Union vassal state. He began with a small labor union at the Gdansk Shipyard. The union was outlawed, and he was arrested a number of times. When he was released, he continued his efforts to move Poland from a Socialist-Leninist economy to a free market economy. In 1989, an election was held, and Poland’s democratic government was launched. For his courageous achievements, Lech Walesa was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.

There were a number of statements made by Mr. Walesa that are apropos of our First Amendment conflict today.

First, he said, “We started with a few folks meeting to form an illegal union banned by our government, and soon we were 10 million strong.”

The second statement was “Trying to stifle free speech always ends badly for the person doing the stifling.”

What an honor to attend a speech by someone who changed the world. He and his movement began the end of the Soviet Union's oppressive regime.

So, what does this have to do with our First Amendment? A little history might prove interesting. The Framers wanted 12 amendments, which were to become known as the Bill of Rights. This brilliant idea meant that the core Constitution would not be changed. As time went on, amendments could be added or deleted as a single subject to be voted on by Congress and the states. This flexibility led to the adoption and repeal of Prohibition. It also led to the rejection of the Equal Rights Amendment. The state legislatures rejected the first two Amendments, leaving the Third Amendment as the First Amendment we find so controversial today. Don’t let anyone tell you it was the primary amendment because the Framers found it to be the most important.

The main protections in the First Amendment are religious liberty and freedom of speech, press, assembly, and petition. Religious liberty allowed people to practice their religion of choice and prohibited the government from establishing a national religion. Freedom of speech and the press prohibited censorship. Assembly and petition were focused on the right to meet and petition the government for redress of the issues of the day.

The Framers never dreamed of television, the internet, or social media. They were thinking about newspapers and pamphlets. There were no influencers with millions of followers. The Framers did not make their living by electronically reaching millions of people. George Washington and Thomas Jefferson traveled by horse and stagecoach. They were gentleman farmers when not forming a new democracy shaped on some pretty incredible ideas about the rights of most people. It took a while and a Civil War for slaves and women to truly become equal.

Censorship is the pernicious violation of the First Amendment rights of all of us. We are all self-censors by choosing which media to watch or read. Censorship comes in many forms. Editing an important investigatory document to remove a reference to someone in power is censorship in the form of redacting or failure to release the damaging evidence. Threatening to use government power to retaliate economically or legally is a form of censorship known as weaponization. Billions of dollars can ride on governmental approval or denial of a corporate application. Using unproven data or plain quackery to justify a government action is a form of censorship of science-based proven facts.

Unbridled censorship may lead to attempts to control thought. This can be seen in book burnings or in the removal of symbols, such as statues of people no longer in favor. There is an old Soviet joke wherein a citizen attends a protest and holds up a blank sign. When he asks the authorities why he was arrested, the response is “You might not have said it, but we know what you were thinking.”

To be fair, sometimes censorship is necessary. Remember the old saying, “You can’t yell fire in a theater if there is no fire.” How about “loose lips sink ships.” The real issue regarding the First Amendment limits on censorship is one we have yet to solve. People can say anything they want, and it goes “viral.” Millions of people can believe a statement with no validity and take action at the polls as a result. We might have our own Lech Walesa someday in the near future. We should hope that person believes in democracy and not autocracy.

Roger Carlton

Lynn Cullen's book, When We were Brilliant

2026-05-11T22:05:34.051-04:00

Today I met a writer, Lynn Cullen, at an event at the Roswell Library, A Fulton County Library near where I now live.

She was there as a guest of Friends of the Library and Atlanta Authors.

I expected her to read from her latest book, When We Were Brilliant,
an historical novel about Marilyn Monroe and her favorite photographer, Eve Arnold. But what I saw and heard was a fantastic summary of her book, told with photographs, the images explored audibly by Cullen. She showed the audience what Marilyn looked like when she was Norma Jean Baker, before she became a celebrity.

It was amazing how Eve Arnold captured the beautiful yet simple woman, Norma Jean. Eve liked showing the world through her lens something they had never seen before. In the photos she showed her audience, Lynn Cullen taught us how to tell Eve's photos from anyone else's.

I liked Marilyn Monroe's films most of the time. She always seemed to be playing a character far removed from herself. She could make me laugh, and she was beautiful, but when I read about her background, living in poverty, in an orphanage, I felt the glamorous girl on the screen was all make-believe. It was difficult to think of her as Norma Jean.

Lynn Cullen's book is historical fiction, but it is told from the perspective of Eve Arnold.

Cullen tells us that the people in the book are real, but their words are the author's invention. This is a work of fiction, but she had to put in many, many hours of research to get the facts right.

I am just now diving into this well-written and interesting book about real women and the bond that grew between them. I know I will write a review when I finish, and I will enjoy every word in this book.

"Your legacy is how many lives you touched."

2026-04-03T23:48:00.000-04:00

Beth, Glenda, and Roger

Years ago, I taught writing classes at Tri-County Community College in Murphy, NC. Roger Carlton was a student in my classes three times. His stories were interesting, and we all learned something from listening to him read his work in class. Roger has had an interesting life, and it showed in his writing.

Roger and I became friends. After taking my classes, Roger, who lived in Robbinsville, began writing columns for the local newspaper there. I began publishing his columns on a page on my blog. www.glendacouncilbeall.com

Frequently, Roger, his wife Beth, and another friend, Kim, would invite me to lunch with them in Murphy. He invited me to come up to Robbinsville and spend a day with him and Beth. They are the nicest people, and I enjoyed them so very much.

Years passed. The pandemic happened, my health became a problem, and we didn't see each other as often. I had begun planning to move to Roswell, GA where I have family. At our last lunch together (see the photo above), Roger and Beth told me they were selling their beautiful home on the lake and moving up north to be near a daughter. It seemed we were all experiencing health issues.

In the following years, I had two surgeries, knee and shoulder, and when I heard from Roger again, it was to read about his long battle with surgery and a long, difficult recovery.

But he was still writing! He continued to send articles to the newspaper in Robbinsville, NC, and they were published.

Roger has always been complimentary of my classes, which he said started him writing.

This week, I was so impressed and proud when I opened a package and found a hardback book by Roger Carlton, signed to me. "You are my muse. Your Creative Non-Fiction I - III got me going."

We never know what will come of it when we touch someone's life. Maya Angelou told Oprah, "Your legacy is not a building with your name on it. Your legacy is how many lives you touched."

As an older person now, I don't touch as many lives as I once did with my teaching, my support for writers' endeavors, encouragement, and belief in them. But I am fulfilled when any of my students or my friends reach a goal or accomplish a dream they struggled for.

Roger Carlton has touched many lives in his work as City Manager for several municipalities in the Miami area, and this book reveals his success in that role at Miami Beach. His reputation for dealing with the issues faced every day, and his ability to manage it all, led others in charge of their cities to seek his advice.

Congratulations, my friend, Roger Carlton.

Who would have thought it?

2026-04-03T23:31:00.000-04:00

This article is from an online magazine, Tangle, I subscribe to.

He writes about his hope for decency to return. Perhaps talking face-to-face will bring out the humanity we used to see in each other. Hope to heal the divide in our country.

I’m Isaac Saul, and this is Tangle

If I had told you in 2020 that shopping malls would make a comeback, you probably would have laughed in my face.

And rightly so. Online shopping has been growing for years as its convenience, ease, and value have become too hard to pass up. To a new generation of shoppers, the experience of going out to a brick-and-mortar store to try on clothing or test out a new vacuum seemed silly and archaic — why waste that kind of time at a mall when you could have someone show up at your door with your order and then just return it if you didn’t like it, often free of cost? COVID-19 only increased that value and accelerated the death of America’s malls.

Yet, today, malls are making a comeback — and with the group you’d least suspect: 18- to 24-year-olds. That’s right, the Gen Z kids are so tired of interacting entirely in digital spaces that they’ve started to return to shopping malls, finding pleasure in the same exact thing older generations did: the social experience of hanging out with your friends outside of the house. This cohort made 62% of their general merchandise purchases in-person last year, 10% more than shoppers aged 25 and older. And overall foot traffic at malls was up 4.5% in the first two months of this year compared to last.

I think the resurgence of U.S. malls is emblematic of the human experience. A little bit of anything can be fun, refreshing, cathartic, or even exhilarating. But a lot of something — say, eight hours of screen time a day — can start to feel pretty crappy.

The same is true in the political arena, where obscenity feels like it has become the norm. But this cycle of change suggests decency might make a comeback. When I say “decency,” I mean the quality of behaving in a polite, honest, and moral manner that is anchored by courteous behavior and treating others with respect.

I am happy to hear that young people like malls and enjoy hanging out there with their friends. In this country, we are much too quick to leave behind the familiar and jump to whatever is new or is proclaimed as new and better. Having lived a few decades past when folks hung out at the mall food court or spent an afternoon shopping with a friend there, I remember how much I enjoyed it.

I remember the time when a business did not have to hang signs that said, "We do not accept disrespect toward our staff." "Please do not use offensive language here."

I remember the first time I heard the F word in public from a stranger. I was at a parade in Albany, GA, my hometown. A young man in the crowd was speaking loudly. You could not fail to hear him, and he was using that word over and over. Others in the crowd were looking at him as if he had come from another planet. I only saw that language written on restroom walls in elementary school.

Recently, I was told by a young relative, "You might as well accept it. That is the way people talk now."

I liked it when we were civil and decent in our actions and our conversations. I believe that people who use vulgarities and cursing all the time are showing they have a very limited vocabulary, or perhaps they are just so angry with life that they only think in that language.

My sister, June, who was older than I, never used vulgarity or cursing, but she could put a person in their place and let them know her disapproval with just the right words, sending them off with their tail between their legs. She had a great vocabulary. I admired her ability to confront an offensive co-worker or an angry person without showing that she was upset.

So, let's support our young people's returning to malls that have been struggling to stay open in our cities. Perhaps decency and healing will flourish.

You write to learn who you are and ...

2026-04-02T16:45:00.000-04:00

Glenda signing books at a book party

Anne Lamott said: You write to learn who you are and what you make of it all.

I have always been a reader. When I was a child, in summer when the bookmobile came to our house on the farm, my little sister and I were as excited as if it were Christmas.

We checked out as many books as we could carry in our small arms, and then we spent the rest of our days reading. My favorite books were about horses like Walter Farley's Black Stallion and Black Stallion Returns, until I was a teenager. Then I read Little Women, The Yearling, Atlas Shrugged, and many more. My favorites were historical novels. I liked books about interesting characters and relationships. I still do. And I like history.

I began writing when I was in elementary school. I found it to be fun to write out my fantasies, my dreams, and to express my thoughts and feelings about my own life.

I am grateful that I found this passion to write. In many ways, writing was therapy in dark times, a joy in happy times, and because I write, I am never bored or feel I have nothing to do.

Writing has opened doors for me more than once.

When I first moved to the mountains, I interviewed artists, both visual and literary, and submitted the articles to the Clay County Progress, the local newspaper. I made friends and found an audience for my writing.

As publicity chair for the NCWN-West writers, I interviewed members and wrote articles for publication in several local papers. I began two blogs, one for NCWN-West and one personal. I tried to write a post for those sites at least once a day.

As life became too full to write a daily post on the blogs, I continued to do as much as I could.

I became a poet soon after settling in Hayesville, NC. I studied with some outstanding poets who taught at the John C. Campbell Folk School. I submitted my poems to literary magazines as well as slick magazines found on a rack in the drug store. I published in a magazine for those with health difficulties.

Every poem I wrote gave me more insight into the person I had become. Yes, Anne Lamott, I have learned from writing poems that I am a unique and deeply thoughtful person. In my creative nonfiction writing, I learn more and more about my life and how I came to be who I am now.

With age, we gain wisdom, and by writing, we realize our wisdom and our value to others and to this complicated world.

A Lovely Discovery

2026-03-15T23:47:00.000-04:00

Thanks to Steve Harvey, poet and essayist, posting this link on his site, I discovered the most wonderful photographs of birds by poet and photographer Kathryn Winograd. https://kathrynwinograd.com/3474-2/

My husband, Barry, was a wonderful photographer, and I admired his work. I wished I could learn to find and make pictures of birds and wild animals, scenes, and objects that only I saw. I spend a good amount of time on my deck watching birds eating at my feeders, but I cannot get a good shot of any of them.

Winograd lives in Colorado, a land created for visual artists. When I have been in that state, I drank in all the scenic beauty I could hold. I treasure my memories and the photos I have from our vacations there.

I will follow this photographer's blog and look forward to reading her poetry.

Do You Know it is International Women's Day March 8?

2026-03-08T22:48:00.005-04:00

I often think about all the things my mother was told she couldn’t do. Then I look at my granddaughters and think about all the things they’re told they can do. Maria Shriver

Although the U.N. recognized International Women’s Day across the globe in 1977, in 1994, the U.S. Congress failed to pass a law introduced by House Representative Maxine Waters to declare IWD a national holiday in 1994. That was the end of that in this country.

At Alpharetta Presbyterian church today, the entire service was run by women and no men. The Women's Ensemble provided music. A female pastor spoke and the regular pastor, a man, sat in the congregation with his wife. It was a terrific service.

Women in our country had to fight for the right to vote. It was a long tough battle, both physically and mentally. Even in the fifties and sixties, many women did not vote, and if they did, their votes were often determined by their husbands' views. Sadly, today many women's votes are still dictated by their husband's choices.

In my lifetime I have seen women gain the right to open a bank account, or have their own credit cards. A wife had to have her husband's permission to use his card, and often had to prove she had it.

Professions for women were very limited. Nursing, teaching, or becoming a secretary were the choices most girls had. My mother managed the family funds and wrote checks to pay bills, but nothing was in her name. She signed my father's name on the checks.

Today those situations seem archaic, but women rose up in the seventies and began pushing hard for equality. Many things have changed but those victories were not accidental. And the work is not finished.

Around the world, women are still fighting for rights to control their own bodies, for equal pay, access to education, protection from violence, representation in government, and healthcare systems that study and understand their bodies. In some countries, girls are still denied schooling simply because they are female. Girls are sold by their fathers because the family needs the money.

Today is not only a day of gratitude. It is also a day of responsibility. It’s a day to pause and thank the women in your life. Tell them you see what they carry: the invisible labor, the emotional leadership, the strength that often goes unnamed.

But also ask yourself what policies you support, what leaders you elevate, and what systems you participate in that help women. Women are needed in the board rooms to help make decisions and form policies that are fair to women as well as men. Women can lead a business, a state and even a country.

History shows that when women rise, communities grow stronger and societies grow more just.

Read more about International Women's Day at the link below.

https://www.pbs.org/newshour/world/heres-what-to-know-about-international-womens-day-a-celebration-and-a-call-to-action#:~:text=International%20Women's%20Day%20is%20observed,still%20used%20the%20Julian%20calendar.

Poems From the Past

2026-02-18T23:21:00.001-05:00

Lake Chatuge and the mountains beyond

A poem I wrote years ago when I first moved to the mountains of western North Carolina. I was enthralled with the beauty everywhere I looked. But surprised at the beauty beneath the obvious mountains and lake.

Beneath the Beauty

Distant traffic on highway sixty-four

whispers of moving, fast-lane life,

heading to the city. Up here on the ridge,

turning leaves blow, madly dance

in silhouette against the autumn sky.

Wind-pushed clouds on distant peaks

undulate like a snowy mountain river.

Honking geese interrupt my reverie.

Over Lake Chatuge, the feathered V

flies away from me and from the relic

rusting in the ravine, dismissed after

being pillaged for parts, lying like a

corpse, flesh decayed, and left here

to harbor field mice and to trellis

climbing vines with small blue flowers.

... Glenda C. Beall

I love blackberries and eat them often when I find them in the grocery store. Mother made the best blackberry jelly and a wonderful cobbler with the berries. But I did not like to pick them.

Blackberry Patch

by Glenda C. Beall

Mother's voice rises above my bawling.

"Stop pitching a fit and get your bucket."

I plant myself on the top step

bare feet refusing to move.

My dread lies coiled deep in the brambles.

He slithered out when I thrust my hand

in to grab a plump one.

Fear-prickled, I danced in terror,

then streaked home, screaming.

An ominous cloud shadows the sky.

Fat raindrops plop in the yard dust.

Reprieve. Blessed reprieve.

published in Now Might as Well be Then, 2009

Life Isn't a Bowl of Cherries

2026-02-08T06:22:00.001-05:00

Covid -19 in 2020

by Alicia Ann Torres

Home invasion by your kid, difficulty navigating through the crowds, panic buying, and empty shelves push those with physical challenges further into social isolation.

An unforgettable day was March 1, 2020. Spring was in full swing. Scented cherry blossoms perfumed the air with blue skies and sunshine. A family celebration for Grandma's 90th birthday was filled with laughter, warm hugs, and Mexican cuisine. A weekend of boutique shopping, dining out, and sipping California wine was memorable.

We had no idea our lives would change forever after this weekend.

We picked up Grandma from her new nursing home. She was so excited. We met the cheerful staff and shook hands without hesitation. It was a wonderful weekend to mingle with family and friends.

"Breaking news” was announced in the media about some type of virus called the novel COVID-19 that spread and had taken lives from Asia to Northern Italy. We didn't think this was anything for us to worry about here in the bubble of California, USA.

The only thought that crossed my mind was an E-Bay order I placed for my daughter Ana's upcoming birthday. A handmade ceramic planter from Italy, designed like a cat. Ana loved cats. I was concerned that shipping would be impacted. I later reflected on this concern and how selfish I was when lives were being taken rapidly in Italy by some strange virus.

That Sunday evening, we were informed by the nursing home that they had to go on "lockdown--just as a precaution," they said. Lockdown? Why? What did they mean by "lockdown"? Was there a shooting? No, I was told by family it was "shelter in place, for protection.” I still didn't understand.

A couple of days passed, and I received a phone call from my panicked brother. He said, “Get someone to help you go to the store and buy food, now! California is going to go on lockdown!

"What?" I thought I misheard his words. I questioned his source of information. He replied that his wife, Sarah, a Fire Marshall, had just had an emergency staff meeting before it was to go public.

I said, "No worries." I reminded my brother, calmly, that I shop online. He knew I needed help with shopping due to my vision loss. Little did I know that online shopping would become impossible when "shelter in place" became public on March 4, 2020, by California Governor Newsom.

We heard on the media that a cruise ship in San Francisco Bay was rumored to have infected passengers, and it was to dock and stay at the San Francisco Presidio, a former military base. That is exactly where my daughter lived and worked.

News Report:

"Former passengers of the cruise ship Grand Princess who had tested positive for SARS-CoV-2 were being linked to cruises they had taken on the ship while it traveled between California, Mexico, and Hawaii. After the first confirmed death on March 4, 2020, Grand Princess was rerouted to the San Francisco Bay Area, where it was anchored offshore while test kits were airlifted to the ship. Preliminary testing found 21 positive cases, and the ship later docked in Oakland on March 8, 2020, with over 3,000 people entering quarantine."

This cruise ship was about 6 miles from my house in Oakland. Meanwhile, I could not get through to order my groceries. I tried four different companies. Thank goodness, I’m already enrolled with Meals on Wheels, a federally funded program that delivers prepared meals to the homes of disadvantaged seniors.

I am so grateful for this program to Save Our Seniors. I’ve struggled with cooking because most of my vision has deteriorated, related to Retinitis Pigmentosa. Grocery shopping with a white cane is possible, with store help, but stressful.

I imagined people were in a panic, stressed, and that the potential increase in crime would occur, as we live in a city where this is normalcy. I also imagined anxious crowds and a shortage of staff or available items. This happened in the 1989 Loma Prieta Earthquake in the San Francisco Bay Area. As someone with dual disabilities and heart palpitations, this is not my type of sport.

Meals on Wheels was also experiencing a lack of volunteers due to the fear of the spread of COVID-19. Many of them were in the high-risk category. The demands by more people signing up for this service had put a strain on our already vulnerable community in Oakland.

Another backup resource I could use is Nextdoor.com. This is a social media platform that advertises goods or services for the community. Many people offered to shop or run errands for neighbors who were unable to. My living alone was something I didn't want to publicize. Neighbors are mostly renters, and the turnover is high, so I can't trust anyone at this point.

Scenes on media were masked faces, no smiles, just tears and fears. I called my daughter Ana to inform her of the news of the lockdown. Knowing she was out of town, I left a voicemail. I wasn’t feeling too well myself since the visit with Grandma. I had symptoms of malaise and a persistent sore throat. No fevers or respiratory symptoms. I found myself researching the internet for this unknown virus.

After hearing the news, I thought I had better "self-isolate." New terminology surfaced in conversations about this pandemic. My doctor's office called to check on me, which I thought was very kind, yet worrisome. They agreed I should "self-isolate.”

Ana finally returned my call and revealed that she was possibly exposed to COVID -19. The work-study housing facility she shared with others, at the San Francisco Presidio, informed them to vacate, for liability reasons, within 1 week. "Per Safety Spokesperson from the CDC." My daughter said.

The former military facility was near a homeless encampment, and my fears worsened by the moment. A drape of trepidation weighed on my shoulders. Ana’s fear spilled over my heart and mind. I remember her statement and the look of fear on her face when she said, “People are dying everywhere.” Ana also saw someone who may have attempted to jump off the San Francisco Bridge.

My heart sank, and I felt my gut wrenched. I prayed persistently, calling my prayer warriors to add prayers for those who were contemplating suicide. I could sense Ana was scared and angry. The fear of the unknown cast a dark shadow over our spirits. News reports of chaos echoed across the media like uncontrollable wildfires with this novel virus. Death was in the air.

I felt grateful at that moment in time that I had a safe home to live in, as I thought of those who are homeless, cold, and perhaps dying on the streets of our city. I suggested Ana come home, but she declined because she may have been infected, and I was considered high risk.

Perhaps it would be difficult to come back home to live with parents after living independently for a few years. Being hearing impaired since childhood, I am sensitive to the fact that living with someone who is almost deaf can be a challenge. My voice penetrates through walls. One must face me when talking to me so I can read lips. No soft voices or whispering. Also, one cannot talk to me from another room, for I would not hear them despite wearing hearing aids.

Impatience is something I face all the time, from myself and others. People often must repeat themselves more than once or twice. They also must get out of their comfort zone if they are in another room and come to me or vice versa to talk. My siblings can tell you more about how that works. Loud voices are something we all lived with growing up with two hearing-impaired siblings in a family of seven.

So, now that Covid -19 was here, we were required to be 6 feet apart and wear a mask. One can only imagine how a hearing-impaired person would communicate. It would be better to be deaf and use sign language.

Living with someone who is visually and hearing impaired can be difficult. Perhaps, I thought, Ana doesn't want to see her mother with these challenges, and she feels helpless, so it is best to avoid the situation.

Life isn't a bowl of cherries.

So, how could a high-risk, almost deaf, almost blind mother and potential COVID-19-infected young daughter maintain social distance in a small 1-bathroom bungalow?

Prayer. High-powered hearing aids and clear communication skills. And respect.

Mindset Makes a Difference

2026-02-01T16:41:00.001-05:00

It is common knowledge that anything worthwhile comes from hard work. But do we realize this also pertains to our inner emotional life? “Tremendous determination or willpower” is essential to have “infinite love and compassion,” says the Dalai Lama.

Barry and Glenda married 40 years at the time of the photo

I find myself working hard these days learning to control my mindset. For over a year, I have fought giving in to negative thoughts, wondering if my life is still relevant.

Since the pandemic changed everything for me in drastic ways, I find myself asking who am I now? As I did when Barry died in 2009, I felt rootless. Thanks to COVID-19, my health became an issue in various ways and I realized I needed to sell my home in the mountains and move close to family.

Moving is only second to losing a spouse as the most stressful event we ever experience. In July 2009, when I lost my beloved husband, I was floundering trying to find a way to make my life worthwhile.

In 2010 I opened Writers Circle Around the Table, my writing studio in my house on Chatuge Lane in Hayesville, NC. With dear friends, Jeff and Wanda Shue, my daylight basement was painted. Mary Mike Keller made curtains and helped me in any way I needed. Others pitched in to make a big empty space a warm and workable room for writers to gather and learn. My dear friend, John Buckley enlarged and created a bathroom that my students often complimented. I put in cabinets and shelves, bulletin boards, bought tables and chairs, and fell in love with my studio. It became my favorite plaice in my house. In remembrance of Barry, I hung his musical instruments on the walls.

That happened because I was able to change my mindset. Instead of feeling it was all over, I began a new way of thinking. From the darkness, came the light.

I was recently a Beta reader for an excellent author of a book about mindset. I am truly enjoying learning what this man has to offer. Today I decided I will start anew here in the city, meet my kind of people, join a community or start a community of writers. I will continue to share my wisdom learned from my experiences and all the people I have known and loved.

It takes tremendous determination to let love and compassion grow again when you are at rock's bottom. I have that determination now to share my love, compassion and empathy through my writing and my teaching but it will be here where I now live.

More books and hope for tomorrow

2026-01-28T00:06:00.000-05:00

Book party Dec. 2018

Today I picked up a proof of Paws, Claws, Hooves, Feathers, and Fins from BookLogix in Alpharetta, GA. They did a terrific job, and I can purchase fewer than 100 copies at a reasonable price. That is important to me. Plus, I don't pay shipping. I can pick up the books when they are ready.

Estelle Rice and I sold two printings of our book about our beloved pets and other animals. I had not planned to print more books, but as I create a new life in the city, I will do a book signing at a local bookstore soon.

And more will follow, I'm sure. I also enjoy giving this book to my new friends who come and help me here at home. Dog and cat people are most comfortable with Lexie and me. One of them brings Lexie healthy treats and offers them three times while she is here. Then she takes my sweet pup for a walk.

Spring holds promise for more, for an outlet for my creativity, for meeting new people, and finding purpose in my life.

As my health improves and my mobility is better, I look forward to getting out and doing more. It is amazing how just getting dressed and going out can lift my spirits.

In a world that seems to be falling apart, acceptance of cruelty is on the rise, and fear is molding our outlook, I will not give in. I do what I can to support those who work to make things better. But it is hard to know what I can do.

I have hope because I meet wonderful, caring, and kind people everywhere. Because I am grateful for all that makes my life good, I make sure that others know I appreciate them. How easy it is to say thank you for all you do for me. How easy it is to make sure I am friendly to all I meet. Sometimes, a smile is all it takes to improve a person's day.

My mother was my example of kindness and empathy.

She was my role model. When she had no funds to give, she gave what she had to those who were less fortunate than she was.

She was a good listener. That is a wonderful gift. When we listen, we give more than we know.

My Georgia Robison Family

2026-01-21T17:43:00.002-05:00

Seven of the eight children of

William Henry Robison and Lula Jones Robison

Back row left: Dewey Robison, Avon Robison, Rudolph Robison

Front Row: Left, Mildred Robison Whitley, (youngest girl), Edith Robison Blitch, Lois Robison Council,(my mother), Berma Robison Blitch. Missing from the picture is Eva May Robison Green. Two siblings died as babies.

The family of William Henry Robison and his wife, Malula Jones Robison, originated in Decatur County, Georgia, near Whigham, Georgia.

Like many rural families at that time, they heard of the cotton mill in Pelham, GA, and moved the family because Willie and his older children could work there. At that time, even young children could work and earn a small amount. In 1870, around 600 children worked in the Georiga mills. That was 22% of the employees. By 1900, that number had grown to more than 4400, 24% of the mill operatives. The children made 10 cents to 50 Cents per day, while the mills were declaring 60 - 95% dividends.

Finally, bills regarding the end of child labor were passed.

The 1920 census recorded a decline in child labor, a trend that would continue into the 1930s with the passage of the Fair Labor Standards Act of 1938, which established minimum wage and hour standards nationwide, thereby discouraging the employment of minors. By setting minimum wages, it decreased incentives to hire children.

By 1940, child labor laws were in force, and in October of 1940, the Fair Labor Standards Act went into effect, making life a little easier on the mill worker.

Telling My Story

2026-01-01T21:21:00.003-05:00

Today, in the twenty-first century, in a world of technology changing so quickly even the youngsters can't keep up, a ten-year-old can't imagine the lifestyle of people, urban or rural, born in the twentieth century.

By telling life stories we fill in those gaps in history left out of the textbooks. Write or record on video or audio the memories you can't forget and the reason you remember them.

Your story is unique. No one else owns your life experiences or what you learned from those experiences. You can sign up for my next memoir writing classes at https://www.iclyhc.org/Events

This is the beginning of one of my stories. It needs work and will be edited and revised, but want to show you how you can write about a time in your life that only you can tell.

The Way We Began

By Glenda Council Beall

I met Barry, tall, blond with eyes that turned from hazel to blue, depending on the color shirt he wore, on July 4, 1963. He was a blind date. A mutual friend had given him my number. My number was also my sister’s number, and he said that he called for either of us since he knew neither of us. I lucked out. Gay, my sister, was out of town.

Our day together at the lake house where Barry lived with two other men eventually became enjoyable, but at first, he paid little attention to me at all. I quickly became aware that he was popular with his friends, especially the women. As soon as we arrived, they insisted he play his guitar and sing.

He parked me alone on a stool and took his place on the hearth of the large stone fireplace. The women sat around him on the floor. At this time folk music had taken the country and Barry, who had just come from California where the Kingston Trio was the rage, engaged the entire crowd with Tom Dooley, House of the Rising Sun, and his excellent rendition of Freight Train, showing off his guitar skills. His Goya classical guitar still sits on a stand in my living room with his note to have the crack fixed.

At the lake house in Dougherty County, Georgia that July 4th, I decided to leave my date with his adoring audience and walk down to the water. I regretted coming to this party where I didn’t know a soul. My self-esteem was not at its best in those days. A year after graduating from the University of Georgia with an elementary education degree, I lived at home on the farm with my folks. I spent most of my spare time riding horseback and writing in my journal. Men had disappointed me. I thought I would be better off if I just avoided them for now.

Although my family was musical, none of us played an instrument, except Mother who played piano by ear. I had taken piano with Mrs. Bland, but never made much progress. Sometimes now, I wish I had continued with those lessons, as Mother wanted me to do. I wish she had taken the piano lessons herself because she loved playing and had never had the chance to study music.

There is more to the story, and I can share it another day if you want.

Looking Back

2025-12-14T20:08:00.000-05:00

Today I am reposting from 2019

https://profilesandpedigrees.blogspot.com/2019/12/grief-mourning-and-going-on-with-life.html

It was December 2019.

Thankful for the life I had growing up on the farm.

2025-11-28T14:24:00.000-05:00

https://leemartinauthor.com/2025/11/24/berryville-illinois-i-was-listening-to-your-lessons-on-love/#comment-12799

Author Lee Martin offers a thought for Thanksgiving.

Author Lee Martin's post today sparked memories of my life when neighbors and family helped each other just because they cared.

My father who had worked in a cotton mill since he was a child, was finally able to buy 125 acres at the age of 41.

My brother Max said, "We moved during school holidays at Christmas when we boys were there to load everything on a pickup truck; tools, animals and all. Ray drove and we made lots of trips across town and out to the new place."

My father was always a farmer at heart. He was born on the family farm in Wakulla County, Florida. The land was given to his daddy, Tom, by John Cecil Council, who was among the early residents of that county in the 1800s.

Because of a government loan available during Franklin Roosevelt's administration, my father and his future neighbors could buy land that had once been a large plantation but was divided into small farms. Mr. womble bought 125 acres adjoining ours. He was living in the house on my family's land when my brothers and my father arrived to move in.

The land Mr. Womble had purchased had no house on it, so he moved into the one that he thought was available. Daddy evicted him quickly, but gave him, his wife, and his little girl permission to live in the tenant house on our farm until he could build a house on his property. Mr. Debary, a neighbor who bought land behind our farm was also a good carpenter. He built Womble's house.

Our old farm house was rustic, almost unlivable, but Mother made it home. She was surely disappointed to find herself with no bathroom, no running water and no electricity. I was a toddler, and she was seven months pregnant.

A fireplace located in the front room was the only heat. In the kitchen was a wood burning stove and it warmed things up when it was in use.

My baby sister was born in February. Neighbor women were there for the birth on that day. Mrs. Womble had kept me during the labor and birth. My brothers were in school.

I still remember my joy when I rode into the backyard astride Max's shoulders.

"You have a baby sister," called out a neighbor lady from the back porch. My mother was so happy to have a girl so she and I could grow up together.

Neighbors were important to the families that lived in the rural area of Fleming Road and County Line Road, Dougherty County, Georgia. Mother was close friends with all the women.

I remember people, black and white, working on the farm during peanut picking time, bringing in hay to store in the barn daddy had built near the house. Two of our neighbor farmers were black people and my family had only praise for their work ethics, and their cooperation with their neighbors. I think my father bought the first peanut picker in the area and it was used on several farms each fall. Peanuts and cotton were grown on all the farms at that time.

None of these people were perfect. Mr. Womble had a drinking problem. They had flaws and so did my father. Daddy had a quick temper. They had disagreements at times, but always got along together. They respected each other and were empathetic when hard times came.

Our relatives in town had all the modern conveniences available in the forties, and I was impressed as a child when we visited Aunt Mildred and Uncle Lawson who lived near the mill but had a nice house. He was not a lowly mill worker, but a supervisor.

Mr. Debary, who also bought his farm when my father did, built our "new house" that was erected in the front yard of the old house. I was still a small child. It was a three bedroom house with one bedroom for the three girls and one for the four boys. At first there was no running water so the space for a bathroom became a storage room. The men in the family took cold showers outside. Mother heated water on the stove for us little ones.

My brothers used battery power for radio to listen to music.

They had been given a record player and it, too, was battery operated. All of them loved to sing as did Mother who eventually had a piano.

Electricity reached our area in 1947. Poles were erected across fields and down the roadside. Single light bulbs hung from farm house ceilings. Mother no longer used a wood stove. I grew up in that house and talked on a party line telephone, took baths in a bathtub with hot running water and used a sink and mirror with overhead lights. We became a pretty modern household.

In 1960, the brothers, married and with their own nice homes, felt it was time for Mother to have one, too. Although it was difficult to persuade my father, a pretty brick house with a new electric stove, big refrigerator, and even a dishwasher in the kitchen was built where our home had been. That made the third house built on the same spot. The house where I grew up was sold and moved away.

We lived in a tenant house on the farm during construction. We roughed it, but I was away at college during most of the building.

The new house had an attached garage, and it eventually became home to Mother's big car. Daddy had his own private bathroom and he liked that.

The new house became the home he enjoyed for the rest of his 88 years.

As Thanksgiving is approaching, those days growing up on a farm in southwest Georgia linger in my memory.

The seven children and their families gathered at my parents' home every year until, in 1975, Mother suffered an aneurysm that left her unable to cook. She was seventy years old. We were devastated.

My life changed drastically after that.

2023 has begun and I think it will be good!

2025-11-25T20:31:00.004-05:00

Looking back on my blog and reading what I said some years ago is interesting and surprising sometimes.

This is what I wrote at the beginning of 2023.

Recently I read my words written back in 1990 and 1991. Those were fairly traumatic years for my family and for me. I kept my diaries filled with all the angst I felt as our family had to take back the family business we had sold because the buyer couldn't pay for it. It reminded me how troubled I was at the time and how worried I was about my brother, Ray, the oldest, who had begun to have health issues.

No one wanted to take back a failing business but we had to. In my diary, I said there was a recession going on and no one was making any money. In one place I wrote, "Ray said the company must make four million dollars in the next four years."

Looking back now I realized again, how grateful I should be, and I am, for having brothers and Barry turn that business around and sell it again. I don't know if they made the four million goal, but they did sell the plant a second time and all seven of us Council kids were saved from bankruptcy. One thing my father did well - raised his offspring to work hard and never give up.

However, that stress took a toll and in a couple of years, Ray was diagnosed with cancer.

But, we are going into a new year now -War is raging, politics is rotten and mean, the government is a place where infighting seems to be the new way to govern, and our society is divided while wanting the same things. We all want freedom, we want peace, we want our families to be safe and secure, and we want to be united. But someone or some people keep stirring the pot doing all they can to scare us into believing our way of life is disappearing and we must blame our neighbors and friends.

I don't believe that because I see kindness and caring every day. If I didn't see the news or read the headlines, I would be as happy as a lark because I seem to only see good and kind people. Cynicism and nasty comments on social media seem to have disappeared from the pages I see on Facebook. I see hope and faith and joy on the pages I read. Even some of the news programs are showing more kindness and love than they used to.

I want to believe that others see this, too. I plan to have a good year -- right after I recover from a complete knee replacement.

How about you? Do you look forward with hope or fear? Let me know what you think.

Dancing won't make you old. You get old when you stop dancing

2025-11-22T23:41:00.000-05:00

Happiness !! Gay dancing with Chris Stone

When Gay and I were teens, we loved to dance and took every opportunity to do so.

Today, while Gay dances several times each week, I write. That brings me happiness.

I am delighted that Brooke, at NARRATIVE BOOKS, in Murphy NC is carrying my books now. I hope you will drop by and meet Brooke, the nice young woman who owns this unique store.

NARRATIVE BOOKS -104 Tennessee St. Suite C, Murphy NC - find my books on the shelf with local writers.

Paws, Claws, Hooves, Feathers and Fins

City Lights Bookstore, Sylva, NC - order my books from City Lights

Now Might as Well be Then - poetry, published in 2009.

2025-11-09T17:19:00.000-05:00

July 6, 2008 in my first full-week writing class at John C. Casmpbell Folk School there were four older women, two younger women and two men. Guess what group Pat was in.

YOU NEVER LIVE ALONE

BY Pat Katterhenry

I have come to the conclusion that my personal space has been invaded by a family of invisible, miniscule gremlins whose sole purpose for being is to aggravate my life.

For instance, I place an article in a specific place but when I return to retrieve it – blank, empty; not there. I just shrug; I know the gremlin, let’s call him Dick for lack of imagination, has moved my book, my phone, my remote control, whatever, and when the proper time arrives, it will re-appear.

Dick’s brother Tom has the remarkable ability to enter my mind and short circuit my thinking processes. How he gets there is up for conjecture. Maybe thru a hair follicle? Or an ear canal? A tear duct? If the powers that be ever decide this problem is worthy of a government study, I’ll be the first to volunteer.

No matter how Tom gets to where he’s going, he knows what to do when he gets there. On the way to the bedroom to fetch my book, Tom re-routes my thoughts from “book” to “what will I have for supper tonight?” I find myself standing beside the bed wondering, why am I here? So I play my thoughts backwards to the place where I began and finally come to “book”.

Tom also makes driving my car from garage to intended destination somewhat of a challenge. I’ll have gone several blocks, or miles as the case may be, when suddenly I realize he’s tampered with my GPS. Not the kind stuck to the dashboard, but the one I have programmed into my brain. I’ve driven to my friend’s house dozens of times; now I’m headed out of town, way off track. “How the heck did I get here?” Having gotten used to turning around, I just sigh and make the necessary changes in my route.

Harry, the last of the trio, is a complete mystery to me. He’s my “mess with the laundry and dishwasher” gremlin. I can only think of two ways he can survive those watery conditions. He has gills, like Aquaman (it’s been 50 plus years since I read the comics, but I think Aquaman had gills); or he has microscopic scuba gear.

In my clothes washer, Harry delights in turning my unmentionables inside out. I’ve deliberately tested him; my panties go in right side out; they come out wrong side out. He even managed to turn a sleeveless t-shirt inside out. Now it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to solve this problem. Put the items in the washer wrong side out in the first place and they come out the way you want. Not always, I have to admit; sometimes the scanties are still wrong side out. I guess you can’t win ‘em all.

I have definitely surrendered to the battle of the dishwasher where cloudy glasses and spotty dishes are concerned. Harry seems to thrive on the anti-spotting ingredient in whatever detergent I use, gobbling it up en masse. Of course, using the “air dry” option might have something to do with my less-than-pristine appearing glassware, plates and stainless steel cutlery. I just pat myself on the back for conserving energy, give everything coming out of the dishwasher a cursory swipe with a towel; and stack them away, spots and all.

Having personal gremlins is a definite challenge to one’s sanity. You either learn to live with them or you surrender to a life of complete chaos. A sense of humor really helps. Laugh when you find garbage in the refrigerator or a failed-to-mail birthday card under a pile of magazines. From what I’ve heard, a lot of people are co-habiting with gremlins. There’s some comfort in knowing you’re not the only one living with these disruptive creatures. One thing I’ve noticed, however. My gremlins didn’t come to live with me until my so-called “senior years”. Now, I wonder why that is. Maybe Tom, Dick and Harry will tell me some day.

I am a Libra, but is this me?

2025-11-08T23:12:00.000-05:00

Libra's Keep the Peace While Blending Beauty & Balance

Libra, the seventh sign of the zodiac, is known for its captivating charm and strong sense of justice. Ruled by Venus, Libras are often associated with beauty, balance, and harmony. Their diplomatic nature makes them excellent peacemakers, as they strive to create equilibrium in their relationships and environments.

Libras are social beings who thrive in partnerships, valuing companionship and collaboration. They possess a keen sense of fairness, often advocating for equality and justice in their interactions. This desire for harmony can sometimes lead them to avoid conflict, preferring to keep the peace.

Creativity is another hallmark of Libra traits, with many drawn to the arts or design. Their appreciation for aesthetics extends to their surroundings, as they often curate beautiful spaces. However, Libras can struggle with indecisiveness, as they weigh options meticulously. Overall, their blend of charm, intellect, and social skills makes them beloved companions and collaborators.

Blogging - why I love it

2025-10-25T18:14:00.000-04:00

A photo from Australia by my friend Sue

Today I learned that a dear friend I never met in person, has passed away. Her name is Sue and she lived in Canberra Australia. Her celebration of life service was online and I am glad she was so well remembered. She impacted many lives on the telephone and on her blog. https://myjustsostory.blogspot.com/

Sue had MS, and was medically retired, but it didn't stop her from volunteering to work with a Suicide Prevention service. She was extremely dependable and was known to stay on the phone with a desperate caller all day. Her blog was one of my favorite places to visit because she made photos of her garden and interesting places in her town. I learned so much about Australia from Sue. She enjoyed visiting the Roos and making photos of them. She brightened my day as she took me with her on her walks and among her colorful flowers. I will miss her. We exchanged email addresses, and once she sent me something from way over there. I am honored to have known such a caring and compassionate person.

Kangaroo, or Roo in Australia photo by Sue

When I opened my first blog, this one, in May 2007, I had never heard of a blog, but at a NCWN Writing Conference in Winston-Salem, I stayed until the last program because I wanted to know what it was all about. When I came home I created my blog, and then set up one for NCWN-WEST,

https://netwestwriters.blogspot.com/

That blog is used now 18 years later to tell the news about our members in western NC and bordering counties of Georgia, South Carolina, and Tennessee.

I taught a class on blogging at the Moss Library for our writers who wanted their own sites. Nancy Simpson and other members blogged for years. It was and is a good way to promote your writing.

Novelist and poet, David Plunkett, manages the blog and website for NCWN-West now.

With so many new social media places to get online, I am not tempted to join anything other than Facebook and I am not on there often. I don't have the time to scroll all day reading about 100s of others, many of them angry or simply posted news for their families.

But I try to visit my dear friends in the blogosphere often.They have been online for two or more decades. These friends leave kind and uplifting comments. We care about each other . We only allow comments from those we approve. I like that so much better than the often hostile comments on other social media.

Well, I need to get busy preparing for my class I teach on Tuesdays. We have some unique stories from my students, one from California, and I enjoy them very much.

Enjoy life, every day be grateful and see what you can do to lighten the load of another.

ALASKA - everyone should visit

2025-09-18T22:11:00.007-04:00

When Barry and I joined Stu and Gay for a cruise to Alaska in the 1980s, few people were going there, I did not expect to have the time of my life. We sailed on The Love Boat. Princess Cruises was one of the first to sail up the coast from California, past Canada, to reach the forty-ninth state.

Every day on the ship was perfect, although a bit cold sometimes. We traveled in the fall. I had never been on a cruise ship and had some trepidation about going, but the flight to San Francisco was more frightening than the ship. We were young and I had never been far from home, had never flown in a large airplane. It was a 747 with seats on each side and another row of seats down the middle. Barry put earphones on me and helped me find music that I could turn up loud and lose myself, forget where I was. We were served champagne although we were not in first class. It was the eighties, and flying was more of a luxuary then.

Life on the ship was a ball. The shows each evening were lots of fun and Barry and Stu often sang with the big bands. They became well known by the other passengers.

But the scenery of Alaska really impressed me. One of our outings was sailing on a raft on the Mendenhall River at the foot of the Mendenhall Glacier. Our guide was fun and knowledgeable. He pointed out Eagles, and their nests. We wore warm jackets and never got hot or cold. We stopped at an island and were served smoked salmon on crackers with wine or beer. All of us on the raft had a chance to talk together. The mountains and the sea, the rivers and the glaciers, made me feel I was in another world. We drank water from a glacier after hiking on the frozen ice for a bit.

The Mendenhall Glacier

I wish I could go back now and travel the interior of the state. We only stopped in towns close to the water, but it was fun to go into shops and to talk to people who lived there year round.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The following was in a newsletter sent to me today by a company from which I order Alaskan Salmon. It reminded me of our trip so many years ago.

Because I need to eat more fish, and because it is easy to take one piece of frozen fish out of my freezer and cook it for myself, I am delighted to order a box every couple of months and it is sent to me quickly packed in dry ice so it never thaws until the day I want to cook it.

This Wild Place

By Mandy Dixon

Fall in Alaska is a quiet magic. The summer rush starts to ease off. Light comes in lower across our bay, the water turns a deep indigo, and leaves swirl in the wind. You can smell the last cranberries — sharp and tart in the air. After all those endless summer days, the season finally exhales. Everything gets hushed. This is my favorite time of year.

The air has that first bite of cold — enough to wake you up in the morning, but not too sharp yet. The sky opens up wider somehow. Evenings stretch out in rose and gold, and suddenly the wood stove becomes your best friend. Guests who come now feel it too. They’re stepping into a different Alaska, something quieter and more intimate.

Cooking in autumn has its own pace. Summer’s all about speed and abundance — fall is about depth and taking your time. The catch is still incredible — halibut, salmon, scallops, crab — but now I can lean into it, slow things down, and bring some real warmth to every dish. Root vegetables and squash start showing up, along with hearty greens, apples, and mushrooms, taking the place of those tender summer shoots. The kitchen fills with the smell of things roasting, stocks simmering all day, chowders that warm your hands while you eat.

Here at Tutka Bay Lodge, autumn draws us back to the water. The fjord is still generous with us — crab pots come up heavy, late-season salmon still flash silver in the bay, and kelp hangs slick and gleaming on the rocks. Our guests figure out pretty quickly that autumn here isn’t about rushing around. It’s about honoring the ocean’s steady rhythm.

This is the preserving season, too. Salmon smokes over alder, roe gets cured into jeweled pearls, seafood goes into jars for winter. It’s what people have done here for generations — carrying the essence of the sea forward into the dark months.

Fall at Tutka Bay shows you something true: wildness and comfort aren’t opposites. They’re companions. The tide sets our tempo, the catch shapes what’s on the table, and seafood becomes more than just dinner as everything slows down. It turns into a story about this place, about resilience and gratitude — a reminder that in this brief, beautiful season, we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be. Nourished by the sea, anchored by the wild.

A Busy Weekend

2025-09-09T23:17:00.000-04:00

Today is Monday. I had a busy weekend. That is good.

On Saturday, Nadine, a former student and dear friend of mine, drove down and picked me up to go for lunch. As most of my women friends understand, it was a long lunch. We had not seen each other in several years, so Crabapple Tavern let us sit for three hours while we talked, laughed and had a delightful time. She was good medicine for me. And she said we were good for each other.

I admire my friend who is courageous, unafraid of traveling anywhere she wants to go, alone. I remember when I could do that. The year after Barry died, I drove down to Florida and spent a couple of weeks alone in a condo belonging to the husband of my sister-in-law. That is a long way to drive and especially for a senior woman who had never gone anywhere without her husband in the driver's seat.

Barry and I traveled together when we left town whether to go back to south Georgia or to explore the mountains where we lived. I didn't go off on trips with my friends and leave him at home. He didn't go without me except when he traveled for work. It never entered my mind at the time that one day I would not have him beside me. We enjoyed each other's company and we enjoyed vacationing with Gay and Stu, my sister and brother-in-law. Barry and Stu were like brothers, kidding each other, finding the same outlandish things funny. When Barry's brother died, he said to Stu, "You are the only brother I have now."

On Sunday, we attended a concert by a big band here in Roswell. They did a tribute concert celebrating Johnny Mercer's music. Mercer was a Georgia native. He wrote so many of the songs I love, songs that were the sound track of my life with Barry. Moon River was our song. Also, Days of Wine and Roses, which was co-written by Mercer and Henry Mancini. Often Barry sang songs like Autumn Leaves and Summer Wind both by Mercer. When we first married, he never went to a gathering of friends without his guitar. And he was always asked to sing. That was in the sixties and folk music was popular.

As I sat and listened to all that music from those fabulous musicians, the lyrics sung by a fine singer, I thought of Barry who led his own band when he was in high school. He played drums, but he also played trumpet and later in life he played guitar. For two hours Sunday, I felt Barry was with me, listening to our music. Gay and Stu also thought of him and how much he would have enjoyed the concert.

Barry plays his guitar and sings

Memories. What life is made of. I have some fabulous ones, but also some very sad ones. Ups and downs, laughter and tears, hold on to today, we know not what tomorrow brings.

While I Waited, Life Happened

2025-09-01T20:14:00.000-04:00

As fall approaches, this poem comes to mind. It is in my poetry book and was published on Your Daily Poem.

While I Waited, Life Happened
by
Glenda Council Beall

In the waning days of fall vacation, leaves fly
like goldfinches, poplars' jeweled showers
rain upon the mountains of West Virginia.

Temperatures plummet to freezing after dark,
but mornings crisp as caramel apples draw us
outside where cows seek sustenance burrowing beneath
tall weeds bronzed by season's cold.

Three horses clip remaining blades from pasture overgrazed
in the drought. Smoke plumes from burning brush cut to make
the raw road, drifts across the pond's mosaic surface.

I find myself nostalgic for my own country roots;
Soft sounds of mourning doves and lost calves calling
for their mothers; riding horseback in the woods, quail
flush and scare my pony; crows caw from stands of willows.

Boundless days stretched before me; days of wasted youth;
Hours of restless yearning, wanting always what I did not have,
waiting to learn what I would become, waiting to live,
oblivious to the riches I already possessed.

Given a second chance, I'd hold that gift of time cupped
tightly in my hands. I'd breathe, taste and savor every second
I have squandered — not fritter it away, but hoard each precious
minute, clutched firmly against my breast.

From Now Might As Well Be Then (Finishing Line Press. 2009)
Used with the author's permission.

What Can We Do?

2025-08-31T16:00:00.000-04:00

Each day I read where some lawful person is kidnapped by masked ICE men and carried off to jail. Today it was an American citizen, not an illegal criminal, who was dropped off at her work and was suddenly surrounded by ICE agents.

I put myself in this innocent woman's place and feel her terror as she is handcuffed and dragged to jail. Innocent of any crime, she was held for three days. They gave her no water and she was told she had to pay for food. Of course, she had no money. Her purse had been taken from her.

I wish every American citizen who votes would stop and put themselves in the position of this woman who was simply on the way to work like she had done many, many times.

When did our country become such a place? Why is this happening? I hear that the ICE police are required to arrrest a certain number of people, innocent or not, so they grab Citizens of the USA, not for what they did, but because of how they look, and fabricate crimes that did not happen.

It must be frightening for anyone with a dark complexion to walk on the streets of our large cities. When I see people I went to high school with praising this administration for this cruel behavior, I wonder how they became so evil and mean-spirited. I'll bet if the situation was reversed and their white daughter was kidnapped like that, these men I know would be ranting and raving, going down to the governor's office and their congressman's office to demand this kind of illegal behavior end right now. They would never again vote for a president who did such awful things to innocent people.

But I am sorry to say, racism is still rampant in the deep south. My homeland is not what I thought it had become. Now I hear that this president plans to strip the museums of things that make slavery look bad.

...Smithsonian that its museums would be required to adjust any content that the administration finds problematic in “tone, historical framing and alignment with American ideals” within 120 days.

Slavery didn't just look bad, it was terrible and the aftermath was horrible, too. When I was a child, black people were being lynched in nearby counties in south Georgia. And the Sheriff was involved in the hanging. When authoritarian racism overpowers other chambers of government, we are in a terrible state. We must elect people who will not stand for this dictator to destroy us.

But I cannot give more money. I wish they would not keep sending me requests for funds. My small income does not provide extra to support a political party. I might not even be in this world when this administration leaves office. All I can do is use my voice to speak about injustice and cruelty and hope someone out there listens.

What about you, my friends? What can you do? What more can I do?