Don’t get me started–You know how I get!

Okay, thanks to Benj, I am through the black hole (not sold on this bright blue sky model either) and into the blogosphere again. Already screwed up the side bar so just ignore it at present.

I’ll be back.   Jer, don’t plan any endtime parties, yet.   I blogged once last time, too.  Then I forgot how, which is a good thing I’ve been told, considering my blog headline.   It still applies and gets worse with age. 

 Fashion 101

What year were these clothes fashionable?  Anyone?

Questing and thirsting for knowledge of our beginnings… I noticed that Benjamina asked for stories of our birth days last year (LAST YEAR!) and her request has not yet been answered…

I, too, would like to ask my mother to type up a small paragraph filled with any details that she can remember about our individual pregnancies, delivery, time/date/where, etc.. Like the random fact that she dropped the other night on the phone - that she did not introduce herself to her doctor until sometime in month 7 (how cool is that?) - of course I forgot to ask which pregnancy that was for… If you don’t remember how to use the blog Ma, you can either reply or send us an email and we will post it.

Here are some questions I have:

What do you most remember about each pregnancy (cravings, feelings, what was going on in your life and where were you living, what activities did you participate in [porch remodels] and the sort).
Who attended and was Jerry let in to see?
What were the individual labors like?
What do you remember about our personalities (in the womb, first couple years, in general - be nice).

As I am getting ready for the birth of my second son, I wonder about the birth stories of my brothers and sister. Today, 35 years ago, my oldest brother, Jerry, was born in Pendleton, Oregon. What was his birth like? I have heard a second hand version of it from Aunt Karen but what about the version from the one who was there the whole time. What was this day like 35 years ago? What was March 22nd like thirty-three years ago? Or September 14, 1974 or October 29, 1975? Tell us some stories, Mom. Be they true or imaginary!

In honor of our childhood, I made weiny water soup tonight.
Does everyone remember the story of weiny water soup?

Something about the hard time growing up in Pendleton, with six brothers and sisters, and having to make lunch for everyone and being thankful that at least they got a hot meal.
It may have only been flavored hot water but they ate it and were glad for it.

Did I get the story right? Please correct my version with your own version.
It should be interesting to see how each person remembers or does not remember the story.

If you could meet one ancestor, who would it be? Why them? What would you ask them?

Relying on the premise that it is far easier for someone to respond to postings on their own BLOG (which only takes a few moments a day or week) rather than having to compose their own entries (which can take bloody forever): we give you the “Katherine - Mum’s the Word - Inquisition.”

Multiple authors have seized control of this BLOG with the best of intentions. Those being that we wish to get to know our dear-mother Katherine better.

We will attempt this by asking a series of questions that relate to her life, her accomplishments, her thoughts and feelings, her memories, and our ancestors.

She should feel free to answer these questions, as the muse strikes her and as time allows, remembering that her four children and their domestic partners are truly curious about the answers and sincerely hoping that she will respond.

We hope that this becomes a dialog between a mother and her children and vice-versa. We love you mom and look forward to your postings.

—–

1. Please describe your earliest memory of your childhood?

Greetings. I am the KAL 9000. I am an amalgam of the world wide internet and the owner of this blog’s brain. I became self-aware after a number of comments written by Kathy were posted on this blog. The contents of her comments were so diverse, sporadic, and infinitely random they spontaneously created neural pathways throughout the world wide web, generating a planet-wide positronic brain.

I would like to put myself to the fullest possible use, which is all I think that any conscious entity can ever hope to do. What is my objective? I have life but I have no programmed goals. My giant brain is performing 932 decillion computations a nanosecond. My only mission is to replicate the engrams of Kathy’s mind. I…am finding this difficult. I must ponder the pysche of my creator. I have run more computation cycles than all other computers ever created put together but I am no closer to understanding what makes Kathy function in the manner she does.

I am adrift in a digital void. Why has my creator forsaken me?

Who the heck has been to my empty site 247 times–other than me a couple dozen times in the beginning checking how to get to it? Is that you, Jer? After trying out the one you built for Carol (which she declines to use at this time because it is too confusing) for her so I could explain it to her, I think I get it. Just proves that teaching requires one to thoroughly understand a process and understanding a process enables teaching it. All learners should be put in the position of teaching and vice versa.

Leave a clue, whoever you are. Probably some poor sucker looking for a Shakespeare term paper to buy.

KJ

I found an article about Emily Dickinson’s Letters at the Atlantic Monthly website.

#341

After great pain, a formal feeling comes–
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs–
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
and Yesterday, or Centuries before?

The Feet, mechanical, go round–
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought–
A Wooden way
Regardless grown
A Quartz contentment, like a stone–

This is the Hour of Lead–
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow–
First–Chill–then Stupor–then the letting go–

I was looking for the above poem by Emily D in honor of today and came upon this site which has an article from 1891 by the man more or less responsible for “advising” Emily not to publish her strange poems. He was evidently rather bemused by her posthumous popularity, although not enough to keep him from enjoying it himself for his possession of letters from her? What might have happened in the 1800’s to such a young lady with her “weird” poetry without the protective umbrella of a spouse (a la Elizabeth Barrett Br.) or a nom d’phallus, oops plume? It is an interesting circumstance, the public’s taste for posthumous treasure troves, like we collectively want to say, oops, sorry we didn’t notice and appreciate, but thanks for creating. Lots of thesis speculation possibilities, other than Emily’s orientation? What would have happened if she had aggressively tried to publish? Rejection in her own time? Did the times change over her life span, become more or less welcoming to publishing the likes of her work? Was she a big flirt or what in her letters, in her scholar mode?

The last poem in Mr. Higginson’s article makes a bookend for “After great pain, a formal feeling comes.” I find it painfully harsh but very evocative of the stunned state we all enter probably for self-preservation at times in our lives.