Saturday, August 28, 2010

The pixie brain ain't workin' too well ...

I need a word that discribes a refusal given with a "lame" excuse. eg: "I'm not in a position to do that."

I know there is a word. I cannot remember it. HELP!

Saturday, August 21, 2010

Close but no cigar ... I hate tobacco anyway ... sniff.

The three finalists are:Sha'el, Princess of Pixies (3:32pm)
“Oh, My God, this IS a pivotal moment”
“For you, maybe. But I’m a traditionalist. I have a stake in this, and I’m not happy.”
“But think about it – umm what’s your name?”
“Worker 32957.”
“Ah, yes. As I was saying, think about it. No more mindless flying, buzzing, dancing or any of that nonsense.”
“There are flaws in your reasoning, brother. Won’t you miss the Fairbank? The exploring? The picnic buzzing? It’s tradition.”
“But with the new honeywagon concept there will be no need. Freedom from tired wings at last.”

C (9:33am)
I staked this spot on the fair bank of the Snake River just for you, honey.It was pivotal, marrying you in Independence. I thought I’d make a life of my own in Oregon; I just needed a ride. And honey, you danced on your tenderfeet all the way up the aisle.But honey, you shouldn’t have taught me to shoot buffalo so flawlessly. And honey, you should never have traded the last of my good calico for another box of bullets.Honey, the wagon wasn’t big enough for the both of us.Maybe you should have died of dysentery.

John Haggerty (7:47pm)

He rolls in at midnight, stops the conversation like a cardiac arrest, smooth fairbank suit, hair slick and without flaws, a honeywagon on his arm who witches all of those men into dogs.The filthy prospecting rubes down from their gold-dry stakes up in the hills, the knifey thieves and grifters from town, everyone just stares, as he picks up the dice, and though it’s not his turn, whispers, “One pivotal roll, who’s in.”They lay their pennies down like penitents, and then he’s gone, and they are laid clean, like infants washed in the blood of the lamb.

The winner is the one that knocked my sox off: John Haggerty.

Friday, August 20, 2010

Really creepy ...

Sometimes I find the most interesting things while hunting for something else …

A Hideous Sect: Human Vampires Found Near Kansas City
Blood Drinking as a Part of a Religious Creed – Draining the Life of Little Children
Brooklyn Daily Eagle – January 27, 1899

Kansas City, MO., January 27.

For some time tumors of the existence of a new religious sect which has gained a foothold in the territory adjacent to the Blue River, just east of Kansas City, have been afloat, and they have reached the ears of the police. The secretary of the Humane Society recently received a letter from a man living in that neighborhood telling him that if the authorities did not interfere the people would take the matter into their own hands. According to the reports, the practices of the sect were founded upon the Biblical injunction to do good to the sick, but this injunction had been carried to such an extent that the sect had degenerated into a band of blood suckers – those who were well allowing themselves to be bled for those who were ill. Officer Maran’s investigation of the matter proved that the letter to Secretary Hackett had not told half of the horrible practice in vogue among the people who believed in the savage rites. About a year ago there appeared among the people of that neighborhood a man named Silas Wilcox, who went about the country preaching the doctrine of doing good for the sick. It was not long until he had a sufficient number of converts to his theories to warrant him in founding a sect, which he called the Samaritans. Gradually he widened his teachings to his little band until he openly advocated the drinking of the blood for all diseases, giving as authority for such action the fact that the Bible taught that the blood was life.

At the home of John Wrinkle were found two emaciated children. On the bed lay Wrinkle, who was apparently in the last stages of consumption. When questioned about drinking the blood of the children he staunchly denied having done so. The children also denied it. Their bloodless appearance, however, excited the suspicion of he officer and he compelled them to show their arms. The limbs were in a terrible condition, being covered with cars inside of the elbow joint, showing plainly the effects of the bleeding. When confronted with the evidence of the truth of the accusation, Wrinkle acknowledged that he had availed himself of the opportunity, and asserted that the children had willingly given their blood to restore him to health. The man was in such a condition that he could not be moved, but the children were taken from the home and placed in the Children’s Home. Chief Speers is anxious to put a stop to the practices of the blood drinkers, but it appears there is no law which cover the case and nothing can be done.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

For my mental comfort ...

A few comments on my blog posts would be nice. Anyone? A guest post? What ever ... I don't want to resort to thumb sucking for comfort!

When human filth constitute a nation ...

Rapes of Christian Girls in Pakistan Reflect Hidden Trend
Posted on 16. Aug, 2010 by John Little in Pakistan

The vulnerability of Christian girls to sexual assault in Pakistani society emerged again last month as a Muslim landowner allegedly targeted a 16-year-old and a gang of madrassa (Islamic school) students allegedly abused a 12-year-old in Punjab Province.

In Farooqabad, Shiekhupura district, three Muslim co-workers of a Christian man allegedly raped his 16-year-old daughter at gunpoint the night of July 21; the following evening in Gujar Khan, Rawalpindi district, more than a half dozen madrassa students decided to “teach these Christians a lesson” by allegedly gang-raping the 12-year-old girl.

The students at Jamia Islamia Madrassa had been harassing Christians in the villages around Gujar Khan, said the pastor of the church to which the girl’s family belongs, United Pentecostal Church.

“They openly announce that ‘the Christians are our enemies, we should not talk to them, eat with them or do business with them,’” Pastor Shakeel Javed told Compass.

The students often beat Christian children who come to play on the school grounds, telling them to convert or leave, he said, adding that on Sundays they throw stones at the church building.
A school teacher who said she was witness to the alleged rape told Compass that when she came across the madrassa students the evening of July 22, she overheard one saying, “We will teach these Christians a lesson they will never forget.”

“Three or four Christian girls were washing dishes near a pond,” Rana Aftab said. “These guys ran towards them, and the girls started running. One of them fell on the ground, and these madrassa students got hold of her and took her in the fields. I tried to stop them, but they were 15-16 in number.”

Seven or eight of them raped the girl, whose name is withheld, while the others looked on, Aftab said.

“She kept yelling for help, but no one heard her cries,” Aftab said.

They left the girl in the field, and some villages took her home to her father, Pervaiz Masih, Aftab said.

Masih was devastated, and the girl’s mother fainted when she saw her, Masih told Compass.
Masih and Aftab went to the police station to register a complaint, but the officer in charge refused to register it, Aftab said.

When Compass contacted officers at the police station, they initially refused to comment, but eventually one admitted that they are under pressure from Muslims leaders and extremists to refrain from filing a First Information Report (FIR) on the alleged crime.


In eastern Punjab Province’s Farooqabad, the Christian father of the allegedly raped 16-year-old girl said he was later kidnapped and tortured.

In his complaint to police, Ghafoor Masih of Kot Sandha village said he was working the fields when three men who work for his Muslim employer overpowered his daughter at home and dragged her into one of the rooms of the house at gunpoint.

His daughter, whose name is withheld, told police that the three men raped her while keeping her from screaming for help by threatening to shoot her in the forehead with a pistol. The family accused Rashid Ali, another Muslim identified only as Maan son of Muhammad Boota and an unidentified man who also worked for Masih’s employer, Hajji Rashid Jutt.

The next morning, July 22, Masih went to the Saddr police station in Farooqabad, but Station House Officer Inspector Nasseer Ahmad Khan refused to register a First Information Report (FIR), labor leaders said. Aslam Pervaiz Sahotra, chairman of the Bonded Labor Front, and Zia-ud-Din Khokhar, chairman of Equality for Minorities, later approached the Shiekhupura district police officer with Masih’s complaint, and on July 28 the official sent an application for a FIR to Saddr Police Station.

Under pressure from the superior officer, on July 29 Inspector Khan registered the FIR under for “gang-rape at gunpoint,” family members and clergy said.

As Masih made his way home after the filing of the FIR on July 29, however, two other Muslims who work for his employer, Jutt, allegedly intercepted and kidnapped him, the family members said, and took him to Jutt’s farmhouse. There Jutt, the two men – Muhammad Irfan and Muhammad Usman – and another worker for Jutt, Fazal Karim, allegedly shackled and tortured Masih, leaving him in critical condition.

Inspector Khan told Compass that he has arrested Jutt, Irfan and Usman for kidnapping, as well as the suspect identified only as Maan for the alleged rape of Masih’s daughter.
Joseph Francis, national director of the Center for Legal Aid Assistance and Settlement, condemned the alleged rape of the 16-year-old girl.

“Muslim landowners and their relatives see Christian girls or women as their chattel,” Francis said. “Such vicious incidents are not being stopped by the government, and day by day the rate of rapes of Christian girls is escalating instead of plunging.”

Sahotra and Khokhar added that many such cases go unreported as impoverished Christian families often do not have the resources to pursue justice.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Other realities

Marie Jose'

There are two of me, I think. There’s the exacting person who has high expectations for herself and others. That person is selectively intolerant. She rejects a wide sweep of behaviors, but she is tolerant of an equally wide spectrum of beliefs, even if she thinks them foolish. People are entitled to a bit of foolishness, aren’t they?

The other me sees things that don’t exist, though perhaps they should. She has an imagination that presents itself not as a stream of words or ideas but as images as clearly seen as any other reality. She runs through wild places and dangerous times, and she slips through the cracks in the common reality into the worlds beyond it.

She has seen the end of worlds, the birth of the new; she has haunted forests long gone or unborn; she has crossed deserts, and she has seen the earth-glow. She is holy. She is wicked. She’s a hermit, a princess, a drudge, a feral child muddy to the knees from chasing her grandmother’s wayward pig. She’s been hauled off my imperious half-brothers who wish to use her to extend their power. She is the Lady of the Forest’s daughter. She is the priestess-queen of a desert kingdom.

Such contradictions in one person! And which is real is problematic.

I’ve been looking at old family photos and speculating. What would I have been like if I were the person in the photo? One has held my interest for days. It is of my great-great-grandmother. The photo captured her at fourteen. Her dark-red hair looks black in the photo. She wears a ruffled gown. I see myself in her face, though the resemblance is suggested and not identical.

Six years after this photo was taken she married, and within two years of that she birthed my great grandfather. She was a princess. By all accounts she was a frugal, gentle woman. If I had been born in her place, would I have been anything like her?

My imagination – or is it memory – fails me. I can see myself dressed as she is. I can see myself in different places. But I cannot hear what I’m saying or what is said to me. It is like shuffling through old photos. It is like watching bits of voiceless video. But these exist only in my mind. What am I saying to this tall man? Who is he? He is in an unadorned uniform. He is bald except for a fringe of grizzled, closely trimmed hair. His face is kind, but there is – what? A hint of concern? Attentiveness? Hidden mirth? I cannot tell.

I look out on a grassy area. A row of scrub trees edges the field and I know, though I cannot see it, that there is a narrow river behind the trees. Two boys, maybe ten and twelve, are (romping? Shouting?) gesticulating. They are my brothers. I do not like them, but I care about them. I wish they were different. I can feel this, but I do not know the why or how of it.

Because I have replaced my distant grandmother, I have peopled this dream with those who were never there for her. I’ve other interests and other friends, and I am marrying someone else. There are faces I know. Some elicit pleasant feelings, though I cannot put a name to them. The Old Kaiser is there. He was there for her wedding too. In my “real’ life I have only a historian’s mild interest in him, though there is a family connection. But in this waking dream I love this occasionally devious, brilliant, powerful man who often smells of cinnamon and tobacco. The why of that is illusive.

I find myself holding a baby. It’s a girl, and where my great-great grandmother’s first daughter died in infancy, I feel full of hope for this one. A hand touches my shoulder. The fingers are long, slender. This is husband but with no name and no face. I think about looking up but don’t. I see only his hand and the wheat-colored coat sleeve. He says something, but I cannot hear it.

I am old. I am in England. It is, I think, 1920. Great-great Grandmother died that year. A young man has kissed my hand and gently lowered it to my lap. I look at it and wonder why I am not wearing gloves. I should be wearing gloves.

The curtains are open, the windows tall with many square panes. The light is too bright. I look away. The young man is chatting on about something. I cannot hear it, but I believe it is about a girl. I don’t know if he speaks of a sweetheart, a wife, or maybe a daughter. I wish to hear, but I cannot. I see his face. It seems too narrow. He is slightly dark-complected. His hair is brown. His eyes are green. He has one of those ridiculous pencil-thin mustaches. He’s wearing a suit, but if I blink I see him in uniform. I do not know who he is. He is too young to be a son. He does not look like me and I do not think he is a grandson. He is a mystery.

I say something. I am aware of speaking, but I do not know what I’ve said. He laughs and blushes. I cannot hear the laugh, but I see it, and it pleases me.

It is later, though how much later I don’t know - Days maybe. The room is the same, but the curtains are drawn against the damp night and cold. The room is lighted with a pleasant yellow glow, and there is a fire in the fire place. There are three little girls, blond as am I, and wearing dresses all of pastel colors. One is yellow; one is lavender; and one is blue. They chatter and play. One stands next to me speaking softly. She hovers protectively as if she’s afraid I’ll dissipate before her eyes.

My hands are remarkably white. I am in bed. The bed is too big and too high. Someone kisses my forehead, but I cannot see them.

Then I see nothing.

Is this a reality? It is more than fiction. It is the flicker of a life’s photos, but the photos of a life never lived. What is this, then?

Order of the Crown - Just because

I want this; I just can't afford it!

Thursday, August 12, 2010

So ... How good a detective are you?

I can't put a name to this photo. Best guess is 1860's, maybe 1870's.
My guess is he's a member of the Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Gl├╝cksburg family.
That would make sense, anyway. I just don't know who he is.

Unknown Artist

Pioneer Square, Seattle - About 1900

Battleship Oregon - 1913

The Oregon entering the Puget Sound Naval Yark dry dock for refit. March 1, 1913.

Snoqualmie Lumber - Seattle - 1920 or so

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Butterfly Dancing - Seattle - About 1920

Diefenbach and "It merely is."

I’ve been writing furiously and researching just as intensely. We’ve made real progress this past month. My children hardly know who I am. Well, that’s not true. But sometimes it feels as if it were. My oldest and I have been passing in the fog this past week. I’ll grab her and go shopping. She’s teaching dance this summer, and learning how to drive, and being a royal nag. The nag part isn’t new. She’s been bossy since we got her. If she would have stayed in India, she’d be a bandit queen and running half the country. As it is, she’s just my oldest and most naggy child.

I’ve given myself a headache trying to trace down a man named William C. McMillin. The problem is two fold. There isn’t much information out there, and his name is spelled maybe six different ways. So far I know he spent much of his life in the Pittsburgh and Latrobe areas. I have his birth date and his Civil War record. I know he was wounded in the head on Round Top at Gettysburg. I know who he married, how many children he had and his religious preference later in life. I need to know his occupation in the late 1870’s and through the 1880’s. I’d love to find a photo. I’m moving on to other things, but I’ll come back to it later.

I’ve had a bad two weeks. The headaches are worse as are the deep muscle aches. I’m discouraged over my blog. I think I have a nice blog. So few visit it, that sometimes I wonder if it’s worth while. …. Say … Don’t one of you owe me some sort of guest post? Anthony? Harry? Barbara? I’m pretty sure one of you does.

Oh, and the photos … nice huh? I stole these off ebay. I’m a fan of Diefenbach’s silhouettes. Here’s one that’s been used on a trinket box. I’m not going to bid on it. I want one of the framed pieces. I’m biding my time. Eventually I’ll find one I can afford.

I’ve been reading issues of Gentleman’s Magazine. It was a British magazine published in the 1700’s. You can find it on google books. I’m used to reading that type face, but you’ll have to adapt to it, learning to distinguish between the tall, archaic lowercase ‘s’ and an ‘f.’ The writing style is different too. If you’re not used to reading 18th Century material, it might take a bit of concentration. But the rewards are worth it.

I’m not looking for anything in particular, just trying to get the flavour of the 1780’s and 1790’s. A continuing series on Dartmoor is interesting. I have a short story bouncing around in my head, but I wish it would go away. I need to concentrate on the history book. I want to be finished except for final edits by July next year. That is probably wishful thinking. We’ll do well if it’s done next year.

There is no real way to get inside the head of a dead man except through his writings, and even then one can never be sure of the “truth” behind what someone writes. I do not refer to conscious lies, but to the things we all withhold from others. (I’m a nosey little pixie. I want to know. ) But one can approach the style of thinking by reading contemporary debate, news articles, letters and diaries. Even though they aren’t the words of the person who interests you, they put you into the era and give you hints as to the way people thought.

The way people feel is the same across ages, but the way people thought is not.

As long as I’m mentioning feelings, let me say that I find the causes of emotion to be a total puzzle. Some things are clear. I know why I love my family. And that type of thing isn’t the root of my puzzlement. I’m thinking about my reaction to things and places, not to people. Why is it that holding certain rocks can bring me pleasure, wonder, amazement, and others do not? Why is it that I can hold my old target pistol and feel considerable satisfaction, but I get no similar feeling from the pistol I carry when I become Deputy Pixie? Why is it that I can hold and feel compelled to caress some books, and others even if I find them interesting bring no such pleasure in the mere holding?

I’m not sure there is a generalized answer to this, nor is it important. It merely is.

Friday, August 06, 2010

Seattle - About 1895

Shipping Lumber - Washington State - About 1890

Shame on Pakistan ... Again

Sheikhupura, Pakistan: August 6, 2010. (PCP) On night of July 21, 2010, Muslims named Rashid Ali, Mann Mohammad son of Mohammad Boota with other unknown Muslims entered in house of one Christian named Ghafoor Masih and took hostages all family on gunpoint.

The Muslim culprits put pistol on head of Ghafoor Masih and asked him to keep silent unless threatened to kill him and his family.

The Muslims then gang raped Ghafoor Masih daughter in front of mother, father and other family members and walked out of house.

Ghafoor Masih cried for help but no one came to follow the influential Muslim rapists who were waving guns in street.

It is Farooq Abad, a city in district Sheikhupura in Punjab Province of Pakistan, where Alyia Bibi, age 16 years was gang raped by Muslims on night of July 21, 2010.

The poor father of Alyia Bibi knocked on every door for arrest of influential Muslim rapists but police denied to lodge any report.

Ghafoor Masih traveled to Lahore and sought help from Christian Lawyers Foundation CLF Chairman Mr. Khalid Gill, who approached authorities on which FIR was lodged on July 28, in Saddar Police Station, Farooq Abad.

Mr. Khalid Gill have expressed anger on gang rape of 16 years old Christian girl and demanded arrest of culprits involved and named in FIR.

Forest - Uncertain Location - about 1900

Vancouver, Washington - About 1910

Vancouver, Washington - About 1905


Well, someone who had me on their blog reader dropped me. I either bored them silly, or they decided I was a nasty wench whose words were not worth the read. They could have told me which before they left ...

I burned the back o f my left hand. That was an owie. ... It's not a huge burn, but it is sore.

I found some rocks. I like rocks. I don't know what I found though. One looks like a blob - kinda like someone took chocolate pudding, mixed in gravel and dropped it on the ground in a big bloppy blob. It is high in iron. A magnet sticks to it. And it has a very grainy texture. There seems to be a bit of sand stuck in it too. I found another flatter version of that. I wish I knew what this was.

I also found a lump of quartz with the most interesting shape. It seems to have two little bits of flourite stuck in it. There are two little purple dimples. I need a geologist or talented rock collector to tell me about some of my interesting rocks.

(Did I mention the owie on my hand? Oh, yes I did.)

I went alley driving this morning. It's my new sorta hobby. Okay, so it isn't a hobby. I'm looking for old structures in "old town." Old town was originally built in the 1880's. No houses from that era remain. The oldest house I know of down there is from 1914. But I suspect there are out-buildings that are older. I found a candidate. It's a shed, but I suspect it's one of the original 19th Century houses. I don't have much time to research that, but I am interested. So many of the old houses are turning to trash. Several of them were mansions in their day but are now stuffed to overflow with illegals who have trashed the place. Not a politically correct statement, was it? But it is, alas, an accurate one.

I would like to see significant conservation efforts in “old town.” Some truly lovely houses are tucked in there. They need fix up. This is probably all wishful thinking.

I'm so weary ... tired ... sore ... sick ... that I'm not getting good work done this week. That's bad. However, after being told "no" over an additional computer in my classroom this year, I heard from our principal. They're giving me three more. That's good.

I found an old abandoned road. I've kinda craned my neck as we drive by a time or two. The other day I finally made my way out there and walked down the old crumbling, weedy asphalt. This road, best I can tell from old maps, was in use as a wagon road in the late 19th Century. By 1920 it was a paved road. In the 1950's it was replaced by the current highway. You can see bits of it here and there, some of it as asphalt and some as the old concrete roadway from the 20's.

There isn't much to see. But I didn't expect there would be. I see more in my mind than with my eye. I have a very vivid imagination I guess. ...