Navigating the Blog

For any tab across the top that you click on, scroll down past "Hello and Welcome" to see the results. To view blog postings click on the Index tab at the top. Scroll down past "Hello and Welcome". Find the topic that you are interested in, and date posted . Begin to scroll down. On the right hand margin you will see Archives. Select the month in which the topic was posted. Then click on the posting. It will appear below "Hello and Welcome" in the center.

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Hello and Welcome:

Over the summer of 2010 I began to ask myself, "what do you do if two of our Rights, as citizens of these United States, are diametrically opposed?" I came to the only viable conclusion: you compromise. Our great Nation works when there is compromise.

Right now most of you will agree with me that our political system is broken. What we currently have is: the politics of destruction; special interest groups who have the power and money to dictate policy; politicians who must spend their time raising money for the next election instead of doing the People's business; and, there are those who are so concerned about getting re-elected they cede their responsibilities to the citizenry to those groups making the loudest noises and the greatest threats.

The attacks that we were inundated with during the this election cycle belittled the democratic process. Shame on everyone involved. And, shame on the political obstructionists who are more interested in gaining and maintaining power than doing the people’s business. During these very difficult times all of us should be supporting our President. The challenge for all of us is, how do we improve upon this imperfect union that we call the United States of America? One thing I know for is not by dividing us.

I can remember when I was sixteen years old there was a day when my father called out to me, "Jackie, come quickly. You have to hear this. It's Winston Churchill. Come listen." I raced to the radio and for the first time heard a recording of Churchill's speech to a Nation standing alone against the greatest evil the world has ever known: "...we shall defend our island no matter what the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; and we shall not surrender, and even if, which I do not for a moment believe, this island or a large part of it were subjugated and starving, then our Empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British Fleet, would carry on the struggle, until in God's good time, the New World, with all it's power and might, steps forth to the rescue and liberation of The Old."

That day my hero was born. Where are our heroes today? jkt

The Early Years

A visitor to my blog recently wrote: "I came to see your website in a roundabout way as I am in an environmental group and I picked up one of your quotes on the trees when I was looking at another blog.If you sincerely say what is in your heart then I wish there were a million of you. You sound like you really get it, that you are not just there for the fanfare.  I would dearly love to know more about you.... I would love to know what has made you, YOU."

I have been wanting to record events from my past for awhile now. I never intended to write it for public consumption. But lessons can be learned from every life lived.   
I was just a simple girl, a shy girl, really. I happened to be handed some building blocks and some bridges to cross at a very early age. They have served me well throughout the years.


We all have defining "moments". Age sixteen was a tsunami for me (more on that later) and at fifty I found my passion.

This blog began as an expression of my political and philisophical point of view. What better way to expand on that than to share with you events from my past that made me who I am today? So, I will begin interspersing the present with stories from one insignificant life. My life.

"By honoring the past, we shape the future. Let us pray that we choose the lessons wisely, so that we may  arrive safely to our destination." -jkt-

Down on the Farm

My Grandmother, Virginia, was the housekeeper for a widower, Mr. Williamson, who lived on the west side of Columbus. His house seemed like a mansion through the eyes of a child…filled with dark furniture, oriental rugs and with gleaming silver on the sideboard in the dining room.   

Once in a while Grandma would invite me to stay over for the weekend. Mom and Dad would pack us all into the family sedan and we would drive across town on a Friday night. My sister and brother could not wait to get there. LET THE GAMES BEGIN! Or should I say, let the torture begin. They would race into the house and begin pawing their feet on the wool rugs, like young race horses waiting at the gate. Once they could feel the hair on their arms standing on end they would take off chasing me through the rooms and halls until they cornered me. They would point a finger at me, an evil gleam in their eyes and electricity would arc from their finger to my arm. Screaming, with tears running down my cheeks, off I would go running until caught once again.  Boy was I glad when it was time for them to leave and the house settled back into silence, just Grandma and me. Mr. Williamson was there but I never saw him. (He was probably hiding from the mayhem raining down upon his house with each arrival of Grandma’s heathen grandchildren.)

There was no television back then. We spent our days playing gin rummy. Grandma always won!! No matter how hard I tried I never could beat her. It became an obsession of mine. And so the days passed slowly, hidden away in her small sitting room up on the third floor, until evening finally came and it was time to go to bed. 

Those were the winter days I remember at Grandma’s. Soon snows melted and spring passed into summer. It became time to close the house up and move to the farm where they would stay until the crops were harvested and the cycle of seasons began again. Before they could leave the furniture had to be covered in white sheets, the packing had to be done and then off they would go to the country.

I remember the summer I was invited to go along. I wasn’t very old. I imagine it was sometime in the late 40s. When we arrived, Grandma showed me around the farmhouse.  The final room she led me into was the dance hall. My eyes grew wide with wonder as she described the dances that used to take place in that room. I couldn’t wait for Grandma to leave me alone to my own imaginings. I stamped my foot impatiently until finally she was off to oversee the unpacking. I was alone at last.

The room was enormous. Glass windows and doors stood from floor to ceiling along one wall. It was empty of all furniture.  The merriment ended forever with the passing of Mr. Williamson’s beloved wife. All was quiet now. But in my mind I heard the music playing and I began to sway back and forth. I held out my arms to my handsome prince and began dancing round and round until I fell to the floor at last, exhausted. It was magical.

When I finally was able to stand, I staggered into the kitchen for a drink of water. Wait a minute…..there’s the sink but where’s the faucet? Grandma!!! She came running and showed me how to pump the handle up and down (and up and down) until finally water poured into my glass. Phew, living on a farm is hard work! 

Of course, after gulping down several glasses of water, nature called. “Where’s the bathroom, Grandma?” next I asked.  She chuckled and led me out of the house and down a garden path to what appeared to be a tiny wooden shed. She pointed and told me to go on in. Carefully I peeked around the door. It was an outdoor bathroom…just a hole in the ground, really, with a wood seat covering it. Imagine that.

This was all well and good in the daylight. But, little girl that I was, this did not bode well for the night. I admit it. I was frightened of the night and the darkness that envelopes my world upon the setting of the sun. I was certain demons lurked under my bed and in the closet after dark. Just like in those fairy tales my parents read to me, nights were full of goblins and wolves and witches and things.

As feared, on the first night I awoke and had to go. I really had to go. I tried to hold it because I did not want to go out there into the night. Finally I gave in to the urge and I went to wake up Grandma. She got out of bed, put on her robe, lit the kerosene lantern (nope, no electricity or flashlights either) and off we went down the garden path. Not so pretty at night...dark shadows and strange noises. When we finally arrived I peered through the doorway, certain that creatures were lurking within…spiders at the very least. Afterwards, I raced out ahead of Grandma, trying to get as far away from my fears as I could.

No matter the night, morning would always come and it was time for another day of adventure. My sister was given a ukulele for her birthday. She soon lost interest in it so I took it for my own. It became my constant companion and I wasn’t going to leave it behind when I went to the farm.

 After breakfast the first morning I raced out the door to explore, grabbing the ukulele on the way out.  I soon came upon a fenced field. Lo and behold there was a cow in the middle of it. I was so small I had to peek between the slats of the fence to see. It was love at first sight. Yes, I fell in love with that cow and I did not hesitate in letting her know how I felt. I brought my ukulele up to my chest and began strumming on it. I had no idea how to play the ukelele, but the discordant noise coming from it was music to my ears. I began singing “Old McDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O. And on that farm he had a cow, E-I-E-I-O. With a moo, moo here and a moo, moo there…” well, you know how it goes. Over and over again I sang until that cow finally looked up from chewing on the grass and stared my way. She moseyed on over to me. We stood there looking at each other, me strumming and singing at the top of my lungs, she chewing on her cud.

 The farm hands, in their bib overalls, started wandering over, laughing at the strange little city girl who thought cows were for singing to, not for milking. It was such a happy time and I remember it all these years later.