I've got a Crush on Your Bodaciousness, IWSG, Quotes, Being Thankful

It's February, so of course there's going to be a little something about love.

 Origins: a recurring post in which I delve into the history of a word or phrase.

Today's phrase is: I have a crush on you

We all know what it feels like to have a crush on someone or for someone to have crush on you. But how/when/where did the word "crush" come to mean liking someone a whole bunch?

As you might imagine there are numerous theories regarding its evolution. 1.) In Madame Bovary 

Isabella

(1856), there is this passage: "But the more Emma recognized her love, the more she crushed it down that it might not be evident..." 2.) Isabella Maud Rittenhouse, an American who kept diaries between the ages of 16 and 30, is said to have used the word crush in the sense we mean it today in 1884. But I can't find a quote. 3.) Eric Partidge a New Zealand lexicographer, thought crush was a variation on mash which by the 1870s was a popular slang word for being flirtatious. To "mash" on someone was to be head over heels. (A phrase that never quite made sense to me. Shouldn't it been heels over head? Maybe I'll look into that another time.) 4.) The esteemed Oxford English Dictionary suggests that "mash" (which then evolved into "crush") comes from the Romani masherava, meaning to allure or entice. 

There's a lot more on mash/masher but I'm not going to go into all of that.

To have a crush, I think, implies that your feelings for someone are strongly pressing on you, crushing you in a most delightful and, at times, agonizing way.

Today's Weird Word is: Bodacious  What's the first thing that comes to your mind when you hear or read the word bodacious? It's a great word with lots of nuance. Outright, unmistakable, remarkable, noteworthy, outstanding, bold, audacious, brazen, voluptuous, sexy.

It's etymology, from around 1837, is Southern US. It  perhaps comes from "bodyaciously" meaning bodily, totally. Or, it's a blend of bold and audacious (which I like.) It fell out of use but in 1982 became popular again in the movie "An Officer and Gentleman," when Worley says, "Did you see that bodacious set of tatas?" But I think it's real come-back happened when it was used extensively in Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure to mean all it's original meanings of excellence.

***

Posting the First Wednesday of every month, the Insecure Writer's Support Group, is the brainchild of Alex Cavanaugh. YOU can sign up HERE to participate.

Every month a question will be posed that may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience or story. Remember, the question is optional. You can write about anything that relates to your writing journey.

Let's give a warm welcome to our co-hosts:    Joylene Nowell Butler, Louise Barbour, and Tyrean Martinson!

This month's question is: Is there a story or book you've written you want to/wish you could go back and change? Short answer? No. I'm happy with all the stories/books I've had published.

Quotes of the Month

‘Sixteen Candles’

That’s why they call them crushes. If they were easy, they’d call them something else.

Unknown

You know that tingly little feeling you get when you like someone? That is your common sense leaving your body.

Jimmy Fallon

Oh, here's an idea: Let's make pictures of our internal organs and give them to other people we love on Valentine's Day. That's not weird at all.

Being Thankful

Today I'm thankful that I'm on the path of getting cataracts removed... A little scared, but thankful it's a much easier process than it was when my grandmother had hers done. 

What are you thankful for? Is there a story or book you've published that you wish you could change? Was your first crush/love a good or not so good experience? (Mine was bodacious!)

Charlotte Dean Stark, IWSG, Being Thankful

Posting the First Wednesday of every month, the Insecure Writer's Support Group, is the brainchild of Alex Cavanaugh. YOU can sign up HERE to participate.

Every month a question will be posed that may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience or story. Remember, the question is optional. You can write about anything that relates to your writing journey.

Let's give a warm welcome to our co-hosts: Rebecca Douglass, Beth Camp, Liza @ Middle Passages, and Natalie @ Literary Rambles!

This month's question is: Describe someone you admired when you were a child. Did your opinion of that person change when you grew up?

This is a difficult question to answer because there were/are so many people I admired when I was a child. My mother and father, my grandmother, and several older ladies in the small community of St. John in the Virgin Islands where I grew up, like Miss Meada, Miss Myra, Miss Agnes, and Miss Lucy.

My grandmother (left)
and Charlotte

But I have settled on Charlotte. What follows is a brief look into who she was and just one "small" lesson she taught me. 

Charlotte (left with dove)
and my mother.

Charlotte and my grandmother were best friends. Charlotte had been a part of our family from the time my mother was a young teenager, so we're talking since the late 1920s, early '30s. I loved her dearly and spent weekends at her home. Her patient, wonderful husband, Gus, would vacate their bedroom so I could sleep with Charlotte. Because she was a writer, there were times when I had to be quiet and keep myself occupied. Her bookshelves were a cornucopia of delightful reads like: a collection of Charles Addams cartoons, The Secret Garden, Oscar Wilde's fairytales, Grimms' fairytales illustrated by Arthur Rackham, A Doorway in Fairyland by Laurence Housman with incredible engravings by Clemence Houseman, and others (many of which she passed on to me and that I still have.) 

Gus and Charlotte

Charlotte Dean Stark was my first best friend. Besides being an author, she was a book reviewer for the New York Times, as well as their first woman poetry editor. She had been a Suffragette and, rumor had it, she had been part of the Vicious Circle at the Algonquin Round Table.

What follows is story about

Mr. Davis and Tom

 

Mr. Davis lived in a 10 X 15 foot shed behind Charlotte’s house. He had, at one time been a talented artist, who made etchings (two examples can be seen here) but both my mother and Charlotte said he had always been cantankerous and difficult to get along with.

 

What he did in that shed all day is anyone’s guess. Perhaps he read. Perhaps he sat in a chair and mumbled to himself about how badly life had treated him. Perhaps he slept. What he didn’t do was art.

For me, at eight years old, Mr. Davis was a scary and mysterious person.

 

When I visited Charlotte it was understood, when it came time to feed him breakfast, lunch or dinner, I wasn’t to show my face.

Off her kitchen, a wide covered porch ran the length of her house. By the kitchen door was a small round table and a single chair. Charlotte would set the table and have a plate of food with beverage in place. Then, in her thin high voice, she’d call him.

 

“Yoo-hoo! Wilber! Dinner!” She alone called him by his first name.

 

A minute or so later Mr. Davis would appear out of the depths of his self-imposed exile. A large, imposing figure, he always wore the same thing, no matter the time of year or weather or that fact that he lived in the tropics: dark trousers, dark long-sleeved shirt, and often an ancient and filthy knee-length over-coat. Sometimes a battered fedora was perched on his head. He’d stump the 30 or so feet to the back porch, eat in sullen silence, get up, and return to his dark den.

 

Charlotte alone spoke to him. Did he want more? Would he like a glass of water? A cup of coffee perhaps? He’d reply with a simple gruff, yes or no.

 

When Charlotte called Mr. Davis for dinner, she also called in a wild tomcat. She had several tame cats, but she fed the wild cat when she fed Mr. Davis dinner. She’d put out a dish of food in the same place every evening and in her high, thin voice she’d call him.

 

“Yoo-hoo! Tom. Yoo-hoo! Dinner, Tom!”

 

Out of the tangle of thorn bushes that grew behind the house would come slinking a great battle-scarred, orange tomcat. Part of one ear was chewed off, and his fur was scraggly and lumpy with cuts and scabs and scars. He’d come slinking in, wary of anything different or any movement that was not part of his frame of reference, eat his bowl of food, then slink back into the bush.

 

Old man and old cat ate their meals together in hostile, untrusting silence.

 

Mr. Davis ate without looking around as if he might see something which would then necessitate an acknowledgement.

 

Tom crouched in tense expectation that he might have to bolt at any moment. After each gulp of food his head swiveled from side to side, taking in his surrounding, making sure nothing had changed.

 

They were the same kind of creature. Life had dealt them blows which had caused them to retreat into isolation. Mr. Davis had chosen his while Tom had been born to it.

 

Yet between them they had Charlotte, whose sweet face, quiet voice, and non-judgmental manner, brought the two together each evening.

 

Was it because the wounds they’d suffered and the scars they bore were momentarily soothed by her ministrations? Those moments were not enough to civilize the misanthropic old man or tame the wild old tomcat, but they were enough to keep them coming back.

 

Daily they came to that borderland of civilization, the neutral zone that was the back porch. They could have come inside the house any time and been welcomed, but the porch was as close to the smell of humanity as either of them cared to get.

 

I caught occasional glimpses of the old wild man and old wild cat as they made their journeys to the edge of that reality where they couldn’t endure to live. I dared to take peeks at them, hoping they would notice me and see me as harmless and thus allow me to befriend them. But I was also terrified, if they did see me, they would run away and never come back or yell and hiss at me for scaring them.

 

I walked a thin brittle line. Common sense, instinct, or some part of my unconscious knew not to intrude and cause a break in the fragile connection Charlotte had with them.

 

Perhaps in that time with Charlotte, a memory was made which lingered like a salve, easing some of the pain. Perhaps it was the lingering trace of that memory which kept them coming back. Her calm, quiet, unhurried, demeanor taught me that even the most damaged or wild of creatures can be coaxed out of the darkness and into the light, even if only for a moment.

***

Has my opinion of Charlotte changed now that I am older than she was when I was 8? Not one little bit. I love her as much now as I did then.

Me on Charlotte's lap. L to R clockwise:
Friend, Ed, my sister Erva Denham, friend Milaine,
and Ed's brother, John. 

Being Thankful

I'm thankful I knew Charlotte.

IWSG, Kissing Under the Misting Twig, Weird Word, Quotes, Being Thankful

Posting the First Wednesday of every month, the Insecure Writer's Support Group, is the brainchild of Alex Cavanaugh. YOU can sign up HERE to participate.

Every month a question will be posed that may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience or story. Remember, the question is optional. You can write about anything that relates to your writing journey.

Let's give a warm welcome to our co-hosts:   Ronel, Deniz, Pat Garcia, Olga Godim, and Cathrina Constantine!

This month's question is: Do you write cliffhangers at the end of your stories? Are they a turn-off to you as a writer and/or a reader?

I don't like cliffhangers at the end of stand-alone stories or novels as that - for me - smacks of the author not being able figure out a good ending, like they painted themselves into a corner and don't know how to get out of the room. Leaving the reader with the sense that more could happen, that there's more the characters could do is one thing, but to have a story simply end with nothing resolved is very frustrating. Now, if it's at the end of a story that's going to continue with further installments (think Dickens) or trilogies and the like, I have no problem with cliffhangers. Something's gotta keep you wanting to read more.

Origins: a recurring post in which I delve into the history of a word or phrase.

Today's phrase is: Kissing under the mistletoe

Because it's the season, don't you know. 

Blame it on the Greeks who used it medicinally for everything from menstrual cramps to epilepsy. It is thought that during their winter festival of, Kronia, mistletoe may have played a part, including kissing under it.

The verse says:
Bridget the Cook on Christmas day,
When all was Mirth & Jollity,
Was rudely kissed, by Saucy Joe,
And that beneath the Mistletoe.

But she returned it with the Ladle,
and laid about, when he was Addle,
For Maids are not to be thus taken,
And all their Virgin Honor shaken.

However in Western European culture it was the Druids of the first century who made it somewhat sacred. Because it was green and bloomed in the deepest cold they believed it restored fertility.

It can also be found in Norse mythology. "When the god Odin’s son Baldur was prophesied to die, his mother Frigg, the goddess of love, went to all the animals and plants of the natural world to secure an oath that they would not harm him. 

But Frigg neglected to consult with the unassuming mistletoe, so the scheming god Loki made an arrow from the plant and saw that it was used to kill the otherwise invincible Baldur. According to one sunnier version of the myth, the gods were able to resurrect Baldur from the dead. Delighted, Frigg then declared mistletoe a symbol of love and vowed to plant a kiss on all those who passed beneath it."

No one knows how mistletoe went from sacred herb to holiday decoration, but to me it seems kind of obvious. It's green all winter and even blooms. We haul green trees into the house, holly with it's red berried is draped about, so why not add mistletoe to the mix? When most things a leafless, having greenery around reminds us that things aren't dead.

It's interesting to note that  mistletoe is toxic even though it was used by the ancients as an herbal balm.

There is a lot more information about it here in the Britannica.

Today's Weird Word is: Mistletoe

Now, on to it's actual etymology which made give one pause...

Mistel is Old English with a lot of variants from other languages - Old Saxon, Dutch, Old High German, German and Swedish. There was/is a bird called the missel thrush that was known to eat mistletoe seeds and then poop them out. Thus the "mist" in mistletoe, meaning "urine, dung, filth." Toe comes from the word tan which means "twig." 

So from this rather strange origin we have decided a toxic plant, whose name basically means "misting (or urinating) twig," represents love and that we kiss under it.

Humans, we are so weird.

j

Quotes of the Month

Sing hey! Sing hey!

For Christmas Day;

Twine mistletoe and holly.

For a friendship glows

In winter snows,

And so let's all be jolly!

At Christmas play and make good cheer,

For Christmas comes but once a year

Thomas Tusser

So, mistletoe, in fact, symbolizes mistletoe.

Terry Pratchett

"Mistletoe," said Luna dreamily, pointing at a large clump of white berries placed almost over Harry's head. He jumped out from under it. 

"Good thinking," said Luna seriously. "It's often infested with nargles."

J. K. Rowling

Being Thankful

Today I'm thankful for warmth, running water, food, and electricity.

What are you thankful for? Do you like cliffhangers? Have you ever been kissed under the misting twig?

IWSG, WARNING: I'm Going to get Political

Posting the First Wednesday of every month, the Insecure Writer's Support Group, is the brainchild of Alex Cavanaugh. YOU can sign up HERE to participate.

Every month a question will be posed that may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience or story. Remember, the question is optional. You can write about anything that relates to your writing journey.

Let's give a warm welcome to our co-hosts:  Diedre Knight, Lisa Buie Collard , Kim Lajevardi, and JQ Rose!

This month's question is: What creative activity do you engage in when you're not writing?

I used to do a lot of crafty stuff, but my hands don't like to cooperate like they once did. I still like to color. But for me, now, at this stage, I'm into putting jigsaw puzzles together. I like 1000 piece puzzles, I like them challenging and moderately hard. I post pictures of finished puzzles on my Facebook page.

***

WARNING: I'm going to get political!

I'm writing this post the day before the most important, contentious, and chaotic presidential election I have ever experienced. And, it will be posted the day after, when we may have some idea of who won or who has claimed to win.

Never in my all my political life (and I've been voting a long time now) have I felt so personally fearful for myself about expressing or showing my political choice. I have not been comfortable wearing a button, sporting a bumper sticker, or posting a sign in my yard because I personally know of too many instances when yard signs have been stolen/destroyed, bumper stickers removed or cars vandalized, or people being verbally abused for wearing a button or t-shirt. Make no mistake, I live in a red town in a red state and it is MAGA Republicans who are behaving in this undemocratic and intolerant manner. That this has happened/is happening in this day and age infuriates me and is also very frightening as it is the early warning signs of a deeper sickness that could lead to even worse acts of violence against the perceived "enemy within," which is all of those who disagree.

I have three ancestors who fought in the American Revolution. And, except for the Civil War, people in my family have fought in every major war since then. WWI - my great uncle lied about his age and drove ambulances. WWII - my father, his two brothers and my mother's brother. Korea - my mother's cousin. Vietnam - my floating island of garbage Puerto Rican cousin who has SEVEN Purple Hearts. Desert Storm, another Puerto Rican cousin. These are the military people a certain candidate has disrespected on more than one occasion. 

This election isn't normal. This is about women's rights and whether we will continue to have our independence and control over our own healthcare or whether we will be returned to a state of subjugation and submissiveness. Having grown up knowing a Suffragette, who was in her late teens early 20s when she marched for the right to vote, I know she would be appalled at what is happening. This election is about taking care of our military, it's about minority rights, LGBTQ rights, voting rights, HUMAN RIGHTS. Even public education is under attack. On the voting issue, I know it's gotten more difficult to vote in my red county, not easier, not just because of Texas's draconian voter registration laws, but because of the reduction in the number of polling places. And the gerrymandering makes it damn near impossible to get a democrat into a state seat let alone into congress so Texas is basically functioning as a one party dictatorship. 

Whatever your political stance, know that your choice will take us in one of two directions, forward or backward. Being from the generation who struggled to give women the right to have a credit card in her own name without a man signing for her, taking out a loan or buying a home in her name, owning a business, and getting safe abortions -- because there will ALWAYS be abortions so we have voted on whether we want them to be safe or not -- it is gut wrenching that we have to go through this all over again. 

A representative democracy such as ours will always be messy and fragile. My hope is, that despite everything, we will find a way to return to being civil towards each other even if we disagree. I personally, do not want to be afraid any more.

Quotes of the Month

Democracy is the worst form of government, except all those other forms that have been tried from time to time. Winston Churchill

Our children should learn the general framework of their government and then they should know where they come in contact with the government, where it touches their daily lives and where their influence is exerted on the government. It must not be a distant thing, someone else's business, but they must see how every cog in the wheel of a democracy is important and bears its share of responsibility for the smooth running of the entire machine. Eleanor Roosevelt

The freedom to express varying and often opposing ideas is essential to variety of conceptions of democracy. If democracy is viewed as essentially a process – a way in which collective decisions for a society are made – free expression is crucial to the openness of the process and to such characteristics as elections, representation of interests, and the like. Jonathan D. Casper The basis of a democratic state is liberty. Aristotle

Being Thankful

Today, Monday, I am thankful I live in a relatively free country.

Today, Wednesday, will tell me if I still am.

Witches, Ghosts and Black Cats...Oh My! IWSG, Origins,

Posting the First Wednesday of every month, the Insecure Writer's Support Group, is the brainchild of Alex Cavanaugh. YOU can sign up HERE to participate.

Every month a question will be posed that may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience or story. Remember, the question is optional. You can write about anything that relates to your writing journey.

Let's give a warm welcome to our co-hosts:   Nancy Gideon, Jennifer Lane, Jacqui Murray, and Natalie Aguirre!

This month's question is: Ghost stories fit right in during this month. What's your favorite classic ghostly tale? Tell us about it and why it sends chills up your spine.

To be honest, I'm not a fan of horror or ghost stories. I don't like being frightened or the way it disturbs my psyche. That said, here are a few that have given me the creepy-crawlies. "The Mask of the Red Death" and most anything else by Poe, "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" by Washington Irving, and Tales of Horror by H. P. Lovecraft. Humorous and not so scary favorites are "The Canterville Ghost" by Oscar Wilde and the ever and always classic "A Christmas Carol." As a child I adored a large hardbound collection of Charles Addams' Addams Family cartoons. AND, I have written my own ghost story (based loosely on personal experience) called The Bowl and the Stone.

Origins: 

Is a recurring post in which I delve into the history of a word or phrase. Today's phrase isn't a phrase, but an animal. Because it's October, I thought I'd delve into Black Cats and their history. 

First off, cats have been domesticated and worshipped since the days of the early Egyptians and just about every country has it's mythology and superstitions. You can find out more HERE.

At one time in England and among the Celts black cats were considered good luck. However among the Irish and Gaelic people it was just the opposite.

Unfortunately, with the rise of Christianity in the Middle Ages, superstitions began to arise that black cats were evil and associated with the witches and the devil. There's a whole tangled up history with single women, cats, and witchery which I won't go into, but it's true. And even today in the 21st century, sad to say, some people still have odd beliefs about single women with cats. 

In the Middle Ages cats -- not just black ones -- were thought to be the cause of the Black Death and were systematically hunted and killed. This, of course, only exacerbated the problem because the rat, which WAS the cause, lost it's main predator.

Here are the origins of a few good and bad superstitions about black cats.

• The fear of black cats first arose in Europe in the Middle Ages. As their numbers grew within the cities, they were seen as pests.
• Cats are nocturnal and roam at night; thus, their agile movements and eyes that “glowed” at night became the image of darkness, mystery, and evil.
• When a cat would find shelter with an older woman living alone, the cat became a source of comfort and companionship (as they do to us all!) If someone mistreated her cat, the woman might very well curse that person! If that person then became ill, the “witch” and her cat were blamed.
• 
  If a black cat walked into the room of an ill person, and the person later died, it was blamed on the cat’s powers.
  
• If a black cat crossed a person’s path without harming them, this indicated that the person was then protected by the devil! To reverse the “bad luck,” it was said you should walk in a circle, then go backward across the spot where you crossed paths with the cat, and count to thirteen. Whew!
• Freya, the goddess of love and fertility, rode a chariot that was pulled by two black cats. The cats were turned into swift black horses, possessed by the Devil. After serving Freya for seven years, the cats were rewarded by being turned into witches, disguised as black cats.
• In Britain, wives of fishermen believe that their husbands will return safely if a black cat is kept in the house.
• 
  A black cat in the audience on opening night foretells a successful play.
• According to local superstition in the south of France, black cats bring good luck to owners who feed them well and treat them with respect.
• English sailors believed that keeping black cats happy would ensure fair weather when they went to sea.
• To cure a stye on the eyelid, rub it with the tail of a black cat. (Or that might just result in an eyeful of cat hair and an angry cat…)
  
  

Today's Weird Word is: Brouhaha I thought this might be a good word because of all the brouhaha about black cats and single women with cats. As most know it means, "hubbub, uproar, confused and angry scene." It comes from the 15 century French word brouhaha, which in medieval theater was "the cry of the devil disguised as clergy."  There is also the possibility that it's origin is older and comes from the Hebrew barukh habba meaning "blessed be the one who comes."

Quotes of the Month

"Believe nothing you hear, and only one half that you see." Edgar Allan Poe

"Villainy wears many masks, none so dangerous as the mask of virtue." Ichabod Crane, "Sleepy Hollow"

"I'll stop wearing black when they make a darker color." Wednesday Addams, "The Addams Family"

"When black cats prowl and pumpkins gleam, may luck be yours on Halloween." Unknown

Being Thankful

Let's be thankful for what we have. My heart aches for all those affected by Hurricane Helene. If you can give a little money follow the links below for lists of reputable charities.

USA Today

NC Flood Victims

Charity Watch

If you want to find out if a charity is reputable check out these sites.

Give.org

Charity Navigator

Guidestar

and Charity Watch, link above.

Having gone through the anxiety of the aftermath of Hurricanes Irma and Maria that devastated the Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico in 2017, I can't stress enough how giving a little money can go a long way towards helping people NOW. If you can donate directly to a specific community, town, city, county, that's better than donating to a general fund that covers a whole state. Eventually government funding and aide will get to where it needs to go, but in the mean time people need water, food and shelter, NOW.

***

What are you thankful for? Do you have a favorite ghost story? What's your favorite thing about Halloween? 

September Remember.

Posting the First Wednesday of every month, the Insecure Writer's Support Group, is the brainchild of Alex Cavanaugh. YOU can sign up HERE to participate.

Every month a question will be posed that may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience or story. Remember, the question is optional. You can write about anything that relates to your writing journey.

Let's give a warm welcome to our co-hosts: Beth Camp, Jean Davis, Yvonne Ventresca, and PJ Colando!

This month's question is: Since it's back to school time, let's talk English class. What's a writing rule you learned in school that messed you up as a writer? 

My first English/writing teacher was my mother. That makes me lucky because in homeschooling me she quickly realized I learned differently than my sister. We didn't have a name or diagnosis for it back then, but it turns out I'm mildly dyslexic, and it's enough to make me a bad speller, to transpose numbers and to be a slow (but avid) reader. When it came to writing, she was the one who recognized when I was eight, despite all the spelling mistakes, that I might have a talent for writing. She was my first and ever strongest cheerleader. That said, when I did get enrolled in a "regular" school, I had some pretty awesome English teachers who also encouraged me, despite the red marks all over my papers for misspellings or misplaced commas or dangling participles or whatever. They saw I could write a good story, essay, or poem, so they overlooked a lot of my stumbling blunders.

Origins: a recurring post in which I delve into the history of a word or phrase.

I am preempting Origins this month to bring you a small tour of my visit home to the Virgin Island

The Battery in Cruz Bay, built by the Danes in 1764. 

However, a Danish census shows that settlers were living on St. John as early as 1680.

Although it is much modified, this the house I first lived in when we moved to St. John in 1955.

The picture on the right shows me and mother on the street in front of the house.

Too many years after publication, my books are finally for sale on island 

and I had a wonderful little book signings

My cousin Rafe Boulon and his wife, Kimberly.

The windmill at Susannaberg, one of many sugar plantation ruins.

Sunset from Susannaberg, looking northwest into the Atlantic.

Waterlemon Bay.

Trunk Bay. My grandparents bought it in 1928. 

They build a summer home here to escape the "hustle and bustle" of living in Puerto Rico.

After World War II my grandmother converted the six bedroom home into a guesthouse which she ran, without electricity until 1960 when the beach was transferred to the National Park.

Me, early in the morning at Trunk. 

The windmill at Annaberg. When I was a kid a family lived in the windmill. 

It had a roof and second floor.

The evidence of volcanic upthrust is everywhere.

There are some magnificent and dramatic rock structures.

Catherineberg, the most complete and beautiful of all the windmills.

The walls of most of these ruins are between four and five feet thick.

All the buildings on all the islands were constructed by enslaved Africans.

An example of the clarity of the water. 

This is looking down through about 4 feet of water.

Wild donkeys are everywhere. Sometimes they are a nuisance. 

Unfortunately tourists think it's fun to feed them people food 

which cause tumorous fatty deposits to develop. Feeding them also makes them bold. 

People think they are tame, but they aren't. They can kick and bite without warning.

Cairns at Solomon Bay. I stacked the one on the left.

My sister climbing out of Solomon. Most of the trail follows the contour of the hill, but there are a couple of steep rocky places. We did pretty darn good for a couple of old broads.

Iguana on the trail to Solomon.

Magens Bay, St. Thomas.

Sunrise from St. Thomas looking east down Sir Francis Drake Passage.

Yes, that Sir Francis Drake. He did sail through the passage. 

The island to the left is Tortola, British Virgin Islands.

St. John is to the right. A mere quarter of a mile separates the BVI from the USVI.

Fort Christian, St. Thomas. The first building constructed after the Danes took possession of the islands. The first phase of its building began in 1666 and was finished between 1671 and 1680.

This is the third iteration of the Lutheran Church to be built on this site and dates to 1793. 

It is the oldest established church in the islands, dating back to about the time the fort was built.

Hotel 1829. 

After being shuttered for many years, 

new owners are giving this beautiful hotel a facelift and hopefully will soon be reopened.

The most precious part of this building is the large Tiffany stain glassed window from 1910.

The Sewer.

Being Thankful

Today I'm ever so thankful for the month I got to spend on my island home with family and friends.

Even went through tropical storm Ernesto! 

What are you thankful for? Did you go anywhere special this summer? Did you have any good English teachers?