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Ah but it's nice to have some free time to blog again. I miss it if I don't - the whole blogging thing. The connection with my well 'connections' although I don't really see my connections as mere connections. I see them as friends. I know it is crazy but so what. And I know that if I don't blog I don't get to see them, get to connect.

There are days, I must admit, out here in the windswept, rain sodden bog that I wish I could pop over to Katherine G's flat for some tea to sit by her window and watch the squirrels' antics in the oak tree and speaking of said squirrel, I know that I can never call Sue G up to beg her for her recipe for Squirrel Casserole and maybe request a squirrel or two from Gerald's trappings. Of course Rebb would be the ideal companion to open a bottle of wine with and get into deep water about life issues and I definitely think Jane W would, as well as being available for free legal advice, (god forbid I should ever need free legal advice,) would be a great dinner party guest, happy to regale all present with her evocative stories from her past and oh the music would have to be supplied by Barbara F guaranteed to have us swooning by midnight. Annette T would have a poem or two about the Connemara sky at dusk and dessert supplied by an early bake off with Judee F and myself. Judee, a warning, easy on the chocolate! 

I could go on about all the people I've met throughout my blogging history. It is marvellous. They are always loyal. Leave comments and most importantly respond to the ones I have left on the blogs they have taken the time to write.  But there is something vaguely haunting and haughty about the individual who does not respond to a comment you took time to leave on their blog. Haughty? I hear you say it out loud. Haughty? Yes, haughty. Like the woman in the photograph. It's a nice old-fashioned word that goes a long way. Haughty is akin to the woman I encountered yesterday, in a store in Galway. There happened to be a sale going on. Of course it wasn't a real sale, it was a contrived sale. A contrived sale is when they charge what the garment was meant to be in the first place without the extortionate prices added on for greed. Prices the store owners thought they would get away with but then realised because austerity rules we never even buy a teabag in this country nowadays without deep consideration. So there I am deciding I don't like a thing in the store no matter what the price and a woman comes in like she owns the place. Maybe she did except she was wearing a big raincoat and boots to boot. She walked around as if she had a mission, a tad like Maxwell Smart and appeared completely unaware of anyone else. She practically stomped through the store and with her very broad, trying out for the forty niners shoulders look, almost knocked me down. She kept on going and rattled franctically through the clothes. She never once apologised. I raised my eyes to heaven, the ceiling, whatever and wanted to scream. I took a deep breath. I resumed normality. She came close to me again and I dodged her canonball frame just in time. 

I feel better now. I got it all off my shoulders, my chest, my heart. Sometimes people lose the run of themselves. They seem to think they are better than the rest of us mere mortals. They never see the others. The world that we all happen to share. I think they forget we are all checking into the same motel when all is said and done at the end of the day. And if anyone is reading this, well feel free to comment. Response guaranteed. And if you don't want to comment, well damn well say so!

And to finish, Jefferson Davis, a fantastic looking man by the way, said;

'Never be haughty to the humble or humble to the haughty.' Now I wish I could have that man to dinner. I could even make a memorable humble pie for dessert. Applause. Ciao! 

Comments
42 Comment count
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Ha ha.

  I had missed your blogging.  Yes, dear friend, we are friends and real connectors--appreciating and enjoying each other's words and lives. Your ready responses are probably one reason you have such a strong following of both readers and responders. You are so diligent to respond to comments, but some bloggers truly don't have time.   I think it is legitimate to say your piece (I meant write your piece) and then let others comment without having to give them feedback--even tho the feedback is fun to read.   I often enjoy the conversation following a blog as much as the blog itself.  Certainly it is a compliment to your blogging when so many are moved to comment--as we often are when we read your blog from the bog. 

I always like reading your appreciation of regular people you happen to encounter.  I also get a kick when you get riled by unkind ones. I loved this quote:'Never be haughty to the humble or humble to the haughty.'   I had never heard it before.  Thanks for sharing.

Thanks for knowing that I will get an acknowledgement on my comment.  Ha.

 

 

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Gosh, Sue, you have a great

Gosh, Sue, you have a great way with the pen! Thank you for responding to my ranting and raving! I feel better today because it is fine, not raining although blustery and H and I have spent several hours messing around in the garden and trying to cover the blackcurrant bushes with netting so the haughty crows don't do a heist on them as they did last year. I am motivated because I can make the most fantastic jam with the fruit! mx

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comments

Oh, my gosh, is that trench-coated woman in Ireland, too? For I swear I have seen her here—at the pharmacy, and the grocery store, and tearing through stop signs on the road. I think she's been cloned....

But truly, what can I say, Mary, except that your blog posts, whenever they appear, are read and relished! And your comments are a delight.

We would all have such a grand party, were we sisters-in-spirit to meet, just as you describe!

XO

B

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Sisters-in-spirit!

Ah, Barbara, you have a touch of the Blarney about you - the gift of the gab and a big heart to go with it. Thanks for reading! mx

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I read this on my phone while I was at the doctor's office

To be precise, I was in the examining room.  (We all know how much I LOVE doctors!)   

All I could think of on the long drive home was how grateful I was that you posted this, today.  Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!!!  If my hand surgery goes forward, it may slow me down, but it won't keep me from commenting.

The photo is superb! 

xo

Jane

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Jane, I hope your hand is

Jane, I hope your hand is okay - and that you can still blog.....thanks for reading the crazy piece - as I say I am all nice and calm today, being a good girl and steering clear of all haughty thoughts! mx

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P.S.

I just shared this post with my Facebook friends, along with the following comment.

"When I first began reading Mary's blog, her talent so terrified me, I didn't want to write another word. Who do you think encouraged me to continue? If you guessed "Mary," you would be right."

Thank you, my friend.

 

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You are a doll! m

You are a doll! m

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Mary, my dear, if you're ever

Mary, my dear, if you're ever in London, there's the comfy armchair by the window, tea and cakes waiting for you!

Oh, I love your posts.  They are like balm.

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London, tea, cakes and a

London, tea, cakes and a comfy armchair = bliss!

Thanks friend. mx

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:(

First let me get some stuff off my chest: Why am I not mentioned? I can pretend and ignore. But I noticed. Okay, so I've said it. Now am feeling lighter...

I always respond, I think. A couple of times I missed out on because I was not notified and saw the comments later. And I don't mind if there are no comments, because there are various reasons ... So long as people read, it is fine.

But I recall one occasion when I posted a comment and someone else did. It really bothered me that the person continued a long back-and-forth banter with the other commenter and did not even acknowledge what I said. This is beyond haughty; it is déclassé.

And, yes, it happens in the real world, too.

That and the rest said, you know what I think about your writing.

~F

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Oh god ~ f, here I am

Oh god ~ f, here I am fumbling and stumbling around the blocks of words that prevent me from even being able to form a coherent sentence to tell you that everything you write is pure honey to me and by pure honey I do not mean sweet. I have always followed you with respect and dedication to what you write and convey. Sorry for not mentioning you. It was not out of disrespect. I tend to write straight off the block, no editing, no careful analysis and so, here I am open to the winds of fate as regards the people I did not include. I am sure I mentioned all the other people, the people like you, who feed and sustain my writing and who connect from corners of the world that I will never, ever be able to visit. So, ~ f, friends? I hope so...I know it to be the case. I know somehow that we will always 'connect' even if it is only by this strange mechanism of whatever. Best, mx 

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Friends...

...of course, M...just that I don't edit my responses. It was what came first and I blurted out, so to speak. Did not mean to make it sound like a peeve at all nor did I think of it as disrespectful. Also, I do hope I did not sound haughty!

Never doubted that we 'connect' from the moment we met here. The whatever world is far too tangible.

Be assured that all is, as it was, well. Am just too impulsive.

Happiness...

~F

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Peace ~ f , in the fullest

Peace ~ f , in the fullest sense of the word. yours in writing true form. m

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West of Ireland

For Mary Wilkinson --  I just stumbled on to your blog site. I'm interested in where in the west of Ireland you live. You mentioned Connemara which I seem to remember as being more inland but I'm probably wrong. I used to have Irish maps including a separate map of Dublin with all its streets. These got lost somewhere along the way.

The source of my interest lies in the fact that my mother came from Swynford, Co. Mayo, specifically Punta Beg, a patch of ground near Charlestown. (Poem coming on? I'll have to work on that.) In any case I intend to write a blog containing a poem I wrote for a family picnic commemorating the arrival of my mother and her three siblings on 11 August, 1907. It is personal, concerning my own family, but several people who've read it felt it could have been about their families who might have been from Poland or Italy. One woman with a stage background read it to a gathering at her home. I wasn't able to be there but I heard it was well received. I assume you can access my blogs. If not I'll place it on your blogsite. I need to take a break right now but will attend to all this later this evening. 

------------ Charlie

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Hi Charlie, thanks for your

Hi Charlie, thanks for your interesting comment and note. I live outside Galway between the bog and the sea. I know Swinford. It is Swinford and not Swynford. It could have been Swynford once upon a time but not for a long time from all accounts. Your poem sounds interesting. Why don't you post it on your own page and we can all drop by and read it. Best, m

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Got it.

Mary,  Thanks for your speedy response and your correction of Swinford. I knew as I wrote it that there was something wrong. I could have called my sister who has been there several times but it seemed too trivial. And here I am going on about it. I seem  to remember an ancient (I guess) spelling of Swyneford with an "e". Well, anyway, thanks. It was nice to hear from you and will post the poem. If my energy holds up I'll do it tonight. --------------- Charlie

 

 

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THis is great, Mary, and I do

THis is great, Mary, and I do agree with you about connections. They are real! And that's why I feel terrible for being away from Redroom - it's just been 2 weeks - but it feels like months! I've been so busy with other things, I haven't written or read a thing. So I've got some catching up to do.

I love the photo! Don't suppose the woman in the store posed for you?

 

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Jeepers, creepers, Eva, you

Jeepers, creepers, Eva, you are up there with the best of them! Sorry about the bold print, tried to rectify it but no such luck... I've missed your wit and insight, good to see you back. mx

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Mary--I am "speechless and

Mary--I am "speechless and honoured"  that you've put me in a dessert "Bake-off" with you.  I feel like an apprentice beside the Grand Master of baking. Thank you!  Will try to cut back on the dark chocolate when I tackle making the "chocolate torte" for our tea.  As for the "haughty battleship"--I swear she was in the food aisle of my grocery store the other day. She almost ran me over with her steel cart and pushed me into the fridge while reaching for her gallon of milk!  Great blog and love the photo. . .

Cheers, Your Across-the-Pond Connection, J

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Hey, Judee, I would chance to

Hey, Judee, I would chance to say that we would more than likely be neck to neck with our baking skills! Making Cinnamon Buns at the moment, the dough rises as I write. mx

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Gosh, your cinnamon buns

Gosh, your cinnamon buns smell devine!  I made orange cinnamon buns for breakfast this morning. Don't you just love the smells floating through the house? Happy Eating, Mary!

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thanks

Mary, Thanks for your response to my poem ORPHANS. I left a lengthy reply that I thought would appear on your blogsite (I'm still not very adept at all this). It's probably on my site where you left your comments. I'm really not dumb -- I just have old age resistance to new stuff. But if I was going to write in this modern world it was necessary that I adapt. I guess you know better than I how to pull up my other, longer reply to your comment. Wow!

----------- Charlie

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Oh, great, Charlie. I will

Oh, great, Charlie. I will check out your response. When you leave a co ment to my comment, the wonderful people at Red Room actually send me an email to alert me to that fact. Fantastic, isn't it. I have to say, I thought your poem to be poignant and historical and quite a gem. m

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How lovely, Mary...I could

How lovely, Mary...I could just imagine us with a bottle of wine talking about life. : )

I used to take no replies to a blog I responded to much more personally, but now I either try to get a feel for if the person seems likely to reply and then I decide if I still want to leave a comment or not. I did have one in particular where the blogger did seem to be haughty. It was irksome.

Nowadays, on any blog I leave a comment including my own, I no longer receive the emails telling me a new comment was made, so I go back because I like reading the responses and threads. I emailed RR and tried to make a few changes to my email, but it still doesn't work.

You know...I was thinking one day a week or so back how nice it is that you are one of the constants in RR. Even though, sometimes things change and people move on or stop blogging, etc., it's a comfort to know that you have continued and that you keep the light on in your house. I see you as a pillar in this vast mansion of rooms. And even if you had to stop or move on, you've left quite a vast treasury through your writing and creating that we can come back to visit.

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Oh, dear Rebb, what special

Oh, dear Rebb, what special sentiments you express here. Thank you very much. I feel a tad teary and I hope that does not sound fake because it is not. A vast mansion of rooms, how interesting and how formidable. Thank you again. This is all I can say. Thank you, friend, Rebb. mx

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I know that what you feel and

I know that what you feel and express is alway true and from the heart, Mary. : )

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"A Vast Mansion of Rooms"

What a image gift you have bestowed on all of us in the RR family, Rebb.  

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How lovely, Sue. I'm happy

How lovely, Sue. I'm happy you appreciate the image.

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Mary

Ha ha. Since my comment above was a comment on a comment, you are not obligated to respond. Ha.

 

P.S.  Unless you want to.

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Being responsible on responding to the response!

Great to see you Rebb and Sue! Thanks for responding to the response, your responsibility is both  rewarding and refreshing! mx

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solitary housewife (lost comment)

Mary,  I didn't find my missing comment but I found your story excerpt again and will try to recreate somewhat my first attempt -- which I might re-title The Poet At The Door. Mostly, as I remember, it was like this: Astonishment that someone really talks as your ghostly jogger did. This reaction followed by puzzlement over the appearance of your street as described by the spectral doorbell ringer. This brought images of New Mexico and Arizona to my mind. But then -- your impression of the same street after nightfall:  I drove across the U.S. many times from my youth to late middle-age, usually alone which I preferred, and when I hit those New Mexico and Arizona desert-mountain areas at midnight or later and could feel those mountains talking to me...  Well, you described it. Were you aware that you also planted hints such as papaya, avocado and salsa? Did this atmosphere bring D.H. Lawrence and (can't think of the painter's name) to that area so long before I'd seen it? One confusion -- why would the "main man" have rung the door bell? Back to the top, again I'm reminded of my mother. She always hated the song Deep Purple because in the brutally hot summer of 1934, when she  was carrying me, Deep Purple played constantly on the radio. Philadelphia summers can be unbearably muggy. No one had air-conditioning. I could go on but I won't. Thought begets thought -- free association, I guess. Nice story, nice images. ---- Charlie

  

 

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New Mexico!

Gosh, Charlie, thank you so much for the in-depth feedback on my story. You are right about New Mexico! I lived there for six years, Las Cruces. Do you know it? Also, the painter you refer to would be Georgia O'Keefe, a fascinating woman from all accounts. She lived close to Taos, I think. When you refer to the 'main man' are you talking about the man with the poodle? I can't recall why he rang the doorbell but I think it was because he thought it was someone elses house! I also lived in Baltimore, Md. for a summer, the summer of '88, now that was muggy and unbearably hot - I will never forget it, to be honest. I can understand your mother's discomfort in that heat too. By the by, I lived in Flagstaff, Az. too and now that was nice...Thank you again for reading my story. I really, really appreciate your generous spirit. m

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delayed response

Mary,  Yes Geogia O'Keefe. And  the main man I referred to was the man who, when the doorbell rang, you assumed would be the main man with the care package from Mama. Why would he ring the bell? Six years in Las Cruces? What a surprise. I know it but can't place it exactly in my mind now. I spent a year in Roswell 50-some years ago. Shortly after the aliens arrived from outer space. But there was no talk of them when I was there. Your nearly naked poet had simply rung the wrong doorbell. You might have guessed that everything reminds me of something. My friends know it. Years ago it was worse but still every sight, sound, scent and breeze takes me someplace else. When you mentioned to a fellow baker that "...the dough rises even as I write," my mind went to Maya Angelou -- "...and still I rise." But that's my brain and I'm stuck with it. Be well. ----------- Charlie 
  

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So many questions, Charlie! I

So many questions, Charlie! I can't keep up. Let's just say I'm glad the story intrigues you and keeps you guessing! m

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curiosity

Mary, Didn't mean to be a noodge but I get curious about these things. Like the kid watching the parade and while everybody else is watching the baton twirler or the drum corps he's glued to the marcher with the shoelace untied. I thought why would the "main man" ring the doorbell? Oh, well, as I said, that's my brain and I'm stuck with it. ---------- Charlie

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Oh, okay, that man is the

Oh, okay, that man is the delivery man from UPS with a care package from her mother in law!!! God, I deliberated over this all day long. Charlie, you have my head spinning with alternatives but no the man is the delivery man from UPS. I have to say you are a tough cookie when it comes to reading a work. Are you in editing, by any chance?! m

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no, just another compulsive nit-picker

Mary, No, I'm not an editor, at least not by occupation. If you looked at some of my blogs on grammar and usage you'd see. I did one the other day and printed it out for my sister who called my attention to an error, at least what she cosidered an error. Once we had discussed it I did too. We're like that. In the states "main man" automatically denotes husband or boyfriend. Sorry to put you to work. ------- Charlie

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monopoly

Mary, I realize I'm monopolizing your blogsite. I'll be taking a break. ---- C

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Oh, got what you mean.

Oh, got what you mean. Obviously, I meant mail-man!

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Thankfully, the error is not

Thankfully, the error is not in the original printing of the story!

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CAVEAT!

Thanks to all who commented on this blog. Your participation was appreciated.

The 'response guarantee' has now expired!

All comments on this blog from 11.10 a.m. on the morning of May, 10 2013 shall not be responded to!

Gratefully yours,  m