Now Where Did I Put That Blog…?



Amidst the muddle of property taxes, the pile of receipts related to Income tax forms, a new puppy,  college tuition,  the struggle to acquire assignments, rebuilding the web-site, the constantly running toilet, a hundred other meaningless yet time consuming trivialities and the auto that sneers, belches, and laps up the money thrown at it on a seemingly daily basis, I have somehow misplaced one of the things that has so helped me to escape into my mind and away from the world.

(I could mention here the Beach Boys song “In My Room” or, from the other side of the world, the Beatles song, “There Is a Place”)

One of my favorite escapes has escaped!

I have so enjoyed putting thoughts on paper…or…I mean…computer screens.

“What do we hold on to that won’t slip through careless hands?”

So, I’m going to jump back in here and see if I can dog-paddle around a few words and images.


The photos on this post are from a ‘photo safari’ that my Mom suggested.

Thank you, Mom!

(That’s something that has never been said enough by ANY of us, I’ll bet!)

I am an advocate for changing the traditional birthday celebration to be a time when the Mother is celebrated. 

After all, They did all the work!

In my own case, I can’t claim that I did anything to warrant gifts and laud…

From what I gather, I emerged screaming in my cold nakedness, demanding to be fed.  I can’t take much credit for actually ‘achieving’ anything on that day, nor do I intend to recreate that scenario on a yearly basis… )

 ‘Mert’, the moniker her brothers saddled her with, called me a few weeks ago and told me of a cemetery in Bowling Green, Ky that she and her sisters had stumbled upon…

While looking for something else…  (I won’t ‘go there’ about directions, etc…)

She said the Dogwood trees there were

spectacular and asked that I go with her to take some pictures.

When I was a ten-foot-tall, bullet-proof teenager, I probably would have….DID…politely decline such invitations. (Sorry…!)

Now I treasure them!

If nothing else, I have learned in my ‘old age’ that I should no longer squander the opportunities to spend time with my family.

 The Parental Golden Rule.

Do unto your parents as you would have your kids do unto you!

It was a good day. Infused with a comfort similar to that which I feel when I eat a home-cooked meal at my Mom’s, and then drift off  for a nap, unconcerned about…well, any of the things in the first paragraph…

We leisurely drove to Bowling Green, KY to visit Fairview Cemetery.  Now, I will admit that whenever I have visited, let’s say, Carnton Mansion in Franklin, TN, it never fails that at some point I feel an overwhelming emotional rush and affinity with the past.  At Carnton, the site of a major southern Civil War battle, I feel….I don’t know, really…

Not haunted, but possibly more akin to the feeling that I have slipped literally from the grasp of the current web of history and subsequently landed in the pause/paws of the spinneret of a different time…

The spider is still there waiting, but I am now a different, slightly metamorphosed meal for eternity.

 This cemetery was certainly picturesque with Dogwoods, as Mert had described, but it also held the forever hidden mysteries of lives, marked by deaths, of 150 years of earthly wanderers such as myself.


I was…am…particularly fascinated by the memorials to the soldiers who died defending a cause or possibly a less lofty obligation, or sometimes fled the mortal coil while training to protect the way of life that they held dear. My imagination is excessively piqued by the stones that provide information about the lives and deaths of the dusts now gathered… From the Arbonne of WWI, to the Mekong Delta of VietNam, to Guadalcanal in the Pacific Theatre, to Antietam during the War Between the States.

Not to say that the doctors and lawyers, mailmen and school teachers, blacksmiths and housewives are any less noteworthy.


no matter the circumstances and nuances of their lives,

now equal.

This is not a morbid thing…this, to me, is a fascinating experience of how we, the living, have mourned, celebrated, and continued on after the lives of everyone who has lived before.  We share the same dreams that have existed since the dawn of man, colored by the individual dreamer…

some inside the lines and  some,

not so much…

forever and ever…

over and over.

It’s an interesting  part of this life.  We can be intent in purpose and goal, and strive to do the best that we can do, and then smile when we realize that we are not alone in our uniqueness, our drives, our tragedies, our loves, our successes or our failures.

For most of us the singularity of our own lives is noted merely  in our individual minds and times, and by those who are close to us.

 And we all come together in the end.



As I was drawn to the stone shown below, I happened to notice the gravestone of a Duncan Hines and I remarked that it seemed an unusual coincidence that someone else with the surname Hines had named their son Duncan.

When I got home, curiousity led me to Google where I found that this stone marked the grave of THE Duncan Hines, not a Carl Sandburg or Jimi Hendrix you might say, but still someone whose influence has been felt in many a kitchen.… and this research afforded me the opportunity to play the 6th grader again and call my Mom to state,

“Hey, guess what…!?!”

As to THIS marker….



A vivid imagination might envision any number of scenarios and stories for a young man whose adventures led him from the hills of Kentucky to the untamed wildness of the Alaskan seas…

and, in a way

Back to Kentucky.


Thanks, Mom!

and…”Now see what you made me do…..!”

~ by rkpowers on April 27, 2011.

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