Kara Says

Bee Kind to Our Earth.

Kara is standing on the bank of Pohick Creek, a tidal tributary stream of the Potomac River. Pohick Creek forms in the vicinity of Burke, Virginia and flows approximately thirteen miles, past Grandma’s house, before emptying into the Potomac River at Pohick Bay at Lorton, Virginia. Pohick Bay empties into Gunston Cove with Accotink Bay.

The image, Poster Child, was originally uploaded by barneykin. It is posted here from Barneykin’s account.

Visit Neddy’s Archives for more of Edna’s writings.

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Vanquished, Vanished

Come, come, come …
Let us ponder the America of our memories:
We sang like the birds of the field; we sang of freedom;
When we sought opportunity, we found it awaiting us.
America was a dream, a vision of seekers;
America was a dream that lasted ten score and thirty years.
The dream that was America encountered the anarchy of liberty;
And was felled by the anarchy of immorality.
We beg forgiveness of our founders, our fathers;
We weep for the blood they shed for us.
The America that was their dream is now our master.
Freemen no longer, we are serfs to toil land that is not ours.
We live the lives of the slaves of old, lives of quiet desperation;
We beat our breasts in despair knowing we sold our posterity into bondage.
We still pray, but not to God; We still sing, but not of freedom.
We tell tales to our children and they laugh,
For, as we recollect our remembrances,
Our children hear fairy tales of long, long ago.
We listen to those who sacrificed for freedom.
They ask: “Did we win or did we lose?
Was God with us or were we against God, in those days?
Was freedom worth the blood we spilt?
Or was freedom but a mysterious nothing,
A mere longing of our souls?”
We will soon go away too, we who have the memories.
When we are gone, will seekers ever dream that dream again?

~~Edna Barney

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Happy Birthday Grandpa

Happy Birthday to Grandpa

Originally uploaded by barneykin

~*~ 8 August 2008 ~*~ He really is not as old as he looks, nor is he as old as the candles say. I couldn’t find our birthday candles, except for these.

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Thirteen Years Old

The whole idea of it makes me feel much OLDER. Having a thirteen-year-old grandchild cinches it; now I must certainly act like the senior adult that I am, or am supposed to be. I have to make better decisions about my life, and on my choices of things that really matter.  What am I saying? That is advice that would be better for my granddaughter, whose thirteenth birthday is today. Yes, once upon a time, a long while back, I turned from twelve to thirteen, and I remember it being a milestone of my life. Seemingly, all at once, I was expected to behave like a young lady, and no longer like a little girl.

I am sure that today my thirteen-year-old granddaughter feels much older than she did yesterday. She is now more responsible. She is a young lady and no longer a little girl, as I remember her. From this moment on she will need to ponder each and every decision that she makes. She will need to think about her choices of all the things that really matter, like friendships, family, life and God. Although it sounds burdensome, it is the way that life is for young women. Instead of thinking “what a burden,” young women think “what a joy to be a woman.”

I try and look back upon the days of my own childhood, but it is mostly forgotten. However, I remember a few fleeting moments of the arrival of my first grandchild, and of the joy she brought to her grandfather and me. When we first saw her, she was five months old, and we immediately carried her to Balboa for her first carousel ride. I remember her beautiful innocence at the age of three.  By age five, she was considered a princess by her mother and father. At age ten she was an accomplished athlete, and by eleven her many other skills and talents were delightfully manifest to her world. Those days of her life were like the gentle rains from heaven, with each raindrop falling slowly to earth. Then, much too quickly, the drops turned into rivulets and flowed away, down to the River of No Return, never to be seen again.  Those soft delicious raindrops exist now only in the memories of her loved ones who were with her then.

The gentle summer rain is over. Now we watch the morning sunrise, as it proclaims to the new  adult: “This is the day of your responsibility. From now until life’s end, you leave your footprints in the sands of time. Tread carefully. Bid adieu to those carefree days of frollicking in my warm sunshine. That was yesterday. Today you are grown up, and in control of your own destiny.” 

Visit Neddy’s Archives for more of Edna’s writings.

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Wasn’t That a Party?

I’m speaking of the Grandmother’s Baby Shower.

Well there is always something new coming down the pike and I am so happy that I had not lived too long to experience the Grandmother Baby Shower. In the past month and a half I have been a guest at two of these celebrations and they were wonderful fun. The first was held at a northern Virginia country club and the second, that I attended today, was in Jayne’s home. Both were lovely and a good time was had by all. At the second Grandmother Baby Shower, the grandmother from the previous shower was in attendance and received a phone call during the shower that her new grandson had been born a few minutes prior. How serendipitous. Thank you “Hostess with the Mostess” Jayne, and thank you soon-to-be Grandmother Martha, for the chance to party once again.

I’m sure it’s just my vanishing memory playing tricks on me, but I think I saw someone walking through the living room talking to a huge white cat. They were talking about a baked salmon. The cat was talking back! Listen to the Fun: Wasn’t That A Party?

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A New Year Without Annie

The new year has come and Annie is gone. She has greeted so many, many new years at my home, but this one comes to find that Annie no longer lives here. My husband and I have spent the last months of the last year trying to de-clutter our home. Not totally mind you, as I know better than to do that. If I were to remove ALL clutter from my home I would feel myself a stranger in a strange house, and I would forthright begin a tireless quest to replace the missing clutter.

That is how Annie has come to be absent, along with hundreds of LP albums that we no longer used, photography developing equipment, stacks and stacks of saved magazines that I have treasured through the years such as “The Magazine Antiques” and assorted miscellany. Annie was a big girl, a big ragdoll and a big bit of clutter, so she was tossed.

However it is only Annie that I miss. I knew it would be like this and that is why I photographed her smiling face, just before I tossed her. Now I am regretting that I did not photograph her heart also, just to verify that it was yet stuck to her chest. But I didn’t. I just tossed her into the bin destined for the local hospital’s Thrift Shop. She had been here so long, played with by so many grandchildren, that she had lost some of her clothing and, most horribly, her right foot. Her cotton batting innards were spilling forth. I am weary of mending and fixing, so I pinned her detached parts to her and said good-bye. She is such a delightful creature that my heart felt certain that another clutter-loving Thrift Shop shopper will find her appealing and restore her lost dignity. Annie has been recycled to another home, I hopefully tell myself.

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Self-portrait of My Grandson

Jay Davey, the Greatest Grandson!
Last night I received an email from my grandson: “i read your web page. how come i’m not in it? dont you care about me? i love you.”

Well, here he is – now on my website. He is my smartest, most handsome and nicest grandson of all grandsons.

The image, Self-portrait of the Artist, was originally uploaded by barneykin. It is posted here from Barneykin’s account.

Visit Neddy’s Archives for more of Edna’s writings.

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My Gingerbread House

I purchased the basic gingerbread house as a kit at a local bakery recommended by my next door neighbor, Kathleen. The only thing – it didn’t come with a picture of the finished product. So I sent Grandpa back to the bakery with my camera in tow and he took three photographs of the display house. Wouldn’t you know, when I showed the photographs to my daughter-in-law she said, “oh we would rather use our own creativity.” And so they did. Everyone had a great time putting it together and when finished they all proclaimed it to be the best gingerbread house they had ever seen.

It was supposed to have two large candy canes decorating the front entrance, however, one got eaten by my grandson during the construction phase of the house. He declared that he prefered it as it is now, with the lone candy cane representing a flag pole.

Here is the procedure to create a gingerbread house from scratch, without a kit, for the adventureous: “How to Make a Gingerbread House.” If anyone would like to see pictures of more beautiful houses, or is seeking inspiration for creating one, here is a slide show from Flickr of more than 300 creations: Gingerbread Houses .

The image, The Gingerbread House, was originally uploaded by barneykin. It is posted here from Barneykin’s account.

Visit Neddy’s Archives for more of Edna’s writings.

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Fundraisers, Frustration and Procrastination

Perhaps I merit an “A” for effort. One of my granddaughter’s school sent me an email to buy some gifty things at a commercial website. I tried, but somehow while I was attempting to verify the security of the site before entering my credit card information, my entire order got swallowed into the deep hole of cyberspace before I checked out. By then I was tired of shopping, tired of filling in the forms, and frustrated that all was lost. I never got around to returning and ordering anything.

Soon after, another granddaughter’s school sent me via snail mail (a novel approach) an order form for thousands of magazines. I perused them all, but nowhere did I find any that I would read with the exception of “Southern Living,” and I would only read that, if I ever found myself away from my computer. I used to buy old magazines that I like at the library for 25 cents each. Now, all the magazines that I enjoy are no longer in publication. These days it seems I rarely read anything printed on paper. I guess you could say I am an environmentalist wanting to save trees, as I do all of my reading on my computer. Anyway, I was going to forge ahead and order the “Southern Living” magazine, but before I got it done, her mother phoned to say that the “fundraiser” was finished, and that I didn’t need to order anything.  I continue to be forever behind the curve.

My DAR chapter has fund-raising every year selling Christmas ornaments, wrapping paper and now candy. Like we all really need chocolates! I ordered some wrapping paper once, but by the time I remembered to go and collect it, Christmas was over and I had to save it for the following year. However, at least I could eventually use the wrapping paper. By the time Christmas rolled around, I had forgotten about all the “dated” Christmas ornaments that I had purchased to give as gifts. Now if I give the Christmas 2005 ornaments for Christmas 2007, the recipients are sure to think that I bought them at a bargain sale.

Therefore, it was refreshing that my three youngest granddaughters were hanging out at a neighborhood Fall Festival last Saturday and invited us to see them in costume. There was no fund-raising involved, other than buying cookies and sodas. One granddaughter was dressed as a chicken, which is a Halloween costume handed down from her older sister. It was a warm October day, and the little one was much too hot in all that plush fur. Besides, chickens don’t have fur, do they?  The oldest sister had on a raggedy poncho, which we were told made her into Clint Eastwood. Neither Grandpa nor I understand why an almost three-year-old would want to be Clint Eastwood for Halloween, so we didn’t ask and her parents didn’t tell.  However she seemed to be much happier and enjoying herself more than the little granddaughter with the furry chicken outfit.

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Grandma Dora’s Photo

Grandma Dora took this photograph of me holding the precious newborn Bethany Anne at the hospital. I cannot resist posting it as it is so beautiful. Yes indeed, Baby Bethany does have big hands; it is not a photographic illusion. I think that means she will be artistic.

The image, Grandma Dora’s Photo, was originally uploaded by barneykin. It is posted here from Barneykin’s account.

Visit Neddy’s Archives, for more of Edna’s writings.

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