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\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\tTHE VILLAGE TIMES<\/h1>\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/span>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\tIndependence Village of Olde Raleigh\nResident Newsletter<\/h2>\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/09\/1.jpg\")
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\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\u00a0 \u00a0Resident Jay Gordon moved into Independence Village back on June 15, 2021. He was followed nearly a year later (April 15, 2022) by his mother, Sylvia Gordon, shortly after her husband died. Jay has lived in Raleigh and has worked for a number of years for Rex Hospital transferring patients to and ![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/06\/2-300x268.jpg\")
from radiology and other departments. He also likes to sing and act and has taken an acting gig in Raleigh\u2019s ![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/06\/3-150x150.jpg\")
Little Theater (\u201cI always wanted to be a movie star,\u201d he chuckles,)<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cI\u2019m glad I moved here,\u201d says Jay, \u201cAnd so much has happened: During freak winter weather some of our pipes froze. A few drops of water began dripping onto my bed from the ceiling. Just as I left the room to report it, I heard a tremendous crash! It turned out that a pipe had sprung a leak right over my bed. The water build-up had proved too much for the ceiling and down it came. I thank the good Lord for saving me because my bed was totally destroyed \u2013 but without me in it. My mother, who lives just down the hall, was OK. And so was \u201cCally\u201d, our cat.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Jay (aka John Boyd Gordon III) was born July 10th,1959. His father, John Boyd Gordon II, was born in Gastonia, N.C. and served in U.S. Army Counter-intelligence during the late 50\u2019s (1956-1959). \u201cHe was also a prize-winning amateur photographer,\u201d says Jay. \u201cGoing back even further, my great-grandfather was a Presbyterian minister.\u201d
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\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cSpeaking of names,\u201d said Sylvia, \u201cI was born as Margaret Catherine. But it was the \u201dwrong\u201d name as the result of a family misunderstanding, My grandmother solved the problem: she picked out the name Sylvia. I wasn\u2019t aware of any of this until years later when I discovered my original name on an old application my parents had filled out for me to join the National Society Children of the American Revolution (C.A.R.).<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cAnyhow,\u201d she continued, \u201cI met and married Jay\u2019s father in Shelby, North Carolina, where I was born and grew up. The Army moved us from place to place, such as Baltimore and Richmond. I graduated from Queen\u2019s College in Charlotte, N.C., after which I taught high-school English in Baltimore and Richmond (where Jay was born). Then I worked in Raleigh for the North Carolina Library for the Blind and Physically Handicapped for nearly 29 years until I retired in 1998.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cJay has a younger sister,\u201d she continued. \u201cHer name is Catherine and she works in Houston, Texas as a pediatrician and endocrinologist. She tells me she will soon be taking a job with NIH in Bethesda, Maryland.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Sylvia, by the way, is an artist \u2013 and a very good one, I might say. She began to paint at age four and has been taking painting classes since 1976. Most of her artwork, saved when she moved out of the family home of 54 years on Raleigh\u2019s Wayland Drive, now adorn the walls of her apartment.<\/p>
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Collards \u2013 by Margie Lewin<\/strong><\/p>\u00a0 Few culinary traditions run as deep as collards in North Carolina. This leafy green claims one of the longest growing seasons of any in North Carolina’s crops, and is oftentimes all that remains in home gardens and farms come January. On New Year\u2019s Day, tables are filled with foods that symbolize luck and money: black-eyed peas, cornbread, ham and collards, the last of which resemble dollar bills and are believed to invite prosperity. Just like the New Year, collards return again and again to nourish and delight, bringing with them hope and a sense of State pride.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0In downtown Ayden, N.C., there is even a Collard Festival parade that includes live music, art shows, food trucks and more. this event is 50 years old.<\/p>
Lebanon \u2013 by Richard Smalto<\/strong><\/p>\u00a0 \u00a0When I was in the army, I belonged to the 48th<\/sup> armored infantry an outfit stationed in Europe that lost its colors in Korea because it ran. Colors are critical to the success of an army. They mark the location of the commander and serve as a rallying point for the troops. In the chaos of battle the ability to maintain a formation is critical to the army\u2019s success. Because of the use of modern weapons and a change in tactics, colors are no longer carried into battle. However, in the past an elite corps of soldiers protected the colors and it was considered a great feat of arms to capture them.<\/p>\u00a0 \u00a0As a result of this tradition, we watched with a great deal of curiosity and a certain degree of trepidation as each company came to full strength while the remainder of the battalion was put into a state of readiness and complete mobilization. Reorganized and ready one evening. the German girls we were drinking beer with told us not to go to bed that night. That night at two o\u2019clock in the morning we were awakened and mustered to be deployed we knew not where. Loaded onto large troop transport trucks, we moved to an airfield staging area where we waited to be told what our mission was. \u00a0We drank coffee as airplane engines came to life and non-commissioned officers scurried about. Engines roaring, hearts pounding, the order came to send us back.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Later that day, in the barracks, we learned that Eisenhower decided to give us a chance to recover our colors by sending us into Lebanon to keep the peace. Before the order could be carried out, he changed his mind and told the generals to send in the marines. He said because he thought the 48th<\/sup> would muck it up again.<\/p>Somethin\u2019 Fishy: A Fish Tale \u2013 by Frank Howes<\/strong><\/p>\u00a0 \u00a0Once upon a time there was a group of men fishing for herring in a branch that ran into Contentnea Creek in eastern North Carolina. This was in the mid-sixties when the herring and shad were still thick in the rivers and streams when they ran in early April. On this particular occasion, the men were fishing at night, and while they waited for their nets to fill, they told tales around a campfire.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Among those around the campfire was a young man named Eddie and a wizened old man named Mr. Tom.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Eddie was a classic Southern good-ol\u2019 boy and a former high school football star. He was competitive to a fault, and sometimes given to bragging.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Mr. Tom was a laconic old tobacco farmer who was fond of a good joke.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0This evening, the conversation, naturally enough, turned to fish stories: who had caught the biggest fish, what was the best fish bait, and so forth. Many people told their story, but after each one, Eddie told a story about a bigger fish. People around the fire were obviously getting impatient with Eddie\u2019s one-upmanship.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Finally, at just the right moment, Mr. Tom started talking. He told a story about a bass he pursued in 1934. \u201cI was a\u2019ter this bass one time in ol\u2019 man Corbett\u2019s pond. I seen him jump once or twice. He was huge, but I could never catch him. Hooked him a couple o\u2019 times, but he got away every time. I was bound and determined to catch that fish, so I kept working at it.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cBut that was a smart fish. He never bit on the same bait twice. I started out using worms. Then I used crickets, and later I tried grubs from a wasp nest. Each time I hooked him he got wiser. Like I said, that was a smart fish.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Determined to outdo Mr. Tom, Eddie said \u201cYeah, I\u2019ve caught some big bass, but I like artificial lures, especially rubber worms. One time I caught an 11-pound bass on a rubber worm. Man, did he put up a fight.\u201d He paused a moment, then said, \u201cMr. Tom, did you ever catch that fish.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u201cYeah, I finally caught him. I outsmarted him.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWhat\u2019d you catch him on Mr. Tom?\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Straight faced, without the slightest gleam in his eye, Mr. Tom said, \u201cCastor oil.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cCastor oil\u203d<\/strong> How\u2019d you catch a fish with castor oil\u203d<\/strong>\u201d<\/p>\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWell, I found out where that fish was a-layin\u2019 up. I started feedin\u2019 him regular one day. I fed him all the baits I\u2019d used \u2013 worms, crickets, grubs, all his favorite foods. And then I used the castor oil, and I caught him!\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cI still don\u2019t get it, Mr. Tom. How\u2019d you catch him with castor oil?\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWell, I soaked some bait in castor oil, and I fed it to him. I fed him \u2018til he couldn\u2019t eat no more, and that\u2019s how I caught him.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWhat,\u201d said Eddie, \u201cI still don\u2019t understand how that helped you catch that fish.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWell, that fish was so full, he was about to bust open, and when he crawled up on the bank to take a crap, I just reached down and picked him up.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cMan,\u201d Mr. Tom continued, \u201cthat was a whopper! It might have been a mite smaller than your eleven-pound whopper, but that was a big \u2018un!\u201d<\/p>
It\u2019s Never too late\u2026<\/em><\/strong><\/p>![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/06\/11.jpg\")
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Olive – The Cat with Seven Lives<\/strong> \u2013 by Pat Simpson<\/strong><\/p>\u00a0 \u00a0Recently my daughter Diana took her two boys, Charlie & Johnnie on a trip to Maine, specifically to Long Cove Artist Cottage, a rustic little self-contained Maine cottage on Deer Isle, located about 20 miles out in Penobscot Bays \u2013 a perfect retreat: everything they would need in one location \u2013 walking, swimming, and boating.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0The boys love animals, and when they met Olive the cat, it was love at first sight. Olive was very friendly, but her patchy fur seemed to indicate she was still on the mend from an injury. Her owner & host, Judith, said she was taken by a Bald Eagle but somehow got away and survived the attack, ![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/06\/10.jpg\")
crawled home, and managed to get patched back together.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cOlive was alone and covered in tree sap and very sick when I found her,” Judith explained. “After a lot of baths and medication, she was finally well enough to move back in.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWow,\u201d said Johnnie, \u201cI\u2019m glad she\u2019s alright.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cSo am I,\u201d said Charlie. \u201cI\u2019ll bet she has nightmares1\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Olive, now on the bed where they had placed her, looked up as if she wanted to talk. As you know, cats can\u2019t talk. But I\u2019ll bet you didn\u2019t know they could think\u2026<\/p>
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\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cYou don\u2019t know the half of it,\u201d thought Olive. \u201cNot only can I think, but I do<\/u> have nightmares\u2026let me tell you why\u2026I was minding my own business \u2013 as cats always do \u2013 when \u2018Bam!\u2019 something hit me on my back. It really hurt! And I immediately felt myself being lifted from the ground. Something was pinching my back and I was getting higher and higher\u2026so high that I thought I was looking down from Heaven.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cThat\u2019s when I lost the first of my nine lives.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cSuddenly, whatever or whoever it was, let me go. That\u2019s when I fell from the sky. And that\u2019s when I lost my second life.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cIt wasn\u2019t until much later (as my mom Judith explained to me) that I learned eagles drop their prey to incapacitate them. They will use their strong talons to grab them and throw them off a high cliff. After they drop dead from free-fall, the eagle will devour them.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cAll I can say is that the next thing I knew, I awoke in the forest the following morning. I was surrounded by dampness, mud, and an overwhelming sense of isolation. My body bore the marks of the harrowing experience, with bruises on my neck, shoulder, and ankle. My right eye was swollen shut and I felt a wave of dizziness wash over me. I came to the grim realization that I had survived a great fall through the forest. Overhead, I could hear the cry of an eagle but the dense canopy of trees obscured me from its view.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWhat now?\u201d I thought. \u201cBut I realized I had no choice. I had to confront the daunting challenge of surviving alone in the treacherous cold forests of Maine \u2013 and I would have to use every survival skill as well.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cAware that I couldn\u2019t stay there forever, I decided to venture into the forest. I carefully treaded forward, one step at a time, as a precautionary measure to avoid stepping on hidden snakes or insects. I repeated this process \u2013 stepping and listening \u2013 repeating the cycle as I forged my way through the treacherous terrain.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cI had no food, and when thirst struck, I resorted to licking water droplets from tree leaves. Determined to find civilization and home, I followed a small creek, hoping it would lead me to![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/06\/12.jpg\")
a larger river and eventually to help. Days without sustenance took their toll. I succumbed to hallucinations. With sheer determination I somehow managed to persevere. \u00a0However, I heard a voice that seemed too real to be a mere figment of my imagination. It was Judith! She emerged from the forest, took me home and provided me with food and tended to my injuries.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cIt was Judith who gave me healing. It was Judith who gave me the care I desperately needed.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cJudith, I am but a cat; but I still have seven lives and I\u2019ll be your friend forever!\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0P.S. \u00a0It wasn\u2019t until later that I learned that Judith could have protected me with a \u201craptor shield\u201d. You know \u2013 Protects against raptors. birds of prey: hawks, owls, eagles \u2013 like the one that almost got me. You can also get something like a spike vest or a coyote vest. What eagle in its right mind would want to attack cute little me? It would get a mouthful of spikes!\u201d<\/p>
Our First Wedding Anniversary: A Note of Thanks from Pat and June Cheek Simpson <\/strong><\/p>![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/06\/13-300x281.jpg\")
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\u00a0 \u00a0 June and I just want everyone to know how grateful and thankful we were for Food and Dietary Director Charlie Banks (C.B.) and his staff\u2019s fabulous treatment of us on Sunday evening, May 21, 2023. Just a couple of days before that I had mentioned in passing to C.B. that Sunday marked our first wedding anniversary. As you may know, June Cheek and I were married right here in the dining room a year ago. We will never forget C.B.\u2019s wonderful food and service at our wedding reception that day.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Fast forward one year later to Sunday evening \u2013 food server Mary Saseen had asked us at lunch-time to be at a certain dining room table at 3:30 pm. We knew that something was up \u2013 so we indeed arrived on time. Lo and behold, Mary, assisted by Imani Kelly and Jamaul Bible, brought forward a wonderful round wedding anniversary cake with three candles. She got the crowd to say “Happy Anniversary” as June blew out the candles. It was a wonderful cake (and wonderful prime rib) and we had a wonderful time!<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0I pray for C.B. and his staff every day, asking God to grant them the gifts of “helps”, the gift of patience, and the gift of love. God granted all three prayers last Sunday night. June and I would like to thank them from the bottom of our hearts. May they all have one blessed day after another!<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tResident Ramblings<\/strong><\/h4>Disclaimer: The information contained in this newsletter represents the views and opinions of the original creators of such information and does not necessarily represent the views or opinions of Independence Village nor does it constitute an endorsement by Independence Village or its affiliates of such information. <\/em><\/strong><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tBeing Authentic \u2013 by Margie Lewin<\/strong><\/p>Being authentic is showing ![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/09\/3-300x200.jpg\")
your true personality and character and showing the world who you really are.<\/p>
Here are some thoughtful tips:<\/p>
- Know your values<\/li>
- Stop doing things you don’t want to do<\/li>
- Do what you want to do<\/li>
- Keep an open mind<\/li>
- Trust your intuition<\/li>
- Be self-aware<\/li>
- Practice boldness<\/li>
- Openly share your opinion<\/li>
- Avoid perfectionism<\/li><\/ol><\/li><\/ol>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tLessons from Life \u2013 by Richard Smalto<\/strong><\/p>\u00a0 \u00a0I was a bit of an idealist when I was a young man. My father, who worked hard most of his adult life, was a good provider and a![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/09\/4-204x300.jpg\")
practical person. He had very little patience for what he thought were harebrained intellectual utopian ideas we were promoting at the dinner table; a knowledge we obtained from colleges we attended paid for by him.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cThe world doesn\u2019t owe you a living,\u201d he would say to me when I complained about my inability to find a job because of lack of experience. \u201cDon\u2019t worry about the rate of unemployment,\u201d he would say to my bother. \u201cThere will always be five percent of the population that doesn\u2019t want to work.\u201d (which was the rate of unemployment at that time)\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Trying as hard as I could, still unable to find work, wallowing in an orgy of self-pity, I enlisted in the army because I wanted to travel and see the world.\u00a0 When I was in the army I was exposed to and read the book The Fountainhead<\/em>. It changed my life forever.<\/p>\u00a0 \u00a0Contrast my father\u2019s mild-mannered approach to my self-indulgence to the early life of Mickey Mantle. Mickey Mantle was a major league baseball player who played hurt throughout a tumultuous long-lasting major-league baseball career. In his hotel room alone, after being sent down to the minors because of his inability to hit, he lost confidence and became despondent. Believing his career was over before it began, he reached out to his father, hoping for support. Telling him over the phone he couldn\u2019t play anymore and wanted to go home. His father drove from Commerce, Oklahoma to Kansas City, Missouri. He confronted his son in his hotel room. Mantle said he tried his hardest, lost his confidence wanted to quit and just go home.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cNow you shut up! I don\u2019t wanna hear your whining!\u201d his father bellowed. \u201cI thought I raised a man, not a coward.\u201d Still muttering about the fact \u201che thought he raised a man not a coward,\u201d\u00a0he packed his son\u2019s belongings, prepared to take him home.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0When the time came to leave, Mantle began to sob and cry; telling his father he would try again.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0The harsh rebuke lit a fire under Mantle who was recalled from their farm team by the Yankees. \u00a0Mantle was a switch-hitter. Though he did not use steroids to help him hit homeruns nevertheless it was said this steroid unaided athlete could hit a ball as far as Ruth lefthanded and or as far as Foxx righthanded. Severely injured early in his career, suffering from osteomyelitis, playing hurt but always playing, Mantle, who was admired by his team mates as a player and as a man because he always played hurt, went on to become one of the most prodigious major league baseball hitters of all times.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tA<\/strong>ngela and Michael \u2013 b<\/strong>y Frank Howes<\/strong><\/p>![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/09\/5-300x235.jpg\")
\u00a0 \u00a0She was 68. He was 63. They both liked a good glass of wine. “I never thought I’d feel this way again,” said Michael.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“What do you mean?” Angela said.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Her name is appropriate, thought Michael, she really is an angel. “I think I love you.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“How can you say that, we’ve only known each other two weeks.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“Two weeks, two months, two years, what difference does it make? I knew after two days! We’re not kids anymore. We don’t have a lot of years left. I know what I want, and I want to be with you.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“Be with me? What do you mean by that? We’re already spending most of our days together.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“I mean I want to marry you. I want to wake up with you by my side every morning.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“We can’t get married. What would our children say?”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“I know what mine would say, they’d ask, ‘Does she make you happy?’ If I told them how you make me feel they’d say, ‘Go for it. I’m glad you’ve found someone.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“Mine would say, ‘Don’t do it Mom, he’s just after your money.'”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“I’d sign a prenup if it would reassure them…” Michael continued, “I just told you I think I love you. How do you feel about me?”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“I think… I think…”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cYes…\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“I think I’m not sure how I feel about you. I know I’m very happy when I’m with you, but marriage? I once swore I’d never get married again. But…”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“But?”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“But, I think maybe I love you too.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“What are we going to do about it then?”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“I know, why don’t we shack up for a year or so,” she laughed. “See how it goes.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“You’d do that?”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“Yes.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“My kids would be scandalized. I raised them in a Christian home. They wouldn’t understand.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“My kids would have a chance to get to know you. They’d be reassured.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“Well, I’m willing if you are. You can be my femme fatale. I’ll be your gigolo,” he chuckled.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“Let’s have a toast then, to lecherous, libidinous, lustful, lascivious lovin\u2019.” She laughed again. He loved her laugh.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“You left out delicious, my luscious.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“To delicious love then.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“To love.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0He bent and kissed her softly.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tThe Puzzle Wall \u2013 by Pat Simpson<\/strong><\/p>\n Recently, as I wandered through our activity room, I came upon a wall covered with \u2013 you\u2019ll never guess it \u2013 jigsaw puzzles. Welcome to Independence Village\u2019s Puzzle Wall!<\/p>\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/09\/6-scaled.jpg\")
<\/p>\n
You may say: So what is a puzzle wall?<\/p>\n
Well, as the name implies, rather than wallpaper, the wall is papered with puzzles \u2013 yes, jig-saw puzzles. It\u2019s sort of a grand art project \u2013 with puzzle themes such as castles, cats, boats, buildings, dogs, dinosaurs, Disney, winter snowmen and summer beaches, to name a few.<\/p>\n
Jig saw puzzles have been around since 1767 when British cartographer and engraver John Spilsbury (1739-1769) invented the first jigsaw type puzzle as an educational device to teach geography in 18th-century England. It was not yet called a jigsaw puzzle, however. What he made were called dissected maps. Dissected maps have been a successful educational toy ever since and children today still use them to learn states and countries. Over the past 250 years this educational toy has remained popular among children but also evolved into one of the most popular pastimes for American adults. Jigsaw puzzles have literally been made in all different shapes and sizes and for many different purposes from relieving boredom and stress to being used as an advertising tool.<\/p>\n
Dissected pictures followed, covering such subjects as history, alphabets, botany, and zoology. The use of popular pictures began in the 1860s and \u201970s, in both Great Britain and the United States. The puzzles became extremely popular in the early 1900s and had a revival in the Great Depression of the 1930s as an inexpensive, reusable amusement. Another revival began after World War II, and jigsaw puzzles have remained a popular entertainment since then.<\/p>\n
The \u201cdissected pictures\u201d before me, I later learned, were put together by various resident artists, each of whom signed his or her name onto a wall plaque \u2013 hidden among the puzzles \u2013 which declared \u201cWelcome to our puzzle wall.\u201d Puzzle-guru Taylor Clodfelter handled the process of getting them on the wall.<\/p>\n
I couldn\u2019t help but relate it to Kintsugi, the Japanese art of ![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/09\/7-791x1024.jpg\")
repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. As a philosophy, it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise.<\/p>\n
Kintsugi became closely associated with damaged ceramic vessels used for Japanese tea ceremonies as a more aesthetically pleasing means of repair rather than ugly metal staples. Collectors became so enamored of the new art that some were accused of deliberately smashing valuable pottery so it could be repaired with the gold seams of kintsugi.<\/p>\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/09\/8-300x157.jpg\")
As a philosophy, kintsugi is similar to the Japanese philosophy of wabi -sabi, an embracing of the flawed or imperfect. Japanese aesthetics values marks of wear from the use of an object. This can be seen as a rationale for keeping an object around even after it has broken; it can also be understood as a justification of kintsugi itself, highlighting cracks and repairs as events in the life of an object, rather than allowing its service to end at the time of its damage or breakage.[12] The philosophy of kintsugi can also be seen as a variant of the adage, “Waste not, want not”.<\/span><\/p>\n Kintsugi can relate to the Japanese philosophy of mushin (“no mind”), which encompasses the concepts of non-attachment, acceptance of change, and fate as aspects of human life.<\/p>\n
Kintsugi is the general concept of highlighting or emphasizing imperfections, visualizing mends and ![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/09\/9-300x205.jpg\")
seams as an additive or an area to celebrate or focus on, rather than absen`1`ce or missing pieces. Modern artists and designers experiment with the ancient technique as a means of analyzing the idea of loss and improvement through destruction and repair or rebirth.<\/p>\n
Kintsugi as an art form and related repair methods have been featured at several exhibitions by contemporary artists and designers who incorporate kintsugi techniques, aesthetics, and philosophies in their work, such as:<\/p>\n
Los Angeles artist Victor Solomon, who was inspired by kintsugi practices and philosophies to create “Kintsugi Court”, a fractured public basketball court in South Los Angeles he repaired with gold-dusted resin. The project was finished in 2020 to coincide with the restart of the NBA season, which had been paused due to the Covid-19 pandemic.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/09\/10-894x1024.jpg\")
\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t
Independence Village of Olde Raleigh\nResident Newsletter<\/h2>\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\u00a0 \u00a0Resident Jay Gordon moved into Independence Village back on June 15, 2021. He was followed nearly a year later (April 15, 2022) by his mother, Sylvia Gordon, shortly after her husband died. Jay has lived in Raleigh and has worked for a number of years for Rex Hospital transferring patients to and from radiology and other departments. He also likes to sing and act and has taken an acting gig in Raleigh\u2019s Little Theater (\u201cI always wanted to be a movie star,\u201d he chuckles,)<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cI\u2019m glad I moved here,\u201d says Jay, \u201cAnd so much has happened: During freak winter weather some of our pipes froze. A few drops of water began dripping onto my bed from the ceiling. Just as I left the room to report it, I heard a tremendous crash! It turned out that a pipe had sprung a leak right over my bed. The water build-up had proved too much for the ceiling and down it came. I thank the good Lord for saving me because my bed was totally destroyed \u2013 but without me in it. My mother, who lives just down the hall, was OK. And so was \u201cCally\u201d, our cat.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Jay (aka John Boyd Gordon III) was born July 10th,1959. His father, John Boyd Gordon II, was born in Gastonia, N.C. and served in U.S. Army Counter-intelligence during the late 50\u2019s (1956-1959). \u201cHe was also a prize-winning amateur photographer,\u201d says Jay. \u201cGoing back even further, my great-grandfather was a Presbyterian minister.\u201d
<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cSpeaking of names,\u201d said Sylvia, \u201cI was born as Margaret Catherine. But it was the \u201dwrong\u201d name as the result of a family misunderstanding, My grandmother solved the problem: she picked out the name Sylvia. I wasn\u2019t aware of any of this until years later when I discovered my original name on an old application my parents had filled out for me to join the National Society Children of the American Revolution (C.A.R.).<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cAnyhow,\u201d she continued, \u201cI met and married Jay\u2019s father in Shelby, North Carolina, where I was born and grew up. The Army moved us from place to place, such as Baltimore and Richmond. I graduated from Queen\u2019s College in Charlotte, N.C., after which I taught high-school English in Baltimore and Richmond (where Jay was born). Then I worked in Raleigh for the North Carolina Library for the Blind and Physically Handicapped for nearly 29 years until I retired in 1998.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cJay has a younger sister,\u201d she continued. \u201cHer name is Catherine and she works in Houston, Texas as a pediatrician and endocrinologist. She tells me she will soon be taking a job with NIH in Bethesda, Maryland.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Sylvia, by the way, is an artist \u2013 and a very good one, I might say. She began to paint at age four and has been taking painting classes since 1976. Most of her artwork, saved when she moved out of the family home of 54 years on Raleigh\u2019s Wayland Drive, now adorn the walls of her apartment.<\/p>
<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>
Collards \u2013 by Margie Lewin<\/strong><\/p>\u00a0 Few culinary traditions run as deep as collards in North Carolina. This leafy green claims one of the longest growing seasons of any in North Carolina’s crops, and is oftentimes all that remains in home gardens and farms come January. On New Year\u2019s Day, tables are filled with foods that symbolize luck and money: black-eyed peas, cornbread, ham and collards, the last of which resemble dollar bills and are believed to invite prosperity. Just like the New Year, collards return again and again to nourish and delight, bringing with them hope and a sense of State pride.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0In downtown Ayden, N.C., there is even a Collard Festival parade that includes live music, art shows, food trucks and more. this event is 50 years old.<\/p>
Lebanon \u2013 by Richard Smalto<\/strong><\/p>\u00a0 \u00a0When I was in the army, I belonged to the 48th<\/sup> armored infantry an outfit stationed in Europe that lost its colors in Korea because it ran. Colors are critical to the success of an army. They mark the location of the commander and serve as a rallying point for the troops. In the chaos of battle the ability to maintain a formation is critical to the army\u2019s success. Because of the use of modern weapons and a change in tactics, colors are no longer carried into battle. However, in the past an elite corps of soldiers protected the colors and it was considered a great feat of arms to capture them.<\/p>\u00a0 \u00a0As a result of this tradition, we watched with a great deal of curiosity and a certain degree of trepidation as each company came to full strength while the remainder of the battalion was put into a state of readiness and complete mobilization. Reorganized and ready one evening. the German girls we were drinking beer with told us not to go to bed that night. That night at two o\u2019clock in the morning we were awakened and mustered to be deployed we knew not where. Loaded onto large troop transport trucks, we moved to an airfield staging area where we waited to be told what our mission was. \u00a0We drank coffee as airplane engines came to life and non-commissioned officers scurried about. Engines roaring, hearts pounding, the order came to send us back.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Later that day, in the barracks, we learned that Eisenhower decided to give us a chance to recover our colors by sending us into Lebanon to keep the peace. Before the order could be carried out, he changed his mind and told the generals to send in the marines. He said because he thought the 48th<\/sup> would muck it up again.<\/p>Somethin\u2019 Fishy: A Fish Tale \u2013 by Frank Howes<\/strong><\/p>\u00a0 \u00a0Once upon a time there was a group of men fishing for herring in a branch that ran into Contentnea Creek in eastern North Carolina. This was in the mid-sixties when the herring and shad were still thick in the rivers and streams when they ran in early April. On this particular occasion, the men were fishing at night, and while they waited for their nets to fill, they told tales around a campfire.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Among those around the campfire was a young man named Eddie and a wizened old man named Mr. Tom.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Eddie was a classic Southern good-ol\u2019 boy and a former high school football star. He was competitive to a fault, and sometimes given to bragging.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Mr. Tom was a laconic old tobacco farmer who was fond of a good joke.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0This evening, the conversation, naturally enough, turned to fish stories: who had caught the biggest fish, what was the best fish bait, and so forth. Many people told their story, but after each one, Eddie told a story about a bigger fish. People around the fire were obviously getting impatient with Eddie\u2019s one-upmanship.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Finally, at just the right moment, Mr. Tom started talking. He told a story about a bass he pursued in 1934. \u201cI was a\u2019ter this bass one time in ol\u2019 man Corbett\u2019s pond. I seen him jump once or twice. He was huge, but I could never catch him. Hooked him a couple o\u2019 times, but he got away every time. I was bound and determined to catch that fish, so I kept working at it.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cBut that was a smart fish. He never bit on the same bait twice. I started out using worms. Then I used crickets, and later I tried grubs from a wasp nest. Each time I hooked him he got wiser. Like I said, that was a smart fish.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Determined to outdo Mr. Tom, Eddie said \u201cYeah, I\u2019ve caught some big bass, but I like artificial lures, especially rubber worms. One time I caught an 11-pound bass on a rubber worm. Man, did he put up a fight.\u201d He paused a moment, then said, \u201cMr. Tom, did you ever catch that fish.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u201cYeah, I finally caught him. I outsmarted him.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWhat\u2019d you catch him on Mr. Tom?\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Straight faced, without the slightest gleam in his eye, Mr. Tom said, \u201cCastor oil.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cCastor oil\u203d<\/strong> How\u2019d you catch a fish with castor oil\u203d<\/strong>\u201d<\/p>\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWell, I found out where that fish was a-layin\u2019 up. I started feedin\u2019 him regular one day. I fed him all the baits I\u2019d used \u2013 worms, crickets, grubs, all his favorite foods. And then I used the castor oil, and I caught him!\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cI still don\u2019t get it, Mr. Tom. How\u2019d you catch him with castor oil?\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWell, I soaked some bait in castor oil, and I fed it to him. I fed him \u2018til he couldn\u2019t eat no more, and that\u2019s how I caught him.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWhat,\u201d said Eddie, \u201cI still don\u2019t understand how that helped you catch that fish.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWell, that fish was so full, he was about to bust open, and when he crawled up on the bank to take a crap, I just reached down and picked him up.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cMan,\u201d Mr. Tom continued, \u201cthat was a whopper! It might have been a mite smaller than your eleven-pound whopper, but that was a big \u2018un!\u201d<\/p>
It\u2019s Never too late\u2026<\/em><\/strong><\/p><\/p>
Olive – The Cat with Seven Lives<\/strong> \u2013 by Pat Simpson<\/strong><\/p>\u00a0 \u00a0Recently my daughter Diana took her two boys, Charlie & Johnnie on a trip to Maine, specifically to Long Cove Artist Cottage, a rustic little self-contained Maine cottage on Deer Isle, located about 20 miles out in Penobscot Bays \u2013 a perfect retreat: everything they would need in one location \u2013 walking, swimming, and boating.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0The boys love animals, and when they met Olive the cat, it was love at first sight. Olive was very friendly, but her patchy fur seemed to indicate she was still on the mend from an injury. Her owner & host, Judith, said she was taken by a Bald Eagle but somehow got away and survived the attack, crawled home, and managed to get patched back together.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cOlive was alone and covered in tree sap and very sick when I found her,” Judith explained. “After a lot of baths and medication, she was finally well enough to move back in.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWow,\u201d said Johnnie, \u201cI\u2019m glad she\u2019s alright.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cSo am I,\u201d said Charlie. \u201cI\u2019ll bet she has nightmares1\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Olive, now on the bed where they had placed her, looked up as if she wanted to talk. As you know, cats can\u2019t talk. But I\u2019ll bet you didn\u2019t know they could think\u2026<\/p>
<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cYou don\u2019t know the half of it,\u201d thought Olive. \u201cNot only can I think, but I do<\/u> have nightmares\u2026let me tell you why\u2026I was minding my own business \u2013 as cats always do \u2013 when \u2018Bam!\u2019 something hit me on my back. It really hurt! And I immediately felt myself being lifted from the ground. Something was pinching my back and I was getting higher and higher\u2026so high that I thought I was looking down from Heaven.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cThat\u2019s when I lost the first of my nine lives.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cSuddenly, whatever or whoever it was, let me go. That\u2019s when I fell from the sky. And that\u2019s when I lost my second life.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cIt wasn\u2019t until much later (as my mom Judith explained to me) that I learned eagles drop their prey to incapacitate them. They will use their strong talons to grab them and throw them off a high cliff. After they drop dead from free-fall, the eagle will devour them.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cAll I can say is that the next thing I knew, I awoke in the forest the following morning. I was surrounded by dampness, mud, and an overwhelming sense of isolation. My body bore the marks of the harrowing experience, with bruises on my neck, shoulder, and ankle. My right eye was swollen shut and I felt a wave of dizziness wash over me. I came to the grim realization that I had survived a great fall through the forest. Overhead, I could hear the cry of an eagle but the dense canopy of trees obscured me from its view.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWhat now?\u201d I thought. \u201cBut I realized I had no choice. I had to confront the daunting challenge of surviving alone in the treacherous cold forests of Maine \u2013 and I would have to use every survival skill as well.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cAware that I couldn\u2019t stay there forever, I decided to venture into the forest. I carefully treaded forward, one step at a time, as a precautionary measure to avoid stepping on hidden snakes or insects. I repeated this process \u2013 stepping and listening \u2013 repeating the cycle as I forged my way through the treacherous terrain.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cI had no food, and when thirst struck, I resorted to licking water droplets from tree leaves. Determined to find civilization and home, I followed a small creek, hoping it would lead me to a larger river and eventually to help. Days without sustenance took their toll. I succumbed to hallucinations. With sheer determination I somehow managed to persevere. \u00a0However, I heard a voice that seemed too real to be a mere figment of my imagination. It was Judith! She emerged from the forest, took me home and provided me with food and tended to my injuries.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cIt was Judith who gave me healing. It was Judith who gave me the care I desperately needed.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cJudith, I am but a cat; but I still have seven lives and I\u2019ll be your friend forever!\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0P.S. \u00a0It wasn\u2019t until later that I learned that Judith could have protected me with a \u201craptor shield\u201d. You know \u2013 Protects against raptors. birds of prey: hawks, owls, eagles \u2013 like the one that almost got me. You can also get something like a spike vest or a coyote vest. What eagle in its right mind would want to attack cute little me? It would get a mouthful of spikes!\u201d<\/p>
Our First Wedding Anniversary: A Note of Thanks from Pat and June Cheek Simpson <\/strong><\/p><\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0 June and I just want everyone to know how grateful and thankful we were for Food and Dietary Director Charlie Banks (C.B.) and his staff\u2019s fabulous treatment of us on Sunday evening, May 21, 2023. Just a couple of days before that I had mentioned in passing to C.B. that Sunday marked our first wedding anniversary. As you may know, June Cheek and I were married right here in the dining room a year ago. We will never forget C.B.\u2019s wonderful food and service at our wedding reception that day.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Fast forward one year later to Sunday evening \u2013 food server Mary Saseen had asked us at lunch-time to be at a certain dining room table at 3:30 pm. We knew that something was up \u2013 so we indeed arrived on time. Lo and behold, Mary, assisted by Imani Kelly and Jamaul Bible, brought forward a wonderful round wedding anniversary cake with three candles. She got the crowd to say “Happy Anniversary” as June blew out the candles. It was a wonderful cake (and wonderful prime rib) and we had a wonderful time!<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0I pray for C.B. and his staff every day, asking God to grant them the gifts of “helps”, the gift of patience, and the gift of love. God granted all three prayers last Sunday night. June and I would like to thank them from the bottom of our hearts. May they all have one blessed day after another!<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tResident Ramblings<\/strong><\/h4>Disclaimer: The information contained in this newsletter represents the views and opinions of the original creators of such information and does not necessarily represent the views or opinions of Independence Village nor does it constitute an endorsement by Independence Village or its affiliates of such information. <\/em><\/strong><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tBeing Authentic \u2013 by Margie Lewin<\/strong><\/p>Being authentic is showing your true personality and character and showing the world who you really are.<\/p>
Here are some thoughtful tips:<\/p>
- Know your values<\/li>
- Stop doing things you don’t want to do<\/li>
- Do what you want to do<\/li>
- Keep an open mind<\/li>
- Trust your intuition<\/li>
- Be self-aware<\/li>
- Practice boldness<\/li>
- Openly share your opinion<\/li>
- Avoid perfectionism<\/li><\/ol><\/li><\/ol>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tLessons from Life \u2013 by Richard Smalto<\/strong><\/p>\u00a0 \u00a0I was a bit of an idealist when I was a young man. My father, who worked hard most of his adult life, was a good provider and a practical person. He had very little patience for what he thought were harebrained intellectual utopian ideas we were promoting at the dinner table; a knowledge we obtained from colleges we attended paid for by him.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cThe world doesn\u2019t owe you a living,\u201d he would say to me when I complained about my inability to find a job because of lack of experience. \u201cDon\u2019t worry about the rate of unemployment,\u201d he would say to my bother. \u201cThere will always be five percent of the population that doesn\u2019t want to work.\u201d (which was the rate of unemployment at that time)\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Trying as hard as I could, still unable to find work, wallowing in an orgy of self-pity, I enlisted in the army because I wanted to travel and see the world.\u00a0 When I was in the army I was exposed to and read the book The Fountainhead<\/em>. It changed my life forever.<\/p>\u00a0 \u00a0Contrast my father\u2019s mild-mannered approach to my self-indulgence to the early life of Mickey Mantle. Mickey Mantle was a major league baseball player who played hurt throughout a tumultuous long-lasting major-league baseball career. In his hotel room alone, after being sent down to the minors because of his inability to hit, he lost confidence and became despondent. Believing his career was over before it began, he reached out to his father, hoping for support. Telling him over the phone he couldn\u2019t play anymore and wanted to go home. His father drove from Commerce, Oklahoma to Kansas City, Missouri. He confronted his son in his hotel room. Mantle said he tried his hardest, lost his confidence wanted to quit and just go home.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cNow you shut up! I don\u2019t wanna hear your whining!\u201d his father bellowed. \u201cI thought I raised a man, not a coward.\u201d Still muttering about the fact \u201che thought he raised a man not a coward,\u201d\u00a0he packed his son\u2019s belongings, prepared to take him home.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0When the time came to leave, Mantle began to sob and cry; telling his father he would try again.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0The harsh rebuke lit a fire under Mantle who was recalled from their farm team by the Yankees. \u00a0Mantle was a switch-hitter. Though he did not use steroids to help him hit homeruns nevertheless it was said this steroid unaided athlete could hit a ball as far as Ruth lefthanded and or as far as Foxx righthanded. Severely injured early in his career, suffering from osteomyelitis, playing hurt but always playing, Mantle, who was admired by his team mates as a player and as a man because he always played hurt, went on to become one of the most prodigious major league baseball hitters of all times.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tA<\/strong>ngela and Michael \u2013 b<\/strong>y Frank Howes<\/strong><\/p>\u00a0 \u00a0She was 68. He was 63. They both liked a good glass of wine. “I never thought I’d feel this way again,” said Michael.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“What do you mean?” Angela said.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Her name is appropriate, thought Michael, she really is an angel. “I think I love you.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“How can you say that, we’ve only known each other two weeks.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“Two weeks, two months, two years, what difference does it make? I knew after two days! We’re not kids anymore. We don’t have a lot of years left. I know what I want, and I want to be with you.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“Be with me? What do you mean by that? We’re already spending most of our days together.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“I mean I want to marry you. I want to wake up with you by my side every morning.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“We can’t get married. What would our children say?”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“I know what mine would say, they’d ask, ‘Does she make you happy?’ If I told them how you make me feel they’d say, ‘Go for it. I’m glad you’ve found someone.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“Mine would say, ‘Don’t do it Mom, he’s just after your money.'”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“I’d sign a prenup if it would reassure them…” Michael continued, “I just told you I think I love you. How do you feel about me?”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“I think… I think…”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cYes…\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“I think I’m not sure how I feel about you. I know I’m very happy when I’m with you, but marriage? I once swore I’d never get married again. But…”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“But?”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“But, I think maybe I love you too.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“What are we going to do about it then?”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“I know, why don’t we shack up for a year or so,” she laughed. “See how it goes.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“You’d do that?”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“Yes.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“My kids would be scandalized. I raised them in a Christian home. They wouldn’t understand.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“My kids would have a chance to get to know you. They’d be reassured.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“Well, I’m willing if you are. You can be my femme fatale. I’ll be your gigolo,” he chuckled.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“Let’s have a toast then, to lecherous, libidinous, lustful, lascivious lovin\u2019.” She laughed again. He loved her laugh.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“You left out delicious, my luscious.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“To delicious love then.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0“To love.”<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0He bent and kissed her softly.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tThe Puzzle Wall \u2013 by Pat Simpson<\/strong><\/p>\n Recently, as I wandered through our activity room, I came upon a wall covered with \u2013 you\u2019ll never guess it \u2013 jigsaw puzzles. Welcome to Independence Village\u2019s Puzzle Wall!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
You may say: So what is a puzzle wall?<\/p>\n
Well, as the name implies, rather than wallpaper, the wall is papered with puzzles \u2013 yes, jig-saw puzzles. It\u2019s sort of a grand art project \u2013 with puzzle themes such as castles, cats, boats, buildings, dogs, dinosaurs, Disney, winter snowmen and summer beaches, to name a few.<\/p>\n
Jig saw puzzles have been around since 1767 when British cartographer and engraver John Spilsbury (1739-1769) invented the first jigsaw type puzzle as an educational device to teach geography in 18th-century England. It was not yet called a jigsaw puzzle, however. What he made were called dissected maps. Dissected maps have been a successful educational toy ever since and children today still use them to learn states and countries. Over the past 250 years this educational toy has remained popular among children but also evolved into one of the most popular pastimes for American adults. Jigsaw puzzles have literally been made in all different shapes and sizes and for many different purposes from relieving boredom and stress to being used as an advertising tool.<\/p>\n
Dissected pictures followed, covering such subjects as history, alphabets, botany, and zoology. The use of popular pictures began in the 1860s and \u201970s, in both Great Britain and the United States. The puzzles became extremely popular in the early 1900s and had a revival in the Great Depression of the 1930s as an inexpensive, reusable amusement. Another revival began after World War II, and jigsaw puzzles have remained a popular entertainment since then.<\/p>\n
The \u201cdissected pictures\u201d before me, I later learned, were put together by various resident artists, each of whom signed his or her name onto a wall plaque \u2013 hidden among the puzzles \u2013 which declared \u201cWelcome to our puzzle wall.\u201d Puzzle-guru Taylor Clodfelter handled the process of getting them on the wall.<\/p>\n
I couldn\u2019t help but relate it to Kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. As a philosophy, it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise.<\/p>\n
Kintsugi became closely associated with damaged ceramic vessels used for Japanese tea ceremonies as a more aesthetically pleasing means of repair rather than ugly metal staples. Collectors became so enamored of the new art that some were accused of deliberately smashing valuable pottery so it could be repaired with the gold seams of kintsugi.<\/p>\n
As a philosophy, kintsugi is similar to the Japanese philosophy of wabi -sabi, an embracing of the flawed or imperfect. Japanese aesthetics values marks of wear from the use of an object. This can be seen as a rationale for keeping an object around even after it has broken; it can also be understood as a justification of kintsugi itself, highlighting cracks and repairs as events in the life of an object, rather than allowing its service to end at the time of its damage or breakage.[12] The philosophy of kintsugi can also be seen as a variant of the adage, “Waste not, want not”.<\/span><\/p>\n Kintsugi can relate to the Japanese philosophy of mushin (“no mind”), which encompasses the concepts of non-attachment, acceptance of change, and fate as aspects of human life.<\/p>\n
Kintsugi is the general concept of highlighting or emphasizing imperfections, visualizing mends and seams as an additive or an area to celebrate or focus on, rather than absen`1`ce or missing pieces. Modern artists and designers experiment with the ancient technique as a means of analyzing the idea of loss and improvement through destruction and repair or rebirth.<\/p>\n
Kintsugi as an art form and related repair methods have been featured at several exhibitions by contemporary artists and designers who incorporate kintsugi techniques, aesthetics, and philosophies in their work, such as:<\/p>\n
Los Angeles artist Victor Solomon, who was inspired by kintsugi practices and philosophies to create “Kintsugi Court”, a fractured public basketball court in South Los Angeles he repaired with gold-dusted resin. The project was finished in 2020 to coincide with the restart of the NBA season, which had been paused due to the Covid-19 pandemic.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t
\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\u00a0 \u00a0Resident Jay Gordon moved into Independence Village back on June 15, 2021. He was followed nearly a year later (April 15, 2022) by his mother, Sylvia Gordon, shortly after her husband died. Jay has lived in Raleigh and has worked for a number of years for Rex Hospital transferring patients to and from radiology and other departments. He also likes to sing and act and has taken an acting gig in Raleigh\u2019s Little Theater (\u201cI always wanted to be a movie star,\u201d he chuckles,)<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cI\u2019m glad I moved here,\u201d says Jay, \u201cAnd so much has happened: During freak winter weather some of our pipes froze. A few drops of water began dripping onto my bed from the ceiling. Just as I left the room to report it, I heard a tremendous crash! It turned out that a pipe had sprung a leak right over my bed. The water build-up had proved too much for the ceiling and down it came. I thank the good Lord for saving me because my bed was totally destroyed \u2013 but without me in it. My mother, who lives just down the hall, was OK. And so was \u201cCally\u201d, our cat.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Jay (aka John Boyd Gordon III) was born July 10th,1959. His father, John Boyd Gordon II, was born in Gastonia, N.C. and served in U.S. Army Counter-intelligence during the late 50\u2019s (1956-1959). \u201cHe was also a prize-winning amateur photographer,\u201d says Jay. \u201cGoing back even further, my great-grandfather was a Presbyterian minister.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cSpeaking of names,\u201d said Sylvia, \u201cI was born as Margaret Catherine. But it was the \u201dwrong\u201d name as the result of a family misunderstanding, My grandmother solved the problem: she picked out the name Sylvia. I wasn\u2019t aware of any of this until years later when I discovered my original name on an old application my parents had filled out for me to join the National Society Children of the American Revolution (C.A.R.).<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cAnyhow,\u201d she continued, \u201cI met and married Jay\u2019s father in Shelby, North Carolina, where I was born and grew up. The Army moved us from place to place, such as Baltimore and Richmond. I graduated from Queen\u2019s College in Charlotte, N.C., after which I taught high-school English in Baltimore and Richmond (where Jay was born). Then I worked in Raleigh for the North Carolina Library for the Blind and Physically Handicapped for nearly 29 years until I retired in 1998.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cJay has a younger sister,\u201d she continued. \u201cHer name is Catherine and she works in Houston, Texas as a pediatrician and endocrinologist. She tells me she will soon be taking a job with NIH in Bethesda, Maryland.\u201d<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Sylvia, by the way, is an artist \u2013 and a very good one, I might say. She began to paint at age four and has been taking painting classes since 1976. Most of her artwork, saved when she moved out of the family home of 54 years on Raleigh\u2019s Wayland Drive, now adorn the walls of her apartment.<\/p>
<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>\u00a0 Few culinary traditions run as deep as collards in North Carolina. This leafy green claims one of the longest growing seasons of any in North Carolina’s crops, and is oftentimes all that remains in home gardens and farms come January. On New Year\u2019s Day, tables are filled with foods that symbolize luck and money: black-eyed peas, cornbread, ham and collards, the last of which resemble dollar bills and are believed to invite prosperity. Just like the New Year, collards return again and again to nourish and delight, bringing with them hope and a sense of State pride.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0In downtown Ayden, N.C., there is even a Collard Festival parade that includes live music, art shows, food trucks and more. this event is 50 years old.<\/p> Lebanon \u2013 by Richard Smalto<\/strong><\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0When I was in the army, I belonged to the 48th<\/sup> armored infantry an outfit stationed in Europe that lost its colors in Korea because it ran. Colors are critical to the success of an army. They mark the location of the commander and serve as a rallying point for the troops. In the chaos of battle the ability to maintain a formation is critical to the army\u2019s success. Because of the use of modern weapons and a change in tactics, colors are no longer carried into battle. However, in the past an elite corps of soldiers protected the colors and it was considered a great feat of arms to capture them.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0As a result of this tradition, we watched with a great deal of curiosity and a certain degree of trepidation as each company came to full strength while the remainder of the battalion was put into a state of readiness and complete mobilization. Reorganized and ready one evening. the German girls we were drinking beer with told us not to go to bed that night. That night at two o\u2019clock in the morning we were awakened and mustered to be deployed we knew not where. Loaded onto large troop transport trucks, we moved to an airfield staging area where we waited to be told what our mission was. \u00a0We drank coffee as airplane engines came to life and non-commissioned officers scurried about. Engines roaring, hearts pounding, the order came to send us back.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Later that day, in the barracks, we learned that Eisenhower decided to give us a chance to recover our colors by sending us into Lebanon to keep the peace. Before the order could be carried out, he changed his mind and told the generals to send in the marines. He said because he thought the 48th<\/sup> would muck it up again.<\/p> Somethin\u2019 Fishy: A Fish Tale \u2013 by Frank Howes<\/strong><\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Once upon a time there was a group of men fishing for herring in a branch that ran into Contentnea Creek in eastern North Carolina. This was in the mid-sixties when the herring and shad were still thick in the rivers and streams when they ran in early April. On this particular occasion, the men were fishing at night, and while they waited for their nets to fill, they told tales around a campfire.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Among those around the campfire was a young man named Eddie and a wizened old man named Mr. Tom.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Eddie was a classic Southern good-ol\u2019 boy and a former high school football star. He was competitive to a fault, and sometimes given to bragging.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Mr. Tom was a laconic old tobacco farmer who was fond of a good joke.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0This evening, the conversation, naturally enough, turned to fish stories: who had caught the biggest fish, what was the best fish bait, and so forth. Many people told their story, but after each one, Eddie told a story about a bigger fish. People around the fire were obviously getting impatient with Eddie\u2019s one-upmanship.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Finally, at just the right moment, Mr. Tom started talking. He told a story about a bass he pursued in 1934. \u201cI was a\u2019ter this bass one time in ol\u2019 man Corbett\u2019s pond. I seen him jump once or twice. He was huge, but I could never catch him. Hooked him a couple o\u2019 times, but he got away every time. I was bound and determined to catch that fish, so I kept working at it.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cBut that was a smart fish. He never bit on the same bait twice. I started out using worms. Then I used crickets, and later I tried grubs from a wasp nest. Each time I hooked him he got wiser. Like I said, that was a smart fish.\u201d<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Determined to outdo Mr. Tom, Eddie said \u201cYeah, I\u2019ve caught some big bass, but I like artificial lures, especially rubber worms. One time I caught an 11-pound bass on a rubber worm. Man, did he put up a fight.\u201d He paused a moment, then said, \u201cMr. Tom, did you ever catch that fish.\u201d<\/p> \u00a0 \u201cYeah, I finally caught him. I outsmarted him.\u201d<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWhat\u2019d you catch him on Mr. Tom?\u201d<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Straight faced, without the slightest gleam in his eye, Mr. Tom said, \u201cCastor oil.\u201d<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cCastor oil\u203d<\/strong> How\u2019d you catch a fish with castor oil\u203d<\/strong>\u201d<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWell, I found out where that fish was a-layin\u2019 up. I started feedin\u2019 him regular one day. I fed him all the baits I\u2019d used \u2013 worms, crickets, grubs, all his favorite foods. And then I used the castor oil, and I caught him!\u201d<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cI still don\u2019t get it, Mr. Tom. How\u2019d you catch him with castor oil?\u201d<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWell, I soaked some bait in castor oil, and I fed it to him. I fed him \u2018til he couldn\u2019t eat no more, and that\u2019s how I caught him.\u201d<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWhat,\u201d said Eddie, \u201cI still don\u2019t understand how that helped you catch that fish.\u201d<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWell, that fish was so full, he was about to bust open, and when he crawled up on the bank to take a crap, I just reached down and picked him up.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cMan,\u201d Mr. Tom continued, \u201cthat was a whopper! It might have been a mite smaller than your eleven-pound whopper, but that was a big \u2018un!\u201d<\/p> It\u2019s Never too late\u2026<\/em><\/strong><\/p> Olive – The Cat with Seven Lives<\/strong> \u2013 by Pat Simpson<\/strong><\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Recently my daughter Diana took her two boys, Charlie & Johnnie on a trip to Maine, specifically to Long Cove Artist Cottage, a rustic little self-contained Maine cottage on Deer Isle, located about 20 miles out in Penobscot Bays \u2013 a perfect retreat: everything they would need in one location \u2013 walking, swimming, and boating.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0The boys love animals, and when they met Olive the cat, it was love at first sight. Olive was very friendly, but her patchy fur seemed to indicate she was still on the mend from an injury. Her owner & host, Judith, said she was taken by a Bald Eagle but somehow got away and survived the attack, \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cOlive was alone and covered in tree sap and very sick when I found her,” Judith explained. “After a lot of baths and medication, she was finally well enough to move back in.\u201d<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWow,\u201d said Johnnie, \u201cI\u2019m glad she\u2019s alright.\u201d<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cSo am I,\u201d said Charlie. \u201cI\u2019ll bet she has nightmares1\u201d<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Olive, now on the bed where they had placed her, looked up as if she wanted to talk. As you know, cats can\u2019t talk. But I\u2019ll bet you didn\u2019t know they could think\u2026<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cYou don\u2019t know the half of it,\u201d thought Olive. \u201cNot only can I think, but I do<\/u> have nightmares\u2026let me tell you why\u2026I was minding my own business \u2013 as cats always do \u2013 when \u2018Bam!\u2019 something hit me on my back. It really hurt! And I immediately felt myself being lifted from the ground. Something was pinching my back and I was getting higher and higher\u2026so high that I thought I was looking down from Heaven.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cThat\u2019s when I lost the first of my nine lives.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cSuddenly, whatever or whoever it was, let me go. That\u2019s when I fell from the sky. And that\u2019s when I lost my second life.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cIt wasn\u2019t until much later (as my mom Judith explained to me) that I learned eagles drop their prey to incapacitate them. They will use their strong talons to grab them and throw them off a high cliff. After they drop dead from free-fall, the eagle will devour them.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cAll I can say is that the next thing I knew, I awoke in the forest the following morning. I was surrounded by dampness, mud, and an overwhelming sense of isolation. My body bore the marks of the harrowing experience, with bruises on my neck, shoulder, and ankle. My right eye was swollen shut and I felt a wave of dizziness wash over me. I came to the grim realization that I had survived a great fall through the forest. Overhead, I could hear the cry of an eagle but the dense canopy of trees obscured me from its view.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWhat now?\u201d I thought. \u201cBut I realized I had no choice. I had to confront the daunting challenge of surviving alone in the treacherous cold forests of Maine \u2013 and I would have to use every survival skill as well.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cAware that I couldn\u2019t stay there forever, I decided to venture into the forest. I carefully treaded forward, one step at a time, as a precautionary measure to avoid stepping on hidden snakes or insects. I repeated this process \u2013 stepping and listening \u2013 repeating the cycle as I forged my way through the treacherous terrain.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cI had no food, and when thirst struck, I resorted to licking water droplets from tree leaves. Determined to find civilization and home, I followed a small creek, hoping it would lead me to \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cIt was Judith who gave me healing. It was Judith who gave me the care I desperately needed.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cJudith, I am but a cat; but I still have seven lives and I\u2019ll be your friend forever!\u201d<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0P.S. \u00a0It wasn\u2019t until later that I learned that Judith could have protected me with a \u201craptor shield\u201d. You know \u2013 Protects against raptors. birds of prey: hawks, owls, eagles \u2013 like the one that almost got me. You can also get something like a spike vest or a coyote vest. What eagle in its right mind would want to attack cute little me? It would get a mouthful of spikes!\u201d<\/p> Our First Wedding Anniversary: A Note of Thanks from Pat and June Cheek Simpson <\/strong><\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0 June and I just want everyone to know how grateful and thankful we were for Food and Dietary Director Charlie Banks (C.B.) and his staff\u2019s fabulous treatment of us on Sunday evening, May 21, 2023. Just a couple of days before that I had mentioned in passing to C.B. that Sunday marked our first wedding anniversary. As you may know, June Cheek and I were married right here in the dining room a year ago. We will never forget C.B.\u2019s wonderful food and service at our wedding reception that day.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Fast forward one year later to Sunday evening \u2013 food server Mary Saseen had asked us at lunch-time to be at a certain dining room table at 3:30 pm. We knew that something was up \u2013 so we indeed arrived on time. Lo and behold, Mary, assisted by Imani Kelly and Jamaul Bible, brought forward a wonderful round wedding anniversary cake with three candles. She got the crowd to say “Happy Anniversary” as June blew out the candles. It was a wonderful cake (and wonderful prime rib) and we had a wonderful time!<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0I pray for C.B. and his staff every day, asking God to grant them the gifts of “helps”, the gift of patience, and the gift of love. God granted all three prayers last Sunday night. June and I would like to thank them from the bottom of our hearts. May they all have one blessed day after another!<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t Disclaimer: The information contained in this newsletter represents the views and opinions of the original creators of such information and does not necessarily represent the views or opinions of Independence Village nor does it constitute an endorsement by Independence Village or its affiliates of such information. <\/em><\/strong><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t Being Authentic \u2013 by Margie Lewin<\/strong><\/p> Being authentic is showing Here are some thoughtful tips:<\/p> Lessons from Life \u2013 by Richard Smalto<\/strong><\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0I was a bit of an idealist when I was a young man. My father, who worked hard most of his adult life, was a good provider and a \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cThe world doesn\u2019t owe you a living,\u201d he would say to me when I complained about my inability to find a job because of lack of experience. \u201cDon\u2019t worry about the rate of unemployment,\u201d he would say to my bother. \u201cThere will always be five percent of the population that doesn\u2019t want to work.\u201d (which was the rate of unemployment at that time)\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Trying as hard as I could, still unable to find work, wallowing in an orgy of self-pity, I enlisted in the army because I wanted to travel and see the world.\u00a0 When I was in the army I was exposed to and read the book The Fountainhead<\/em>. It changed my life forever.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Contrast my father\u2019s mild-mannered approach to my self-indulgence to the early life of Mickey Mantle. Mickey Mantle was a major league baseball player who played hurt throughout a tumultuous long-lasting major-league baseball career. In his hotel room alone, after being sent down to the minors because of his inability to hit, he lost confidence and became despondent. Believing his career was over before it began, he reached out to his father, hoping for support. Telling him over the phone he couldn\u2019t play anymore and wanted to go home. His father drove from Commerce, Oklahoma to Kansas City, Missouri. He confronted his son in his hotel room. Mantle said he tried his hardest, lost his confidence wanted to quit and just go home.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cNow you shut up! I don\u2019t wanna hear your whining!\u201d his father bellowed. \u201cI thought I raised a man, not a coward.\u201d Still muttering about the fact \u201che thought he raised a man not a coward,\u201d\u00a0he packed his son\u2019s belongings, prepared to take him home.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0When the time came to leave, Mantle began to sob and cry; telling his father he would try again.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0The harsh rebuke lit a fire under Mantle who was recalled from their farm team by the Yankees. \u00a0Mantle was a switch-hitter. Though he did not use steroids to help him hit homeruns nevertheless it was said this steroid unaided athlete could hit a ball as far as Ruth lefthanded and or as far as Foxx righthanded. Severely injured early in his career, suffering from osteomyelitis, playing hurt but always playing, Mantle, who was admired by his team mates as a player and as a man because he always played hurt, went on to become one of the most prodigious major league baseball hitters of all times.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t A<\/strong>ngela and Michael \u2013 b<\/strong>y Frank Howes<\/strong><\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“What do you mean?” Angela said.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Her name is appropriate, thought Michael, she really is an angel. “I think I love you.”<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“How can you say that, we’ve only known each other two weeks.”<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“Two weeks, two months, two years, what difference does it make? I knew after two days! We’re not kids anymore. We don’t have a lot of years left. I know what I want, and I want to be with you.”<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“Be with me? What do you mean by that? We’re already spending most of our days together.”<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“I mean I want to marry you. I want to wake up with you by my side every morning.”<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“We can’t get married. What would our children say?”<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“I know what mine would say, they’d ask, ‘Does she make you happy?’ If I told them how you make me feel they’d say, ‘Go for it. I’m glad you’ve found someone.”<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“Mine would say, ‘Don’t do it Mom, he’s just after your money.'”<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“I’d sign a prenup if it would reassure them…” Michael continued, “I just told you I think I love you. How do you feel about me?”<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“I think… I think…”<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cYes…\u201d<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“I think I’m not sure how I feel about you. I know I’m very happy when I’m with you, but marriage? I once swore I’d never get married again. But…”<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“But?”<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“But, I think maybe I love you too.”<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“What are we going to do about it then?”<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“I know, why don’t we shack up for a year or so,” she laughed. “See how it goes.”<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“You’d do that?”<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“Yes.”<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“My kids would be scandalized. I raised them in a Christian home. They wouldn’t understand.”<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“My kids would have a chance to get to know you. They’d be reassured.”<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“Well, I’m willing if you are. You can be my femme fatale. I’ll be your gigolo,” he chuckled.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“Let’s have a toast then, to lecherous, libidinous, lustful, lascivious lovin\u2019.” She laughed again. He loved her laugh.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“You left out delicious, my luscious.”<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“To delicious love then.”<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0“To love.”<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0He bent and kissed her softly.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t The Puzzle Wall \u2013 by Pat Simpson<\/strong><\/p>\n Recently, as I wandered through our activity room, I came upon a wall covered with \u2013 you\u2019ll never guess it \u2013 jigsaw puzzles. Welcome to Independence Village\u2019s Puzzle Wall!<\/p>\n You may say: So what is a puzzle wall?<\/p>\n Well, as the name implies, rather than wallpaper, the wall is papered with puzzles \u2013 yes, jig-saw puzzles. It\u2019s sort of a grand art project \u2013 with puzzle themes such as castles, cats, boats, buildings, dogs, dinosaurs, Disney, winter snowmen and summer beaches, to name a few.<\/p>\n Jig saw puzzles have been around since 1767 when British cartographer and engraver John Spilsbury (1739-1769) invented the first jigsaw type puzzle as an educational device to teach geography in 18th-century England. It was not yet called a jigsaw puzzle, however. What he made were called dissected maps. Dissected maps have been a successful educational toy ever since and children today still use them to learn states and countries. Over the past 250 years this educational toy has remained popular among children but also evolved into one of the most popular pastimes for American adults. Jigsaw puzzles have literally been made in all different shapes and sizes and for many different purposes from relieving boredom and stress to being used as an advertising tool.<\/p>\n Dissected pictures followed, covering such subjects as history, alphabets, botany, and zoology. The use of popular pictures began in the 1860s and \u201970s, in both Great Britain and the United States. The puzzles became extremely popular in the early 1900s and had a revival in the Great Depression of the 1930s as an inexpensive, reusable amusement. Another revival began after World War II, and jigsaw puzzles have remained a popular entertainment since then.<\/p>\n The \u201cdissected pictures\u201d before me, I later learned, were put together by various resident artists, each of whom signed his or her name onto a wall plaque \u2013 hidden among the puzzles \u2013 which declared \u201cWelcome to our puzzle wall.\u201d Puzzle-guru Taylor Clodfelter handled the process of getting them on the wall.<\/p>\n I couldn\u2019t help but relate it to Kintsugi, the Japanese art of Kintsugi became closely associated with damaged ceramic vessels used for Japanese tea ceremonies as a more aesthetically pleasing means of repair rather than ugly metal staples. Collectors became so enamored of the new art that some were accused of deliberately smashing valuable pottery so it could be repaired with the gold seams of kintsugi.<\/p>\n Kintsugi can relate to the Japanese philosophy of mushin (“no mind”), which encompasses the concepts of non-attachment, acceptance of change, and fate as aspects of human life.<\/p>\n Kintsugi is the general concept of highlighting or emphasizing imperfections, visualizing mends and Kintsugi as an art form and related repair methods have been featured at several exhibitions by contemporary artists and designers who incorporate kintsugi techniques, aesthetics, and philosophies in their work, such as:<\/p>\n Los Angeles artist Victor Solomon, who was inspired by kintsugi practices and philosophies to create “Kintsugi Court”, a fractured public basketball court in South Los Angeles he repaired with gold-dusted resin. The project was finished in 2020 to coincide with the restart of the NBA season, which had been paused due to the Covid-19 pandemic.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\tCollards \u2013 by Margie Lewin<\/strong><\/p><\/p> crawled home, and managed to get patched back together.<\/p><\/p> a larger river and eventually to help. Days without sustenance took their toll. I succumbed to hallucinations. With sheer determination I somehow managed to persevere. \u00a0However, I heard a voice that seemed too real to be a mere figment of my imagination. It was Judith! She emerged from the forest, took me home and provided me with food and tended to my injuries.<\/p><\/p>Resident Ramblings<\/strong><\/h4>
your true personality and character and showing the world who you really are.<\/p> practical person. He had very little patience for what he thought were harebrained intellectual utopian ideas we were promoting at the dinner table; a knowledge we obtained from colleges we attended paid for by him.<\/p>\u00a0 \u00a0She was 68. He was 63. They both liked a good glass of wine. “I never thought I’d feel this way again,” said Michael.<\/p><\/p>\n repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. As a philosophy, it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise.<\/p>\n As a philosophy, kintsugi is similar to the Japanese philosophy of wabi -sabi, an embracing of the flawed or imperfect. Japanese aesthetics values marks of wear from the use of an object. This can be seen as a rationale for keeping an object around even after it has broken; it can also be understood as a justification of kintsugi itself, highlighting cracks and repairs as events in the life of an object, rather than allowing its service to end at the time of its damage or breakage.[12] The philosophy of kintsugi can also be seen as a variant of the adage, “Waste not, want not”.<\/span><\/p>\n seams as an additive or an area to celebrate or focus on, rather than absen`1`ce or missing pieces. Modern artists and designers experiment with the ancient technique as a means of analyzing the idea of loss and improvement through destruction and repair or rebirth.<\/p>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t