Today Dennis and I are coming back from our daughter Alison’s house. I celebrated Mother’s Day by spending Saturday night and today with her and her family. Alison and I have had a complicated relationship over the years
In her younger years, we often clashed. My best Mother’s Day gift is the realization that we have become close.
Here is a picture of Alison and me on Mother’s Day this year.
I had my usual website problems so I hope this finally posts. The spring sunshine makes my heart lighter and more hopeful. This bridal wreath is now in full bloom as it is late March. My daughter planted it over 30 years ago, and it continues to grow and bloom. I hope that wherever you are this spring you are experiencing sunshine and new growth. Here is a haiku that sprang up today.
May your soul be filled,
With the blessing of spring sunshine,
And the gift of hope.
On this cusp of a new year, my mind travels back to the years gone by when I was growing up as a small girl in a very large extended family, the Philpott family. My father Gene Philpott had eight siblings, and as long as his parents, Emert and Mary Clay Philpott lived, we had occasional family gatherings. This picture was likely taken in the late 50s at my grandparents’ house. They are pictured in the center of the back row. You will find a partial shot of me at the far left of the back row. All of the other kids are on the front row. Even then, I didn’t always follow directions. Most of these folks are gone now, even a couple of the kids. Life is very fragile. Handle with care.
I have been unable to get into my website for three months. Sometimes technology is a nightmare! I am spending the holidays mostly by myself this year, which I don’t really mind. I am at heart a solitary soul. Just got a message that updating failed so you probably won’t see this, but I will persevere. Here is a picture of me engaged in a favorite activity, speaking about my CHEROKEE PASSAGES historical fiction series. It finally posted, a Christmas miracle! MERRY CHRISTMAS!
The final book of the “Cherokee Passages,” Cherokee Steel will be out on August 30. I haven’t been told when it will be available for pre-order. This book begins in the 1940s and ends in 2000, continuing the multi-generational saga of Bluebird and Grey Wolf. Woven into the saga is the story of Bonita McKindle, who struggles to make a life for herself while coping with an alcoholic father. My book launch will be on September 6, 2 p.m. to 6 p.m. at the Kansas City Southern Depot in Stilwell, Oklahoma. I hope all of you can be there. If that’s not possible, you may buy my book online when it appears on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Googleplay, Young Dragons Press, and Kobo Books.
Recently I received a great honor. My poem, “A Look at Woody,” was chosen to be included in the Woody Guthrie Folk Festival. I will be reading it during the festival on Saturday, July 16, in Okemah, Oklahoma.
I first learned about Woody in my music class at Stilwell Elementary School. “This Land Is Your Land” touched my heart and soul then and still does today. But, even though, I loved his music, I didn’t know much about the man and his times until I was in high school. After reading “The Grapes of Wrath”, I began to understand who Woody and John Steinbeck were talking about. Their inspirations were the poor folks who struggled to survive during hard times like the Great Depression. They especially focused on the “Okies”, who left their homes for the promise of better lives in California. It wasn’t until I became an adult that I realized that my own family and the families of several in our community include Okies, and the exodus didn’t end after the Great Depression faded away. In particular, I remember one of my mother’s uncles who, along with his wife and children, would periodically travel to California, become migrant workers, make some money, and then return home to Oklahoma. This was happening in the 1950s, and I have found old pictures that prove that several relatives, on both sides of the family, were traveling to California during the 40s and 50s to try to improve their lots. Most came back home to Oklahoma, but some stayed in California. Thanks, Woody, for giving us insight into what life was like in these turbulent times and always sticking up for the poor and the oppressed.
As is often the case, Mother’s Day stirs up mixed feelings. My mom sometimes spoke about the void that existed in her life because she lost her mother when she was an infant. Even though her grandparents did their best, she still longed for a mother. This drove her to become a very warm, loving mother, and my brother and I inherited that blessing. As a mother, I tried to pattern myself after her. I went through a time when I felt like I had failed as a mother, but, thankfully, it didn’t last but a few years. Ironically, I also found myself in Delia’s role when I helped raise my oldest granddaughter. Just wish my family lived closer so we could celebrate Mother’s Day together.
Did you know that April is national poetry month? Personally, I have probably written poetry every month of the year sometime or another ever since I started writing it over 60 years ago. Yes, I have written poetry most of my life, and it has always been a sort of emotional, creative therapy for me. When I was young, I wrote poems about nature and the joys and fears of childhood. Here’s a snippet from a poem about swinging: “I can swing so high, I can touch the sky,
and there’s only God and me.”
Out of the angst of adolescence grew, “I am an unknown entity, drowning in a nameless sea. How can I reach out my hand to you when it doesn’t belong to me?”
When writing about love, “What greater plane can man reach than to be loved so greatly by one mortal being? Therein lies all the smiles of God and all the stars of heaven.”
With the demands of marriage, motherhood, and a teaching career, I didn’t write as much poetry. I do remember, “I dress the boys in blue and the girls in ruffles. But somewhere, somehow, I got lost in the shuffle.”
With retirement came more time to think and create. Several of my poems have received awards. Yesterday I learned my poem, “Shades of Oklahoma” received second place in a poetry contest sponsored by the Rural Oklahoma Museum of Poetry in Locust Grove. I am going there Saturday to read my poem and receive an award. You really should visit this wonderful museum whenever you can. Happy Poetry month!
I will be honest with you. I really didn’t want to write this blog. My writing career is rather at a standstill right now.
I am waiting on my editors to have time to work with me on editing two books I have written. The first is a children’s book, and the second is a nonfiction history about Indian Territory in early Oklahoma history, with most of the book
being focused on the Cherokee Nation. Writing a new book would be a huge undertaking, and I am not ready to take
it on just yet.
So, let’s talk about more pleasant matters. My third book in the “Cherokee Passages” series, CHEROKEE STEEL, is scheduled to be released in July of 2022. My first and second books, CHEROKEE CLAY and CHEROKEE STONE are selling well locally but not so much online.
I need to figure out ways to promote online sales and reviews.
Another positive, spring is in the air. I walked around in short sleeves last weekend, but today’s temperatures were in the low 40s. Typical Oklahoma weather. The weathermen are talking about the possibility of snow again.
This old house lies close to my family’s original Cherokee allotment in Welling, Oklahoma. It was built during Indian Territory days by my great, great uncle, James Clay. A few Clay family members still live on the allotment. I am sure that my father, Gene Philpott, visited this house, as well as the old Clay Family Cemetery. He was born, July 7, 1929, on the family allotment. I discovered this house a few years ago when my Clay cousin, Imogene Clay Webb, took me there.
Today, February 4, is my birthday so I am going to blog about it. Sixty-two years makes a big difference, but I can still see a bit of that little smiling girl in the senior citizen on her right. Things don’t always go my way, but, generally, a grin comes to my lips quicker than a grimace. I was never a rambunctious child, and reading and listening were second nature to me. Both traits have served me well in my second career as a writer. Many of the characters and story lines in my writing spring from stories I read, was told, or overheard when I was a young, quiet girl. As I look at my younger self, I see my mother’s touch. She always made sure that I was well-groomed and neatly dressed. She worked hard at factory or sales jobs to make sure I had nice clothes that always matched. Thank you, Mama, for teaching me to put my family first and for showing me that looking your best is important. As I look out the window on this snowy February day, I think of all of the other birthdays I have celebrated throughout my 69 years. Some of them have brought snow; many have been simply cold, but a few, including the actual day of my birth, have been balmy spring-like days. I will gladly take them all, but I will especially glory in those unexpected, unique, unusually blessed birthdays!
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