More Backstory

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The photo is of the graveyard near the Hill of Tara, County Meath, Ireland. Newgrange is approximately a half hour away.

Probably the first time I heard of Tara (in this lifetime) was in reading Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell when I was in my early 20s. The Hill of Tara came to me many years later when I read Scarlett by Alexandra Ripley in 1991. I loved both books, feeling Ripley continued Scarlett’s fiery personality in her novel.

Angelo came home one day and said, “Let’s go to Ireland next month.” He always chose our vacation spot, but left the planning up to me. I had no clue (and the Internet was in its infancy) about where to go, no time to write for tourist information, and never went to tourist destinations anyway.

Ahhh! I had recently finished Scarlett. I took the book off the shelf, copied all the places she mentioned and marked them on the map. It gave me a starting point. Angelo was not a reader. He had no idea where my plan came from, just went along wherever I drove the car. I was determined to see where the High Kings of Ireland sat; where Scarlett was taking a handful of her Tara’s earth to mix with the earth in the Hill of Tara, Ireland.

 

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More Backstory

ireland-graveyard
JANUARY 6, 2017 · 7:52 PM | EDIT ↓ Jump to Comments
More Backstory
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The photo is of the graveyard near the Hill of Tara, County Meath, Ireland. Newgrange is approximately a half hour away. A Nosegay of Violets. Probably the first time I heard of Tara (in this lifetime) was in reading Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell when I was in my early 20s. The Hill of Tara came to me many years later when I read Scarlett by Alexandra Ripley in 1991. I loved both books, feeling Ripley continued Scarlett’s fiery personality in her novel.

Angelo came home one day and said, “Let’s go to Ireland next month.” He always chose our vacation spot, but left the planning up to me. I had no clue (and the Internet was in its infancy) about where to go, no time to write for tourist information, and never went to tourist destinations anyway.

Ahhh! I had recently finished Scarlett. I took the book off the shelf, copied all the places she mentioned and marked them on the map. It gave me a starting point. Angelo was not a reader. He had no idea where my plan came from, just went along wherever I drove the car. I was determined to see where the High Kings of Ireland sat; where Scarlett was taking a handful of her Tara’s earth to mix with the earth in the Hill of Tara, Ireland.

As I stood there, I saw the tombstone’s off near a small church. I expected to find some really, really old markers. Genealogy was playing a big role in my life at the time, so gravestones were important to me. They hold a wealth of historical information. I found a few from the 1800s which isn’t considered old to me. Disappointed, maybe, but not in Tara.

Newgrange had deeply unsettled me. I was wary of walking into that narrow tunnel to get to the interior. I did it, not happily. I had to force myself. Something was going on there and I did not know what, only how it affected me. The Hill of Tara was just what I needed to restore my energy and self-assurance as a visitor in Ireland.

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Early Backstory

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When I was a teen I planned to be a reporter/journalist for a daily newspaper. As soon as I graduated from high school, I would face the world, have my own apartment and report, write, and look for situations people wanted to read about.

Excitement built in me when I was accepted to work on the Hamilton High school newspaper. It was probably named The Hornet or something similar that escapes my memory because I never made it to my senior year. A year that I so looked forward to. A year that would be my early training for the career I craved.

My mother did some finagling that summer between my junior and senior years. She was grossly unhappy with my having a steady boyfriend, who took me to proms, football games, swimming, parties, and all the dreamy places a teenage girl could want. He even got me a part-time job waiting the counter in a luncheonette.  She decided he was not to be in my life any longer.

Then she met Ken at our neighbor Claire and Bill’s house. He was a friend of Bill’s.  Mom determined that we should meet and become a couple. That’s how it happened. It was all arranged. A backyard cookout was planned where he would not bring his present girlfriend. I was so naïve! I knew nothing of all this going on. Just pushed into attending.

Ken also took me swimming, dancing, to impressive restaurants, and cozy jazz clubs where the smoke hung low and chanteuse voices even lower. He was 6’ 2” wide in the shoulders, narrow in the hips, wore custom-made suits, sported anErrol Flynn mustache, and drove a fine-looking Cadillac. Two tone gray.  Very classy.

Mom coached me to order V. O. & water so I wouldn’t be carded. I was 16. The legal drinking age at the time was 21. Ken was 26, a handsome man with exquisite manners, consideration, and attendance.

At the end of the whirlwind summer, when it was time for me to return to school, Ken asked me to marry him. My stepfather Joe wisely suggested we wait until I finish high school. I think he knew this would blow over in time. I was just too young for a lifetime commitment. I was happy waiting although I considered that Ken would not be taking me to high school balls or football games. Besides being on the school paper, I was vice-president of the class. I was involved. It was expected of me to support my school events. I couldn’t see Ken’s going along with this.

It took me years to figure out that Mom was terrified I would become pregnant and bring shame to the family. She wisely knew, at Ken’s age, he would probably not wait for conjugal rights. He certainly was not gentleman enough to wait for me.  She didn’t know I had the determination and intelligence to not let that happen to me. She just didn’t know me at all.

So, I said ‘yes.’ My words, not quite my dream.  Surely this was only a detour. I didn’t know that then, but I knew, walking down the aisle in a white velvet gown in November, with all eyes on me, tears slowly overflowing my eyes under my tulle veil, that this was not the right place for me to be. But it was too late to turn back.

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Early Nosegay of Violets

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PSYCHIC DEVELOPMENT IN THE LINEAGE

violets-3grandma-daniels   The photo shows Grandmother Elizabeth Urbanski Daniels (my mother’s mother) holding me approximately one year before she passed away. No stories have come to me about anyone before her in her birth line being psychically developed. She certainly was. My mother didn’t tell me about this until I was nearly 30 years old. I’d had some out of body experiences of my own, but Mom didn’t know that. She never knew it because I never told her. Mom had a habit of belittling me, so I wasn’t about to confide anything at all to her.

Grandmother Elizabeth (as she was referred to, never Grandma) read tarot cards. She was good at it. My mother was developed as far as my two brothers and I was concerned. She always knew before I did, when I was pregnant. I’m talking about within days. With my brother Bob, it was instant. In her later years, she lived in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida but knew instantly when Bob’s car was in an accident in New Jersey. She called on the phone within minutes after it happened. The car was empty. Bob was in the house with me at the time.

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SPECIAL EVENT TAKING PLACE, 2 DEC. 2016!

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Announcing a special event happening along the border of North Carolina and Virginia. December 2, 2016 from 1 until 3 pm+ at Backyard Birds and Coffee, Hwy 903, Bracey, Virginia (entrance driveway is next to the Sunoco Gas Station) Five local authors of various genres are gathering together for an afternoon of excitement. Bring your questions and comments. Come, join us. Remember that books inscribed by the author make great, unique Christmas gifts! Refreshments served.

Sandra Martin – memoir ~ Snapshots ~ Memories and Recipes
These stories are from Bracey farm girl, to suburban mother and finally to the life of a NYC literary agent. Ms Martin represented clients in the emerging mainstream genres of deep spirituality, ESP and the paranormal, alternative health and then there were the conspiracy books.

Arlene S. Bice – memoir~ A Nosegay of Violets- A Writer’s Memoir of Psychic Awakening
An ordinary girl grows into womanhood while experiencing extraordinary psychic moments. A very personal story unwraps to reveal secrets held for many years.
Ms. Bice is also the author of Ghosts of Warren County, NC & Beyond and other books on true stories of ghosts and hauntings.

Thomas Park – poetry ~ Looking for ‘Cuda Brown
Looking for ‘Cuda Brown tells the stories of many extraordinary characters Thomas has met over the years.
Mr. Park, founder of Warren Artists’ Market, lives and teaches in Warrenton, NC. He has an M.A. in English from Wayne State University and an MFA from Goddard College in Vermont. He was published in Best New Poets of North Carolina.

Merriwether Shipley -fiction ~ Cassandra and the GI P.I.: A Dupont Circle Mystery
Cassandra and the GI P.I., a DuPont Circle Mystery, follow the events that lead to a college student’s chance meeting with a P.I. named Harry Shields in October of 1969. He suffers from shell shock which has followed him for 15 years. An unseen foe is trying to kill him. They work as a team to uncover the terrors, both internal and external, as they pursue life together.
Meriwether Shipley has been an actor, model, producer and director of stage and screen. She now applies her story telling skills to this seven-volume series of books. Ms. Shipley lives in Clarksville, Virginia.

Patricia Bortz, – fiction ~ Hard Truth: Secret of the Back Row
Megan Montgomery isn’t out to save the world, but her best friend, Nadia, is. America is no more. Christians who refuse the “”mark”” are arrested for high treason. Megan trusts Sixtus, the antichrist and President of the New World Order, until his true perverse nature is revealed.
In 1996 Patricia led the theater group at her church in Armonk, New York. She wrote and directed many short dramas and plays for her powerful ministry in prisons, nursing homes and homeless shelters. She was then led to write a full-length play based on the battle of Armageddon. “Hard Truth” was the result. The final performance played to a sold-out, standing room only theater. Mrs. Bortz lives in Bracey, Virginia.

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Backstory for A Nosegay of Violets, a writer’s memoir of psychic awakening

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Okay, here is some backstory to A Nosegay of Violets, a writer’s memoir of psychic awakening. I was told all the years growing up since I was 5 years old, that I was different because there was no father in our house. The only family in the neighborhood at the time to be so. My father suffered a terminal disease and was in the hospital from the time I was 5 until he died there. I was 12. Mom constantly reminded us to make better grades, to be better behaved (hard for my daredevil, tomboy ways) to be more proper, etc. etc. all in the name of being different.

After years of hearing this and thinking it was bad, to be different, I finally told myself, well, if I’m going to be tagged different, I will follow that road. In high school at my jr. prom, my boyfriend Walt Rutkowski, asked what flowers I wanted for this February prom. All the girls went for the expensive orchids. I loved simple beauty and asked for violets. Poor Walt, the florist had to search far and wide. They were probably more expensive than the orchids most of the girls preened,

My neighbor who I sometimes babysat for, 5 year old Dawn Deleen, came over to have her picture taken with me.  Years later, at her jr. prom, she asked her boyfriend for violets, probably forgetting about when she was 5. While living in Florida, Dawn saw the book cover and title, went searching in her photo albums and came up with my jr. prom photo with her! I didn’t even know this picture existed! So, here it is.

A Nosegay of Violets!

 

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