Ramey Channell's Blog, page 7

David Guest, managing attorney for
More than 463 endangered manatees have died this year alone, he says. And the number is quickly rising.Yet the state of Florida and the Environmental Protection Agency recently decided to approve dangerous loopholes in the region and allow more toxic pollution that is putting this gentle species’ very survival at risk.

This alarming number of manatee deaths is linked to toxic algae from sewage, manure, and fertilizer pollution. Yet, in an astonishing move, Florida and the Environmental Protection Agency—the very agency that is charged with protecting wildlife and their essential habitat—are siding with polluters and agro-businesses and putting profits over protections.
As the managing attorney of Earthjustice’s Florida office, David Guest says he will not stand by and watch this tragedy continue.

If you love manatees and would like to help, here's the information for making a donation:


To donate by phone, please call toll-free 1-800-584-6460, 9:00-5:00 PST.

Here's a poem I wrote about manatees:

Down to the River

Sun-cast water, glistening over mud and stones,
calls to mind a memory long forgotten,
of secrets kept and sacred treasures hidden
in a world of melody and tide beneath the surface.

When I go down into that clear and sparkling place,
where river pleasures beckon, washed in jeweled light,
the manatees will remember me and call my name,
and my heartbeat softly echo vaporous lullabies.

Copyright - Ramey Channell 2012 all rights reserved

It's dream time again! Our first What Did You Dream post was in June of 2012 (See below) Surely we've all had some dreams-worth-telling-about since then!

Last June I dreamed about a wooden leg.
http://www.rameychannell.blogspot.com/2012/06/what-did-you-dream-last-night.html
Last night I dreamed about Robert Redford. Actually, I dream about Bob frequently, so it was no big surprise seeing him last night in Dreamtime. We were among a crowd of people attending some sort of festive gala in a dreary cement underground hotel lobby/restaurant place. I had forgotten to get dressed and was wearing a nightgown and housecoat, which was also no surprise, but put me in a peevish mood. Robert didn't seem to mind. He was in love with me, and when he saw me sauntering toward him, he perfectly beamed with joy! We got into a car and drove along some streets that were almost wide enough for the car, but not quite, scraping along people's houses and fences and squeezing the car through narrow muddy roads, until we reached "my front yard." It's a place I frequently dream about as "my front yard," but it doesn't look like any yard I've seen anywhere except in Dreamtime. I sat under a huge tree and immediately discerned that there were three plump very large adorable animals up in the tree. At first I thought they were very large rabbits, but they weren't.    "What are those animals?" I asked, in awe of how big and fluffy they were.     "Goats." Robert answered in his characteristically terse manner.
And he was right. I coaxed the fat fluffy goats to come down out of the tree, and they were marvelously sweet and cuddly!  What could possibly be a more delightful surprise than finding cuddly fat goats in a tree in "my front yard?"
I got all three goats on my lap and in my arms, and that was the end of the dream.
So, what did you dream last night?

Today, January 8th, is Elvis Presley's birthday, and in honor of the King of Rock and Roll, I felt I should blog!

Blogging has been on hold for the last few weeks, due to a sudden tsunami of activities and obligations which left me and all constituent possums virtually flooded with frantic scurrying and hurrying. Now that the hub-bub has slacked off to some degree, I look forward to getting back to at least the possibility of calmer and more serene (serener) day-to-day business.

Guess what? I'm not sure if the problem is with Blogger, my computer, or WHAT, but I can't get any photos to download. When I click on the Insert Image icon, it should go to Browse so I could choose a picture, but that doesn't happen. Nothing happens. No pictures of Elvis, no pictures of his little birthplace in Tupelo, Mississippi! Nothing!

So, I'll just say, once again, HAPPY BIRTHDAY ELVIS!
I'll come back to this later.
How very interesting. I've found that the computer will allow me to add pictures that are from my blog, from previous posts, but it still won't let me upload new pictures from any place else. So, here are some photos of friends and family who are celebrating the King's birthday in their own way.
This is Musey, celebrating Elvis's birthday in a cardboard box.
This is Gretchen the Wonder Dog, waiting for birthday cake, and humming You Ain't Nothin' But a Hound Dog
This is a likeness of Chicken Little, the meanest chicken who ever walked the earth, of whom my sister and I were the unfortunate care-takers.

Here are two well-wishers, celebrating the day.
Here's Beale Street in Memphis, Tennessee. They're all celebrating Elvis's birthday!

Reason #1 Your Retreat Location May Be Near an Irish Pub
Here I am, with Angela Durden, enjoying a break from our creative writing at beautiful Blue Mountain Beach at the recent Write By the Water retreat! We had such a good time! You know, it's hard work being a writer!  We have to feed the muse.
Reason # 2It's Good to Get Away from the Fam' for a While.
The demands of domestic obligations and entanglements can sometimes overwhelm our creative impulses. A little privacy and solitude can recharge those literary synapses. That's me at home in Alabama, second from left, wearing my obligatory domestic apron. Well, actually I'm third from the left if you count the donkey.
Reason #3Your Brain Will Thank YouIn the words of our host at Write By the Water:"Held at international locations on, near, or at the water, we cater to the needs of dedicated writers, offering the time, space and solitude needed to give full focus to your writing projects."
I can attest to the fact that nothing encourages creative thought and expression more than being near the ocean, listening to the sounds of waves touching the sand, the cry of seagulls overhead, the smell of salt water and clean air. Writer's Paradise!
Reason #4Time to Think, Compose, Write, Rewrite, Organize, Edit
Those are the actual pages of the first three chapters of my Moonlight Ridge sequel. This marvelous writers retreat provided lots of quiet, uninterrupted time to get those characters headed in the right direction.

Reason #5Take a Deep Breath of Fresh AirThen hurry back to the laptop, pencil, and paper! Write on!

Over the week-end, I went to beautiful, glorious Blue Mountain Beach, Floridafor a three day Write By the Water writers retreat.


It was awesome! I had a glorious three days of walking on the beach, pondering, plotting, and recharging my creative batteries. Got some work done on my work-in-progress, the second book of The Moonlight Ridge Series. Talked to some beach birds, called my greeting across the waves to my dolphin friends. 
On Saturday night, we had the pleasure of hosting a very creative and active local poetry group, Say Word! Everyone got the opportunity to read to the group. And we listened to some fabulous guitar and vocal music performances by Weck and Rhoda, and creative easy-listening music from ConsthanDivine, whose name I may have spelled correctly, and maybe not. He's a sweet, talented fellow, and I'll correct the spelling if I have it wrong.


Here's ConsthanDivine Harris on the left, Maria Schabla on the right, and Angela Durden in the middle.
Linda Sands, the extraordinary organizer of Write By the Water, did such a marvelous job. She had everything ready for the visiting writers, and all we had to do was show up and enjoy ourselves. Linda is so talented, energetic, fun to be around, and her organizational skills are amazing.
Thank you so much, Linda, for a marvelous retreat.
I heartily reccomend Write By the Water to all my writer friends. The next one is scheduled to be in Sicily! Y'all go for it!


 

Are all you ghosties and ghoulies, black kitties and possumies HUNGRY?
Here are some of the best Halloween foods, sure to calm all the creepies and make the most ornery "haints" happy! (You do know what a haint is, don't you?)
First of all, I'm really hungry! So I'm going to jump right in with the good stuff.
    BREAD PUDDING
Bread Pudding:

1 loaf French bread, at least a day old, cut into 1-inch squares (about 6-7 cups)
1 qt milk
3 eggs, lightly beaten
2 cups sugar
2 Tbsp vanilla
1 cup raisins (soaked overnight in 1/4 cup bourbon)
1/4 teaspoon allspice
1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
3 Tbsp unsalted butter, melted

Bourbon Sauce:
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, melted
1 cup sugar
1 egg
1 cup Kentucky bourbon whiskey
Bourbon Sauce:

In a saucepan, melt butter; add sugar and egg, whisking to blend well. Cook over low heat, stirring constantly, until mixture thickens. (Do not allow to simmer, or it may curdle.) Whisk in bourbon to taste. Remove from heat. Whisk before serving. The sauce should be soft, creamy, and smooth.
Bread Pudding:

1 Preheat oven to 350°F.
2 Soak the bread in milk in a large mixing bowl. Press with hands until well mixed and all the milk is absorbed. In a separate bowl, beat eggs, sugar, vanilla, and spices together. Gently stir into the bread mixture. Gently stir the raisins into the mixture.
3 Pour butter into the bottom of a 9x13 inch baking pan. Coat the bottom and the sides of the pan well with the butter. Pour in the bread mix and bake at 350°F for 35-45 minutes, until set. The pudding is done when the edges start getting a bit brown and pull away from the edge of the pan. Can also make in individual ramekins.

Serve with bourbon whiskey sauce on the side; pour on to taste. Best fresh and eaten the day it is made.
Yield: Makes 8-10 servings.

http://www.simplyrecipes.com/recipes/bread_pudding/

Sweet Potato Pie
Photo by Ken PriceGranny Rilla's Sweet Potato Pie
page 117  Sweet Music on Moonlight Ridge
2 cups mashed cooked sweet potatoes
½ cup honey
½ teaspoon salt
2 eggs
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup pecans chopped

Heat oven to 350.
Mix mashed sweet potatoes, honey and salt.
Beat eggs. Add sugar, vanilla extract, and pecans. Add to sweet potato mixture.
Pour into unbaked pie shell.

Bake at 350 for 1 hour. (Check after 50 minutes)


Candy Corn

The All-Time Best Halloween Food In the World!!!
I don't have the recipe for Candy Corn. Y'all just go out and buy some.

Russell Means was no sugar-coated symbol.

He was fiery and unapologetic, critical of  American culture for its exploitation of Native lands, peoples, and resources.  He not only denounced crooks, haters, and charlatans, but also the paternalistic do-gooders who didn’t have a clue about what was actually going on in Indian country.


He was a bully, he was manipulative, he was selfish, He was at times hypocritical. He did good, and he did bad.
Most of all, Russell Means was an advocate and spokesman for Indian people struggling to maintain their cultural identity. Some people loved him and some hated him, but no one could ignore him and the essence of his message.

"Don’t be ashamed of your Indianess," he said. "Be proud."
"Indian isn’t backwards," he insisted. "It’s better."

Marshall McLuhan, the guru of The Gutenberg Galaxy (1962), recommends that the browser turn to page 69 of any book and read it. If you like that page, buy the book. I applied the Page 69 test to my novel, and found that it works! Browse powerfully and read page 69!



                                Sweet Music on Moonlight Ridge - page 69
                                                                       .I woke up gradually, drifting in and out of sleep, the afternoon heat on me like a heavy wool blanket. My mouth was dry and I drowsily tried to remember the last time I’d had a drink of water.“Mama,” I mumbled, wanting to ask for a glass of water. But my lips barely moved and my voice didn’t work right because my mouth and throat were so dry.My eyelids were heavy and hard to open, but finally I was able to focus my eyes on my mama. She was standing at the screen door with her back to me. She was talking to someone standing on the other side of the screen, and as I became fully awake I saw the uniform and heard the gravelly voice, and I recognized Clyde Tucker, the chief of police.My mother’s hand was on the screen door, as if she intended to keep the tall, pot-bellied policeman out of her house.“Well, Clyde, she’s been right there asleep in that chair all afternoon, right there where she is now,” Mama said.Officer Clyde Tucker leaned a little to one side so he could get a better look at me, I guess. He looked right at me, his forehead wrinkled under the bill of his policeman’s cap.“Don’t your sister have a little boy about that same age?” he asked, leaning a little further, his fat red face right up against the screen.“My sister’s little boy is quarantined with the whooping cough! Clyde Tucker, don’t you come around here asking questions about our children! It sounds like you’ve got plenty to keep you busy without scaring our children to death. What in the world made you come here asking questions?”
*

Russell Charles Means, an Oglala Sioux activist for the rights of Native American people, died today at the age of 72.  He became a prominent member of the American Indian Movement after joining the organization in 1968.I first heard of Russell Means during the occupation of the BIA building in Washington DC in November of 1972. The newly formed organization, the American Indian Movement, organized a nationwide caravan, which they would refer to as the "Trail of Broken Treaties". intended to bring attention to American Indian issues such as living standards and treaty rights. His autobiography, Where White Men Fear to Tread, was published in 1996. Russell Means starred with Daniel Day Lewis in the epic film Last of the Mohicans in 1992.
The invasion of Europeans has resulted in the ruin of this continent, home of the First Nations people. There may be some things that Russell Means and I didn't agree on, but on that point, we agreed.Over the next few days, I'll be posting more thoughts and information about Russell Means.

Over the week-end I attended The Southern Women Writers Conference at Berry College in Georgia, north of Rome, to which "all roads lead." Yeah, sure.
The college was founded in 1902 by Martha Berry. Spanning more than 26,000 acres, Berry College is the largest contiguous college campus in the world. How anyone ever finds it is a mystery to me.
The theme for the 2012 conference was “Beginnings and Endings.” Speakers and presenters explored the concepts of both literal and metaphorical “beginnings” and “endings” in a variety of ways. I read my short story, In a Land That Is Fairer Than Day, published in Ordinary and Sacred as Blood: Alabama Women Speak edited by Mary Carol Moran from River's Edge Publishing.
'

If, in the picture at the top of the page where I stand in front of the beautiful architecture of the college, I appear to have bags under my eyes and a somewhat stunned expression, that may be attributed to the hilariously harrowing journey of the day before in which my sister, Susan Cleveland, and I lost our way big time! According to the map and driving instructions, it's a little over two hours from Birmingham to Rome, Georgia. And we both were totally acquainted with the fact that "all roads lead to Rome," so what could possibly go wrong? The two hour trip took us a little over five hours. Maybe more, I honestly don't know.
There are no words adequate to describe what all possibly could, and did, go wrong. Well, actually, it was just my sister and I who went wrong, at every opportunity; sometimes forging our own opportunity, into, out of, and back into The Twilight Zone. If there was a wrong turn within miles of us, we found and took it, at one point making a large backwoods-scenic circle and ending up precisely where we had been one hour before.
Then we honed in on a bucolic boulevard that looked promising enough, which delivered us to, I kid you not, Booger Holler. That's what the road signs said. I believe it was precisely at this point when our ever-constant radio accompaniment was blaring "Take the Long Way Home." We also were serenaded by "Slip Sliding Away," "Going to Carolina in My Mind," "I Wish I Was, Homeward Bound," "Welcome to the Hotel California," and "Still Crazy After All These Years."

But, we did eventually find ourselves on the expansive Berry Campus, met the Berry deer and Berry cows, made it to my session on Friday morning without a hitch, I read my story, and all was well!

I must at this point say "Thank You" to my Hoke of the Day, sister Susan Cleveland, for the rapturous and (seemingly) endless road trip to Rome.