www.carmelrowley.com.au

As I sit drafting book 3, I dream about what I’m reading. Everything is the same around here.

But as I read, Jessikah is down at the creek with Dana discussing the future. They have made some decisions, and feel ready to create new memories.

…Jessikah swooshes her toe on the surface of the still pool, rippling the surface,

each ripple growing one into another speeding towards the waters edge.

Eventually the surface is once again smooth.

‘Our lives are like those ripples,’ Jessikah says to Dana. ‘We come into this

world, and our lives touch a few or the masses, depending on who we are

and what we do. But the horses continue as they have done for eons. They

will be safe, won’t they? Inevitably we’ll be gone, leaving everything we’ve

loved to the caretakers of our memories.’

This conversation prompted me to write ‘Awaken’.

Awaken  -  words Carmel Rowley

What am I thinking at sunrise each day?

My time to awaken, my time to away.

Fears remain tranquil, behind noble disdain.

I search kindred spirits but do they remain?

I dream of the desert, head and tail in the breeze,

to sprint cross the vastness, my freedom I seize.

I’m swift among swift ones, I glory in speed,

my beauty obsessive, though sometimes for greed.

Somewhere I’m sacred a message to send,

I hear the ‘winged’ calling, don’t fail me, don’t pretend.

I showed you my magic; I showed you the sun,

in vain gently protest, I pray I’m not done-

But what do I do at the start of each day?

It’s time to awaken, protect me, protect me, I say.

Motherhood I by Willa Frayser www.willafrayserstudio.com

Mother’s Day Word Origins
adapted from http://dictionary.reference.com/

The second Sunday in May is set aside to celebrate mothers. There is also a Mother’s Day celebration in the United Kingdom, Denmark, Finland, Italy, Turkey, Australia, Mexico, Canada, China, Japan, and Belgium. England’s “Mothering Sunday,” similar to Mother’s Day, is also called Mid-Lent Sunday and it is observed on the fourth Sunday in Lent, though it has largely been replaced by Mother’s Day on the second Sunday in May. Anna Jarvis, born in Grafton, West Virginia in 1864, started the movement to have a Mother’s Day. She wrote letters to politicians, newspaper editors, and church leaders and organized a committee called Mother’s Day International Association to promote the new holiday. She wanted Mother’s Day to be close to Memorial Day so people would recognize mothers for the sacrifices they made for their families in the same way that service people had for their country. The first official Mother’s Day observance was in May 1907. President Woodrow Wilson gave the day national recognition in 1914. Jarvis spent the last years of her life trying to abolish the holiday she had brought into being, because she protested its commercialization.

Mother is one of the surviving words from Anglo-Saxon (starting as modor), which are among the most fundamental words in English. Mother has many cognates in other languages, including Old High German muoter, Dutch moeder, Old Norsemothir, Latin mater, Greek meter, and Sanskrit mat. These words share an Indo-European root. Mother is one of the Anglo-Saxon nouns that has an Anglo-Saxon adjective as well as a Latinate adjective — motherly and maternal — and motherly also came from Old English (modorlic). Mom, a shortened form of momma, was recorded in 1894; momma was first used in 1884. Both are chiefly North American uses. Mamma and mama, created by children reduplicating an instinctive sound, are much earlier terms showing up in the 1500s. In between came mommy (also North American in usage) in 1848, which was a variant of mammy (also 1500s).

Motherhood II by Willa Frayser  www.willfrayserstudio.com

The carnation is the floral symbol of Mother’s Day and the holiday is associated with the colours red and white. Some people wear white carnations on this day to honour mothers who have died and red or pink for those who are living. The “founder” of Mother’s Day, Anna Jarvis, urged people to wear carnations because carnations had been her own Mother’s favourite flower. Carnation is the general name for the cultivated variety of the clove-pink. It is likely that the word derived from coronation, as the flower’s dented leaves somewhat resemble a crown.

The history of greeting cards goes back hundreds of years. Early greeting cards were hand-delivered and handmade. Their popularity forced the introduction of the first postage stamp in 1840. The oldest known greeting card in existence is one for Valentine’s Day, made in the 1400s and now displayed in the British Museum. The most popular card-sending holidays in order are Christmas, Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, Easter, and Father’s Day. Together, the Greeting Card Associations says these five card-sending holidays account for 96% of individual seasonal card sales.

Today I dropped all the balls and took some time out! Earlier on one of my searches I came across this AMAZING poem. I’ sure many of you have read the words but they are so incredibly touching I thought you would enjoy reading them again.

THE ARAB’S FAREWELL TO HIS HORSE
By Caroline Norton (1808-1877)

My Beautiful! My Beautiful! That standest meekly by,

With thy proudly arch’d and glossy neck, and dark and fiery eye,

Fret not to roam the desert now, with all thy winged speed;

I may not mount on thee again,–thou’rt sold, my Arab steed!

Fret not with that impatient hoof,–snuff not the breezy wind-

The farther that thou fliest now, so far am I behind:

The stranger hath thy bridle-rein,–thy master hath his gold,

Fleet-limb’d and beautiful, farewell; thou’rt sold, my steed, thou’rt sold.

Farewell! Those free, untired limbs full many a mile must roam

To reach the chill and wintry sky which clouds the stranger’s home;

Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn and bread prepare.

The silky mane I braided once must be another’s care!

The morning sun shall dawn again, but never more with thee

Shall I gallop through the desert paths, where we were wont to be;

Evening shall darken on the earth and o’er the sandy plain

Some other steed, with slower step, shall bear me home again.

Yes, thou must go! The wild, free breeze, the brilliant sun and sky,

Thy master’s home-from all of these my exiled one must fly;

Thy proud dark eye will grow less proud, thy step become less fleet,

And vainly shalt thou arch thy neck, thy master’s hand to meet.

Only in sleep shall I behold that dark eye, glancing bright;

Only in sleep shall hear again that step so firm and light;

And when I raise my dreaming arm to check or cheer thy speed,

Then must I, starting, wake to feel-thou’rt sold, My Arab steed!

Ah! Rudely then, unseen by me, some cruel hand may chide,

Till foam-wreaths lie, like crested waves, along thy panting side:

And the rich blood that’s in thee swells, in thy indignant pain,

Till careless eyes, which rest on thee, may count each started vein.

Will they ill use thee? If I thought-but no, it cannot be-

Thou art so swift, yet easy curb’d, so gentle, yet so free;

And yet, if haply, when thou’rt gone, my lonely heart should yearn,

Can the hand which casts thee from it now command thee to return?

Return! Alas! My Arab steed! What shall thy master do

When thou, who wast his all of joy, hast vanish’d from his view?

When the dim distance cheats mine eye, and through the gathering tears

Thy bright form, for a moment, like a false mirage appears;

Slow and unmounted shall I roam, with weary step alone

Where, with fleet step and joyous bound, thou oft hast borne me on;

And sitting down by that green well, I’ll pause and sadly think,

“It was here he bow’d his glossy neck when last I saw him drink!”

When last I saw thee drink!-Away! The fever’d dream is o’er,–

I could not live a day and know that we should meet no more!

They tempted me, my beautiful!-for hunger’s power is strong,–

They tempted me, my beautiful! But I have loved too long.

Who said that I had given thee up? Who said that thou wast sold?

Tis false,–’tis false! My Arab steed! I fling them back their gold!

Thus, thus, I leap upon thy back and scour the distant plains;

Away! Who overtakes us now shall claim thee for his pains!

About the Poet

The daughter of Thomas Sheridan and the granddaughter of English poet, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, eight-year-old Caroline Sheridan found herself one of five children living in poverty when her father died. By the time she was sixteen, George Norton, a barrister who did not practice the law, asked her to marry him. Although she refused, she reconsidered and married him at age nineteen, partly to help the financial status of her family.

Caroline Norton was regularly beaten and viciously terrorized by her husband, who resented her clever wit. By the time she had separated from him in 1836, she had borne him three sons, one of whom, William, would die in childhood from an untreated cut from a riding accident; the untreated cut permitted blood poisoning to take the youngster’s life.

For the next twenty years Caroline fought vigorously against Norton’s attempts to deprive her of her income and to scandalize her name and reputation. She was already fairly well-known because of her poems and novels. For much of this time Caroline’s solace lay in her mastery of the written word and her efforts to overturn English law regarding women’s rights in Victorian England. As a result of her efforts to help divorced women retain custody of their children and their material wealth, the Marriage and Divorce Act of 1857 became her lasting legacy.

Caroline Norton died at age 69, only three months after marrying William Stirling Maxwell.

The poem above reflects the author’s devotion, love, and concern that a life entrusted to her should remain cared for, despite the personal privations of poverty and hunger. In spite of her own suffering and degradation, Caroline Norton demonstrated the values she held most dear: liberty and honor.

Rudyard Kipling

“The Ballad of the King’s Jest”

I read Delacroix believed that, in painting, colour was much more important than draftsmanship, and imagination than knowledge.

Eugene Delacroix - Arabians Travelling

Apparently he became tired of the the learned subjects the Academy expected painters to illustrate, and traveled to North Africa to study the glowing colours and romantic trappings of the Arab world. ‘Arabians Travelling’  plus the other paintings pictured show a few examples of his journey. Though there is no clarity of outline as with many other artists of the time, there is a real sense of movement and excitement  and expectation in the scenes.

Eugene Delacroix - Arabic Fantasy – Moroccan horsemen in military action-1832

The Arab cavalry sweeping past and the Arabian horse rearing in the foreground of Moroccan horsemen in military action. If his desire was to capture the mystic of the Arab world of the time he succeeded. It’s easy to imagine his enthusiasm for his subject. The horses I love because they are Arabian but the colour and the racing movement even the captivating enthusiasm of the riders takes you right there imagining the actual snapshot in time.

Eugene Delacroix-Sultan of Morocco leaving his palace of mek.

Eugene Delacroix (French, 1798-1863)
Eugene Ferdinand Victor Delacroix was born in Saint- Maurice-Charenton France in 1798 and became known as a leader of the French romantic movement. Originally studying music, Delacroix turned his attentions to painting under the tutelage of Pierre-Narcisse Guerin in Paris. He enrolled at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts in 1816 and successfully exhibited his first major work at the Salon of 1822, Dante and Virgil in Hell.

Eugene Delacroix-Frightened horse.

Delacroix’s subjects were often taken from literary works such as Shakespeare and Gothe, he painted from the poetry of Byron and created grand historical works. A visit to Morocco as part of an ambassadorial mission to the sultan inspired a leaning toward Orientalist themes. Further trips abroad to exotic places such as Spain and Tangiers furthered this passion. Toward the end of his lifetime, Delacroix was the target for much criticism and retired in seclusion though he remained greatly admired by the Impressionists of the day. Eugene Delacroix died in Paris in 1863.

Middle aged Carmel and aged Simeon Sarah (33 this year) at Easter 2012 – Photograph Greg Egan

Over Easter there were some lovely photographs taken of our horses and I think it’s quite fitting that  my photograph was taken with our dear aged mare Simeon Sarah. Sarah turns 33 this year and finally her age is catching up with her. When I looked at the photograph and stared at the person with her hand around her beloved mare’s jowl I thought, who is she? It’s the same person who stares at me from my bathroom mirror and from those hideous mirrors at the hairdresser and when you’re trying on new clothes. It’s me but it’s not me!

Don has said on more than one occasion, you’re not coping too well with getting older. No, I thought I guess I’m not! If you’re going through a similar thing you know it’s not the most enjoyable spectator sport because ultimately you lose the race. But when I swallowed, then pushed aside my vanity, I allowed myself to think about the number I’ll be celebrating this year. If I’m lucky I still have a third of my life to live.  This point was the one that made me realize, hang on, my life is really great and I really believe it will become greater before my time is up.

So I took some of my own advice and drew a line down the middle of a sheet of paper and wrote down all the good things in my life and I admit to having nothing to moan about. I won’t bore you with all the details but it’s great to know that I’m a reasonably capable, functioning adult. Adult being the operative word. I have some exciting new goals, my journey into the world of being a writer has me learning so many new things that my brain is fit to burst. What is better than combining the things you love, reading, writing and Arabians. So my ‘fit to burst’ is a big positive. It’s no secret I’m a positive thinking addict and I work VERY hard at TRYING to keep myself on track.

When you have a positive attitude you attract others who are like minded often changing the people around you. I know first hand how positivity and enthusiasm results in success and happiness. More knowledgeable people who write about these things say all of our negative thoughts come from assumptions we make. I wonder if we’re trying to prepare ourselves for the worst to happen? Naturally, we should be prepared for problems but not to the detriment of our outlook on life.

I’ve just put another sign up on my vision board: “The only time you really live fully is from thirty to sixty. The young are slaves to dreams; the old servants of regrets. Only the middle-aged have all their five senses in the keeping of their wits.”
-Hervey Allen

The jury has given it’s verdict, stay away from mirrors and produce something that contributes to society. This not only helps others but gives  increased self esteem as one grows older. I believe there’s plenty more work to be done and that will be my focus as I race into my future.

If you would like to read more about getting older read these great tips at:  ‘Eight Tips to Getting Older Fabulously!’ By Tania Psathas at http://www.fabulously40.com

Today is Anzac Day and as I bow my head in prayer for all who died

I think of all those brave young men who gave their lives thinking

about the good of the whole rather than the individual. 

There are also the courageous animals and as a horse lover I shudder

when I think about the ‘Waler’ horses that charged to their death.

Below is a short excerpt from the ‘Just Soldiers’ website.

Trooper Sloan ‘Scotty’ Bolton, DCM
The Beersheba Charger

You can read the entire and riveting story by Darryl Kelly

Just Soldiers http://www.anzacday.org.au/justsoldiers/justsoldiers.html

Bolton astride favourite mount, ‘Monty’. (Family collection) Photograph courtesy of the Australian War Memorial. www.awm.gov.au

AWM A02684. ‘Thunder of a Light Horse charge’. The charge of the 4th Light Horse Brigade at Beersheba on 31 October 1917, taken by a Turk whose camera was captured later in the day Photograph courtesy of the Australian War Memorial. www.awm.gov.au

….At a distance of two and a half kilometres from the forward trenches, Bourchier commanded his men to charge. The steady canter of the horsemen reached the crescendo of the gallop and, hooves thundering, they bore down mercilessly on their hapless foe in a deadly, destructive wave. As the horsemen surged forward, the Turkish batteries opened fire with a mixture of shrapnel and high explosive. The projectiles burst among the forward ranks. Men were blown from their saddles and some horses fell, but the charge did not falter. The Turkish gunners watched the charge, lowering the barrels of their guns, waiting for the dismount that never came. Suddenly the Light Horse regiments were below the trajectory of the guns. Note 5. Jones I, The Australian Light Horse, Time-Life Books Australia in association with John Ferguson, Sydney, 1987.

Pushing his Waler at full gallop, Trooper Bolton reached down and grasped the handle of his bayonet, extracting the 18-inch blade from its scabbard. Note 1. A Dream of the Past, Diary of Trooper Sloan Bolton DCM, privately printed by the family.

The Turks now set their rifle sights to a range of 1600 metres as the riflemen and machine-gunners readied themselves. The volley of lead cut through the lines of horsemen, but the thirsty horses could smell the water—there was no stopping them.

Bolton’s horse, Monty, careered wildly and he fought hard to regain control of his plunging beast. He was later to find that a bullet had narrowly missed his own leg, hitting instead the pannikin hanging from the saddle. This had deflected the round, carving a 12-inch gouge along the horse’s rump. Note 1. A Dream of the Past, Diary of Trooper Sloan Bolton DCM, privately printed by the family.

The Turkish riflemen fired wildly at the approaching horde. At the sight of the rampaging Australians, some Turks threw down their weapons and ran towards the town, others chose to fight to the end. The defenders were ordered to save the guns and the Turkish horse teams galloped forward to salvage what they could.

The first wave of the light horse now reached the forward enemy line. As the horses leaped across the open trenches, many of the Turks crouched and thrust their rifles and bayonets upward to disembowel the horses in mid-flight. The remnants of the first wave carried on to engage the support trenches. The scene had become a bloody shambles of rifle and revolver fire. The rip and slash of wielded bayonets punctuated the air and one horse was seen to join the fight, rearing and striking out with its fore-hooves. Note 5. Jones I, The Australian Light Horse, Time-Life Books Australia in association with John Ferguson, Sydney, 1987.

Scotty galloped through to the second line, attacking two Turks with his bayonet. As he rode towards the centre of town, he spotted a Turkish soldier running towards a house. Galloping over, Bolton kicked the Turk, forcing him to the ground, retrieving his revolver as he lay dazed. Note 1. A Dream of the Past, Diary of Trooper Sloan Bolton DCM, privately printed by the family.

Elements of the 12th Light Horse were already weaving their way through the streets, and some were watering their horses in the captured wells. One trooper fell to his knees in a Turkish canvas water trough, and drank side-by-side with his horse. Note 5. Jones I, The Australian Light Horse, Time-Life Books Australia in association with John Ferguson, Sydney, 1987.

Suddenly a well exploded, then another and yet another, the last blast almost throwing Bolton from his horse. On the ground he noticed a number of wires leading to a building. Bolton peered through an open window and caught sight of a German officer operating a switchboard. He sprang from the saddle and burst through the door. The startled German tightened his grip on the detonation handle. Bolton cocked his revolver and put it to the German’s forehead, overcoming the language barrier with one decisive stroke. Bolton’s mate, Trooper Ray Hudson, came through the door and took charge of the prisoner.1 Although some wells had been destroyed and a few had been damaged, most were still intact, including reservoirs holding more than 400000 litres. Note 5. Jones I, The Australian Light Horse, Time-Life Books Australia in association with John Ferguson, Sydney, 1987. Read on at: www.anzacday.org.au/justsoldiers/justsoldiers.html

Kathy Hoopmann and Carmel

What a super Saturday! Thirteen writer’s gathered at the Toowoomba Library all geared up to attend a workshop on ‘Writing a Memoir’ given by the highly credentialed Kathy Hoopmann, in conjunction with the Queensland Writers Centre. I’m personally thrilled to have the QWC www.qwc.asn.au back holding workshops for writers in Toowoomba, I thought it was an opportunity not to be missed.

From L-R Kathy, Dee, Carmel, Devin, and Emma

As most of you know I mainly write fiction but I feel it’s essential to push myself out of my comfort zone once and a while. As Kathy said, ‘using your personal stories in your writing can be uplifting, liberating and daunting all at once.’ And when I think about it, though I might write fiction  I’m still drawing on my personal life experiences when it comes to writing about the horses and behaviour. When the group shared their writing, a flood of memories rushed into my mind. For instance, how as children we would go and visit relatives and have to sleep in the car!  Then one in particular being, the one and only time I ever attempted to cook/roast a rabbit  -  it burst it’s bindings to lay on it’s back in the pan with it’s severed legs poking in the air. I was horrified!  We all laughed and laughed!  What a fantastic trip down memory lane.

Most of us have stories in us and this particular group was one of the most eclectic and delightful I have had the pleasure to meet. To name a few there was Dee a Marine Biologist who enthralled us with her stories about growing up in Italy. Devin originally from the USA drove up from Brisbane with her friend Johan, who was born in South Africa. There were four delightful lades from Warwick and Ken a poet from Pittworth. From Toowoomba there was only myself and the ever enlightening Emma McTaggart.

From L-R Carmel, Kathy, Devin, Johan

I came away, uplifted and enthusiastic knowing we should all at least try and leave a legacy for the future. The thing is, a memoir comes in many different forms. It’s more than just sharing stories. Memoirs can offer emotional support, a helping hand if your child, friend or family member is suffering from an illness or handicap. You can influence people and offer a fantastic reference or support to others. There are lots of reason to write what you know and what you’ve experienced and there are many ways to preserve our life experience, for example a journal or a book of pictures with captions.

Thanks so much Kathy for a super six hours and thank you to all thirteen of the participants you were all a joy to be around.

Visit Kathy’s website: http://www.kathyhoopmann.com/

Carmel and Emma

Emma wrote this in my notebook,  lovely words to share with you.
‘The preciousness of memories and the reward of that memory increases with time.’ Emma McTaggart

“A writer — and, I believe, generally all persons — must think that whatever happens to him or her is a resource. All things have been given to us for a purpose, and an artist must feel this more intensely. All that happens to us, including our humiliations, our misfortunes, our embarrassments, all is given to us as raw material, as clay, so that we may shape our art.”
Jorge Luis Borges

Ashquar Sihr and Carmel April 2012 (-the never ending quest learning about the Arabian breed)

Every week I look forward to learning something new. It can be about history, nature, or the never ending quest learning about the Arabian breed. I always seem to be sliding down the big spiral of life as I strive to understand how to live my life with meaning. In many ways books are my mentors, Louise Hay helps  me with positive energy and Hugh Mackay offers solutions to my many questions about what motivates human beings. James Scott Bell gives me great techniques and exercises for crafting a plot, while ‘The Secret’ makes me realise that today is the best day of my life.

It’s been a roller coaster week, in fact it’s been a roller coaster few months and I’ve been sorely tested, some things I’ve passed and some need more work but then I’m the first one to admit I’m as much a work in progress as my novels. When I read Phillips Newsletter from a couple of weeks ago I thought it was worth blogging. In the National Year of Reading 2012 what could be better than reading and learning something new every week.

Learning to Live Well

Written & Published by Philip E. Humbert, PhD http://www.philiphumbert.com

We live in a remarkable time when all the books ever written are available to anyone who wants them.

Whether (or not) we read is, of course, a very different question. Whether (or not) we listen to powerful audio programs, or take the classes, or ask the questions and seek appropriate mentors, is (as always) a deeply personal decision. But education and skills, ideas, history, biography, and wisdom are easily available to all who seek them. Obviously, diplomas are expensive! But education is basically free or “cheaper than dirt.”

Throughout my adult life, I’ve read at least a book a week, usually a bit more than that. I’ve read history and business, biography and humor, even a few mysteries and thrillers just for fun. I think it’s helped. It’s certainly taught me a few things. So when I hear that most adults rarely read a single book, or when folks complain that learning is hard or expensive or “out of reach,” I tend to roll my eyes. Diplomas are expensive–and often worth it!

But education is free. And all of us are “self-taught.” Do yourself a favor. Learn something new this week.

I apologize for ranting. Perhaps I should get a book or go online to learn something about impulse control or anger management. But I do maintain that, “Those who do not read are no better-off than those who cannot read.” To me, that’s worth pondering.

As a guy who benefitted from many years of formal education, including four graduate degrees, I strongly believe in school! I encourage you to stay in school, go back to school, to hang out with students and surround yourself with people who hunger and thirst for knowledge! Get where it’s good!

And, I freely admit I’ve had some wonderful teachers and some of my best teachers were even paid to teach. There was Wendell Whalen who taught me about philosophy and Bob Crandell who taught me to love good literature. And I am profoundly indebted to “Miss King,” the saint we tormented mercilessly while she patiently taught us to write in complete sentences. She’s surely long-dead now, but generations of teenagers owe her more than we can ever repay.

But many of my best teachers were never paid to teach. There was Bob Ekegren who taught me about business. And Bob Martinez who taught me the Zen of pistol shooting. And Thomas Leonard who taught me the difference between coaching and teaching.

My list could go on, but I want you to think about your own teachers and mentors. Who has helped you along the way? Who are the people who helped make your life possible? And, perhaps most importantly, who are your current teachers?

Who is mentoring you? Who is helping you find your way to “the next level?” Who are you watching and listening to, who are you following to find out “how they do that?”

In the end, we are all self-taught. Learning is a never-ending process and we either intentionally pursue knowledge,or we drift and learn things haphazardly along the way.And, unfortunately, not everything that happens to come our way is actually helpful in reaching our goals or living the life we intended.

Read more and read smart. Hunger for knowledge and seek wisdom. Our world seems to have a remarkably short supply of smart, disciplined people. Why not be one of the few who “know stuff” and live life based on the best information available, and then pass it on to others?

Copyright (c) 2012, all rights reserved.
U.S. Library of Congress ISSN: 1529-059X
Dr Philip E. Humbert are included. Contact him at:
www.philiphumbert.com or email Coach@philiphumbert.com