The memories of traveling to the downtown area of the “big city” smacked my senses. There it was, the hauntingly captivating theater, standing in its elegant elevation (the same one in my post, Spooky Spin). “Cinderella” was on the marquee and princesses of all ages were scattered around the scene.
Upon entering the stately structure a scent of sensational history wafted through my nostrils. The amazing architecture, the comforting carpet, the plush velvet squeaky seats, and the creaking of the floor welcomed us with open arms. My twin and I made eye contact thinking of the year we were in youth troupe (ensemble for “Johnny Moonbeam and his Silver Arrow). Oh, how we wanted to go backstage again! We were so happy to have our niece between us.
“Welcome ladies and gentlemen to today’s performance of Cinderella.” Many thanks were expressed to all who contributed to the program’s success. “Please turn all devices to silent or turn them off. The actors work very hard and it’s rude to disrupt them.” This elegant woman spoke in a direct and kind manner. Again, I smiled. I remember all the years of live performances-cell phones beeping and people walking out early. I didn’t expect that would happen here.
Photo by K.L. Hale
Two hours of live music and stellar performances by all-what delight! The stepmom/stepsisters stole the show! Of course, Cinderella and the ensemble were extraordinary. The standing ovations, bows, whistles, and applause were….so….needed. Pure entertainment at its finest.
Photo by K.L. Hale —yes, as a history buff I will always think of The Ford Theater when I see any balcony.
My day ended watching Lady Gaga sing with Tony Bennett on a TV special for his 95th birthday. They sang their hearts out (did I mention he’s 95?). She respectfully asked if she could have the honor of escorting him off the stage.
It’s as if I had stepped back in time.
I’m a bit old-fashioned if you didn’t know already. I’m also extremely eclectic when it comes to life-I love absorbing the arts, learning new things, and do appreciate modern conveniences, yet love my daily reruns of The Waltons, too. Very few things make me as happy as being in nature. But this was one.
Have faith 💚
Their collaboration began years ago~respect! Love their voices!
Memories of past Thanksgivings swirl my soul and marinate in my mind. When I was young I never thought dressing as Pilgrims and Native Americans was wrong. Learning of all cultures, and the time of celebration together, only grew my respect and appreciation. Although some may consider early learning incorrect (morally, politically, or historically) I am grounded in the belief we are all created equal; nothing will change that. Four hundred years have passed since that first gathering of thanks and praise for an Autumn bounty. How did this day become a permanent place on our calendars? There’s a woman we can thank-and her last name happens to be Hale.
A love story began between a man and a woman-it was 1811. Two years later they wed. Sarah, so beautifully, described she and David’s home life as this:
“We commenced, soon after our marriage, a system of study and reading which we pursued while he lived. The hours allowed were from eight o’clock in the evening till ten; two hours in the twenty-four: how I enjoyed those hours! In all our mental pursuits, it seemed the aim of my husband to enlighten my reason, strengthen my judgment, and give me confidence in my own powers of mind, which he estimated much higher than I. But this approbation which he bestowed on my talents has been of great encouragement to me in attempting the duties that have since become my portion.”
Their next nine years of marriage welcomed five children. Sadly, David died from complications of pneumonia just two weeks before the fifth child was born. Single at 34, with five children, Sarah used the encouragement she had received from her husband to continue her career in writing (she wore black for the remainder of her life).
Sarah Josepha Hale was born on October 24th, 1788, in Newport, New Hampshire. Having a family that believed in education, Sarah was supported in all endeavors. She turned to writing as a form of income when she was widowed. In 1827 her first novel was published in the U.S., Northwood: Life North and South. In London it was titled A New England Tale. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sarah_Josepha_Hale, n.d.)
Her book was praised by a pastor that asked Hale to move to Boston to serve as an editor of his journal, Ladies Magazine. As the first female editor of a magazine in the United States, she applied scrupulous standards (https://www.womenhistoryblog.com/2012/04/sarah-josepha-hale.html, n.d.). During this time, she even published an anthology of poems (Poems for Our Children)-included was “Mary Had a Little Lamb” (1830). Originally written from her teaching days which began at age 18 (unheard of at that time) it was titled “Mary’s Lamb.” Later in the 1830’s, Lowell Mason set the nursery rhyme to a melody adding repetition in the verses.
MARY’S LAMB.
Mary had a little lamb,
Its fleece was white as snow,
And everywhere that Mary went
The lamb was sure to go ;
He followed her to school one day—
That was against the rule,
It made the children laugh and play,
To see a lamb at school.
And so the teacher turned him out,
But still he lingered near,
And waited patiently about,
Till Mary did appear ;
And then he ran to her, and laid
His head upon her arm,
As if he said—‘ I’m not afraid—
You’ll keep me from all harm.’
What makes the lamb love Mary so ?’
The eager children cry—
O, Mary loves the lamb, you know,’
The Teacher did reply ;—
And you each gentle animal
In confidence may bind,
And make them follow at your call,
If you are always kind.’
-Sarah Josepha Hale
On a sidenote: In many hours of research and reading for this piece I became intrigued at the controversy surrounding this poem. At 70 years old Mary Tyler (in 1876) claimed she was “Mary” from the poem. She did indeed keep a lamb. Mary remembered a Reverend’s nephew, John Roulstone, writing about the incident of the lamb. The Redstone School where Mary attended now sits in Sudbury, Massachusetts. Without making you travel further down the lamb’s hole with me feel free to research more if you wish! 😊
In 1841 Sarah moved to Philadelphia and made Godey’s Lady’s Book (named after a Philadelphia publisher who bought out her original magazine, combined the two magazines, and hired her as his editor). It’s reported that many feminists scorned her for not being more involved in politics. For four decades she worked to promote educational opportunities for women, just as males. Hale wrote at least seventeen articles and editorials about women’s education. She was awarded a medal in 1860 from the Baltimore Female College. She also used her position to promote American writers. She made major contributions in choosing to publish works by Edgar Allen Poe, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and Ralph Waldo Emerson, just to name a few. Morally, she wished for uplifting novels and work. She raised money for various historic sites-helping to preserve George Washington’s home and financially supporting the construction of the Bunker Hill Monument.
Using her persuasive writing skills (and MUCH patience) Sarah spent seventeen years writing to leading U.S. presidents and politicians to push for a national celebration of Thanksgiving. Hundreds of letters went to governors, ministers, and editors as well.
It was 1863. The country was torn in half by war and dissention. A time of Thanksgiving was needed-just as in 1621 when the Plymouth colonists and the Wampanoag shared a meal to celebrate the Autumn harvest. One letter ended up in President Lincoln’s hand. He liked Hale’s idea. On October 3, 1863, he issued a proclamation declaring the last Thursday of November to be National Day of Thanksgiving and Praise. He ordered all government offices in Washington closed on that day. Sarah’s efforts earned her the nickname “Mother of Thanksgiving”. Hale enjoyed many Thanksgiving celebrations after that. She died on April 30, 1879, at the age of 90.
This day of unification was established to ease the stress of the country.
This Thursday, as I sit around the family table with my precious family (and in spirit with all who won’t be seated with us), I’ll be reminded that our freedom wasn’t without a fight of faith. Yes, our freedom from our sacrificial Lamb was given at no cost to us. We don’t have to fight that fight. For a country that seems torn by opposite opinions and acts of aggression, I pray that assaults will cease. Not just on the Day of Thanksgiving and Praise, but every day.
Not long ago a new tradition began on social media. Friendsgiving is a wonderful thing. As thankful as I am for family, I’m grateful for friends too. To those here, in this space, that have supported my writing and beginning a new career-for becoming like family to me-thank you. You are loved.
🤍 May gratitude and grace ground us all.🤍
Have faith💚
The Peterson’s here in Branson, Missouri 🤍 ’tis an honor to live in the Ozark’s!
The history of Thanksgiving prior to our National Day:
During the American Revolution, the Continental Congress designated one or more days of thanksgiving a year, and in 1789 George Washington issued the first Thanksgiving proclamation by the national government of the United States; in it, he called upon Americans to express their gratitude for the happy conclusion to the country’s war of independence and the successful ratification of the U.S. Constitution. His successors John Adams and James Madison also designated days of thanks during their presidencies. New York even had a designated day of Thanksgiving. But much of the country, including the South, remained unfamiliar with this day. https://www.history.com/topics/thanksgiving/history-of-thanksgiving
I never liked fighting. From an early age it always made me uncomfortable. One incident occurred on the school bus. We lived less than a mile from the school, so it felt unnecessarily scary. I remember fighting with a girl at church. Oh my. The 4 K’s (my twin and two other inseparables that grew together in the same neighborhood) were picked on by a neighbor boy-much older than us. It took an adequate altercation for it to cease. I didn’t want to fight.
“Fight the good fight for the true faith. Hold tightly to the eternal life to which God has called you, which you have declared so well before many witnesses.”-1 Timothy 6:12
The walk to the older part of the elementary building was so exciting. I couldn’t wait to sit on the carpet of our old Kindergarten room and watch a film on African animals. It involved poaching-and people. There were tears in my eyes. I was ready to board a plane or a boat, head to Africa, and save the animals and the people. Would I even meet Jane Goodall?
Fight the good fight.
Being a peacemaker was my goal. Seeing all sides and angles to any situation was not only interesting, but it also became a daily objective. The underdogs, victims of bullying, the lonely or the unloved-they all gripped my heart. I learned under the steeple that we were to love one another. I wasn’t so Pollyannaish (although I was, and still am at times, seen as that) that I was blind to the problems of the world. Couldn’t we all just get along?
Fight the good fight.
I wasn’t so naïve that I believed everyone should believe or act the same, I just prayed we might. My beliefs blew up in blustery blunders. None of what I had believed seemed to be true in real life. The fight was on. As Merle Haggard sang I was “walkin’ on the fightin’ side of me.” I wasn’t fighting to be right, but to feel worthy.
Fight the good fight.
The bends in my life’s river have included fights to stay afloat-mentally and physically. To climb back in the boat after tipping, and at times, a spiritual fight to keep seeking that which IS worth a fight. “Was I even worth fighting for?” A heavenly boisterous and booming voice said “Yes! I needed you alone so you would be all mine for a while.”
Arguments and disagreements will inevitably occur. Dialogue, if we’re determined, might diffuse.
Fight the good fight.
Today as we honor our servicemembers who have sacrificed for our country I ask, “what is worth the fight?” Our country is constantly fighting with one another. We’re split. We’re divided. We fight for “things” that we think make our lives easier and more convenient as other parts of our world fight just to have the necessities of life.
Haven’t we all fought long and hard enough?–the fight to love yourself, to let go and allow the freedom of where you are, right at this very moment, to be enough. Stop fighting for stuff. Start fighting FOR one another. I’ll not stop fighting with faith to overcome health challenges. I’ll not stop fighting with faith for a brighter future, I’ll not stop fighting with faith in acknowledging love-I’m loved, you’re loved-whether you hear it each day. When you feel alone, confused, misunderstood—when you feel joy, happiness, and contentment-no matter how you feel or what you believe may you endure with faith and fanatical fortitude.
Fight the good fight.
Have faith 🤍
Lackland Air Force Base, San Antonio, Texas-photo credit-K.L. Hale
Much have I spoken of the faded leaf;
Long have I listened to the wailing wind,
And watched it ploughing through the heavy clouds,
For autumn charms my melancholy mind.
When autumn comes, the poets sing a dirge:
The year must perish; all the flowers are dead;
The sheaves are gathered; and the mottled quail
Runs in the stubble, but the lark has fled!
Still, autumn ushers in the Christmas cheer,
The holly-berries and the ivy-tree:
They weave a chaplet for the Old Year’s bier,
These waiting mourners do not sing for me!
I find sweet peace in depths of autumn woods,
Where grow the ragged ferns and roughened moss;
The naked, silent trees have taught me this,—
The loss of beauty is not always loss!
Elizabeth Drew Stoddard
