the thanksgiving gift

These past few years my blog has been my journey through my now not so new home county, Chester County, Pennsylvania . It’s also been whatever I feel like writing about at the time – what moves me, inspires me, what I want to share.

I have been a blogger for years, but out here I don’t think there are many people like myself who blog just because they want to write. So I am an acquired taste to many. I am also not a monetized blog, which is a rare species sometimes these days. With the blogging sometimes over the past few years I have had some incredibly negative experiences even with all the amazing and heartwarming and positive experiences of writing. As a result it may take me a few days when someone writes to my blog and is truly complementary.

So what I’m about to tell you is basically my O. Henry story for Thanksgiving 2017. (And as a related aside, if you have never read O.Henry you should. His stories are timeless and endure through the ages.)

Recently, someone wrote to me via my blog to tell me how much he enjoyed what I wrote about. And this gentleman, Chris, has really read what I’ve written. It always leaves me slightly in awe when I realize this because I write for myself. I enjoy the act of writing and expressing myself, it’s my art so to speak. And sometimes (sadly) along with the pleasant commentary , I get really ugly comments about my blog; it’s not always happy thoughts. That is the sad reality of the world we live in.

And this nice man also offered me an amaryllis bulb. And for a gardener like myself, there’s nothing better this time of year than paper whites and Amaryllis. I happen to love Amaryllis and the weird spring and fall made mincemeat out of my remaining Amaryllis bulbs and I actually didn’t have one started for Christmas. Someone from DutchGrown, a bulb grower and supplier out of West Chester had given him a couple of bulbs, and he thought enough of me a total stranger and fellow gardener, to offer me one. (And now I know about another bulb grower which is Chester County local too!)

2017 has been a crazy year for me being a blogger, so I showed the note to my husband, and he said that there is enough good on this earth that we can still take people at their word, even strangers. So today I sent a note back and said I would love to have an Amaryllis bulb and say hello.

I have to tell you I really didn’t expect him to come by today because it is Thanksgiving and he has a family, but he did. Sadly, I had hopped into the shower to get ready for family coming here for Thanksgiving. So he and my husband met instead. And now we have a new friend, well met.

There is that phrase about the kindness of strangers, and it definitely proves itself true here in this situation. And once again my travels through Chester county and my blog have introduced us to get another person we normally would not have met.

Chris, Happy Thanksgiving. This post is for you. Thank you for the beautiful bulb and reminding us what is important in this life. It is a true O.Henry moment.

Happy Thanksgiving dear readers and pay it forward this holiday season. Believe.

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a new tale of ebenezer a.m.e. – an oral history

I have not written about the ruins of Ebenezer AME in a long time. But here we are on the eve of Thanksgiving and I have a wonderful story to share. It was sent to me by a former Chester County artist named Claude Bernardin who now lives in Bloomington, Indiana. He also knows my dear friend Catherine Quillman, the historian and artist who has helped me fill in the historical blanks on many an occasion.

Ebenezer AME in 1976 – photo was sent to me by Claude Bernardin who took it. This was from the side of Ebenezer that faces the mobile home park today.  None of us had seen this side until Al Terrell cleaned up the graveyard last fall.  

What I am about to post are the words of Mr. Bernardin, and the lovely green bottle and the photo of Ebenezer in 1976 are photos he sent to me. Oral histories like his are priceless. I wish my friend Al Terrell was alive to talk to Claude Bernardin!

From Claude Bernardin, his words (bold and italics):

Hiram Woodyard:

Died 12/20/1900 I believe. But certificate of death says 1/04/01.

 

He lived on an odd L shaped acre of land he was willed by Thomas Quay just below the corner of Conestoga Road and Bacton Hill Road. His parcel of land consisted ( I personally now believe… ) of a driveway easement that ran across Conestoga Road and up into the Church from the. Church rear.

His parcel of land would have been on the left side of Conestoga Road, after you turned right on Conestoga Road, heading downhill off Bacton Hill. You would first pass the old Peter Manning-smith Property ( pine trees ) a drive way and bridge on left.

Set of small woods separating the next larger Estate ( what we knew in the 1960’s and 1970’s as The Merith’s ).

That small stretch of woods used to be a long cart path heading up into the higher hills and woods between both Larger farms in the 1890’s.

Directly behind the white and green Meridith Victorian stucco farm house, back in the woods maybe 50 feet, along a little creek, on a hillside, over looking the Meriths, sits the stone foundation of an old One Room cabin. It had a small porch at one time over looking the stream and a circular well.

I grew up a stones throw away from it.

Today I think it belongs to whoever owns the Manning-Smith property and it is labeled a wild bird sanctuary.

Bobcat on Daniel P. Mannix farm, June 1971 – Claude Bernardin photo

My research suggests that this was the property of Hiram Woodyard. I dug antique bottles behind the foundation, by the big tree up stream, and even out in front of the ruins and down in that stream. That property clearly dates to 1880 – 1900.

About a decade ago an old high school friend of mine sent me some newspaper article that may have appeared in the daily local news about that region, and it mentioned some information that led me to believe that that was his property. I have since lost that information. However while working for an auctioneer I was able to get my hands on in the old 1800s map book of Chester County. Within it it showed the land parcels of that particular area and it clearly showed that property with a Cabin and I think an out house. I also own the Catherine Quillman book on the history of the Conestoga Pike, and I believe there is more information pertainingto that property within it. Putting all this information together, I have now come to the conclusion that that must be his property, and that the bottles that I dug belonged to him.

Elwood’s greenhouse and tool shed. 1970s?
Claude Bernardin photo

The last time I attempted to dig in that area I tried to dig out the cabin foundation from inside. It was just too much work for my friend and I. But I believe that there are bottles and other things down inside there. One of the things that we found was an old bedframe. The problem is that the foundation walls are collapsing into itself.

The hill beyond the cabin and down to the stream is some of the hardest clay soil I have ever dug!! If anyone was to try to do any digging in the future I would suggest using pitchforks. There are glass bottles on that hillside under the dirt, there is all kinds of barbed wire in the old wire as well.

Directly behind the cabin and in the woods further up the hill is an odd formation of land man made. I have never been able to quite figure out what it is. It is perhaps either the foundations of an old barn, or it was a man made ice pond.

Elwood’s two room shack. Claude Bernardin submitted photo. All of these old photos in this post are from his personal collection.

 In other words a deliberate formation to collect rainwater and to collect blocks of ice in the winter, a common practice back in those early days. If you are standing between the cabin and that formation, off to your far left is the Manning Smith pond, where there used to be a stone Spring house. Off to your right back in the woods further up the hill there is the ruins of an old Spring house as well.

This of course would be where they would need the ice.

This is a brief listing of the bottles that were found at this site:

Kickapoo Indian Sagwa

Dr. Chamberlain’s diarrhea cure

Ball and patent fruit mason jars

Ka-tonka, the Great Indian Remedy.

Note: both katonka and kickapoo came from a local traveling Penna. snake oil salesman wagon show.

Beer bottles: hollmans of Phoenixville, pa.

J. Harley of West Chester, Pa. and an apple green Chas. Jolly Blob beer from Philadelphia.

Numerous unmarked clear whisky’ and medicines

Horlock malted milk

Heinz ketchup

Food product jars varying sizes

The Church:

First of all, my name is Claude Bernardin

I used to live at 425 Conestoga Road, east white land township.

My father: Charles, my mother : Elizabeth ( Betty )

They had 9 children.

We are all still alive.

In the 1960s I was between 5 to 12 years old. That neighborhood had a tremendous group of children of similar age. In fact at times we had little gangs.

We were quite adventurous, inventive, and curious. Many of us got to know every single character, and adult at that corner on a personal basis. We would do chores for them, many of us even took care of them in their old age. A specific legendary character that lived right at the crossroads in a two room hand built shack, was L with Michael. Mr. Michael was kind of a hobo subsistence farmer of legendary status in the community.

As I recall, the inside of the church was lined in cherry wood paneling the pews we’re still in it and what color cherry wood so was the podium.

He used to drive up and down Bacton Hill Road and Conestoga Road at all hours of the day but mostly at sunrise and the sunset on his silver gray Ford tractor to doing his bugle for all the kids to come running to say hello. He often left families with the gifts from the fields.

He was a welcome guest at our house, and in his very old age we took care of him and would bring dinner to him at his bedside. To us he was like our quirky uncle. I knew Elwood so closely that I can still hear the singsong high-pitched slangy twang of his voice. He actually talked in some sort of meter. He was a lovely man, who cared for his community.

As far as I know he never graduated from high school, and yet was one of the most intelligent man I ever knew. He read books all the time. He could recite hundreds of poems from memory, and often did while sitting on the edges of our beds to wake us up to come down and join him for breakfast.

He used to give us a ride up and down Conestoga Road and Bacton Hill.

To repay his kindness, we did our chores for him around his property, including chopping wood for his woodstove. We rode with him to the old Kane form across from the trailer court, and would help fix up his hay wagons and the old barn.

To him I was always “Claudey”.

My brother is Richard, and Peter were the mechanics and engineers in our family, also sometimes brother guy. They would help Elwood and others in the region with all kinds of mechanical needs.

Back in the mid-1960s the church was abandoned. Two children that stood out in the neighborhood from the trailer park, Doug Buettner, and George Berry.

Slightly up the street towards the corner was Bruce McNaughton. Bruce was my brother Peter is my brothers closest childhood friend, also a character.

The old church was a wonderful place. Back then it still had a roof , a wooden floor, and altar, a podium, and even church pews.

The windows were huge, with deep inset windowsills and very large wooden shutters. The floor was beginning to show signs of wear, and rot.

If my memory serves me correctly there wasn’t one broken glass window. However the roof did have holes in it.

When you walked in the front door off BactonHill Road, to your far right against the wall in the corner, was a ladder that ran to the top of the wall, it was quite rickety back then. I climbed it on several occasions trying to reach the attic, but I was afraid of heights and so I never made it. But the church must have had in the attic that ran the entire ceiling.

I can actually remember one of the older children standing at the podium to court order to our meeting, a little bit like the dead-end gang in those James Cagney movies I think. 🙂

We loved that church, and we never told anybody that we would have meetings in there and just hang out in there. By the time I was heading into college in 1976, all those children had grown up and moved away or gone their separate ways.

I had become a much more brooding artist type, so it became one of my favorite places to go to for privacy. Every now and again I would run into a raccoon.

Unfortunately by 1980 I became so busy in my life and my career I never got back there until the place had fallen in.

It remains one of my fondest memories of my childhood. I always found peace of mind in that place. The interior paneling was beaded wood paneling color of mahogany, it ran just under the windowsills. There were louvered shutters inside. Windows on outside had heavy 1890’s era double hung shutters. And deep sills. There was an attic crawl space the height of the church roof rafters with a floor, that ran full length of the church. When one entered the church door off Bacton Hill Road. The ladder up to it, It was in the front right corner. I climbed it twice – it seemed very high up to young boys.

Today I am a very well-known artist of the Chester County, in 2010, I was featured in a Catherine Quillman book called the 100 artists of the Brandywine Valley. I have done many many many paintings of that entire area. But my greatest joy was knowing all those people, and growing up in that specific spot. All of us still say we were lucky to have grown up in that region. Between the woods, the streams, the wildlife, the history you just couldn’t have asked for a better place to grow up.

My brother Richard took much care and concern throughout the 1970’s to try and cut the grass. More than most. We just got busy with our own lives.

Back in the late 60s, 1966 – 1971 my brother Richard and I, Jeffrey Manning Smith, Doug Buettner, Bruce McNaughton, we all periodically would go over to the church and cut the lawn and try to keep the weeds back. None of us really knew any history about the place, may be a bit of information came from L with Michael. But mostly no one really understood what the place was, and who once used it.

But I can recall numerous occasions we would take the lawnmowers there and cut the grass and grass with the tombstones. On several occasions we picked up the tombstones and had the wedge them up because they would have fallen.

We were aware of some bad kids in the neighborhood that had done some damage to the markers. They were scolded and warned.

We love the place and did as much work as we could after school when we would come off the school bus at that corner.

But as we grew from teenagers into young adults we became far too busy with our own lives to keep up with it.

It was also at this time that the rain water washing off Bacton Hill had become so severe that it was starting to cause erosion down through the graveyard. I can recall on several occasions complaining to my mother about it and saying I wish we could get someone to do something about this. My brother Richard and I on several occasions went there with shovels and buckets and did whatever we could to fix it back up. I do recall several graves being eroded enough that one could see down into them.

There was a specific grave that got hit the hardest every year we would have to go and fix it up. That grave was behind the church down maybe 6 feet, down the hill and behind a couple large trees off to the left. On one occasion I recall actually seeing skeletal remains. My brother and I did everything we could to cover them up and to keep the place sacred.

I had no idea the linkage of history between the church and the cabin off in the woods that I would go to to dig antique bottles. From 1970 to 1985, I spent much time campus seeing those hillsides, those woods and studying every inch of that as I could to preserve and try to find any artifacts and old bottles.

Behind the Meriths’ house and perhaps connected to woodyards cabin, I found another bottle dump. Out of that dump came many blob top beers, medicines, old jugs.

One of the bottles that made me laugh, was a mosquito bite cure, with a picture of a mosquito on it.

That area really hadn’t changed much in 100 years, as kids growing up there it could be awful at times with the mosquitoes!

Bottle I dug in stream probably used by Hiram Woodyard, dating 1895 -1889. Very rare color variant.

In my 30s, I was busy carrying on an art career, teaching art, and starting my own family. However I never forgot that place, and researched it when ever possible. One of my favorite places to research Montgomery and Chester County was the pottstown public library.

Back in the early 90s probably 1993 or 94 I checked out a book on the history of both counties.

It was a small book, and in fact now maybe it was two books I checked out. Hard for me to remember. Anyway within those books there was some documents written by soldiers in George Washington’s troops, I suppose taken from some sort of diary that they kept or reports giving back to the general.

In those reports, there was quite a lot of detailed information from soldiers in charge of their encampments. After the winter at Valley Forge, I suppose that Washington was still concerned with British troops. And so they needed to keep look out on the major roads, coming in and out of the area.

They wound up camping on that ridge, I truly believe that.

How very cool. So awesome to learn even more about the area. And this re-affirms my belief the area is history worth saving and preserving for future generations. He also tells me that the Lenape Indians used to camp near there as well. I think Al Terrell and Ann Christie would have loved to have learned about what Claude Bernardin has so generously shared with all of us!  I have been blessed to meet the most interesting and nice people because of Ebenezer.

It is my wish for Thanksgiving that the AME Church of today has an epiphany about this site and recognizes it’s importance and the wonderful people who have shown an interest and cared for the grounds over the years.  We are all but temporary stewards for the souls of Ebenezer, but I still want it to live on long after we have left.

Photo submitted by artist Claude Bernardin

gossip girls

Émile Charlet (Belgian, 1851-1910) Gossip Girls. Sold at Skinner Auction May 2017

I wrote about gossip in 2013. As I said then, there is within human nature the desire to gossip or chatter about others. Anyone who says they haven’t done it isn’t being honest with themselves.

I have met men who were terrible gossips, but truthfully it is an especially female weapon.   It is used in my opinion most often to wound and hurt instead of the person really addressing what is wrong.

Why are women so cruel to each other?  Some say it is a basic evolutionary drive of women that men don’t have.  Some say it is low self-esteem. I think it is also that some people are just have nothing better to do.

What is it about human nature that makes some people relish the distress of others?  And why would you do that to someone who has only shown you kindness in some cases?

Why is it in the human dynamic to be cruel to one and other?

Today I learned of a recent conversation involving me.  It is the second one recently.  I marvel at how people who have never met me or have maybe met me once or twice love to talk about me. I am not that fascinating and what boring, tiny lives they must lead.  They want to know what makes me tick.  Part of the answer? Not them.

My radar has always gone up when I meet people who are way too personal too fast, too helpful, are always telling everyone how helpful they are.  These are the people that collect names of those they feel are socially helpful like kids collecting baseball cards….or savages and scalps (take your pick.)   These are the people who take a million selfies and the selfies fall into three categories (a) a core group of those who exhibit slavish devotion (b) themselves wherever and (c) with people they really don’t know, but it’s good to be in a photo with them.  These are the people who are, in the end, out for themselves.

I choose not to be around people like that.  They are toxic and basically, they just use people until they have no more use.  I want people who are shall we say of higher moral quality than that.

I have friends from every stage of my life.  They come from grade school through to the present.  My type of friend is loyal. Not phony.  Not a friend recycler (the people who literally recycle their friends every few years.)  I don’t want the friends who constantly play the “do you know” game, because I don’t really care.  I know lots of people and so what?

I avoid social climbers.  For example, they will never, ever in a month of Sundays get why you volunteer, truly.  (HINT: it’s not so someone will take your “society” photo)

A few years before I left the Main Line I saw a new breed on the scene.  I watched them as I like to observe.   Pushy and obvious, labels don’t make the person even if you sport the labels.  This new breed wasn’t even necessarily of the giant bank account.  They just wanted to belong so very desperately, completely not getting that people smell that desperation and stroll past it.

I have been off the Main Line for many moons at this point and some of these types are still fascinated by me, or news of me and why? I’m just a person – and these are never people that are discussing me because I’m interesting, it’s because they are trying to stir malice with gossip.   They don’t know me, but more importantly, I choose not to know them.  They exist for people to know them or of them.

I also am the subject of bizarre gossip because I am a blogger. And in this case people who have literally never met me as in ever.  They read what I write and decide based upon that who I must be.  Again, people I choose not to know.

These acts of random gossip mean I will probably never want to have a conversation with you.  I make my choices, and am for the most part not a follower.  I never have been — truly it is nothing new.  I was never a girl in a clique even in high school.  The fact I joined a sorority in college was somewhat unusual.  But I joined my sorority because the girls in it were fiercely independent and did not wear their starter pearls with t-shirts. (And they are still cool.)

I judge people on their merit.  If someone causes me to feel even minor aversion, it is usually with good reason.

We all were not put on earth to hang out with each other.  It would be exhausting.

People gossip to feel superior.  People gossip out of boredom. People gossip out of envy and an effort to belong.

Put your intellectual curiosity to better use…or better yet, address the subject of your cross examinations personally.

 

christmas is coming!

I had an appointment in Wayne so I stopped at Valley Forge Flowers, more specifically The Barn at Valley Forge Flowers.

I love Christmas and I noticed they were literally decking the halls so I had to go in and check things out. They have some fabulous Christmas ornaments and holiday hostess gifts if you are in the market for them.

Especially take note of the fabulous German ornaments in the section known as The Cottage at Valley Forge Flowers. And like a complete dork, that’s the one photo I neglected to snap!

Please note that my opinions are my own and I have not been compensated in any way or given preferential treatment for writing my little review of a fabulous shopping experience. I am just a happy customer!

sink still life

Today, many of you will be bored. I’m not writing about anything exciting. I am writing about the everyday, the mundane. I am writing about dishes left in the sink overnight.

I think when you grow up you come from one of two camps: those who clean up the kitchen in it’s entirety at the end of every day, and those who leave things in the sink for the next day. I definitely grew up in the former category.

The photo above is not bad because trust me, I have come down some mornings to find both sinks filled to the brim with dishes, drowning in water that flops over to the counter because the water level is that high in the sink.

My sweet man will tell you I am obsessed about dishes in the sink. Maybe I am, maybe I am not. I think it all depends on what camp you were raised in – those who leave dishes in the sink overnight and those who do not.

I think sometimes however, I just have a crazy clean Italian gene. I love to cook, but I hate kitchen mess. Some people are perfectly comfortable with sinks full of dishes. Ask anyone in my house and they will tell you it quite literally makes me twitch. Maybe that’s because I did so much of the cleaning up of the kitchen growing up.

Growing up I was my mother’s favorite party help because she know if she told me to clean up the dishes I would. My sister would evaporate, literally. My parents would have the dinner party, and if we were around, we cleaned up. Or more specifically, me, because usually it was me.

It sort of became my de facto place during holiday meals – I would go into the kitchen to clean up because I knew I was going to have to, anyway. And it’s funny I still do the same things today as an adult in my own home. I love to cook, I love to have people over for dinner, but it’s like I twitch unless I clean up the kitchen.

What kitchen camp do you come from?

Thanks for stopping by, i’m going to go clean up my kitchen now 😂

#metoo but what happens after media spotlight fades?

Hecate/ The Night of Enitharmon’s Joy, William Blake (1757-1827)

#metoo A/K/A The Harvey Movement. Started by actor Alyssa Milano.

USA Today reported today in addition the following: 

Gretchen Carlson has been credited with cracking the secretive world of workplace sexual harassment thanks to her landmark case against Fox News chairman and CEO Roger Ailes. 

But she’s convinced the scathing allegations of assault and harassment leveled against Harvey Weinstein published by The New York Times and The New Yorker, and the tidal wave of women coming forward with similar stories in the last week and a half, is the real turning point.

“What we’re seeing happening now with the Harvey Weinstein revelations, to me this is the watershed moment,” she told USA TODAY. “This is the tipping point I’ve been working so hard for over the last 15 months. People are finally saying ‘enough.'”

A reporter friend of mine today asked the following as she was researching her story:

Does the #metoo make you feel more empowered? Do you think this is a here today/ gone tomorrow story?

Sexual Harassment is not new – does the fact it’s a Hollywood producer and accusers are stars give the issue more clarity- more weight that now is the time for discussion? 

Sigh.  Sexual harassment and sexual assault are not new. Just #metoo is new. It is still so hard for victims of either sexual harassment or sexual assault to report either.  No matter what victims seem to get victimized again in the process. And that is total sad reality, isn’t it?

Also to consider are the women who cry wolf in these situations for whatever twisted motivation they might have.  Yes, seriously, and I know of more than one instance over my lifetime.  And for every person who cries wolf, that makes it all the harder for women who have been victims of sexual harassment and sexual assault.

So according to the media this #metoo has been a crazy trigger for women to talk about this. It’s truly all over social media, pick your platform.

Vanity Fair: These Are the Women Who Have Accused Harvey Weinstein of Sexual Harassment and Assault. October 12, 2017 by Yohana Desta and Hillary Busis

Washington Post #MeToo: Harvey Weinstein case moves thousands to tell their own stories of abuse, break silence by Samantha Schmidt

PBS News Hour: Thousands share stories of sexual abuse with #MeToo after Weinstein allegations

What did I post on my own timeline?

It’s the truth.  When I think of sexual assault and sexual harassment, I think of it in terms of which women do I know who hasn’t experienced some form of either. And we, the everyday women in this country, will still be here long after the bright lights of Hollywood have moved onto the next cause célèbre.

And let us not forget what President Trump and Betsy De Vos have cooked up for Title IX, shall we? Good little foot soldiers of the current “republic” I am sure are claiming “fake news” but is US New and World Report really “fake news”?

Here is what the US News and World Report said:

Title IX was originally enacted in 1972 to prevent discrimination in schools based on sex, but has since expanded to cover issues relating to sexual assault. No longer for just equality, it requires educational institutions that receive federal funding to have a procedure in place for handling complaints of sexual harassment, discrimination, and violence.

The law was reshaped during the Obama administration in an effort to improve how colleges handle sexual assaults, but DeVos told The Associated Press the system “is not working right and well for anyone.”

So when I posted  #MeToo did I mean me too?

Yes.

For me, it was literally decades ago.  No one at this point needs the gory details.  It accomplishes nothing.  It happened and that was bad enough.

For years I denied to myself what happened and alternately blamed myself for what happened.

As I grew up from this thing I experienced, I came in contact with other women who themselves had been victims of either sexual harassment or sexual assault and in many cases were then victimized by the system.   I also knew of women who cried wolf and almost tanked the lives of men who had not been sexual predators.

I did not talk about it, I did not tell anyone when it actually happened.

Eventually because a light bulb went off in my head, I did deal with it.  I finally accepted what happened was not my fault, and quite honestly I worked through it with a therapist.  I knew if I did not I would become as screwed up as many women I had encountered who never did anything about it even just for their sanity.

But sociologically speaking, it’s still kind of a dirty little secret isn’t it?  This is a topic that makes people uncomfortable, yet it happened every single day.  We are now as women told to speak up, but if you are just a regular person what happens? Do people magically descend from the ceiling with flaming swords to defend your honor?

Hardly.

It’s hard enough to go to anyone and talk about this, but still today, doesn’t it seem nearly impossible to get action taken? We’ve all read the horror stories of when rape victims take things to court. And with sexual harassment in the workplace as a woman you get to lose lots and lots of sleep over taking action, or sucking it up and moving on so you don’t taint your career with reporting something, don’t you?

Why are the victims victimized twice?

There are women I know who will never, ever get over what happened to them.  And that is even with people supporting them and encouraging them to at least get therapy. And it has screwed with their lives incredibly.

Yes, we need to stand up and say #MeToo but we need to persist so the every day non-Hollywood girls and women are helped. We need to remember the ordinary women who stand in the shadows waiting for help.  The women who get so lost inside their own heads on this that it affects their lives, their children’s lives, truly the lives of everyone who cares about them.

Sexual assault and sexual harassment are as old as time.  We all need to do better.

Thanks for stopping by.