Hump Day in July

"Hump Day" cause we are in the middle of the week. The day promises more of the same high humidity & dew points. I wish we could go back to the dryness of desert heat? But then, we don't always get what we would like now. This too shall pass!

Lovely people coming by & leaving messages. Some I can reply to & some will not take my post. I must check into the why of that.

I have been doing some more research into the genealogy of my ancestry lately, an always fascinating thing for me to do. Genealogy is a strange journey into the past; it leads you on many twists & turns, a few surprises, a few shocks, & a few delights to give a smile. Aside from quilting, it certainly holds my interest.

I always wonder what those distant relatives thought when they viewed the shores of this new land for the first time, still out in the ocean. Did they still dream of what was to come or did they fear the unknown? Were they indentured for years ahead? I guess I will never know, at the least, I have not uncovered that fact, as of yet.

The Mother of Exiles (Statue of Liberty) was not there when my family arrived on these shores. I often think of Emma Lazarus’ thoughts when she wrote her immortal poem “The Colossus” in 1883. Ms. Lazarus only lived to be 37 years of age.

We all learned this poem in grade school, had to memorize them for Mrs. Waggoner’s 4th grade class. The only thing that stayed with me are the last 5 lines, I can still recite that from memory, as can most Americans.

Do you think Ms. Lazaras would still write this poem today? I am not sure………

“The Colossus”
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame,
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

by Emma Lazarus, New York City, 1883
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Block 9: "Industry" , from the book 'Celebration of American Life'
This is somewhat a plain block, compared to the previous ones.