The Clemstead

A place heavy with history and screaming for new thoughts.

Mag 173: Revealing Altitude


“Didn’t I warn you that you would float away with that many balloons in your hand?” he grumbled through his teeth. “They are watching you now… let’s try to convince them we are a circus act. All you need to do now is point your toes and arch your back just a little bit more. Hurry they are watching.” No response

“Dear Heart. Please smile… they are staring.” No response

“Look Dear, think light as a feather.” No response

“Honey love, are you OK?”
She responds, “Did you know that you have a bald spot on your head?”

Not Dead Yet

Yes…agreed it has been a very long time.  Though not missed, I have been missing the world where thoughts are scattered to the four winds in hopes that they land somewhere and grow.

Time apart has been well spent in the pursuit of an education (major bucket list item). As I write this post there are only 8.5 weeks left in school and once done I will have a bachelor’s degree in IT as a Business System Analyst. There has been plenty of writing but not of the sort that would constitute posting here. Besides APA paper formatting in a blogger template just does not work well together.

Future projects besides word sowing are being planned and I hope to share some personal success in a mentoring program as well a cross off a few more “list” items. Now I’m off for some more prompts and interaction before it is back to the books again tonight.

Mag 172: Taking the Hit


“Master Thomas Fitzhugh!” the matriarch bellowed, “Come here at once!”

An eight year old child slinks out from the back of the hen house clothes and hand bedecked in all shades of color.

A foot starts tapping at a rapid pace on the hard dusty ground threatening to produce its only little thunder cloud. A finger points to the door of the plain abode with a full arm flourish.

“Didst thou profane thee house?” Thomas’ mother puffed trying to hold her temper while flourishing her hands to follow the lines of paint. “No Ma’am”

“Thomas, go wash at the barrel and come back at once and prepare for extra chores. Ye are lying.” Walking to the barrel Thomas passes his father who is just as colorful holding the brushes and hidden behind the hen house

“Fa..tha..ther?” Thomas pleads sobbing with tears running down his face. Father winks, stands up, takes a breath, and walks towards the house.  

“Oh my Lord in heaven, Mister Fitzhugh!!??”

About Me

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I come from German (Mennonite/Brethren) stock with bits of Norse, Celtic, Native American, and some mysterious unknown combination from an adopted grandparent. Not an uncommon blend for most of us who settled early in Pennsylvania. This type of diverse heritage left me ripe for the genealogical bug. I make a pilgrimage once a month and attempt to trace all the branches of my family tree. Unearthing facts that were never documented previously always brings excitement.

Nakoah is following...

  • Mag 312 - photo by Tom Chambers
    1 year ago
  • - Please help me to identify this photo. I think it was taken somewhere in the U.K. in the 1930's. Has anyone ever seen the mural? Is it a public building?
    6 years ago
  • far - *Rivertown, Nepal* Far is the sound a phone makes as you press your ear tighter to the receiver trying to capture any syllable that slips through the stati...
    1 year ago

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Picture of the Month
Harvest Time

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