Plans are made to be broken..by Sheila Claydon

At the moment the world is on tenterhooks because of the Coronavirus. Of all my books this is the only one where an unexpected illness strikes. Why? Well probably because nobody likes to think about illness unless they have to.

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As Woody Allan once said:  If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans. Not that any of my plans were desperate or that important in the scheme of things, but I was due to be cruising around Japan at the end of March on the very ship that is now quarantined in the port at Yokohama as more and more members of its crew and passengers contract the Coronavirus. 

On top of that, the British citizens who were flown out of Wuhan, the centre of the epidemic, have been quarantined in hospital property only 12 miles away from where I live. 

And then, of course, there is my daughter-in-law, who is Chinese. She and my little Eurasian granddaughter spent the Chinese New Year in China with family and friends. My son, who had to work, stayed at home in Hong Kong, which was just as well as he has been their only contact with the outside world for the past 14 days. Although they were very far away from the epicentre of the Coronavirus they were still required to self-quarantine when they returned home,  and my daughter-in-law has only today been allowed to return to work.

My granddaughter is still at home because her school has been closed since Christmas and will not reopen until 4 March at the earliest. Also most of her friends have either left Hong Kong for a perceived safety with family elsewhere, or have not returned from the Christmas holidays they were celebrating somewhere else in the world, so with no school and few friends to play with, it is fortunate that she loves to draw, write, make things, help cook, and also do the homework she receives every week by email.

From a different perspective, however, some of what is happening is very interesting. My son, who works in change management in businesses in Hong Kong, is having to adapt his own work practice whilst also helping other people to cope with working from home. Culturally, home working is not the norm in Hong Kong and this, together with the very limited size of its family apartments, means that the forced confinement is having a deep psychological effect on many people.  Apartments in Hong Kong are on average the smallest in the world (484 sq ft). Many of these are homes to more than three people. As a comparison, the average one-bed flat size in Manhattan, New York, is 716 sq ft while in London it is 550 sq ft. Because I regularly help edit his various presentations and papers, it means I am able to be part of the whole thinking around the effects of Coronavirus on business around the world...not something I would have chosen given how it is affecting and frightening so many people, but interesting nevertheless.

So here I am, living in a coastal village in the North West of England, miles away from any major centre, in a place of clean beaches and fresh, unpolluted air, and yet, because of globalisation, I am still caught up in the world-wide effects of the Coronavirus. It is a strange, strange world.

Now all I have to do is to send the medical face masks I've managed to buy in the UK over to my family in Hong Kong because there the shops have sold out altogether, and without a mask nobody goes out! In usual circumstances China makes 20 million face masks a day and Chinese people use them regularly both as a protection against traffic pollution and when they have a cold or cough which they don't want to pass onto other people. Now, however, production has fallen and people are panic buying. Fortunately we still have plenty in the UK where wearing them is not the norm at all. Who is to say when that will change, however. In the meantime we can spare some where they are needed most.

In my son's words at the end of his recent advisory leaflet to Hong Kong employees working from home for the first time: until it's over and we can all relax, work well and stay healthy.

Tombstones Tell A Story by Eileen O'Finlan

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My mom will be 93 in October. Feeling her abilities diminishing, she decided she wanted one last trip to her hometown of Bennington, Vermont. So in August we made the three hour drive north for a long weekend. There were several places Mom especially wanted to visit – places that had meaning to her from her youth – the town library, her old high school, the clock in the town center, the former Hotel Putnam that, among other things, once housed her uncle’s pharmacy, and the Old First Church. She also wanted to visit the graves of her parents, brothers, and other relatives.

I’ve always had a fascination for cemeteries so the burying grounds are of particular interest to me. Depending on their age and condition, they may be creepy, haunting, peaceful, or beautiful. In any case, they draw me in. The tombstones themselves are a special source of beguilement. I love studying about the correlation between the change in tombstone engravings and the layout of cemeteries and the changes in societal views of death and the afterlife between the 17^th and 19^th centuries. These are most fully on display when a cemetery spans centuries as does the one at the Old First Church.

There is much more to read in a tombstone than just the inscription. The shape, size, and substance of the stone and the images engraved on them give powerful hints as to their age and the outlook of those buried beneath them.

In our Bennington travels we visited two final resting places. One was the burying ground owned by and adjacent to the Old First Church. The Church’s congregation was first organized in 1762 and the current church was built in 1805. Its extensive burial grounds are the interment site of soldiers from the American Revolutionary War, both American and British, as well as Bennington’s earliest mayors, Vermont’s early governors, and other prominent citizens.

In one section, the four sides of a stone pillar tell the stories of the burying ground’s Revolutionary era inhabitants.

One side of pillar honoring Revolutionary soldiers buried here

American Soldiers believed buried in Old First Church burying grounds

Hessian (Brunswick) Soldiers believed buried in Old First Church Burying Ground

David Redding - Executed Loyalist

Details regarding Redding's Execution

It is also the final resting place of the great poet, Robert Frost and many of his family members. Fittingly, an elegant birch tree stands watch by his grave. Visitors are invited to reflect on our attitudes about death through the medium his poem, “In A Disused Graveyard”.

Grave site of Robert Frost and Family Members

Mom and my cousin, Patty, reflect near the birch tree at Robert Frost's Grave

Frost's Poem "In A Disused Graveyard"

Closer to our own time period, was our stop at Park Lawn Cemetery where my grandparents, uncles, and other relatives are buried. Compared with older tombstones, I find the more modern ones a bit boring – no disrespect to the dead intended. It’s just that most contain a name, dates of birth and death, and not much else. Unless one expends an enormous amount of money, it’s likely the only viable option, so I quite understand. It’s just that it feels cold and uninteresting to me. However, I did see one grave marker in this cemetery that told a compelling story. It is pictured below.

Grave Marker of William Halford Maguire

The inscription reads:

William Halford Maguire

1911 – 1945

Lt. Col. U.S. Army

West Point ‘32

Chief of Staff, Davao, Mindanao, P.I. when Japan attacked, 1941

Japanese prisoner of War 2 ½ years.

Survivor of three shipwrecks

Subjected to extreme brutality of Japanese captors.

Died Feb. 9, 1945 in Tokyo, Japan, weighing less than 59 pounds

Among awards: Silver Star and Legion of Merit

1933 – Married Ruth Felder, San Antonio, TX.

Children: Mollie Maguire Qvale

William Halford Maguire, Jr.

Imagine all the inspiration for a story to be gleaned from this one grave marker!

As it happens, I am able to add a bit to this story as the above marks the grave of my mother’s cousin. Hal, as she knew him, was captured and forced to walk the torturous Bataan Death March. The fact that he had dwindled to 59 pounds is astonishing in any case, but even more so when one learns that he was well over six feet tall.

Mom remembers Hal as a good-natured fellow whose company she enjoyed. Beyond the grave marker and the little my mom has been able to add, I know nothing about Hal or his life and death. Though it would have to be highly fictionalized, his story is certainly one worth telling.

As writers, we never know when inspiration will strike. Often it comes from the most unexpected places. But if you let the tombstones talk to you, you may come away with the bones of great story. All the better, perhaps, if the story is that of a person who resides in your heart and memory or that of a loved one.

At the MATSURI Japanese Festival - by Vijaya Schartz

Damsel of the Hawk, standalone in
the Curse of the Lost Isle series
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Since 1984, The Arizona Matsuri festival celebrates each winter Japanese culture and heritage, traditional and modern. The two-day event held at Heritage and Science Park in downtown Phoenix features the sights and sounds of Japan, art, crafts, music, dance and much more...

This year, I left my car to avoid parking jams and took the light rail to downtown Phoenix. Since trains are so prominent in Japan, it got me and my friends in the right mood. As if riding the famous Shinkansen minus the speed. Despite its futuristic looks, however, the light rail is no bullet train.

Having lived in Japanese communities in Hawaii and traveled all over Japan, I'm always glad to refresh my memories of the people, the culture, and everything Japanese, including the language.

The crowd came, and we had to make our way through lines of people, especially in front of the food tents.

So many things come from Japan, we tend to forget. From sushi, sake and beer, to anime, cosplay, bonsai trees, kimonos, and martial arts, we have adopted many cultural aspects of Japan. This is what we saw.

Kimonos are always popular. Some of these were real works of art, hand made, in rare silk, and intricately embroidered. Also popular the delicious foods, the tea ceremony, and the big drums. Did you know the ladies used to stick all kinds of implements inside the obi belt of their kimonos. At the festival, I saw many drumsticks sticking out of them.

 
This is a lovely picture of my friend Sue (on the left) with the group of Japanese folk dancers, getting ready for their appearance on stage. Notice the fans sticking out of the obi belts.

And here is yours truly, flanked by two formidable samurai in full armor. The sun and shadows of the overhead lattice and vines make it difficult to see them in all their splendor.

Of course, there was much more to see and do. I attended a storyteller show about the Shinkansen, introducing all the principal cities of Japan with their tourist attractions and culinary specialties. I also attended several martial arts demonstrations of Kendo, Aikido, Karate, and many others.

All in all, I thoroughly enjoyed this special day.

Who knows, maybe someday I'll write a novel set in Japan, or in a Japanese-like futuristic society.

HAPPY READING!

 Vijaya Schartz
 Romance with a Kick
 http://www.vijayaschartz.com
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