Remembering Lena Belle Broom


Today I am passing on a family heirloom to my youngest daughter Mary. The name of the artist was Lena Belle Broom. She was married to my grandfather, Dr. William Broom of Bonham TX, the only doctor for a hundred miles or so, as the story goes, and a cotton farmer as well as an entrepreneur, who with Lena Belle’s encouragement and assistance helped to turn slaves and former slaves into Independent sharecroppers who hired others of their ilk to help pick the cotton which ultimately set them free.

Some of the product from their lands was spun into thread from the longest staple cotton, colored with dyes from a company in Dallas. Some of this thread was used by  Grandmother to create tapestries of her own design.

The Art Deco image of a peacock rendered on a linen background was not finished; it was Grandmother’s last piece and was cherished only by her youngest son Horace Dixie Broom and considered by him and his wife,  Sadie Hannah Marie Oakes Broom to be the most important relic in their portion of the inheritance of a sizable estate. Dixie and Marie were my parents. I will miss this beautiful work of art but am comforted by its continued presence in the home of my daughter, Mary Margaret Broom.

How to end the learning process in a few easy lessons.

Lee Broom

The word “proof”, when added, changes a report into an advertisement, a discovery into a product and the reader into a victim of inanity. I know this because I attempt to prove myself “right” at least a dozen times a day and each time I discover that I was mistaken.  (Discovery is a truth word – proof is but a lie).

I don’t mind discovering my mistakes because they help me to learn and to be more patient with others of my ilk who are “always right”. These mistakes are rescuing me from the mire of mindless management, and of running the risk of never growing, of never, ever learning another, single new thing.

Another solution? Accept the Love and pass it on.




What can we learn from the only thing known of an otherwise unknown future?
We can fold our arms and RESIST the tide of the fear of ferocious possibilities.

We can reduce the number of choices we have before us, vowing always to do only the next RIGHT  Thing.

We can paste a SMILE on our face and pretend it is real.

We can try to BE PERFECT, trusting the approval of others who will compliment us for at least TRYing.


We can be of service to those who need assistance.

Did I leave something out?

Do it anonymously if possible.


Lee in Paradise


All beliefs are indefensible substitutes for knowledge.

The term Idle Worship is redundant.

The popularity of an idea does not make it true.

And, assembling a hundred logical arguments for

the purpose of


Perhaps we, who are driven to identify the mistaken beliefs of society, could busy our selves seeking  truly logical alternatives.

Every supporter of every idea whether truthful or not was motivated by the same goal as all of nature; whether a lowly amoeba or a newborn human babe, we all sense danger;we all seek safety.
I spent decades trying to identify a possible explanation for information acquired with the aid of a “sense” which was new to me in midlife. I began to think in terms of “what if?”. One day, decades later, ideas began coming  together.

I had hoped for evidence of telepathy. What I  discovered however, was a description of an intelligent creative force which was in possession of the memory of all past and future events and which would necessarily possess the only known quantity of unconditional LOVE , (self love) which would include the components of everything in The Natural World which would make access to this wellspring of Ultimate Power, this veritable fountain of youth available to all, I was surprised to say the least.

I wanted to share my discovery.

Shortly thereafter I began to realize that my discovery was not unique. This Higher Power’s job description had been described thousands of years ago. It was  considered to be the memory of all events, past and future. It was called the Akashik Record. I was sad at first that I was last in line but then…

I realized that perhaps I am the first to acquire the knowledge of how it all happened. I knew that it was probably as true to say that my AKASHIK-JEHOVAH had been here forever as to say IT had been created by the BIG BANG.

Escape to Reality

color029_sJPG_950_2000_0_75_0_50_50 Boy building a model airplane as girl watches. Robstown, Texas, January 1942. Reproduction from color slide. Photo by Arthur Rothstein. Prints and Photographs Division, Library of Congress

I’m tap, tap, tappin’

At my itty, bitty laptop

Thinkin’ in my tip-top

How to make it stop, stop.

Soundin’ kinda hip hop.

Wundrin’ why I’m so misunderstood.


I just finished watching a two-hour movie in Spanish.
(I don’t speak Spanish.)

It was a scenario with a psychedelic blend of imaginary cultures in an unfamiliar world, ten thousand years or so ago, give or take a century or two.

None of the different cultures understood each other’s words. There were people fighting, there was a love story, two wars, terrifying conflicts with giant carnivorous ostriches, a saber-tooth tiger and lots of shaggy mastodons.

There was a complicated story line and occasionally I would say to myself “Well, what the hell, if this was truly ten thousand years ago I wouldn’t speak these languages either.

When the film was over I understood the entire thing. It might as well have been in English. It didn’t matter. The dialogue was just part of the scenery.


 Have you ever been in a relationship with someone with whom…

You share a common language? However…

You speak in different tongues?

You would have known what that movie was about.

Yes, really.

But about real life..?

With a real person…?

With not-so-real biases…?

The dialogue was just part of the scenery.

 I’m tap, tap, tappin’

At my itty, bitty laptop

Thinkin’ in my tip-top

How to make it stop, stop.

Soundin’ kinda hip hop.

Wundrin’ why I’m so misunderstood.

Wundrin’ why I’m so misunderstood.



thanksgiving, komorne hurka, zimichka 102

If nothing new is written, the absence is noted by a few.

When reports are polished and gleam with the sheen of community bias

When Leaders are replaced  by the best followers

Growth subsides and are noted by a few.


When discovery is recorded,

When an artist emerges

When a science project reveals a new idea

When  Huff  reports the remarks of a 118 yr old lady whose wrinkles are attractive

We all feel safer.

And we return to what we were doing minutes before

The previously tight abs,

The shallow breathing,

The furrowed brow.

And, we relax.


It’s all good says  Daughter Dixie.

Love ya Grampa says DD’s Melissa

Autistic Noah smiles

And life goes on.








Psycho: Hey there Curious Abner. You have that lost look on your face again. ‘sup?

Curio: Dude…

Psycho: Well….

Curio: Well what?

Psycho: (The Look.)

Curio: Don’t look at me that way.

Psycho: (The Look.)

Curio:  You’re giving me that Psychedelic Toad look. Stop it please.

Psycho:  Well…..

Curio:  Okay…..I need to make amends with someone and I can’t.

Psycho: What’s stoppin’ ya?

Curio: I’m not sure what to do.

Psycho: Howsabout starting with an apology?

Curio: Well, that hasn’t worked out so well either.

Psycho: What happened; don’t tell me; you forgot to pay your AT&T bill, right?

Curio: Don’t get psychedelic on me, Wart Face.

Psycho: You sure do a lot of bellyaching. Go on.

Curio: alright already; so I write this email, see?

Psycho: An email; okay.

Curio: Yeah, an email; it starts out okay but by the time I get to the fifth line I sound angry

Psycho: Okay……

Curio: Okay. That’s it. I need ideas. Got any?

Psycho: Stop at the third line.

Curio:  Oh.