Mj Pettengill

I am a social historian and healer. I will not only use the term "ELDERS," but I will celebrate it and them.

It was oddly festive for such an unfortunate event.

It had become a devastatin’ riddle, choosin’ between rent or food; because of the risin’ cost of both, Daidí could afford neither.

Child labor laws were not in place until later years, often brought about by catastrophic losses.

I stand amidst the falling snow, deep within myself.

Recently, my years of research and family history collided.

...they were stripped of their names and either given a fresh new name or were issued a number—a new moral identity.

The original blog was replaced with a simple poem. Here's why...

Paupers were punished for being poor, the elders for aging, and the sick for failing. Where did we go from there? Where do we go from here?

Once I was on my way to proper identification, comprehension, and acknowledgment, the wall of pain slowly and steadily vanished.

There was a great deal of heartache and compassion for these unfortunate souls, but few answers. I ask now, have we found solutions?

It is time to remember our strengths and trust ourselves again to navigate the future safely.

Often, we sense the presence of the ancient ones through the subtle movement of trees, birds, animals, and plants.

Trust the angels, Dad. They are here to help you.

As a perennial hermitess, this is bearable— even preferable—but the time has come to emerge from the cocoon.

Do you know what a foundling is?

I find my way to the truth. It’s there; it waits patiently for relief from rage left unexpressed.

In Flanders fields, the poppies blow...

It was oddly festive for such an unfortunate event.

To the pretty frogs, dragonflies, birds, fish, beavers, flowers, rivers, bees, and swamps, I am sorry.