★One Christian Woman’s View on the Outlander Series★

(I originally shared this entry during Outlander's first season. I took it down weeks later because I actually feared the judgment of some of my church-going friends. A couple years ago, one of them, who is in her seventies, told me that she and her very spiritually stalwart husband are big fans of Outlander. Since the show recently concluded, I will bravely repost it and it will stay on here.)

     Two years ago Pamela, a neighbor of mine, was excited to discover that I was a writer. She knew I was of Scots-Irish descent and that I like strong female lead characters in the books that I write, as well as those that I read. She asked me if I had time to read just one more book. I flatly told her that I didn’t have time. I had my own novels to complete. She insisted, and handed me a paperback. I sat in her living room and contemplated the thick blue book she’d reverently placed in my hands, an almost worshipful look in her eyes. I handed it back to her and said, "I can’t take your book, it must mean a lot to you." 

     "That’s quite all right," she insisted. "The author signed the entire series for me, in hardback! You can keep this copy."

     Then Pam began to tell me the tale of Claire Randall, an army nurse enjoying her first real vacation just after World War Two. She is on her second honeymoon with her beloved husband Frank, a man she knows very little about because their respective assignments with the British army had separated them shortly after their wedding. She and Frank are attempting to rekindle their love in Scotland, enjoying the countryside when Claire finds herself at a small version of Stonehenge. She is transported back two hundred years, but in her disorientation doesn’t realize the full impact of her journey. At first she thinks she’s found herself in the middle of a historical reenactment. 

     Claire thinks she sees Frank, but the man before her is actually a distant relative of his, serving in the army of King George. Clad in full red-coated malevolence, “Black Jack” Randall will take advantage of any situation. Usually Randall’s favorite prey is young men, but Claire is alone and he is a cruel, mean opportunist. He seizes Claire, about to have his way with the helpless time traveler, when a Scotsman takes her captive, in essence saving her. She later meets a wounded Scot named Jamie, a family member of the Clan MacKenzie. Before they take their journey to the MacKenzie Castle Leoch, Claire tends to Jamie’s bullet wound and resets his dislocated shoulder. She later becomes a healer to the people at the stark grey castle. (Thus begins an adventure that I later discovered contains eight books with more to come.) 

     Pamela spent at least a half hour telling me what I summed up in the synopsis above. She smiled, showed me her hardback copies signed by author Diana Gabaldon, then handed me the paperback once more.  ". . .and I hear that casting has begun to make a movie of the first book! Here, give Outlander a chance." Her dogs were panting. It was a hot, humid July evening. I was literally itching to leave at this point. She looked at me, imploring me to read the story. '"t’s historical fiction."

     I, like most Mormons, participate in genealogy and love history, so I acquiesced and told her I would read the novel. I took it home and never opened it. In the winter I returned to the desert and placed the paperback on a shelf, where it remained unopened. The following spring, my daughter and I both began to read Outlander and I even listened to it on a CD borrowed from the library. I was in for a surprise, led into a very sensual, well written story. The plot, subplots and scenes sometimes left me shaken. Many times I felt like I was alongside Claire in her harrowing adventures. 

     My daughter Marie later found out that a television series was in the works, more than just the movie that Pam had gushed about. I had so much to share with my Outlander-loving friend! I called Pam’s phone, left messages and also texted to tell her how exciting the book was, but never heard from her. I found it strange, but I knew she had a horse and was busy with grooming and riding, so when I returned to Michigan I knocked on Pam’s door. She didn’t answer. I tried a few days later. Still no answer. I found it strange that her dogs weren’t barking like they usually did whenever I knocked. Pam wasn’t one to hang out on Facebook, but when she didn’t even respond to the birthday wishes left on her timeline, I began to worry. I found out from a young lady later that month that Pam had suddenly moved away. She’d had terminal cancer and hadn’t told anyone except those closest to her. My friend was gone; taken from this earth. I was in a momentary state of shock. My mind was floating in a purgatory-like frame-of-mind, I had nobody that I could share the Outlander adventure with. 

     Later in August, the real adventure began. I was heart-sick that Pam couldn’t share in it. Producer Ron Moore and the STARZ Channel gave Outlander fans what they’d been waiting for, the series “Outlander,” an epic drama combining romance, history, science fiction and very realistic battle scenes. The cinematography and score are beautiful in their own right, braiding and knotting Diana Gabaldon’s stories into a beautiful, gripping saga. . .and there is controversy, at least among Americans. 

     The show is European in style and most of us in the USA are not used to nudity. Let me point out to those of you reading my blog, this is not pornography. It may be classified as erotica, but even then I personally would not call it that. The episodes feature nudity, but the love-making is between a husband and his wife. Without giving all plotlines away and spoiling the stories for potential viewers, the groom is a virgin man, a Catholic, who honors the virtue of womanhood. It is better explained in the novels, but he will not take advantage of a woman’s heart. There are a couple episodes dealing with rape and an honorable young man is tortured and sodomized by Black Jack Randall, the previously mentioned sadistic Redcoat. The poor lad is violated both body and soul. Former military nurse Claire is the only one who has 20th Century knowledge of how to heal his wounds, but how will she mend his soul? She confesses her plight to a robed man of God in a monastery that she and her Scottish rebels have taken shelter in. The monk gently listens to her tale of time travel and calls it a miracle. He urges her to bring the sexually abused Scottish warrior back to the light. I found this refreshing. Many times Christian beliefs are maligned in our modern media. 

     Bringing her beloved patient back to what is light and good and Holy prove to be a challenge as the lad has pledged his soul and body to the Redcoat devil, Black Jack. The victim’s God-father suggests that Claire may have to step into the darkness herself to bring the scarred and branded man back into the light. The poor youth’s mind is so broken from the cruel psychological games that he partially blames himself for being repeatedly violated by Black Jack. The Redcoat had already attempted to rape both the man’s sister Jenny and his beloved Claire. She struggles to bring the lad back to his senses and make him believe that none of this was his fault. 

     I will admit, although I am only part way through the book series and I just watched the last episode of the first season, there are times I just have to step away. Due to my own life experience and trauma, the last things I want to witness are violence, battles, blood and psycho-sexual torture; but I want to read the entire series. I’m also considering the companion books in the Lord John Grey Series. 

     As much as I love “Outlander” on STARZ I will warn you, my readers, this show is not for the faint of heart. It is rated for Mature Audiences. The scenes can be gory and heart wrenching. Seeing a man die after a boar hunt was perhaps the most heartbreaking episode in the first season for me, next to the scenes where Black Jack Randall takes a mallet to his current prisoner’s hand, delivering powerful, repeated blows meant to cripple the victim. There is full frontal nudity, both male and female. The sexual scenes, while not meant to arouse, may do just that. The aforementioned young couple is newly married and very much in love. I personally would have preferred a version that would leave more to the imagination. 

     The bottom line is author Diana Gabaldon has weaved a tale that, although it begins in Scotland and contains the supernatural, tells the story of why there was an American Revolution. The wild, freedom-loving Scots were denied their culture, their local government and the man they believed was king was replaced by a false king—George the Second. He was later succeeded by his grandson George the Third (the King of England during the American Revolutionary War). The Scots, many of whom were shipped to the American Colonies and then sold into indentured slavery following Culloden, were not about to live under tyranny again. 

     To me, the Outlander series tells the story of freedom and America. The show is igniting and reigniting people to think about what freedom means. It goes beyond fireworks and a weekend off work. It is the right to think and believe and survive without being compelled by a king or any government. It reminds us that we the people make and keep the laws, not a king or a few people in a central government. It means that the citizens will make their own informed decisions and rule themselves by the laws of God despite power-hungry politicians that believe they know better than free-minded individuals. 

     If the series encourages viewers to think about where their ancestors came from and what they ultimately fought for then that’s only the beginning. I hope that Ron Moore’s television series based on Diana Gabaldon’s book will never sanitize the horrors of war or become politically correct. History is history, something to learn from, a launching point to discuss political issues, not gloss them over. Romance and a little divine intervention are interwoven into this tale to make it sell, of course. In the meantime, I fully intend to enjoy the scenery. While I’m at it, I’ll have a Scotch on the rocks." 

#PamHill #Outlander #Starz

My Secret Friend

     I will try to tell this story as plainly as I can. It is from my childhood.

     In the 1970s, when I was in grade school, I was bullied. Except for the friends that I could count on my fingers (right hand only) I was called names, beat by teachers, and struck many times a week by students. Some so-called friends actually joined in the bullying then came over to play when school was out. I was grateful for any little scrap of positive attention and I lived for summer.

     My parents were in a German Club in the Detroit area. Many times, my mother and our neighbor, Adelle, would help out at festivals. Other times my parents and their friends would go to region-wide parties as far away as Ontario. I really enjoyed myself at these celebrations.

     One festival, if I remember correctly, was at the Yack Arena in Wyandotte. If not, it was a similar venue somewhere in Michigan or Ontario. As usual, I’d sneak up to the balconies while my mother and the “Ladies Aid” participants would sort items, prepare dishes and do other tasks. I’d pretend to have friends and play up there, but one time, two children, a brother and a sister, were there with me! We sat on rolled up carpets and talked about popular music bands (the Archies' kind of music, The Guess Who or Partridge Family tunes).

     After a while the German band began to rehearse. The girl (I forgot her real name but I’ll call her Kaley) said, “My brother has a crush on you. He wants to dance.”  The boy was a little shorter than we were and I assumed he was younger than us two girls, but it turns out Kaley was actually his little sister. It was awkward at first, but we did a silly polka-kind of dance right there on the balcony, all three of us. After that we sat and played a little while longer. I thought the boy said his name was Keno. They were half Asian (which was uncommon in Detroit) and I remember telling them my sisters were half Japanese. I also said I would not forget his name because my mother’s favorite game when she went to Reno was Keno. (Yeah, the random thinking of my ADHD childhood brain.)

     We peered over the cinderblock balcony and watched the preparations. My mother and her friends, Adelle, Alice and Inga wore their pretty dirndls. Keno called the band an “OOMPAH” band and said the performers wore lederhosen. I had no idea that’s what the shorts were called, and I’d actually been to Germany. We talked about books. I think Kaley really liked to read like I did, but Keno talked about the cool books at school that were about little dogs that ate their owners when the owners died at home and nobody found them for days. He also talked about spontaneous combustion where someone suddenly catches on fire. I said, “You mean like they drop a cigarette while sleeping?”

     Keno said, “No, they just suddenly burst into flames!”

     I’d never heard of such things, but I sure read about it later that week before school let out. (Thank you Scholastic Books!)

     Some other time, Keno and I walked around what may have possibly been another venue. He pointed out bleachers that were pushed flat against a wall and not in use because people were setting up for the festivities. His mother was busy somewhere, I think, discussing costumes for some performers or dancers. He talked about how the floor usually didn’t have dancing and bands. It was used for hockey games and ice skating. I was amazed that ice could cover that floor, but he said so. Who was I to question? It was late by the time the festival was under way and I was sleepy. There were some actual seats pushed back behind the stage and I fell asleep. Keno was no longer around, yet somehow my parents found me tucked back there.

     The last time I remember seeing my friends, I was for sure in Canada. There was a big party out in the street in Kitchner or London, Ontario, I think. There were carnival rides, but I was only allowed to go on one or two. Tents were set up everywhere. There was an actual bakery. It wasn’t open, but the door was unlocked and we all went in and looked at the empty cases, dreaming of the sweet desserts that should have been there. We played for a short time, then they were gone.

     A couple years later, I was in junior high. I heard my class was going to get a new student. The name sounded like Reno or Kemo and I got all excited! I missed my friend so much and was ecstatic that he’d moved to Taylor, Michigan! I looked at the newcomer with expectation. In came a tall Indian boy, slouching and glowering. I realized this was not my summer companion and quickly dropped my smile. He was a foster kid and was moved somewhere else a few weeks later.

     Another twenty-plus years passed. By that time, in the mid- 90s, there was an actor that seemed so adorable. He was in several films that I’d seen. Despite the reality that I was married with children, I still had a little crush on this performer.

     It was around that time that I remember my oldest sister and my nieces Wendy and Valerie were visiting. My parents, husband and children were talking and relaxing. I had the latest copy of People Magazine in front of me. While we visited, I thumbed through the publication, mainly to give my hands something to do. I saw a cute little elementary era photo and recognized my dear old secret friend right away. I laughed at first and said, “I know this kid!” I skimmed the article, and learned later as I read it thoroughly, as well as another article, that this rising star was from Canada and played hockey. There was no doubt that it was him.

                                              My secret friend. Keanu Reeves.

                                          Childhood school photos of Keanu Reeves and Liesa Swejkoski

#KeanuReeves #Wyandotte #YackArena #GermaniaClubDownriver #Downriver #Detroit #Kitchener

I Posted This On a Service Dog Discussion Page (Michigan Does, Indeed, Have a Volunteer Registry)

 "Disabled people don’t owe strangers their medical history, and service dogs don’t need to fit someone else’s idea of what 'real' or 'right' looks like in order to be legitimate."

-Barbara Lloyd

     Regarding service animals and ADA Laws, there are a lot of heated discussions. Sometimes people with no idea what a service dog is versus an ESA become watch-dogs at public venues (pun intended). Actual disabled individuals that have service dogs also weave some very interesting opinions. In my experience:  

1. I've had strangers demand that I produce some sort of paperwork- to them!

2. Many so-called service dog advocates tell me there is 
a. no certification 

and 
b. no registry.

     My late brother-in-law Brad Scott was a trainer, and later a dean of admissions, at Leader Dogs for the Blind in Rochester, Michigan.
I'm pretty sure their dogs have health certificates as well as proof that they graduated from their classes. Not all service animals have them, but telling someone that certificates are indicators of fake dogs is WRONG.

     Some states do have voluntary registries. The state of Michigan has such a department, based in its capital, Lansing. There is no fee to apply. My own medical team signed affidavits for me to register. They would not put their careers on the line if I was a fake. Not all handlers want to register and they don't have to, but I sometimes stutter and panic when nosey knuckleheads literally follow me and badger me at my local mall. If they cause a scene and I fall over, I want my state issued card to do the talking for me. (I'm going to guess that Michigan's purpose in providing a card is our proximity to Canada.)

     Recently, I actually got kicked out of a Facebook service dog group when I explained these facts because one of the administrators had a "favorite" top fan that was convinced he was the one that was right. My simple explanation, as stated above, offended him deeply. He went running and crying to the administrators and got his way, sadly. 

     So, to sum it up, let's not police each other. Let managers and restaurant owners do their jobs. All they are legally allowed to ask are two questions: "Is this your service animal?"  and "Is it trained to mitigate your disability?" Managers are not allowed to ask what your disability is nor can they demand to see exactly what your dog does. They still are within the law to remove out of control dogs whether pets, ESAs or actual service animals.

     Fact 1. Some dogs are certified but we are under NO obligation to show paperwork for our service dogs if we indeed have it.
     Fact 2. Some states have volunteer registries and telling a handler they are fake for having a legitimate card is rude and insulting.

     Fact 3.  Service dogs can have gear, but they are not obligated to wear a halo, specialized collar or signage if it impedes their tasks (or if the handler chooses not to have their animal wear a vest). I think the only exception for choosing not use a harness is dogs that lead the blind. They have specific gear that the clients hold on to.

      Fact 4.  Retrievers, Labradors and Shepherds are not the only breeds used as service dogs. Great Danes may be used for stability, especially for larger individuals. Jack Russells are great for alerting the deaf.  I myself use a collie-spaniel mix for my disabilities. The breeds are as varied as there are disabilities and needs.

     One more note, not all service animals are required to be on task 24-7. My conditions get worse in the evenings. I usually leave Teddi home for that reason (daytime, shopping in well-lit stores, work, and so on). However, when I travel, I'm in different, sometimes unexpected, circumstances and must have her with me.

     I hope these facts (and added opinions) as well as previous blog entries will help my readers understand a little more about service animals despite in-fighting amongst handlers, some of whom are learning the laws themselves. If you have any questions, please, refer to the link provided below. You may also share your thoughts in the comment section below this post.

     Thank you for reading and letting me share my blog with you.

     Facts and Federal Law  https://www.ada.gov/topics/service-animals/

     An example of Michigan's volunteer registration card.

#ADA #ServiceDogs #LeaderDogs #StateofMichigan #Disability #BarbaraLloyd #TheDogsDenTrainingSchool #LeaderDogsForTheBlind #SeeingEyeDogs