Open Letter

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Abstract

t even call it sexy. Of course, those are the guys that I’d never give my real number out to, but I digress.<figure id="3f46"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*aOrztqpV2k-44YiM1d_Ykg.jpeg"><figcaption><a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Hatfield_%26_McCoy_Dinner_Show,_Pigeon_Forge,_TN_IMG_5042.JPG">Wiki Commons</a></figcaption></figure>I knew at some point I would stop adding royals and the like to my tree. Who knew that it would be the Hatfields. Yes, those Hatfields. This place (above is in TN. Now I have to go.) Because having Pocahontas as your 11th GGM is sufficient, right?So now, the help that I need from you is, if you’re willing to take up the cross and run with it, is to use your librarian skills and point me in the right direction on how to locate information on

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one specific Hatfield. Namely, Kentucky Mabel Hatfield. I know. I agree. It sounds like the name of a good Kentucky whisky.I’ve done the usual Google and Amazon search, never mind it took me three tries just now to spell Google, and have come up empty. I’m in no hurry. As you can tell, my brain is here but not present. Right now, its only function seems to be to keep my skull from caving in.A book is always cool because you and I love books. But hell, at this point I’d take a PDF of her part of the family tree. Something that a third-grader could comprehend would probably still be taking. But I’ve got another week and a half of bed rest, and loopiness so I’ve got nothing but time on my hands.Bless you, my child.Regards,The newest Hatfield</article></body>

Fellow Medium Entertainment Provider — Roz Warren

My kingdom for a personal library that looked like this. Image source.

My dearest, darling Roz,

How the hell have you been? I’m sitting here simultaneously wishing for death and willing it away. I would blame my brain fog on the post-op narcotics, but since I stopped taking them early Monday morning, so I guess I’m going to have to chalk this up to pain instead.

The narcs were making me sick to my stomach. I’m getting used to having an ice pack on my head. It no longer looks odd to me. Some might even call it sexy. Of course, those are the guys that I’d never give my real number out to, but I digress.

I knew at some point I would stop adding royals and the like to my tree. Who knew that it would be the Hatfields. Yes, those Hatfields. This place (above is in TN. Now I have to go.) Because having Pocahontas as your 11th GGM is sufficient, right?

So now, the help that I need from you is, if you’re willing to take up the cross and run with it, is to use your librarian skills and point me in the right direction on how to locate information on one specific Hatfield. Namely, Kentucky Mabel Hatfield. I know. I agree. It sounds like the name of a good Kentucky whisky.

I’ve done the usual Google and Amazon search, never mind it took me three tries just now to spell Google, and have come up empty. I’m in no hurry. As you can tell, my brain is here but not present. Right now, its only function seems to be to keep my skull from caving in.

A book is always cool because you and I love books. But hell, at this point I’d take a PDF of her part of the family tree. Something that a third-grader could comprehend would probably still be taking. But I’ve got another week and a half of bed rest, and loopiness so I’ve got nothing but time on my hands.

Bless you, my child.

Regards,

The newest Hatfield