Merry Christmas! The draft of this letter has been done since the morning of December 7th, but here it still sits in the laptop. So, As papa elf still snores away in his warm cocoon, I send it to you. Forgive us for not getting it in the snail mail!
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Soft amber skies greet me as I walk out into the cool still air this December morning. Two cardinals, resplendent in red, perch in the bare fig tree. The last golden leaves cling to the black walnut; nandinas heavy with glossy berries mimic the red of the birds. God is good; we are blessed; Our circle has come round to Christmas once again.
After we welcomed in the season with song, food, and over sixty friends from three to ninety-three last evening, we paused while putting away the last of the Chili con Queso and chocolate dip to think about the evening, our friends, and the year that is almost over.
We have shared happy times and sad , but we are reminded once more that it is all is a part of what life is all about and we are all part of a larger plan. We were saddened to lose George Brown, Pam’s father this year, but we are encouraged to know that he was a man of faith who loved his family and doted on our great nephews, his grandsons.
We also marvel in the glory of the addition to our large extended family with another beautiful grandgirl, Leila Kate whose laughter and smiles light up a room. Her sister Ava Grace is an excellent older sister who will be able to teach Leila wonderful things such as bubble blowing and swinging upside down from the monkey bars.
We have continued to enjoy not having to go to work each day. Klep’s position as a town councilman gives him a chance to employ his planning skills. Right now he is working on a park improvement project which will provide more of a playground area for our town children. He has also completed a new fence across our front yard which has drawn compliments from our friends. Believe you me, that sucker is straight! Every paling is precise!
Our travels have taken us up and down the road to Tennessee for April and October where we enjoyed extended family and watching our hills transition into spring and autumn. We have visited several times in the uplands of South Carolina. Suffering from the malaise of winter in March, we booked ourselves on a four day Caribbean cruise out of Jacksonville where on the last evening we watched the shuttle rise through the sunset skies.. In June we took my long dreamed trip to Anne of Green Gables country, Prince Edward Island, Canada flying into Portland, Me., renting a car, and driving up the coast, across New Brunswick, and over the Confederation Bridge to the Island. While there we stayed in a B&B in Charlottetown that was straight out of the era of Anne. Coming back we took time to drive along the Bay of Fundy marveling at the mountains falling steeply to the shore and the wide fluctuations of the tides.
In August we spent a weekend on St. Simons Island at the Scrambling for the Cause, an event to raise money for MS which is done to honor our son Kevin each year.
Since October we enjoyed home, friends, and family here in Jennings. Thanksgiving time was a joy, with only one table but two shifts this year as Pam, John, and the boys got back for leftovers. We all struggled manfully to complete the Thanksgiving 1000 piece puzzle so that we could finally get some sleep that night.
And now we are at Christmas again. Oh, but does our country need real Christmas this year: hope, peace, joy, and love.
All the presents and hurly burly will not do much for us, but a little quiet reflection about the child so long ago and what He means will go a long way toward giving us all what we really need.
May your Christmas truly be full of Joy, Hope, Peace, and abundant Love.
Love,
Klep (Lowell) and Barbara
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Shaping Christmas
Sometime yesterday afternoon I got the Christmas spirit. Now this is not as easy as it would seem. Getting the spirit is something my family considers vitally important. Ever since I weighed less than a hundred pounds, I have been asked the question, "You got the Christmas spirit yet?". There is no guarantee what will accomplish this or trigger it or bring it on. Sometimes it is almost Pentecostal in its arrival; other times, a sound, a smell, an event, or an object may bring on the spirit.
I had done everything right to be in full spirit mode. We've had Christmas carols playing since the turkey got cold. The tree was up before rivalry Saturday. The nativity set resides on the mantle in the hallway. Lights and garland adorn the banister on the front porch. I had heard my first Salvation Army bell and jangled coins into the bucket. I still didn't have the spirit.
After getting home from a harried trip to Sam's, WalMart, and Publix, I set up the ironing board and began my annual task of pressing the Christmas table cloths. When I unfolded the large holly green cloth my mother gave me twenty years ago, I felt the first tingles of the spirit.
The table cloth is a huge thing constructed of about ten yards of green broadcloth. My mother must have made it the first year we celebrated Christmas at the big oak table we got after we moved into the Gill house about 1950. We didn't have a lot of money. No one did. My mother was a wizard at the sewing machine. She had a treadle sewing machine which she kept out in the hall. She probably bought the fabric at one of the stores in town. At that time there were at least two stores in town that carried cloth for sewing. She shaped it so that it would cover the table even when the all the leaves were in to form a large oval. She could seat twelve easily when this was done.
I remember how proud I was of my mama's table when she put on the pretty table cloth and then loaded the company table with good food. The food was always good whether on the regular table in the kitchen or on the company table in the parlor, but there was just something extra special when she used that green table cloth.
Christmas Eve was our really special night of the holiday season. We almost always had our friends, John and Ethel Lewis who had no children. We loved the feeling of being included in adult conversations and we enjoyed the feeling of being adored by these two people who found us interesting and amusing.
So, we gathered in that big old living room with the dining table covered in the bright green cloth and laden down with mama's Christmas goodies: fruit cake, fudge, divinity. We drank her home canned scuppernong juice. We listened to tale spinning, and eventually, we would open our gifts. It was a special, precious time.
My Christmas spirit has been somewhat stymied this year because for the first time ever, neither of our sons will be home for Christmas and Christmas for us during the years they were growing up was always a wonderful, family centered time. Before we moved back to Hamilton County we started our celebration by a trip to our favorite Mexican restaurant in Ft. Walton. Usually Santa would see us leave and would deliver the gifts to our home after we had done our annual drive around. After we moved here, we included the larger family in our Christmas Eve celebrations. Christmas day was low key. We included a birthday cake for Jesus. This was originally one of the boy's idea since it was a birthday celebration. Many Christmases we never got out of pajamas for the day.
So, this year will be a little different, but it will still be good because it is still Christmas. We will sit in a candlelit room with the sound of soft music, and Klep will take down the Bible and read the Christmas story from Luke. Therein is the true spirit of Christmas in those words which begin "And in those days, it came to pass..."
We will feel the peace, love, hope, and joy that that simple story gives us. It will spread over us and we will be blessed.
I had done everything right to be in full spirit mode. We've had Christmas carols playing since the turkey got cold. The tree was up before rivalry Saturday. The nativity set resides on the mantle in the hallway. Lights and garland adorn the banister on the front porch. I had heard my first Salvation Army bell and jangled coins into the bucket. I still didn't have the spirit.
After getting home from a harried trip to Sam's, WalMart, and Publix, I set up the ironing board and began my annual task of pressing the Christmas table cloths. When I unfolded the large holly green cloth my mother gave me twenty years ago, I felt the first tingles of the spirit.
The table cloth is a huge thing constructed of about ten yards of green broadcloth. My mother must have made it the first year we celebrated Christmas at the big oak table we got after we moved into the Gill house about 1950. We didn't have a lot of money. No one did. My mother was a wizard at the sewing machine. She had a treadle sewing machine which she kept out in the hall. She probably bought the fabric at one of the stores in town. At that time there were at least two stores in town that carried cloth for sewing. She shaped it so that it would cover the table even when the all the leaves were in to form a large oval. She could seat twelve easily when this was done.
I remember how proud I was of my mama's table when she put on the pretty table cloth and then loaded the company table with good food. The food was always good whether on the regular table in the kitchen or on the company table in the parlor, but there was just something extra special when she used that green table cloth.
Christmas Eve was our really special night of the holiday season. We almost always had our friends, John and Ethel Lewis who had no children. We loved the feeling of being included in adult conversations and we enjoyed the feeling of being adored by these two people who found us interesting and amusing.
So, we gathered in that big old living room with the dining table covered in the bright green cloth and laden down with mama's Christmas goodies: fruit cake, fudge, divinity. We drank her home canned scuppernong juice. We listened to tale spinning, and eventually, we would open our gifts. It was a special, precious time.
My Christmas spirit has been somewhat stymied this year because for the first time ever, neither of our sons will be home for Christmas and Christmas for us during the years they were growing up was always a wonderful, family centered time. Before we moved back to Hamilton County we started our celebration by a trip to our favorite Mexican restaurant in Ft. Walton. Usually Santa would see us leave and would deliver the gifts to our home after we had done our annual drive around. After we moved here, we included the larger family in our Christmas Eve celebrations. Christmas day was low key. We included a birthday cake for Jesus. This was originally one of the boy's idea since it was a birthday celebration. Many Christmases we never got out of pajamas for the day.
So, this year will be a little different, but it will still be good because it is still Christmas. We will sit in a candlelit room with the sound of soft music, and Klep will take down the Bible and read the Christmas story from Luke. Therein is the true spirit of Christmas in those words which begin "And in those days, it came to pass..."
We will feel the peace, love, hope, and joy that that simple story gives us. It will spread over us and we will be blessed.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
November ? Gone! ... But Here comes December!
November sped by and will be gone at midnight tomorrow. I have gone through this month busy with lists and activities knowing that there was always at least one more thing that needed doing. The month has been filled with activity and much joy with Thanksgiving and all the other smaller obligations which have dotted the calendar. Be that as it will, the month, for all purposes is over and December is upon us.
For example, right now on this Sunday afternoon I know that there is a garbage can sitting with its top off in need of a liner in the kitchen along with a recycle container. Dishes sit next to the sink waiting putting away. Ingredients for cookies clutter the counter. Tables and buffets are covered with Christmas paraphernalia and decorations waiting disbursement. Stacks of table cloths drift over the dining table. A list for shopping and things to accomplish sits on the table by my recliner yet to be looked at today to see the planned chores.
Life has pretty much been like this all month. Probably when I sit in my chair on the back porch next Sunday afternoon there will still be things which should have been done this week, but they will matter not one whit! I probably should make myself a new list. At the top would be relax and welcome the spirit of December which is embodied in the celebration of our Savior's birth. Next would be listen to the music: Christmas music, the music of the birds, the music of laughter of a friend, the music of shared talk.
With the right balance, everything that needs to be done by next Saturday will be done. We can welcome our friends to our home and have enough energy to enjoy their presence. We can allow the sounds of their voices in song to warm our hearts as all good fellowship should.
Too often we get caught in the doing and forget the purpose. I shall try to remember that Love is the reason that I am cleaning and cooking. I shall focus on the Joy that is Christmas and relish each little preparation that I go through.
I will embrace, once again, the wonder and the glory that is Christmas.
For example, right now on this Sunday afternoon I know that there is a garbage can sitting with its top off in need of a liner in the kitchen along with a recycle container. Dishes sit next to the sink waiting putting away. Ingredients for cookies clutter the counter. Tables and buffets are covered with Christmas paraphernalia and decorations waiting disbursement. Stacks of table cloths drift over the dining table. A list for shopping and things to accomplish sits on the table by my recliner yet to be looked at today to see the planned chores.
Life has pretty much been like this all month. Probably when I sit in my chair on the back porch next Sunday afternoon there will still be things which should have been done this week, but they will matter not one whit! I probably should make myself a new list. At the top would be relax and welcome the spirit of December which is embodied in the celebration of our Savior's birth. Next would be listen to the music: Christmas music, the music of the birds, the music of laughter of a friend, the music of shared talk.
With the right balance, everything that needs to be done by next Saturday will be done. We can welcome our friends to our home and have enough energy to enjoy their presence. We can allow the sounds of their voices in song to warm our hearts as all good fellowship should.
Too often we get caught in the doing and forget the purpose. I shall try to remember that Love is the reason that I am cleaning and cooking. I shall focus on the Joy that is Christmas and relish each little preparation that I go through.
I will embrace, once again, the wonder and the glory that is Christmas.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
November, Glorious November
November is upon us! Today begins the next to last month of 2009. This month always catches me by surprise. The year trundles along with no undue speed and all of a sudden, Boom! The awareness that another year is speeding rapidly to a close slams into my consciousness and I am caught up in the throes of what is to be done before 2010 or whatever the next year is, is ushered in.
The great saving grace of November where we live is that the first couple of weeks are normally our fall. We have been known to have a killing frost by the tenth, but we usually do not have long stretches of cold weather until November is a memory. We have our fall color. While we may not enjoy the intense color that the mountains have, we have enough deciduous hardwood trees that we are blessed with color on our roadsides and in our yards. Those dogwoods that already have their bloom buds swelling towards eruption next spring will go out in a blaze of red. The pears, both eatable and decorative, will flame with color. The maples, sweet gums, hickories, blackgums, and crepe myrtles will add to the palette.
The next positive point for November is Thanksgiving. Other places have great holiday parades on this holiday to begin the Christmas season. In my beloved small town rural south, we have a parade to “Mama’s House.” Now that I have attained the rank of Mama, I relish the day with my assorted relatives including my own Mama who played this role for so many years. Now I am the one coordinating the casseroles and seeing that the turkey and dressing are in place at the traditional time. At my table that tradition passed down to me is noon Thanksgiving day. By then, in the old days, the hunters were back home and ready to eat. Now there are no hunters, but the assorted young adults, older adults, and children are ready to have the first go around before they spill out into the yard and community for physical activity leading to round two. I, completely, totally, unabashedly love this day. It normally brings everything that my Lord has blessed me with into sharp focus. When those hands are held and those heads are bowed over pieced together tables overburdened with food, so much of what I am truly thankful for is gathered together in that room.
This year, some of my thankfulness will sweep its way north to South Carolina. An eight hour trip in the car with a nursing baby is a little more than I expect from my daughter-in-law Reagan. Although we will not literally have them in our circle, they will be in our hearts and I will whisper special thanks for my son Kevin, his wife Reagan, and our darling grand girls, Ava Grace and Leila Kate.
The third great thing about November is that there is good football every Saturday. In the South the games that mean something, the infamous rival games, are played. Even when we know in our brains that our beloved team will go down to defeat, we hold to that hope that on any Saturday or Friday or Thursday night, any team can beat any other team. I know that my beloved FSU Seminoles have an uphill battle on that Saturday late in November when they face the number one team in the nation. “On that Saturday we will drop our loving acceptance of other family member’s teams and wallow in the uncontrolled fury of supporting our garnet and gold, no matter that they have no defense and have endured an awful season. The same will be true in other homes and on other days as at least half of us wait to begin the “There will always be another year!” chant.
The final star in November’s crown is that it is the month the Christmas tree goes up and the preparations for Christmas kick into full gear. We will write the Christmas letter. For us, this includes a review of the year that has been. It is also a chance to say to so many people scattered from coast to coast that they are important to us. We will receive our first card on the first of December. It will be from our cousin Wilma who will probably have spent some time during the Thanksgiving weekend addressing them. I know this. I count on it. The cards will continue until we get the annual Christmas letter from Len and Judy out in Oregon which normally arrives sometime in January because they have been on a fabulous family trip doing something unusual in somewhere exotic which delayed the mailing. Christmas preparation also includes getting ready for our annual open house which will happen the first week in December.
So, bring it on November! If I were the maker of calendars and the arbiter of all things right, I would decree that you above all months deserve a thirty-first day which could come from January. Who needs thirty-one days of what January dishes out to us each
The great saving grace of November where we live is that the first couple of weeks are normally our fall. We have been known to have a killing frost by the tenth, but we usually do not have long stretches of cold weather until November is a memory. We have our fall color. While we may not enjoy the intense color that the mountains have, we have enough deciduous hardwood trees that we are blessed with color on our roadsides and in our yards. Those dogwoods that already have their bloom buds swelling towards eruption next spring will go out in a blaze of red. The pears, both eatable and decorative, will flame with color. The maples, sweet gums, hickories, blackgums, and crepe myrtles will add to the palette.
The next positive point for November is Thanksgiving. Other places have great holiday parades on this holiday to begin the Christmas season. In my beloved small town rural south, we have a parade to “Mama’s House.” Now that I have attained the rank of Mama, I relish the day with my assorted relatives including my own Mama who played this role for so many years. Now I am the one coordinating the casseroles and seeing that the turkey and dressing are in place at the traditional time. At my table that tradition passed down to me is noon Thanksgiving day. By then, in the old days, the hunters were back home and ready to eat. Now there are no hunters, but the assorted young adults, older adults, and children are ready to have the first go around before they spill out into the yard and community for physical activity leading to round two. I, completely, totally, unabashedly love this day. It normally brings everything that my Lord has blessed me with into sharp focus. When those hands are held and those heads are bowed over pieced together tables overburdened with food, so much of what I am truly thankful for is gathered together in that room.
This year, some of my thankfulness will sweep its way north to South Carolina. An eight hour trip in the car with a nursing baby is a little more than I expect from my daughter-in-law Reagan. Although we will not literally have them in our circle, they will be in our hearts and I will whisper special thanks for my son Kevin, his wife Reagan, and our darling grand girls, Ava Grace and Leila Kate.
The third great thing about November is that there is good football every Saturday. In the South the games that mean something, the infamous rival games, are played. Even when we know in our brains that our beloved team will go down to defeat, we hold to that hope that on any Saturday or Friday or Thursday night, any team can beat any other team. I know that my beloved FSU Seminoles have an uphill battle on that Saturday late in November when they face the number one team in the nation. “On that Saturday we will drop our loving acceptance of other family member’s teams and wallow in the uncontrolled fury of supporting our garnet and gold, no matter that they have no defense and have endured an awful season. The same will be true in other homes and on other days as at least half of us wait to begin the “There will always be another year!” chant.
The final star in November’s crown is that it is the month the Christmas tree goes up and the preparations for Christmas kick into full gear. We will write the Christmas letter. For us, this includes a review of the year that has been. It is also a chance to say to so many people scattered from coast to coast that they are important to us. We will receive our first card on the first of December. It will be from our cousin Wilma who will probably have spent some time during the Thanksgiving weekend addressing them. I know this. I count on it. The cards will continue until we get the annual Christmas letter from Len and Judy out in Oregon which normally arrives sometime in January because they have been on a fabulous family trip doing something unusual in somewhere exotic which delayed the mailing. Christmas preparation also includes getting ready for our annual open house which will happen the first week in December.
So, bring it on November! If I were the maker of calendars and the arbiter of all things right, I would decree that you above all months deserve a thirty-first day which could come from January. Who needs thirty-one days of what January dishes out to us each
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Saying Goodbye; Saying Hello
A soft rain falls today, this last Saturday in October as we gaze out at the underlying beauty of the small maple trees over on poplar ridge. Color is going quickly with the last trees to color now emerging in their fall glory. The poplars have long since turned loose, dancing to the yellow piles lining the ridge. Here at 1400 feet, the color will soon be gone and we will have the tree silhouettes which foretell the winter which will soon come with its gray skies and cold nights.
We have soaked in the glory of October this year. It has been a lovely respite flavored with seeing old friends and meeting another generation of cousins that we did not know. It has been lovely seeing those I have known for nearly half a century and that Klep has known all his life.
We have enjoyed eating at old favorite places like the Golden Dairy. Having supper with Wilma and Bruce at the Country Café and over in Bullsgap was fun. Being with friends when you can sit and talk for a couple of hours over a good meal is a true blessing. As always, we had new “finds” which will become tradition, especially The Jubilee Café near Surgoinsville. We will remember it not only for its good food, but for the joy of watching the birds as we lunched and sharing the story of the man who now runs it.
Our lives have been enhanced by the glory of music at the museum of the Appalachians, Music Junction, Bellamy’s Hardware, Heritage Days, and the Carter Fold where we enjoyed a West Virginia old mountain group and an auto harpist. We will miss the fiddles, the guitars, the mandolins, the banjos as we return to Florida.
We have reveled in the blessing of the creations of our Lord. We have worshipped the Creator as we marveled in his artwork which has changed daily.
Now, we will return to home base nostalgic over the change of the season but eager to know what will await us as we return to friends and family in Florida. November will be upon us with the promise of holidays and cozy evenings around the fire.
We have soaked in the glory of October this year. It has been a lovely respite flavored with seeing old friends and meeting another generation of cousins that we did not know. It has been lovely seeing those I have known for nearly half a century and that Klep has known all his life.
We have enjoyed eating at old favorite places like the Golden Dairy. Having supper with Wilma and Bruce at the Country Café and over in Bullsgap was fun. Being with friends when you can sit and talk for a couple of hours over a good meal is a true blessing. As always, we had new “finds” which will become tradition, especially The Jubilee Café near Surgoinsville. We will remember it not only for its good food, but for the joy of watching the birds as we lunched and sharing the story of the man who now runs it.
Our lives have been enhanced by the glory of music at the museum of the Appalachians, Music Junction, Bellamy’s Hardware, Heritage Days, and the Carter Fold where we enjoyed a West Virginia old mountain group and an auto harpist. We will miss the fiddles, the guitars, the mandolins, the banjos as we return to Florida.
We have reveled in the blessing of the creations of our Lord. We have worshipped the Creator as we marveled in his artwork which has changed daily.
Now, we will return to home base nostalgic over the change of the season but eager to know what will await us as we return to friends and family in Florida. November will be upon us with the promise of holidays and cozy evenings around the fire.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
October Mountain Ramble
“Bless the Lord, O my soul; and all that is within me, bless his holy name….Bless the Lord, all his works in all places of his dominion: bless the Lord, O my soul.” What appropriate words appeared in our devotions early Sunday morning, October 25th before we set off on our ramble over Roan Mountain into North Carolina, back over Black Mountain and through Ashville, returning to Tennessee through some of the lesser used highways.
As we left the hollar, we shivered in the 38 degree coolness. A light frost added a silver sheen the green grass in the meadow. As we wound our way down the narrow road to state road seventy, we passed our neighbors horses who had found the only sun beam that had made its way over the mountain. Yellows, gold, and red leaves edged the road. The Pine Mountain beyond Hickory Cove Baptist Church was ablaze in splendor with the blue grass shining bright red at the foot of the hills by the houses which cling to the level land.
As we headed toward 11W, we passed the Devil’s nose which at long last was beginning to color up. One of the fields at the foot of the mountain had some newly baled hay. Tendrils of fog clung to the bales and looked like steam arising. We had intermittent fog clinging to the tops of trees as we turned toward Kingsport. When we approached rivers and streams, the valleys were shrouded in fog, looking like boiling pots. The top of Bays Mountain was shrouded in fog.
At Harmony, Tennessee we headed toward Roan Mountain which rolled toward the towering peaks before us. The town of Roan Mountain, Tennessee is set in a lovely little cove about 2500 feet above sea level. Nearing three thousand feet, we drove along a beautiful mountain stream. At 48 degrees outside, it was a little too cool for wading. Nearing the top of the mountain, about 5200 feet, we negotiated another hairpin curve and saw a beautiful young buck with six inch spikes standing regally by the road watching traffic.
At four thousand feet in elevation we lost the leaves and gained evergreens, some type of spruce. We topped the mountain at slightly less than six thousand feet and started heading back toward color. We found the autumn colors back at four thousand feet. As we neared the valley, we passed a field of cows with young calves frolicking in the cool weather.
We found a restaurant after we passed through Bakersville, North Carolina, Sallie’s Mountain View Restaurant where Klep enjoyed sirloin tips with mushroom sauce and I had chicken Cordon Bleu, both prepared by Sallie. They had a terrific trade Sunday and we could understand why. Our daily special dinner was topped off with slices of pie: peanut butter for Klep, black bottom for me.
Our next road was 226 which had signs warning that the road would worsen. It did. As we descended, the grade was quite sharp at times, but the leaf colors were beautiful as the trees met over the road. We paralled Coxes Creek for awhile and passed the Catawba River as we neared Marion, North Carolina “Where main street meets the mountains.” We were again facing mountains in front of us as we headed to Old Fort, North Carolina on US 70 which merged into I 40 as we climbed Black Mountain near Ridgecrest.
In Ashville we left the interstate at the highway 191 exit for the farmer’s market where we chose our apples to take home next week to Florida. We discovered an apple that we had never had before, Sun cCrisp, which is a hard apple with a really full flavor. We also got two of my favorite apples: Strawberry Rome Beauties and Jonagolds. Klep got him some parched peanuts to enjoy while porch sitting and I got some orange slice candy. We also got grandma some honey with the comb in it.
Traffic was backed up badly on I 26 because of a rockslide near the North Carolina-Tennessee border on I 40. We opted to return to Tennessee on US 70 which cuts west out of Weaverville. Highway 70 basically follows the French Broad River, but since the road has been improved, we did not get to see much of the river. We did pass numerous places which cater to rafters on the river.
Instead of going all the way to Newport, Tennessee, we exited on highway 208 where we saw several fishermen standing in the water fishing in the Little River. By four- thirty six we were back in Tennessee and headed down again. We passed the Nolichucky River and Dam and skirted Greenville before heading into Hawkins County. We were amazed by the traffic on I 81 as we crossed it. We came through the Romeo community and found our way to the Golden Dairy for a well deserved treat before heading to the Hollar House.
The hill was a burnished gold when we arrived at the house, a beautiful ending to a lovely ramble. We had traveled over two hundred and fifty miles, most of it on very winding roads at slow speed, the only way to appreciate the beauty that this season brings to Appalachia.
As we left the hollar, we shivered in the 38 degree coolness. A light frost added a silver sheen the green grass in the meadow. As we wound our way down the narrow road to state road seventy, we passed our neighbors horses who had found the only sun beam that had made its way over the mountain. Yellows, gold, and red leaves edged the road. The Pine Mountain beyond Hickory Cove Baptist Church was ablaze in splendor with the blue grass shining bright red at the foot of the hills by the houses which cling to the level land.
As we headed toward 11W, we passed the Devil’s nose which at long last was beginning to color up. One of the fields at the foot of the mountain had some newly baled hay. Tendrils of fog clung to the bales and looked like steam arising. We had intermittent fog clinging to the tops of trees as we turned toward Kingsport. When we approached rivers and streams, the valleys were shrouded in fog, looking like boiling pots. The top of Bays Mountain was shrouded in fog.
At Harmony, Tennessee we headed toward Roan Mountain which rolled toward the towering peaks before us. The town of Roan Mountain, Tennessee is set in a lovely little cove about 2500 feet above sea level. Nearing three thousand feet, we drove along a beautiful mountain stream. At 48 degrees outside, it was a little too cool for wading. Nearing the top of the mountain, about 5200 feet, we negotiated another hairpin curve and saw a beautiful young buck with six inch spikes standing regally by the road watching traffic.
At four thousand feet in elevation we lost the leaves and gained evergreens, some type of spruce. We topped the mountain at slightly less than six thousand feet and started heading back toward color. We found the autumn colors back at four thousand feet. As we neared the valley, we passed a field of cows with young calves frolicking in the cool weather.
We found a restaurant after we passed through Bakersville, North Carolina, Sallie’s Mountain View Restaurant where Klep enjoyed sirloin tips with mushroom sauce and I had chicken Cordon Bleu, both prepared by Sallie. They had a terrific trade Sunday and we could understand why. Our daily special dinner was topped off with slices of pie: peanut butter for Klep, black bottom for me.
Our next road was 226 which had signs warning that the road would worsen. It did. As we descended, the grade was quite sharp at times, but the leaf colors were beautiful as the trees met over the road. We paralled Coxes Creek for awhile and passed the Catawba River as we neared Marion, North Carolina “Where main street meets the mountains.” We were again facing mountains in front of us as we headed to Old Fort, North Carolina on US 70 which merged into I 40 as we climbed Black Mountain near Ridgecrest.
In Ashville we left the interstate at the highway 191 exit for the farmer’s market where we chose our apples to take home next week to Florida. We discovered an apple that we had never had before, Sun cCrisp, which is a hard apple with a really full flavor. We also got two of my favorite apples: Strawberry Rome Beauties and Jonagolds. Klep got him some parched peanuts to enjoy while porch sitting and I got some orange slice candy. We also got grandma some honey with the comb in it.
Traffic was backed up badly on I 26 because of a rockslide near the North Carolina-Tennessee border on I 40. We opted to return to Tennessee on US 70 which cuts west out of Weaverville. Highway 70 basically follows the French Broad River, but since the road has been improved, we did not get to see much of the river. We did pass numerous places which cater to rafters on the river.
Instead of going all the way to Newport, Tennessee, we exited on highway 208 where we saw several fishermen standing in the water fishing in the Little River. By four- thirty six we were back in Tennessee and headed down again. We passed the Nolichucky River and Dam and skirted Greenville before heading into Hawkins County. We were amazed by the traffic on I 81 as we crossed it. We came through the Romeo community and found our way to the Golden Dairy for a well deserved treat before heading to the Hollar House.
The hill was a burnished gold when we arrived at the house, a beautiful ending to a lovely ramble. We had traveled over two hundred and fifty miles, most of it on very winding roads at slow speed, the only way to appreciate the beauty that this season brings to Appalachia.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Spices, Pumpkin, and Cool Autumn Air
My yankee friends laugh over the fuss we native Southenors make over the first cool snap of the fall. they scoff when we drag out sweaters when the temperature dips below sixtie. My friends who share my heritage understand completely. They know that whenever that morning arrives with the zip in the air, it is time to pull out the spices and think about baking something.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
South Carolina
My brother married while we were still undergraduates. His wife was a cute, pixie graduate student from Davenport, Iowa with flashing brown eyes and about as opinionated as the rest of us were. She was, as was the fashion in the early sixties of those of us tasting the heady life of academia, quite liberal. She found many of the things here in the deep south barbaric. One of the things she said during one of our early conversations was that she could never, ever live in South Carolina or Mississippi. Now this statement did not particularly bother me because at that time I had never been in either state and my knowledge of the two states was limited to what I knew about them historically and from the CBS evening news. We, of course, had no other networks available either at our parent's house or on campus. Several years later, after I had driven through South Carolina a couple of times and spent several days there, I had a little clearer view of the state.
While we were in Japan, we had a new couple from Utah join the Inspector General team. Since they were young and were assigned to Green Park Housing those of us who also lived there were responsible for welcoming them, inviting them to dinner, and helping them settle in. The several couples of us gathered for the dinner and of course the conversation was lively as usual. Charlotte, the newcomer, was sharing her background and opinions. It seems that she had gone to the University of South Carolina as a drama major and was an expert on all things southern. She made the statement that all Southerners were decadent and that education in the south was nonexistent. Those of us, the majority of the group, of course took issue with her statement, but kept our true reactions somewhat muted, being southern and having been reared to mind our manners. We did wonder why she would have remained at some hick college to get her degree if it were so bad, but did not engage her in any lengthy debate over the issue.
South Carolina still gets a little of this treatment. People are still snickering about the governor and his mistress from Argentina. Of course there are enough scandals above the Mason Dixon line to balance out whatever ridiculousness we may find in the South Carolina state house.
Anyway, my knowledge of South Carolina and my experiences in South Carolina have vastly increased since I defended her honor to Charlotte back in 1971. At that time I had no idea that parts of my family had lived in South Carolina. My mother's Grandfather Jackson came from upstate South Carolina to Hamilton County Florida in 1848. Her Great Great Grandfather Law immigrated to America through Charleston sometime in the seventeen hundreds, coming from Barbados. He then went into Liberty County Georgia where the family lived until they settled in Hamilton County about as soon as Andrew Jackson cleared the natives out.
Out first trip to South Carolina came as Klep and I began our move from Valdosta to Tokyo in 1968. We had been married less than a year when we packed out our household goods and spent a month visiting and traveling. Klep spent a couple of years during his teens near Walterboro, South Carolina on a plantation where his dad worked as a herdsman in charge of the owner's prize Angus cattle. Klep loved the experience, but his mother never adapted to being away from the hills of east Tennessee. In addition to the changes in climate, the mosquitos were a bane on her existence. So, after a couple of years in the lowlands, they moved back near Rogersville where he finished high school. Anyway, he wanted to share the area with me, so we took a couple of days in late April. We toured Cypress Gardens and Middleton Plantation, and some other places. We drove over to Hilton Head which was in the early stages of development, and we had one particularly lovely luncheon looking out at the water near the Hilton Head bridge where we had shrimp Louis. We enjoyed the experience of drifting under moss laden trees with azaleas blooming all around us at Cypress Gardens. We marveled at the formal gardens and the English atmosphere of Middleton Gardens.
Years later we returned to the area with the boys, but we spent more time in motel swimming pools and at outlet shops on that trip than at gardens.
In the nineties we spent a lovely week in the historic district of Charleston. To use Pat Conroy's title, we spent a week South of Broad. Our morning walks took us around the battery. I spent my days browsing through antique stores on King Street, marveling at the prices, and at the old market watching the Gullah women weaving baskets and soaking in the atmosphere. We ate she crab soup and other good sea food, walked around, and listened for the bells on the hour from St. John's.
Now we find ourselves in South Carolina quite often because our youngest son and his family live in the upcountry. We have fallen in love with this region, the rolling hills, the pleasant weather most of the year, and the variety of activities which are there. Of course, for us, the main attraction are the two lovely little girls who call us Nana and Papa.
I wonder if Karen, my sister in law, ever changed her mind about South Carolina. I hope so. After all, her daughter did her pharmacy residency at the medical College of South Carolina in Charleston. In fact we had a lovely visit with her while she was there. I don't care if Charlotte Freeman changed her opinion. She isn't and never has been on my Christmas card list, anyway.
While we were in Japan, we had a new couple from Utah join the Inspector General team. Since they were young and were assigned to Green Park Housing those of us who also lived there were responsible for welcoming them, inviting them to dinner, and helping them settle in. The several couples of us gathered for the dinner and of course the conversation was lively as usual. Charlotte, the newcomer, was sharing her background and opinions. It seems that she had gone to the University of South Carolina as a drama major and was an expert on all things southern. She made the statement that all Southerners were decadent and that education in the south was nonexistent. Those of us, the majority of the group, of course took issue with her statement, but kept our true reactions somewhat muted, being southern and having been reared to mind our manners. We did wonder why she would have remained at some hick college to get her degree if it were so bad, but did not engage her in any lengthy debate over the issue.
South Carolina still gets a little of this treatment. People are still snickering about the governor and his mistress from Argentina. Of course there are enough scandals above the Mason Dixon line to balance out whatever ridiculousness we may find in the South Carolina state house.
Anyway, my knowledge of South Carolina and my experiences in South Carolina have vastly increased since I defended her honor to Charlotte back in 1971. At that time I had no idea that parts of my family had lived in South Carolina. My mother's Grandfather Jackson came from upstate South Carolina to Hamilton County Florida in 1848. Her Great Great Grandfather Law immigrated to America through Charleston sometime in the seventeen hundreds, coming from Barbados. He then went into Liberty County Georgia where the family lived until they settled in Hamilton County about as soon as Andrew Jackson cleared the natives out.
Out first trip to South Carolina came as Klep and I began our move from Valdosta to Tokyo in 1968. We had been married less than a year when we packed out our household goods and spent a month visiting and traveling. Klep spent a couple of years during his teens near Walterboro, South Carolina on a plantation where his dad worked as a herdsman in charge of the owner's prize Angus cattle. Klep loved the experience, but his mother never adapted to being away from the hills of east Tennessee. In addition to the changes in climate, the mosquitos were a bane on her existence. So, after a couple of years in the lowlands, they moved back near Rogersville where he finished high school. Anyway, he wanted to share the area with me, so we took a couple of days in late April. We toured Cypress Gardens and Middleton Plantation, and some other places. We drove over to Hilton Head which was in the early stages of development, and we had one particularly lovely luncheon looking out at the water near the Hilton Head bridge where we had shrimp Louis. We enjoyed the experience of drifting under moss laden trees with azaleas blooming all around us at Cypress Gardens. We marveled at the formal gardens and the English atmosphere of Middleton Gardens.
Years later we returned to the area with the boys, but we spent more time in motel swimming pools and at outlet shops on that trip than at gardens.
In the nineties we spent a lovely week in the historic district of Charleston. To use Pat Conroy's title, we spent a week South of Broad. Our morning walks took us around the battery. I spent my days browsing through antique stores on King Street, marveling at the prices, and at the old market watching the Gullah women weaving baskets and soaking in the atmosphere. We ate she crab soup and other good sea food, walked around, and listened for the bells on the hour from St. John's.
Now we find ourselves in South Carolina quite often because our youngest son and his family live in the upcountry. We have fallen in love with this region, the rolling hills, the pleasant weather most of the year, and the variety of activities which are there. Of course, for us, the main attraction are the two lovely little girls who call us Nana and Papa.
I wonder if Karen, my sister in law, ever changed her mind about South Carolina. I hope so. After all, her daughter did her pharmacy residency at the medical College of South Carolina in Charleston. In fact we had a lovely visit with her while she was there. I don't care if Charlotte Freeman changed her opinion. She isn't and never has been on my Christmas card list, anyway.
Friday, August 14, 2009
August Memories
August is nearing the halfway mark. We have yet to taste the cool morning air that will arrive with the end of the month hinting that fall is a possibility. Right now we are in those days when the breezes are few and the air has the heaviness of full Southern Summer. I have a particular fondness for this last full month of the season. Many of my memory pages are full of pleasant August times when we had the last free weeks before returning to school.
I grew up on a farm. More specifically, I grew up on a farm where the main cash crop was bright leaf tobacco. That meant, briefly, that the tobacco plants required our attention from the time the seeds were sown in the bed over Christmas until the last leaf came off the sticks and was hauled off to the market in early August. What with the setting out, and the howing and the dusting and the suckering and the cropping and the stringing and the hanging in the barn and the curing and the removing from the barn and the packing down and the taking off the sticks, our lives were a little busy during the first six to seven weeks of summer. Things gradually modernized with tobacco after I escaped it, but during the fifties, crews of kids with a few adults harvested tobacco. It was long, hot, nasty work, but all the memories are not grim ones. I especially enjoyed working on other farms. After about six hours of work, we would break for noon. We were fed well, and we enjoyed each others company during the couple of hours off. It was then back to the barn or field for another four or five hours. After the last stick was hung in the barn, we would load into the farmer's truck and head for home.
My best camping memory is of a time we got to go to Lake Winfield Scott with my Aunt Jennie and Uncle Henry and their girls. Tobacco season was over and our parents let us ride up to Atlanta on the train. This in itself was a major event. We took with us a shoebox full of fried chicken and other food to eat on the way. Mama took us to Valdosta to catch the train. It was my first time riding a train and it started a lifelong love of travel that way. I must have been about twelve at the time. All our other trips to the city had been either on a Greyhound bus or in our 1946 maroon colored Ford coupe. I remember falling into conversation with a woman about Blue Springs. Our Uncle Henry picked us up at the train station and whisked up out to Winona Drive in Decatur. Over the weekend we packed up and went camping, sleeping overnight in pup tents. We had Spanish rice cooked over the open fire for supper. I still remember swimming in the cool lake waters and playing in a little pebble lined stream. The next day we went for a hike among other things. It was a fine time.
Other memories crowd the scrapbook of my mind: our vacation up through the New River area of West Virginia when we took the boys white water rafting; our trip to Canada and back through New Hampshire and down to Concord where we saw so many of the sights around our America writers; our trip back to Minot and down through Yellowstone and Colorado; our trips to Amelia Island to the beach as the boys got older.
Since we met in one August and married in the next, many of our flashes of memory surround wedding and anniversary events. Until our fifteenth anniversary, it was a tradition that Klep bring me a dozen Margarete daisies for each year of our marriage. The boys enjoyed this, but there finally came a time when there weren't enough vases in the house nor table tops to accommodate the daisies, so we retired the tradition.
Perhaps the sweetest memories of August for me are those which return to the days when I was eight or nine years old. I can still remember the sights and sounds of the magic evenings in late summer before We would have to be in bed early for school. I can feel the cool I found sitting under the draping jasmine or the wisteria vines after the dew had fallen and just watching the light leave the sky. There was magic and possibility all around. Freedom and imagination were ours for a few more precious days. It was long before the days of daylight saving time and we could be up until there was a moon in the sky and we could say "I see the moon and the moon sees me; God bless the moon and God bless me!"
The magic of August is still with me. Tonight if the skies clear, I will go out and talk to the August moon again.
I grew up on a farm. More specifically, I grew up on a farm where the main cash crop was bright leaf tobacco. That meant, briefly, that the tobacco plants required our attention from the time the seeds were sown in the bed over Christmas until the last leaf came off the sticks and was hauled off to the market in early August. What with the setting out, and the howing and the dusting and the suckering and the cropping and the stringing and the hanging in the barn and the curing and the removing from the barn and the packing down and the taking off the sticks, our lives were a little busy during the first six to seven weeks of summer. Things gradually modernized with tobacco after I escaped it, but during the fifties, crews of kids with a few adults harvested tobacco. It was long, hot, nasty work, but all the memories are not grim ones. I especially enjoyed working on other farms. After about six hours of work, we would break for noon. We were fed well, and we enjoyed each others company during the couple of hours off. It was then back to the barn or field for another four or five hours. After the last stick was hung in the barn, we would load into the farmer's truck and head for home.
My best camping memory is of a time we got to go to Lake Winfield Scott with my Aunt Jennie and Uncle Henry and their girls. Tobacco season was over and our parents let us ride up to Atlanta on the train. This in itself was a major event. We took with us a shoebox full of fried chicken and other food to eat on the way. Mama took us to Valdosta to catch the train. It was my first time riding a train and it started a lifelong love of travel that way. I must have been about twelve at the time. All our other trips to the city had been either on a Greyhound bus or in our 1946 maroon colored Ford coupe. I remember falling into conversation with a woman about Blue Springs. Our Uncle Henry picked us up at the train station and whisked up out to Winona Drive in Decatur. Over the weekend we packed up and went camping, sleeping overnight in pup tents. We had Spanish rice cooked over the open fire for supper. I still remember swimming in the cool lake waters and playing in a little pebble lined stream. The next day we went for a hike among other things. It was a fine time.
Other memories crowd the scrapbook of my mind: our vacation up through the New River area of West Virginia when we took the boys white water rafting; our trip to Canada and back through New Hampshire and down to Concord where we saw so many of the sights around our America writers; our trip back to Minot and down through Yellowstone and Colorado; our trips to Amelia Island to the beach as the boys got older.
Since we met in one August and married in the next, many of our flashes of memory surround wedding and anniversary events. Until our fifteenth anniversary, it was a tradition that Klep bring me a dozen Margarete daisies for each year of our marriage. The boys enjoyed this, but there finally came a time when there weren't enough vases in the house nor table tops to accommodate the daisies, so we retired the tradition.
Perhaps the sweetest memories of August for me are those which return to the days when I was eight or nine years old. I can still remember the sights and sounds of the magic evenings in late summer before We would have to be in bed early for school. I can feel the cool I found sitting under the draping jasmine or the wisteria vines after the dew had fallen and just watching the light leave the sky. There was magic and possibility all around. Freedom and imagination were ours for a few more precious days. It was long before the days of daylight saving time and we could be up until there was a moon in the sky and we could say "I see the moon and the moon sees me; God bless the moon and God bless me!"
The magic of August is still with me. Tonight if the skies clear, I will go out and talk to the August moon again.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Scrambling Fore the Cause
The first weekend in August finds many of the KA alums and others from Valdosta State on St. Simons Island, Georgia for the annual golf tournament to benefit the MS Society in Georgia. The event is done in honor of my youngest son who was diagnosed with MS in 2007. The event raises money, but it also brings together a group of young men who care a great deal about each other. We were honored to be a part of it this year.
After a drive across Georgia on the Sawgrass Parkway, we swung north, crossing the graceful bridge in Brunswick and catching our first glimpse of the marshes. The plentiful rains of this summer have the marsh grass brilliantly green. I always love the first smell of the marshlands. It smells coastal and clean. We maneuvered our way onto the island and around road detours until we found Sea Palms Golf and Tennis resort where we checked in and found our room on the second floor of the Blue Heron building. The screen porch looking out over the pond was a sweet surprise. We also had good view of the fairway on the eighteenth hole of the golf course.
Friday night was the dress up event. We all gathered in the conference center at 6:30. We were easily recognized by most of the other attendees since we obviously were the oldest people in the group. We reconnected with many of the young men whom we had gotten to know during Kevin's years at Valdosta State. The year that he was pledge master, he had sent the pledges down to the house on several occasions. I also had baked for them when they had events going on. So, it was good to reconnect, find out where they were now, and to hear story after story of their children.
We had a delicious meal followed by a talk given by Amanda Moran from the MS Society of Georgia. Chad Jordan and Tommy Johnston each spoke for a few minutes about the purpose of the tournament. Kevin finished with a thank you to the organizers and to all the people who came for the weekend.
During and after dinner we were entertained by Don Drury who played his guitar and sang. His repertoire was broad and we thoroughly enjoyed the music. He played a little blues, a little folk, a little rock. He asked me what some of my favorites were and played those for me including "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain" and "Sitting on the Dock of the Bay." As we were slipping away a little before eleven, he surprised me with one of his cds.
Back at our room, we were serenaded by a huge chorus of frogs who were truly tuned up for the occasion.
Saturday began bright and early with a shotgun start for the tournament. During the golf, I enjoyed sitting on my porch watching the mullet jump in the water and the water birds swooping down trying to catch them. Traci spent most of the morning with me and we also saw several turtles of varying sizes in the water. We watched the fairway until we saw the foursome with our men in it play by. By then the sun had invaded our porch and we went in search of rocking chairs on a shady veranda.
By two o'clock everyone was off the course and eating a barbecue lunch outdoors. Prizes were awarded, a playoff took place, and all of us scattered for afternoon activities. Several guys headed out for another round of golf; many went to the pool. We headed to our room for naps and reading.
For dinner we selected Crab Daddies which is owned by Josh Williams, another of the organizers of the event. Rob and Traci joined us. By six o'clock there was already a wait, but we were soon seated and enjoyed a delicious meal. The biggest treat of the meal was the shrimp and grits dish. Of course, the salad was really good, too, and the dessert was special. We had a complimentary creme brulee and Traci ordered the bread pudding which is one of their specialties. It actually was just about the best bread pudding any of us had ever tasted.
Saturday night was an early night to bed for most of us. The sun had taken its toll and we were all sleepy. Sunday morning it was up and out for us and headed back to reality. One of our friends who was flying back to Alabama had a five o'clock flight. We were grateful that we were just on a wake up and go schedule! We finished off the weekend at breakfast with Rob and Traci. Kevin and Jake were already on the road to South Carolina when we left.
I had been ambivalent about attending the event, but I am glad that I went. There was a whole lot of love shown between these people. It was good to be a part of it. We drove home being entertained once again by the music of Don Drury as he sang about the Golden Isles of Georgia.
After a drive across Georgia on the Sawgrass Parkway, we swung north, crossing the graceful bridge in Brunswick and catching our first glimpse of the marshes. The plentiful rains of this summer have the marsh grass brilliantly green. I always love the first smell of the marshlands. It smells coastal and clean. We maneuvered our way onto the island and around road detours until we found Sea Palms Golf and Tennis resort where we checked in and found our room on the second floor of the Blue Heron building. The screen porch looking out over the pond was a sweet surprise. We also had good view of the fairway on the eighteenth hole of the golf course.
Friday night was the dress up event. We all gathered in the conference center at 6:30. We were easily recognized by most of the other attendees since we obviously were the oldest people in the group. We reconnected with many of the young men whom we had gotten to know during Kevin's years at Valdosta State. The year that he was pledge master, he had sent the pledges down to the house on several occasions. I also had baked for them when they had events going on. So, it was good to reconnect, find out where they were now, and to hear story after story of their children.
We had a delicious meal followed by a talk given by Amanda Moran from the MS Society of Georgia. Chad Jordan and Tommy Johnston each spoke for a few minutes about the purpose of the tournament. Kevin finished with a thank you to the organizers and to all the people who came for the weekend.
During and after dinner we were entertained by Don Drury who played his guitar and sang. His repertoire was broad and we thoroughly enjoyed the music. He played a little blues, a little folk, a little rock. He asked me what some of my favorites were and played those for me including "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain" and "Sitting on the Dock of the Bay." As we were slipping away a little before eleven, he surprised me with one of his cds.
Back at our room, we were serenaded by a huge chorus of frogs who were truly tuned up for the occasion.
Saturday began bright and early with a shotgun start for the tournament. During the golf, I enjoyed sitting on my porch watching the mullet jump in the water and the water birds swooping down trying to catch them. Traci spent most of the morning with me and we also saw several turtles of varying sizes in the water. We watched the fairway until we saw the foursome with our men in it play by. By then the sun had invaded our porch and we went in search of rocking chairs on a shady veranda.
By two o'clock everyone was off the course and eating a barbecue lunch outdoors. Prizes were awarded, a playoff took place, and all of us scattered for afternoon activities. Several guys headed out for another round of golf; many went to the pool. We headed to our room for naps and reading.
For dinner we selected Crab Daddies which is owned by Josh Williams, another of the organizers of the event. Rob and Traci joined us. By six o'clock there was already a wait, but we were soon seated and enjoyed a delicious meal. The biggest treat of the meal was the shrimp and grits dish. Of course, the salad was really good, too, and the dessert was special. We had a complimentary creme brulee and Traci ordered the bread pudding which is one of their specialties. It actually was just about the best bread pudding any of us had ever tasted.
Saturday night was an early night to bed for most of us. The sun had taken its toll and we were all sleepy. Sunday morning it was up and out for us and headed back to reality. One of our friends who was flying back to Alabama had a five o'clock flight. We were grateful that we were just on a wake up and go schedule! We finished off the weekend at breakfast with Rob and Traci. Kevin and Jake were already on the road to South Carolina when we left.
I had been ambivalent about attending the event, but I am glad that I went. There was a whole lot of love shown between these people. It was good to be a part of it. We drove home being entertained once again by the music of Don Drury as he sang about the Golden Isles of Georgia.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Praising God
I was brought up in a traditional Baptist Church family in the South. We praised God by putting on our best clothes and going to Sunday School and church each Sunday morning, BTU and church each Sunday night, and prayer meeting each Wednesday evening. We were expected to behave ourselves, sing the songs with not too much gusto, and mind our manners. We did not clap in church. The only ones who spoke out while the pastor was speaking was someone deeply moved who would put in a well placed "Amen."
I am still quite comfortable with that type worship, but I know now that there are other ways of worship. We have all heard the old excuse for not attending traditional church. It goes like this: "I can worship God just as good from my bass boat, or my deer stand, or at the beach (pick and choose) as I can in any church." Of course there is truth to this, but those of us who believe that we are to live our lives according to the tenets found in The Bible, know, deep down that we are to gather together with like believers.
I have come to believe that the gathering together is necessary, but so are the other types of worship. One of the things that I feel should be an act of worship is how we live our lives. I feel that if we are believers that our actual breathing should be a praise to God. I believe that how we choose to approach each day and each person in our path should be an act of worship. I believe that when we do something for someone else, that is an act of worship.
I believe that when we feel the cool morning air, view a sunrise, hear a bird sing, watch a flower open, and remember to praise the creator of all these things, that we have worshipped.
It may not be good theology, but I think it is a pretty joyful way to live.
I am still quite comfortable with that type worship, but I know now that there are other ways of worship. We have all heard the old excuse for not attending traditional church. It goes like this: "I can worship God just as good from my bass boat, or my deer stand, or at the beach (pick and choose) as I can in any church." Of course there is truth to this, but those of us who believe that we are to live our lives according to the tenets found in The Bible, know, deep down that we are to gather together with like believers.
I have come to believe that the gathering together is necessary, but so are the other types of worship. One of the things that I feel should be an act of worship is how we live our lives. I feel that if we are believers that our actual breathing should be a praise to God. I believe that how we choose to approach each day and each person in our path should be an act of worship. I believe that when we do something for someone else, that is an act of worship.
I believe that when we feel the cool morning air, view a sunrise, hear a bird sing, watch a flower open, and remember to praise the creator of all these things, that we have worshipped.
It may not be good theology, but I think it is a pretty joyful way to live.
Nana Joy
A big grin from a three month old chubby arm full of little girl, the words, "Come on Nana!"-- both of these expand my heart to nearly bursting. We have all heard that there is no joy quite like being a grand parent, but until we experience it, we can not know the full measure. I have observed friends who were quite good disciplinarians with their children absolutely dissolve when it comes to the desires of a grand child. I fear that I am no better.
We have been richly blessed by the addition of two little girls to our lives. They do not live close, so we get to see them on the average of about once every six weeks. That is about as long as Nana and Papa can stay away. Our visits are never long. We know that when we go, we disrupt schedules and we know that our children have lives outside of us. So, we plan short trips and relish the time spent with the little girls and with their parents.
My three year old beauty, Ava Grace, has taken me as one of her special people. She usually has a "shy" period when I first arrive at her house. I have noticed that the time is growing shorter each time I am there. Within two minutes on our recent trip she and I were busily seeing what we had in the Nana bag. The two tee shirts that we brought from our trip to Maine and PEI were examined and put away as were the shirts for her little sister that she took to Leila's room.
Before long, we were in the back yard blowing bubbles. I had found some fruit flavored bubbles on my last trip to the Dollar Tree. She chose lemon; I chose pineapple. I was amazed at how well she sent her bubbles floating into the air. Also, we didn't even have a major bubble spill. Anyway, we sat out under the umbrella under a clear South Carolina sky and blew bubbles, talked about the weather, watched the air planes, listened to the birds, and made memories.
Later she showed me her latest tricks on the swings. I pushed her as she called, "I want to go high!" We did the count down as I raised the swing as high as I could and sent her swooping through the air, blond hair flying and giggles sounding as she went back and forth.
At supper at one of our favorite hamburger places, Red Robin, we colored a little and again explored the Nana bag, finding a few more treasures from DT. These took up the tine while we waited for the food to arrive. On the way home, we enjoyed ice cream cones, hers with sprinkles.
On Saturday while her mommy and sister went to the grocery store, we shared some real quality time in the playroom. I dressed as a wizard; she as a princess. She showed me her musical prowess as she accompanied us to "Old MacDonald Had a Farm" on her small keyboard. We are hoping the neighbors enjoyed it as much as we did. We also enjoyed several quality cuisine items that she prepared on her kitchen unit. It is amazing that we were still able to enjoy the sandwiches later at lunch, but neither of us would want to offend the other cooks.
I think one of the things that makes these times so very special is that those of us who have reached the grandparent stage have already realized the brevity of the experience. What seems to be interminable when we are going through it, newborn, terrible twos, gawky kid stage, etc., actually passes quite quickly and like a bubble floating towards a blue Carolina sky is gone. At least when we have grand children, we get another glimpse into that magic. We get one more chance to be a wizard to the magic princess.
We have been richly blessed by the addition of two little girls to our lives. They do not live close, so we get to see them on the average of about once every six weeks. That is about as long as Nana and Papa can stay away. Our visits are never long. We know that when we go, we disrupt schedules and we know that our children have lives outside of us. So, we plan short trips and relish the time spent with the little girls and with their parents.
My three year old beauty, Ava Grace, has taken me as one of her special people. She usually has a "shy" period when I first arrive at her house. I have noticed that the time is growing shorter each time I am there. Within two minutes on our recent trip she and I were busily seeing what we had in the Nana bag. The two tee shirts that we brought from our trip to Maine and PEI were examined and put away as were the shirts for her little sister that she took to Leila's room.
Before long, we were in the back yard blowing bubbles. I had found some fruit flavored bubbles on my last trip to the Dollar Tree. She chose lemon; I chose pineapple. I was amazed at how well she sent her bubbles floating into the air. Also, we didn't even have a major bubble spill. Anyway, we sat out under the umbrella under a clear South Carolina sky and blew bubbles, talked about the weather, watched the air planes, listened to the birds, and made memories.
Later she showed me her latest tricks on the swings. I pushed her as she called, "I want to go high!" We did the count down as I raised the swing as high as I could and sent her swooping through the air, blond hair flying and giggles sounding as she went back and forth.
At supper at one of our favorite hamburger places, Red Robin, we colored a little and again explored the Nana bag, finding a few more treasures from DT. These took up the tine while we waited for the food to arrive. On the way home, we enjoyed ice cream cones, hers with sprinkles.
On Saturday while her mommy and sister went to the grocery store, we shared some real quality time in the playroom. I dressed as a wizard; she as a princess. She showed me her musical prowess as she accompanied us to "Old MacDonald Had a Farm" on her small keyboard. We are hoping the neighbors enjoyed it as much as we did. We also enjoyed several quality cuisine items that she prepared on her kitchen unit. It is amazing that we were still able to enjoy the sandwiches later at lunch, but neither of us would want to offend the other cooks.
I think one of the things that makes these times so very special is that those of us who have reached the grandparent stage have already realized the brevity of the experience. What seems to be interminable when we are going through it, newborn, terrible twos, gawky kid stage, etc., actually passes quite quickly and like a bubble floating towards a blue Carolina sky is gone. At least when we have grand children, we get another glimpse into that magic. We get one more chance to be a wizard to the magic princess.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Snapshots of the Past: Flashes of Memory
The miles slipped away in flashes of lush, verdant green as we drove through the three counties, over the Suwanee River twice, up the windy road to Airline Baptist Church. Trees heavy with thick rain fed growth lined the roads. Fields flashed by, two with fully loaded tobacco rows waiting harvesting, others full of field corn and peanuts. The river at both crossing was higher than past years, another witness of the blessed rains which have fallen this year.
As we crossed the Hal W. Adams bridge, a picture of the bridge on opening day over half a century ago flashed in my mind. There were speeches and ribbon cutting, but the thing which remains with me was the terror I felt walking over the grating at the edge of the bridge. I do not know why this was so frightening, but I know that it was. Nothing my mother could say lessened the fear. She did finally get me off the bridge. Driving over it was fine.
The first road to the left is somewhat different from the way it was when we would turn onto it to take Granny Jackson to Aunt Onie's house. It still has crooks and turns, but it is a little wider and has recently been repaved. I think of my mother's stories of when she lived on this road and walked a mile or two to the school. The school building is still there, now painted a light yellow and used as a farm building.
Off to the left shortly after the turn off state road 51, is a road which goes to New Hope Baptist Church where my great grandparents Brown and their toddler are buried. All three died of some type stomach flu within days of each other, orphaning my granny Jackson.
I always knew that when we hit the crossroads with US 27 that we would be close to one of my favorite places in the world, Uncle Wilbur's store. I knew that I would find there two of my favorite people in the whole world, Uncle Wilbur in his wheelchair and Aunt Onie of the big laugh and big hug.
As we would turn on the road, I remember Granny Jackson's statement, "They say it is just as close to go by town." Now, half a century later, I know that what they said was pretty much true. It is about the same mileage to skip the turn off and go to Mayo and turn left. I also know that the road probably frightened my granny whose eye sight had been failing for years.
As we travel the road, I see a memory shot off some of my uncles and their cousins as young men out for a little fun driving this road long before it was paved. I see them leaning out of their car window to scoop up some of the sand with their hats, laughing and whooping as they feel the night air rushing by.
As we pass by where the "boys", my uncles, lived before they left home I remember my mother's tales of the barrel of plum wine they made out back of the house. I see the swept yards, the wide boards on the porch, worn smooth by years of scrubbing, the rosebush by the steps. I hear their laughter.
As we near Airline, memories come quickly: my cousin Glenda playing the piano at church, the slatted pews, the warmth of the church on a summer Sunday morning, the funerals of many of those people out in the graveyards. I remember the coming together during these times of grief and the guilty pleasure of seeing those we didn't keep in contact with except at these sad times.
We arrive at the new building and admire the loveliness of the design, the utility of the new nursery, the comfort of the chairs and the air conditioned air. It is a lovely facility for a church teeming with young families who have outgrown the place across the road.
These people, also, will make memory snapshots of days around this building. The efforts of all those who have walked before them make this possible. The past is very much a part of today.
As we crossed the Hal W. Adams bridge, a picture of the bridge on opening day over half a century ago flashed in my mind. There were speeches and ribbon cutting, but the thing which remains with me was the terror I felt walking over the grating at the edge of the bridge. I do not know why this was so frightening, but I know that it was. Nothing my mother could say lessened the fear. She did finally get me off the bridge. Driving over it was fine.
The first road to the left is somewhat different from the way it was when we would turn onto it to take Granny Jackson to Aunt Onie's house. It still has crooks and turns, but it is a little wider and has recently been repaved. I think of my mother's stories of when she lived on this road and walked a mile or two to the school. The school building is still there, now painted a light yellow and used as a farm building.
Off to the left shortly after the turn off state road 51, is a road which goes to New Hope Baptist Church where my great grandparents Brown and their toddler are buried. All three died of some type stomach flu within days of each other, orphaning my granny Jackson.
I always knew that when we hit the crossroads with US 27 that we would be close to one of my favorite places in the world, Uncle Wilbur's store. I knew that I would find there two of my favorite people in the whole world, Uncle Wilbur in his wheelchair and Aunt Onie of the big laugh and big hug.
As we would turn on the road, I remember Granny Jackson's statement, "They say it is just as close to go by town." Now, half a century later, I know that what they said was pretty much true. It is about the same mileage to skip the turn off and go to Mayo and turn left. I also know that the road probably frightened my granny whose eye sight had been failing for years.
As we travel the road, I see a memory shot off some of my uncles and their cousins as young men out for a little fun driving this road long before it was paved. I see them leaning out of their car window to scoop up some of the sand with their hats, laughing and whooping as they feel the night air rushing by.
As we pass by where the "boys", my uncles, lived before they left home I remember my mother's tales of the barrel of plum wine they made out back of the house. I see the swept yards, the wide boards on the porch, worn smooth by years of scrubbing, the rosebush by the steps. I hear their laughter.
As we near Airline, memories come quickly: my cousin Glenda playing the piano at church, the slatted pews, the warmth of the church on a summer Sunday morning, the funerals of many of those people out in the graveyards. I remember the coming together during these times of grief and the guilty pleasure of seeing those we didn't keep in contact with except at these sad times.
We arrive at the new building and admire the loveliness of the design, the utility of the new nursery, the comfort of the chairs and the air conditioned air. It is a lovely facility for a church teeming with young families who have outgrown the place across the road.
These people, also, will make memory snapshots of days around this building. The efforts of all those who have walked before them make this possible. The past is very much a part of today.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Summertime
Gershwin included a lovely lullaby in Porgy and Bess that began with the lines, "Summertime and the living is easy. Fish are jumping and the cotton is high." I first learned the song as a teenager at 4-H Short course on the campus of Florida State University. The song catches the easiness of summer, the feel of the warm air, the smells of the honeysuckle, and that feeling that the most difficult thing one wants to do is sit quite still in a porch swing and wait for the wind to blow.
I, unabashedly, love summer. I love the smell of it, the feel of it, and the colors of it. The things which others find the most distressing are trivial in my estimation. The good far outweighs the bad. So, the humidity is so high and my clothes stick to me. At least this is the summer when we can get away with wearing fewer clothes. I grew up before air conditioning. I can remember the joy of walking into Hamilton County Bank and feeling the cool air. It was a treat to go to town with my mother as she did her Friday shopping just to go into the bank! Now, I can get that same joy coming into my house after summer morning chores.
Another advantage to the days being hot and sticky is that there is no guilt to heading indoors shortly after noon for an extended rest time. After all, it would not be healthy to labor through the "heat" of the day.
No other season gives us the lushness of color that summer does. We have the great globs of blossoms varying from deepest red to precious pink, lavender to deep purple, and pristine white on the Crepe Myrtles. How appropriately the Japanese have named these summer beauties as "the flower of a hundred days." If cool is desired, there are the cool blues of the hydrangeas. The summer annuals just gloat on color: zinnias, marigolds, sunflowers!
The smells are best during the summer. Each week we have the new mown grass smell. Moon flowers give out their perfume at sunset. Four O'clocks send out their light scent in late afternoon. No wonder butterflies abound around here during the summer!
Even the foods are better during the summer. We tend to have more fresh things to use in salads. What can equal the flavor or a true garden ripe tomato? or blueberries right off the bush? or a fig ripe on the tree? or a peach? Barbecue is done more. And, we need to remember that homemade ice cream is a summer thing. Of course no one is going to complain if we take a little of this summer into all four seasons.
Summer is also "water" season. Floating around a cool pool gazing up at a true summer blue sky with a few fluffy clouds is one of the great joys of life. A day at the beach making sandcastles is a memory maker, especially if done with a good companion. Summer is the time to turn the hose on your head on a really hot day or time to run through the sprinkler. Who would think of doing this during the other more mundane seasons?
The sounds of summer are with us from early to late. The serenade of the birds bring in the day. The sounds of frogs and crickets follow the setting sun.
So, I say, forget the heat and humidity, summer is wonderful. I plan to enjoy every glorious day of it.
I, unabashedly, love summer. I love the smell of it, the feel of it, and the colors of it. The things which others find the most distressing are trivial in my estimation. The good far outweighs the bad. So, the humidity is so high and my clothes stick to me. At least this is the summer when we can get away with wearing fewer clothes. I grew up before air conditioning. I can remember the joy of walking into Hamilton County Bank and feeling the cool air. It was a treat to go to town with my mother as she did her Friday shopping just to go into the bank! Now, I can get that same joy coming into my house after summer morning chores.
Another advantage to the days being hot and sticky is that there is no guilt to heading indoors shortly after noon for an extended rest time. After all, it would not be healthy to labor through the "heat" of the day.
No other season gives us the lushness of color that summer does. We have the great globs of blossoms varying from deepest red to precious pink, lavender to deep purple, and pristine white on the Crepe Myrtles. How appropriately the Japanese have named these summer beauties as "the flower of a hundred days." If cool is desired, there are the cool blues of the hydrangeas. The summer annuals just gloat on color: zinnias, marigolds, sunflowers!
The smells are best during the summer. Each week we have the new mown grass smell. Moon flowers give out their perfume at sunset. Four O'clocks send out their light scent in late afternoon. No wonder butterflies abound around here during the summer!
Even the foods are better during the summer. We tend to have more fresh things to use in salads. What can equal the flavor or a true garden ripe tomato? or blueberries right off the bush? or a fig ripe on the tree? or a peach? Barbecue is done more. And, we need to remember that homemade ice cream is a summer thing. Of course no one is going to complain if we take a little of this summer into all four seasons.
Summer is also "water" season. Floating around a cool pool gazing up at a true summer blue sky with a few fluffy clouds is one of the great joys of life. A day at the beach making sandcastles is a memory maker, especially if done with a good companion. Summer is the time to turn the hose on your head on a really hot day or time to run through the sprinkler. Who would think of doing this during the other more mundane seasons?
The sounds of summer are with us from early to late. The serenade of the birds bring in the day. The sounds of frogs and crickets follow the setting sun.
So, I say, forget the heat and humidity, summer is wonderful. I plan to enjoy every glorious day of it.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Special Days; Special Times; Special People
Saturday Klep and I spent the day in Tallahassee. It was a very special day full of laughter, conversation, and joy. Did we take in the sights? spend the day shopping the malls? Take in a concert or movie?
No, we simply enjoyed the day, sharing some work, some good food, and some quality time with Rob and Traci. Rob has been planning a water feature for Traci for several years now. Because of their work schedules, it had never progressed beyond the hole stage. We had planned to go over last summer and lend a hand, but with one thing and another, we hadn't gone and the pond was still primarily a dream. Now, having been married to the father of this eldest son for over forty years, I know about dreams deferred! I know that things always, in our family, take longer than we think when we are in the eager anticipation stage.
So, as we sat in our chairs at home midweek, we decided to see if they were free for a work day; they were. So, early Saturday morning saw us headed in Big Blue for Tallahassee. The guys worked for awhile and then made the inevitable trip to Lowe's. I am a Home Depot person, but our men seem to prefer Lowe's. They were gone for a while. Traci and I whiled away our time with the cats. Jasmine, particularly, needed a little love.
After their return, we finalized the hole, spread the liner, and threaded the electrical wire through the conduit. Then the hot work of digging the trench began.
After a break for a really good curry chicken citrus pasta salad and all the trimmings, we went back out. Klep scooted himself under the deck to do the hookup to the electrical while Rob glued conduit and started the water into the pond. We all got a good laugh when Klep had to be dragged out by his feet from under the deck!
The guys worked on switches and outlets and such most of the rest of the afternoon as the water rose in the pond. We topped off the afternoon with a frozen orange dessert served in a scopped out orange complete with orange lid. When we left, the project was to the landscaping stage. We look forward to seeing it soon as the dream becomes reality.
There are other days which share in our joy folder. One that immediately comes to mind was the last day we spent with Kevin, Reagan, Ava Grace, and Leila Kate as we celebrated Ava Grace's third birthday. Another was the day we met our most recent granddaughter. Other days have been joyful as we floated around the pool together, taking in the colors, sounds, and smells of summer.
What is remarkable is that our really big joys are not our trips and events. Now, don't get me wrong, we enjoy travelling, but it isn't equal to this type joy. Big joy times are the hours spent with people we love. Some of our most joyful moments have been spent with Anne in the yard or sitting in the clubhouse on top of the swing set with AG blowing bubbles, watching the airplanes and birds, and just laughing.
Sometimes we look for the joy too hard; it is a close as someone we love.
No, we simply enjoyed the day, sharing some work, some good food, and some quality time with Rob and Traci. Rob has been planning a water feature for Traci for several years now. Because of their work schedules, it had never progressed beyond the hole stage. We had planned to go over last summer and lend a hand, but with one thing and another, we hadn't gone and the pond was still primarily a dream. Now, having been married to the father of this eldest son for over forty years, I know about dreams deferred! I know that things always, in our family, take longer than we think when we are in the eager anticipation stage.
So, as we sat in our chairs at home midweek, we decided to see if they were free for a work day; they were. So, early Saturday morning saw us headed in Big Blue for Tallahassee. The guys worked for awhile and then made the inevitable trip to Lowe's. I am a Home Depot person, but our men seem to prefer Lowe's. They were gone for a while. Traci and I whiled away our time with the cats. Jasmine, particularly, needed a little love.
After their return, we finalized the hole, spread the liner, and threaded the electrical wire through the conduit. Then the hot work of digging the trench began.
After a break for a really good curry chicken citrus pasta salad and all the trimmings, we went back out. Klep scooted himself under the deck to do the hookup to the electrical while Rob glued conduit and started the water into the pond. We all got a good laugh when Klep had to be dragged out by his feet from under the deck!
The guys worked on switches and outlets and such most of the rest of the afternoon as the water rose in the pond. We topped off the afternoon with a frozen orange dessert served in a scopped out orange complete with orange lid. When we left, the project was to the landscaping stage. We look forward to seeing it soon as the dream becomes reality.
There are other days which share in our joy folder. One that immediately comes to mind was the last day we spent with Kevin, Reagan, Ava Grace, and Leila Kate as we celebrated Ava Grace's third birthday. Another was the day we met our most recent granddaughter. Other days have been joyful as we floated around the pool together, taking in the colors, sounds, and smells of summer.
What is remarkable is that our really big joys are not our trips and events. Now, don't get me wrong, we enjoy travelling, but it isn't equal to this type joy. Big joy times are the hours spent with people we love. Some of our most joyful moments have been spent with Anne in the yard or sitting in the clubhouse on top of the swing set with AG blowing bubbles, watching the airplanes and birds, and just laughing.
Sometimes we look for the joy too hard; it is a close as someone we love.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
The Fence
Robert Frost wrote, "Good Fences make good neighbors." Our fence has given our friends and neighbors something to talk about when we meet. Klep is in the process or replacing the old cypress fence that the boys built during the last year Rob was at home. We used untreated cypress lumber from a sawmill near by, and now, twenty years later it needs to come down.
We need the fence across the front of our yard because we live on a busy state road. It has become busier each year we have lived here. The fence gives us a little delineation from the sidewalk and the traffic. It has also, a couple of times, kept a speeding car from ending up in our yard.
Klep has changed the design and the materials. We are using all treated materials. He says that twenty years down the road he is not going to be ready to do this again. The palings are four inch dogeared and are slightly less than four feet tall. The design team decided that we liked the looks of it as well as we did our original which was a curved top. I think that the engineer in Klep likes the level aspect of the new design. He is using a level as the spacer between palings and a line of strings from post to post to insure that the line is true.
Slowly but surely the fence is marching east down our block. It is approaching the one hundred foot mark which is an important point. Tomorrow he will probably reach the sidewalk leading to the front door of the house. The gate over this, of course will be the last thing built and placed.
We look forward to the visiting that will come when we start painting the fence. If it is anything like the other times we have painted the fence, both strangers and friends will stop to say something about the painting. There, evidently, is a little Tom Sawyer in all of us when it comes to fence painting.
So, even if Robert Frost could not foresee the interest in building a fence as a chance to socialize and come together, it seems that ours has that effect.
We need the fence across the front of our yard because we live on a busy state road. It has become busier each year we have lived here. The fence gives us a little delineation from the sidewalk and the traffic. It has also, a couple of times, kept a speeding car from ending up in our yard.
Klep has changed the design and the materials. We are using all treated materials. He says that twenty years down the road he is not going to be ready to do this again. The palings are four inch dogeared and are slightly less than four feet tall. The design team decided that we liked the looks of it as well as we did our original which was a curved top. I think that the engineer in Klep likes the level aspect of the new design. He is using a level as the spacer between palings and a line of strings from post to post to insure that the line is true.
Slowly but surely the fence is marching east down our block. It is approaching the one hundred foot mark which is an important point. Tomorrow he will probably reach the sidewalk leading to the front door of the house. The gate over this, of course will be the last thing built and placed.
We look forward to the visiting that will come when we start painting the fence. If it is anything like the other times we have painted the fence, both strangers and friends will stop to say something about the painting. There, evidently, is a little Tom Sawyer in all of us when it comes to fence painting.
So, even if Robert Frost could not foresee the interest in building a fence as a chance to socialize and come together, it seems that ours has that effect.
Happiness
Recently two items jumped up on our internet home page. One was "Americans are not happy." The other was a question from a Time article, "Can the American marriage be saved?" These two things have been going around and around in my head ever since. I think the answer can be found, at least partially, in the fact that we as a nation have forgotten how to wait.
I am as guilty as the next. I find it taxing when there is someone ahead of me on the rare occasion that I go to the bank. I resist the urge to tap my foot as I watch the teller count money, answer questions, and finally move the person who has impeded my progress out of the way. I shake my head with all of you when I approach the long line of checkout stations at Wally World and find all closed except the one with the line gathering numbers as I push my cart into line.
Unfortunately impratience pervades our lives in ways that are more serious than our fuming in line. We see it in the quick decision to toss a marriage aside if we "are just not happy anymore." We see it financially when we can't wait to save for something we can't live without and run up credit card bills that we will never have the ability to pay. We see it in the number of people who buy more house than they can afford. We see it in people who want everything now. We see it in a sense of entitlement.
What is particularly sad in all of this is that we are robbing ourselves of blessings and joys which come with anticipation, dreams, and plans. When we get too much, too often, too soon, we lose a part of what makes life fun. We change our level of expectation, often to the point that there is simply nothing that can satisfy us. We lose the simplicity of living.
Let's look a little at some of life's waits. Babies take time. From the time we know they are coming until they appear, we have about nine months of anticipation. Of course with modern technology, the parents no longer wait to know whether "it" is a boy or girl. Now, by five months in, the baby is named. It all takes away a little of the wonder and anticipation, but in their place, we can color coordinate wardrobes and get everything monogramed.
Bringing up children still involves a lot of waiting as we watch the little helpless baby turn into the toddler, the child, the preteeen, the teen, and then an adult. We see efforts to circumvent some of these steps as we watch four years old dress and mimic teen stars.
Good bread takes time. First the yeast must flower. Then the dough must rise and be punched down and shaped. Then, there is the second rising. Only then are the loaves placed in the hot oven and the payoff, smells of baking bread, waft through the house during the last wait until it comes out of the oven. Yes, bread can be purchased, but the pleasure of smelling the bread as it bakes and slicing off that first piece to be covered in butter and eaten can not come from a loaf of bought bread.
A tomato picked from the garden from a plant put in the ground three months earlier, watered, and cared for is another sweet reward in life. A garden eaten with the warmth of the sun still on it is an all together different joy from a tomato picked green and shipped to market where it is gassed and turned red.
Our lives have been enriched by the conveniences of modern America, but when we allow ourselves to become slaves to the things and the pursuit of things, we lose too much of the joy in learning to live. We are often so busy in our going and our doing and our pursuit of fun, that the joy of living day in and day out escapes us.
That is sad; that is very sad.
I am as guilty as the next. I find it taxing when there is someone ahead of me on the rare occasion that I go to the bank. I resist the urge to tap my foot as I watch the teller count money, answer questions, and finally move the person who has impeded my progress out of the way. I shake my head with all of you when I approach the long line of checkout stations at Wally World and find all closed except the one with the line gathering numbers as I push my cart into line.
Unfortunately impratience pervades our lives in ways that are more serious than our fuming in line. We see it in the quick decision to toss a marriage aside if we "are just not happy anymore." We see it financially when we can't wait to save for something we can't live without and run up credit card bills that we will never have the ability to pay. We see it in the number of people who buy more house than they can afford. We see it in people who want everything now. We see it in a sense of entitlement.
What is particularly sad in all of this is that we are robbing ourselves of blessings and joys which come with anticipation, dreams, and plans. When we get too much, too often, too soon, we lose a part of what makes life fun. We change our level of expectation, often to the point that there is simply nothing that can satisfy us. We lose the simplicity of living.
Let's look a little at some of life's waits. Babies take time. From the time we know they are coming until they appear, we have about nine months of anticipation. Of course with modern technology, the parents no longer wait to know whether "it" is a boy or girl. Now, by five months in, the baby is named. It all takes away a little of the wonder and anticipation, but in their place, we can color coordinate wardrobes and get everything monogramed.
Bringing up children still involves a lot of waiting as we watch the little helpless baby turn into the toddler, the child, the preteeen, the teen, and then an adult. We see efforts to circumvent some of these steps as we watch four years old dress and mimic teen stars.
Good bread takes time. First the yeast must flower. Then the dough must rise and be punched down and shaped. Then, there is the second rising. Only then are the loaves placed in the hot oven and the payoff, smells of baking bread, waft through the house during the last wait until it comes out of the oven. Yes, bread can be purchased, but the pleasure of smelling the bread as it bakes and slicing off that first piece to be covered in butter and eaten can not come from a loaf of bought bread.
A tomato picked from the garden from a plant put in the ground three months earlier, watered, and cared for is another sweet reward in life. A garden eaten with the warmth of the sun still on it is an all together different joy from a tomato picked green and shipped to market where it is gassed and turned red.
Our lives have been enriched by the conveniences of modern America, but when we allow ourselves to become slaves to the things and the pursuit of things, we lose too much of the joy in learning to live. We are often so busy in our going and our doing and our pursuit of fun, that the joy of living day in and day out escapes us.
That is sad; that is very sad.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Birthday Season
When the first day of July rolls around in my life, it ushers in Birthday season. It amazes me that I share this season with so many who have become friends and important people in my life. My earliest birthday season buddy is my cousin Molly.
The stork dropped me off in the middle of Brushy Hammock, an area close to Mayo, Florida, late in the afternoon of July 6th. Three days later he made it to Decatur, Georgia to drop off my "twin" Mary Elizabeth. I can only assume that the reason it took him so long to get there was due to the fact that it was war time and gasoline was being rationed. Perhaps the headwinds were not favorable. We must also remember that this was during the days before interstate highways were even imagined. Anyway, from the time that we were aware of each other, we became fast friends as well as cousins. We each lived through the days of pig tails, older brothers, growing up, college, and marrying. To this day we share a special bond.
Another sharer of my birthday season is my friend Ginger. Although her birthday doesn't come until the tenth, she did beat me into this world arriving the year before in Boyd, Florida. We met in an American Literature class at Florida State University when I changed my major from home economics to English. Our friendship has grown and survived the years of graduate school, work, husbands, children, and retirement. We have a store of memories which include long lazy days at the beach when our children were young and enough laughter and secrets to fill several books.
Another friend with whom I have contact only shared a year of my life, but she was a very important friend during that time. Not only did we share birthday season, we shared the same first name. Barbara and her husband John came down from Virginia to teach in Orange County during my first year teaching. We hit it off immediately although she was several years older and taught French. French in college had been one of my truly humbling experiences! During that year, I almost made one of the worst mistakes of my life and she kept me from doing it. Interestingly, her son was born on my birthday several years after they returned to Virginia.
Two other young men that I know share my birthday. One was one of my Academic Competition Team members who placed second at state competion, Greg. The other is a young man, Shane, who is the son on one of the kids who grew up with Rob and Kevin. Each year Shane expects cookies from me on his birthday. How could I forget since I share it with him.
I do not believe in Astrology, but I wonder if there is some relationship to the way we are related to the seasons which help to shape us. I do know that I am a summer person. I glory in the green of the trees, the laziness of the afternoon, and the richness that is July, my birthday season.
The stork dropped me off in the middle of Brushy Hammock, an area close to Mayo, Florida, late in the afternoon of July 6th. Three days later he made it to Decatur, Georgia to drop off my "twin" Mary Elizabeth. I can only assume that the reason it took him so long to get there was due to the fact that it was war time and gasoline was being rationed. Perhaps the headwinds were not favorable. We must also remember that this was during the days before interstate highways were even imagined. Anyway, from the time that we were aware of each other, we became fast friends as well as cousins. We each lived through the days of pig tails, older brothers, growing up, college, and marrying. To this day we share a special bond.
Another sharer of my birthday season is my friend Ginger. Although her birthday doesn't come until the tenth, she did beat me into this world arriving the year before in Boyd, Florida. We met in an American Literature class at Florida State University when I changed my major from home economics to English. Our friendship has grown and survived the years of graduate school, work, husbands, children, and retirement. We have a store of memories which include long lazy days at the beach when our children were young and enough laughter and secrets to fill several books.
Another friend with whom I have contact only shared a year of my life, but she was a very important friend during that time. Not only did we share birthday season, we shared the same first name. Barbara and her husband John came down from Virginia to teach in Orange County during my first year teaching. We hit it off immediately although she was several years older and taught French. French in college had been one of my truly humbling experiences! During that year, I almost made one of the worst mistakes of my life and she kept me from doing it. Interestingly, her son was born on my birthday several years after they returned to Virginia.
Two other young men that I know share my birthday. One was one of my Academic Competition Team members who placed second at state competion, Greg. The other is a young man, Shane, who is the son on one of the kids who grew up with Rob and Kevin. Each year Shane expects cookies from me on his birthday. How could I forget since I share it with him.
I do not believe in Astrology, but I wonder if there is some relationship to the way we are related to the seasons which help to shape us. I do know that I am a summer person. I glory in the green of the trees, the laziness of the afternoon, and the richness that is July, my birthday season.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
My morning has been spent wrestling newspaper sized books around as I searched the archives of The Jasper News for articles and pictures of the Jasper High School Class of 1960. We are in planning mode for the auspicious fiftieth reunion which will occur next May 29th. One of my goals was to find a sense of what those years were like.
I wanted to touch bases once again with those people with whom I shared so much of my early life. I wanted to get a sense of who we were, what we did, and where we lived.
The hours slipped away as I found myself amused by what I found. I was once again reminded of how much fashion has changed over the last half century. There we girls were once again in our gathered skirts over yards of crinolines. The boys were in jeans with shirts tucked in. We appeared to be amazingly fit. I did not see anyone who would be consided overweight in today's world although I can remember thinking I was grotesquely fat because my waist was 28 inches.
So much of this was forgotten until I opened up the pages once again. Teachers and principals that were old to us at the time now seemed remarkably young in their photos.
The largest change I sensed, however, was in the town where we went to school. The newspapers were full of ads from car dealerships, drugstores, department stores, and grocery stores. In each edition I found a large ad for the movie theater. Jasper now has one grocery store, no department store, and one car dealership. The theater has been long gone. There was a vibrancy to this town that is gone.
I can't help but be a little sad about the loss that has come with the changes over the last fifty years.
I wanted to touch bases once again with those people with whom I shared so much of my early life. I wanted to get a sense of who we were, what we did, and where we lived.
The hours slipped away as I found myself amused by what I found. I was once again reminded of how much fashion has changed over the last half century. There we girls were once again in our gathered skirts over yards of crinolines. The boys were in jeans with shirts tucked in. We appeared to be amazingly fit. I did not see anyone who would be consided overweight in today's world although I can remember thinking I was grotesquely fat because my waist was 28 inches.
So much of this was forgotten until I opened up the pages once again. Teachers and principals that were old to us at the time now seemed remarkably young in their photos.
The largest change I sensed, however, was in the town where we went to school. The newspapers were full of ads from car dealerships, drugstores, department stores, and grocery stores. In each edition I found a large ad for the movie theater. Jasper now has one grocery store, no department store, and one car dealership. The theater has been long gone. There was a vibrancy to this town that is gone.
I can't help but be a little sad about the loss that has come with the changes over the last fifty years.
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