Happy Birthday Mom...1920 - 1992

My mother was born on this day in 1920. She died at the age of 72 in September of 1992. Way too soon she was gone. She was a good woman who believed in service to her God, her family and her community. And, she lived what she believed. In her hospital room the last weeks of her life she was planning one of her trips with the Senior group at her church. She was in charge and nothing was going to get in her way.

My mother was not a saint, she was a simple woman who did the very best she could with what she had. We had our differences, as all mothers and daughters do, but we also had a mutual respect for one another. At the end I knew she loved me and she left this world knowing that I loved her too.

She loved gardening and reading and crocheting and learning anything new. She thought I was amazing because I could do cross stitch and she couldn't. And, that quilt I started by hand one square at a time; well she took it and finished it for me and I used it for years and then handed it down to Rebekah and Jacob who used it til it was almost used up.

She loved her church and every Sunday morning she would cut a rose from her yard and take it so her pastor could have a fresh rose on his lapel. She taught Sunday School (3 and 4 year olds) for so many years I can't count. And, her senior group....wow...those crazy wacky seniors and their trips. They would go anywhere and do anything. Amazing.

And, most of all she loved her grandchildren and they loved her. She loved each and every one of them in their own special way and made certain that she spent quality time with each one. Maybe that's why I think of her now, with my own grandchildren. I find myself doing things that I told her not to do with my own kids...oh the circle of life.

If I could I would ask for one more day - not a hospital day, but an ordianry spring day to spend with my mother. There are so many things I'd like to tell her. I'd like for her to know that I'm ok. That she did fine. I'd like for her to see Mike and Rebekah as parents and all those boys. She would have loved them so much.

Thanks Mom. I love you. I miss you.

Christmases Past....

I Love Christmas! I love everything about Christmas; the lights in the windows and on every tree limb and anything else that doesn't move. And, the more the merrier. Tacky light tour? I'm all for it. I love the smells of Christmas...the smell of a crackling fire, candles burning, cookies and gingerbread men right out of the oven. The smell of the tree and cinnamon and spice. The tinsel, the wreaths, how people are just a little bit nicer to one another and say please and thank-you with a smile on their faces.

And, the music. Bing Crosby singing White Christmas and even the Chipmunks...love it all. From Silver Bells to Rudolph to All I Want for Christmas. A baby's first Christmas picture with Santa either in a daze or screaming at the stranger in the red suit.

I don't even mind the traffic (well maybe a little), but I can tolerate it and the shopping. I love the gifts - giving and receiving and watching a little kid's face beaming as he rips open those gifts and loving everything Santa has brought.

One year we had a Christmas party at the place I was working, and after lunch the boss started asking everyone about their best Christmas. I was at a complete loss for my best Christmas so I made something up. Had he asked about my most memorable Christmas that would have been a different story. Most of my life the Christmases have been wonderful...and of course a child's first Christmas is important and always fun, but they seem to blur as the years go by. However, I do have some memorable Christmases to share, so in no particular order of importance I will share them.

1. One year early in my marriage we were spending Christmas Eve with our friends Bonnie & Herman at their apartment. We heard a commotion coming from outside so we decided to investigate and when we opened the door - well there was Santa. Well we invited Santa in to have a little drink with us - big mistake. This Santa came in and we all saw it - a black eye. It didn't take long before we discovered our new friend was a member of the KKK and had gotten the black eye - well in a fight of course. We just waited and hoped he wouldn't stay too long.

2. 1959. My father was a drinker. I mean a big time drinker when he drank. Binge drinker, but able to hold a steady job. He usually drank way too much during the holidays and would make our lives miserable until he finally passed out. This particular year he decided on Christmas Eve (after the company party) that we were going to North Carolina to spend Christmas with his sisters because he never got to see his family and my mother's family was blah blah blah. So, sometime after dinner he makes his announcement and tells my mother to hand out the presents cause we're getting up a 5am and heading south. I could see my mother crying, but we didn't open the gifts that night. My father went to bed and we didn't see him again til morning. And, we didn't go to North Carolina.

3. 196? The year Sound of Music came out in theaters. We had had a pretty normal Christmas day with presents, big meal, friends, etc. After dinner I went to the movies with one of my friends and her parents to see Sound of Music. When we came back home I remember my parents' car was not out front so I was just a little curious. When I opened the front door my mother was on the telephone with my father's boss and they were trying to figure out how to bail him out of jail....dui. They didn't mean as much back then as they do now.

4. 1988. The year I knew my marriage was over. I had been busy all day Christmas Eve baking, wrapping presents, just trying to make sure everything was just right for the next day since all of my family would be coming to our house. The kids were out doing their kid things and I was busy in the kitchen and my then husband had been out almost all day with a buddy of his. And, after dinner when we should have been together he went off to bed and I remember sitting in front of the tree and thinking "oh my God, I've turned into my mother" and sobbed.

But guess what? I Love Christmas!

Bittersweet...

A few weeks ago Jacob (my grandson) and I had dinner with old friends. After dinner we watched home movies from many many years ago that my kids had combined onto a video tape. Had they known then what we all know now they would have had all the super 8 home movies transferred to a dvd. Who knew VCR's would not last?

The movies began when I was pregnant with Mike, my oldest. There were moments from the first time he noticed his hands. That was the most fascinating thing to me. To watch him look at his hand with such wonder....like "what is this". There were bits and pieces of a life, my life. Firsts...walking, riding a bike, seeing the ocean, Christmas.

There were trips we had taken to Disneyland, riding mules down the Grand Canyon and Mike and his dad in a glider. We had some good times, and I am reminded of those through these movies and that's a good thing for me.

There was a moment in the movie where my husband at the time was holding our little girl (Jacob's mom) about 8 months old, and she reached out and gave him the biggest hug and kiss. I will confess that a tear or two came to my eyes. And, maybe a "what if" or two. The movies didn't chronicle nearly enough of the years when the kids were growing up, but I am very thankful that I have the ones I do.

So many things have changed.

Lonely on Facebook

My daughter put me on facebook about a week ago. Now, I have a hard time keeping up with this blog, emails and even personal calls to family and friends, and knew I would never keep up with what's going on facebook either. The strange thing about the facebook is everytime someone posts a comment on your page it comes thru the email also.

What I absolutely don't like about facebook is having to ask people to be your friend. I'm sure most of these people didn't care what I did last night or what I had for dinner or what I may or may not be allergic to. I did get in touch with my cousin in New York....that was fun so I guess it was worth it in the end.

One summer I found a friend at my grandmother's. A little girl my own age. Only problem was she was the daughter of one of the families who worked for my uncle. I don't know if sharecropper is the correct term or not, but they had a house (tiny frame shack) down the road from the "big house" and helped barn tobacco.
I remember we were playing as two little girls would, running around the farm, riding bikes and laughing. We both had to go to the bathroom, and since we had a "two seater" I said come on we can go together. My grandmother must have been watching from the window, because no sooner had my hand touched the door of the outhouse she screamed.."don't let that ..... go in there, tell her to go in the woods". I couldn't believe what I was hearing, more that I didn't understand what I was hearing. I was young and had no concept of different skin color. All I knew is that I had a friend. We decided to go to her house down the road. I remember it was small and hot and we were playing and jumping on her bed when out of nowhere came my brother. He told me I had to go home.
As we walked down the road to my grandmother's house he kept taunting me that grandma was mad at me and she was going to whip me. I asked him what I had done but all he could say was she's mad and you're going to get it. Now, that leather strap hanging in the kitchen was not just for show or to sharpen my uncle's straight razor. When we walked inside my grandmother was angry and said that I was not to go into that little girl's house again and what would my mother think if she knew I was down there playing.
We didn't play much after that. I'm sure her mother explained the facts of life to her.
We would often take the train from Richmond to Rocky Mount and when we got off the train the shopkeepers' signs pretty much told it all. "White Only" "No Coloreds" I didn't understand those signs either til much later.

Back to the farm....

This time of year when the markets are open and the vegetables are fresh I think back to the summers on the farm. Every night we had fresh corn, beans, tomatoes, and my all time favorite butterbeans. Before we could enjoy them, we had to pick, shell, snap and shuck every one of them. But, I must say it was well worth the effort. Nothing is any better than a plate full of fresh veggies with Grandma's cornbread on the side.



It was a very orderly place, well, structured I guess is a better word. You could tell what day of the week it was by what meat was served with dinner. Most nights it would be some form of pork or chicken. They raised pigs and chickens. Rarely if ever did we eat beef. On Thursdays Mr. Green would come by in his truck loaded down with fresh fish and candies for us kids and assorted items of interest for all of us. My grandmother would purchase the fish for Friday's dinner and we would get our ration of candies for the week.



Saturdays were chicken plucking day so we could have fresh fried chicken on Sunday morning. My grandmother would set her sights on a hen and before long feathers were flying. She didn't even need an axe (PETA please don't call me). I could never watch this, but I always seemed to manage to eat the chicken.



Thursdays....oh how I hated Thursdays. Laundry day. Everything was washed, hung on the line to dry, and then ironed - by me. And, when I say everything I mean everything down to my Great Uncle's underwear. I can remember being so hot I thought I would pass out before the pile of laundry was done and put away. I slept good on Thursday nights.

No More Pencils, No More Books, No More Teacher's Dirty Looks....

I can't believe there's only one more week of school then the kids are out for Summer vacation. Summer means the beach, camp, pools, staying up late and catching fireflies, and going on family vacations.

When I was a kid I spent many summers on my grandmother's tobacco farm in North Carolina. It was a place to go so that my parents wouldn't have to worry about me and the brother that went with me. It was usually me and one of my older brothers. Some years I just didn't want to go, but no one asked. I packed up and left town the week after school ended and went back home at the end of the summer.

It was a working farm and I mean work. Sometime my uncle would wake me up about 4 am and tell me to get ready to help barn tobacco. Nasty work. Years before the picking and stringing and cureing were done by big machinery. Every summer some farmer's barn would catch on fire and lose part of his crop. The summers weren't all work, but they were very lonely for me. Except Sundays. No one worked on Sunday and we all went to church, morning and night. Sunday nights were best. That's when we would do lots of singing and socializing.

It was those summers that made me fall in love with the moon. My bed (a pallet of handmade quilts) was facing a window where the moon would shine in. Some nights I would pray that my mother and father would come and get me, but they didn't. They couldn't.

I don't regret the summers spent on the farm, but I will admit to being jealous of my friends back home with their summers spent at the beach or the mountains or just hanging out. I think I was about 16 years old when we went on our first family vacation. I got to bring a girlfriend with me. We were going to rent a camper and go to the mountains for a week. The morning we were to pick up the camper, it had not yet been returned, so we decided to head out anyway and just stay in motels. It worked out ok. We went to Maggie Valley, NC. Grandfather's Mountain and Tweetsie Railroad. We actually had a pretty good time.

My parents worked hard, especially my mother, and they did the best they could. I know that now, I appreciate that now. But back on that farm I just didn't get it.