So, maybe this extension will help me get to the blogging I need to do - not that any of it will really be worth reading - still perhaps I will get back to writing down thoughts I think about jotting down. Hmmmm! We'll see, I guess - in days to come.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
Mexican Fiesta Stackup RECIPE and Assignments for 12/26
Mexican Fiesta Stack-up
Fiesta Sauce Recipe
4 lbs. ground beef
3 large chopped onions
2 14 ½ oz. cans whole peeled tomatoes
2 15 oz. cans tomato sauce
2 12 oz cans tomato puree
4 Tbs chili powder
2 tsp. Cumin
1 tsp. Garlic Powder
6 tsp. Salt
2 23 oz. cans Ranch style Beans
2 12 oz pkgs. Crushed corn chips David
1 14 oz box rice, cooked Becky
Meat Sauce (see above) Nana
1 lb. Cheddar Cheese, grated (Sharp) Debbie
2 lg. onions, chopped Becky
1 lg. head of lettuce, chopped Trevor
5-6 medium tomatoes, chopped
Avocado – chopped Patti
Jalapeños – chopped Abbey
Sour Cream (Light) Patti
1 4.5 can ripe olives, chopped Abbey
1 c. pecans, chopped Nana
1 7 oz. pkg. coconut Katherine
1 16 oz. jar picante sauce Trevor
Serving Directions
Serve stack up ingredients in order listed. Allow guests to serve themselves by layering ingredients. Don’t leave off anything. The pecans and coconut are really good. Take small servings. By the time you get around to all, your plate will be really full.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
On My Own in Taiwan
- Having just read David’s piece about first finding his way around Boston on his own to find his way to a concert reminds me of when I first arrived in Kaohsiung, Taiwan. Let me start at the beginning – it’s a very good place to start, I hear.
I met other Journeymen in Los Angeles to head toward our varied destinations with stops in Hawaii and Tokyo on the way. Three of us were headed to Taiwan, one to Korea and one to Guam.
In Honolulu, we rented a car and rode around and around the city, having little idea of what we were seeing. The best part of the visit was when we just settled on the beach and enjoyed the natural beauty surrounding us. It was a wonderful place, our first step on this wonderland adventure.
In Tokyo, we flew in on the last flight of the day, with a free hotel for the night because we were scheduled to fly out on the first flight out the next day. The three of us headed to Taiwan were scheduled to fly aboard the official airlines of Hong Kong, Cathay Pacific, but we ran into problems when we arrived – though Margaret’s flight was still booked, Jenny and I were told that our reservations had been bumped because we had not confirmed them 48 hours ahead – though we had not been there 48 hours ahead and could not have been expected to do so. The end result was that we were given seats in the first class section - a memorable once-in-a-lifetime experience – they began serving the meal as soon as we were in the air – with real silver and real cloth napkins and several courses that completed just before we were to land in Taipei. What a treat! What seemed like it might be a terrible thing for two of us ended up being the best trip we would ever experience together, probably.
In Taipei, I was anxious to meet my supervisor, Faye Pearson, about whom I had heard so many good things. At one point, a couple of women, one who was very nicely dressed and very ladylike, came to join the journeymen. I wondered who these fashionable ladies were, with no idea that the very ladylike person was Faye herself. She wasn’t as I had expected – more refined and sophisticated than I supposed a veteran missionary would be. After a few days of orientation in Taipei, I traveled with Faye on to Kaohsiung, where everything had been made ready for me – with an apartment of my very own. The apartment was several blocks from Faye’s apartment. Faye made me welcome to stay at her apartment for as long as I needed to help me make the transition of living on my own. The biggest transition that I can remember was trying to cross the big street that was between my apartment and hers – to me it seemed like trying to cross a 6 lane highway, but it may not have been that dramatic – it just seemed so to me when I first arrived. However, in due time, I got very used to crossing that street and it no longer bothered me. I never was very good about taking buses though – I was always afraid that I would get on one and would get so lost and never be able to find my way back. I know that there were times that I would take certain buses to go to my schools, but I wasn’t very adventurous to just take buses anywhere at all. I was pretty careful to only take buses I was very familiar with when I did so. At least that’s the way I remember it now.
Another memory of that trip I made between our apartments over the years was the red glow of the family altars that glowed from the homes of people on my way through the neighborhoods. It always made me rather sad to think of those people who served gods made by human hands, gods who could not see or move or understand the human heart or human needs. Isaiah 40 in stark reality.
Another early memory of that initial time in Taiwan was the time that I was sleeping soundly in my apartment only to be awakened at about 5 a.m. with truckloads of rocks being emptied at a construction site nearby. I was shocked and amazed that anyone would think that 5 a.m. was suitable to be making so much noise!!!!! Another thing that amazed me was that following a typhoon that hit the island – the very next day – the farmers were out replanting their crops. They didn’t wait for any government agency to make way for them – they just did what they had to do. Another unforgettable memory was the day I came upon an accident scene, just after a big dump truck had struck and killed a child on a bicycle – it was terrible! I wasn’t driving that day, which probably made it even more memorable, because I could see it so clearly. So sad! Faye did allow me to drive her car sometimes. One day I was driving with one of my students in the car. He asked, “Did you learn to drive here?” - I think because I drove like the taxi drivers there – perhaps a bit recklessly? When I returned to the States, one of the habits I had accrued while driving in Taiwan was to honk before I reached any intersection, particularly one where a car was stopped. When I approached the intersection of Bowie Street and Olive Street, just a few blocks from my parents’ home in Jasper, TX, I saw the car stopped at the stop sign. Olive Street cars had the right of way, but just in case, I honked before I got to the intersection so the car at the stop sign would know I was coming. My sister, a senior in high school, promptly asked me if I knew that person in the car. I said no, but I wanted them to know I was coming. She quickly informed me, “We only honk here IF we know the person!” I had just embarrassed her royally!
Hey, son, this one could almost count for two!!!! It’s 1450 words!
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Ramblings on a Fall Day
Today was an absolutely gorgeous day to be outside, temperatures around 60 – 70 with perfectly blue skies above – a day for a drive in the country. After trying to drop off some documents at the Justice of the Peace office on the outskirts of town – and it’s rather difficult to keep the hours this office keeps, because I was at the office before 4:00 p.m. and no one was around. I guess maybe they get there at 7:00 a.m. every morning, or something. Wish I could work those hours. Anyway, as I got back in my car, I didn’t want to just return to town and go inside and get to work – so I took flight … in the car … on the back roads of East Texas… windows down …hmmm! This is good, really good. A cool wind tossing my hair, clear, cool air blowing and beautiful countryside, traveling down roads that are partway pavement then dirt and then pavement and on and on. It felt great to be alive! I forget to enjoy life like this. Way too often, I just get bogged down in getting done what all I think needs to be done.
So, as I’m driving, I think about what we were reading in my class today - Genesis 1-3 – as part of a study of the literature of the English Renaissance. There is really so much in just those three chapters. It’s where we get our idea that “all men are created equal” because in Gen 1, it tells us that “God created man in his own image, male and female he created them.” Because of this, we can certainly make an argument for all men and women, no matter what ethnicity, being born equal – however, I don’t believe there is a justification there for persons choosing their gender orientation, but that’s another story. There are two different accounts of the creation story in Genesis 1 and 2, but both accounts – whether it is ch. 1 where all the animals are created before Adam and then Adam is given authority over all the animals, or whether it is that Adam is created first with God creating the animals and bringing them to Adam to name them – both indicate that man is given authority or responsibility for caring for the animals and plants (or the environment). So, really, as Christians, we should be greatly involved in the movement to save the environment; however, I don’t see our mandate in the same way that I believe it is promoted by those who hold to the Climate Change agenda. Whereas I don’t believe that man is ultimately in charge of the weather, we do need to preserve our environment because it is our duty to do so. I don’t think business needs to be able to do whatever they want to do, but I don’t want to hamper business either. However, I do believe that businesses have an obligation to be responsible to their customers and for their community and their environment. It would be oh so nice if businesses would take their responsibility for these things without others having to force them to do so. However, I have seen that many businesses will NOT be responsible if they are not held accountable. Yet, too, putting some government entity over businesses, mandating any change they can think of, without being held accountable also, well – that’s a train wreck waiting to happen as well. Not good for business, the community or anyone.
I was struck by several comments made over several days or at least hours – some time in recent weeks. Several people commented on how capitalism is based on the premise that something is worth whatever someone is willing to pay for it. But I disagree with that point. I don’t really think that is true – or rather, if it is true, then capitalism, or at least that particular doctrine of the capitalistic economic system is really flawed. How can we justify paying some people as much as they are paid – simply because someone is willing to pay them that much. Or at least, if we accept that part – and allow people to be paid whatever they can demand and get, then we should also say that those people have an obligation to utilize their wealth for the benefit of others – an obligation to share the wealth they gain. I’m not asking for any millionaires to empty their pockets for me or even to empty their pockets – but I do think anyone who is better off than anyone else has an obligation to help those who are less fortunate – and really it is best if this is a voluntary act on the part of those with the wealth. And one could also say that this obligation would go all the way down to the lowliest poor person in America at least – who would be obligated to share some of what they have with those less fortunate – say in some poor developing country.
That’s why the tithe is such a cool idea – because everyone can afford the tithe – whether they have a dollar (and would share a dime with others) or whether they have 10 million dollars (and then would share a million with others less fortunate). Not that I do the tithe thing very well at all – but the concept is certainly a cool one, I think.
Well, I have meandered all over the place with this one. And it is rather rambling and I would say rather boring. Sorry if I’ve bored you. I’m sure there are more interesting topics I should cover, but I’m just trying to get to 1000 words so my son will share some of his wit and wisdom with me! He’s much more interesting than I am. How is it that without even realizing it, we let the ropes and snares of everyday life curl around us and hold us down! This must be what it’s like to grow up! And I said I never would do that. What’s up with that?
That’s 1011 words already – so my dear son, well you owe me one now! OK? I’ll work on this and I will get better in time. Don’t stop hounding me, even when I yell to let me up for air! I need your baying at me! =) I think!
So, as I’m driving, I think about what we were reading in my class today - Genesis 1-3 – as part of a study of the literature of the English Renaissance. There is really so much in just those three chapters. It’s where we get our idea that “all men are created equal” because in Gen 1, it tells us that “God created man in his own image, male and female he created them.” Because of this, we can certainly make an argument for all men and women, no matter what ethnicity, being born equal – however, I don’t believe there is a justification there for persons choosing their gender orientation, but that’s another story. There are two different accounts of the creation story in Genesis 1 and 2, but both accounts – whether it is ch. 1 where all the animals are created before Adam and then Adam is given authority over all the animals, or whether it is that Adam is created first with God creating the animals and bringing them to Adam to name them – both indicate that man is given authority or responsibility for caring for the animals and plants (or the environment). So, really, as Christians, we should be greatly involved in the movement to save the environment; however, I don’t see our mandate in the same way that I believe it is promoted by those who hold to the Climate Change agenda. Whereas I don’t believe that man is ultimately in charge of the weather, we do need to preserve our environment because it is our duty to do so. I don’t think business needs to be able to do whatever they want to do, but I don’t want to hamper business either. However, I do believe that businesses have an obligation to be responsible to their customers and for their community and their environment. It would be oh so nice if businesses would take their responsibility for these things without others having to force them to do so. However, I have seen that many businesses will NOT be responsible if they are not held accountable. Yet, too, putting some government entity over businesses, mandating any change they can think of, without being held accountable also, well – that’s a train wreck waiting to happen as well. Not good for business, the community or anyone.
I was struck by several comments made over several days or at least hours – some time in recent weeks. Several people commented on how capitalism is based on the premise that something is worth whatever someone is willing to pay for it. But I disagree with that point. I don’t really think that is true – or rather, if it is true, then capitalism, or at least that particular doctrine of the capitalistic economic system is really flawed. How can we justify paying some people as much as they are paid – simply because someone is willing to pay them that much. Or at least, if we accept that part – and allow people to be paid whatever they can demand and get, then we should also say that those people have an obligation to utilize their wealth for the benefit of others – an obligation to share the wealth they gain. I’m not asking for any millionaires to empty their pockets for me or even to empty their pockets – but I do think anyone who is better off than anyone else has an obligation to help those who are less fortunate – and really it is best if this is a voluntary act on the part of those with the wealth. And one could also say that this obligation would go all the way down to the lowliest poor person in America at least – who would be obligated to share some of what they have with those less fortunate – say in some poor developing country.
That’s why the tithe is such a cool idea – because everyone can afford the tithe – whether they have a dollar (and would share a dime with others) or whether they have 10 million dollars (and then would share a million with others less fortunate). Not that I do the tithe thing very well at all – but the concept is certainly a cool one, I think.
Well, I have meandered all over the place with this one. And it is rather rambling and I would say rather boring. Sorry if I’ve bored you. I’m sure there are more interesting topics I should cover, but I’m just trying to get to 1000 words so my son will share some of his wit and wisdom with me! He’s much more interesting than I am. How is it that without even realizing it, we let the ropes and snares of everyday life curl around us and hold us down! This must be what it’s like to grow up! And I said I never would do that. What’s up with that?
That’s 1011 words already – so my dear son, well you owe me one now! OK? I’ll work on this and I will get better in time. Don’t stop hounding me, even when I yell to let me up for air! I need your baying at me! =) I think!
Friday, October 2, 2009
September 30, 2009 One Tiring Day
My students remarked that I looked tired today, but my demeanor stemmed more from something akin to sadness rather than tiredness per se.
First of all, in my English 3 PAP class, I was asked by a student, who practices Wiccan and has recently proclaimed himself to be homosexual, to tell what I believe about God. His Catholic classmate had described for him what she believed as a Catholic, as they were working on a project in class, comparing what the Puritans believed and what other religions practice, especially in the context of death. I told him simply that I believe that Jesus is God's Son, that He was born and lived on earth, was killed on the cross and was raised to life again, in order that I might have a relationship with God, the Father. At that point, his Catholic friend interjected that she believes that all religions basically lead to the same end, at which point I felt I must go back to my desk or risk saying more than I should in class. I felt tied in knots, wanting to say more, yet feeling that I risked "pushing religion" if I said more.
I would like to have said that I disagree. That no other world religion shows an infinitely powerful God, who loves mankind enough to give them/us the forgiveness that is impossible for us to earn. Some religions say man can earn that new life - by giving up everything sinful in life - including eating, drinking, etc - but never does God make the overture to man, except in the case of Christianity, and inherently in Judaism - though I'm not sure Judaism really understands the gift that God gave in His Son - first to them and later to the rest of the world. I believe that the seeds of Christianity are in Judaism and that one can find the God of Creation and the Universe within the Scriptures of the Hebrew people - but those Scriptures will lead them to Jesus Christ as the fulfillment of the promise made to Abraham.
Just a little later, I read a friend's FB status, reporting that the swelling in her son's foot, following being bitten by a copperhead on Saturday, had begun to subside below the threat of amputation of his foot. Recognizing the grace of God's healing at her son's return to health, she expressed her thanks - to god, buddha or muhammad or whoever. This remark, too, saddened me. How can otherwise bright young people simply ignore the miracles of God's grace in our lives everyday, much less in these times of distress and need. I realize that it's amazing to think that the God of the Universe might take notice of one small boy in a crowded city who needs healing and to give him His attention, but I also think it's rather miraculous that the Designer of the Universe also took the time to make such intricate detailed design on his butterflies and anemones (which very few people ever see) or the eagle's eye - who can spot his small prey from miles in the air. WOW! And then, lest we overwhelm ourselves with thinking we must be presuming to believe that God would do all this for us - we must remember that it was NOT for us He did all these amazing things - it was for His pleasure! You and I were created for His pleasure! Now, if that doesn't touch my heart - to realize that I have been created for His pleasure - not my own! Uh-oh! Now you will try to tell me that the Universe does not revolve around me after all!!!
Well, I have just preached myself a sermon now. Hmmmmm! Looks like I need to get my life right - and right away - because I am not my own. I was bought with a price and there is an expectation of value when a price has been paid, don't you think?! Lord, help me to live a life worthy of Your name, in recognition of all that You have already done for me.
First of all, in my English 3 PAP class, I was asked by a student, who practices Wiccan and has recently proclaimed himself to be homosexual, to tell what I believe about God. His Catholic classmate had described for him what she believed as a Catholic, as they were working on a project in class, comparing what the Puritans believed and what other religions practice, especially in the context of death. I told him simply that I believe that Jesus is God's Son, that He was born and lived on earth, was killed on the cross and was raised to life again, in order that I might have a relationship with God, the Father. At that point, his Catholic friend interjected that she believes that all religions basically lead to the same end, at which point I felt I must go back to my desk or risk saying more than I should in class. I felt tied in knots, wanting to say more, yet feeling that I risked "pushing religion" if I said more.
I would like to have said that I disagree. That no other world religion shows an infinitely powerful God, who loves mankind enough to give them/us the forgiveness that is impossible for us to earn. Some religions say man can earn that new life - by giving up everything sinful in life - including eating, drinking, etc - but never does God make the overture to man, except in the case of Christianity, and inherently in Judaism - though I'm not sure Judaism really understands the gift that God gave in His Son - first to them and later to the rest of the world. I believe that the seeds of Christianity are in Judaism and that one can find the God of Creation and the Universe within the Scriptures of the Hebrew people - but those Scriptures will lead them to Jesus Christ as the fulfillment of the promise made to Abraham.
Just a little later, I read a friend's FB status, reporting that the swelling in her son's foot, following being bitten by a copperhead on Saturday, had begun to subside below the threat of amputation of his foot. Recognizing the grace of God's healing at her son's return to health, she expressed her thanks - to god, buddha or muhammad or whoever. This remark, too, saddened me. How can otherwise bright young people simply ignore the miracles of God's grace in our lives everyday, much less in these times of distress and need. I realize that it's amazing to think that the God of the Universe might take notice of one small boy in a crowded city who needs healing and to give him His attention, but I also think it's rather miraculous that the Designer of the Universe also took the time to make such intricate detailed design on his butterflies and anemones (which very few people ever see) or the eagle's eye - who can spot his small prey from miles in the air. WOW! And then, lest we overwhelm ourselves with thinking we must be presuming to believe that God would do all this for us - we must remember that it was NOT for us He did all these amazing things - it was for His pleasure! You and I were created for His pleasure! Now, if that doesn't touch my heart - to realize that I have been created for His pleasure - not my own! Uh-oh! Now you will try to tell me that the Universe does not revolve around me after all!!!
Well, I have just preached myself a sermon now. Hmmmmm! Looks like I need to get my life right - and right away - because I am not my own. I was bought with a price and there is an expectation of value when a price has been paid, don't you think?! Lord, help me to live a life worthy of Your name, in recognition of all that You have already done for me.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Grandmother Walden’s House
By Becky Smith French
I remember the smell of my grandmother’s house. I’ve recognized the same essence in other old houses. I guess it’s just a whiff from the past that lingers in old wood-frame houses that have no air conditioning, where the owners leave the windows open to allow the breezes’ free-flowing movement. It’s a good aroma – a scent of life, of people going about their daily lives – living, loving, sharing with others the joy of life. A hint of coolness from the nearby Blue Ridge Mountains seems to mingle with the close warmth of the surrounding peach orchards as a gentle breeze lifts the fresh fragrance of the nearby evergreen hedges inside. I hear the cicadas chirruping their song of South Carolina summer. The polished wood floor feels smooth like glass as I slide along in sock feet to the library in Grandmother’s living room. Lining the wall, the many bookshelves provide an endless supply of old books.
An independent thinker, who exemplified “a true Southern lady”, my grandmother came to the area as a single woman with a master’s degree from New York City’s Columbia University, serving as county supervisor of schools. There, she met my grandfather, who persuaded her to share his charming life in the country. “Charming life in the country”, in those days, included living down a narrow road of red clay in a house with no electricity and no running water. Because Grandmother came from a refined background, many people were surprised at how well she flourished in the country. However, she calmly chose to subdue the primitive obstacles, providing her children with music lessons in town and with evenings at nearby university concerts. In these ways, she made life in the country seem fun and full of meaning for her children, my mom and her brother and sister, as they grew up. To build their home into a first-rate farm, coming out of the Depression, my grandmother worked right alongside my grandfather, both of them working at jobs in town, besides the responsibilities of supervising work done on the large farm. Always the educator, whether she was supervising teachers or teaching students or exhorting her grandchildren, my grandmother often encouraged us to read and provided the resources to ensure we did.
I choose a book and quickly leave the large, airy room, where every sound seems to fill the air with echoes. The Victorian chairs and sofa offer no haven for this tomboy. Instead, I take my book and climb into the high old-fashioned bed in the adjoining front bedroom to read during our afternoon rest time. The child, who once inhabited the room, moved out into the wide world long ago, and the room has lost its identification with children, leaving behind a somewhat sterile room, unused to the shenanigans of youngsters. Still, the massive bed offers a convenient retreat, where I can read and relax.
My older sisters, Lucy and Patti, have already ensconced themselves in the back bedroom. Too stuffy and musty-smelling for me, it is probably a storeroom when we aren’t around. The lumpy bed does not appeal to me. I guess my sisters like it because, off the back porch and away from all the other rooms, they can read for hours without being disturbed. Also, their isolated alcove makes it possible for them to leave on the lights and read well into the nights without being detected. They will finish stacks of books, before we return to Texas in a few weeks.
I won’t finish as many books as they do. I prefer the front bedroom, with its windows on the front and side wall that offer me a vantage point. From these windows, I can see whoever comes onto the front porch, or whoever slips into the side porch swing, or whoever might drive into the front drive or whatever else might signal activity in the household. I wouldn’t want to sacrifice participating in whatever else is going on, so that I might finish reading a book! I am always in favor of experiencing life, whatever it might offer, and I don’t want to miss a moment of it.
I am careful to rest quietly, because Mama has promised to take us swimming later in the afternoon if we do. As I read, I reflect on the morning spent in the wooded area behind the house where our cousins had rigged up a cable between two trees. We had spent several hours taking turns hanging onto a pulley and riding across from the higher side to the lower side. After that fun, we ran down to the barn and played in the hay. The pungent aroma of fresh-cut hay will always trigger memories of Grandmother’s barn. My grandmother hires a man to milk the cow every day, but she told him to let us give it a try. My fingers seemed like dough as I tried to manage a squirt of warm milk from the cow’s udder. The cow didn’t seem to appreciate my efforts, but she didn’t kick. After the hired man finished the chore, Grandmother offered us a taste of the warm liquid. I, having had no experience with fresh cream, couldn’t imagine it would taste very palatable and declined the offer. After we finished our milking, Grandmother returned to the house to fix dinner of buttered squash, fresh green beans, mashed potatoes and ham. There, dinner is served in the middle of the day. We returned to our pulley ride for a few more trips before we heard quaint tones of the small Chinese gong calling us to dinner.
Suddenly the cicadas cease their singing, and in the deafening silence, I am reminded I must be still too. I return to my reading, remembering how much I look forward to the special outing later in the afternoon – the all-important trip to the spring-fed lake, where our brave boy-cousins will jump from the high diving platform into the clear water below. We all look up to Bill, Bob and Steve, our handsome, “mature” cousins, who know all about camping from mountain hikes with their Boy Scout troop. They have invited us to “camp out” in Grandmother’s front yard tonight. Early in the evening, tiny flits of light will blink on and off before we can pinpoint the source, creating an illusion of magic fairies parading around the front yard. We will take Mason jars and try to lure the lightning bugs to enter, so they can provide soft magical lights for us to enjoy.
Afterwards, we will bed down on sleeping bags under the clear sky, waiting to “catch” a falling star. We will marvel at the wondrous sight of stars darting through space and will wonder what’s going on way out there. How will we ever let go of these marvels long enough to fall asleep? Though Patti will sleep through the night outside with our cousins, I will retreat before dawn to the safe comfort of the big bed in the front bedroom, where I will awaken refreshed and ready for new exploits.
Suddenly a Town and Country station wagon with wooden panels on the sides turns into the front driveway, bringing me back to the present. My book falls to the floor, as I realize we have received a reprieve from rest time and hurry to the back bedroom to call my sisters out of seclusion. Our cousins have arrived, and we can get up from our rest to begin our eagerly anticipated adventures.
First composed by Becky Smith French as part of the New Jersey Writing Project Symposium for Teachers at Jasper Junior High,Summer, 1998
I remember the smell of my grandmother’s house. I’ve recognized the same essence in other old houses. I guess it’s just a whiff from the past that lingers in old wood-frame houses that have no air conditioning, where the owners leave the windows open to allow the breezes’ free-flowing movement. It’s a good aroma – a scent of life, of people going about their daily lives – living, loving, sharing with others the joy of life. A hint of coolness from the nearby Blue Ridge Mountains seems to mingle with the close warmth of the surrounding peach orchards as a gentle breeze lifts the fresh fragrance of the nearby evergreen hedges inside. I hear the cicadas chirruping their song of South Carolina summer. The polished wood floor feels smooth like glass as I slide along in sock feet to the library in Grandmother’s living room. Lining the wall, the many bookshelves provide an endless supply of old books.
An independent thinker, who exemplified “a true Southern lady”, my grandmother came to the area as a single woman with a master’s degree from New York City’s Columbia University, serving as county supervisor of schools. There, she met my grandfather, who persuaded her to share his charming life in the country. “Charming life in the country”, in those days, included living down a narrow road of red clay in a house with no electricity and no running water. Because Grandmother came from a refined background, many people were surprised at how well she flourished in the country. However, she calmly chose to subdue the primitive obstacles, providing her children with music lessons in town and with evenings at nearby university concerts. In these ways, she made life in the country seem fun and full of meaning for her children, my mom and her brother and sister, as they grew up. To build their home into a first-rate farm, coming out of the Depression, my grandmother worked right alongside my grandfather, both of them working at jobs in town, besides the responsibilities of supervising work done on the large farm. Always the educator, whether she was supervising teachers or teaching students or exhorting her grandchildren, my grandmother often encouraged us to read and provided the resources to ensure we did.
I choose a book and quickly leave the large, airy room, where every sound seems to fill the air with echoes. The Victorian chairs and sofa offer no haven for this tomboy. Instead, I take my book and climb into the high old-fashioned bed in the adjoining front bedroom to read during our afternoon rest time. The child, who once inhabited the room, moved out into the wide world long ago, and the room has lost its identification with children, leaving behind a somewhat sterile room, unused to the shenanigans of youngsters. Still, the massive bed offers a convenient retreat, where I can read and relax.
My older sisters, Lucy and Patti, have already ensconced themselves in the back bedroom. Too stuffy and musty-smelling for me, it is probably a storeroom when we aren’t around. The lumpy bed does not appeal to me. I guess my sisters like it because, off the back porch and away from all the other rooms, they can read for hours without being disturbed. Also, their isolated alcove makes it possible for them to leave on the lights and read well into the nights without being detected. They will finish stacks of books, before we return to Texas in a few weeks.
I won’t finish as many books as they do. I prefer the front bedroom, with its windows on the front and side wall that offer me a vantage point. From these windows, I can see whoever comes onto the front porch, or whoever slips into the side porch swing, or whoever might drive into the front drive or whatever else might signal activity in the household. I wouldn’t want to sacrifice participating in whatever else is going on, so that I might finish reading a book! I am always in favor of experiencing life, whatever it might offer, and I don’t want to miss a moment of it.
I am careful to rest quietly, because Mama has promised to take us swimming later in the afternoon if we do. As I read, I reflect on the morning spent in the wooded area behind the house where our cousins had rigged up a cable between two trees. We had spent several hours taking turns hanging onto a pulley and riding across from the higher side to the lower side. After that fun, we ran down to the barn and played in the hay. The pungent aroma of fresh-cut hay will always trigger memories of Grandmother’s barn. My grandmother hires a man to milk the cow every day, but she told him to let us give it a try. My fingers seemed like dough as I tried to manage a squirt of warm milk from the cow’s udder. The cow didn’t seem to appreciate my efforts, but she didn’t kick. After the hired man finished the chore, Grandmother offered us a taste of the warm liquid. I, having had no experience with fresh cream, couldn’t imagine it would taste very palatable and declined the offer. After we finished our milking, Grandmother returned to the house to fix dinner of buttered squash, fresh green beans, mashed potatoes and ham. There, dinner is served in the middle of the day. We returned to our pulley ride for a few more trips before we heard quaint tones of the small Chinese gong calling us to dinner.
Suddenly the cicadas cease their singing, and in the deafening silence, I am reminded I must be still too. I return to my reading, remembering how much I look forward to the special outing later in the afternoon – the all-important trip to the spring-fed lake, where our brave boy-cousins will jump from the high diving platform into the clear water below. We all look up to Bill, Bob and Steve, our handsome, “mature” cousins, who know all about camping from mountain hikes with their Boy Scout troop. They have invited us to “camp out” in Grandmother’s front yard tonight. Early in the evening, tiny flits of light will blink on and off before we can pinpoint the source, creating an illusion of magic fairies parading around the front yard. We will take Mason jars and try to lure the lightning bugs to enter, so they can provide soft magical lights for us to enjoy.
Afterwards, we will bed down on sleeping bags under the clear sky, waiting to “catch” a falling star. We will marvel at the wondrous sight of stars darting through space and will wonder what’s going on way out there. How will we ever let go of these marvels long enough to fall asleep? Though Patti will sleep through the night outside with our cousins, I will retreat before dawn to the safe comfort of the big bed in the front bedroom, where I will awaken refreshed and ready for new exploits.
Suddenly a Town and Country station wagon with wooden panels on the sides turns into the front driveway, bringing me back to the present. My book falls to the floor, as I realize we have received a reprieve from rest time and hurry to the back bedroom to call my sisters out of seclusion. Our cousins have arrived, and we can get up from our rest to begin our eagerly anticipated adventures.
First composed by Becky Smith French as part of the New Jersey Writing Project Symposium for Teachers at Jasper Junior High,Summer, 1998
Sunday, June 29, 2008
So what am I doing?
I often have thoughts that I think about and would like to put them down in a format to remember - such as memories, thoughts about good and evil, and such as that - that really aren't for anyone but for me - but I think I need to write them down and get them out there - maybe I'll find something good in all of this.
First, I want to record one of the most poignant memories that my husband, Floyd, has ever described - the day his mother left his family. His day started with his mom taking Floyd and his sister Laura to the babysitter's house to stay while she went to a doctor's appointment. She told Floyd that she had to go back to their house to get her purse that she had forgotten. Floyd knew that she would have to pass by the babysitter's house on her way to catch the bus to Portland, so he and Laura stayed in the front yard so they could wave goodbye to her when she passed by again. Though they stayed out in the yard all morning, his mom did not pass them again. His next memory is of asking his father about where his mother was, only to receive a blow that found him on the other side of the room after it. He learned not to mention his mom's name after that. From that point forward, Floyd and his sister were never allowed to communicate with their mother, although they did visit his maternal grandparents every summer. When his maternal grandfather died, they were not allowed to go to the funeral, because "she" might be there.
Eventually, we did make connections with his mother for a few years before she died; however, when Floyd asked his mom if there were any things that she missed after she left the family, his mom only admitted to missing her good chinaware, which disappointed Floyd to learn that she had not apparently missed her children.
She admitted that she was the kind of person who probably should have never married - or at least never had children. She was pretty self-consumed. Floyd recalls taking his sister (11 months his junior) by the hand and walking with her the mile or two between his house and the center of town - all of this before he was five years old - and asking for a job where there were men working on the courthouse. The man he talked to about getting a job, took them to the police department, where his parents found him. He also has memories of his mom tying him to a tree in the yard and telling him not to get away, which probably was after he had gone job hunting. Both of these memories indicate that the children (or at least Floyd) was probably aware of the tension between his parents, although for Floyd they are just dim memories of childhood.
His mom's second marriage, for which she left Floyd's family, also failed. However, she did manage to complete her education and get a degree to work as a school librarian, which she did successfully, I suppose. We also learned that at the time of her departure, she had learned that she was pregnant. Floyd's father was sure that it was not his child and refused to accept any responsibility. We have reason to believe that Floyd has a brother (or half-brother) that was possibly let out for adoption. We know that he has a half-brother, Michael, with his mother's second marriage, but we have never met him. He is younger than a child would have been at the time she left his family in 1953.
These are just some of the ghosts in my husband's past...such a different childhood from the one I had.
First, I want to record one of the most poignant memories that my husband, Floyd, has ever described - the day his mother left his family. His day started with his mom taking Floyd and his sister Laura to the babysitter's house to stay while she went to a doctor's appointment. She told Floyd that she had to go back to their house to get her purse that she had forgotten. Floyd knew that she would have to pass by the babysitter's house on her way to catch the bus to Portland, so he and Laura stayed in the front yard so they could wave goodbye to her when she passed by again. Though they stayed out in the yard all morning, his mom did not pass them again. His next memory is of asking his father about where his mother was, only to receive a blow that found him on the other side of the room after it. He learned not to mention his mom's name after that. From that point forward, Floyd and his sister were never allowed to communicate with their mother, although they did visit his maternal grandparents every summer. When his maternal grandfather died, they were not allowed to go to the funeral, because "she" might be there.
Eventually, we did make connections with his mother for a few years before she died; however, when Floyd asked his mom if there were any things that she missed after she left the family, his mom only admitted to missing her good chinaware, which disappointed Floyd to learn that she had not apparently missed her children.
She admitted that she was the kind of person who probably should have never married - or at least never had children. She was pretty self-consumed. Floyd recalls taking his sister (11 months his junior) by the hand and walking with her the mile or two between his house and the center of town - all of this before he was five years old - and asking for a job where there were men working on the courthouse. The man he talked to about getting a job, took them to the police department, where his parents found him. He also has memories of his mom tying him to a tree in the yard and telling him not to get away, which probably was after he had gone job hunting. Both of these memories indicate that the children (or at least Floyd) was probably aware of the tension between his parents, although for Floyd they are just dim memories of childhood.
His mom's second marriage, for which she left Floyd's family, also failed. However, she did manage to complete her education and get a degree to work as a school librarian, which she did successfully, I suppose. We also learned that at the time of her departure, she had learned that she was pregnant. Floyd's father was sure that it was not his child and refused to accept any responsibility. We have reason to believe that Floyd has a brother (or half-brother) that was possibly let out for adoption. We know that he has a half-brother, Michael, with his mother's second marriage, but we have never met him. He is younger than a child would have been at the time she left his family in 1953.
These are just some of the ghosts in my husband's past...such a different childhood from the one I had.
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