Childhood Happiness and Dreams

What is Happiness?

 "Try to be a rainbow in someone's cloud." –Maya Angelou.

When someone asks, “Are you happy?” I want to answer, “Right this minute? This week? Yesterday?"

Because I don’t believe anyone is happy all the time. Even when I was a child, I was not happy all the time. 

First, I had older brothers who loved to tease me. They often made my life miserable, and I had a father who seldom seemed happy. He was always worried and serious about the farm, the future of the farm, and the business he and his sons had built together. I believe he had an anger management issue. He was quick to take off his belt and whip one of his sons. In those days corporal discipline was accepted at home and in schools. Being compassionate and also concerned for myself, I often ran to my room and cried.   

Gay, my little sister, and I played together every day, and I enjoyed that. I suppose I was happy then, but I never asked myself, “Are you happy?”

 

My baby sister, Gay

Looking back, I remember having such fun playing with the bottles, my sister June’s cosmetic bottles on her dresser. We had to hurry and put them all back in place before she arrived home in the afternoon.

June Council my older sister

I was a happy little tyke when I rode Charlie, the big white horse, led home from the field by my father. After a long hot day of plowing the hard-packed dirt of South Georgia, both man and horse were wet with sweat and tired. But I felt like I was the king of the world sitting high on the horse, higher than I had ever been, and looking down on my father and all the world around me.

 

My love for horses never ended. As a teen, I borrowed a horse. 

The ride to the barn was short. There I was lifted off the horse, and Charlie was put into the large stall in the center of the barn. I don’t remember anyone ever brushing him or wiping him down. He was fed in a trough hanging on the wall of the stable and he could go outside to a water trough, a large syrup kettle which had been used by some farmer who raised cane and made cane syrup at harvest time each year. I never knew where it came from.

Glenda and Gay ready for school

 

I became terribly unhappy when I went to first grade at Mulberry Elementary School in east Albany. It was fine the first week. I enjoyed swinging in the large swing set on campus at recess. I learned to read quickly. I was placed in the reading group with the faster learners. I read the entire reading book right away and then class was boring. I hated to have to sit while others read haltingly about Dick and Jane and Spot, the dog. Run, Spot, run. Run, run Spot.

Looking back, I think that was my problem. At six years old, I was just bored with school. Reading was all we studied in first grade, and I found myself sitting and staring out the window most of the time. As I stared out the window, my mind wandered back to the farm, to my little sister, and to Mother. I became so unhappy I began to cry. When Mrs. Pate noticed me crying, she asked, “Glenda Lou, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

I told her I didn’t know but I wanted to go home. And that was the beginning of many years of being unhappy in school.

At home, once I learned to write in third grade, I found my happiness in writing stories in my composition book. Once I learned to read books that had once been read to me, I filled my time each summer devouring as many books as I was allowed to get off the bookmobile that came to our house on the farm. I lost myself in books about horses.  

Misty of Chincoteague by Marguerite Henry was published in 1947. When I learned to read, I devoured that book. The Black Stallion and The Black Stallion Returns by Walter Farley are two vintage books that were my favorites when I was a child.

My creative mind took me to places I had never been and had me doing things I had never done. I was happy then. I made myself a seat in the Chinaberry tree in our backyard and I would sit up there with birds around me and write stories about horses. 

I imagined a life with a horse of my own. That was my greatest desire, my own horse. I felt I would be completely happy if I only had my own horse. It would be many years before that desire was met.

Writing Classes and Enthusiastic Students on Zoom

One of my writing classes at the John C. Campbell Folk School in 2016

My students, four women and one man, have learned so much about writing personal essays or creative nonfiction, that I am blown away with the stories they write. Almost every one is publishable and I hope it will be shared with others because the writers have a message that will relate to many readers.

Some write about painful experiences, and people who have hurt them. I encourage my students to make the reader feel their pain using words they choose. 

Another’s pain is not funny and is hurtful. In our culture today, comedians make fun of and disparage others to get laughs. Cruel humor is popular and not smart, in my opinion. Humiliating and shaming others is mean-spirited and not entertaining either. When people feel comfortable in a group, they will write about these things, and it is often cathartic. My students try to make each piece entertaining as well as enlightening. 

We have stories about family pets. In these classes, the students write about themselves, and other people in their lives. They often express feelings they might have never shown before. 

I gave them a prompt requiring them to make lists. They list people; family, friends, teachers, people who hurt them, and people who were good to them. They list places where they lived, and where they visited. From the lists, they find they recall memories often buried in time, but spark their creative minds to write a story. 

One of the stories was so touching it almost made me cry.

A woman came to this country and after nineteen years gained her citizenship. She had hoped for dual citizenship but at the time, that was not available. She was elated and excited to become a citizen of the United States and happy that she could vote in the next presidential election. This was back in the nineties.

She registered to vote immediately after becoming a citizen. This wife and mother is a perfect citizen in her community. She volunteers at schools and other places where her community needs her.

The writer of this story comes from European ancestors like many who came and settled in this country.

She stood in line and waited for her ballot to vote in the presidential election along with many others. But when she reached the table to pick up her ballot, she was told she could not vote.

She felt the prejudice. She was embarrassed. She stood her ground and would not leave. “I am registered to vote,” she told the woman behind the table laden with paper forms. 

There is more to the story and how rude the election workers were to her, but she insisted she be allowed to call and get verification of her registration. She had to use the phone at the voting area and one person refused to help her, but another gave her the number to call.

This writer said she has empathy for black people who have often gone through this kind of humiliation and rejection. She was the subject of outright prejudice. Although she is Caucasian and fair-skinned, she had to fight to get her opportunity to vote. She assumed the prejudice was due to her accent, although she speaks perfect English. I wonder how many people had this kind of treatment in the recent election.

I urge my students to enlighten the reader as well as entertain and inform. She said she never goes in to vote that the memory of that day doesn’t come back and hurt her. We all connected with this lovely person who shed tears as she read the ending of her story.

I don’t know why I am so fortunate to have these interesting and intelligent students in my classes, but I look forward to each time we gather and enjoy seeing the bond grow between the students as they learn more and more about each other.

Next Tuesday night will be the last of the three classes in this session. I told the group that I would not teach again for a while, but they were insistent that I do not wait too long as they want more classes. That makes me smile. 

The Old Life Ends

Glenda and Barry at Chimney Rock in WNC mountains

Finally, my house is sold and someone else lives where I spent the past thirty years, the happiest years of my four and one-half decades with Barry. 

Our first Christmas in our mountain house with Kodi

When I think about why I was so happy in the mountains, there were many reasons. For the first time, Barry and I were completely alone with no family members near us. I had not realized that living close to most of my family, which was involved in our lives, we never felt alone with each other. I remember one night close to Christmas, Barry and I sat on the floor in front of our blazing fireplace in our large living room on the farm. It was to be a romantic time for us. We drank champagne and there in our darkened room with only the forests surrounding us, we felt a deep closeness. 

Suddenly a loud knock at the front door startled us. He looked at me and said, "Just ignore it. They will go away."

But next, we heard a voice, "Glenda, it's Max." I knew my brother would not go away. He knew I was home, and he wanted to see me.

Our romantic moment was shattered. We had to open the door and invite him in.  He had no idea he was intruding on our quiet time. 

Barry and I lived on the family farm with my three brothers, their families, and my parents. All were within walking distance of each other, and Max often took a walk at night and ended up at my door. I never knew when he would appear after dark and expect to come in and talk awhile.

But when we moved to the mountains into our "tree house" where we sat on our deck among the high limbs and leaves with a wide view of sky above us, we delighted in being totally alone. We knew no one in the county and liked it that way. For the first time, we depended only on each other. We had no one second-guessing our actions, or our lifestyle, watching us. I had no big brothers telling me what I should or should not do. The men in my family had always been in charge and I was used to taking their advice.

The homes on the farm, often called the compound, were a small community of 10 adults, and several children, who felt it important to know everything about each other, good or bad. My sisters-in-law seemed to find fault with each other and found a listening ear in me. I became the confidant they felt safe to open up to about whatever was their latest gripe. I loved all of them and tried to be sensitive to their complaints. I never betrayed their trust as I knew they needed someone to whom they could vent with no consequences. 

I am sure you understand why being alone in our mountain house made such a difference in our lives. I am happy to be a part of a large family and all seven of us were close, but being super sensitive as I was in my younger days, I felt their resentment toward each other like an invisible blanket when we were together as a family. 

The brothers worked together every single day and Barry worked with them. They had their own relationships to manage. Often my husband came home frustrated and upset over something that happened between him and one of my brothers. I always listened. I sympathized, but too often I tried to make him see my brother's point of view. That did not go well. Looking back now, I wish I had supported him in his differences with them, but in our family, we are prone to try to fix every problem. I stressed out over his problems because I could not help him. So he spent twenty years dealing with my family but learned that sometimes when he wanted to get a plan accepted, he had to make his ideas seem like they were my brothers' ideas. 

Those years in the western NC mountains were calm, and unworried most of the time, and we finally got to know each other as we had never done before. I feel that peace even now remembering us sitting on our deck in the dark listening to the night sounds all around us. Looking at the stars above and loving each other and our lives together.

We always had a furry friend with us who made our family complete. First was Kodi, our beautiful and sweet Samoyed. Later, Barry rescued Rocky after 13-year-old Kodi died. He was definitely Barry's dog. They communicated silently but always understood each other.

There was so much love in our home, that I could hardly believe how happy I was. Both of my parents had died before we moved off the farm, and soon after, my dear brother Ray died. During the years I lived in our mountain home, my four brothers died, and my older sister, too. Those were sorrowful times that we shared with each other. Barry's only brother also passed away.

Still, we had many joyous times with my sister, Gay, and her husband, Stu. Barry and Stu were so close they seemed like brothers. Our vacations together each year were highlights that we talked about every time we were together. We still often remember the fun we had and sometimes it brings tears to our eyes as we miss Barry.

Barry and I bounced back from surgeries in Atlanta hospitals. One doctor told me he was positive I had colon cancer. I was in the hospital for a week after surgery but did not have cancer.

In 2008, after months of pain in his knee, Barry was diagnosed with lymphoma. A tumor grew in his leg just above his knee. We were assured by doctors in the city that it was a common ailment that could be treated and was no immediate threat. He died in 2009 after months of horrible pain which I will never forget.

I was sure my days of happiness were gone to never return. I wished I had died with him. I could not see how I could go on. Grief overcame me and anger seethed near the surface of my emotions. I was rude and self-pitying. But I finally found a way to move on. 

After much soul-searching I decided to do what I enjoyed best. With help from good friends and family I remodeled my large daylight basement and created a writing studio. My plan was to teach classes and to bring in good writers of poetry and prose to teach at my studio. It turned out to be an excellent business for me and all our local writers signed up for classes. That was a big turning point in my life and I accepted the changes I faced without Barry.

At this time in my life, I am facing another big turning point. I have moved to the city and must learn new ways to live. I have learned my deficiencies, where I need help and when I should ask for it.

 As I recover this year from a fall that caused a broken shoulder and surgery to replace it, I grow more confident in becoming independent again or at least as much as possible. I am happy to be near my family. With my sister, Gay, my niece, Lee, and their husbands, Stu and Dave, I always have someone to call on if I need them.

Although I miss my mountain house, I don't have the stress of keeping it up, the costs of repairs and maintenance which I could not do alone. This morning I sat on my deck overlooking a lake and enjoyed the coolness that followed the hurricane that whipped through Georgia last week. My little Lexie is happy here and always near me. 

In October I will teach again online. I have goals and plans for the future, a reason to get up each day. I continue to work for NCWN-West and keep in touch with my friends and fellow members of our large writing organization. I see good things happening for them in the coming year.

I hope your days are happy and healthy. Until next time, be kind.

Vacation in Southern Utah

Barren is beautiful in Bryce National Park

Some of my favorite vacations took place in the southwestern United States. Each year, in the fall, Barry and I traveled to Las Vegas for a truck show on behalf of Hercules Bumpers, our Council family business. The company manufactured heavy duty bumpers for pickup trucks. Barry and I flew out early from south Georgia because he was in charge of setting up the booth. For several days, he and Hal, my brother, worked at the convention promoting the newest bumpers and finding new customers among the truck dealerships represented there. We were a national company at that time and our strong, tough bumpers were in demand all over the country.

Neither Barry nor I were into gambling, but we enjoyed the stage shows with popular performers like Mr. Las Vegas, Wayne Newton.

Our favorite part of the trip was after the convention center closed and all the Hercules bumpers were repacked and shipped home, we had a week to ourselves.

We rented a car and drove north into southern Utah. I had not realized how beautiful the barren landscape would be. The hoodoos, like spires from another planet in Bryce Canyon, stood magnificently tall, the color of burnished copper in the setting sun.

We drove to Zion National Park and Barry took hundreds of photographs. I had never seen landscapes like those at Zion. You can’t drive through much of the park, and at that time we didn’t know of any way to get down into the gorge. I understand now you can take a shuttle down between the high canyon walls that rise a thousand feet and see the narrow river that created this site. 

My favorite memory of those trips was a ride back to Las Vegas in the falling snow.  We drove through large forests of Aspen trees with their white trunks. We listened to a recording of haunting Indian flute melodies while driving through the total silence of the snowfall. Click on the link below and imagine driving for an hour through softly falling snow covering the Aspen trees. The deep forests of white trunks bordered the mountain road.        https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OyTy0WHOYqw&list=PLKeaaUnDcEk7Mn8f6ofiUyplqhiWwx587&index=2

I still get chills remembering the feeling I had that day. We both knew we had seen and been a part of something very special and I will never forget it. That video is packed in a box and I will find it and show it one day, I hope.

Southern Utah has an interesting history. The Mormons are a major part of it. Books about those who left Salt Lake City and moved south tell those stories. Many of them had come west from the southern part of the mainland so the region came to be called Dixie. 

I love the western part of our country and southern Utah holds great memories for me.

 

 

Women have come so far but still struggle.

Have you seen the interview by Melinda French Gates with Billie Jean King?

Wow, what a lot I learned about women in tennis and all sports. Do you remember in the seventies when women could not get a credit card without a man signing for her? She could not use her husband’s card unless he made her a signer. I remember my sister who was newly married telling me how she was embarrassed when she tried to use her husband’s credit card and was turned down.

I have really enjoyed Melinda Gates’ program of interviews with women. It is the best program I have seen to learn about the history of tennis and how Billie Jean changed the minds of people who watched her match with Bobbie Riggs and won in straight sets, 6–4, 6–3, 6–3. She earned the winner-take-all prize of $100,000.

People came to her and said that this match changed their ideas about women in sports. Men said it made them think about their daughters, their nieces, their sisters and the possibilities for them. She was a fantastic tennis player, but at the time, women did not get the attention or equal pay as men.

When Billie Jean was outed by someone and didn’t deny it, she lost all the money she had gained because those who had supported her athleticism dropped her. She was dropped because she told the truth and didn’t deny that she was gay. And her funds were taken from her.

She said that dads make the biggest difference when girls want to go into sports, and she hopes these men who can influence and support girls who love tennis or any sport make sure these girls have opportunities to follow their interests and learn all they can.

I remember my father said his oldest child, my sister, June, was the best baseball player in the family. She had four brothers. But, she was not allowed to play on the local team that my father managed. I don’t know if she wanted to play, but I know she was not allowed. And at that time, she would not have expected to be included.

King continues as a leader in the struggle for societal change. In her own words, she is fighting for equality and freedom and equal rights and opportunities for everyone. Not just girls, but everyone.

Young people today often take for granted that females have always had opportunities to become professional sports figures but people like Billie Jean King, now 80 years old, are still working diligently for equality of gender, and ethnicity, and she is teaching the business of tennis. She said the athletes need to know about who runs the tournaments, where their money comes from, and why it is important to know this organization they are a part of now. Like many people who become famous, if they don’t understand the business they are involved with and hire others to handle their finances, they could possibly lose everything.

I urge everyone, especially women, to watch Melinda Gates’ interviews with these women who are making a difference in the world. When we know our history, we know more about ourselves, and in today’s world when women’s rights are being threatened, young and old can make better decisions if they know about the past.

Violence again and what will we do about it?

Our country is known for its violence and today the violence was directed toward former president Trump. 

I am thankful he was not killed, but I have feared that this was going to happen. I don't doubt that someone will go after President Biden. There is so much political hatred in the USA at this time that I would not go near a gathering for either candidate. They can speak to us on television. 

I hate that the Trump team is calling this an act by the opposing political side when they have no idea who did this. They just like to ramp up the anger and violence.

I remember when Ronald Reagan was shot and it had nothing to do with politics. Just a nut case who wanted attention. I feel sure this is what will be found with this shot. The shooter also shot a Hispanic man in the head and that sounds like it might have been intentional. 

No matter how much I want Donald Trump to lose the election, I hate to see this violence against him or anyone. I wish this shooting would influence our government, Congress and the Supreme Court, to make it harder to get guns and make it easier to detect a gun on someone. Seems that only traditional metal guns are found with equipment used now to find a secured weapon. 

All of my life we have had differences between political parties, but I don't remember it ever being so mean and nasty as it is now. As our country is suffering with the stress of families letting politics tear them apart, I continue to say I love many people who don't believe as I do about the political situation, so we don't discuss it. A wonderful friend of mine who was just the opposite of me in his politics said to me, "Let's not talk politics. I love you too much to talk about it."

He was the sweetest, most caring man and a good man, so we enjoyed visiting together, but we did not talk politics. I also don't like to talk about religion unless I am talking to someone who accepts my religion and doesn't try to tell me I should be the same denomination as she is. I accept people who treat me with respect and who don't judge me by my political leanings or my religious beliefs. 

That is the reason we all must protect our freedom in this country. 

We must be tolerant of others who differ from us unless that person is planning to hurt someone. Although I don't understand some people and why they vote as they do, I hope we always have the freedom to vote our conscious. But I hope we always, as a country, seek to elect people of good moral conduct and who are honest and honorable. I remember when I was a child in school, our teachers made sure we learned about Presidents like George Washington and Abraham Lincoln and their part in building this wonderful country. I also admire President Jimmy Carter, a fine man of good character, and President O'Bama. I have read their books and learned so much about the difficult role of Commander in Chief. 

While many believe the president can do anything once he is in office, I learned that his hands are tied in so many ways by the Senators and Representatives in Congress. Those who follow the activities of Congress, know what I mean. Sometimes they act like children instead of mature individuals we send to Washington to make the laws that make our lives better, that keep us safe, and that protect our democracy. 

I will turn away from the TV news now because it worsens my stressful life. I will think about the enjoyable time I had with three of my writing friends this week. I had not realized how much I missed talking to writers about writing. 

I have almost all of my belongings here with me now and once I can unpack the boxes and find my stuff, I will be much more comfortable. I look forward to having more time to do things I really want to do in the coming months. I will try to do a better job of posting on my blogs.

Let me hear from you, my friends, and be safe.

Have a great week and hope you don't overdo in the heat.

Do What you love to do as long as you can.

Hello, my blogging friends and others who might stop by,

My hectic life has been made brighter by teaching a memoir class in June. I have five delightful students and one of them had a poem accepted for publication today. I am always happy when my students get something published.

I remember how long I dreamed about seeing my writing in print. The first thing I wrote and sent to our local newspaper, The Albany Herald, was a travel article. The editor called me and seemed excited to have my article. I was out of my mind with joy. I was in my late twenties at that time. But when the newspaper arrived at my house, I was upset. Because my article was a little too long for their space, the end of my piece was simply left out. So anyone reading it would wonder why I wrote an article that ended abruptly before it was finished. 

After I had some more experience with writing for newspapers, I learned to check for word length before I submitted anything. I found once I moved to NC and joined the NC Writers' Network West, there was much to learn about the craft before submitting to any publication. They all have guidelines or rules you must follow to be accepted and each one is different. 

Soon after moving to my mountain home, I began writing for the Clay County Progress, our local newspaper. I wrote about the artists in our area. I interviewed visual artists, painters, wood carvers, published writers, and met many interesting people. One lived on my street, a few houses down from mine. Another was an author of books for middle school kids, who spent her summers in our mountains but lived on the Georgia coast. She had lots of books published and many were popular in foreign countries and printed in their language.

While in our region she taught a writing class at the John C. Campbell Folk School and I registered for that weeklong class. I am still surprised that I got up the nerve to ask her for an interview, but she was gracious and later told a friend that my article about her was one of the best ever. I have written about her in another post.  

Rosemary Royston is teaching here in August. Check out her class.  You will love taking classes at JCCFS.   https://folkschool.configio.com/pd/2270/creative-writing-across-genres?source=search&returncom=productlist&st_t=2077&st_ti=2516&cid=2527

Oh, how I long to do that kind of work again. With my life filled with medical appointments almost every day, I seem to have little time to do the things I really enjoy. But I hope to continue to teach classes every month or so. I teach on Zoom and if you like to write true stories of interest about you, your family, and your hopes and dreams, join us when next I hold a course of three classes online. The fee for the classes is very nominal as I do this because I love to see writers emerge and find they can write entertaining and informative truths even when they thought they could not.

Thanks for coming by and I hope you will leave a comment. You are welcome to write anonymously but please leave your first name in your comment because I might know you.

I am grateful to you who read my words and especially to those of you who leave a comment.

Tuesdays, 6 - 8:30 PM Write with Me

Write your memories into stories about your life in my Zoom classes in June.

We have a good time and everyone learns to write better as well as make friends from all parts of the country. In our last sets of classes we had a man from Kentucky, one from Virginia, and one from the Atlanta area,  a woman from Hickory NC, and another from Cullowhee, NC. Only one was from my town in North Carolina, Hayesville. 

We had six students which is a perfect number for our time limit. We always have each student read his/her homework or a story they wrote the week before class. 

I encourage each of them by asking their peers to tell what they really liked about the story they just heard. The students email me their work before class and I edit it and send back to them. 

The students bond by helping each other and they learn more about each other as they listen to the stories unfold. 

I am taking registrations now for Tuesdays, June 4, 11, 18 classes, 6:00 - 8:30 PM and the fee is only sixty dollars for all three sessions. I can be reached by sending me a message on Facebook or by sending an email to gcbmountaingirl@gmail.com

Put writing classes in the subject line so your email won't go to junk mail.

https://www.facebook.com/glenda.beall/

We have room for you so don't miss this opportunity. 

May 12, 2024

Mother, Daddy at their 50th wedding anniversary
with their grandchildren

May 12, 2024

Mothers Day

Today is the same as any other day except I have thought about my precious mother many times. My brother wrote a poem for her about her. It was so loving and sweet. He was not a child at the time, but a grown, married man with children. He wrote songs but I had not known he wrote poems. It meant so much to her. Our family did not show emotion or express love openly, but his poem was humorous as well as loving.

I wish I could post it here, but maybe another time.

Ann Lamott wrote her opinion of this holiday and she doesn't like it. It is a sad day for many people and for years I felt sad on Mother's Day. I stopped going to church on this day each year because I felt so bad when all the mothers were asked to stand and I was not among them. That was when I was much younger. Today I don't feel that way. Today I celebrate in my heart the most wonderful mother anyone could have and think of how she loved me and kept me safe when despair overcame me, when I lost faith in myself or when I needed someone to talk with about my future, someone who always had my back. I missed her most when Barry died. But she was already buried in the cemetery on the hill. 

My mother as a young woman