FAMILY

My nephew, Capp Council, and his beautiful daughter, Chloe Council

Chloe is graduating this year from high school. We don't have many girls in her generation of Council kids. Most of that generation are boys and the first child of the following generation is a boy.

This is a son and a grandchild of my brother Max, who passed away in February of this year. 

Capp lived next door to Barry and me on the farm. His first wife and first child, Kim and Carrie, often came to my house to visit. I always enjoyed their company. Carrie was a precocious child, smart and talented. She was the only girl in that family until Chloe came along. 

If I still lived in Albany, GA I would like to get to know Chloe as I did Carrie, but I am far away from there now. If not for Facebook, I would not know much about my family in south Georgia. Max often called me and talked about the family there. I miss his calls. 

I was surprised yesterday when a dear cousin down in Albany called me. She is a widow now. Her husband died on Thanksgiving day last year. The anniversary of a death is always a somber time with memories pouring back to us so I imagine she and her two children will always think of their loss when they sit down to eat the Thanksgiving Turkey.

I often think about how fortunate my family was to have few deaths when Gay and I were growing up. All my grandparents had died before I was born. Only my two oldest siblings remembered them. My oldest brother, Ray, served in the United States Navy during WWII, and I am so thankful that he didn't see battle. He came home safely. However, two of my cousins died during that war. 

Clyde Council, on my father's side, died in a plane crash. On my mother's side, Henry Robison died in a plane crash believed to be hit by friendly fire in an accident. Although I never met either of these young men, I remember them on Memorial Day which we celebrate on Monday. I also remember the families that loved them. 

Memorial Day also holds another memory that is important to me. Barry and I moved to the mountains of NC on Memorial Day, 1995.  That began an adventure and wonderful life as we drew closer and spent more time together.  As I begin making plans to move away from here, I get sad thinking of the happy times we shared and will never share again. 

I hope all of you have a safe and happy holiday weekend. I hate to hear the news of accidents that seem to happen on Memorial Day when people take to the roads, rivers, and lakes. I live near a big lake and it will be busy with tourists who come here this time of year. 

Be safe and thanks for reading my words. Please leave a comment if you can or email me. I love hearing from you, my friends.

Memorial Day Anniversary

This is a big holiday weekend and people are traveling like crazy. 

I will not be leaving home but did have a wonderful time with some good friends yesterday. We met at a local restaurant where we could sit outside. All of us have been vaccinated so we were comfortable with hugging again and just being together. I had missed that connection but didn't realize how much I would enjoy it. Now that we have found a good location, I plan to do more of that this summer. 

Memorial Day is a national holiday to remember fallen soldiers who were members of the United States Armed Forces. 

Several of my family and some of my friends lost their lives in war, and I always feel a sadness when I think of them and their sacrifice. But this holiday which comes at the end of May, holds personal memories for me.

Memorial Day weekend will always hold a special place in my heart and my memory. On Memorial Day weekend, 1995, twenty-six years ago, Barry and I moved here to the mountains of North Carolina.

We left a three thousand square foot home we had built and which we loved. It was located on the farm land given to us by my father. He bought this land in 1942.

Barry and I had lived there for twenty-five years, and I thought we would always be there. But our lives changed when my parents died and when the family business was sold. Looking back I realize it was one of the best changes in my life.

From early 1995, we had been searching for a house to rent in north Georgia near Lake Chatuge. After several trips to the region, we settled on a vacation home on the north end of the lake, owned by an older couple from Florida. This house was in North Carolina. It was not meant to be our permanent home, but one we would live in while trying out our new situation. We had to purchase instead of renting because we had our beloved dog, Kodi, a Samoyed, and no one would rent to us.

This little house had 1,000 square feet on the upper level, the living area, and had a daylight basement with only side walls and front sliding doors.

In the living level we had two bedrooms and two baths. The selling point for this house was the view from the upper deck where we sat with the birds high above the ground. We could see ourselves relaxing in our chairs and watching boats on the lake while enjoying the cool breezes that ruffled the hardwoods surrounding us on three sides. 

View from our upper deck in 1995. On a clear day we could see Brasstown Bald over in Georgia

On that long weekend, 1995, my brother and his sons came over and helped load our U-Haul for the final trip to North Carolina. 

Although we still owned the house, we had it listed with a real estate agent. I can't begin to describe the sadness that came over me as we drove away from everything that had been home my entire life. I knew I would come back, and I would even stay in my house before it was signed over to another, but that day sealed the deal and we were definitely leaving the farm, my childhood home, and my wonderful dream house. We had carved our setting out of the woods, doing most of the work ourselves. For years after we left, I dreamed about the house.

I wrote a poem a few years later explaining how I felt about this change in my life.

Splintered
by Glenda Council Beall

The cleaver fell
and split her head-to-toe.
Racked by horrendous pain,
she continued to exist;
half her heart left behind,
the other half in the new place.

Part of her brain stayed
to store up more memories.
The other part tries to understand
what to do with this end of life.
One foot can't walk without the other
so she spins in place.

One hand waved a sad goodbye,
the other is useless here,
where both are needed
just to unpack.

Torn asunder, like the division
of conjoined twins who share
the same heart and brain,
neither part of her can live this way.

There will be a day when she
will suture her selves together
using needles of confidence,
threads of experience,
and settle both halves here,
but the scar will remain forever.

After the house on the farm was sold, we thought hard about looking for another larger place. But we had fallen in love with the location, the privacy, the quietness that was so like our home in Georgia.We both wanted to stay in our little house and make it more comfortable for us. 

First we created a new driveway, one that circled our house so we could park on the upper level instead of having to walk up about forty steps to bring in groceries. We put in a carport so we could park on the living level instead of in the garage down on the lower level. 

With Barry working from home much of the time, he needed an office. We finished the basement and made an area for him there. Later we built a bedroom and a large bathroom down there. That area would eventually become my writing studio after Barry was gone. We moved the laundry room upstairs where we also incuded a large pantry. I imagine we spent as much on improvements as we paid for the house. But it is a place I love and Barry loved. He didn't feel the need to travel or go on vacation. "Why would I want to go anywhere when I live in the best place to relax, to enjoy the lake and the mountain views?" He only traveled because I wanted to.

One of our major fears in life is change. 

I was always one who could live in a rut my whole life and not make changes. But leaving home, moving hundreds of miles away from home, turned out to be the best thing we ever did. Barry and I had fifteen years here in this house and they were the happiest years of our lives together. Unlike my sisters who both left home when they married, I had stayed and taken on duties of caring for my parents as they aged, made my own home near them and near where I had grown up. But I was not completely happy. I always had a feeling I was missing something. 

Here in the mountains, I found what had been missing. My life changed drastically, our marriage even changed as we had more time alone together. We sat on our deck and talked about things we had never discussed before. I think we came to know each other better.  We had no one else to spend time with, no one to interrupt our plans or call in need. We thoroughly enjoyed the company of each other as we traveled around the area in Barry's Jeep Wrangler, or made day trips to other cities and states. Barry always had his camera with him and made beautiful photos I cherish today.

This Memorial Day, I will drink a toast to the best change I ever made and to my dear husband, Barry Beall, who made it possible. 

Having a picnic on a rushing stream in the mountains. A happy time.

I hope you all are having a great holiday weekend. Please be safe and enjoy your family and friends and I hope everyone will be vaccinated for COVID.

Be grateful for your blessings and do what you can to help those who need it.

Need a gift for someone? Check this out.

Memorial Day, 1995

Twenty-five years ago, Memorial Day, 1995, Barry and I moved away from our dream home in Albany, Georgia and settled into the house where I live today in Clay County NC. It was to be a temporary home until we sold our house on the farm where I had grown up. 

What a day it was for me. My emotions were in turmoil. Leaving the only home we had ever had together and moving hundreds of miles from family, had me feeling as though I were being ripped apart.

We had always thought we wanted to live in the mountains near a lake. We found the perfect place.  We could see Lake Chatuge from our upstairs deck. We could sit at our dining table and see Brasstown Bald, the highest point in Georgia on the far side of the lake.

The only problem was the living area of the mountain house was 1/3 of the space in our Georgia home that we both loved so much. The living/dining area was not as big as the main living area where we had held parties and family gatherings for two decades enjoying the house we had saved for and dreamed about. Barry had lived in California and was set on having a redwood house with a modern design. That was fine with me. Our friend, a young architect, hungry to do something creative, agreed to design the house at a price we could afford. 

He was happy with the house and said the only problem was the location. He would like to have had it in a ritzy neighborhood in the city. We loved the location in the woods on the back side of the farm my father bought in 1942. 

Windows surrounded the downstairs so we felt like we were a part of the forest. From inside I saw many wonders of nature like a rabbit-mating-dance from my kitchen window. Birds went about their daily lives unaware that I was just feet away watching them. Squirrels played and large turtles passed through our yard.

Oscar P. Opossum visited our patio every night. Barry named him, and we loved watching him eat the large insects that were drawn to our porch lights.

We had a stable and two horses we often rode in the woods and on the trails around the farm. We loved country living and all the freedom and privacy it provided. 

So, it was natural that we wanted something similar when we moved to the mountains. Our little house is surrounded with woods, wildlife and still only five miles from emergency care if needed. We did not want to be living high on a mountain where snow in winter would prevent an ambulance reaching us should we call. Barry had recovered from open heart surgery while we lived on the farm, and his health was uppermost in my mind when we chose a place to live in the Appalachians. 

The house was fine, but it was the view that sealed the deal. Little did we know that this house would become home for the rest of our years together. Barry was never happier than sitting on the deck in the quiet of the evening listening to the sounds of the woods as the sun set over the lake. 

First Christmas, 1995, at our mountain house

I was asked, after he died, was I going to sell my house. Isn't it hard to live with all those memories there? No, it is wonderful to live with all the memories of our lives together in this house. His pictures are prominent in my living room. His cowboy hats have their own special place in the hallway. His first guitar rests on a stand where I see it every day. When I have guests we often talk about Barry and how we loved him and still miss him. But no one cries. We laugh at his great sense of humor, at the things he did and said. We remember him with joy.

Twenty-five years ago I had no idea what this house would hold for me, for us. We lost two beloved dogs here, Kodi and Rocky, and we lost our sweet south Georgia cat, Tiger who brought in live rabbits and chipmunks, turned them loose and watched me scramble to get them back outside. 

Tiger, our south Georgia bob-tailed cat

We turned a two bedroom, two bath little house into a three bedroom, three bath home with my writing studio in the finished daylight basement. For ten years I taught and invited writers to teach there. That was what helped me get through those early years of mourning. Now I spend most of my time upstairs but plan to use the studio space for something I will enjoy. Maybe I will paint again or take up sewing. Who knows what will grab me in the coming years.  

I hope to stay in this house for the rest of my days. I continue to like the privacy, the beauty of my little acre, and this very peaceful neighborhood. I love my nearest neighbors who are like family to me. My best friends are in this area, my writing community is here and, even though I differ from most of the natives in my psychological values and perspectives, the people are good folk and I appreciate them. When I want to get away, I just head down to Roswell Georgia where my sister lives, and we have some family time. 

Gay C. Moring

MEMORIES ON MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND

Thank you, my friends, my readers, for taking the time to check out this blog and for leaving your thoughts and opinions as well. I am especially grateful to those who subscribe and have my latest posts arrive in your email inbox.

I am planning to have a restful and relaxing Memorial Day weekend. I remember it was Memorial Day, 1995, when Barry and I moved here, to this house. It was a major turning point in our lives and the beginning of a completely new life for me. So much has happened to me since that time. So many happy times, and so many losses in my life since leaving my childhood home and moving to the mountains. At times I can't believe how different my life is today - how different I am now. The manner in which we accept or handle changes creates the person we become. I hope most of the changes in me have made me a better person, a better sister, a better friend and a better teacher.

I notice that I do get on the nerves of my sisters sometimes. (smile) For that I'm sorry. I wonder if they prefer me as the person I was seventeen years ago or the person I am today.

That's a good prompt to write on this weekend. Do I prefer the person I was to the person I am?

With summer upon us, we all have many things going on in our lives. I look forward to another writing class I'll teach at TCC beginning June 5, 2- 4 p.m. 
I also anticipate lots of fun when The Festival on the Square , July 13,14 is held in Hayesville. Netwest will have a booth this year. We will meet tons of folks and I hope, if you can attend, one of them will be you.