Words from a Reader

The “Writing Life Stories” e-mails I receive are such treasures. As soon as I see there is one in my inbox, I read it immediately. I look forward to them and never know how they will touch me. They can be interesting, informative, humorous, and/or touching.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts

Saturday, April 8, 2023

Back Home Again




I'm back
. As I sit here in my mountain house living room, in my recliner with Lexie sleeping in her bed on the sofa, I see a herd of deer running down the ridge. Usually they meander slowly eating along the way. My bird feeders are filled and in no time my birds were back. Tomorrow I will fill the hummingbird feeders. 

Gay and Stu moved me back into my house using two cars to pack and haul everything. What a blessing those two people are to me. Lexie loves them so much she cried when they drove away today. She has never done that before. Dogs know who is good, kind and loving. She will miss both Gay and Stu. 

The trees are just budding out with so many spring colors and the dogwoods all over my property are in full bloom. Down in Roswell GA where I spent the last six months, so many trees and flowers are in full bloom. Roswell is a very pretty town and well-cared for. I learned to really like living there, but it is a very expensive place to live. Groceries are extremely high and the Publix stores seem to only carry the most expensive products. 

A brief visit to our local Ingles here cost me less than one hundred dollars. I never left Publix for less than 100 dollars. City life has much to offer and I see why folks like to live there. So many good restaurants, theaters, parks including dog parks which we don't have. Lexie loves the dog park in Woodstock, a large place for small dogs and another large place for the big dogs. She pays no attention to other dogs, but visits all the people sitting on benches. If I miss her and look around I find her on someone's lap. Once I heard a total stranger call out, "Oh, look. There's Lexie!"

When I left here to go to live at my sister and BIL's house, I was in a sorry state of health, both mental and physical. Caught up in a medical nightmare after being told I had a serious heart problem, I was convinced I had to move to be near my family and have someone care for me. 

After six months of worry and tests, I was finally told I did have a problem, but not serious enough to have the surgery that I had been told would solve it. So I had the knee replacement I had been needing for some time and now I walk without a limp and have no pain in my knee. Thanks to the best caregiver in the world, the doctor says my recovery from the surgery has been extremely good.

It was tempting to stay in my nice little apartment where I felt so safe and secure. Gay and Stu said I am welcome to come and stay when and as long as I want. I enjoyed going out to eat with them and going to the movies with them. Having long lunches with Gay and my niece, Lee, were so much fun. Having Dave, Lee's husband, willing to come over and help me assemble shelves, put up hooks and offer to help me any time I needed him, was wonderful. 

Well, the deer, so much the color of the leaves on the ground, are slowly moving back up the ridge now. I think they come down to get water and then mosey up the mountain again. Although a herd traveled through the wooded yard in Roswell, it was usually at night. Lexie went out and barked at them, but I seldom saw them.




One of the lovely animals is close to my house now. I hope they don't come and eat my Hosta like they did last year. My flowers and plants are bursting out with greenery. 

I am bursting with love for my family and friends. I look forward to seeing my writer friends soon now that I am back. I will be posting on this blog more than in recent months. I love my blog readers who live in distant countries as well as distant states in the USA. I will be visiting your sites more in the coming weeks.
 
With Easter approaching, my memories of my family, my church friends of the past, and all that is good in my life come to me in quiet times, those times when I am overwhelmed with gratitude for my wonderful life.  

Stu and Gay Moring


Thank you all for reading my thoughts today and for sharing your thoughts with me.
If you can't comment on this blog, please email me. glendabeall@msn.com  
I love to hear from you.



Wednesday, March 8, 2023

Tables Serve up Memories


The old table pictured above has seen better days, I'm sure. Now it is in someone's yard instead of a dining room. 

When I was a child, my family gathered around a table exactly like this one in the dining room of the house on the farm in south Georgia. Looking at this picture, I can see my four brothers sitting around that table along with my father at the head and my mother sitting to his right. I see a high chair between Mother and Daddy with my baby sister sitting in it. I know I am on Mother's right side. My brother Hal sat to my right. If Gay was one year old, I was two and a half years older. Mother helped my plate with small helpings of vegetables and meat and always one of her freshly baked biscuits.

My setting is the dining room of the farmhouse on Fleming Road in south Georgia. My characters are all my family members. We never run out of stories as long as we know our family including our ancestors. My aunts and uncles are also characters in my stories. 

I can think about other tables in my life and other stories come to mind. In our first home, my husband and I had a small rectangular table in the kitchen. Later in our dream house where we spent 25 years together our dining table was a long parsons table, laminated and built for us. It was a conversation piece. We had many interesting people sit at that table. Each of them is a memory for me with their story I can tell. 

Writers circle around the table in my studio. Wonderful memories. Wonderful people gathered here.

Tables are known for bringing people together. My brother Max always asked for a round table when he went to a restaurant. They are much more conducive to conversation, especially for storytellers and he was a good one.

In my home in the mountains, I insisted we buy a round table for our dining area. So many new friends, writers, and poets have sat with me at that table. Meetings for our Netwest group have gathered there to discuss the future of our organization. 

After my husband died, I seldom sat alone at the table for meals. I ate on a tray in front of the television set. My lovely round table has recently become an extension of my computer desk.

 As I continue to downsize in preparation for the future, I wonder what will become of my round table. That table could be enlarged with a leaf in the middle of it. Many times six or eight people have gathered there, family and friends. My round table that we bought on sale in Atlanta and hauled home in segments in our car, is one of my favorite things. Maybe I will be able to keep it if or when I leave that house. But I will always have the memories of the good times and the dear people who sat there with me.

Do you have some tables in your life or in your past life that stir memories of times and people and places? Maybe you can write about them. I do and will continue to write poems and stories that are centered around a table. 

Sunday, February 12, 2023

A Week into Recovery

This was written last Wednesday.
Happy me. Surgery is done. 



Tomorrow will be one week since I had knee surgery.
Gay went to much trouble and expense to help me recover. I have had some swelling but not as much as I expected because Gay rented a machine that I wore on my leg day and night to keep it iced. A friend of Gay's had used it when she had a knee replacement. For two days and nights, I wore the wrap around my leg. It pushed cold water through the wrap for thirty minutes, then the cold water ran back into the machine until it was time to ice again. This way no one had to keep up with time to change ice packs and I could use ice all night and all day. I think it has made a huge difference in the swelling.

I must say that the pain from the actual surgery has not been as bad as I had thought it would be. However, on the weekend when I could not reach a doctor or nurse the chronic nerve pain in my legs and feet flared big time. My poor sister went through many hours of watching me suffer and feeling helpless because she couldn't help me. She gave me massages, managed my medicine, fed me, put on my shoes for me, shadowed every step I made with my walker, and did everything possible to ease my pain. On Monday she telephoned the doctors' offices and she got results. I am sure I would not have gotten the right person to talk to since I had tried on Friday but got the runaround. Being dopey on pain medicine also made it impossible to telephone and talk with medical personnel. 

I have seen in catalogs Tee Shirts that say something like, "Don't mess with me. You will be sorry because I have a sister." 

My niece, Lee, has been so helpful, too. She helps me with many things like setting up voice mail on my cell phone. She helped Gay by creating a medication schedule with times and doses so I didn't have to think about taking the pills and tablets I was prescribed for this recovery. Gay had it all down on paper. 

My dear sweet brother-in-law, Stu, shopped and brought groceries, picked up food from a restaurant, or picked up meds from the drug store. He even brought me a lovely bunch of tulips in bud. Now they are opening and look so pretty. 

I am grateful to have dear, caring, and loving family and friends. Just a few years ago I was having a pity party alone in my mountain home. COVID-19 had me isolated and fearful of going out to any place where people gathered. Isolated and alone day after day my sedentary lifestyle affected my health both mentally and physically.

But now I look forward to having a life again where I can participate in writing events, give readings, visit with my friends, and attend community gatherings. All the medical tests this past year prepared me for a new lifestyle. The knee surgery will make my life easier I think and hopefully, my energy level will increase with treatment. 

I finally have my apartment in Roswell set up and I find it very convenient. Lexie loves being here and Gay and Stu seem to enjoy her. Stu takes her for walks. I think she has filled some of the emptiness left after Smokie and Sunny died. When I move in for good I know I can be happy here. But I don't feel rushed. I look forward to spending time here and in the mountains. 

I  see changes on the horizon and I am ready for them. We must accept change and be able to adapt. I will look for the good in change and try not to hang on to my past except in my memories. 

Thanks for reading. I love your comments. When you comment as anonymous, don't forget to leave your first name with your comment. I like to respond to your comments and it helps when I know who is writing. 

Have a great week and embrace your challenges. As you overcome them, you grow stronger. 





Sunday, January 15, 2023

Celebrating Life

Celebrate your life. See it and yourself as a blessing. Don’t wait.                                                                                 --- Maria Shriver 

As we write about our lives, we learn much about ourselves. I have learned things about my family that I didn't understand before I began to write about my parents and my siblings. 

I want to celebrate each family member's life because each one was a blessing to me. I wrote about my brother, Ray, recently and as I did, I thought about how blessed I was to have him as my brother.

I plan to write about each family member on this blog as I celebrate their lives. I hope these blog posts will entertain you, my readers, and enlighten you about what life was like for them in the twentieth century. 

I will start with my mother. She was born in Decatur County, Georgia on a farm near a community called Spring Creek. Like me, she was the next to last child in her family, the daughter of William Henry and Lula.  ( I will not use last names due to privacy issues.)


My Mother, Lois, when she was a young woman

The ancestors of both William and Malula had migrated from the Carolinas and Virginia in the 1700s and 1800s. Their fathers had fought in the War Between the States (Civil War) and their great-grandfathers fought for our freedom in the Revolutionary War.

Mother's name was Georgia Lois. She had an aunt Georgia Ann and was named after her. But Mother preferred Lois and never told anyone her name was Georgia unless she had to legally give her full name. 

I believe Mother's life was a blessing to all who knew her. I never knew her to say or do anything to hurt another. She had a tender heart and a caring spirit. She told me how much she respected and loved her father. She said he often took her to the big church in Pelham where they lived. She remembered him taking her by the hand and walking across the railroad tracks to the town where they entered the large Methodist church. 

She didn't mind or feel less worthy because she didn't have fine clothes like most of the other people in the pews on Sunday mornings. 
Lois had a loving family and always knew she was loved. Because of that, I believe she had a good self-image and her confidence in herself was seldom shaken. 

Willie and Lula, Lois's parents were grateful for the textile mill that Mr. J.L. Hand built in Pelham, GA because the farm work all summer in the hot sun was horrible for Lois's sisters and her mother who worked in the fields with the men. Planting in the spring, hoeing weeds out of the corn and cotton, and harvesting in the fall took a toll on their skin and their health. In the 1880s farming was done by hand. There were no tractors, no equipment to make work easier, and certainly no slaves as most people think did all the farm work. The Civil War ended in 1865.

Mother's sisters and brothers were born in the mid to late 1800s. Lois was born in 1904 and that was about the time the family left the farm and moved to the little town of Pelham where life would be so much better for all of them.

The older children worked in the mill but Willie did not. He became the maintenance man for the mill, the mill houses, and Mr. Hand's other properties and his family lived in a house on Wilkes Avenue rent-free. 

 Willie and Lula with their daughter, Mildred in early 1900s


As I heard Mother talk about her childhood and her family, I could tell she was a happy child. The only time she remembered being spanked was when she threw the pan of dishwater on her brother Rudolph as he sat on the steps of the back porch. He had been sick and was recovering from the illness. But Lois was a child, two years younger than he, and she did it because she wanted to tease him. She would never have wanted to hurt him. She adored him.

She always felt bad about that incident. She said, "Mama told me I could have killed him because he was not well and could have gotten sick again."

I have a beautiful memory of the love between this brother and sister. Mother almost died from a ruptured aneurysm on her Carotid artery in 1975. She was in the hospital for a long, long time. She didn't know her own children because her brain was damaged from the swelling. But she recognized love. One day when I went to see her in the ICU, I stopped to watch Rudolph feeding his sister from her food tray. I knew that she knew him or knew she loved him. She smiled at him when he talked to her. She was seventy years old and he was a couple of years older at that time. 

Not too long after Mother came home and regained much of her physical ability, she and I were called with the sad news that my uncle Rudolph was extremely ill in the hospital. We went there and sat in the waiting room with family members. But we were allowed to go in to see him one time. He was not conscious and was soon to leave this world. Like so many of her family that had passed away, Mother always remembered him as he was when she and he were young. 

Lois's life as a young girl was filled with friends like Mary, who had a crush on Rudolph that was not reciprocated. Lois and Mary would sometimes sit up with the dead. As long as the two of them were together they didn't mind doing that for the older folks. It was a custom then for the dead person to lie in his coffin at home the night before he was buried. Visitation was held at the home instead of a funeral home as is done today. 

Another brother, Dewey, played a large part in Lois's life. When she and Coy Council married in Albany at the Justice of the Peace office, they had no home to go to. Dewey and Sadie, his wife, invited the newlyweds to stay with them until they could find a place to live.

My father had no money when he married my mother but they had been apart for too long and had waited too long to be together. Lois was always appreciative of Sadie who took her in and made her feel very welcome. 

I never heard my mother complain about her lot in life. She had lived in a comfortable loving home before she married my father. But once she married, she had children and also worked outside the home when she could to bring in more income. She said she sold shirts for a while and I am sure she was good at it. But the babies kept coming. Her husband was in Florida when the first child was born and she was in Pelham with her parents. He was working for his brother who had a farm and Coy planned to bring his wife down to Palmetto as soon as he could.

The three years they spent in Florida was the only time my mother was actually unhappy. They lived in a rental house in a bad neighborhood and Coy took a second job working at night. She was overjoyed when, after the second child was born her husband decided to move back to Georgia. 

The next few years were good for the family because they rented a store which my father referred to as the Filling Station because there were gas tanks out front. The family lived in the back of the store and both Coy and Lois worked there. The third and fourth children, two boys were born there. 

But the Great Depression came hard in the late 1920s and thirties. Soon there were no customers because no one had any money. The mills closed and that left many people out of work. Coy and Lois and their kids lived off the food in the store until they had to give up the filling station and move into another house that had been Coy's sister's house. 

Because my parents always found a way to have chickens and a milk cow where they lived, my family did not suffer hunger. But Mother learned ways to stretch a few eggs and a little milk to feed her children. And she seemed to know more than one way to cook chicken. 

Lois was hit hard by the death of her mother, Lula, soon after moving back to Pelham. Seventy-five years later, Lois stood by her mother's grave and said, "I miss you so much. You were the sweetest thing to me and I wish I could talk to you again." Tears ran down my mother's cheeks and I cried as well. After Mother's brain was damaged and she lost her short-term memory, the people she knew and loved when she was a child and a young person were remembered better than her own children. 

Lois Council was the glue that held our large family together. She was the calm one who did not overreact or get panicky. She almost died when her gallbladder burst, but she overcame that and was soon back in her kitchen cooking for us.
 
At one time she had a little dairy business. She sold milk and homemade butter and buttermilk to her neighbors when the family lived in Lakeside in Dougherty County. Those were some of her happiest times because she had dear neighbors who liked to visit with her. She was in her mid-thirties and enjoyed having morning coffee with the ladies in the neighborhood. Lois enjoyed people and never met a stranger. She would talk to people in the elevator when we went to the dentist. She talked to people in line at the grocery store. I find I do the same thing now.

For six years she lived on a farm in hot south Georgia with no air conditioning and no electricity. She knew coal oil lamps, and ice boxes with a place for a fifty-pound block of ice in the top section that kept the milk and butter cool and meat from spoiling. She knew a kitchen with only cold water coming from the faucet. She cooked vegetables from the garden on a wood stove and sewed on a Singer sewing machine with a treadle. She killed chickens to cook for dinner when a family of relatives showed up unannounced. She seldom used a cookbook when she was in the kitchen and as a result, she left very little of her cooking knowledge to me. The only thing she taught me was how to make biscuits. She was an expert at that. 

The Rural Electric Association ran lines out to our land in 1947. She was glad to get an electric stove and a hot water heater in the house. Electricity made a huge difference in her workload every day. 

When I think about those years when Mother had two babies and didn't have a washing machine or dryer, I sympathize with her.  Everything was washed by hand and hung outside on a clothesline. But she never complained. 

She never said, "I am so tired I need to lie down and rest." 

She woke up early and cooked a big breakfast for her large family. And as soon as the kids were off to school or everyone went to work, she started the noon meal which we called "dinner". In the summer the first thing she did was go to the garden and get peas, beans, corn or okra to cook. Sometimes she had no meat but made a delicious vegetable meal. With her hot biscuits or hoecake cornbread, no one ever complained. 

No matter how much she had to do she always had time to sit down with me and let me tell her about my day or my troubles. She made me know she cared. I feel sure she was the same with each of her children.

Next time, I will tell about my mother as she aged, the sorrows that befell her, and the joys she experienced. I was the only daughter who lived near her and we spent much time together. She was always good company and always a good listener. In spite of the hardships and sacrifices she made, Mother said she had a good life.


Sunday, May 29, 2022

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.






Thursday, January 27, 2022

Latest addition to my family

This is Henry. He is my brother's great-grandchild and he was born on my mother's birthday.

I am always intrigued by the similarities of names in generations in families.
This adorable child is the great, great, great-grandson of my mother, Lois Robison. 
His name, Henry, is a family name from his mother's family and is also the same name as my grandfather, William Henry Robison whose daughter, my mother, was born the same day and month as little Henry. They were both Christmas babies. 

I have not met little Henry yet but just want to kiss that sweet face one day. He is blessed with a loving mother and father and an extended large family. I know he will always be loved and cared for by many people. How blessed is little Henry who celebrated his first birthday in December.

Friday, December 31, 2021

Family Gatherings

In this photo are my cousin, Sadie Jo and my brother, Max who is 90+ and looks good although he was seriously ill with COVID in 2020. Sadie's mother and my mother were sisters and had the same birthday.


From the time I was a child, Aunt Mildred and Uncle Lawson, their two girls and Uncle Rudolph and Aunt Red and their only child Caroline came out to the farm, to our house on December 23 which was the birthday of Mildred and Lois, my mother. At that time, mother made eggnog, from scratch with the eggs from our chickens. She usually added a little bourbon or some kind of whiskey to the drink and I remember tasting it and thought it was horrible. It was the only time alcohol was served in our house until many years later when most of the older children had married.

The only time I ever saw my father a little tipsy was when he drank eggnog once at the annual party. I was a teenager and was shocked and embarrassed to see my father that way. I left the room and would not come back until folks went home and Daddy went to bed.

I made eggnog when I was first married and added a little brandy to it. I thought it was delicious then.
We didn't have any eggnog this year. Gay and Stu are not fond of what you purchase at the store, and I didn't get any just for me. 

I wonder if, now that I have a mature palette, would I like Mother's eggnog with the whiskey she put in it. I might drink it and get a little tipsy myself. Maybe I will try her recipe.

Do you drink eggnog at Christmas? Did your family have special traditions and certain drinks that were only served at Christmas? 

Tuesday, November 16, 2021

Books can take us far away from the pressures and worries of today.

Joy Dent, my brother Max, and my cousin Rob looking for our Robison ancestors a few years ago.


I have not been much of a social media person except for Facebook which I use for announcements about writers, our writing group, and some family news. But recently I checked out some of the other sites and found that many writers use Instagram, and my second cousin Joy Dent, who writes under the name of Darcy Flynn has a page with pictures of her family, her pets, and her books. This is her page:  https://www.instagram.com/joydarcyauthor/

I have read some of her books and they are what she claims them to be: sweet, romantic, and clean.  No rapes or torn bodices in her books. The love stories make you sigh for that time in your own life, and her characters are well-drawn and interesting.

The author has an impressive background. She grew up in New Orleans, and she was named Mrs. Tennessee in a beauty pageant. She is educated in music, art, and dance and is talented in all, but in her empty nest years, she decided to write fiction and has published quite a few books. 

Her books are great for the times you want to escape the realities of this world and drift away to a place and time when life was filled with young love, with the games young people play when they are looking for Mr. Right or for Miss Right. 

With all the natural drama of our lives today, Darcy Flynn's books are perfect for those of us who feel the world is too much with us.


Joy with her son, Roman, who recently passed away
 

Sunday, August 8, 2021

Sisters

Maria Shriver writes about her two daughters and how she is glad they each have a sister. She had no sisters, only brothers. She often felt unseen and unheard in her family. The boys got all the attention.

My older brothers and my father seemed to make all decisions in our family. I know now that my mother had her own way, especially when it came to her two little girls. Mother, quietly, raised us to be gentle, to be polite, to be kind and generous. She set the example. Gay and I had each other and we often say there is nothing we can't do together.

Recently I found a handwritten fictional story I began many, many years ago about my mother's life. As I read it again, I was taken back to those days when she told me her life story. She had a younger sister, too, but when they were teens, it seems Mother developed early into a pretty young woman who caught the eye of boys in the neighborhood. She liked to dance at the weekly parties and one of the boys always wanted to walk her home. 

Her little sister was a bit slower to enter puberty, and though they loved each other, I don't think they became best friends until they were grown and married. They had the same birthday, December 23, but Mother was two years older than her sister. One of my favorite memories is celebrating their birthday each year just before Christmas. 
Lois and Mildred, two sisters, were born exactly two years apart.

My sister is two and one-half years younger than me, but we have always been extremely close. Living on the farm and growing up with only each other, we played together every day. We never had disagreements or fights. We had no jealousy or competition between us. When I see kids fighting and hitting each other in the family TV shows, I can't imagine doing that to my sister.
Gay and Glenda with Dixie, a beautiful dog that belonged to our aunt

Mother was happy when Gay was born because she didn't want me to grow up without a sister. The whole family adored her with her curly black hair and brown eyes. We almost lost her twice. She had pneumonia while still a baby and the doctor gave up on her recovery. Later she had whooping cough. I can still hear the terrible sound of her constant coughing. The disease can cause serious and sometimes life-threatening complications in the very young. I thank the Lord every day that she lived.  

Gay is in dark skirt with her modern dance group at UGA



As a child, I had little confidence and was scared to try new things. While I was a secretive writer who never let anyone read my words, Gay was courageous. In college, she joined the Modern Dance club and one summer she won a scholarship to a dance retreat in New England.

She was asked to enter the Miss Albany beauty pageant. I was impressed when she made her pretty costumes for her talent portion. She impressed the head of the Albany Ballet. He asked her to join the company. She danced with them even though she had never studied ballet. 

Gay is a talented artist who can paint and draw and sculpt.
I have the first full-body statue she created from clay. At my niece's house is her full-body sculpture of Will, our great-nephew. 
On my wall hangs the portrait she did of my beloved mare. It is a treasure that is priceless to me. She has done pet portraits for family members. She brought much joy to others with her visual art.


 I love this little guy who sits in my living room. I am in awe of my sister's talent and ability.


The problem with being close sisters is that people assume we are of the same mind about everything. 
We were often spoken of as one being--Glenda and Gay. My brothers thought we had identical opinions. If I expressed my thoughts on a subject, they assumed Gay felt the same way. That was not and is not always true. We have differences. She is not a people person and I am. She hates to have to speak to a group, and I have no problem with it. She dislikes taking classes, and I enjoy even online classes these days. I thrive on meeting new people. She avoids them being much more comfortable with good friends.


    She dances every week and loves it. 
 She reads far more than I do. I have become an Audible fan. She also writes beautifully. I have some of her words from years ago. I wrote a poem using one of her letters. 
The Pandemic lockdown didn't bother her. She is perfectly happy with alone time. But she is happy she has had her husband, Stu, for almost fifty years. 



My sister has a master's degree in Counseling.
Her friends and family call her or turn to her for help when we are troubled. She has been a Stephen Minister in her church. Stephen Ministers are lay congregation members trained to provide one-to-one care to those experiencing a difficult time in life, such as grief, divorce, job loss, chronic or terminal illness, or relocation

When I want to get away and escape the problems of my life, I head to my sister's home and she and Stu welcome me. 

Glenda, the taller one, and Gay

Mother  and Gay 

She is so much like Mother. 
They are both about the same height, have the same smile and kind eyes. She, like our mother, doesn't let worries about the future drag her down. She is good at living in the moment, living today, and not stressing over what may come. If something looms over her, she gets to work on handling it. She has a delightful sense of humor and we find ourselves laughing like crazy when we are together. 

Even sisters who don't get along as children often find that when they are adults, their sisterhood ties them together in a wonderful way. Sisters share a special bond that helps them throughout life if they don't let small peeves and other people come between them. 

Rosemary Clooney sang a song about sisters. Gay and I never had a fight over a man, but I did chaperone her on her first date. 
Sisters, Sisters
There were never such devoted sisters
Never had to have a chaperon, no sir
I'm here to keep my eye on her
Caring, sharing
Every little thing that we are wearing
When a certain gentleman arrived from Rome
She wore the dress and I stayed home
All kinds of weather
We stick together
The same in the rain or sun
Two different faces
But in tight places
We think and we act as one
Those who've seen us
Know that not a thing can come between us
Many men have tried to split us up but no one can
Lord, help the mister
Who comes between me and my sister
And Lord, help the sister who comes between me and my man
All kinds of weather
We stick together
The same in the rain or sun
Two different faces
But in tight places
We think and we act as one, aha
Those who've seen us
Know that not a thing could come between us
Many men have tried to split us up but no one can
Lord, help the mister
Who comes between me and my sister
And Lord, help the sister who comes between me and my man
Sisters
Sisters
Sister, don't come between me and my man
Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Irving Berlin
Sisters lyrics © Concord Music Publishing LLC

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This is one of my favorite pictures of my beautiful little sister.


 


Tuesday, November 24, 2020

Happy Thanksgiving during a pandemic

As Thanksgiving approaches here in the USA, Gay, Stu and I have decided to celebrate all week instead of one day. We will not wait until Thursday to make our turkey and dressing and Mother's banana pie. Each day we do something we enjoy.

I am surprised that we are so happy and having such a good time when the whole world is in pain. We have put politics off limits, no news to ruin our days. Someone will open their phone and see the headlines for the day and share anything new or important. Then we go on with what we like to do, smiling and feeling grateful for what we have, and reminiscing about good times in the past.

Stu will remember something he and Barry did or a funny anecdote Barry told or something they enjoyed together. We all loved him. We keep his memory alive and feel he is with us in spirit. At times Stu will say, "The only thing that would make this better is if Barry was sitting there beside you."

Glenda and Barry - last photo taken 

Throughout our lives we make memories. 
Hopefully most of them are good ones. In times like this it is good to bring back those memories of loved ones, special times together and words spoken. 

Growing up in a big family with a loving mother who enjoyed her children and wanted them near, we made lasting and special memories at home on Thanksgiving. Our big family meals surpassed any restaurant food, and Mother made sure we had the traditional dishes we loved. 

I hope my readers make good memories this year. 
Please be careful and don't take risks with your health and your life. We are skipping large family gatherings this year in hopes that next year we will still be here and can share another Thanksgiving gathering when life has some normalcy again.

I do believe that the world will be better by this time in 2021.
I am filled with hope that our country and the entire world will have learned a big lesson. Be sure to live your best life today. Think of others and what we can do to help those who are struggling. Be thankful every day for what we have, not just on Thanksgiving. I am grateful for the dear friends I have in the blogging world, the writers and poets in my life and of course, my family.
Happy Thanksgiving to you all.

Tuesday, June 23, 2020

Love heals

In these times of unrest and frustration, anger and judgmental emails and Facebook posts, I found solace this past week with my family in Roswell, Georgia. Love - it heals the heart, the mind and even our physical bodies.
Gay came up and took me home with her last week. She and I always find ways to laugh! Laughter is the best medicine ever. She has a terrific wit, and I can't be with her long before my dark mood is brightened by her light.

Living alone with no one to talk to when the world seems to be evolving into chaos is not lessened simply by sending an email or talking on the phone. Getting on Facebook is upsetting when you see that people who are your friends are spouting opinions that make you wonder How can we be friends? I didn't know my friends had such closed minds, that they don't see why the confederate flag is a symbol with vicious meaning for descendants of slaves. Why do I see that, but my friends don't?

I was glad I was with my loved ones when I read that the head of a Christian organization opposed the new anti-lynching law protecting members of the gay community. Does he think it is okay to hang a human being because he is of a different sexual orientation than this so-called Christian?

One of the things I like about visiting my sister is we watch the online service from their Alpharetta Presbyterian church on Sunday and discuss the sermon. I grew up attending a little Methodist Church out in the country where a fire-and-brimstone preacher visited once a month. The man in the pulpit frightened me when I was a child. Later, attending another Methodist Church in my hometown after college, I learned that the men in the church had decided they would stand in the door of the church and refuse entry to any black person who wanted to attend church there. This was in the mid-sixties.

Of course, I did not go back to that church. I asked the young minister, "How can the people in this church call themselves Christians?"

I eventually joined the Presbyterian Church where I found my people. PCUSA, is built on values of love, caring and embracing all people regardless of race, gender, sexual orientation, ethnic background. No one is forbidden to enter the church. Women are welcome to minister here.

In some churches women are expected to do all the work, but are refused leadership positions. A good friend of mine told me, "I had been a part of this church for many, many years, teaching vacation bible school, Sunday School, and doing anything I could. But one Sunday when the leadership of the church was discussed, it dawned on me. I would never be asked to take a leadership role. No one wanted my opinion or ideas. I could not be a deacon or an elder, simply because I am a woman. She said she stood up and walked out of that church and never went back.

In my little mountain town, Barry and I were so fortunate to find the most loving and caring little Presbyterian church soon after we arrived here. We both loved to sing and soon Barry had helped form a choir. Singing is uplifting and helps our spirits. He became a leader in the church and because of his outgoing and friendly personality, our circle of friends grew. We had several couples join us each Sunday for lunch after the service. Several couples joined the church simply because Barry made them feel so welcome.

Today when I hear the pastors of Alpharetta Presbyterian Church speak on the injustice of racism and how we can help, I am glad to be a part of such an institution. We can reach out and we can be a part of the changes that need to take place. In our town, the only black church here is a sister church to ours. And the pastor of that church gave an eloquent speech on our town square this past weekend.

I came home yesterday filled with love for everyone, especially my sister who is also my best friend. She is a person who understands my thinking and feels the same way as I do about social justice. However, she keeps telling me I can't change or save the world and must look after myself.
She is also very protective of me because of COVID 19. We will see each other every two weeks for a while now, either here or at their home. As I age, I realize how fragile life is. I want to spend time with the people I love most.

I was so proud of my little sister. She looked so cute in her majorette uniform at Albany High.

I hope you have had a great week and that the coming days will be good. Leave a comment and tell me your thoughts as we all cope with a new normal.

























Thursday, June 18, 2020

Eating at a restaurant for the first time since COVID-19

I have not been to a restaurant since the end of April, but tonight I had an early dinner on an outdoor patio with my family. I felt safe, although a large party of ten people came and sat at a table at least six feet from us. The staff at the restaurant wore masks and made me feel they were making our visit safe for us.


We arrived at 5:00 p.m. and left as a crowd of people came around 6:45. It was fun for the five of us to eat together and have the opportunity to chat. This restaurant has done a wonderful job of social distancing with large picnic tables spaced well on a grassy area where they can have a band playing. I don't know if this is what the medical people would consider safe for people like me, but at least this restaurant will be able to survive unless someone gets sick with COVID. 

I was concerned when the owner came over to speak to us. He did not wear a mask. The reason for my concern is that he is in close proximity to all the guests there, and he could easily be infected by one of them. If he contracted this illness tonight, his coming over to talk with us could have shed the virus on us.  I am assured I was very safe, and I believe I was, but I am leery of going out among people. I will not likely do it again soon.




Sunday, December 1, 2019

Grief, mourning and going on with life

My readers know I love animals, especially dogs and horses. My horse, Pretty Thing, lived to be 32 years old and was my darling. My poodle, Brandy, lived to be 19 years old. 

All of our pets except for one, lived to ripe old age. They were treated well, fed well and well-loved. We had the reputation of having pets that lived forever.
But, no matter how old they are, when it is time to let them pass on or when they die unexpectedly as our Nikki did, we grieve. We grieve as we would if any family member was gone. 

Over the years I have made a study of grief and why we grieve more over some and not so much over others although we loved them all.

The first person that I knew well and loved dearly, and who died suddenly in his fifties, was my brother-in-law, Stan. I was about six or seven years old when he burst into our family with his big smile, his boisterous nature, his laughter, and his hugs. I knew and loved him as much as I did any of my brothers for two decades and more. So I grieved and mourned his passing deeply. His presence in my life was far bigger than anyone knew. I think of him as the loving father I didn't have and the big brother who was not embarrassed to show his love for me. His passing left a place that can't be filled. 

Brandy, my black miniature poodle, was the first big loss in my animal family. You can find his shortened story in Paws, Claws, Hooves, Feathers and Fins, Family Pets and God's Other Creatures. This little fellow was a wedding gift to me from my husband, Barry. I liken living with Brandy to raising a wild, but precious boy-child. He was not obedient and was very destructive, causing us to have to move to the country when he demolished our first apartment.

Brandy lived on the edge. When he had the opportunity to take a risk, he did it. The cows grazed quietly in the pasture near our house. They were enclosed by a three-strand barbed-wire fence.  Of course the fence meant nothing to my dog. And the cows looked much to peaceful and content to him. If he was outside his pen, he didn't waste time scooting under the barbed wire and making a bee line for the herd. 

As I stood yelling and screaming at him to come back, Brandy circled the bovines barking at the top of his lungs. At first they ignored him, but, I suppose his noise-making got under their skin. Eventually one of the black and white milk cows had enough. She raised her head, looked at the yapping dog, and headed straight for him. That was the signal, it seemed, for the other cows to do the same. Big heads came up and the entire herd of forty started toward the little black dog.

Back in my yard, I continued to yell at Brandy. Now I was calling, "Brandy, come here" "Brandy run! Run, run, run!"

The mischievous little guy got just what he wanted. Every single cow was now after him, chasing him across the pasture. Brandy knew where he was going and they followed. At times I thought they were gaining and were going to trample him, but he stayed just about ten feet ahead of the lead cow, looking back from time to time, his red tongue hanging out of his mouth. 
He came home just as I wanted, but he brought an entourage of hoof beats from forty beasts pounding right behind him.

I stood rigid, holding my breath, scared senseless, and praying that my little buddy would make it. Afraid to look! I could not stand to see his body mangled by the sharp hooves. 

But Brandy was shrewd. He knew exactly what he was doing, and I am sure he was laughing in his own doggy way.

He slowed down just enough to let the cows think they were going to get him, and then he skittered under the bottom strand of wire with their hot breath on his curly coat. 

He ran around the yard, then jumped up on me. I knew what he was thinking. "See Momma, I didn't get hurt, and I had a lot of fun."

Brandy Beall lived to be nineteen years old, was nearly blind and totally deaf. I found him stretched out on the carpet in my bedroom one rainy afternoon. He didn't wake up.

My days and my nights were not the same without Brandy. I missed him so much I could not speak his name or talk about him to others for months. 

I believe we grieve most those whose lives are entwined with our own, those whose very existence is a part of who we are. Husbands and wives miss each other more because they have become almost one person over the years as my husband and I did. When everywhere you look, everything you see, touch or feel reminds you of your loss, the pain just grows deeper.

I know that Stan, my brother-in-law, made a giant impression on me from the earliest days of knowing him. What made him most special to me, when I was a kid, was he listened to me. I could tell him what vexed me and what made me happy. He knew what I loved and what I did not love, what I feared and what I was not scared of. He approved of me and let me know it. When he didn't approve, he let me know. His death left a hole in my life too big to ever be replaced. 

My little Brandy gave me memories I still cherish and always will. He loved me unconditionally, as our dogs usually do. He and I were so attached that I often think Barry was jealous of my attention to him.

For months I would forget he was gone. I looked for him around me, expecting him to be near me. Then the punch in the gut came, feeling the emptiness when it dawned on me that I had buried him out by the stable. 

They say that tears of grief are just ways of showing you loved someone, and I shed many when I lost my three brothers, my sister, my dear sister-in-law, my parents and my beloved husband.  I didn't think I could endure all those losses of people I love. But I have. What choice do I have?

I have lost my sweet, loving Samoyd, Kodi, and Rocky, the best dog ever.
I grieved more and more. So much sadness, and I still cry over those I loved, human and animal, who have gone on. But each day arrives with new possibilities. 

What will I learn today? What can I do, what will I do, today that might make a difference? I know I will mourn for the rest of my life, but somehow, I found a way to departmentalize grief while going on with living. I hurt for those who cannot do that. 

I hope your holidays will be happy and filled with fun and good memories. Make great memories this year. Don't let petty things from the past cause hurt feelings or sadness. I found that being thankful for my family, my friends and for still being alive on this earth to enjoy each sunrise and each sunset gives me peace.