A Busy Weekend

Today is Monday. I had a busy weekend. That is good.

On Saturday, Nadine, a former student and dear friend of mine, drove down and picked me up to go for lunch. As most of my women friends understand, it was a long lunch. We had not seen each other in several years, so Crabapple Tavern let us sit for three hours while we talked, laughed and had a delightful time. She was good medicine for me. And she said we were good for each other. 

I admire my friend who is courageous, unafraid of traveling anywhere she wants to go, alone. I remember when I could do that. The year after Barry died, I drove down to Florida and spent a couple of weeks alone in a condo belonging to the husband of my sister-in-law. That is a long way to drive and especially for a senior woman who had never gone anywhere without her husband in the driver's seat.

Barry and I traveled together when we left town whether to go back to south Georgia or to explore the mountains where we lived. I didn't go off on trips with my friends and leave him at home. He didn't go without me except when he traveled for work. It never entered my mind at the time that one day I would not have him beside me. We enjoyed each other's company and we enjoyed vacationing with Gay and Stu, my sister and brother-in-law. Barry and Stu were like brothers, kidding each other, finding the same outlandish things funny. When Barry's brother died, he said to Stu, "You are the only brother I have now."

On Sunday, we attended a concert by a big band here in Roswell. They did a tribute concert celebrating Johnny Mercer's music. Mercer was a Georgia native. He wrote so many of the songs I love, songs that were the sound track of my life with Barry. Moon River was our song. Also, Days of Wine and Roses, which was co-written by Mercer and Henry Mancini. Often Barry sang songs like Autumn Leaves and Summer Wind both by Mercer. When we first married, he never went to a gathering of friends without his guitar. And he was always asked to sing. That was in the sixties and folk music was popular.

As I sat and listened to all that music from those fabulous musicians, the lyrics sung by a fine singer, I thought of Barry who led his own band when he was in high school. He played drums, but he also played trumpet and later in life he played guitar. For two hours Sunday, I felt Barry was with me, listening to our music. Gay and Stu also thought of him and how much he would have enjoyed the concert. 

Barry plays his guitar and sings

Memories. What life is made of. I have some fabulous ones, but also some very sad ones. Ups and downs, laughter and tears, hold on to today, we know not what tomorrow brings. 

Times they are A-changing

https://www.glendacouncilbeall.com/2023/06/you-cant-change-direction-of-wind-but.html

I often see events advertised here in Clay County or Towns County, GA and the idea is immediately "I want to go." And then I remember what I have to do to go to an outdoor event.

When Barry was with me, he carried the folding chairs or the cooler. All I had to do was walk and sit.

Now, living alone I have to think about how I will get there and what I have to take with me.

It wasn't so long ago, was it, that he and I attended mountain festivals and outdoor singing on the square? Yes, it was long ago. The last time we did that was 2007 and early 2008 before he was diagnosed with cancer in July. 

However, this July, Festival on the Square and thousands of people will gather here in our little town to shop for handmade crafts, eat ice cream and freshly cooked barbecue, buy books from NCWN-West, and meet friends. They will sit for hours in front of the gazebo in their own folding chairs where local singers and players entertain. This event has changed very little, but I and my family that attended for many years have drastically changed. My brothers and my husband are gone now. Instead of attending and enjoying the music, I hope to work at the Netwest booth Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning. The chairs will already be in place thanks to our volunteers who set up the booth. I will not carry much with me. 

Although Barry and I watched television, he, more than I, we also liked going to the movies. There is nothing quite like seeing a good movie on the big screen. I have gone alone to the movies once or twice when there was a show I was anxious to see, but I left feeling sad. The memories of how we talked about what we liked or did not like, how we shared a large bag of popcorn, and I was too full to stop to eat somewhere, memories that make me miss him more. 

It is not the same when I ask a friend to come with me. Seems my friends don't like the same kind of movies I like and I am not fond of their choices. It is not easy to find a restaurant we can agree on but easier than finding similar movies. 

Barry and I often took day trips to mountain towns miles from home. Doing that alone is just not the same. Weekends were always busy for us. Saturday could be filled in many ways, and on Sunday we went to church where we both sang in the choir. A group of us went out to eat after church and we had many laughs and lots of fun. 

One day, when I move down to Roswell, Ga where I will be with my sister and brother-in-law and niece and her husband, I will be making a big change but I hope I will have more good times and can make good memories. I am beginning to look forward to moving, but getting my house ready to sell and downsizing is a hard, hard task that takes lots of time. 

As Bob Dylon said in the song, we older folk should get out of the way if we can't lend a hand for the times are a-changing. I want to lend a hand, but not sure how I can. 

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is rapidly agin'
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'

Digging up Memories and Planning for New Ones

I have been working on ways to improve my blogs and website this past week. I have changed my website, www.glendacouncilbeall.com and I like the new colors which make it easier to read. I was thinking about hiring someone to update my pages, but upon looking around, I find I like what I have and it works for me.

I would like your opinion. If you think I could improve my blogs by making them more modern in appearance, please let me know.

I am thinking about opening my studio again but just for online classes. Now that I have found Zoom is so easy to use for most of us, I can hold virtual classes and host other writers who teach. 

The Zoom format would work well for me because I can hold those classes from home or from my sister's house or wherever I might be. 

I went down to my studio this afternoon and worked about four hours going through files, discarding papers I no longer need and surprising myself when I found little treasures that have been buried in that file cabinet for much too long. 

I began publishing poetry and short nonfiction in 1996 after taking classes with poet, Nancy Simpson, my mentor and my friend who is gone now. In my files are encouraging notes from her complimenting me on my poetry. I also kept her handouts and used them when teaching poetry to beginners. So many memories turn up when we delve into those folders where we tucked them away long ago.

As we age, we can not do all the things we once did. 

Like my friend who was a skydiver said on her blog, those days are gone now, but she has wonderful memories that will always be with her. 

This is a portrait of Pretty Thing done by my sister, Gay Moring

My memories of my horse, Pretty Thing, still linger in my mind and in my heart. A sorrel mare with a blaze, she was perfect for me. She came to our farm when she was a two-year-old.

I had her for twenty-eight years and she was a wonderful friend. I can't ride now. The last time I got on a horse and rode for an hour, I had to have help getting out of the saddle. Then I had to have help for a minute to make my knees work.

I am accepting the loss of those activities I loved when I was young and those activities I enjoyed here in my studio. But, with the new technology, I can continue with my Writers Circle Around the Table. Maybe this summer or fall will be a renewal for me and I can invite those excellent writers and poets who live in distant places to join me here in western North Carolina while they sit at their computer at their home. 

My friends, thank you for visiting me here. I hope you will subscribe to my blog and even though Google is going to stop sending you emails when I post, I will find a new way to keep you informed.

Have a great week.

 

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

A Visit with Old Friends from Long Ago

Winter with sunshine and a visit with old friends.

In 1990, I took a part-time job with the district manager of State Farm Insurance. She was the first female to hold that position. She had been an accomplished business woman already, but this job was a challenge because of her gender and all the agents under her were men. Her husband, Harvey, was my age and he and I graduated from high school together.

Twila seemed happy to have me, and I was delighted to work for her. After my school teaching years were done, I held several part-time jobs and enjoyed working for my brother-in-law, Stu, who was  managing an office of an engineering firm in Albany, GA, my hometown. 

I liked office work and especially liked using the computer. I was in for a shock when I found out that Twila's office had no computer. I was expected to use an electric typewriter. The job required completing forms, usually in triplicate, and sitting right in front of her desk. I might not have taken the job had I realized the pressure I would feel each time I made a mistake with her watching my every move. I am glad I didn't know, because the five years I spent with Twila were some of the best.  I learned an essential lesson while working for this intelligent woman, something that changed my life in many ways. I learned that it was Okay to make a mistake. It was not the end of the world. I was a perfectionist. In my family making a mistake was unforgivable and unforgettable. At least it seemed that way to me. I put more pressure on myself than anyone else ever did.

Today, I had a reunion with Twila and Harvey at Fatz Restaurant in Blairsville, Georgia. We had so much to talk about that we were still talking as we walked out the door two hours after we sat down to eat. We agreed we can't wait so long to see each other again. We need a full weekend, I think, to run out of subjects or just run down. Have you ever had that happen to you?

I was only supposed to work from 8:30 AM until 2:00 PM. five days a week, but my half days were not long enough to complete my work. Part of the problem was we talked too much. When Twila was not there, it was easier to get my work done.

It was not unusual for us to go to lunch together and then take some time to go shopping before we returned to the office. We enjoyed being together then just as we did today. It was fun to work for Twila.

She often said she was lucky when she hired me because she got two for one. That first year Barry hooked up the new computer in her new office, and he helped me with downloading the software for State Farm business. He was the computer person anytime we had a problem.

Twila didn't know beans about the computer as it was a very new part of her work. I had been working with computers for some time before joining her office, so it was not that hard for me to learn the State Farm programs. It doesn't seem so long ago, but it was eons ago when you think of how much new technology has become a daily part of our lives.

Twila was a generous and caring employer. It was hard for me to think of her as my boss sometimes, because we were such good friends. She gave me one of the nicest gifts I ever received. She made reservations for Barry and me in Savannah, Georgia at a wonderful bed and breakfast right on the square in the historic district. She also gave us dinner at one of the best restaurants in the city.
It was a trip I will always remember. I have been to that lovely city by the sea many times since then, but the long weekend with Barry at the bed and breakfast will linger in my memory the rest of my days.

Twila and Harvey ( I am not using their last names because I haven't asked them if I could) are dear people and long time friends. It was especially nice today to begin this new year by seeing them and recalling cherished memories.

Tonight I was cleaning out emails from an old address I don't use anymore. I opened a folder from August 2009. I cried as I read the sweet and beautiful letters from family and friends who knew Barry and loved him. Some of those writers are gone now. I am so glad I have those letters in my computer. Each one brought back a memory, and some brought back many memories.

That is what life is about.  Making memories we hold dear all the days of our lives. 

Appalachian Memories

Down to the Soft Grass  

At the top of Windy Gap we spread our lunch of cream cheese and crackers we’d bought at a little general store in Villas. Barry and I were in our thirties and had been married for a few years. I can see him now, long legs in jeans that fit like they were made just for him, camera strap around his neck.  

We found this place, Seven Devils, and rented a rustic cabin that looked down on small towns and little roads that wormed between mountains in the far north western part of North Carolina. My memories of that day, high on a mountain in Appalachia, away from life’s reality back home, brings forth a smile. When I’m told to go to a place I want to be where I feel comfortable and at peace, I go there. That is the only way I can go back there. The place no longer exists having been developed for condos and rental houses for the skiers who fill the slopes in winter.

And Barry is no longer here to go with me, so I’d not want to go there. But I can recapture that day, the wind blowing in my face, the sweet fresh air tasting like a cool drink from a mountain spring. Little did I know how quickly the years would pass and how precious that day, that moment, would become to me, even now decades later.

I found this essay I wrote some years ago and decided to share it today on my blog. Savor every day, every moment because they are fleeting and one day will only be memories. 

Selling Memories for Nickels and Dimes

Last weekend strangers entered my garage and carried away bits and pieces of my life with Barry, husband for forty-five years.

Golf clubs and a bag of practice balls, a thing to pick up balls, sold for pocket change because that is what we do at garage sales. Of course I could not put a price on those things. To me they were priceless because they had been his, because I pictured him swinging the clubs and hitting the balls. I saw a green course on a quiet summer eve and heard the crack when the club met the ball. I saw it soar over the grass, the hills, and I saw the smile on his face. He loved to play golf. Barry had many hobbies, but golf and music were there right up to the end.

Someone walked out with my rod and reel, the one thing I had kept when I sold our boat in 2010. That man did not know what stories he would hear if only that fishing pole could talk to him. It talked to me. It reminded me of the happy hours spent on the Majors Pond or the Magic Pond we came to call it. That little rod pulled in a twelve pound catfish on a cold, windy day when we fished from the bank. The fish wrapped my line around a branch in the water and Barry had to pull the limb out to reach the catfish. With that little rod and reel, I caught  many fine bream that made fine eating. It was the perfect weight and had the perfect feel in my hand.

When Barry and I fell in love with fishing, it was hook, line and sinker. In summer as the days grew longer, we headed to the pond as soon as Barry came home. We stayed until the moon came up and threw shadows on the pasture where the soft sound of horses' muffled grazing carried over the still water. A quiet I have not known since.

Barry and Glenda fishing on Majors Pond

Rocky, an unexpected gift

 

All of my large dog paraphernalia is gone now. I will not have another dog, certainly not a Kodi or Rocky. The large wire crate where the Samoyed puppy learned to live alone at night. The same crate where Rocky made his home until he quickly learned to use the pet door. The first rate ramp we bought for Kodi when, at thirteen, he could no longer jump into the car. They all left home along with two large beds for big dogs. Rocky often gave up his bed to our cat, Tiger or Smokie, the small Schnauzer pup who visited with my sister. Rock was the gentle fellow who never put up a fight. His food bowls are gone, too. He was generous to those he loved and he loved Tiger and Smokie. If they wanted his food, he let them have it. We don't need big dog food bowls now. Lexie has her own petite ones in the kitchen.

Smokie. Who could resist this face? Not Rocky.

My garage is much cleaner, more empty and open for me to find things I really need now. I can finally reach the boxes we put on the high shelves when we moved here in 1995. What will I find in them? Mostly papers that need to be shredded. I don't want to read what is on the papers, in the files and folders. They will just provoke more memories of when we were a unit, when we were a family, Barry and me and our beloved pets.

Clearing out and discarding the past is like picking at a healing sore. We uncover the raw and red beneath the scab. It hurts.

Peaceful Photos - They bring memories that make me smile.

John C. Campbell Folk School - a peaceful place to write and enjoy the view

A Sand Crane? I found this fellow in Palmetto Florida across the road from where I was staying.

One of my favorite places on earth - Bay of Fundy, Nova Scotia. I think I would love to live there, at least in the summer.

From the Marriott Resort where we stayed in Hawaii - another of my favorite places. I will add more Hawaii photos this fall.

My deck garden. I can sit inside and enjoy my flowers

Silhouette of cows at the pond at sunset on the farm in SW Georgia, taken by my nephew, brings back memories of all the years I lived there with the cows, horses, and family.

A golden field in Clay County in early summer. Peaceful and quiet. 

Sunset over the mountains with all the pinks filling the sky as the sun disappears and my favorite time of day begins. What do you call that time of day between daylight and dark?

Christmas 2013 - a Family Time

It is Christmas Eve, almost Christmas Day, 2013.

I am spending the holidays with loved ones, and I hope each of you have warm and peaceful days to remember and to make memories. 

 Thanksgiving ran right into making plans for the holidays. With a quick and busy visit to south Georgia my strength and perseverance were strained but not so much as was that of my sister, Gay, who hosted an absolutely lovely dinner today.

Christmas Day I will spend with family also – and be a guest at another Christmas dinner.  How fortunate we are to have family and to want to be together.

My immediate family, cousins and friends gathered in May this year at Lake Blackshear Resort

 Although many of my loved ones have passed on, and I am one of three siblings left, I was delighted to see the next generation carrying on our annual Christmas party that was begun years ago as a birthday celebration for my mother and her sister who were both born December 23. 

Lois Robison Council and her sister, Mildred R. Whitley

My mother, Lois Robison Council, would be 109 years old if she were living today. How I still miss her. If she had been at the party in her house, she would have met her great-great grandson, Elliott, who is not yet two years old. In my mind, I can see her smile as she hugged that little boy. He would have loved her.

I was told that I reminded some people of my mother. “You were channeling Aunt Lois,” my cousin Ginger said to me. I thanked her for the compliment. 

I enjoyed talking to the “kids” as we once called my nieces and nephews, one of whom is the grandfather of Elliott. 

As I sat in the same spot where my mother used to wait up for me when I was out on a date, sat in the place where her chair sat so many years ago, in the house that was my home until I met Barry and married him, I traveled back in time. The day I left to marry my soul mate, I cried as though my life were ending. Always fearful of change, I had no way of knowing I was embarking on a great adventure with the person sent to me to make my life complete. I only knew how much I was going to miss my home and my mother.

H. Barry Beall 

This Christmas marks five years without Barry. I don't think I will ever get used to his empty chair at the table. He is not forgotten. We tell stories and remember his humor, his large presence in our lives. But life goes on, holidays come and go, and I have much to look forward to in 2014.

I hope your New Year brings good health, peace, joy, and a life free from fear, anxiety and undue stress. Most of all I wish you time to stop and see the wonders of this world that surround you every day. 

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Thank you all for reading my blog. You are the best.

Family, is there anything more important?

This weekend my sister, Gay, and I worked together on our family and friends reunion set for May 11-12. This Gathering is for the descendants of Coy Lee and Lois Robison Council, both born in the early 1900s. We have invited relatives and friends who are not direct descendants, but who have touched our lives. 

I am happy that my husband's brother's children are coming and will bring their children. Family members are bringing friends to spend the weekend at the lovely resort where we will gather. We have a new baby in the family and I look forward to meeting him for the first time. 

Jon Beall on Silver, the greatest little pony ever

We have a cousin from New Port Richy,  FL who is making the drive. She is special to me. We don't see each other often, but when we do we love to talk and laugh together. Her mother and her grandmother were close to our family. Some of my fondest recollections from my youth was when Aunt Annie and Vivian visited  They brought music and laughter with them. In those days when there was no TV gobbling up everyone's time, the family sat around the supper table and talked. Afterward, Aunt Annie would play guitar and sing. Vivian, her daughter harmonized beautifully. I was very young at that time, but I remember the haunting ballads and the funny, clever songs they sang.

Gay and I have gone through boxes and albums of old photos, and I must have scanned and posted over one hundred for a slide show presentation. Seeing those pictures brought back so many wonderful memories and also brought back the sadness of losing my brothers and my sister, June. Once we were seven.

Glenda and Gay, sisters, who can accomplish almost anything together

Now only three of us remain and my last brother is in very serious condition. I tell him he must be there for The Gathering to tell us one of his wonderful stories. He wants to be there and I pray he will be able to come.

Family of storytellers

My family has always been full of stories and we have always had good story tellers to share them. As I get older I understand even more how precious family is to us. No matter how much we might have disagreed or argued over things we thought were important, the love we have for each other is all that really matters. I talked with my brother today and missed that happy, pleasant man I've always known, I heard the weakness in his voice, the concern for his health, and the appreciation he has for those who help him. A thoughtful relative brought food. His sons are trying to make his life as easy as possible by setting up a hospital bed downstairs for him. Everyone is worried.

I was there a few days ago and wish I could be there to care for him, but we live miles apart. He said my visit made him feel better. I hope so. It made me feel better to see him, to go with him to his doctor, to talk with his sons and try to help them as best I could. 

Life is short

I hope if you are estranged from a loved one, a brother or sister, a parent, you will reach out to them and forgive them if they have hurt you, because, in the big scheme of things, is that what really matters? Even if they don't forgive and forget, you will feel better knowing you have. 

HOW BEST TO SPEND OUR TIME

As we try to meet deadlines and keep appointments in our daily lives, we now are told not to forget to maintain our prominence in Social Media. Facebook requires attention every day. 

I hardly ever visit Twitter, and now I learn there are more and more new sites popping up we should be aware of and using. Some say blogging is dead, but I notice folks on Facebook link to their blogs or the blogs of others. What can you say of value in a few words on FB or Twitter? I don’t use much of my time on Facebook, playing games, or checking out the latest trend. Writing, teaching, being with friends, mentoring and assisting others by sharing what I can with them – that’s how I spend most of my time.

No one would believe she is an octogenarian, and this photo is right after a bout of illness

Several hours this weekend my older sister, June, and I cleared her desk and went through her boxes of keepsakes, mementos from her long life, re-reading letters we uncovered, letters from Mother, from dear ones who have long passed from this earth. Together we reminisced as she pulled out pages of her life and mine to be discarded or to keep when she moves into assisted living quarters next month. Those handwritten pages from long ago, notes on Mothers Day cards and birthday cards, college report cards, and newspaper articles, tell of one family’s history. I understand her reluctance to throw them away.

We found a poem written for Mother in our brother’s handwriting, a letter to a daughter from her birth mother – these are valuable words in remembrance of and by those who will always be a part of our lives. 

While there was a tinge of sadness as we traveled down memory lane, doing it together made it less painful and even fun at times. I was happy to see my sister’s beautiful smile when I left. The past two days was a learning experience, a valuable time for me. One of Oprah’s wise sayings is, “Make your life a lesson to others.” One day I might be where my sister is today, and she taught me how to make the best of it. She showed me one of the best ways to use my time is sharing it with my loved ones, not twittering, tweeting or leaving blurbs on Facebook for people I’ve never met nor am likely to meet. 

Sometimes, even when we think we have it all together, we realize we can continue to learn more about ourselves.

Have you had an experience that opened your eyes to something new?

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Don B. reads about a memory of a nun who taught penmanship and the girl who was called to the board to practice her ovals and lines.

Seated in the living room at Keith House after their reading, Theresa, "Chigger," and Kay pose for a photo. I stand behind them. Toni and Don slipped out before the picture was made.

Last week I taught "Your Life - Your Stories" at the John C. Campbell Folk School. Class began on Sunday evening and ended Friday evening. Five delightful adults joined me Sunday after dinner at Orchard House.

Four women, Kay, Toni, Theresa and "Chigger" and one man, Don B., began their journey to writing about their lives. Most of them were beginning writers. By Friday afternoon when the writing exhibit was set up in the Community Room, they had learned to use active verbs instead of "to be" verbs, to write in active voice, how to use photographs to spark memories, how to organize their work, and how to focus down on small events instead of trying to cover years of memories in one piece.

Although I am exhausted today, I enjoyed every moment. I heard fabulous stories from each of these unique people. Toni's story of her first plane ride back in the fifties, Don's stories, including the story of a son's valuable advice, Kay's Pickin' Corn story, Chigger's story of her twins, and Theresa's story of her Aunt Inez being baptized in the Ohio River, are all researched from their memories.

An Early Birthday party

A joint birthday party was planned for me and our good friend Dick today. But, as you can see, I ended up with the cake and Dick was at home with his sick wife.

The party was brought to me by Gay and Stu and it was the first time ever that I've had guests at my house who left the house cleaner than when they came. I was not to lift my hand for anything today and I didn't. Everything was provided from food to snacks and this beautiful, delicious cake. Now that is LOVE.

Gay even made dinner for us and left it with us.

Best of all we laughed, we reminesced and talked of all the things we had to be thankful for. We made memories - good memories.