Today would have been my mother's 87th birthday. She died in May of 2009 after a long, lopsided battle with Alzheimer's.
Alzheimer's is a particularly horrendous disease. It consumes a person's body taking hostage their mind, memories, and any semblance of a normal life. Each day they live, they loose a piece of themselves. It is a loss that will never be returned. The disease is a defeat, a sad loss for everyone involved. Alzheimer's changes family members and caretakers. It brings out the best and the worst in people, no one remains unscathed.
Mama and Daddy moved to Missouri a few years before she got sick. We had a good time together. I will always be grateful for the memories we acquired during that time. One of my favorite memories happened while Melodi was playing basketball.
Mama never cared for sports of any kind. Miz Betty's hobbies were shopping, cooking, eating out and shopping...did I mention shopping??? She loved to do these things. When Mama and Daddy moved to Fulton, Mo. from Kentucky our lives revolved around basketball. It was Melodi's freshman year in high school. She worked hard and earned a starting position on the varsity team. As a rule, she was the point guard for the North Callaway Ladybirds. She was an awesome player. From the time she entered high school, Melodi was scouted by college teams.
Melodi worked hard at basketball because she loved the sport and being on a team. My mother could not understand this at all. She thought this was a big mistake. She didn't like the practices Melodi had each day. To Mama they were too 'hard and long'. Mama also did not like the coach or "all that running" Melodi and the other girls had to do. She worried about Melodi's "ovaries" all the time.
We had many arguments over Melodi and basketball. She seldom went to any of her games. When she did go, I usually ended up wishing she had stayed home. One night we were playing a team just about as good as the Ladybirds. Melodi got in foul trouble in the first half. This was not good for our team. Mama was delighted!! When the coach took Melodi out of the game, Mama stood up and gave the only standing ovation in the crowd. I pulled her back down and told her this was not a good thing and she should not be so happy. Her reply was "I am glad he took her out. She is hot and tired...and she needs a drink of water. Let some of those other little girls play." Then she popped back up and cheered some more. She got Melodi's attention and gave her a big smile and told her to "rest awhile and cool off!" Next she turned to me saying, "Someone has to look out for Melodi's ovaries!!" Jeeze...
Melodi laughed and gave Mama a big 'high five'. This thrilled Mama. Miz Betty turned around giving me a smug look that implied, "See I told you..." This went on for four years. I never did make a basketball fan out of her. In the end that fact did not matter at all. Her antics at a game are precious...now, however not so much at the time.
Mama was an original, one of a kind southern lady through and through. I miss her and all of her little quirks.
Happy Birthday, Mama...you will be glad to know Melodi seldom plays basketball and her ovaries are fine.
It is raining again today. It rained yesterday and will rain again tomorrow. I can do nothing about the rain but watch and wonder. My mind keeps going back to the flood of '93, all the while hoping this year will not be a repeat of that horrendous summer.
I remember the night in June when we received 7 inches of rain in 7 hours. I was working the 11-7 shift at Fulton State Hospital. Our ward was unusually quiet that night, however the staff working the ward were all on edge. The storms pounded the window panes mercilessly. Lightning ripped holes in the atmosphere and thunder shook the ground. Slowly, over the course of the night a few patients were roused by the noise. As they awoke from their troubled sleep, we watched history in the making together.
None of us could stay away from the windows. We watched as the already saturated ground received water it could not hold. The court yard looked like a lake. Water began to seep under the outside doors. The tunnels flooded. My friend and coworker Joe Sessler, wondered how we would get home. That night in June was the beginning of my area's story of the 'Flood of '93". There was no way we could know the severity of what was taking place.
Over the course of the next few months, 50 people would die from the floods. 100,000 homes were raped, plundered and dismantled as the rivers were forced out of their banks, seeking a non existent stopping point.
People inland were glued to their t.v. sets; 24 hour news coverage showed us in detail what our friends, families and strangers were enduring. We watched the water rip apart homes, business and towns. The news coverage was unbelievable. Our lives soon centered around sand bagging levees, evacuations and loss. The price of food exploded until the governor issued a proclamation stating 'price gougers would be prosecuted'. Gas prices skyrocketed anyway.
By the time it was all over and the flooding had stopped, the damages were estimated at 15-20 billion dollars. A town about 20 miles from where I live, Rhineland, Mo. had to be relocated to higher ground.
There was a heaviness in the air, affecting most people in Missouri, regardless of whether they were immediately in danger or not. The devastation could not be escaped, coupled by the fact the rain would not stop for any length of time.
I remember waking up early one afternoon. It was about 4 p.m. and I couldn't sleep. Melodi and I drove to Calwood for gas. The radio was on transmitting the saddest sound I have ever heard. The news commentator was reading the list of all the road closings in Missouri. The list was long, extremely long. His voice was the sound of utter despair, mixed with the flat affect of a seriously depressed man. Melodi and I road in silence, lost in the enormity of his words. When we reached the I-70 overpass it became evident our major interstate was closed. The world at that moment seemed void. I realized we could not get to Kentucky if there was an emergency or to Lisa in Wichita. The feeling of fear surrounded my heart. I turned the radio off, immediately Melodi said softly, "thank you."
Eventually the rains stopped. It was October before that became a firm reality. Life, as it always does, found its center and things returned to a new kind of normal. Hopefully, this was the Flood of the Century and we will be spared a recurrence. However, when it rains for days on end, I remember the Flood of '93 and I become a little uneasy.
In 1957 I was obsessed with Nikita Khrushchev and Irl Bradberry. To me, they were the most fascinating men alive. I remember hearing Mr. Khrushchev say, "We will bury you". As he shouted these words at a United Nations meeting, he banged his shoe on the table. I could not believe what I was seeing or hearing. For the first time in my life I remember being afraid of a world leader. It was also the first time I became conscious of the word "spy" and what the word entailed. Suddenly my little world became filled with danger and spies. It was the most exciting summer I had ever enjoyed. I was about 8 years old and on a quest to find a spy in Clinton, Ky.
I could do nothing about Mr. Khrushchev since he lived in Russia and I lived in a small town in Kentucky. However, I could look for spies in my town and that I did from the time I woke up until I went to bed at night, I was in hot pursuit of Irl Bradberry. He was the most unusual man on our block. In reality he was also the kindest, gentlest, most soft spoken and probably the smartest man I knew.
I dogged this man all summer long! He couldn't turn around without stepping on me. Never once did he scold me or run me off. He continued to methodically work on his clocks and watches, while I wandered in and out of his shop, peeped in his windows, and crawled under his blocked up building to play with his cats. His personality and my imagination allowed me to have a wonderful summer. In hindsight, I am not so sure Mr. Bradberry's summer was as good as mine.
Each morning after breakfast, I would wait on the front porch for Mr. Bradberry to drive down Beeler Hill. Our day was about to begin. I would take my time walking over to his shop, allowing him time to get ready to start a new day of work. Soon I would make my first appearance of the day. As I knocked on his door, I would cross my fingers hoping as I entered his shop I would find a clue to confirm Mr. Irl's espionage.
Everything was different about Mr. Irl. He drove a Model A while the rest of Clinton drove Buick's, Ford's and Chevy's. I loved that old car. It had a personality. His workshop was unusual, filled with odd smells of oil cans and old tools The shop was old, cluttered and worn. The floors were covered in a light coat of oil. After my first barefooted visit to Mr. Irl, I always wore my shoes. His walls were lined with clocks. All of them set at different times. The shop was quiet except for the low, soft ticking of what seemed to be at least a hundred clocks. Occasionally the pendulum clocks would arrive on the hour causing a deep base gong to ring throughout his shop. If one of these clocks caught me off guard, it would scare me sending me running for the door. Mr. Irl never looked up but I think he smiled. He also reminded me to ' shut the door' on my way out.
His shop was located beside the Baptist Church. The back of his shop adjoined the driveway of the post office. I lived next door to the post office. My grandmother's kitchen window was focused squarely on Mr. Bradberry's shop. Following my 8th birthday, I was allowed to ramble around and play on my block without having to report in to Mamamae. I thought I was so grown up. Little did I know that at any time Mamamae could see me from any window in our home. Despite this fact, I enjoyed my first taste of freedom.
Since I could find no clues connecting Mr Bradberry to the non existent Russians, I had to change strategies. I became focused on his cats. In my imagination Mr. Irl used his cats to deliver information to the Russians!! In other words, I wanted to play with his kittens. When the kittens grew big enough to wander around, I painted all their toenails red so I could follow them and see where they were taking Mr. Irl's secret messages. Unfortunately, the kittens and their mothers could cross the street and I couldn't. That plan had to be abandoned. My mother also wanted her fingernail polish back leaving me with no options. I could not form a case proving Mr. Irl to be a spy. Lord knows I tried. It was a wonderful, exciting summer for me. I remember concluding Mr. Irl was not a spy. His cats were just cats, with red toenails. That was alright with me.
By the time I was 9, I began collecting wanted posters from the post office and reading Nancy Drew books. It was a very good era to be a child. It didn't take much to make me happy.
While eating breakfast in Fulton today, Tommy and I listened as three men shared memories from 1968-1971. Memories of Vietnam bounced around the restaurant and across the aisles as a newly acquired map of Vietnam was discussed. One man had received the map from the VFW. He was proud of it, showing off the details of all the places he had been stationed. Soon another man wanted to see the map. These two men were later joined by the third gentleman, each one looking at the map and remembering their stay in Vietnam. They were, once again teenagers with guns, young men forced to grow up too fast. The restaurant became quiet as we listened to their memories. Each man, with his words, painted a picture of Vietnam.
I was surprised at the twists and turns of the conversation. War was not the subject. War was the unseen 'elephant' in the room. One man pointed to a place on the map where he had been stationed. Another man said," I was there too." They looked each other in the eye and nodded. The first man shook his head, two minutes of silence followed as they mentally relived something they did not want to conjure up by speaking it aloud.
When the conversation resumed a tall black man took the discussion in a different direction. He said, "I fell in love with a woman over there. You know what I mean?" His companion said, "I know what you mean."
The black man said, "Man, I loved her. She was a tiny woman with long black hair down past her waist." He paused and remembered her all over again. He talked about staying with her and her three brothers every time he got a pass. He laughed when he spoke of her brothers, evidently, they hated him with a passion. He said he never slept soundly there. He always had one eye open...just in case. He spoke softly as he remembered, " She cried when I told her I was going home. She wanted me to stay. I saw her three brothers in the background and knew I was going home." He gave a soft laugh and left the conversation for a while.
A short husky redheaded man, the owner of the map, picked up the conversation. He recalled the horror of the snakes he saw while "in country." He shuddered at the memory of walking upon one called a 'two-step'...if it bit you, two steps was the amount of time you had to live. His buddy killed the snake he was about to step on. The man said, "I had nightmares for three days about that damn snake!" His companions grunted and agreed.
The third man was small and quiet. When he talked he recalled the rice patties. He told how they were the 'toilets' in Vietnam at that time. He said, "even today, I can seldom eat rice." Again, all three men agreed.
Eventually, the conversation ceased. Each man needed to be somewhere else. They stood, shook hands and gave each other a hug as they departed. Each one going their separate way. I wanted to give them a standing ovation for sharing their memories, but I didn't.
Tommy and I finished our breakfast. We didn't talk much. We were both still in Vietnam with a beautiful girl, a killer snake and a bowl of dirty rice.
The season's in Missouri are slow to arrive and even slower to leave. Time pauses, awaiting a nod from an unseen force, to complete the cycle of nature and move on to the next phase in life.
In my part of the world, Spring saunters in slowly. The grayness of Winter refuses to leave for any length of time. Eventually, thunderstorms will roll across the Plains, changing the snow to mud. There will be a flux of rain followed by days of mixed temperatures. Winter hangs on and then eventually bows out giving Spring the free reign she has wanted.
As soon as the temperatures rise to the 50's or higher, the grass will turn green. It seems to happen almost overnight. The spring leapers or young frogs begin their courting. The night is loud and refreshing with their chorus of songs, after a silent winter.
The birds welcome Spring. The last month of winter was harsh, snowy and bitter cold for them. Food was hard to find. The bird feeders were a welcome reprieve.
Daffodils, forsythia bushes and dogwood trees erupt bringing life once again to the area. The yellow and pink shots of color are a welcome addition to the woods and to the lawns. When the dogwood trees bloom it means the crappie fish are biting. Soon it will be time to go fishing. Families begin to plan camping trips. The stores order plants and seeds. Slowly, people and nature throw off the last warm coats of winter.
Perennials, planted years ago, push their way through the earth to reappear like old friends with welcomed faces. It is time for rebirth in nature.
There will be a few set backs in temperatures as Spring takes over for her season. In May we have a week of cold weather called 'Blackberry Winter.' The blackberry bushes begin to change and produce the berries we enjoy in the summer. Once that week is over, the trees will explode with leaves. The days will get longer and warmer. By the end of June, Spring will be ready to bow out and leave the next few months to Summer.
The four seasons take their time to arrive and to leave. Each season brings something new and desirable to the table. The human race is held captive by these four seasons. They rule our world and allow us to play in their world for an allotted amount of time. It is a blessing to be alive and to witness their changes.
Tommy is an avid television worshiper. I really do not know if it is the actual watching of the television he enjoys or simply the remote control he is infatuated with. He is the proverbial 'channel surfer'. He seldom watches anything from beginning to end. Mostly it is snippets of one show, then another and another. I hate it....absolutely hate it. However, I love my computer and I am almost always close to it writing or rewriting something. I am a reader. I can get lost in a good book and not surface for hours. Tommy hates that.
We recognize our difference and accept the differences in our passions and personalities. The only problem has been the noise. I need quiet and the t.v. is 30 steps from my writing area. The first three rooms of our home are all open space, adjoining each other as you enter the different rooms. However, Tami solved this problem for me. For Christmas she gave me an MP3 player loaded with 'white noise, a soft rain storm and the ocean'. It repeates itself and I hear nothing but my thoughts and background noise. It has made all the difference in how I feel. I can read or write any time I want without someone else's voice from the t.v. running through my mind. There is nothing more distracting than to be in the middle of writing and hear from the living room, 'Lizabeth choot!! chooot!!' Or to be writing a tense scene, where I am killing off someone and have a 'cannon' go off in the living room. I have spilled more coffee on myself, thrown more pencils and yelled various obscenities in a knee jerk reaction to the noise from the t.v.
Yesterday was a good day at our house, until Tommy killed a spider with the remote control. After he smashed the spider, the remote locked up and refused to move. He hit every button on the remote that could possibly help reboot the system. Nada, nothing worked. I was in the kitchen, smiling to myself as I watched Tommy get more and more worked up. Finally he asked me to find the number for Dish network. I did. He called and the hour long fiasco began.
The person who answered the phone was a lady in the Philippine's. They had a little communication problem. The t.v. was too loud and we couldn't turn it down. I bit my tongue to keep from saying, "See I told you it was too loud." However, as hard as it was, I kept my mouth shut. Good move Vicky, because this phone conversation went on for an hour.
The lady gives Tommy instructions on how to fix the problem. Tommy had issues understanding her instructions. At times there was a stalemate while they tried to communicate. Tommy asked her, "Lady, I am right smack in the middle of Missouri! You are in the Philippines is there someone closer who could help me?" Evidently not.
They continue. He explains about killing the spider with the remote. The lady and I both say at the same time, "You shouldn't have done that". He became a tad bit agitated. However he remained nice to the lady overseas...I was on shaky ground with him by that point. So I make myself scarce. Wrong move on my part. He wanted me close to hold the phone while he runs and works on the t.v. The lady and I start chatting. She was lovely to talk to....hard to understand but very nice. She told me very apologetically that she "couldn't do anything with my husband." I told her not to worry, "I couldn't either." We both laughed. I bet she is married.
Finally Tommy in a last ditch effort that did not work, tells the lady our life story. I knew it was just a matter of time until this happened. I made some coffee and laughed while my back was turned. He is so cute. Aggravating as hell but cute. He proceeds to explain how he hates modern technology and reveals to the lady the world is " going to Hell in a hand basket." About this time he tells her, " He is glad she knows all this computer stuff because it is people like her who will be pushing the buttons when the bombs go off!!" THAT remark probably placed his name on the CIA person of interest list. I am so glad. He is always telling me, "They are watching you Vicky! You can't be that vocal and not get in trouble." I laughed and told him, "Welcome to my world, baby you are on their list too." I thought it was funny. He didn't.
Finally, they decide that she can't fix his problem. She did tell him how to turn the t.v. and satellite on manually. A new remote is in the mail. He should get it in 5-10 days. Meanwhile, he changes the channels manually and out of habit holds the remote.
God forbid, but if he dies first.....that remote is going with him:)
Yesterday was Tommy's 65th birthday. It was our 43rd birthday to celebrate together as a married couple. Truthfully, seeing these words written in black and white seems like a lie. I know it is the truth but the idea of being 65 is foreign to me. We should still be in our 40's. We have a daughter who just turned 42 in January. Sooo that means once again my math is lousy and my memory is worse.....but my imagination is in great shape!!
I asked Tommy if he felt 65, expecting him to think like I do and say "Of course not!" Instead he came out with a "Hell yes I feel 65!! In the past 3 years I have nearly died 3 times. Of course I feel 65!!" Well hit me with a butter knife!!! I didn't know he felt that strongly about his birthday or about aging. I would have to ask this question during our first cup of coffee for the day. My timing was lousy. Our day went down hill from there.
He couldn't decide what he wanted to do. It was too chilly to go fishing. He didn't want anything WalMart had in stock. He didn't want to go to Harbor Freight, his favorite store or to go out to eat. He would have been content to go back to bed, pull the covers over his head and sleep the day away.
To make matters worse we had an argument over 'his apple pie' that WE bought on April 2nd. Plans were already made to go to Logan's Wrestling Team's awards dinner on the night of the 3rd. Every family attending was supposed to bring a dish. I 'donated' his pie. I told him we would buy him another one on the way home. He threw a 'Carter' fit. I was not taking HIS apple pie anywhere. I was shocked. It is not like Tommy never eats an apple pie. He has apple pie anytime he wants one. We buy it at WalMart, for goodness sake. I couldn't believe we were arguing like two little kids over an apple pie....on his special day....but we were. So we go to Logan's dinner and did not take anything! No one cared. There was enough food left over to feed a third world country.
Eventually, he got in a good mood. We enjoyed seeing Tami, Jacy, and Logan. Aaron ate with us so that was an added plus. The food was delicious. The program was really good. All the hard work the boys, coaches and families put into the wrestling club paid off. To add to the pleasure, Tami bought Tommy his own coconut cream pie. Thank God.
As we were getting ready to leave, the announcer said, "Do we have a Tommy Carter here tonight?" Tommy waved and yelled, "Over here". That is when the announcer asked everyone to sing "Happy Birthday" to Tommy. He loved it. I took his picture while the crowd sang to him. I love that smile. Whose idea was it to sing, "Happy Birthday" to Tommy? It was Logan's, our grandson and that made it even more special.
Today is the 4th. The big day is over. Does Tommy feel better? The answer to that is "No!" We are both coming down with a cold. He feels lousy. The thermostat went out in our car on the way home last night. We drove for an hour in the cold night air. Sometimes days just don't pan out the way we planned.
However, Saturday is my birthday......we are going out to dinner with Jody and Bambi. I want to go to "Hooter's".......it's gonna be fun....I hope.
