I first read "The Man Without a Country" written by Edward Everette Hale, when I was in high school. I was fascinated by the story.
I took the story to heart, although I knew it was a piece of fiction. My heart went out to Phillip Nolan, the main character of the story. To me his punishment did not fit his crime.
Fact and fiction are first cousins in this story. Aaron Burr was tried for treason in 1807. However, Philip Nolan did not exist as the supposed traitor and friend of Burr. There was no "co conspiracy" between the two men.
Philip Nolan was born and died in the imagination of the author. However, Hale wrote with such passion and fervor that the story took on a true life version of its own. People believed that Philip Nolan was a real person. They mourned his loss of freedom and his death. They forgave him his lapse in good judgment.
It takes the author about 28 pages to get to the gist of the story, in an 1888 revision of this story I read last night.
Philip Nolan was on trial with Aaron Burr for treason and in a fit of rage, Nolan angrily shouts words that forever haunted him. "Damn the United States! I wish I may never hear of the United States again!!"
The judge grants him his wish. He is immediately taken to a United States Navy warship and is placed in exile on board, the first of many ships to be his home. Strict instructions were given. Nolan would never again set foot on American soil, nor would anyone be allowed to mention America in his presence.
I remember crying so hard when I read his fate. How often in anger had I said things that I did not mean? Forever is such a long time. Surely someone would rethink this situation.
Granted, these were harsh, horrible words that would haunt him until the day he died, but they were also spoken in a fit of rage. The flip side of the coin, was the fact that Philip Nolan was on trial for treason. Probably not the best move on his part to loose his temper and "damn America", even though he was innocent.
On board all the ships he was assigned, he was treated with dignity and respect. He had his own "state room" and was allowed his privacy. No one was allowed into his room, unless invited.
After about 50 years at sea, Nolan becomes very ill. He was an old man and he knew he was about to die. He invited an officer to his room named Danforth.
There Danforth found a shrine to the United States. The walls were painted with a tribute to America. There was a picture of George Washington, with a flag draped around it. Over Nolan's bed he painted an eagle with lightning bolts blazing from his beak, while his claws grapple the globe. Also resting on the foot of his bed, is an out of date map, drawn as best as he could remember.
Danforth had pity on Nolan and began to tell him everything he could about America. He filled the map in for him. He tells him everything that has happened to the United States since Nolan has been exiled.
The only thing Danforth leaves out is the impending Civil War. He didn't think Nolan's heart could bare to hear that truth.
For the first time in 50 years, Nolan seemed at peace. He knew the story of his homeland that he missed and loved so much. The pain of dying was nothing, compared to the pain of being banished from America. He truly became a man without a country.
He asked to be buried at sea, since that had been his home. Supposedly, he was. However, he wanted a gravestone to be placed either at Fort Adams, Mississippi or at New Orleans.
Oddly enough for a piece of fiction, such a stone actually exists. This is one of the places on "my bucket list" that I want to visit and investigate for myself.
This story was written in 1863. In hopes of stirring up
patriotic feelings for the Union. I do not know how many people this story effected. But I do know the power it had over a 14 year old girl, reading it for the first time in English class.
While my class was in the process of growing up, the Viet Nam war was escalating. The war waited for us. Many of my friends and some family went to Nam. It is a period in our history that still remains a puzzle. And haunts the dreams of thousands.
Never in my wildest dreams can I imagine myself spitting on an American soldier. Nor standing by silent and still watching it happen. It makes me angry to just write these words. However, I remember seeing it on t.v. when it happened.
I also know first hand how angry a person can become with it's government. I am at such a place now. I cannot fathom "Damning America". However, I can quickly let words fly concerning politicans and their decisions they make effecting my life and my country.
Supposedly on Philip Nolan's marker is inscribed the following. "In Memory of Philip Nolan" Lieutenant in the Army of the United States. He loved his country as no other man has ever loved her; but no man deserved less at her hands."
Can I hear an "Amen" to that? Not really!!
Tommy had 3 doctor's appointments, at the Veteran's Affairs Hospital, in Columbia today. We were there by 7:30 a.m.
It was already busy. There was a flow of people everywhere, like water rushing to the shore only to make a quick retreat.
I have to admit I like going to the V.A. I always meet some interesting characters. Today was no exception.
After blood draw, we had breakfast. That is the only meal really safe to eat there. It is hard to mess up biscuits and gravy. Everything else they fix is--debatable.
After breakfast he was scheduled to see his heart doctor. The waiting room is small. It is impossible to have a conversation without everyone listening. The nurse who was working the desk, did not have time to be at work today. She was in the process of moving and that was all she had on her mind.
She is a small black haired lady with little patience for waiting. However, waiting she was, for two calls, one from the water company and the other her mother.
She puts her cell phone down by the man at the computer and told him to answer it if she should happen to be gone. He told her, he didn't want to answer her cell phone, and that she should take it with her. She told him she didn't want to pack the cell phone and to "do it anyway" and marched off. He looked at me and said, "I don't want to answer her phone."
I told him, "Well, don't do it" then Tommy tells me to be quiet. The computer man and I both scowl at Tommy. Thankfully, no one called.
Then she is back, just in time to break the B/P cuff. An old man comes in and his blood pressure is too low and needs to be retaken. He told her to "sit on his lap and it might rise a little" I nearly fell out of my chair laughing. He weighed all of 90 pounds soaking wet and he was ready!!! He put on quite a show. It was almost like watching a rerun of "I Love Lucy".
Next we go to the Diabetes Clinic. Another small waiting room, full of funny old men. The man sitting next to me had forgotten to wear his hearing aide and tried his best to join in every one's conversation. He just couldn't keep up. I became his interpreter, rather reluctantly.
The man to his left was a Korean Vet. and had been shot up pretty bad during the war. We had a long intense talk about getting shot, about war in general and his war wounds in particular.
Evidently, a bullet that had been embeded in his shin bone for fifty years, finally worked it's way to the top of the skin. It abscessed and had to be removed.
He pulled up his pants leg and showed me his new scar. I had never seen a "real" bullet hole and I was kind of amazed.
That's when I felt Tommy's eyes burning a hole through my back. I turned to look at him to discover he was not at all curious about the old man's scar....and just as soon I wasn't either.
I started laughing again. He had been called back to see the doctor and yanked me up to go with him. I continued to laugh until I was almost crying.
It took Tommy 41 years to get jealous!!!! I am still laughing and shaking my head. Unbelievable!!! He was on a roll!!!
"If I die first, I guess you can hang out at the V.A." Oh my gosh!! Tell me that is not my fate!! I never did get completely under control.
As we were leaving, the old man was still in the waiting room. I stopped and asked him if he kept the bullet. He said "No, I threw that thing in the trash"
I walked on thinking," dang I would have liked to have had that bullet"
The things people throw away----the things other people collect. The human race on the whole is an odd bunch of ducks! Wonder if God laughs or shakes His head and thinks "I'll do better next time."
In 2003, Tommy, Lisa and I went to the Grand Canyon on vacation. The trip was beautiful, almost beyond description. We drove up, over and around the Rockies, drove through deserts and spent time on the Navajo Indian Reservation. Everywhere we turned the land was in competition with itself. It would have been hard to pick a winner. Each place was beautiful and could stand on its own. If you happen to be a rock hound like I am, then paradise was everywhere.
To arrive at the Grand Canyon we traveled through the The Dine Bikeyah, or the Navajo Nation. It is larger than 10 of our 50 states. When you enter Dine Bikeyah, you have entered a nation within a nation.
It was on this reservation that we saw the most beautiful young woman any of us had ever seen.
It was late in the afternoon, we were hot and tired and trying to decide where we were going to spend the night.
We pulled into a service station and souvenir shop, to get gas and stretch our legs and check out the postcards. The parking lot had about 30 vehicles. All makes and models of cars and trucks, mostly filled with people waiting for someone in the trading post to finish their business and come out so they could leave.
Tommy and I were standing outside our vehicle, stretching and enjoying an ice cold soda. Lisa was still inside, waiting in line. The door opened and out strolled the most beautiful woman any of us had ever seen.
She took two steps and paused for a second, all eyes in the parking lot were on her. I know, because I gave the parking lot a fast scan to see if she was impacting other people like she was us. Undeniably she was.
She continued her stroll, oblivious to the rest of us. She was about 5 foot 9 inches tall, lean maybe 125 pounds at the maximum. No more than 20 years old.
Her hair was silky black and reached her waist. She wore old faded blue jeans, a red tank top and cowboy boots. Her left wrist was encased in a turquoise bracelet. Nothing fancy to take away from her natural beauty. It was the perfect outfit. She was in the process of drinking a Mt.Dew, but carried it like an after thought, loosely and with a slight swing to her arm.
She had a perfectly chiseled face, bronze skin and black Oriental eyes. As she reached her truck, while opening the door, she flashed the parking lot a beautiful white smile. Ahhhh, the lady knows her affect on people. Good for her. She cranked the truck and was gone.
Tommy and I turned to each other and said at the same time, "She is the most beautiful person I have ever seen". I think probably everyone in the parking lot said the same thing. As Lisa came out the door, her first question to us, "Did you see that beautiful Indian girl? She just left the post."
In unison, we said we did. Then it hit me----I didn't get a picture of her!! I am the "Camera Queen". Good shots seldom get by me. However, I missed that once in a lifetime photo shot.
Eleven years, after those few minutes in a dusty parking lot, she is still the person we use for a beauty gauge. If we see someone who is amazing looking, one of us will say, "yes he or she is beautiful but can't compare to the Navajo woman in Arizona."
Beauty is very fleeting. Eleven years makes a big difference in people. I am sure she looks different today. However for us, she is frozen in time. She will never age, never die and will always be "the most beautiful girl in the world" to us.
Today is one of those days when the rain is slow and steady like molasses pouring from a Mason jar. The sky is a stone gray, stained with dark clouds.
The ground is in the midst of a delirious drink fest. The holes in the cracked earth remain wide open, begging for more water.
It is one of those days when the best plan is no plan. I am wearing my" grubby clothes "and plan to enjoy the atmosphere. Relax, and just watch the day unfold. No room for hurrying today.
Breakfast for Jacy, Logan and me was peanut butter on a spoon. The kids wanted water and I drank coffee. We sat at the kitchen table and laughed at each other, as we licked our spoons. One of the best breakfast's I've had in awhile.
My partners in crime wanted to play the Wii, and I had found a new author that has my attention for awhile. Sherman Alexie. This book is a collection of short stories about life as an Indian entitled "The Toughest Indian In the World". It is totally different from what I was expecting. That's fine by me---I like surprises.
First line of the book is a great hook. "Regarding love, marriage, and sex, both Shakespeare and Sitting Bull knew the only truth: treaties get broken." Wish I had written that!!!
If I do not finish this book before Thursday morning, Mr. Alexie is going home with me. If I do finish it, which I will, he may go home with me anyway.
The natives were getting restless around noon. A trip to McDonald's and a loud round of playing in the kids play area settled them down a little.
The rain began to get heavier. The thunder started to stomp and roar across heaven, scaring Jacy. We cut our outing short and came home, after a pit stop at the grocery store.
It has been a good day in my corner of the world.
I have been gone off and on for two weeks. When I got home Sunday, Tommy was working in the garage. I got out of the car, gave him a kiss and told him briefly about my trip. Before I could even get unpacked I heard the back door open and a "Hey, Babe I need your help, for just a minute outside"
That was probably the very last words I wanted to hear. As far as I was concerned, I was DONE for the day. In Tommy's eyes, not by a long shot, was I done. I had helped other people and now it was his turn to receive my help!
He had the riding lawn mower in the back of the truck and he wanted to unload it. That was fine with me....just do in reverse what you did to get the mower in the truck in the first place. However, this was not his plan----enter Vicky.
He pulled out two long boards to use as ramps. My job was to stand on the "ramps" while he backs the mower down them. This did not sound like something I really should be doing. Surely, there was a Plan B somewhere.
A thousand questions ran through my mind. "was this the mower with no brakes?" "just how fast is he going to back down once he starts?" "will I be able to get off the ramps before the mower reaches me?" "is he trying to kill me?"
My plan before he started to roll down the planks was to get the heck out of the way!!!
Tommy rocked the mower and it wouldn't budge. Once it started to move I screamed and he stopped--- at least I know this mower has breaks!!! To say he was just a tad bit put out with me...is an under statement!!
He starts the process again and about 1/3 of the way down, I jump off the boards!! He lands that thing and is baffled that I ever doubted his plan. Why, I will never know.
Next question from his lips to my ears "Do you want to mow?" Do I ever want to mow---very seldom. I am so ready for that damn grass to die.
This winter I will miss the grass and all the work that goes with keeping the yard looking nice. However, it is August and I am done with gardening and mowing!!! Unfortunately, it is not done with me. I didn't mow, but he did for a little while. I made my escape to the house, got on my computer to see what everyone else was doing.
I had just started talking to Celeste in Portugal, when the mower stops and Tommy sticks his head in the door---again!!!
Famous last words of the day, "Hey, babe I need your help again!!!" How many times have I heard that? I get off the computer to go outside and "help"---only to find the belt on the mower came off.
Did I mention, I hate that damn mower? Here we go ---again.
I AM HOME!!!!! No matter how irritating "home" can be at times, being there is a good thing. Sometimes it just takes a little while to remember that fact.
I love going to Kansas City. It is the right size city for me. It is not so big that I get lost every time I turn around, but it is big enough to always have something new to see and do.
Melodi has lived there twice and each time we have added new memories. Christmas of 2004, we attended the "The Nutcracker" performed by the Kansas City Ballet Company. The Kansas City Philharmonic Orchestra accompanied the performance. It was my first ballet and I found it amazing, engrossing and very sensual. I loved it.
Last year we took a weekend to see the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art.
Not only was it huge, it was impossible to see everything in one day. However, we were not leaving until we had seen Claude Monet's "Water Lilies". Sometimes a person needs to stop, look and listen. That is how this painting affected us. We sat and soaked up the beauty of fluid color.
We have eaten and drank our way through this city. Mostly ate, however at the Salty Iguana, I was introduced to the best beer I have ever tasted. "Boulevard Beer". It is a wheat beer. I had my doubts about it at first, my mind was soon changed. It is so smooth and delicious. My favorite beer by far, now.
While I am not a big drinker, by any means. I do enjoy a cold beer or two on a hot day. Usually Tommy and I are fishing when we indulge, or are eating Mexican food. I have to admit, it is a toss up as to which is better with Mexican food, beer or margaritas. The best margaritas I have ever drunk were in New Orleans, the worst--in my kitchen.
This has been the year of house sitting and spending time with my best friend Carol, in Kansas City. We roamed around antique malls and little out of the way shops. It was a fun summer with a lot of memories to rehash when it is -10 and snow is knee deep to a monkey's butt.
I went to Kansas City this weekend to help Melodi and Jennifer pack for their move to Richmond, Virginia. This is a good move for them. I support the move whole heartily but I sure am going to miss them.
I have so much fun with my daughters, they are all grown, wonderful young women. The pressure is off of me to raise them. Now I can enjoy them as friends. The things we talk about and do are priceless. If it seems like a good idea to someone, and it will, then before you know it everyone is on board and we are off and running toward the next "good idea". That is one reason Tommy always says "No bail money" before we leave.
As I write this, I wonder why I am so prone to let time get away from me. Melodi has been home 14 months, why didn't I go to see her at least 14 times? There always seemed to be a good excuse. Too hot, too cold, snow, rain, just a busy life in general. Now I wish I had tossed the excuses and took the 3 hour drive.
I shouldn't complain, I have had a great 14 months with Melodi and Jennifer. The holidays, the weekends they came home. The weekends I went to see them. Melodi's birthday- the bonfire, fire works and the hay ride. Not to mention dynamiting a pumpkin!!!! I told you, that if someone has an idea, one of us will think it is a good plan:) And it really was dynamite!!!
Unfortunately, soon it will be back to once or twice a year. I know on those occasions, we will all have so much fun---that is a given. However, I will painfully wish I had made more time for the really important thing in life---time for family and time for many more visits.
If I had known we only had 14 months, things would have been different. But I didn't--no one knows what the future holds for any of us. We are all only given so many days, we really shouldn't waste a single one of them. Lesson learned....I hope.
I am looking forward to all the new adventures we will have in Virginia. Let's see, I have already started my list of places to go and see.
Washington D.C. is at the top of the list. As much as I gripe about that place, I am so anxious to see it for myself. All the history contained there--not mention all the b.s.--- I want to see it first hand--in person. When I have been to D.C. it will be another item I can cross off my "bucket list"
Since I first wrote this blog, a lot has changed. The East Coast has had it's first earthquake in 140 years or 80 years, depending on which news channel is telling the tale.
It appears that the beautiful home Melodi and Jennifer rented, is 30 miles from the epicenter of the quake zone.
Jennifer's Mom and family live near the ocean in Virginia and there is a hurricane headed their way.
This only reinforces a well known fact, if you want to make God laugh---tell Him your plans!!!
All systems are still go. As I write this, I am throwing salt over my shoulder and knocking on wood. It will be an adventure, that's for sure.
We leave Sept. 8th for Florida, to see Lisa and Lisle. Then October pretty much belongs to Melodi. I am excited. Anything that starts out like this---has to have a good ending....I hope!
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August 9th was my father's 88th birthday. Tommy and I made the trip home from Missouri so I could celebrate with Daddy. Some things you only get to do once. This was one of those days. Even though we had to celebrate early, celebrate--we did and I am very glad.
Daddy and I have a semi routine we do whenever I come home. We go to Springhill and visit the graves of his grandparents, who basically raised him. El and Myrtie Owen.
He tells me stories of his life with them. He always mentions that he wishes he and Mama could have been buried there instead of where Mama chose to buy lots. Mama didn't want any part of the country ---even in death.
We drive all through the back country of Hickman County. He checks out the crops and tells me stories of this family, that farm or whatever comes to his mind. I love to listen to these stories, even though I know them by heart, I still enjoy hearing him tell them.
As soon as we are through with this trip, we drive to Fulton to check on Mama. She is buried in the Memorial Gardens just outside of Fulton. Mamamae and Granddaddy, Uncle Gene and now Robert Turner are buried there.
Darla, Robert's wife and my cousin and my sister by heart, keeps beautiful flower arrangements on the graves.
Daddy and I are usually silent, each one talking to our loved ones from the heart, instead of through our lips. I always say aloud, "Good bye and I love you" to them all before we leave. Daddy just leaves. Sometimes I hear him tell Mama, "I will see you soon, I hope".
The last time I was home, Daddy wanted to eat "lunch" with Mama....so we did. He wanted a quarter pounder and fries from McDonalds. I bought them and we came back to the cemetery to eat. If I never do that again, it will be alright with me. Something just was out of whack, to be eating in the cemetery. I could just hear Mama say "J.L. don't make a mess here." We didn't.
This time I planned to take him to eat Mexican food at new restaurant across from WalMart. We both love Mexican food, so he agreed to go there. There would be no cemetery eating that day!!!
It was love at first sight for me!! I wanted a set of chairs from there. First thing I did was start taking pictures. Daddy gave one of those,"Oh My God, here she goes again looks!!!" I tried not to embarrass him too much....However, I figure what the heck do I care what strangers think? One of my new life motto's is "If not now---when?"
Here is an isle shot of the place. Wait until you see the backs of the chairs!!!
Each chair and table are different. I am certain that in another life, I was of Spanish descent. I get too excited about their life style, not to have some connection. I do believe I can refinish some ladder back chairs with ceramic tiles and get this effect.
It really doesn't take much to make me happy. This setting did the trick. We ordered steak fajitas and had enough food for an additional three people. Daddy enjoyed himself and that was a good thing.
After lunch, we drove to Columbus Park and then down to the Mississippi River. Daddy is really loosing his eyesight, but he enjoyed the river the most. We watched the barges.
He would ask me questions and I would describe as best I could, what I saw. He only gets images that are hazy at best. We spent an hour or more there. Talking about the boats and barges. I wish I could take him on one. He would love that.
Daddy was getting tired. We had a good time together. Soon it would be time for me to go back home. We had laughed and talked just like a normal family --which is something we have never been. I have to admit, it felt good for a change.
Celeste Silva, a very good friend of mine, from Portugal took this picture. As soon as I saw the picture, it made me think of my grandmother and her weekly wash day.
I asked Celeste if I could have a copy of the photo because I wanted to write a blog about it. Celeste was gracious enough to agree and sent the the photo immediately. Thank you my friend, that is what good friends do for each other. I hope my blog does your photo justice.
From the time I was born until I was 11 my mother and I lived with my grandparents. I was very blessed, and loved unconditionally. For that alone, I will be eternally grateful to them.
We lived in a small shotgun house, exactly one block from the only stop light in Clinton, Kentucky. Next door was the Post Office, across the street was the jail and on each end of our block, were two churches. Mrs. Clapp's house separated us from the Methodist Church and the Post Office was located to the left of Mamamae's home and the Baptist Church. I always had some off limit places to play. And I loved it.
I can remember when we had an icebox instead of a refrigerator. Ice was delivered in huge blocks and kept in the top of the icebox. It was delivered once or twice a week.
The milkman delivered our milk in glass jugs about twice a week. They were left on the front porch and the empty jugs were picked up in exchange for the full ones.
No one in town had air conditioning. Instead we had fans and a huge window fan that kept the whole house cool at night.
We didn't have a t.v. until I was 10 and for that I am grateful. I played, used my imagination and generally had fun playing with the other kids on my street. When I became older, I lived in books.
Once a week, Mamamae did the laundry and I always wanted to be around for that. We had an electric wringer washing machine and I liked to watch it work.
It was my job to help Mamamae hang out the laundry. I carried the cloth bag slung over my shoulder and would give her the clothes pins as she needed them.
I was about 5 years old and I felt very "grown up" when we did the laundry. I especially liked to watch my grandmother use the wringer part of the washer. After the clothes were washed, she would wring them out and then "run them through the rollers to get all the excess water out. I was given strict instructions to never- -ever touch the wringer on the machine.
I wanted to use it so bad. I knew I could do it. All I needed was something to wash. I had a plan. As soon as Mamamae would go get the next load of clothes, I would drag the chair over to the machine and wash our dirty cat!!!
The cat had been asleep when I grabbed her up and threw her in the washer. It was a couple of seconds before she knew what was going on. Unfortunately, she woke up fast and wanted out of the tub bad. I wanted to wash her some more and I really wanted to use the wringer on her tail. I thought when she dried, she would look pretty and fluffy. I thought wrong!! Sooo wrong!!!
I managed to get the tip of her tail in the wringer, just about the time, Mamamae heard the cat scream and me yelling at the cat to be quiet!! She came running, not knowing what to expect to find.
I can still see the shock on her face when she saw me trying to wring the cat's tail. I was crying by now because I realized that the cat was in pain and I kept pulling on her tail to get it loose. The cat was scratching me up badly. Mamamae threw a blanket over the cat and pulled the plug on the machine and unwound the cat's tail. When she placed the cat on the floor, it ran out the back door and we never saw it again. Chicken!!! It ditched me!! For good reason.
The cat left me with a very mad grandmother and a lot of bloody scratches. Thank God for the scratches!!!! I do believe my days may have been numbered that day if I had not been bleeding so much!!!!
Every time Mamamae would start to remember how mad she was at me. I would cry and writhe in pain. It worked and I didn't get a spanking.
However, the cat never did come back home. I was sure she would eventually come home, apparently some cats hold grudges!!! I hope she didn't loose her tail. I really felt bad about what I did. It was just one of those things that seemed like a good idea at the time, and turned into a disaster.
I lost my job of holding the clothes pins for a few weeks. No one would let me near the washer, and I was covered in scabs for about 10 days. Just desserts I would say. I hope the cat lived----fluffy tail and all.
Mamamae was a good, forgiving grandmother and soon I was helping her again. The down side was I didn't get another cat for 3 years. I can honestly say she never once got a bath.
But I did get a dog----a little terrier named "Booger" and let me tell you, if that dog was alive and could talk-----I would be in sooo much trouble. He had to wear doll clothes in the middle of July, while wrapped in a baby blanket and forced to lay in a doll buggy. Occasionally he had to take a bottle.He was my favorite "doll" for several years. He loved to share my treats and I loved to share his dog house. To his benefit, he out grew the doll clothes and the hot baby blanket. We had him for years and I loved him dearly.
Every Saturday, Booger ran away to the courthouse and someone would bring him home to me that afternoon. I always knew he was "politically minded".
When I drive by some home and I see clothes hanging on the line, blowing in the wind. I remember Mamamae. I smile and try to remember how those clothes smelled years ago. Those were good days to be young and alive. I wouldn't trade these memories for anything. I would redo some things, but I cherish the great childhood I lived.
When I think of Miss Jessie Gore, I think of a true Southern lady and a Rebel to the core. She was a petite woman. She wore her long gray hair woven into a braid and swirled around her head. She always had a few stray hairs slipping out of her bun and framing her face. It was a very pretty old face. Just by looking at her you could tell that at one time she had been a beauty. It seemed she always dressed in long skirts, but that may be my imagination at work.
She lived with her sister in an old house on Mayfield Highway. I never saw her house, but I always imagined it to be a two story relic left over from the Civil War. There would be a winding road leading to her home, surrounded by red maple trees and ancient oaks. I have no idea what it really looked like, but in my mind this was "Miss Gore's" home.
Her house would be filled with books and a cat or two. I always believed she read southern romance novels. Her passion was teaching history. She made the Civil War come alive to me. She had a big influence on me concerning that subject. I still love to read about the bloodiest war the United States ever fought. I find history fascinating. She was by far my favorite teacher in school. I wish I had listened more and talked less in her class.
We were a rowdy class, often causing Miss Gore to have to take a "Goody's" powdered aspirin because we had given her a headache. She would always come back from the water fountain with a smudge of powder on her nose. Sometimes we would tell her and sometimes we wouldn't.
Another thing I remember about Miss Gore, was the fact that she hated the Supreme Court. She called them "the nine devils dressed in black". If we wanted to get her off track and not study---all we had to do was ask a question about the Supreme Court and she was off and running. While we were writing notes to each other and ignoring her completely. She thought it was horrible that someone could be appointed to a position in government for life. After a few of the Justice's we have had----I may have to agree.
It was during the Spring of 1961 when the Bay of Pigs began, or as most referred to it as "The Cuban Missile Crisis." We would hear jet planes fly over our school from Paducah on a regular basis.
There was a horrible, loud horn that blew the alarm in school if a Civil Defense warning had been issued. If you weren't scared before the horn blew, you would be after it did. We had to practice this several times so we would know what to do.
When we heard the horn blare, we were to hide under our old desks, in case they weren't our planes flying overhead and we were being attacked. Not much of a safety plan. However, considering a crisis like this never occurred before it was the best they could do. Miss Gore kept us as calm as possible.
People began building "bomb shelters". Families put their own plans together to help keep their loved ones safe. Mama and I no longer lived with Mamamae and Granddaddy. Daddy refused to build a bomb shelter no matter how much I wanted one. And I wanted one really, really bad!! Our plan was to go the the basement of the Methodist Church. I wanted to go deeper than that!!! Daddy refused to even go there.
Even as a kid, I watched the news, I remember watching Nikita Khrushchev take off his shoe and slam it on the table at the United Nations and say "We will bury you!!!" I ran out of the room and told Mamamae about this. I couldn't understand why he was so mad at us. Mamamae didn't know why he was mad at us either. This just reinforced my desire for a bomb shelter.
My family wanted me to stop watching the news. Fat chance of that!!! I wanted to know what was going on in the world.....and I wanted a bomb shelter--bad!!
That crisis passed, and another one took its place. It has been this way throughout history. I have finally chalked it up to human nature and accepted the fact that some things never really change.
We never built a bomb shelter. Eventually I moved to an area of the country whose favorite game to play during the Spring is run and hide from tornado's.
We bought a home with no basement. Seems like history repeats itself, even in the smallest details. Once again no bomb shelter or a basement in sight. This time it would not make a difference either, because we live within a 10 mile radius of a nuclear power plant.....if any thing really bad happens ---we will never remember it.
I woke up this morning and I was in a bad mood before my feet touched the floor. Something rare for me.
In fact, I had gone to bed mad, because the last bit of fodder I heard before sleep, was an announcement that our "leaders" had reached an agreement to cut our military budget by 50%. There was more bull stated but I could not get beyond that one statement.
The bill will pass, and gradually over the next few months the American public will learn what "the bill" really means. All the "hidden" taxes, loopholes and deals made behind closed doors.
Most arguments I can usually see both sides, but this atrocity, this lack of total regard for our nation, baffles me. It sickens me, and there is no way anyone will ever make me believe this is a good decision.
How quickly we forgot 9-11, when fanatical terrorists declared war on "the Great Satan". They swore to "erase us from the face of the earth". They vowed jihad on the United States. They have not changed their minds.
Our leaders, on the other hand, have short memories. Their words fly as easy as a dead leaf. Their promises and vows to keep America safe smell like wormwood. We are surrounded by enemies without and within. Yet our leaders want to cut our Defense Budget. I can not see where this is in the best interest for my country, my future or my children's future.
Truthfully, I feel like we are all part of a human chess game. The American people are the pawns, the military the rooks, knights and bishops. All players working and sacrificing to protect the King.
Let us hope we win this game. Throughout history many empires have fallen, most started by erosion on the inside. Let us hope we can stop this erosion before it spreads.
Stop it before it is too late. Before someone, somewhere calls "Check Mate" and the other side blinks.
