After reading Bob Templeton's blog today about the post office, I was once again lost in memories of a long, long time ago. The post office was one of my favorite places to play. I am sure I was a nuisance, however no one scolded me or ran me off.
As a kid growing up in Clinton, Ky. I lived in the best place in town, in my mind. Mama and I lived with her parents Harry and Fayetta Poe. That in itself was wonderful. Their house was located next door to the Post Office, across the street from the jail, and next door to Mrs. Klapp. On either end of our block were two churches. To the right, the Methodist Church to the left, the Baptist Church. Behind the jail was the library. Across the street from the Methodist Church was Joe Wayne Weatherford's service station. At the other end of that block was another service station, where Mamamae and I drank a coke filled with peanuts almost every afternoon as we sat on the porch watching the traffic go by.
This photo was taken after Mamamae and Granddaddy had died. My mother eventually sold the house to the Methodist Church. It was used as a Sunday school room for awhile.
I remember the post office allowed Granddaddy to build a garage at the back of our house. Legally, the land belonged to the post office.
I doubt if that would happen today, anywhere.
When I was small, about 5 years old, I had a little dog named 'Booger'. In our back yard was one large maple tree. The yard was fenced, to keep Booger and me at home. Every morning I would run outside to the gate and find a piece of bubble gum. Mr. Ben Hale had me convinced the bubble gum came from the tree. However, he was always there laughing, as I shared my bubble gum with my dog.
I remember Billy Holland sitting out back and watching me play. He would laugh and always had something funny to tell me. I thought a lot of him and Mr. Hales.
I would skate in the Post Office after 4 p.m. until Mama came home from work.
I stole the wanted posters for several years. I was always looking for criminals and the post office had the cream of the crop of the most wanted--- straight from the FBI. The were hung on a hook on the left side of a bulletin board. I helped myself--often.
I also remember Granddaddy's code to unlock his post office box. It was 1 mark before the H and right on the U. The things the mind remembers.
Thank you Bob for helping me remember a favorite time in my life. I have enjoyed this afternoon reminiscing the antics of a little girl in Western Kentucky.
In the first 10 or 12 years Tommy and I were married, we moved about 10 times. Sometimes it was across the country, complements of the US Marine Corp. At other times it was because we wanted a new adventure, to see a different part of the country or on one occasion we had a mean neighbor who did not like kids.
Once we moved from Georgia to Kentucky because of a commercial. Dotty West sang, "I Was Raised on Country Sunshine". I loved that song and the commercial. It featured an old two story country store, with a big porch running the width of the structure. The young couple owned the store and lived upstairs. I wanted to do that. I was tired of city life. I wanted Lisa to know her family in Kentucky and Tennessee. We wanted to go home.
So we packed up and headed for Geoffrey Myers old home. We loved it there. We planted our first garden, got pregnant and enjoyed our families. We lived in Kentucky and Tennessee for about three years. Then we moved to Missouri. Rented for awhile and finally bought our home we live in today. Lisa was tired of changing schools. We had moved her 3 times in 3 years. She said she didn't want to move anymore. That was all it took and we settled down. However, I still get the urge to move from time to time.
Each time I go on vacation, I want to move to the place we are visiting. It never fails. I start figuring the cost and then the idea of someone else living in our home, on our land, I change my mind.
It is the adventure, starting over, making a new nest, seeing new areas with fresh eyes, that I like. I also think it helps to make a couple, just starting out, closer. You only have each other to rely on, until new friends are made. I wouldn't have changed a single move or experience. It was all part of the process of growing up.
However, when we were moving 40 years ago, things were a lot more simple and cheaper. When we found a place we liked, we called the landlord and asked to view the place. If we liked it we usually paid $100 deposit, signed a year lease and moved in.
Not so today. It takes thousands of dollars to rent a house on either coast. The red tape is ridiculous. Letters from your employer, letters from your last 2 places of residence, pay stubs, and credit reports. The only thing Melodi, my daughter who is moving to California, did not have to do was sign her name in blood and promise not to die within the next year!!! And heaven help you if you have a dog!! The deposit for a dog is more than my medical bill was for giving birth to Tami! It seems the world is trying to price itself out of business.
Times change, progress is costly. I flew 1585 miles in 3 1/2 hours. A GPS on Melodi's phone gave us driving directions, found places to eat, gas up and the houses we were checking out. The realtor, Patty, lined up homes that she thought Melodi would like. Between the two of them we found everything we needed.
It is completely different from the way Tommy and I moved. However, the excitement of starting over is the same. Melodi can hardly wait and truthfully I am having a great time helping her. Tommy and I start on a new adventure August 1st or 2nd when we join her on the move to California, then go on vacation. We are both excited about this trip. We have had our atlas out for a month. Some things never change, for us this is a very good thing.
Paradise comes with a price...judging by my smile, I would say it is worth it.
As I was waiting to board my plane yesterday from Richmond, Virginia to Charlotte, North Carolina, two of my recently acquired friends and I noticed all the people leaving our plane were hot, red faced, angry and dripping with sweat. We looked at each other and then back at the miserable passengers. There was no doubt something was wrong. Soon a short, portly,
bald headed man got off the plane and made an announcement. Evidently, the air conditioning equipment was broken. He called it the"starter engine". I really wished he had called it something else. Anything that had the word "engine" included made me nervous. He also went on to say they were bringing in a generator to "boost" the air conditioner. He informed us that it would not be "cool" when we boarded the plane. He asked us to keep the windows shut, they supplied us with ice water immediately. The plane's lights would be off until we were up high enough to reach cool air.
I found my seat and met another very nice lady. She had just retired from a computer company and was flying to Germany then on to her sister in England. She was dressed for night flying and was fanning herself like a bat trying to take flight. She kept opening the window shade and looking out to see what was going on. Immediately there was an announcement to "Please close the shades to conserve what cool air we have". The rules did not apply to her. She told me she had requested a window seat and she intended to look out her window. Then she fanned harder and sweated more. I suggested she keep it shut until the plane cooled off. She looked at me like I had just sprouted a third eye.
This scenario was repeated for 30 minutes. Open window, announcement, open window, announcement. Finally the plane cooled off and the rest of the trip was pleasant. Everyone could officially open their window shade. She closed hers and began to talk to me about her long flight. Odd indeed.
As the lady and I were laughing about the situation, I told her she reminded me of Lot's wife. She said, "Who is Lot?" I told her the story of Lot and his family fleeing the wrath of God. They were instructed not to look back toward the city they were leaving. Lot's wife couldn't stand it, she looked and was immediately turned to pile of salt, if I remember right. She thought for a minute and said, "You are right, I would have looked". I thought to myself, me too.
If the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, then I have certainly earned my own driveway today!!!! It should lead up to my small burning house!!! The reason I am so upset is because someone, somewhere made millions of dollars inventing a aggravating, orange tape dispenser made by U Haul!!!! It has driven me nearly MAD today!!! A preschooler could probably do a better job taping today than I have done. It should be EASY and it is for everyone else packing in this house but me.
I have fought with it until I am ready to throw it through the nearest window, or worse case scenario----make it's own window, door, vent, rat hole.......I don't care!! I have a million places I would like to put the little SOB.
It drew first blood yesterday. I knew then, the likely hood of our coexisting is a friendly manner was doubtful---much less work together. Today was no better than yesterday. I didn't bleed as much today however I cursed ten times more. So that probably takes precedence over the blood.
I have tried and tried to use this little pain in my a$$ but we do not work together well at all. I pull the tape dispenser across the box and it gets all squirrely on me. I go to cut it off and it refuses to budge. I get tape stuck to me, the box and the $80 pair of Cutco scissors that if not used correctly disassemble in my hands and become a set of knives. I have done this same scene over and over for 8 hours today. And I am still not through with the kitchen. Almost but not quite. I had to stop and vent, throw a tantrum on the computer is better than having a real life fit!!! It was a close call. I didn't want to scare my daughter.
I am beginning to feel better. I don't know if the writing helped, the xanax or the two beers, whatever I feel like I can go back down stairs and finish the kitchen. Hopefully I won't bleed anymore tonight. Right.....and there is peace in the Middle East.
When Tommy and I woke up Wednesday morning, it was cloudy, cool and looked like it might rain. We had already planned to go fishing the night before. Whoever woke up first, put the coffee on and woke the other one up.
I woke up first, around 6 a.m. I made coffee, fed the dogs and just walked around outside. How bad did I really want to go anywhere at 6 in the morning. I thought about this for a few minutes and decided that fishing on the Missouri River sounded like a good way to start the day. Tommy was up by then and in a matter of minutes we were ready to go. I opened the back door and it was raining. The thunder boomer lasted about 5 minutes.
Last year we bought me a fishing vest with at least 20 pockets and a fanny pack. This was for the sole purpose of me NOT having to take a purse fishing. The last time I took a purse, I slid down an embankment throwing my purse at Ben Hook. I will never live that down. Both men told me to leave my purse in the truck. I needed my purse. It had my camera, book, notepad, bottled water and animal crackers, and various other things I might need while we were fishing.
I forgot all about the vest and the fanny pack last Wednesday. I did grab 2 bottles of water, coffee, peanut butter crackers and my purse. It has everything I need to survive a day, no matter where I am.
We decide to go fishing at Portland on the Missouri River. To get to our spot we needed to walk down the Katy Trail and once again, climb down an embankment that would have caused a goat trouble.
Each of us were carrying our own chair, thrown over one shoulder. Two fishing rods, a small cooler and of course I had my purse. Tommy went down the cliff first. I use that word "cliff" loosely, at the time it looked like a huge rock drop off into the river.
I started my descent very slowly. I used my fishing poles as walking sticks, grabbed grass, slipped, tripped and slid until I finally hit the rocky sandbar we were fishing. This year I did not throw my purse, because I had no one to throw it at. Tommy was busy getting down the slope too. I was so relieved to have landed without breaking anything. We set our chairs up, bated our hooks and soon were ready to fish. Life is good, I thought.
Tommy looks at me and tells me to build a rock stand for my fishing poles. I thought for a minute and came up with a plan. I was sitting in the midst of 40 million rocks, so this was a piece of cake. I lugged a few over threw them on top of each other and left a hole in the middle for the rods to rest. I was proud of my pile.
Tommy took one look at it and laughed!! He informed me that any fish I caught would probably drag the pole in the river. I laughed, I thought it was fine. Besides, I was ready to sit down and take some pictures. Then he makes his pile of fishing rocks, I have to admit, his pile is much better than mine!!! However, I don't care! I am done lugging rocks.
Tommy is the first one to get a bite. He reels in a 3 pound catfish! It was beautiful and will make a good meal for the two of us.
In a matter of minutes, I catch a 3 pound drum. We threw it back. If we were starving we would have eaten it, however we weren't starving so I gave it the ole heave ho!
I also cannot believe I am posting this picture!!! But I am proud of my fish!!! This was a fun day----not a beauty contest:)
We stayed a little longer, leaving around noon. We still had to climb Mt. Everest to get to the truck. I took pictures of the river on the way back. I have never seen it as low as it is now. I also got a photo of downed trees the river had washed ashore. I didn't see a tree fighting the river and loosing miserably, but I have the results of several battles washed ashore. The river wins every time.
As we were leaving I took a shot of Eagle Creek. It runs into the river, or the river runs into it. When the Missouri River is up or out of its banks, this dribble of water is full.
The last I heard the Gov. Nixon was declaring all counties in the state of Missouri "drought" regions. Sand bars are showing up in areas of the river I have never seen. What is so bad, is that technically summer has just begun.
Regardless of the weather, the heat or the drought, Tommy and I had a good morning. We laughed a lot. Water always calms my soul and restores a balance in my life. It was a good day. Later this week we will eat fried catfish, hush puppies and fried potatoes. We will remember that day and smile.
Last Saturday was an unusually hot day. I only ventured out early in the morning or late in the evening ,
unless there was a special reason I was forced outside.
A friend of ours stopped by needing a bucket to put minnows in. His bucket had a leak and he couldn't keep the water in it. No problem, we have plenty of buckets. I gave him 2 and told him if he needed more to help himself. As we were talking, we heard a horrible sound like a cannon being fired. Both of us jumped, knowing me I probably screamed, it happened so fast I can't remember exactly what either of us did.
Charlie looked at me like I had tried to kill him. Soon we got our wits about us and realized that a dead tree behind the garage had just split in half and fallen to the earth. It literally shook the garage.
We went around the back of the garage to investigate. Sure enough there was the downed tree. Charlie kept shaking his head saying, "This is really weird!! I have never been to any one's house when a tree explodes and falls to the ground."
Being the kind of person I am and knowing Charlie for years, I decided to mess with him a little. I also knew he had been drinking beer, that just added fuel to the fire in my imagination. I told Charlie, "Things like this happen here all the time." He looked at me like I was the devil and said, "Really??" He started backing up and walking to his truck. I followed him, "Yep they really do"
I asked him if he wanted another bucket. By the look on his face I don't think he wanted the two in his hand. He stammered a bit and said," Ahh, no this is plenty. I need to go!"
I wished him good luck fishing. As he started his truck I told him the next time he came down the woods might catch on fire. I have no clue where that statement came from. All I know is Charlie left in a hurry, missing 3rd gear completely.
Throwing her purse and suitcase on the bed, the young girl sat down in the midst of her mess, intending to make a plan for her life. She was a list maker, always mapping out an idea. This idea had to be good.
First things first she thought dumping her purse on the bed. She sat there for a minute holding her wallet, counting the money inside. A little over $500 and a Visa credit card. Not much money for an expensive city like Atlanta. She would have to get a job and soon.
Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at her driver's license. She had always hated her name, 'Sage' Wilson, until her mother told her the reason why she had picked that name.
One day when Sage was about 8 years old, she ran home from school mad as hell. Slamming the front door, throwing her backpack on the floor while yelling for her mom.
The kids were making fun of her name, saying she had been named after a 'weed'. Telling her it wasn't a real persons name, it was a spice. One little girl had the nerve to say, "That's what my mama puts in our Thanksgiving dressing--sage". Another little boy picked up the bulling and teasing saying, "Naw my mom puts the sage up the turkey's butt." That is when Sage hit him and took off running for home.
Sage had both her hands on her hips, biting her lip and trying not to cry. As soon as she saw her mama, the tears slipped slowly from her grayish green eyes. She was so mad she shook.
Sage's mother dried her tears, while she pulled Sage into her arms making her comfortable in her lap. Her mama rocked her for a few minutes before telling Sage her story.
"When I was pregnant with you I was so happy. I wanted nothing but happiness for you, however sometimes we do not get all our wishes. I had made a big mistake. One you and I will have to live with for a long time."
"Mama was I that mistake?" Sage asked in a whisper.
"No darlin' you are the best thing that ever happened to me. And no matter what happens don't you forget that. I love you. You are the best part of me and of Daddy." She kissed her daughter's forehead and began her story again.
"I wanted you to have the perfect name for the life you might be forced to live. Since life is seldom easy for anyone. I gave you a special name belonging to a select group of people. You are a 'Sage', someone known to have wisdom, knowledge, someone able to predict the actions of those around them. Someone who is cautious, and very smart. Darling, this is the real meaning of your name. It is my blessing for you. You are a 'Sage"---my Sage. Her mom paused and reached for a hand mirror laying on the end table. "Here Sage look in this mirror and let me describe how I see you."
Sage looked at her mother and back at the mirror. "Ok, Mama tell me what you see."
Her mother kissed the top of Sage's head and began her story for the third time.
"When I look at you I see the makings of a beautiful woman. With long curly red hair touched by fire, balanced by streaks of afternoon sunshine. I see gray green eyes the color of a sage plant. They are an indefinite color at times known to change hues according to the emotions you are feeling. I see a sprinkle of freckles across your nose. I have always thought of them as angel kisses. You are small in size. I doubt if you are more than 5 feet tall when you are grown. You are a wisp of a beautiful creature. Beauty helps to open doors for people. What you let in the door is up to you. The main thing I see is your strength. You will gain this from many experiences in your young life. You are a survivor Sage. I love you more than you will ever know. You will make it, living to tell our story to your children one day."
Sage liked listening to her mother talk. Their talk for that day was over. It was time for Mama to fix dinner.
Sage went upstairs to do her homework. But first she wanted to look in the mirror again. She liked what Mama saw. She wished she could see what Mama saw when she looked at herself, but she couldn't. It just wasn't there yet.
Dinner was soon ready. They ate alone. That was fine with both of them. They always saved him a plate. John Wilson was a husband, father and a policeman. He worked odd hours and was gone a lot. They never made rock solid plans in their family. He was always on call. They liked it when he was gone. It was easier to breathe. At the young age of 8, Sage knew there was something 'wrong' with Daddy. She was afraid of him. She would bet her favorite book that Mama was afraid too.
Sage's mind returns to the present and to Atlanta. To the life she is living now. To her future and the decisions that needed to be made. It was always a fight to keep her mind and emotions in the present. Usually it was a battle she seldom won.
It was hard to push the past out of her way, maybe because it was unresolved. It never stayed gone for long. It came back in bits and pieces. Love and hatred, laughter and tears, hurting and healing. In some way or another the past always found her. It was the still small voice in the back of her mind. Maddening and ever present.
She knew her father had killed her mother. He made people think she had run away from them. Lied about her having a boyfriend. In his fake grief and position of authority, he turned the town and the news media against her. There was nothing but dead ends. Soon her mother's disappearance was all but forgotten by the town. Never by Sage. Never by her father, Officer John Wilson.
About 6 months after her mother's disappearance, her father sold their home in town. Buying a old fixer upper 10 miles from town. One mile down a gravel road that dead ended in his yard.
He quit his job with the police force. He wanted his own business as a handy man. Since he was well known in town, he knew there would be work to sustain him and his daughter. There was for several years, until John became unreliable because of his drinking.
People felt sorry for Sage and for John too. Liquor made John meaner than usual. Along with all the other trappings that goes with an alcoholic. He became slovenly in appearance, no longer prompt in his business appointments. He lost clients and his reputation. He became forgetful, until he looked at Sage. When he looked in her eyes he remembered everything he had ever done. He hated Sage for that reason. The feeling was mutual.
For years Sage and her father played a mismatched game of dodge ball. She tried to avoid him at all costs. He looked for her with every intention of killing her, yet was never able to pull it off. He had come close so many times. One lost second of control and she would get away. When he beat her, he would use his fist on her head. No bruises would show. Her hair covered the lumps and cut places. He warned her if she told he would kill her. She never once doubted him.
The only visible sign of abuse was a cigarette burn on her ring finger. When he stuck the cigarette to her skin, he laughed saying "Bitch, you are branded by your ole man. No man will ever put a ring on this ugly finger." As soon as he passed out, Sage walked to the bathroom covered her hand in cold water and cried, howled was more like it. A deep mournful howl of someone slowly dying. The scar was ugly and red. In the middle of the night, she swore it glowed. She wore a band aide to cover the hideous reminder.
She worked for several years at a cafe on the outskirts of town. Her father didn't care as long as she helped pay the bills. He let her drive an old blue pick up truck, he received in trade for a plumbing job he had done. He had his truck--that was all that mattered.
As soon as Sage turned 18 and graduated from high school, she took the truck, her savings and left. She still could hear the threat in his voice. It was the same voice he used on her daily. He thought she was going to work. He was wrong, so wrong. He would never see or hear from her again. As long as she lived there would always be a river to separate them.
As she was getting ready to leave, she whispered in her father's ear, "I'm not scared of you any more". Without missing a beat her father whispered back, "You should be."
The young girl sighed, turned walking toward her car. It was a gray morning. Asphalt and horizon met, blending into each other. The smell of rain hung heavy in the air. A thunderstorm was approaching. The tears beat the rain by a few seconds.
She drove aimlessly without a plan or destination. Most any place would be better than where she had been. She made a right on to I - 75. Sooner or later it would take her through Atlanta. The idea of not knowing anyone in Atlanta didn't scare her. It was the one person she had known most of her life who terrified her. He was the one who ventured in and out of her dreams. Staying long enough to scare her senseless. Whispering words cruel enough to make her puke. Her skin prickled as she remembered the hard, cold-blooded feel of his fist on her skin. She cringed. Ice cold blue eyes pierced her mind. Leaving was the only answer. If she stayed, he would kill her eventually... or she would have to kill him.
It was almost dark when she hit the city limits of Atlanta. She was tired and hungry. Finding a place to stay might be hard since it was the Fourth of July weekend. Luck was on her side that evening. She got a room at a Comfort Inn. Nice, clean, affordable. Her room was on the 4th floor. From her window she heard the beginning of music in a park near by. Patriotic songs, country songs with a patriotic theme were played consecutively. Lee Greenwood sang, "I am Proud to be an American, Where at Least I Know I am Free" People of all shapes, sizes and colors were blending in at the park. Laughing, singing, dancing. All waiting for the fireworks display to begin. The big celebration!
The young girl left her room and walked to the park. It felt good to be in a place of laughter. She bought a hot dog and a soda. Walking through the crowd she saw a man creating animals out of balloons. She had to have one of those. A little green wiener dog became her first pet.
Soon the fireworks began. The sky lit up with explosions of red, gold, silver and blue. Each one more elaborate, more exotic and more picturesque than the previous explosion. Bursting with millions of stars and flickers of light. Encasing her in its beauty as it fell to the ground. It was magic raining down on her as she ate her hot dog, pure magic. She felt like this show was just for her. Slowly she began to relax enjoying her first 4th of July. She felt free for the first time in her life. It was a good feeling--odd but good.
Later that night as she lay in bed, thoughts began to creep into her mind as she slept. As usual she broke out in a cold sweat. Startled by a muffled scream, she awoke. The scream was coming from her. She ran to the bathroom to wash her face. She threw up her hot dog and a lot of bad memories.
Looking at herself in the mirror she knew she had made the right decision. It was almost July 5th. Independence Day for most was just about over. For her it had just begun. She could and would do this. She was stronger than his words, smarter than his rebukes and lies. Most of all she wanted to live! For the first time in her life, she knew she would.
