Spring and Winter perform a striptease competition as they via for their rightful place in the calendar year. Winter refuses to give up her title and Spring doesn't yet have enough power to push Winter out of the way. The tease begins for the next six weeks. One step forward and two steps back...same ole bump and grind routine.
Slowly, Winter starts to shed her snow accumulations, wind chills and artic blasts decrease. Spring jumps in with a new twist of her own. March flowers come up, a few dogwood trees bloom and the crappie begin to bite. As the people in our state, experience a few days of nearly perfect weather; we get our hopes up with thoughts that winter is over. It is close to the end of April...Winter isn't through by a long shot.
'Early bloomers' till up their gardens, buy flowers, and start to pick out colors to paint the outside of their homes. Camping trips are planned around the best fishing holes remembered from last Spring. We, Missourians, are energized and ready for a whole new life. We go to bed one night with our 'to do list' ready for the morning and wake up to a heavy frost, temperatures in the 20's and we are baffled by what we see! The weather channel lets us down when we see the extended forecast... not much change for the next five days or more. To add insult to injury there is a chance of snow in the forecast...1-2 inches before the weekend.
Everyone is upset! "This is just not right! It was 75 degrees yesterday!! " can be heard from nearly every home, especially mine. And then I remember my grandmother, Mamamae, and I know we are having 'Blackberry Winter'. She would tell me every year not to get super excited about the spring like weather until after the middle of May. "We have to allow the blackberry bushes to bloom and get ready to produce before any permanent warm weather will stay." I can still hear Mamamae's voice giving this sage knowledge. What a good memory to keep. I was born and raised in Kentucky. Mamamae's advice is true for Missouri also; finally Spring arrives. Almost overnight , it seems the world bursts open with every imaginable color of green. Yards have to be mowed. The woods are thick with foliage and mushrooms. The temperature finally reaches a descent degree and then proceeds to go at least ten degrees beyond comfortable. The humidity finds its home for the next four months. I have had my last 'good hair day' until September. In the blink of an eye Spring becomes Summer.
Before May bows out, there is a week of Cottonwood Spring. The silver maple or cottonwood trees burst forth and pollinate. Once pollination is over the trees loose their 'cotton like seeds' as the winds send them in every direction. The stronger the winds, the heavier the 'snow.' At times the air is filled with white bits of fluff. As I stare from my window it appears to be snowing. Once again, nothing in nature is quite what it seems. The white 'flakes' flying through the air stand out against the uncountable shades of green. It is another reminder from Mother Nature, another transition from one season to the other. It is Missouri in the Spring.
Finally, my mini movie and the voice decoder in my mind have returned in full force. They have been absent for a good part of the past six months while I mourned the death of my best friend.
It was next to impossible for me to write. It appears to be back with a new passion and I for one am glad. I missed everything about writing. I missed the swift mini movie of a story that played out in front of my eyes and in my mind in a split second; then waited for me to begin writing while the thoughts reoccurred....if they ever did. I missed creating characters, story lines and the actual process of writing. I missed typing. I missed my muse, I am glad she has sobered up and returned to my life. I missed the smell of paper and ink. I missed seeing my own words on my computer screen. I missed the slight high I get when I hit ' publish'. Although I think the blog or story is finished; it seldom is the first time I post it...or the hundredth time in some cases.
Today while I was mowing our yard, I had a war story on my mind and a horny 18 year old soldier, named Alex Griffin from my Memorial Day blog, stuck in my head. He argued with me for 3 hours. There had been almost six months of silence, so when he began talking. I was glad...beyond glad. I longed for a pad and pencil and to be on level ground so I could take notes. Neither of those things were possible. However by the second hour, I was wishing he would sit down and shut up or stand still and get shot! The last place I left him, he was in a horrible war scene, either choice could happen. His character turned out to be rather 'mouthy', opinionated and just a tad pushy...I did not see that coming when I created him. The last time I talked to him, he was a brave but scared young man.
Alex started talking and fussing almost as soon as I began mowing. We were racing up and down the yard, in third gear as he yammered in my ear. He was not happy with my Memorial Day blog. First he started off by saying, "Why did you tell everyone I was a virgin?" I was a little taken back by this question. He is a character, I made him up...I can do and say what I want to about him....but No... this little boy wanted to argue and argue we did. Silently... out loud... in my head...until my head was about ready to explode. Tommy saw this process from his mower. He said I was "shaking my head, occasionally shooting the bird, and laughing at times." He went on to say, "I knew you were writing...I was just hoping it wasn't about me!!"
Griffin also gripped because I did not let him talk. I explained, "This was more of an essay story than a talking story. I didn't need for you to say anything!" That went over like a burp during communion! He wasn't satisfied with my answer. We compromised and if I write anymore about him (which I won't)...he gets to talk---some.
Griff, wanted to know why I did not describe him? I tried to explain, " everyone has their own image of what you look like." Well, what do I look like to you?" hmmmm I told him, "You look like Tommy did when he was 18. Black hair, brown eyes, 5 ft. 9 inches tall with a killer smile. Others may see you as blond and tall, or a red head with green eyes. You look like what the reader sees."
" Well, alright but next time spell it out for everyone."
"Little boy, I am thinking there may not be a next time for you!" I scolded him.
He nitpicked for close to two more hours and then I quit mowing. I sat on the mower for a few minutes rehashing the past three hours. My opinion of Griffin had changed somewhat. He made the mowing interesting and time flew by for me. He also gave me several ideas I may use later. Those were the pros...the cons were he actually pissed me off at times!! He aggravated me enough that I may go back and redo the last two paragraphs of yesterday's blog. Why??? Because I think I am gonna kill that little shit off...just because I can!
Although, in reality, I have to admit I like him...mouth and all. He is a good soldier, in the process of growing up in a very hard era. He has a strong voice and doesn't mind voicing his opinion on his life! He's a brave young man. After some internal debating, he is a keeper as far as I am concerned...now to create him a girl... hmmm. I can hardly wait to hear his input on that one!
One Last Wish...
'
There are worse places than Rome, Italy to spend a young soldiers eighteenth birthday', thought PFC Alex Griffin. If that statement were true, Griffin could not think of a single place that could possibly be worse than where he was right now.
Bombs and Hell had found both sides of the war, on the outskirts of Rome, in 1944. Griffin stood viewing the ruins of a completely destroyed abbey. For two days straight the U.S. and the allies tried to keep from bombing the old church. The Germans began to hold up in the abbey in hopes that it would not be destroyed. They had the upper hand in this game of lives for awhile. Finally, the brass gave the 'ok' to bomb the hell out of the abbey. Later a buddy told Alex that the abbey had been named for Benedict of Nursia in 529 A.D. That fact meant nothing to Griffin...just another piece of history ruined forever. The once holy place was now in a million pieces, still providing cover for the German army. After the bombing it was mass chaos for both sides.
The abbey and surrounding area seemed far from beautiful or enchanting today. Not one thing reminded Alex of an eternal city filled with light and love. Rome was still a long distance from where today's fighting occurred; however from his view point it looked nothing like the city he had seen in movies before the war started. Through his gray eyes, Rome looked and sounded thunderous as grenades, rifles and machine guns exploded in various sections of the countryside. The smell of cordite assaulted his nostrils and burned his eyes. His ears rang as the bombs exploded nearby. The 'pause in war' was over.
One thousand four hundred tons of bombs were dropped on this sacred ground by the Allies and still the Germans held the high ground for almost five months; beginning in January and ending in May. When the siege finally ended 50,000 Allies had been killed and 20,000 German's died. The German's retreated leaving Rome as the Allies advanced. It was a costly battle for everyone. No one was left unscathed. Either physically or mentally Rome, Italy took on a new meaning for every enlisted man.
Three days into the battle, Alex had almost been killed when a bullet ricocheted off his helmet. Men were screaming, cursing and dying in a war zone of endless deathtraps. No one knew how or when this battle would end. Each opposing side had their own version of victory.
One of his buddies Pvt. Ray Long lay about 10 feet from him in a puddle of blood and urine; he wasn't dead but he was close. Alex scrambled to put a tourniquet high on Ray's left thigh, hoping to slow the blood flow. He pulled the wounded soldier closer to him and out of the blood. It didn't make any difference...the blood followed them. Their squad leader, Sergeant Randall Sommers from Idaho, had been killed instantly when a barrage of enemy gunfire had started ripping the air again; leaving Cpl. Max Davis now in charge. There were six other men still alive in his squad. Three were wounded but still able to fight. Alex could hear them breathing in slow aching gasps, as night began to descend on this unlucky group of Americans. For miles and miles in every direction men were dug in for the night; waiting to see what the new day had in store. The Allies continued their bombing raids. There would be no sleep again tonight...nod offs and dozing were as close to sound sleep as Alex would get for months to come. Eventually he reached a place in his mind, called exhaustion, where he could sleep through the bombings...they became comforting in an odd sort of way. It was the sudden silence at night that jarred him awake.
One man, PFC Gordon Stone from Niagara Falls, lit a cigarette and passed the pack around. Another wounded man prayed while Ray moaned softly, slipping in and out of consciousness. He needed a medic, however the medic would have to come to them. There was no way they could move. Alex knew the odds of living through the next twenty four hours were against him. This reality did not terrify him as much as he thought it would; instead anger and disappointment coursed through his body. Maybe it was the fact he was finally eighteen today, officially a man, without any real memories of the life he desired to live... that scared him and pissed him off to no end.
Griffin had quit high school at 16, lied about his age and enlisted after the attack on Pearl Harbor. All too soon he found himself on the other side of the ocean fighting in an all out world war. Today he turned eighteen, finally legal to be in the Army. For the past two years fighting had been his job, his life as a soldier. He was good at his job. It was also the beginning and end of what Alex knew about life. This fact created a stone cold emptiness in the pit of his stomach. Today he wished things were different. In the midst of all the noise and turmoil, all Griffin could think about was dying before he had sex with a beautiful woman!!
He wanted to know the fullness of a life he had not been prepared for before the war. Slowly he sucked on a cigarette as he realized once again, that life is not fair. He should know the joy of a woman's body better than the art of killing. Alex shook his head and smiled without humor in his eyes as he thought, 'the places the mind goes when the bombs stop.' His buddies teased him about being inexperienced. He lied to them all the time and jokingly told them of exploits he had that would make each man ache for the woman who was not there.
One of the soldiers in Griffin's squad was a natural born story teller from Clinton, Kentucky. His name was PFC Jake Armstrong.
He entertained the men on nights when sleep was impossible. Jake was an artist and had lived in Rome several years before the war. He often told his buddies stories about the food, the city, the wine and the women. His soft southern drawl had the ability to soothe the worst nightmares. When he talked, he painted a picture each man could share and mentally claim as his own.
Alex's favorite story Jake shared was of a beautiful black haired, brown eyed young woman named Mia. She was petite no more than five feet tall, and very slim. She had full naturally red lips; created in the form of a permanent pout. Jake met her at an outdoor café in Rome a year before the war began. She was a waitress. Jake rented a room above the café where she worked, while he studied portrait painting with some of the best artists in Rome. He was talented and getting better every day. At night he worked as a bartender in a club down the street. After closing hours, Jake and Mia strolled the streets of Rome. She was the best history teacher he ever had. As they walked together, the scent of roses filled the night air. The sound of a low, soft opera often could be heard coming from someone's bedroom window. The young couple talked in soft whispers while the stars danced above them. They stopped in the middle of the street and kissed long and slow before returning to her apartment. They made love at night. Each made promises they knew they would never be able to keep. They slept in each other's arms only to awake and recreate the romance again. Close to dawn Jake left the apartment. He had obligations elsewhere forcing him to leave before daylight. While they had loved and slept a thick fog had rolled in, encasing the city in a dense dampness. It filled the air with a tangible moist feeling of expectancy.
As Jake walked down the empty streets he thought about the news reports of the impending war and he thought about the woman he had just left. In his gut he knew he would be on the next plane back to the United States. He stopped for a minute, searching his pockets for his cigarettes and lighter. Slowly he made a half turn as he remembered the cigarettes lay on the bedside table next to Mia. He paused a long time before he turned and walked away. The men in his squad never tired of hearing this story, especially Alex.
Each man had his own version of how the story should have ended. Alex always stayed with the young woman. He would give anything to be with her tonight. As Alex thought about his life he said a short prayer asking for protection for his buddies and himself. He prayed they would all get home safely. He also knew this was an impossibility... not everyone would make it home. If it was his turn to die, maybe Italy wasn't such a bad place to die, although he hoped he lived to love a beautiful young woman he had yet to meet. Maybe just maybe luck would be on his side and he would eventually get his wish. If not there was always Jake's verbal painting. If Alex died tomorrow, he wanted that story to be his last thought.
This photo was made a year after we were discharged from the Marines. We had lived in Yuma, Arizona, Tommy's last duty station, for eighteen months. We moved back to Smyrna, Georgia in our two door '64 Galaxy Ford, pulling a 5x8 U Haul trailer. We turned the backseat of our car into a nursery. The baby bed mattress secured every inch of the area. Added to the mixture were blankets, pillows, diapers, toys and the prettiest black headed, brown eyed little girl I had ever seen. Since seat belts had not been invented, for the next 2,000 miles... the backseat was Lisa's playpen.
As we were leaving the city limits of Yuma, Tommy and I began talking about all the 'firsts' that had happened to us while we lived in Arizona. The list was long, full of mischief and memories. We became parents, that was by far our 'biggie' for our time in Yuma. Tommy rattlesnake hunted for the first time. He was delighted...I thought he was insane. He had the Yuma record for awhile 13 rattles and a button. One night Tommy bought the rattle home with him from the huge snake he had killed. I wouldn't let him in the apartment because he shook the rattle and said, "Open up the door baby and let me show you what I have!" "Baby" didn't want to see anything he had that rattled like a snake!
We rode horses on the canals every time we could find a babysitter. We often drove to the desert at night to wish on stars, plus we made friends that we will never forget. There is always something special about military buddies. They share a life no one else can really understand except them. There were several guys who had 'Gettin' Out Parties' that lasted for two days straight. They were young crazy Marines who could party with the best!! It was a good time to be 21.
It only rained twice the entire eighteen months we were there. Both times we went out and played in the rain! Each time we crossed the border, day tripping to Mexico, was a story just waiting to be told. We had a good time together. However, at the bottom of the list was one incident that took awhile to become funny.
It was the middle of July 1970 when we arrived in Yuma. As soon as we hit the city limits our air conditioner broke. It didn't just break it DIED! When we got out of the car and the 110 degree heat surrounded us, I thought for a second Daddy was right...we had moved to Hell!! First we went to the base and checked in, we were given a list of apartments to check out. We found one about four hours later: paid the rent, utilities and had a phone installed. We also filled up the car with quarter a gallon gas. Once we started to move into our new home, one of us decided to count our money. That did not take long because we had no money...period. Tommy thought I had some in reserve and I thought he had more cash hidden in his wallet. We were both wrong. After everything was unloaded from our car, we discovered we had 1/2 pack of crackers, a can of mixed vegetables and a jar of Mamamae's homemade ripe tomato ketchup. That was it... and it was three days until payday.
We didn't want anyone to know we had run out of money, especially my family. They didn't like the idea of us being 2,000 miles from home, pregnant and living in Yuma or as Daddy referred to it as "Hell"!! Calling home was not an option. I think we could have gotten help from the base but we didn't want them to know either. We opted to suck it up and wait for payday. That was a long, long, long three days!!
Tommy decided we would make a soup from the veg-all. He added a can of water to make the veg-all go farther and spiced it up with my grandmother's ketchup. The crackers were dessert. It was just this side of awful and only lasted one day. By the third day, all I had to do was look at the pitiful excuse for lunch...three crackers and a glass of water, and I was running for the bathroom to throw up.
When Tommy received his check, he came home with Kentucky Fried Chicken, Pepsi, extra sides and an apple pie. We ate until we were stuffed and then we went to the grocery store and stocked up on supplies. I think we spent twenty dollars on the groceries and our cabinets were full. For years when I would take the grocery cart down the isle where mixed vegetables were located I would shut my eyes and speed up until I had passed their section. It literally made me sick to see a can of mixed vegetables. It was at least five years before we ever had a can of them in our home.
We laugh about it now. I learned some lessons from that experience. I have never let my cabinets get low on supplies. My fridge is usually full and we have a freezer. It was a lesson learned the hard way, but learn it we did. We also had a hard lesson in the management of money. Whoever was teaching that lesson plan made believers out of us.
I can't stand the thought of people being hungry day after day in a world where some people have an abundance of everything. It seems unthinkable people go to bed hungry but they do. Then I stop and think, it happened to us 44 years ago.
I saw a homeless man asking for money in town today. I gave him money for a couple of meals. I don't usually do this. There are so many scam artists that panhandle, it has given people down and out a shady name. If he was a scammer and I fell for it, I can live with that; once you give someone a gift, it becomes their responsibility to use it wisely. However, today I remembered how hungry we were once and I wanted that man's stomach to be full...that was all that mattered.
As I drove home, I thought about the people who have no help on the way. Their stomachs hurt each night, nausea is never far away. Their energy level in nonexistent and sleep is a welcome reprieve until the growling of their stomach wakes them up and the process starts all over again. To help some countries, we would have to go to war and I don't want our young men in another war. As for our country we have resources and agencies to help people in need. We send money and supplies all over the world to people in need. The bottom line always remains...life isn't fair...never has been and never will be. It is just the way things are. It is one continual learning experience. There are no easy fixes...someone somewhere will go to bed hungry again tonight.
I will never forget the first time I met Alexander Washington. His face is etched in my psyche hiding behind a mixture of unusual, lifetime memories. Occasionally, when I least expect it, Alexander will come to the forefront of my mind and scare the hell out of me. I met him twenty five years ago in a mental institution for the criminally insane. It was my second week on the ward as an aide and the beginning of his tenth year as a patient. Neither one of us would leave for the next twenty years.
I had been assigned to the 'aggressive management' ward once my training had been completed. My duties for the day were face checks. I had to visually see each patient and write down where they were and what they were doing once an hour. Our ward was a mixture of men and women with a thirty two bed capacity; every bed was filled. There was no room in the inn.
Each ward had three side rooms because of the aggressive nature of the patients. These rooms were used to help control and calm down the patients after they became a danger to themselves or others on the ward. They were seldom empty.
It was July and the heat was oppressive. Summer in Georgia is long and humid. It arrives early and stays late. Due to government cutbacks in mental health, our institution was not air conditioned at that time. The windows were open in the small and large day rooms trying to entice a breeze our way. The curtains were still, adamantly refusing to budge. The small breeze that tried to enter our ward, evaded the needs of the patients and staff; rejecting to help cool people who could no longer live in a sane environment. As long as the ward was quiet we were allowed box fans to help keep the temperatures a few degrees lower. Mostly the fans circulated the smells of sweat, perfume and urine. Unfortunately, the fans never lasted any length of time. They became missiles aimed at imaginary creatures, staff or each other. When the fight was over the fans would be locked up or thrown away, depending on their condition, until the ward calmed down.
As I began my hourly walk down the halls checking rooms and making notations, I literally ran into Alexander Washington. He was walking out of his room as I was entering; colliding into each other was inevitable. His massive 6 foot 4 inches, 280 pound body did not move. However, my 5 foot 7 inches, 120 pound body staggered back three feet. I laughed, apologized and extended my hand to introduce myself to Alexander, our version of Stone Mountain.
He shook my hand and repeated, "nice to meet you Miss Eleanor". His stare never left my face. A smile played at the corner of his mouth never reaching his eyes. Alexander was an imposing figure of a man. It wasn't only his height and weight, although those two factors were a force to be reckoned with, it was his eyes. The huge black eyes of a shark on thyroid medicine. They bulged and seldom blinked. Once fastened on a person, his eyes consumed the meal in front of him. He would also talk in a language none of us had ever heard when he became violent. During those times he had the strength of ten men.
I had read all the patients charts. I knew what each one had done and what they was capable of doing. One of our instructor's made a statement that lodged in my mind forever. "Never forget, whatever they did once, they are capable of doing again at any time. You have chosen to enter their world. At times you will play by their rules." Alexander was a rapist and a woman killer. He was also too insane to face the death penalty. There were no medications that worked on him for any length of time. He was a sick lost soul...without a cure in sight. Our leverage was time and various medications. Each day he got older; eventually he would become less prone to violence as old age and a lifetime of drugs slowed him down...hopefully. The flip side to this paradox was Alexander was twenty eight years old. He was a long, long way from old age and slowing down.
I pulled my hand loose from Alexander's hand and told him I hoped he had a good afternoon. He didn't move for a few more seconds. Then he asked softly, "I will see you again?" As I resumed my rounds I said, "Every day." He laughed a loud belly laugh that caused the ward charge to glance up and see what was going on. It also caused a chill to run down my spine. We walked off in different directions. I heard him say to no one in particular, "I'm not going anywhere either."
Over the course of the next twenty years we had to 'control' Alexander many times. We seldom had enough staff on the ward when he exploded. One time we had to call for "all available men in the building". He was beyond rage that day. He sent many staff and patients to the hospital that day and multiple other days. He hit me once and I thought he had broken my jaw. He didn't but it wasn't because he didn't try.
When I retired, years later, air conditioning had been added to the aged buildings. That was a life saver for everyone. New programs had been started, new drugs discovered and million new rules had and come and gone. However, Alexander remained. I no longer live in Georgia so I have lost track with most of the people I worked with. I moved to the coast. The ocean is therapeutic for me. I sit and stare at the waves, horizons, sunset and sun rises and I work on my novel about mental health. It is entitled, "The Things I did for Money".
Oh and as for the second man I was afraid of ...well that is a different book entirely but just as true. To be continued...
Today has been a busy day of reflection; with a small dose of spring cleaning thrown into the mix. Tomorrow I will celebrate my 43rd Mother's Day. That fact is hard to wrap my mind around. Forty three years as a wife, mother and now a grandmother. All the memories, laughs and mistakes ramble around in my mind; I shake my head in amazement. We made it. We are all alive, happy and productive members of society. If someone had asked me how this adventure would turn out years ago, I would have probably smiled and said "Great...I hope!"
When I think back to me as a young mother, I honestly have to laugh. There was never, ever a young woman more not prepared for motherhood than me. I knew nothing about babies. I was an only child. I married a young man, Tommy Carter, who was one of eleven children. Thank God!! He was number seven child, number five son and the love of my life. We were friends since grade school. In high school we flirted with the idea of love. Neither of us were ready for a lasting love or marriage, however all that changed in two years. He was a Marine, I was a college girl and when we got back together again, there was no stopping us. We married on December 26,1969. In June, we found out we were pregnant. Lisa was born Jan. 4, 1971. We were 2,000 miles away from home stationed in Yuma, Arizona. The base was located twelve miles from Mexico. We lived in an apartment four blocks from the California state line. It was a wonderful time to be young and in love.
What I didn't know in facts about parenting, I made up as I went along; with love, and a great sense of humor...and Tommy. He was my version of Dr. Spock. We laughed when the diapers fell off and tried again. We rocked our baby and told her stories. Tommy sang songs to her and to me; sweet songs he made up as he tinkered around with his guitar; and crazy jingles that made us laugh. There were also times when Lisa and I cried together while I tried to fix what was wrong. During those times I learned about teething, colic, earaches, tummy aches, air bubbles, constipation and the flip side...diarrhea.
Five years later, we were blessed with another daughter Tami. That time we were living in Tennessee. She was as precious and special as Lisa and we all loved her dearly. Three years later we were again blessed with our last child, a beautiful little girl named Melodi born in Missouri. Our family was complete. We still live in the same house, out in the middle of nowhere...exactly where we want to be.
We have had many, many Mother's Days. For the first few hours on the second Sunday in May, I get up early, make a pot of coffee and get out the scrapbooks. I smile, laugh and often cry when I see our past lives in photographs and written stories. It has been an adventure I would not have missed for the world.
Tomorrow Tami and the grandchildren, Jacy and Logan, will spend the afternoon with us. Our home will be loud and busy. Aromas of comfort food will fill the air with childhood memories. New photos and funny stories will be added to the memoir of our lives, becoming next year's memories while we continue to celebrate a lifetime of experiences and love.
Happy Mother's Day to all the wonderful ladies in my life. Celebrate your day...you earned it.
