If I were a dog, I would be a mutt of mixed origins without a pedigree or blood line to impress my owners. This comparison closely resembles my genetics, my heritage. There is no pure blood line; nor is there one nationality I can completely call my own. I am an American. I am a mixture of immigrants from across the ocean. My ancestors came from countries I have never seen and spoke languages I never learned. In spite of this fact, their blood runs through my veins; we are isolated, unknown strangers sharing DNA and a few names and dates written on snippets of ancient yellowed paper.
Monday March 17th is St. Patrick's Day and all the Irish will be celebrating with traditional food, drink, dance and stories of their heritage. I will be celebrating with them as well; however I will not have any stories of life in Ireland to share. My story is hidden in a line or two of a document found years ago in an old family Bible.
Jane Anderson was born in Ireland and eventually moved with her family in 1833 to New York. It was there she met my future great, great, great grandfather, John Muscovalley. He was 23 years old and had been a sailor for several years. He was born and raised on an island named Mytilene, off the coast of Greece. Jane and John married setting out on an unknown adventure aboard a river boat bound for New Orleans. The young couple departed the boat at Columbus, Kentucky. They were farmers and the parents of eight children. This is all I know about them. My mother's side of the family originated from these people.
My father's family tree can be traced back to Evan Humphreys whose birth date ranged from 1645-1650. He was born in Lampathy, England. Years later he married Jane Harris who was born on April 18,1679. They also immigrated to America, and settled in Brunswick County, Virginia. They were the parents of two sons, Robert and John. The boys grew up and eventually moved to North Carolina, where their written story ends.
Mama Pearl, my father's mother, family tree goes back to George Jones who lived in Virginia in 1774. There are no other records or information. The same can be said for my grandfather, Harry Poe. I have great stories of his immediate family but little information about his history.
I have always wondered about these people; my invisible family from so many lifetimes ago. The stories intriguing to me are personal as well as historical facts. Did they have a good sense of humor; were they tall or short, handsome or ordinary looking? I wonder if there were any artists, writers, dreamers or teachers in this long line of unknown people; which side of the family had the most 'black sheep' and why? There are many unanswered questions concerning multitude's of people who were left out of the lineage. They faced many hardships and wars. Were they brave or cowards? Did they fight for the 'right' cause; or did they have no political persuasion at all? Would I have liked them and would they have liked me?
Each person had a story, choosing to not pass it on or write it down for future generations to read about; perhaps they could not read or write. Perhaps they thought no one would care about their lives. It is very possible they were working too hard, trying to stay alive to care what future generations would like to know. I would love to know their stories, especially little things concerning family traditions: how they celebrated birthdays, Thanksgiving, and Christmas? I would like to know about their faith; were they Christians or non believers and why? I would like to know if they had a trade. I would like to know if they loved their children and were good parents...did they love each other or did they marry for necessity and convenience...were they happy?
Regardless of how little I know about my ancestors, tomorrow on St. Patrick's Day I will remember 'Miss Jane Anderson' of Ireland. Tommy and I will eat the best Reuben sandwich at The Fulton Sub Shop. There is also a good chance that later tomorrow night we shall have a Miller Lite with a smidge of green food coloring and toast to relatives unknown.
Happy St. Patrick's Day!!!!
The blog I am writing tonight is for Misty
Watts and Tami Carter. They are the new bright stars on the horizon. Both young women are creative, published authors and are in the process of making a name for themselves in the writing community. The following is a backdrop to where some of their talent originated. They were blessed with bright minds, flexible imaginations and good creative genes; each woman, in her own way, has felt the touch of magic as her thoughts and ideas created stories only she can see and write.
There is no end to the talent that abounds in the Carter family. When Earl and Louise Carter married they each blessed their children with a double dose of creative genes in music, song and the written word; they also threw in a heaping scoop of good looks and charm.
Mimi, as my children called Mrs. Carter, liked to write. I looked forward to her letters when we lived in Arizona. She didn't write a letter...she wrote stories. I wish I had kept them. When Tommy was still living at home Mrs. Carter wrote a country song and sold it to a publisher in Tennessee. I think she was paid $250 for the song however; without realizing it she signed away her publishing rights and never made any more money from the song. The years I knew Mr. Carter there was always a harmonica in his shirt pocket. Many a morning Tommy and I would wake up to the aroma of fresh coffee and music as Mr. Carter gave their dog, Sheba Lane, her morning coffee and biscuit accompanied by a song. It was a good way to start the day.
Growing up their lives were not easy, or fair. At times it was extremely hard to even think of a song, a note or a word in their home. Sometimes music could not be heard in any one's mind... at other times music was all they had; however they made it. They survived and are blessed.
The Carter kids never had music lessons. They really didn't need them because everyone played by ear. As the older kids grew up and were in their 20's Jane, Virginia, Jim and Jerry Carter formed a singing group called "The Sunshine Gang". They played and sang Saturday mornings on WFUL radio station in Fulton, Kentucky. On weekend nights it wasn't unusual to find family and friends on the back porch playing music and singing. We call that 'pickin' and a grinin'...and we also call it fun.
Tommy, Joe Pillow, Tim Schwartz and Larry Pittman formed a band in high school named "The Plus Four". I remember hearing them play once at school. The music was great but the microphones didn't work. I had forgotten that part of the story. Tommy reminded me a few minutes ago; in fact he is in the living room still muttering about that:)
Six years later, Tommy played and sang in bands all over Atlanta, Georgia...the microphones usually worked. We did this for four years after his discharge from the Marines. It was one of my favorite times in our life together. We made many strange, funny memories, took crazy chances and made a few mistakes. All in all, it was wonderful and we were very lucky to have lived through all the drama. If our daughters had pulled some of the stunts we did...they would still be grounded.
People change and grow up. Now on Sunday mornings, churches all across Western Kentucky, Tennessee, Texas, Mississippi, Florida and Missouri are blessed with Carter voices in ministry and song at the church of their choice.
A new generation of Carter kids has grown up; starting families, and choosing careers.
They are nurses, business men and women, musicians, singers and published authors. As I stated before two of the authors are Misty Watts, daughter of Tommy's youngest sister, Joanie and her husband Dickie Cruce and our middle daughter Tami Carter.
The above photo of Misty was taken in January 2014, at The Looking Glass bookstore in Martin, Tennessee. Misty co hosted the event with Tami and Micah D. Gardner. At the time this photo was snapped Misty had written three books. The series consisted of "Reap", "Harvest" and "Yield". Since January she has written two other novels..."Earthborn" and "Willow's Grace". It would be hard for me to pick my favorite book however, right now I am leaning toward "Willow's Grace"...I hope Misty writes a series of books on this story line. Her imagination has no boundaries.
Misty, Tami and Micah...
Last Saturday Tami had her first Missouri book signing at Kincaid's in Centralia. It was the first time I could attend one of her signings and I almost missed this one because of a misguided snow storm. The turnout was great; as always the people of Centralia were wonderful and supportive.
So far Tami has written three books, two blogs and several short stories. The first book "Independence" is currently in the process of being edited and will be published soon. The second a novella, is a personal favorite of many people, "An Afternoon With Aunt Viv". Tami's breakout novel, "Collapse", is the first book in "The Yellow Flag Series". I think "Collapse" is my favorite book at this time. It is one of those stories that could easily happen in real life. That thought fascinates me. The characters are tough, strong and fight for life, as they are thrown in the frey of calamity. Tami is currently working on the second novel in the series.
All of the authors books can be purchased on Amazon. It is delightful to read the minds of these young women. I am often amazed and forever proud of their talents. I look forward to watching their careers unfold. They have made good use of the genes they were given...on both sides of the isle:)
To be continued...
Today was one of those days Tommy and I wanted to get out of the house. It was cold but sunny; we needed fresh air and new surroundings. We didn't have an agenda to meet or a doctor's appointment to attend at the VA. The cabinets and fridge were full of food so we could skip Walmart. We wanted to simply ride around and let the day happen; that is exactly what we did. We left the house a little before noon with no destination in mind. We agreed to eat lunch somewhere before we came home; cooking was not in our plans for the day.
Both of us like to travel the back roads. Missouri is full of off the beaten path gravel roads, lakes and ponds. It is nothing unusual for us to make a right or a left turn onto some gravel road we have never driven and keep driving to see where it leads. We did that today. I still do not know where we were exactly...BFE sounds about right. A white country church, with a large cemetery begging to be photographed, appeared on the left side of the road. In hindsight, I wish I had taken a photo of it. We drove on around several bends, up and down hills and talked about how we were sure 'the people who lived out here did not have children because there was no way a school bus could drive these roads in the winter.' We looked at each other and started laughing because we remembered where we live. We raised three daughters on a road that, until recently, seldom had traffic except for the mailman.
We passed several beautiful homes and one place that could belong to an antisocial drug dealer or an unpublished author. "No Trespassing" signs decorated the homemade six foot tall wooden fence. The opening where a gate should have been, was replaced by wire nailed to the fence. On the other side of the fence a long heavy chain was attached to a pit bull; no mailbox was in sight. The tall fence and irate dog blocked most of the view of the home. From a distance it resembled a run down log cabin with cerulean blue curtains. The color of the curtains did not fit the surroundings. There was a "Schindler's List" affect to the property setting, as woodsmoke wafted through the air, the blue curtains and the angry dog were the only signs of life. Slowly we drove down the hill and lost sight of the dubious home.
"Hotel California" was the background music on the radio; after we recognized the song we laughed and sped up. The music fit the surroundings. Fifteen minutes later we were back on the black top and driving toward Fulton. My mind kept going back to the misplaced home and its unseen dwellers. There is a story there waiting to be told. I may never know it, but someone, somewhere knows the facts. I hope they write the story.
Tommy wanted to know if I wanted to stop in Fulton for anything. I thought for a minute and said, "How about checking out Cato's and Maurice's for knee boots?" He was game, so we drove into town. Once in the stores, we saw the first glimpse of the Spring and Summer clothes. To quote Tommy, "This looks like things you wore in the 70's" and it did. The winter clothes are all on discount, allowing a customer to buy two for the price of one.
All winter I have wanted a new pair of knee boots but refused to pay eighty dollars for them. However, the boots were marked down to half price and then an additional 20% off. I tried on a pair and they were what I wanted, fitting perfectly. Tommy told me to go on and get them. He didn't have to say this twice. We were at the counter and I pulled out my debit card to pay. Tommy looked at me and told me to put my card away, "I'm paying" he said and gave me that great Carter smile. I told him that was 'ok' to save his money and I'd use the debit. He said and I quote "No, I want to buy them for you"... that my friends was an 'Ahh Haa moment' for me and confirmed why we have been together for 44 years; it pays to be nice to each other.
The next stop was to buy gas and two lottery tickets. I won $50.00 and Tommy won $10.00. We put the Blazer in drive and headed home fast before something bad happened; things were going too good. It was a great day in our corner of the world. We enjoyed it to the max. Once again life confirmed, that it does not take much to make either of us happy.
Our middle daughter Tami, has written two books and multiple short stories. She is currently working on the sequel to her new novel, "Collapse". I have had the pleasure of watching this book evolve. It has been an incredible journey, making me remember when Tami was pregnant with my grandchildren. The subtle changes, a growing desire for the creator and the created to let go of each other and see what happens; so it was with the book. The process of watching characters being created, each one searching to find their place in the story was interesting. New characters were created as adults, standing alone and also together as the book and author often butted heads on who would live and who would die. The story wanting to be told had its own agenda and voice; allowing the story to talk is a beautiful, chancy drama to watch. I am glad I could tag along.
Years ago at staff meetings I often heard this statement, "If you want to get something done, assign the task to the busiest person you have on your team and that person will figure out the right way to do what needs to be done." I believe that statement. I know it is true in Tami's life. She is a full time corporate employee, a single mother of two children, and a devoted member of her church and to her creator. My grandchildren, Jacy and Logan, are involved in every activity known to mankind and the Centralia school system. She has an active social life with friends that are as busy and as amazing as Tami is herself. In the midst of all this, she writes books!
When does she have time to write? Not an easy answer by any means. Usually it is after the day is finally done and the children are in bed. She writes sometimes at ball practice or at swim practice or at lunch occasionally. Any time her muse is ready to talk and she can get quiet enough to hear what she has to say...she writes.
When Tami first told me about "Collapse" I knew in my heart it would be an awesome book series. She would send me parts of it as she started pulling the book together. And then she stopped! I am like "send me more to read"! She would reply, "Mama you have to wait." I do believe 'wait' is my least favorite four letter word in the human vocabulary. When I finally read the rough draft I was awed by the story line. It was worth the 'wait.' Tami took the book in a new direction I did not see coming. I was delighted and once again caught up in the story.
After the writing was finished, the editing was completed; came the promotion of the book. Through this process the book began to take on a life of its own. There were book signings, people to meet, book stores to check out and orders to be placed. "Collapse" closely resembled a new born baby; excited about living and wanting everything 'now'. It was and is a fast paced, work filled and exhausting life for both Tami and "Collapse" neither could have it any other way.
"Collapse" is a book that could easily happen in our lifetime. A large portion of our population live on a month to month existence. If they miss three car payments there is a good chance their car will be repossessed. The same circumstance applies to any other thing brought on credit; there is always the possibility of loss after 90 days of inability to pay. What would happen if the infrastructure we depend on collapsed?
Most grocery stores keep a three day supply of fresh food. What happens on the fourth day when the food hasn't been replaced? What happens when the public can't get a fill up at the gas station, because the government has taken charge of rationing the gas? Eventually a mob mentality will try to rule. The couple who sit beside you in church may be the same people standing in your way for the last gallon of gas or milk.
This is one of the things I enjoy about the book "Collapse', there is a thread of possibility that runs through out the book.
I am speaking for myself when I say this; I will never look at an eighteen wheeler without thinking of the book "Collapse" again.
If you have not read it I encourage you to do so soon...you will not be sorry.
I received a cute post this morning from Bubba Short saying "Only a True Southerner Can Show or Point Out the True Direction of 'Over Yonder'!" That is one of the truest statements I have ever heard.
Tommy and I were born and raised in the same little country town in Western Kentucky named Clinton. The location is about eleven miles as the crow flies from the Mississippi River. If a stranger stopped anyone to ask how to get to Missouri from Clinton, more than likely the directions would be " Nice to meet y'all. Let me think... just stay on Hwy.51 and go on out of town. Keep on goin' soon you all will pass Nicky's BBQ on the left hand side of the road. If you are hungry stop there. They have the best BBQ around. If not, just go on down the road until you reach Arlington. The restaurant on the right has the best catfish dinners for miles around. Plus 'Miz Jones' makes homemade pies to die for. You really need to stop there. If not, you will soon pass through Bardwell...keep going and when y'all come to Wickliffe... hang a left after the first stop light, and keep on goin'. Soon you all will reach a huge bridge that crosses the Mississippi River. After crossin' the bridge there's a stop sign... hang a left again and cross the second big bridge. Keep on goin' and Missouri's across that bridge...right over yonder." At least, that is pretty much how we would tell y'all how to get to Missouri.
Growing up Tommy and I were raised on the same euphemisms, all the exact country expressions and the same country slang. It was the normal way of talking then. Everyone I knew spoke the same language. We all knew where 'yonder' was and how to get there.
Then we moved to Missouri. Our first year here we were the delight of a lot of people. When purchasing a set of 'tires'...the whole service station came out to wait on us. Everyone wanted to hear us order tires. It was the same thing everywhere we went. Eating out took twice as long because everyone wanted us to repeat things twice...even Sonic.
As a rule people liked to listen to us talk. Well, most people did. I worked for a short time at a shoe factory where my accent and vocabulary did cause a few problems. I was in my early thirties and I was working with twenty something year old pot heads. We spoke two different kinds of English. We all got along great until we had to give each other directions. I seldom knew what they were talking about, however I did get an education on how to grow pot, information I have yet to need. It will probably come in handy in a short story to be written later. However...
One day I had a rack of shoes that needed to go to the other side of the factory. One of the guys I worked with volunteered to move the shoes for me. He wanted to know where exactly the shoes needed to go so I told him "over yonder". He stopped and looked at me and said, "Vicky, where in the hell is "yonder'? I looked at him kind of strange and said, "You don't know where 'yonder' is??? He started laughing and said, "I am pretty sure you are the only person in here who knows where 'yonder' is!" I took my own rack of shoes! If that kid didn't know where 'yonder' was, I sure wasn't gonna trust him with my days work...no tellin' where those shoes would end up:)
Years passed and although we still have our southern accents the speed we talk has picked up some. It is not as drawn out as it was when we lived in Georgia. My grandchildren give me a hard time concerning the way I drop my 'g's'. A good portion of the way I talk, unless I am on notice or best behavior, are words that usually end in 'ing'...end with 'n' period. I never notice unless someone mentions this to me.
I was spending the weekend with the kids a couple of years ago when I noticed Logan kept trying to get me to say the days of the week. Finally I asked him what was wrong with him? He started laughing and said, "It's not me...it's you". I wanted to know what on earth he meant by that. Right about then is when Jacy chimed in and told Logan, "Now Logan you know Nonnie is country and that is just the way she talks!" I am like "What are you two talking about?" About this time they both informed me that I do not pronounce the days of the week correctly. I did not know that!! Evidently, I end all my days with the letters 'Dee" instead of "Day". I say "Mondee, Tuesdee, Wednesdee" And truthfully they are right...so does Tommy. We had a big laugh and then I really laid it on thick. I told them some tall tales in my very best southern slang and stretched out accent. They could hardly understand what I was saying, however each one thought the story was hilarious.
Ten to one, if I asked Jacy and Logan where 'yonder' is...neither one of them would know. We are gonna have to work on that soon.
When Carol Shea died in early December, I lost a best friend and a sister; neither can be replaced. Although Carol is no longer alive in the physical body, she is very much with me almost daily. It sounds a little on the 'crazy' side but it is true. The same thing happened when Mama died; her presence was so strong in my home... at times it still is.
The day I wrote about Carol's death, I was crying and hoping if Carol could read her story, she would approve. She had died the day before and I was very heart broken, sorry and just a little mad that she did not tell me how sick she really was this past year. I was sitting at the computer rereading what I had written. Tommy was at Ben's. I was alone when I felt a hand touch my left shoulder. I jumped because I knew I was alone and I also knew what I felt. A feeling of assurance came over me. I knew it was Carol and I knew the blog pleased her. Although there is no rational explanation for what happened...happen it did.
Carol has visited my house, finding all the things she wanted me to have and use. For two years Carol was worried about my well water. She wanted me to use a Pur water pitcher for our drinking water. One day when we were shopping, she found the water pitcher she thought I needed and put it in my cart. I took it home and some how it fell behind the kitchen table and I never did use it. The third day after her death, I was cleaning off the table and found the Pur pitcher still in the box. She said in an almost audible voice, "Now will you get it out of the box and use it?" Yes mam! I did and I am still using it. Carol is pleased. I could almost hear her say, "About damn time".
I also found mysteriously two pot holders with cookie mix in them Carol bought for my birthday last year. They match my kitchen and I will make the cookies soon...another nod from Carol.
About three weeks ago, a photo of Carol, Punky and me turned up on my scrapbook table. I haven't scrap booked in four years. I should have put it somewhere safe...and I probably did but this morning I can't find it. If I do not find it today, I will probably wake up in the morning with it stuck to my forehead! I can see Carol doing this and laughing.
The other night Tommy and I watched a movie Carol tried to make us watch for two years. It was a remake of the "Walking Dead" or some crazy show like that. She loved horror stories...me not so much. I hated it and hopefully Carol will not want to watch it again, once was enough for me. If she does want to watch it, I hope she goes to Punky's house.
Needless to say, I miss my friend. Since I was a little girl, I have always had one special friend I was closer to than my other friends; as an adult, Carol was that friend. We shared a warped sense of humor. We used to say we would always be the best of friends because we knew too much about each other to ever stop being friends. We knew where all the bodies were buried and the stories that went with them. I hope some day I am blessed with another 'best friend'. Carol Shea was one in a million, she will never be replaced. However, I have a big heart and room for another one of a kind friend.
This isn't the missing photo but I like this one of us. It was made about five or six years ago before Carol and Punky got sick. We were celebrating Christmas at my house.
Yesterday was the first anniversary of Tommy's near death experience. Once again it was a long, just this side of horrible, day for me. Tommy on the other hand had a great day! He also slept through the fight for his life a year ago! His only memories of those days are what Lisa, the doctors and I have told him.
This year on the 3rd, the Weather Channel began posting weather warnings for our corner of the world. Snow was predicted to begin around 6 a.m. on Tuesday. The meteorologists were expecting a heavy, steady dry snow accumulating fast, making the roads treacherous. All schools were cancelled in advance. The state department told people to prepare for the storm and to stay off the roads. The expected snow amounts varied from 5 to 9 inches...we received 11 inches.
Sunday afternoon we receive an automated phone reminder from the V.A. stating Tommy has a blood draw on Tuesday...no doctor appointment just a blood draw. I asked him to call the V.A. Monday and postpone it until the end of the week or next week. He refused. He left it hanging saying, "I will see what the weather is like Tuesday morning." In Tommy Carter lingo that means, "I am going unless I can't get out of the driveway." I slept very little Monday night. I was worried about the whole situation. I had a bad feeling and I could not shake it. When we got up at 5:30 a.m. there was no snow. Tommy looked at me and said, "I am going." I reminded him the snow wasn't supposed to start until after 6 a.m. He told me I could stay home and he would be back by 8 a.m. I was drinking coffee and thought "I should stay home" all the time I was putting on my shoes. I would be better with him and know what is going on than at home imagining the very worst; besides, it wasn't snowing by now, and it was 6 a.m.
Reluctantly, I get in the car and off we drive to Columbia which is about 40 miles from where we live. The time is 6:06. Tommy turns on the radio and I try to loosen up. We have our thermo mugs with us; so far everything is fine. At 6:16 a.m. it starts snowing...a little; by 6:30 it is snowing a lot! Tommy turns off the bright lights so I can't see how hard the snow if falling. I ask him to turn around again...just in case the weather man is right. He became deaf and drove on. We really need to get his hearing tested...this happens often.
The closer to Columbia we drove, the worse the snow. We finally reach the V.A. and in we go. Not many people were there yet. Tommy was the second man waiting for blood draw. Since Tommy never meets a stranger, he sat down and started talking to the vet about the weather and how worried I had been on our drive to Columbia. The man looked at him and then looked at a lady sitting across the room. He said, "She's mad too". I guess she was, she wouldn't even sit close to him. I laughed. I knew exactly how she felt. The vet was not talkative nor was he in a good mood. Apparently, it was a very long drive for him. He said, "I should have left her at home!". Tommy said, "Mine wouldn't stay...I tried". I am laughing because I know there are wives all over the V.A. this morning, mad as heck and not sitting with their husbands. I wasn't sitting by mine either.
When you love someone, there is no way the two of you will ever agree on everything. I have discovered, the hard way, telling Tommy no or he shouldn't do something is a waste of time. He has to prove that he can do whatever it is that he should not do. Sometimes he can, other times he can't...but he will try regardless.
We made it home without any trouble. Last year on February 4th Tommy survived the horrible ordeal when something went wrong after the heart ablation. The doctors thought he would die, I was afraid he would die but Lisa, and you my friends and family touched God's ear and Tommy made it through. He lived and to this day the doctors do not know why...but I do and thank you all from the bottom of my heart. It has been a year of love, laughter and loss, however Tommy is still here and for that I am very thankful.
