Waiting for the Storm

I have waited all day for it to rain. The forecast gave us a chance of rain but it was sunny and hot most of the day. Occasionally a cloud would slip over and tempt us with a hope of much needed rain. The cloud would leave much like an after thought. Here then gone.

It was a beautiful sunset tonight. Shades of yellow, dark pink and lavender. A dark cloud rolled across the sky for only a minute or two.  In that particular cloud I could see a woman's face, looking South as she raced across the sky. Her long dark hair was flowing in the wind, high above the trees.  She lasted only a moment then merged into other clouds, other shapes and other colors.

During that small space in time, she was indeed beautiful tempting me with a small chance of rain as her hair grew darker, and more unruly.

Slowly the sun set. It only takes about seven minutes to set once the process begins.  What a curtain call it gives. I love this time of day.  As I walked back to the house, I remember thinking 'it's not gonna rain' and wishing it would. It has been over twenty days since our last rain. There are cracks in the ground an inch wide. The only good thing is that it is too hot for the grass to grow.

Memorial Day was a good day. Families gathered to eat and enjoy each other's company. To laugh, tell stories and remember family veterans who have already passed away.  The television had it's tributes of World War 11 movies.  As always, we watched "Midway".  Love that movie.

It was a day of mixed emotions. But a good day none the less. As I am about to close the dogs are barking at the back door. They want in. Tommy is in his chair with the remote clutched in his hand, channel surfing. My daughters and grandchildren are safe and all three had a good day.  I am getting ready for a hot shower and I hope I just heard a small rumble of thunder. If nothing else there should be some beautiful heat lightning tonight.

It was a good day in my part of the world. I wish the same for you all, where ever you are.

Curtains, Quilts, Green Beans and Grandma

My great grandmother, Ida Poe made an impression on my life in many ways. Grandma was widowed young, having to raise three boys by herself. The economy was horrible, only a few years away from the 'Great Depression'.  

 Cyril, Harry and Hubert were the names of her young sons. They were all under the age of 10 when Grandpa Will died.  Grandma worked many jobs to keep her young family together. I remember her telling stories of having to plow fields, chop wood and to hunt after her husband died.  Her main job was as a midwife and nurse for people who lived in the country close to her. She was on call day and night. Many babies were delivered by Grandma Poe. The money she received, if she was paid at all, was usually in barter. This was the way of life then. I believe it made her the strong woman she needed to be, enabling her to do everything required to keep her family together.

Eventually, the boys grew up. Harry, the middle son,  was my grandfather.  He owned a trucking company, 'H. Poe and Son,'  Uncle Cyril, the oldest son, drove a bus and Uncle Hubert, the youngest son, was murdered when he was 22 years old.  
 
One of the main things I admired about her was her ability to tell a story. Grandma had a way with words. She made her life seem like an adventure. I don't remember her complaining about her life. She was proud of the things she had survived. I liked that. I also liked the the fact that  in 1960 she could still ride a bike. She never learned to drive a car, but she could ride that bike.  To me that was impressive. Of course, I was only 9 or 10 years old and she was in her 80's. I hope I can ride a bike in my 80's and smile.

                          

Grandma lived in one large room in a boarding house on North Washington Street, close to the Jewell Hotel, bordered on one side by a battered creek that flowed adjacent to her small yard. I enjoyed playing in her creek.  I would go visit her often. There was a swing on the front porch for the tenants to enjoy. 

 Grandma lived like no one else I knew....and I loved it.  Her room was large:  the wallpaper was  covered in dingy roses that had long since lost their blossom appeal.  She had two windows close to six feet tall located on the street side of the house over looking Hwy. 51. It was the only highway to run through Clinton, Ky. 

On her floor was a huge area rug made by Grandma. She saved old clothes and made rag rugs out of them. I loved to watch her make a rug. She taught me how to braid and weave these rugs, but I am not sure I remember exactly what to do. It was a long time ago.  At the time we were making rugs I was 9 years old. I thought Grandma's one room home was magical.
  
There was a wooden rocking chair placed close to one of the windows.  Across from the rocker was a coal stove. It was small, black and kept her room warm in winter. A big fan sat in the other window during the summer time and usually kept a breeze flowing in and out the windows.

Grandma kept her canned goods under her wrought iron bed. It was my job to retrieve these goodies from under her bed. I would crawl under the bed and drag out boxes of jars filled with the summer's surplus.  I had to make sure the cans were still 'good'.  I could pick out anything I wanted to eat.  When I came to visit she always fixed me green beans with corn on the cob and fried cornbread. This memory is so strong, I can almost smell the green beans cooking.

Her bed was covered in homemade quilts, each quilt had a story. As we waited for the food to cook,  she would tell me the story of  the quilt she had on her bed at the time.  I wish I had asked for one of her quilts after she died.  I don't remember what happened to them. The quilts joined some other family member's memories.

Mamamae, Grandma and I spent many an afternoon sitting on Mamamae's front porch snapping beans and shelling peas. The two of them would can most of the summer. They would split all the canned goods evenly so everyone in the family had plenty to eat at any given time.

When Grandma cooked for me at her place, I would have to go out into the hall and get the water. The toilet was also located  in the hallway. Rupert Johnson had a room on the second floor too. Mr. Johnson kept a close eye on my grandmother.  He worked at the Hickman County Gazette setting type. Grandma kept him in canned goods. They shared many meals together. He kept me in paper.  I would go to the Gazette and he would give me all sorts of paper. I am sure he is the reason I still buy little notebooks and pretty paper, whether I need it or not. I love the feel, texture and smell of paper.

Grandma always had a curtain around her sink. I loved that "look". She was the only one who did that. I didn't realize at the time but the reason she had the curtain was to hide the pots and pans. She had no cabinets. She made various curtains out of calico print. She changed the curtain often. I made doll clothes out of the old curtains. Grandma and Mamamae taught me how to sew. They owned a Singer Treadle sewing machine. It is still in the family.

Grandma would tell me stories of Grandaddy, Uncle Cyril and Uncle Hubert. As far as we know, Uncle Hubert was the only one in the family who was left handed except for me. She always told me I "got that from him". I could tell it made her proud. She also thought my eyes were shaped like his.  He was the son who was murdered at a young age for being in the wrong place at the wrong time with a woman who was not his. That story always stuck in my mind....it still does.

After all these years I can still see touches of Grandma in my home. I don't think about her all that often but I have her in my house. I  have never lived anywhere that I did not have a "curtain" somewhere in our various homes and apartments. For the past 10 years I have a curtain hanging over one of my kitchen cabinets. We took the door off the cabinet to make room for the curtain.

One of my favorite meals will always be garden fresh green beans with bacon and corn on the cob, fresh tomatoes, fried cornbread with butter and sweet tea. For dessert Mamamae and Grandma always made fried apple pies. Simple, good and memorable.

Thrown across my couch in the living room is a homemade quilt and I also have one in the den and on Jacy's bed.  Each quilt tells a story also.  It was the little things that made an impression on me. We didn't have much in the way of entertainment but we told and listened to stories. Family stories, to be passed on to other generations. Perhaps this is why I look for the story in almost everything I see. Stories can be found anywhere the imagination is allowed to roam. My imagination has free reign. I see stories in mud puddles, the clouds, rain on a window pane, in an old person's eyes. I see stories in my minds eye. Stories can be found in paintings and in soft, slow music, or music that rocks the house.  I find myself open to what at times appears to be hidden. Occasionally, the story is only for me. I can live with that. Not everything needs to be told. Some things we enjoy simply because they exist.

Things are different now. If it isn't electronic or can't  talk, write, sing and do various other things, it is of little interest to  most children. It's a new age, a new century. The stories aren't as important as they used to be. 

I still tell stories to my grandchildren all the time. I write a blog to help me remember these stories. I share it with the world. I have people who read my stories from Vietnam, Iraq, Russia  and many other countries all over the world.  I feel honored and blessed to share my life and my part of the world with friend's I have never met. I believe the stories will be important someday to decedents of our family.  For me it is vital to remember the lives of people who touched our lives.  We all have a story.  Share your story with someone you love or with a stranger.   I just did.

                                    

A Silent Thank You.....

Today has started off like most of my mornings. Slow and easy, just the way I like it.  I put on my grubby shorts,  grabbed a cup of coffee and headed out the door. My destination was the swing in my front yard.  My plan was to listen to all the different birds we have in our neck of the woods---literally---wake up and start their day.

It was awhile before I reached the swing and it is only about 40 feet from my back door.  As I rounded the corner of the house, I saw a hummingbird trapped in the first bird feeder that hangs under the eve of my house.  Somehow it had slipped through the perch and became lodged.

 The little female was trying desperately to get herself free. However, the more she tried the worse she made things. Even for birds this appears to be an undisputed fact.

 I put my coffee down and tried to help her. As tiny as she is, she was completely stuck. Her fragile body was losing bits of  feathers. One wing was under the feeder by now and the other was flaying the air.  When I touched her, for a second she stopped moving. I know my hand must have scared her even more than she already was. I could feel her tremble.  I talked softly to her, hoping to maybe relieve some of her anxiety.  It didn't work!

I saw what had to be done.  Unfortunately, it was going to hurt. She wouldn't understand, however  I had no recourse.  So I began to slowly pull her little body out through the opening. It wasn't easy and I was afraid I had broken the wing under the feeder.  Finally she was free and in the palm of my hand.  For about 3 seconds she didn't move. That scared me. If she couldn't fly, I knew I would take care of her as best I could. Hummingbirds are made to be free. To defy science and add beauty and magic to life in general. Not to be caged up and fed on good intentions.

Then she flapped her wings several times and flew away. It was the first time I ever held a hummingbird in the palm of my hand. That is one more desire to check off my 'bucket list'. Her heart really does beat as fast as the books say. So tiny and fragile, and yet a plan for helicopters originated from watching these little bits of magic fly.

I don't know if she will ever come back to my house. I wouldn't blame her if she didn't, and I will never know if she does. It would be nice to think that she will come back. And even nicer to believe she said a  silent "thank you" as she flew away.

                                 
This postcard is a watercolor  entitled "I Hear Spring". created by hissnhowl. I bought it to trade but I kept is because I knew sooner or later I would need it in a blog. Some secrets just have to wait for the story to occur.
             

It Is that Time of the Year....Again

Tommy and I recently returned home from a weeks vacation in Florida with Lisa and Lisle. We were mellowed out and lovin life. And then the plane landed and we drove home.

Apparently while we were gone it rained---a lot. The yard was knee deep to a monkey's butt. Dandelion 's were about to take over the whole yard.  Tommy and I just looked at each other.  We both knew that tomorrow the dreaded lawn mower would once again be asked to perform tricks that it can no longer do.  If it were a horse, it would have been put down 13 years ago!!

We both knew what was coming and decided to get some rest, before the fight started!.

The next morning Tommy goes out first and as he closes the door, he says "Hey babe, I am gonna mow. I need your help for just a minute, so WE can get the mower started.  My eyes glaze over. My mind goes back to all the fiasco's we have had with that mower. I know this isn't going to be fun or pretty.  So I tromp outside and stand there waiting for my instructions. I actually propped up on the new mower, which just needs a new belt, and waited, sipping coffee to keep from grinding my teeth.

At last, Tommy speaks and fills me in on his game plan.  Once again, all we have to do is lift the green machine up--eye level and let it balance on it's back tires while Tommy fixes whatever is wrong.  I HATE this part. I have to keep the mower balanced  while he fixes whatever is wrong. If I don't hold it steady, it will fall on Tommy.  If I loose my footing, it will fall on me. Either way, I know I can not hold it for long once he jerks on it with a crowbar.  In all likely hood one of us, will get hurt....probably him.  

I tell him I need to go to the bathroom. I am stalling, hoping one of our many male friends will come down our dusty road, right about now.  No one came and I had to go back outside.  He has a new plan.  We are gonna work on the ground and jack it up with all sorts of wooden blocks.  Better plan than the first one.

Two hours later, the mower is fixed. He hops on and takes off  to transform our yard into a thing of beauty.  I go in and take a shower.  Two hours later Tommy parks the mower in the front yard and leaves to go help Ben sell some junk.

That is when I decided to help him. I would finish the yard for him. Two weeks ago the mower wouldn't budge for me.  Today I watched Tommy and with a lot of luck it started.  I was a mowing fool!!!   Zooming around the yard. Smiling to myself, because I knew Tommy would be surprised I had mowed. To me mowing is right up there with passing a kidney stone.

I had the back yard almost done. I was at the back of our yard by the woods, when something broke with the steering. I could only go in circles!!!  That is when I remembered AGAIN that this mower does not have breaks!!!   I started turning off everything, until finally it shut down.  I trudged back up to the house to get a glass of tea. Tommy comes in about 30 minutes later and wants to know how I broke the mower  AGAIN!!!  


So I show him. He knew immediately what was wrong.  He got on the mower and cranked her up. Looks at me and says "Turn the front wheels so they are facing the house"  I am like, "are you serious?  The motor is running, you and all your glory are sitting on the mower, how am I gonna move the tires?"  


Tommy says, "Just pull as hard as you can on the left wheel and the right wheel will follow".  So I do. At first nothing happens and then I get a little traction and the damn wheel moved!!! I was elated!!.  


Tommy takes off and heads for the septic tank. He doesn't have any breaks either. I have to admit I smiled just a little, as he shut the mover down and  called me.  I had to move the wheels again and point them toward the house.  I did and we repeated this two more times as he tried to get past the swing set and the water hydrant before it was a straight shot to the house.  


Once I saw he was going to make it, I ran off and left him. I jumped in the shower,  got out, grabbed an ice cold  beer,  two Tylenol and an ice pack. Turned the fan on me and went deaf!!!


Tommy came in the house, gave me one look and he too headed straight for the shower and an ice cold beer.  It was getting late---we would fix the mower tomorrow.  


That night when I said my prayers, I prayed that while we slept the mower would spontaneously combust.  It didn't. but we did get it fixed in less than two hours.  The yard looks beautiful.


Did I tell you that I really, really hate that mower?  Honest I do! Just think, we get to do all of this again---next week!

Another Desire Checked off my Bucket List---Moonshine

For years I have kept a "Bucket List" of  things I want to do or see before I die. Some things have been major adventures.  Others were small things that had escaped my grasp in the past, however I still wanted the experience.  This is where entry number 154-- 'drink moonshine', comes in.

I was born and raised in Kentucky. A state known for making "moonshine or White Lightning".  It has been brewed for years in every area of the state. It was completely illegal.  I was told that my great grandfather went to prison for selling moonshine.  As soon as he got out of prison, the 'still' was up and running again. Pappy Owens was back in business!!!

I have seen movies about making and drinking moonshine. I heard the stories and tales as I was growing up. I knew the folklore.  I just didn't know anyone who would actually give me a drink of it.  So I added it to my 'to do list' and I waited.

This past May, my wait was over.  Someone had given my son in law a jar of 190 proof moonshine.  It was in a small mason jar and looked like water.  It was sitting in the back of the refrigerator waiting, like a spider waits in it's web.  And along I came and opened the door. I held the jar in my hands, examining it and wondering what I was getting myself into. This is about the time the 'spider' smiles. He knows he has won round one.

Lisle poured all of us a 'shot' of shine.  On the count of four we were all to drink and empty our glass in one gulp. Sounded easy. On the count of four, we all took a drink. Tommy, Lisle and Lisa swallowed theirs in one swift swoop.  Mine got stuck and I had to take two swallows to get it down. I coughed, sputtered, gasped, stomped and felt like my throat was going to explode into fire!!!!   Round 2! The spider is laughing uncontrollably.

 Never in my life have I drunk anything even remotely close to that God awful concoction. I felt it slide down my throat and hit my stomach!!   Wham!!!!  My stomach was on fire, so was my throat and my nose!!!  My insides were literally feeling like liquid fire. It was a strange, gross feeling. Round 3. The spider flipped us all off!!!

 Lisa was in as bad a shape as I was. We were coughing, hacking, grabbing water, blowing our noses and wiping tears....all at the same time.  And still it continued to lite me up. After the 'fire' went out, the 190 proof found some spot in my brain and began to play tag with the rest of the loose cells running around up there.  About 20 minutes later I was back to normal....the match was over.  All the rounds went to the spider, who knew the outcome before the adventure began.

Tommy and Lisle insisted that we were sissies and that the moonshine was 'smooth'.  Bullshit!!!  The only "smooth" place was the top of the jar!

Am I glad I tried it?  You bet!!  Would I do it again---not on your life!!  I checked that puppy off my list, and smiled when I did it!! 

How anyone drinks that liquor on a daily basis is beyond me. They either have stomachs made of cast iron or no stomach at all.  Either way, I do not believe anyone can live a long life based on moonshine, without a whole lot of luck.

 I also know this is a common way of life for some folks. That is one of the main reasons I lock my doors when we are driving through the Appalachian Mountains. The effects of moonshine and also the fact that I have seen  "Deliverance"--one time too many makes me just a little bit leery!  


I am glad I can check number 154 off my list. It was an experience I will never forget. It surpassed my expectations, living up to it's name "White Lightning".....and the spider smiled.
        

                                    

Remembering a Gift from Mama

As I was driving home today from grocery shopping, I started thinking about Mama.  I do that a lot anyway.  However, today she has been close by my side.  Before I started buying groceries, I wanted to look for a new purse.  I buy purses like most women buy shoes. 

 Mama loved purses and shoes.  I think maybe she liked shoes more.  It was a close call.  Both followed us home when we went shopping together.

Today, I was remembering the last time I talked to Mama on my birthday.  It was about a year before she went to stay at the nursing home.  Her memory was slipping badly.  Each day she lost something permanently from her life.

It was early in the morning on April 6th, when she called.  I answered the phone and was so glad to hear her voice and know that she was calling on my birthday.  That day wasn't gone yet. It thrilled my heart.  

Mama was a little hesitant as she was talking, like she was fishing for words. Unsure of what to say but wanting to say something.  I didn't mention my birthday.  I didn't want to make her feel bad if it was gone.  It was enough just to hear her voice.

Finally she said, "Ah, Vicky is today your birthday?"  I told her yes and that I was so glad she had called.  There was a huge sigh of relief on her end of the line.  She said something like, "I was afraid I had missed it.  Sometimes I just can't remember what I am doing."

She pause again and asked, "Did I get you anything?"  I told her yes  she had sent me a beautiful birthday card and $50.00.  She was thrilled.  I could hear the smile in her voice.  She hadn't sent anything and that was fine with me.  Mama would never know that secret.  We talked for a little longer and then we ended our conversation.  I hung up the phone and cried for about an hour. I knew that was the last conversation we would ever have on my birthday. It was the last time she ever dialed the phone and called me.

Several years later, after Mama had died, I was cleaning out Mama's  clothes and her chest of drawers.  I found a card that said, "Happy Birthday Daughter" it was one of those sweet mushy cards that always touches my heart and usually makes me cry. Underneath the card in tissue paper, was a pretty red straw purse.  It was big and had shoulder straps, just like I always buy.  I am sure that was the birthday present she bought for me and forgot to mail it.  I used that purse all summer, until the straps broke.

Today while shopping, I didn't find the purse I wanted. But I will, probably one day this week.  It will be straw, woven, with large leather handles and if it is red that will make it perfect. I know there is one out there......Mama loved to shop.....and I am betting she still does.
  

The Return of Michael Jordan and Lewis

I left Centralia early this morning, driving in the pouring rain. Accompanied by the occasional thunder burst and lightning flash. It was a slow driving  kind of day. The sky, the road, the horizon were all gray. It was hard to decipher where one stopped and the other began.

As I drove along my mind went back to 1995 and the return of Michael Jordan to basketball.  Where this came from, I really don't know.  My muse probably was playing hoops with someone last night, who knows!!!  I thought about that game all the way home.  Around noon I took a nap and when I woke up, Michael Jordan was

still there. 

I checked out You Tube to see if what I remembered was accurate. I saw part of his return game but not all of it. It flooded my memory with that game, that afternoon and how odd the connections we have in this world.

I was at work, in a nursing home, when the basketball game of the year was about to begin... Michael Jordan was returning to the floor.  It was his first game. The large day room was filled with patients in various stages of life and death. That day, in our day room, all anyone had on their mind was basketball.  There was excitement in the air.  There was also grumbling.  Some people thought he shouldn't come back after he had retired. Most people couldn't wait to watch him play again.

I was one of the ones who could not wait for the game to start. Next to Melodi Carter, my daughter,  Michael Jordan will always be my favorite basketball player. Watching him was pure magic. I have to admit I was a little nervous about his return.  He told the press on March 18,1995  "I'm baaack".  On March 19,1995 he played his first return game on the court of the Indiana Pacers, in Indianapolis.

As game time approached, I sat down by one of my favorite patients, Lewis.  Lewis suffered from old age and depression.  He had not spoken to anyone in a year.  He ate, took his shower, his medicine but he had no affect, no emotions just a blank face. Wherever he was, he was not happy.  I had known him for years and when he was talking I would ask him questions about the depression.  He said it was worse than being dead or in Hell. He told me I could not fathom how horrible it was. I believed him.

Lewis was beginning to come out of his year long  imprisonment.  He wasn't animated yet. He had spoken a few words during the past week. Had smiled once and his eyes had a light in them that had not been there before, as he was getting ready to watch the ballgame.

He actually chuckled when Michael Jordan was introduced as "the other guard".  We all laughed. The Pacer's announcers  were trying to down play Michael's return---as if they could.

As Jordan took to the floor, my hands began to sweat. I was nervous for him.  He took a shot and missed. They raced up and down the court. He took another shot and missed. Then another and another...all close but no basket.  Tension was mounting in the arena and the day room. The announcer was rambling on and on about maybe Michael Jordan's return was a mistake.  He made some reference to the fact that perhaps during the year and a half he had been off, perhaps he had lost his edge.  That remark caused Lewis to say quietly, almost to himself,  "He hasn't lost anything---he is back"  I was so excited to hear a sentence from Lewis.  It looked like to me that Lewis might also be back as well, at least for awhile.

If I am not mistaken, Michael Jordan missed his first nine shots before he connected with the most beautiful 3 pointer I have ever seen.  The auditorium erupted, so did the day room.  We were all on our feet and yelling.  The nurse came running to see what was going on.  We all settled down and so did the auditorium. The game was on.  Jordan went on to score 19 points during that game.  

Lewis even cheered.  He talked and he talked for another year almost none stop and then the depression hit him again. Dragging him down to the depths of whatever pit he often called home.

Watching Michael Jordan's return was awesome. Watching Lewis' return was a miracle.  I have learned one lesson in life from Lewis and that is to appreciate the good times. They are never permanent and are always fleeting.  But when they make an unexpected entrance celebrate like there is no tomorrow.