Roses rambling

10:08:15 PM EDT

I am going to attempt to write a tribute to my mother. I may have to write several days about her as she lived a long and full life.   She passed away 12 days before her 91st birthday.   She was born in October, 1913 and passed away in October, 2004.   My father survived her by one year, one month and one day.  Then they reunited in Heaven. She was a wonderful mother to two daughters, and grand- mother to four grand-daughters and two grand-sons.   Her family was her life, and my father was the love of her life.              When I was a child,  I can remember the many times she related their love story to us.   She always made it sound like an enchanted time even though I know now that it was a time of hardship.  She was a teen during the "Roaring Twenties", and had the classic bobbed hair,  chemise, and pearls.  She loved music and dancing though it was forbidden by her puritannical mother.  After the stock-market crashed in '29,  the lean years of the depression followed.  She met my father in the '30's and they married in 1939.          They had met at Mom's oldest sister's.  She was married to my father's uncle.  Mom and Dad were absolutely not related,  but my Aunt's children were my double cousins.  (First and second,  if that makes any sense.) Anyway,  they were visiting their respective relatives when they met and apparently it was love at first sight.  My Dad was an exceptionally handsome young man.  I have often been told by their friends that he could have been a movie star if he chose. As a child,  I often thought he looked like a combination of Clark Gable and Rock Hudson.   My mother was pretty,  with hair as black as a raven's wing and unusual amber-colored eyes.  Her high cheekbones andolive skin reflected the Native American ancestors from her mothers side.  Her father was Irish.  My father's ancestors were from England.        I have heard that Native Americans sometimes name their babies for the first animal or bird they see or hear after the baby's birth.  I do not know if my mother's name was chosen this way,  but it is an enter- taining thought.  Her name was Dove and the middle name meant sorrowful in Spanish.  I wonder if her mother heard the lonesome sounding cooing of the turtledove.  I think of her every time I hear the name "Lonesome Dove"  which was my father's favorite series.            My mother and father had a whirlwind romance, and wanted to marry .  However,  they had a young lover's quarrel that ended with him going to Florida.  He worked as a lifeguard in Tampa for almost a year before they finally got back in touch.   Then he headed for home,  and they eloped on a cold, snowy day, the first in November. They liked to tell that they married in Canada.  Actually, it was Canada, Kentucky.  That was the closest place (by bus) that did not have a three-day waiting period for a marriage liscense.   They would tell all about their pretty little wedding ,  the kind Justice of the peace and his wife,  who played piano and sang.           They caught the bus back to a nearby city and spent their wedding night at a hotel that is still there.  They told of their wedding supper and made the scrambled egg sandwiches from room service sound so romantic.  (They were served with dill pickles on the side,  and though neither had ever eaten eggs with dill pickles prior to that time,  they always had them that way ever after during their 65 years of marriage.) They were inseparable all this time,  and spent very few nights apart.  I would say less than ten, if I were guessing.  They were always very much in love,  and everyone knew it.  For better or worse,  and they meant it.                                                                                    To Be Continued--------:)

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12:14:37 PM EDT
Feeling Quiet

       My previous entry was about my son and how he wanted to be independent

at school.  My daughter had always welcomed, even encouraged, our involvement

in school activities.  She kept us well informed and expected us to participate.  She

would have been disappointed if we had not shared in this part of her life.  Therefore,

she expects her sons to be the same way.  They have been until recently.

          My oldest grandson has just turned 14.  Turned is the correct word.  He

has discovered girls and vice versa .  No longer could his parents expect phone

lines to be free all the time.  No longer did he want their presence at youth meetings,

church and school events.  Needing to distance himself somewhat from them,  he

would prefer his peers to think that he is an orphan.  LOL.  Seriously, he is just

now trying his wings to becoming an adult.  And it hurts.  He wheddled and whined

until he got a cell phone for his birthday.  He did need one to contact parents after

ball practice, etc.  but mainly for text messaging, I am guessing. 

         He has always been an excellent student,  winning awards every year for

academic efforts as well as sports.  We are all very proud of him, and love to

take pictures that reflect his accomplishments, which are many.  Imagine my

daughter's surprise when she found out about this year's awards ceremony

through a friend on the day before it took place.  She called me expressing

her exasperation.   When she had questioned him about the time for the

ceremony,  so that she could get off work to attend,  he had insisted that it

was not necessary for her to come.  He said he would not be getting any

awards this year,  which sent up a red flag,  because he had always got

the Presidents Honor Roll,  along with others.   She was troubled by this,

but gave in and did not attend at his insistence.  Later that day, she found

out that he had received four of the main awards.  He was disapointed

to not get the math award also,  since he had a 99% average. That still

doesn't explain why he did not want her to come.

         I tried to console her with the thought that he is just a typical teen-

ager going through a phase.   Parents have to walk a fine line between

involvement and interference.   I hope she will persevere and not let him

shut her out of this major part of his life.   I assured her that she is one of

the prettiest,  sweetest and smartest of  mothers and if it seems that her son

is embarrassed  of her,  it is only the natural fear that kids have that their

parents will say or do something to draw attention.  Teens, especially boys,

want to blend in with their peers.  I think it of primary importance to be

involved and know about the activities of teenagers without seeming too

authoritarian.  Don't let them bluff you into not participating.  They'll get used

to your presence if you don't make them feel like you think they are not capable

without your interference.  It certainly is a fragile time in their lives when they are

so vulnerable to peer pressure.

         How difficult it is to allow your children to grow up!  You want them to be

confident and dependable,  and every parent must make decisions about how much

freedom their children can handle at this age.   My children's teen years were some of

my happiest memories.   I know they can be heart-rending also.  Thank God I was

spared  the heartaches  some of my friends faced.  My daughter,  I will pray for

God to grant you the wisdom to raise these two grandsons successfully.  I know

how much they are loved .  I have faith in them and in your parenting.  We are

so blessed.  They have both made decisions to invite Christ into their hearts. That

is the main thing.  Now, you and I must prayerfully "LET GO AND LET GOD!"

 

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9:54:14 AM EDT
Feeling Happy

         What is it with boys?  I found out some things early on that showed me

that they are indeed different animals from their female counterparts.  Do we

subscribe to the theory put forth in the book, "Women Are From Venus,  Men

Are From Mars"?  Well, maybe not, but even now that my only son has reached

adulthood,  and has a successful career,   he continues to be an enigma to his

mother.  I know for a fact that he loves me dearly,  and has devoted the last seven

years of his life to filling his departed father's shoes.  I am secure in his love BUT.........

he feels the need to be his own man,  independent and free to make his own choices.

That is how it should be and often Mom has to back off to allow him his space.

         This trait became apparent when he started elementary school.   This is when

he started untying the apron strings.  He had been unduly influenced by females up

to this time.  Mother, older sister, and even next-door neighbors were four girls to

one lone boy.  But those masculine, macho genes were ever very much present.  His

father saw to it that we did not make a sissy out of him,  and we couldn't even if we

had tried.  Anyway,  he went through kindergarten, delighted to be in a class that

was mainly boys.  He had a wonderful year, socially.  The teacher made it such fun.

        So he entered first grade with all the confidence in the world.  He did not even

want his mother to go with him the first day of school.  I can remember him saying,

"I want to do it by my BIG self", so I relented and his father took him to school and

dropped him off for the first week or so.  I now regret that I did not firmly insist in

order to ascertain the situation and find out all the things I needed to know.  But

at the time,  I was proud of his independence and he had been so secure and confident

in kindergarten,  I did not want to rock the boat and perhaps change his positive

attitude about school.  So for two weeks, he went in by himself.  I asked him

questions, of course, which he answered with monosyllables,  "It's okay, I'm fine, etc."

I thought he was getting quieter and avoiding comments about school but I attributed

it to the fact that it was a little different from kindergarten and he was adjusting. Still

no complaints, even though he had to be prodded to get ready,  acting tired.  I still

was not concerned.

           Imagine my surprise, when I talked to a friend (actually an acquaintance) who

had a little girl in his classroom, and she said,  "My little girl isn't wanting to go to school.

She feels so sorry for your little boy.  She said she even cried about him yesterday.

I thought she was exaggerating until I went in later to check on her and sure enough, I

saw your son standing on tiptoe with his nose in a ring drawed on the blackboard."

I asked the teacher what he had done, and she said,  "He talks."  She acted as if

I knew he was being punished daily this way.  Well, I went bananas. 

          My DS avoided my questions when he got home soon after that.  (My

neighbor had picked him up that afternoon ).  When my husband got home from

work and saw that I had been crying,  was as shocked as I and he said,  "Don't

worry,  I'll take care of it."  My son acted embarrassed  and said,  "No, don't go."

The next morning , he could tell Dad was determined.  When he got home I found

out that he had talked to several parents and the teacher and found out the facts.

  Apparently, she had been making an example of him to control her classroom.

He was the biggest boy (and continued to be the tallest in his class through high

school) and he loved to talk.  He had been able to do this in kindergarten.  The

teacher had a new boyfriend who had visited her in class while my little boy

stood in a miserable position with his nose in a circle. 

Well, the principal got a visit from an irate parent who DEMANDED that

his son be immediately changed to another class.  Seeing his determination,

she gladly complied.  Son hated to leave the friends he had made and I

wonder if he would have continued to endure excessive punishment for

that fact.  I also wonder what it soon could have done to dampen his

enthusiastic enthusiasm for attending school.  I feel much damage could have

been done.

        He loved school and always excelled.  He  did have a problem keeping quiet.

When I began working at his school, as an instructional assistant, it was mainly

to keep informed and involved in his education which I wanted to be the best

possible.  Even when he went on to junior high and left my campus,  I still could

not count on getting notes from school about anything.  Unless I found them in

his pockets doing laundry,  I never got information.  Unless, I made an effort

to find out things,  he continued to be the type to not volunteer information.  He

had this thing about school being his realm of independence that was exasperating

for parent who wanted to be involved.  Although we were very supportive in

the sports he played,  basketball and tennis,  it seemed that he had a little fear

that we might embarrass him in front of his friends, or that we might be critical. 

He denies this now, but I saw this same attitude in many of his friends, also

When he became a success professionally,  he laughingly told me,  "Mom,

tell all those teachers at your school who kept me from talking that I am

making a good living doing the very thing they tried to keep me from doing.'

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9:09:29 AM EDT
Feeling Loopy

       This is my first entry in May.  Hooray! It finally feels like Spring!  I have been

sick for the entire month of April,  from bronchitis that led to pneumonia.  I still have

an occasional cough but nothing like losing my breath, as I was often doing earlier. I

had never had breathing difficulties, except for one time that I was hospitalized thirty

years ago for accidentally inhaling a potentially lethal mixture of toilet bowl cleaner

and clorine bleach.  (I actually knew better than to do this,  but just wasn't thinking

and paid the price for my foolishness.  After that, I have been really cautious.)

Anyhow, my breathing difficulties caused me to remember another traumatic event

that happened when my Darling Daughter was around ten years of age.

         My little girl had been exceptionally healthy.  Thank the Lord, she had reached

ten years old with very few doctor visits,  except well-baby checkups and shots.

She had mumps,  because the vaccine was new at that time and she hadn't got it.

She says she remembers mumps and measles fondly,  because I devoted my entire

attention to her,  reading, playing and entertaining.  She loved being read aloud to and

I,  tiring of juvenile books,  introduced her to works from English literature and

Edgar Allen Poe.  This new venture was thrilling to her and gave her a lasting

appreciation of the classics.  While she lay in bed,  I entertained both of us this way.

          One spring day,  my daughter was playing in the yard,  when she got stung

by a bee.  She came running in and I put baking soda on the whelp because I had

heard that soda or vinegar would neutralize the sting.  (I have since heard that taping

or holding a copper penny on the sting will neutralize it ,  but I don't know if either

of these old wive's tales really work.)

          Anyway, in just a few minutes,  my daughter began to cough.  It was apparent

that she was having trouble breathing.   I ran into the yard, called to my Dad who

was outside and we (Mom, Dad, DDand I )  were in the car and on the way to

the emergency room in just a few minutes following the sting.  For once, my Dad

was not a slow driver as we sped , emergency lights blinking , to the hospital.

As her breathing labored,  I continued to work with her and all three adults were

praying audibly.  I had read enough to know that a bee sting could cause a potentially

fatal reaction if an allergy has developed.  I do not remember her ever being stung

before unless maybe once by a yellow jacket,  but I knew there was a limited time

before the throat swelled shut and breathing stopped.  Thankfully, we arrived in record

time as people let us by. 

       The doctor administered an antidote and almost immediately, the symptons began

to ease until she was completely free of them.  The doctor gave us a prescription for

an epi-pen,  a shot that could be given.  He advised us to carry Benadryl at all times

to be given immediately upon being stung by anything.  She did this faithfully for years.

In later years, I fear that she has become lax and is not as concerned as she should be.

Even adults get stung,  and we do not know whether she would experience such a

severe reaction again or not, but it is still a likelihood.  Once a person experiences a

reaction,  they should never stop being cautious.  It is literally a matter of life or death.

        This fear followed us (especially me, because she could shrug it off) all the years

she was growing up.  I was tempted to keep her away from outdoor events, like

picnics,  where she might encounter the danger of a bee-sting.  However, she was

not one to be easily confined and actually told me that she was not living her life in

dread.  She had very convincing arguments about friends she had,  who did not let

disabilities rule them and prevent them from leading normal lives.  We were so

blessed that she was able to enjoy camping, picnicking, and water sports without

further incidents.  I started to say "lucky",  but I truly believe that God answered this

mother's prayer that I would not have to endure another ride like that one.  Most

mother's would gladly exchange places with their child in such a situation, and I was

no exception to that rule.  I would gladly have taken this allergy from her if I could.

        At first,  I have to admit that I felt some resentment toward neighbors who

had bee hives.  I would look at them and think,  "Don't they know that to us they

might as well have rattlesnake pits that they tend?"  (Now, I have an inborn fear of

snakes far above normal, so that is a statement that is hard to make, but then again,

snakes don't fly!)

          I started reading about the honey bee, and the important role it plays in the

food chain.  Lately, it has become apparent that the numbers of honey bees have

drastically been reduced in recent years.  Scientists are perplexed as to just why

this has happened,  whether from pesticide use or natural causes.  We are very

much in danger of suffering lack of pollination leading to food shortages.  I am aware

that we must take the bitter with the sweet in this case.  Allergies are fairly rare, though

deadly,  and the benefits of the honey bee are universal.  It is now possible to take

a series of allergy shots to build immunity to the bee venom,  a step that we have

considered.  I pray that some way my daughter will never have another sting.

         I said that I resented bee-keepers because of my daughter's reaction.  Well,

I finally accepted the fact that they had the right to pursue this hobby or business,

even though it involved considerable risk to me and mine.  (I don't want truckers

off the road, for example, though it involves considerable risk on our narrow, winding

roads.  I might take the ditch to avoid one coming head-on however.)  The fact is

we are never going to get out of this world alive,  no matter how hard we try.  We

can only life to the fullest,  love others as ourselves, and pray to God for His mercy.

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11:09:40 AM EDT
Feeling Happy

I realize that the memories that I have been recording are not sequential.

That’s the way memories occur. They will pop into my mind as incidents or

chapters but not necessarily in a progressive time frame. I feel the urgency

to get them recorded because I can feel my memory becoming less sharp and

I know eventually, as I age , they will lose some of their clarity and I may never

be able to retrieve some of them from the recesses of my brain. The major

fear that I have is Alzheimers (check spelling), though there is no history in

my family of it. I think this disease that robs our elderly of their most

precious faculties is one of the most tragic things that can happen to anyone.

Nevertheless, that is just one reason for the urgency I feel to record memories.

My daughter can edit, correct, and arrange my random ramblings after I go.

You notice that I refrained from saying DIE, which is of course my greatest

fear, and one we all must face.

I came face to face with that demon DEATH over sixteen years ago.

(I can say that word easier than I can say the big C word, even now that I

have survived that demon for this long.)   I had not been well for some

time, though I delayed doctors visits, and attributed my malaise to the

early onset of menopause . I brushed aside the alarming symptoms, with

the rationale that it was just another phase of life that had to be endured.

My daughter finally persuaded me to make an appointment in a

neighboring city and even took off from work to accompany me.  I am

thankful that the malignancy was discovered fairly early , thanks to her

persistence. I was in complete denial, so the news was extremely shocking

to me. I’m ashamed to say that I really lost control on our way home, and

wailed and moaned as if I had received a death sentence. Ordinarily, I

would have tried to shield my daughter from such a lack of faith and

courage, but at this moment our roles reversed and she became my rock.

She encouraged, she counseled, she consoled and yes, she cried with me.

Somehow, we survived the hour and half drive home. The shock was soon

replaced with a numbness and an uncustomary acceptance on my part.

My daughter took charge, in the days to come, making appointments

with specialists at a cancer center affiliated with the University that she

had attended. It required a three-hour drive for us but was noted for

oncology and treatment. After further testing there, I was scheduled for

surgery on October 31st. (Halloween!)

I am not going to elaborate on all the medical details , just that I

did what I was told to do, while all the time in a befogged state of mind.............

The whole experience took on a surreal quality and it seemed to me that

I detached myself from my body which I felt had betrayed me and I could

observe the procedures as if I was present with a friend. I cannot explain

my detachment, but at the time it served a purpose to distance me from

what I considered to be my own demise. The evening of the surgery, the

nurses had been given permission to dress up in costume. Most of them

looked adorable, in outfits portraying "Little Bo Peep," Cinderella, or

Peter Pan, to name a few. Just cutesy. However, one young student nurse,

at a loss for a costume, decided to wrap her entire body in bandaging. When

I opened my eyes following surgery, in the recovery room, I came face to face

with "THE MUMMY"!  I could have, probably should have, been traumatized

by this spectacle but, due to the medications perhaps or my detached attitude,

I could have cared less. That little nurse was raked over the coals royally, when

her superior discovered her thoughtless choice of costume. I thought it was

kinda cute, myself, and it did not dawn on me until later that I could have been

unduly alarmed. I don’t know if she got a better reaction from other patients

than I , but her Halloween prank sure fizzled out on me.

       In November, I returned home with the surgeons assurance that he felt

sure that he "had got it all" and began the road to recovery. After six weeks,

I was to return for more tests to ascertain whether the malignancies might have

spread to nearby areas. I had already begun a self-help program to bolster my

my own lagging faith. I had been a Christian for many years and I felt like I

had a good life. So much so that I was desperate to preserve it. Happening

at a low point, I needed to reinforce my own faith in God. I asked for and

needed the prayers and encouragement of all my friends and family. My mother

and father were very devout and ministered faithfully to me. I was experiencing

a physical depression that I had to combat not only with anxiety medication, but

also with every thing else I could command. The most helpful tool was Praise and Worship

music that I played constantly.  I felt that I needed to return to work as soon as

possible in order to prevent having so much time alone to dwell on thoughts of

dying.  My employer, bless their hearts, was going to place me in a less stressful

and less physically demanding job for a period of recovery time. But first, I had

to get the all clear from the six-week checkup before I returned to work.

The trips back and forth to the hospital provided some good quality time

with my son, daughter, and husband who alternated in driving me back and forth.

We reminisced about our years as a family, planned for the future and they shared

hopes and dreams with me as never before. We had always been a close-knit

family but during this time bonded to an amazing extent. I suppose one can find

something good to say about anything, even cancer, and I think we developed such

an appreciation for our ordinary lives during that time. We appreciated more the

things previously taken for granted and cherished each other and each moment.

While doing "one day at a time", we were acutely aware how precious each one was.

Traveling the three hours to the University hospital, we saw all the houses

decorated for Christmas and were aware of the approaching holidays. Thanksgiving

had passed with us truly counting our blessings,  but I had fretted a little about not

being able to decorate and shop. My husband , the Macho man whose hero was

John Wayne, had always left such things to the female members of the family. He

would casually remark that Christmas was too commercial now and even insinuated

that lights and decorations were frivilous. A shadow had been cast over the holidays

years earlier when a beloved cousin,  who had just decorated her home for Christmas,

was swept away in a flash flood. She had fallen from a bridge into the raging stream.

She was pregnant and a friend who tried to rescue her had also drowned. Her husbands

grandmother, hearing the news suffered a fatal heart attack. The Christmas lights

burning brightly during a triple funeral seemed a mockery at the time. After that

time, my family did not emphasize outdoor decorations, even though we enjoyed

other people decorating.  Somehow, now at this traumatic time, I missed that and

may have remarked wistfully that I wish we had continued the tradition that she

had loved so much.

       My daughter drove me down for the big testing and the doctors were well-

pleased with the surgery and found no signs of the cancer anywhere else. We

were filled with relief on the way home and even the dreary weather could not

dampen our spirits. It was getting quite late as we drove back. Many of the

homes had turned off their holiday lights and even house lights so we were

approaching my little town in tired silence, anticipating a warm bath and bed.

I love my little town, but actually they pull in the streets at nine o’clock, so to

speak, and we entered Main Street, and then our street without meeting a car.

We passed the darkened houses on our street and rounded the curve as we

approached our house.

     Then we saw my house. Even at that distance, the light fairly radiated

from it, like a beacon in the night. My dear home was ablaze in the glory

of thousands of multi-colored lights. Seemingly, every square inch was

covered along with the trees and shrubbery lining the long driveway. Our

eyes nearly popped out of our head seeing the unaccustomed splendor. The

deck was festooned with ribbons , greenery  and animated figures. When we

got out of the car, we were met by my  husband and son who had worked so

hard to create this spectacle for our return. Apparently, after hearing the

good test results when I called earlier, they had gone out and purchased all

the festive decorations and worked way into the night to provide our

joyous home-coming.

I will never forget that sight . I will never forget the love I felt

surrounding our family like an aura. The thoughtful act lasted long after

the holidays, which we celebrated joyfully. I wanted the beautiful

lights left up till Valentine’s Day, and when family visited I had to have them

turned on. One strand was left that spring high in the Colorado Spruce tree

we had planted when we moved there. Sixteen years later it is now very

high in the tall tree, but if I get to feeling blue, I can still peer closely up in

to the dense branches and see the faded red , blue, green and yellow bulbs.

It never fails to lift my spirits because it brings to mind the unselfish act

that my husband and son performed on a cold December day years ago

to demonstrate their love and gratitude for God’s many blessings.

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9:09:17 AM EDT
Feeling Happy

          "SPRING SPORT'

Yellow balls

     like baby wrens

go flying by

     a tennis fence.

 

They say that spring

      is time to "court",

But I just love

       my favorite sport.

 

When the sun

        gets high above,

My thoughts just turn

        to " forty---love".

 

Warm sunshine

          on emerald green,

A gleaming racquet

          with aqua string,

are calling me now

          that it is spring!

 

 

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8:50:27 AM EDT
Feeling Happy

I am going to insert two of my son's poems here (with his permission, of course).  Mind

you,  he wrote this with much grumbling and fretting and procrastinating because

he had to,  for assignments in high school.  He does not share my love of writing poems

but I believe he could if he ever wanted to.  These got a good grade and also

favorable comments from his teachers.  I love them and I have kept them for years.

                  MIND YOUR MOMMA 

                 "Mind your manners,

                           say your prayers,

                   brush your teeth,

                            get up the stairs."

 

                     When Mother speaks

                              in a certain way,

                      we all listen to what

                              she has to say.

 

                       Though she is gentle

                               and sweet and kind,

                       She'll always say

                               what's on her mind.

 

                         "Get out of that bed,

                                 and get to school,

                            No child of mine

                                  will be a fool."

 

                             This little woman

                                    is meek and mild,

                               and tender-hearted

                                     as a child.

 

                               But when it comes

                                       to doing right,

                                She can put up a

                                        whale of a fight!

                          

 

See next entry for the second poem : "Spring Sport"

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2:05:09 PM EDT
Feeling Hopeful

        I only have one sister, and no brothers.  My Dad may have wanted boys,

but if he did, he never let it show.  He adored his girls and my sister was a little

bit of a tomboy,  anyway.  I was six years older than she and had been present

at her birth.  The doctor was delayed and a neighborhood mid-wife had to do

the delivery at home.  So, at six, I knew about labor and childbirth.  Instead

of resenting the new baby,  it caused me to become very protective of my baby

sister, a trait that continues to this day. 

          Sister was accident-prone.  Situations seemed to seek her out.  It was

not at all unusual to have someone come to my classroom and tell me,  "Your

little sister is hurt or bleeding (or both).  She once turned a china cabinet over

breaking most of the crystal contents and the glass door over her head.  That

time she was miraculously able to come out with only scratches.  She was not

as lucky on the playground one day,  when she came off the slide and fell on a

metal post that had been broken off.   The jagged edge cut a triangular gash

between her eyes.  I always wondered  later in life, when she had a brain tumor 

behind her eyes, if somehow those accidents may have been the cause.

          Anyway,  I told this to illustrate my protective attitude toward my sister.

We never fought,  and seldom disagreed.  I loved her fiercely and still do.  To

be honest, she has proven to be the stronger of the two of us,  overcoming

many obstacles to get an education and raise four children.  I'm proud of her.

        The incident I want to tell about occured after her first two children were

eight and ten.  .   My daughter was almost seventeen but had never spent a night

away from home, except for the time I was in the hospital getting her brother.

Then , she was only next  door at my parents.  Unfortunately,  not meaning to,

I had passed a couple of my phobias (that I inherited from my mother) on to her.

My mother never liked to be alone.  She was terrified of thunderstorms.  During

the years that I was growing up,  she managed somehow to have someone else

with her besides us children.  We lived next door to my grandmother and she often

packed us up and ran to her house if the sky became overcast.  She fought these

fears all her adult life and they lessened in later years.  I was very sensitive and

picked up on the fears, which I transferred to myself. 

            When I married at a very young age,  I got a wonderful husband.  He had

secured a good job but being newer,  had to take night shift.  I had to stay by my-

self in a lonely apartment while he worked.  I was determined to overcome my fear

but I sat many nights staring at the locked door,  butcher knife in hand.  If you have

never suffered from a nameless terror,  you won't understand what I am saying.

My husband moved up in time to day shifts and I could forget those nights alone.

My sister had somehow escaped the fears that my mother and I shared.   She

had recently moved to our old home place,  tore down the old house,  and put

a trailer on it.  They planned to live there until they built a new brick home next

to the trailer ( which they planned to rent later.).   Our home was up a hollow and

on a hill with a winding  gravel road leading up to it.  There  were no neighbors

after you started up the gravel road and my daughter and I felt like it was more

isolated than it actually seems now.

           Anyhow,  one day,  my sister while visiting my mother. told her that my

brother-in-law (her husband) had to be gone out of state for some job training

and would be gone from home three nights.  My daughter and I discussed at

length ,  after she left,  that we bet she was scared  to stay there with just the

kids.   (She had never been scary, before, even foolishly leaving her doors

un-locked )  but we summed it up in our minds that we were going to go stay

with her to keep her from being scared (as we would have been).

          We got our things and  traipsed off to Sister's house,  feeling very self-

satisfied at the good deed we were doing.  And getting to visit her as well. 

Now my sister did not have a phone at that time but she welcomed her un-

expected visitors with some surprise but gladly also.    We all set around

talking and snacking until it got quite late.  Then Sister fixed us beds on the

couches, and she retired to the bedrooms with the children.  The first thing

that happened to scare me was when I mistakenly opened her son's door

looking for the bathroom.  He had rigged something to the door to cause

lights to illuminate dummies he had made with horrid Halloween masks.

At the same time,  the stereo blarred out wide-open .  I almost fainted.

My nephew had always been gifted with electronic ability , and it was

evident at that young age that he was a natural for that field.  Scary, though.

          I had almost drifted off to sleep when the next incident happened.  It

jarred me instantly awake and I jumped to my feet.  A loud banging , like

someone beating on the tin sides of the trailer,  sent me running to her bed-

room,  tripping and falling along the way.  Daughter heard me and joined

me there.  We wer both screaming, telling Sis that someone was breaking in.

All the children rushed in to see what was going on.  After a moment we

heard it again.  Instead of being alarmed,  Sister told us,  "That's our goats,

climbing on the low roof of a shed nearby."   So, gradually, we calmed

down, but the kids, alarmed, wanted Sis to sleep in their room with them.

           We lay back down .  I could see through the open door of her bedroom

and the moonlight streamed through the big window on the end of the trailer.

At first ,  I did not see him as my eyes adjusted to the darkness,  but then I saw

something that sent panic through me.  A man's head was sillhouetted in the

window.  I let out a blood-curdling scream that brought everyone running

and falling on each other .  Over all the crying and screaming,  my Sister got

a few coherent words,  and managed to quiet me.  Grabbing a fire extinguisher,

(for what purpose I don't know)  we gingerly edged through the hallway and

there he was!   When she flipped on the light,  there sat the King on the window

sill.   The life size bust of Elvis was one of her prize possessions and it was the

culprit that had almost given me a heart attack.   In the moonlight it had looked

exactlly like a man peering in through the window.  Shaky and weak,  we began

to get the nervous giggles out of relief.   We had a bunch of cranky kids by now

and a throbbing headache.  We all piled into the bedrooms together and stayed

wide-eyed until the daylight began to creep over the mountain. 

          As dawn descended on us,  we asked  Sister if she'd be all right to stay

now and she assured us she would.  (Even encouraged us to go,  I believe.)  So,

we drove home, fell into our own beds and slept till noon.  In the future when her

husband had to be gone,  she kept it quiet or else did not invite my daughter and me.

(She told my mother that though she appreciated our concern,  she did not need us

to keep her from getting scared anymore and to please keep us home.)

 So, that is the saga of how we saved Sister from the goats and the bust of Elvis.

My daughter conquered her fear of staying alone when she went through a divorce,

and had to face it even though she never learned to like it.   I, unfortunately,  am

still working on my fear.  With God's help,  perhaps I will be victorious,  someday.

 

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2:19:14 PM EDT
Feeling Quiet

         I recently received news and pictures from some good friends.

Actually they are life long friends,  since I knew them in childhood. 

They both attended school with me,  though both are a little younger

than I .  They were high-school sweethearts who married soon after

graduating and my husband and I were newlyweds.   We developed

a close relationship with them and their families.  We camped  with

several young couples,  including them and we shared many happy

times vacationing.   This continued even after our children were born

and we all felt very close. 

           When my daughter was in grade school,  we all were going to

basketball games a lot at  elementary/high school where we lived.  We

had settled into a new home that we had built.  My husband now had

a secure job but with building,  finances were pretty tight.  I had been

working at the school,  but my husband and I both wanted me to be

able to stay home with the little one and competent baby-sitters were

both expensive and hard to find.  So I had stopped working at the

time I am going to tell about. 

          My husband always had a natural mechanical ability and an

interest in vehicles so he almost fell into a sideline.  He started out

buying lawn-mowers and repairing or reselling them.  We had a

three stall garage behind our house that he converted to a repair

shop.  He soon advanced to repairing cars and trucks.  His business

grew and soon became a second job.  He did not want to leave his

regular job because of benefits and insurance and besides his sideline,

though profitable, was just getting established.  So he continued for

some time working his regular job,  eating supper,then going to his

garage where he worked late into the night.     His repairs were in

demand,  but payment for them was often shaky and uncertain. 

Good-natured as he was, he did not like to pressure people for

payment even though he had invested labor and parts in the job.

           Anyway,  my son was about three years old at the time.

One Friday night,  we had planned to go to the ball game with

our friends.  As we were getting ready to go,  a guy came by

to pay a repair bill that had been accumulating for some time.

My husband took the cash that he paid him and placed it in

his sock drawer to be taken to the bank on Saturday morning.

I dressed our little guy in little Levi's and t-shirt and we went

to the game and met our friends there. 

           We were sitting with them in the bleachers before the

game started when someone mentioned getting popcorn.  Son

started clammering to go to the concession stand.  We had

eaten supper,  but when he persisted our friend said,  "Come

on,  honey,  Kathy'll take you."  And she helped him down the

bleachers and out to the concession stand. 

         They returned a few minutes later and she was laughing.

She said,  "You'll never believe what this child did!!"  I stared

at her incredulously as she went on.   She said,  "When we

went to the counter,  your son told me,  "' Buy any-fing you

want, Kaffy,  I'm loaded!"'   Then he reached into his jean's

pocket and pulled out a big wad of bills , scattering a few

on the floor, which she quickly retrieved. 

          Apparently,  he had seen his daddy stash the cash in

the drawer and when he left the room,  had helped himself

to fill his pockets.  I believe that little three year old boy

was carrying around over eight hundred dollars that night.

At that time in our lives,  this was a huge amount of money

to us and would have been a big loss.  This is still one of  Kathy

and Larry's favorite anecdotes about their "Buddy-Pal"  and the

night Kathy got taken out by a big spender. 

        We all learned a good lesson that night.  Our little boy 

learned some rules about money and ownership.  We learned

that you never know what to expect from alittle fellow in public.

We also were very careful not to lead him into temptation by

being too lax with money we couldn't afford to lose. 

         My little boy grew up to be very generous and giving.  Like

his daddy,  he likes to earn money but he also likes to spend it

and give it away.  How do you argue with those qualities, especially

when he is so good to his mother?   Just save a little for a rainy day. 

 

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2:09:56 PM EDT
Feeling Hopeful

          It has been such a beautiful day today.  The temperature

is supposed to reach 80,  which I consider to be the ultimate

perfect temperature.  I am stuck inside with bronchitis,  got

from being outside almost all day on a windy day I think,  and\

I long to be outside working in my flowers, or camping.  Each

year at this time,  I get an intolerable longing for our old camping

days.

        We owned a house trailer on a rented space at Cherokee

Lake for many years while our children grew up,  and I could

go on forever about the added blessing it was to our family life.

I would not trade those memories of the quality time we shared

there.  I don't believe that we would have been nearly as close-

knit family as we were had we not had the luxury of that special

place to get away. 

          We lived a considerable driving distance from the lake,  in

an adjoining state, in fact,  but usually two weekends a month found

us packing up our gear and heading out.  Earlier in our camping ad-

ventures we had owned first of all a small renovated bread truck that

had bunks and convertible couch/beds but we soon were cramped in

it with two kids ,  but we did enjoy a rougher style of camping that

involved outside cooking .  We often took it to a nearby state park

with camping facilities, bathhouses and pools.  Several of our close

friends were involved in camping,  even clubs, and we spent many

happy evenings around campfires with them.  We made and have

maintained to this day, many of the friendships we forged with families

in that park.  We were devastated when one of those friends was

critically burned on his job and spent months recovering in the hospital.

We kept remembering the night he entertained us around that campfire,

and his mellow voice singing, "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain."  How glad

we were when we all could be together again when he recovered.

       Later on,  we graduated to a pull-type camper and ventured out

farther on camping trips as far awayas Pigeon Forge,  and Gatlinburg.

Then friends of our ours began camping at Cherokee Lake and we

found a great campground there and invested in the house trailer.

We enjoyed being able to hop in the car and drive to an already

equipped place since our time away from work was limited.  We

spent many vacations there and holiday weekends.  We had two

other type boats before we got the pontoon boat,  but after we

got it we were convinced that it provided the most relaxation for

our family.  We could get a skier up with it  and often pulled our

children and their visitors on huge innertubes.  Many hot summer

days were spent relaxing on that pontoon boat,  fishing or playing.

We usually took picnic coolers and picnicked at the park sites and

swimming areas.  The dam provided a huge gathering place for

picnickers and swimmers. 

          Late afternoons and evenings were filled with cook-outs and

barbecues.   The campground held special church services on Sunday

mornings at an outdoor shed they provided.  Special events and singings

were often enjoyed along with fishing tournaments and fish fries.  It was

a wonderful atmosphere for children to grow up enjoying.  Many of our

friends from home camped there and the owner was a close friend from

home.  So we felt like one big extended family.  It was a family-oriented

campground and I can't remember any incidents of rowdy behavior.    

          My children were very social and the teens were always on the go

visiting with others ,  playing card games or video games at the video shack.

My son had a tendency to stay too long at these activities,  but my daughter

played the "old mother hen" role, as he called it,  when she got out, rounded

him up and got him back to the trailer.  I never had to bother when he lost

track of the time,  because Sis being 10 years older than he, took care of

that for me!  She still mothers him,  for which he is grudgingly grateful.

         My husband was not a good fisherman, although he pretended to

be.  He bought all the latest gear, and had a tackle-box with all the lures

and bait,  but he seldom caught anything.  Oh, he could tell the tales along

with the best of them, and he swapped yarns about the "one that got away"

with the gangs of serious fishermen,  but usually our fish came from Long

John Silvers or Food City.  He would hang his pole over the rail,  with or

without bait,  and if something struck it , he might reel it in.  He thought

fishing was more work than it was worth but he loved the atmosphere.

Working two jobs for most of those years,  he desperately needed rest

and relaxation, which he got floating aimlessly on Cherokee Lake.  He'd

go out on early morning fishing excursions with his buddies,  but mostly

for the comraderie and entertainment.  He delighted in sociallizing. 

He loved sun-bathing on the little beach and fireworks on the Fourth

and Labor Day.   There was always something going on there. 

         My daughter and I loved shopping in the nearby towns and on

the way there we went through major shopping areas.  We usually

took two cars down.  Hubby and son went straight there with maybe

one stop to get food.  Daughter and I drove down and lazily shopped

on the way.  He cautioned us about getting into camp too late but

sometimes we did not leave the mall until it closed and then we had

another hour's drive on rural roads.  One night, we were almost

midnight getting there.  We took the short cut cross farm country,

which was very pleasant, during the daytime with trees lining the

road on either side.  But at night it was very spooky and dark

with the trees shutting out even the moonlight.  That night ,

especially,  we started a series of "What if..............'s  and had

our selves thoroughly scared to death by the time we got there.

We remembered another late night adventure,  passing a

cemetery,  when something large,  a white creature , floated

eerily across our windshield.    (I think it was a huge, white

owl that nested in a tree in the cemetary) but I can't be

absolutely certain.  It had happened so fast and left us

staring at each other,  open-mouthed.  We remembered

all too well, the long hike we made in pitch blackness,

the time we had the flat on a lonely road in a big curve

and nobody stopped.  This was before cell phones

became popular but we did know the people in the

house way, way back from the road and we went to it.

We promised ourselves and each other it would'nt 

catch us out late again.  Anyway,  we were lucky. 

Thank the Lord,  we never had but one bad experience

all the years we drove back and forth to the lake.  We

were following  Hubby and Son  and saw them have

to leave the road at high speed to avoid a head on

collision.  There was no injuries and the truck was

soon repaired.

All in all, some of our happiest times together as a family occured

while camping.  Precious, wonderful memories that are priceless.

The expense of camping was just a drop in the bucket compared

to the enjoyment we got from family and nature.  We always had

that to look forward to.

       I have become quite nostalgic while reminiscing about the good

old times when we were all together.  Now my children lead their

own lives,  and my husband has gone to that "happy hunting ground",

(or maybe its a grand campground in the sky, ya think?)    I encourage

anyone to make time for family activities,  whatever you enjoy together,

seize the day and make each one count.  Tell the ones you love how 

much they mean to you.  I wish I had told my husband  often how much I 

appreciated how hard he worked to provide for us and sacrificies

he made to give us quality time.  I'd like to thank all my family and

friends for the beautiful memories.   I think they know I love them.

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