Home Alone

This Christmas will be unlike any other.
Clark and I will wake up Christmas morning all by ourselves.  This is just one of the many things I didn't see coming.  It was inevitable, with all four of our adult children spread out all over the planet.  But somehow I didn't realize it would come this soon.  Last year, my two daughters and their families met Clark and me at a cabin in the Hill country of Texas for Christmas, and with four children under four years of age, it was wild and wonderful.  I realized it was a hassle for them, but they did it for me, and I was grateful.  This year is the in-laws turn, and that is only fair, but truth be told, I want them all to myself every year.  We could have gone to Katie's house in Houston for Christmas, but then that would have left Clark's mother all alone, and perhaps my mother as well, so we elected to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day on a "mother tour" as we refer to it, and go out to Texas for an after Christmas/New Year's visit.  It will be great to see them, but it just won't be the same as hearing the giggles and little bursts of excitement you get when the wrapping paper is flying and the stockings are turned upside down.  I mean, that's what Mimi's are for---to sit back and watch and listen to the grandkids on Christmas morning.   
I think that the way we grow up and the traditions we have as children impact us more than we know.  I grew up with my maternal grandparents and six cousins on the same block.  We gathered at my grandparents' home every single Christmas Eve that I can remember.  I couldn't wait for those Christmases, because I absolutely loved being with my cousins and all the activity nine grandchildren would bring to a Christmas gathering.  So, I guess, I figured my kids and my grandkids would do the same.  But 500 miles is not across the street.  And I am going to have to get over thinking that my kids and grandkids will come to our house for Christmas at the same time.  In fact, it's not going to happen any time soon, because it is time for them to begin their own traditions, and have Christmas in their own homes.  I totally understand, but I can always hold out hope that one Christmas they will decide that it would be fun to visit Mimi and Poppy, because they will realize that I have never had all four grandkids home for the holidays.   And they will haul all the gifts and the kids and fight the traffic for 10-12 hours with two kids each in the backseat, or wait in lines at the airport with packages, car seats, and toddlers in tow so that they can spend Christmas at my house. That sounds like a plan, right?  

What Really Matters

Last week my sister, mother and I attended the funeral of our cousin.  His grandmother and my mother's grandfather were sister and brother. It hurts my brain to try to figure out the "once removed or twice removed" part of that.  I just know he was a relative that we were happy to claim.  And I'm about to tell you why.

He was the kind of guy that you felt like you knew all your life even if you had just been introduced to him.  He was a man of his word and a "gentleman's gentleman" according to one of his closest friends.  Bowen Travis was the kind of man who would go out of his way to give you a hand or help you out when you needed it.  He was the kind of guy who met the day every day with a positive outlook and a favor in mind for someone who needed it.  He was the kind of guy who made you feel like you were important and significant after being in his midst.  And he was the kind of guy who had his share of tragedies, but managed to cope and push through and maintain his sincerity and affable personality. 
At the end of the church services for Bowen, the minister suggested that anyone who wanted to could strand up and say what Bowen had meant to them.  We sat in amazement as person after person popped up from the pews to reconstruct an experience or an event that was special to them.  And it was always the same:  his honesty, his loyalty, his encouragement, and his love for people were his steady characteristics.  There was no mention of how much money he made or the type of car he drove, or his political views.  What really mattered to people were the  kinds of things he did because he had such a big heart, and because he was truly devoted to God.  The minister used Bowen's Bible to give the eulogy, and it was falling apart from use.  Bowen was one of those few Christians who actually lived what he knew to be the truth.  
I'm going to give you one example that stuck with me about Bowen's tender heart.
Bowen's wife, Christine, who passed away a few years before Bowen, was very ill toward the end of her life. She loved a particular blouse and wanted to wear it every day.  So, Bowen would wash and iron her blouse after she went to sleep every evening, so that it would be ready for her the next day.  Even in watching his wife of 60 something years slipping away, he found a way to make her smile.  
It makes me wonder if his encouraging spirit was something that he just had, or was it something he purposed to do?   Something to think about at Christmas time........

Mamaw's Pies

Four Generations of Girls

I have a lot to be thankful for this year.  And one of those things is that my mother is still baking her pies.  If you know my mama, you know that she loves to bake.  And she loves for you to eat what she has baked.  And  if you stop at just one piece of pie or cake, she will hound you to eat another piece until you either stuff yourself or hurt her feelings with a refusal.  It's all or nothing  I'm telling you.  Mama has been baking and delivering her goods to neighbors, folks in nursing homes, shut ins, accountants, doctors, and  bereaved families for decades.  She has loved to bake as long as I can remember, and she has a penchant for baking  pies.   She knows everybody's favorites in the family, and in days past has always had a cherry pie or two in the freezer ready to go on a moment's notice to a family member who drops in or someone who just might need a pie for whatever reason.   Why, she even sent me pies UPS in college!!!  My entire dorm floor knew when I got a package from my mama, because I was handing out pieces of cherry pie at all hours of the night while we studied.  When my mother has not been in our midst for a holiday, her pies have represented.   And if I am the recipient of a random cherry pie, I usually save it for a dinner party or an event where I need to take something delicious and don't have the time to bake.   I can remember proudly gifting my teachers a pecan pie for Christmas every year of my elementary school years ---so many people have been awarded a pie for decades, and I don't think any of them have gone to waste.  Mom has a menu as long as Mrs. Smith's, and enjoys making every one.  I'll go out on a limb here and say they are quite tasty---her crust is from scratch and her fillings have just the right amount of juice and fruit.   But, since she has been feeling bad the last few months, I invited her to our house for Thanksgiving and we decided we would bake just one apple pie together the week before Thanksgiving.  After all, we really didn't need too many pies for just 8 people for dinner.   Now here is where her problem lies:  she can't  make just one.  Mom called me the day before I was supposed to come to help her make the apple pie and told me she felt good enough to bake by herself and she would be fine in the kitchen......she told me she knew I had a lot to do to get ready and one pie would not be a problem.   The next day the phone rang.......
Mama:  Hey honey.  I fixed the pie.  Well, I fixed two apple pies.  And two chocolate pies and a chocolate cake and a coconut cake--well, two coconut cakes because the first one fell apart.   
Me:  MAMA!!!!  You have been feeling terrible and we decided one pie would be plenty for everybody!  I just hate that you probably did not feel like making so many pies and cakes and besides,  how are we going to eat all of those desserts?  
 (And this is definitely not the first time I have asked her this question)  I know you must be sooooo tired and worn out from cooking!  I'm so sorry!
Mama:  Well, I wanted everyone to have their favorites , so when you come and get me, make sure you have plenty of room in the car for the desserts.
Me: (not wanting to sound ungrateful for the wonderful but over the top baking) Thanks so much,mom.  I'll be there Thanksgiving morning to get you and the pies and cakes.  I hope you feel like coming, because we would rather have you than your pies!! 


And then she called me the day before Thanksgiving and told me that she just did not feel good enough to travel and that I should come and get the pies and leave her at home.   (no wonder)  So, we had a greatgrandma shortage and a pieless Thanksgiving , but traveled to see her today.  And we hauled all the desserts back with us.  She told me that sending us the desserts makes her feel part of the holiday even though she can't be with us.   But if she had just made one, could she have made it for the holiday?  I'm just sayin.   And so I have a refrigerator full of sugar and mama.  And I'm thankful.          

An Accomplishment

Because she was preoccupied with a couple of mallards in the lake, I was able to click off a photo of my quirky dog.  

I decided to take along my camera on our daily walk today.  When I stopped to shoot something, I would ask Ellie to sit and before I could finish the picture, I could hear her dragging the leash in an attempt to sneak away.  Just because I had the camera out, the girl started freaking out!  This small lake is two blocks from our house, so I am very blessed to be able to enjoy this fall scenery on a daily basis.  I am sharing some of my shots below, but my biggest achievement of the day was to catch Ellie as she was watching some mallards in the water.  As soon as she heard me click the camera, she jumped down, but I did get this photo of her.  And if you have read my former post about Ellie and cameras, you know how excited I am to have a good picture of her.  Happy fall everybody! 

It's Hell Getting Old, but Go Ahead and Laugh

Mama who is 5'1" and her youngest grandson, Jackson, 6'4"

Well, it's here.  I turn 60 tomorrow.  But this post is not about my growing old.  What's on my mind is my mother.  She stayed with us for about 9 days,so that she could see doctors in Memphis for various conditions you might imagine an 87 year old might have.  I took her back to her house yesterday, and on the drive back to Memphis, I thought of the week we had had.  What stood out to me during all of her doctor visits and needle pricks is that she has a great sense of humor, and that has helped her through awkward medical moments, rude and cold nurses, and doctors' comments which would not win them any bedside manner awards.  I continue to be amazed at how harsh a diagnosis can sound just by the way it is worded.  And then there are the health care professionals that you would like to take out to dinner because you enjoyed your brief encounter with them so much.  And that's what is so concerning to me.  You wait and wait and wait ---in our case 3 1/2 hours for one appointment and 2 hours for another.   And you actually see the doctor a little over 10 minutes if you are lucky.  And most of us would prefer the doc to be kind and attentive for those 10 minutes.  ( and some are )  But I noticed when the bedside manner went south, Mama would go into lockdown.   I can't help but wonder how often that happens with other patients.   I can still tolerate a doc who is not the sweetest person on the block, but when you are old and tired, and you feel old and tired, I think the bedside manner is HUGE.   So, on the way back to my house, we would try to find something funny about the appointment, or how neither one of us could remember where the car was parked in the cavernous parking garage, and we would laugh.  Or we would pretend to reverse roles and show that doctor how to speak to a patient the right way.  I just wonder if health care professionals realize how much their attitude affects the attitude of their patients.  Some just don't "play well with others".  And it is disappointing, not to mention a heap of trouble to take a chance on another doctor who may or may not have the same personality drawbacks.  It just makes me think about how much more pleasant it would be to have an uplifting, positive doctor, nurse prac, or staff member accompanying you as you make your way out of this life.  Because the doctor's office is about the only place you go when you are elderly and you feel bad.    

So I'm hoping that if I make it in this life another 27 years, I will be able to laugh at myself and at the people who are foolish enough not to show empathy to an octogenarian who feels like crap.  

 "A cheerful heart makes good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones." Proverbs 17:22 

Do I hear an "Amen"?

Everybody Cut Footloose

   My whole family loves to dance: my sisters, my mom and dad, my kids and their kids.  I think it is so very cool to be able to express yourself that way.   My first memory of dancing was at the age of 5 out on the Blytheville, Arkansas football field at halftime with head majorette, Gail Brogdon, and loving every minute of it.  I took tap and ballet for more than 10 years at the infamous Rockie Smith Dance Studio and wanted to be Shirley Temple for most of my elementary school years. I danced a lot at home and put on my tap shoes almost every day just to hear them click on the floor.  My mother was always fussing about the scuff marks, but she continued to let me do it.
 When I got to junior high and high school, I really wanted to go to the dances, but back in my day, you had to have a date in order to participate, and that just wasn't happening for me.  I probably had less than a dozen dates in my entire high school career which was a huge disappointment socially, not to mention stifling my dance moves.  I love that kids go out in groups now.  You shouldn't have to have a guy ask you out in order to have some fun!  When I got to college, anybody who wanted a date could usually get one, but you had to take your chances.   And you could have the worst time of your life on a blind date---I know that first hand---but that's for another post. 
   We always had live bands at Ole Miss in the late 60s and early 70s, and part of the great football weekend tradition was to hop from fraternity house to fraternity house after the games.  Most of us loved the weekend live bands at Ole Miss better than almost anything.  You could walk up and down fraternity row and get into any party free.  The frat guys had a social chairman who would book some of the coolest local and regional  bands in the area.  I remember when one fraternity booked the "Hot Nuts", and they got into a lot of trouble, because the band's lyrics were considered lewd and distasteful according to the University.  Those lyrics were so extremely mild compared to the music lyrics of today.   Funny how some things evolve into worse.  
My husband, Clark, was and is a very good dancer.  He was at ease on the dance floor, and really enjoyed kicking up his heels.  During college, he would grab a girl, even if she had another date, and off to the dance floor they would go.   And one night, Clark evolved into "Chicken Man" because he could dance with that head moving like a chicken long  before the "Funky Chicken" came into being.   And the name, "Chicken",  stuck.  Lots of people including me still call him "Chicken", although I try to avoid it in business and family situations.  Until recently, if we were at a party and there was dancing, you can believe that Clark was one of the first and last on the dance floor, and any lady who wanted to dance (and some who weren't sure) would end up in front of the band with Clark.  It has been so much fun to be married to a guy who likes to dance. 
Anyway, we don't really dance as much as we used to.  We just like watching the younger folks at weddings and get togethers.  But on our last night in Alabama with all of the boxes packed, Clark cranked up the music on the patio speakers and we danced to Etta and a few others.  But you know what?  Beale Street is a few miles to the west of our house here in Memphis.   And we can get into B.B.King's without a fake ID anytime.  And it might be fun to go.  But I think I'll be watching.  I have seen people my age on the dance floor trying out the new moves, and it just isn't pretty.  Yep, I'll be having just as much fun tapping my foot.........well....... maybe.

Prove It.

 That's what we read online in preparation for obtaining a Tennessee driver's license: bring two documents that prove your new address and one proof of U.S. citizenship.  And that's what we took.  ha

We knew going in that the Tennessee Department of Safety is not the most efficient department in Tennessee.  We also knew we were going head to head with them, because there is no other way to get a new driver's license.  We were hoping to get it done with the least hassle possible.  yeah, right
  Clark took off work early, so we could get a head start on the Friday afternoon sixteen year olds.  We researched  online where to go and what to bring, so there would be no problems.  whatever
Mistake # 1. going to the nearest Tennessee Department of Safety Office suggested online--it is no longer open---- 20 minutes wasted
Mistake # 2. going to the NEXT nearest office and getting turned away because the line was already forming outside.  A young lady in line overheard us saying that we were new to Memphis, and she told us that we were about to REALLY miss being wherever we came from.  A little foreshadowing there, aaaaaand--- another 20 minutes wasted.
So we drive about 20 more minutes to another TDS office and arrive about 3:00.  We are already an hour behind before we begin!  We queue up and wait another 20 minutes just to get inside, but at least we do not get turned away here.  When we get to talk to a real person, she looks at our documents and tells us that I have the correct papers, but Clark does not.  We had brought our lease agreement with our signatures and new address, the change of address verification from the U.S.Post Office, and my personal credit card bill with our new address.  We also brought along our passports.  We thought that would do the trick and when the lady behind the desk who I will refer to from now on as the License Nazi, told Clark he did not have the correct documents, we were baffled.  You see, the U.S. Post Office document had only "Burnett" as the addressee and not our first names, so it didn't count as proof.  The credit card bill was in my name, so no luck there for Clark.
License Nazi:"Uh, do you have your marriage license?"
Clark:"No, I don't happen to have it on me."
License Nazi: "Well, if you had it, then you could prove that you were married to Mrs. Burnett, so that her credit card bill would be your other proof of residence."  Makes perfect sense, right?  Because Clark could have found that U.S. Post Office card that was mailed to us with the name Burnett on it  ANYWHERE, or he could have stolen it out of a mailbox or some such thing.  I mean COME ON!  But we can tell the License Nazi is not going to give in, so Clark asked how long they would be open so that he could make the 30 minute drive back home to get a copy of our marriage license and get back before closing. 
Mistake # 3:  I left my cell phone in the car because we were not allowed to bring them in, so once Clark left, I could not update him on how long it was taking  to get your number called. 
Mistake # 4:  Leaving my glasses at home. Since the cell phone was in the car with Clark making the trek to fetch the marriage license, there was no way to tell him to bring them back with him, in order for me to SEE TO PASS THE VISION TEST!
My number is finally called, and I go up to another section of the counter and this lady is very nice.  She makes copies of my documents and asks me to put my chin in the vision machine and I stall a little and then decide I'll just go with my prescription sun glasses, because, for heaven's sake, I don't want to stop this process, and there are lots of people still behind me licking their chops to have their turn.  I put on my shades, stick my chin on the rest, and begin to read the letters.  I miss one... or two.  The lady asks me to read another line.  I miss one... or two.  She tells me I have one more chance to read the line correctly, and by the grace of God, I nail it.  So now all I have to do is wait for my photo in yet another line, and of course, wait for Clark.......who is taking a very long time to get back.  
I keep looking at the door, and I'm watching people inching forward for their turn with the License Nazi, and I keep looking at the clock, because the Nazi told Clark the cut-off time was 4:30 and it is getting close to 4:00.  Finally, finally, Clark comes in looking a little distraught, so I join him at the counter thinking maybe he couldn't find our marriage license, but all was well.......or so I thought.  Here's how it went down: ( it's like something out of SNL ) 
Clark: "Here's my paperwork you said was necessary."
LN: "You are here too late.  We have closed for the day."
Clark:  "What? You're kidding, right?  You said you would be open till 4:30!  You said 4:30!"
LN: "Do I look like a fortune teller to you? I am not a fortune teller."  And she is not making eye contact---very bad sign.  "Too many people showed up and we are not taking any more today.  You can come back on Monday." ( I am about to jump in here, but Clark gives me the don't do it look.) 
Clark: "Look, you told me 4:30 and I am here a little after 4:00.  You knew I was going home to get the marriage license.  Couldn't you just let me in?"
LN: repeats the fortune teller line and then she says, "The lady in charge told me not to let anybody else in here and that's what I'm going to do."  
Clark: "Could I please speak to that lady, or could you tell her my circumstances?"  
LN: 'You don't want to talk to ME?" repeats question.... at which time I wanted to jump the counter.  But of course, that was just in my mind.  She could have taken me and besides, there was a policeman listening in and agreeing with the LN.  are you kidding?
So the LN went to the back, "checked" with whoever was in the driver's seat, and came back with a go ahead.  THANK GOODNESS for power over power mongers.  
By this time I had finished the entire process, and Clark had not begun. He and I watched practically every person finish and leave, but when his turn finally arrived, it went without a hitch.  So, we got what we came for......
Mistake #5: Thinking that we could get a driver's license in Memphis and walk away having had a good experience, because we were prepared.  We just weren't prepared for the License Nazi. 

Do You Have Your Blue Bag?

 This post is not for the person who is easily grossed out, so reader beware.  

The newspaper is delivered in a blue bag to our house every day around 6:30 A.M.  The first day I went out to get the news, I noticed my neighbor taking the blue bag off of the paper and stuffing it into her pocket.  I figured she was going to recycle it and thought nothing of it.  Well, the next day as I was walking Ellie girl, another neighbor stopped me and asked if I had my blue bag.  I told her that I had put it in the recycling bin and she replied,"Oh, no, we use them around here for our dog poo.  People get very upset if your dog poops in their yard, so we use our newspaper bags to pick it up."  And she showed me how to pick up  the poop, by turning the bag inside out. ( like I wouldn't have known that ) 

Now I TOTALLY get it that people don't want dog poop in their perfectly manicured carpet of a lawn. Really, I do.  Especially around here where there is not one blade of grass out of place.   Our neighbor's dog in Alabama was allowed to roam free, and he took a liking to our azalea bed, and when I weeded, it was disgusting, so I understand.  But here's the rub: Ellie's poop is rarely  "pickupable". She is a golden retriever with a sensitive stomach, and this is a new place, and when she gets nervous, her stomach is the first to go.  So, I'm finding myself RUNNING to the nearest common area (which by the way is still off limits to poop), saying over and over, "Come on, girl, you can make it, Ellie."  And we run and run and she looks over her shoulder at me like I am crazy.  I mean, we have just moved from the WOODS where a dog can find all KINDS of poop to sniff, and explore, and add to the variety with no bags attached.  I know this has to be some kind of torture for her, but imagine the  kind of walk I am having---it is so stressful.  Long gone are the strolls enjoying nature.   And for added stress,  I feel like everybody is watching us to see if we are following the "rules", and if Ellie makes a mistake, it will reflect on me.  You see, I'm a rule follower, and sometimes it comes back to bite me.  And I think this is one of those times.  I should just throw up my hands, and do the best I can, but I just know the neighbors are lurking near their windows ready to burst out of the door to chastise us if Ellie finds their yard the most attractive for her business.  So, I have resorted to practically dragging her to a semi-hidden spot, or a common area with trees and bushes to hide us.   And THEN, I am actually taking the blue bag out of my pocket and pretending to pick it up, because that's how paranoid I am.  And if I CAN manage to scoop the poop, who wants to continue on a walk with a big lump of smelly poop in the bottom of a bag swinging from your hand as you hit your stride?  Should I stuff it in my pocket?  I don't think so.  And guess, what?  I have done some lurking myself, and I am telling you that a WHOLE LOT OF PEOPLE are walking their dogs with a blue bag full of, well, you know--I'd like to say what I'm thinking but I'm trying to keep this blog clean.  It's just not a relaxing or therapeutic way to start my day.  I guess you can take the dog out of the country but .....you know the rest.  And I guess that goes for me too.   

Anybody Here Seen My Old Friend Bobby?

When Clark was a senior at Tupelo High School, he went to Washington D.C. as a page for Congressman Jamie Whitten.  One of his duties was to make deliveries to various senators and congressmen.  On the occasion of his delivering legislative documents to Senator Robert Kennedy, he noticed that Sen. Kennedy's office was filled with beautiful young women.  Clark told me that every single assistant and receptionist was gorgeous. And it certainly made his trips to THAT office exceptional. Clark asked one of the beauties to get him a personalized signed picture of Senator Kennedy, and she obliged.  He has had that photograph of Bobby Kennedy hanging on his wall wherever he has lived.   When we moved here last week-end (has it been a week?) we began to pull out pictures that we knew we'd display here, and of course, Bobby made the cut.  But he was not with the photos he had been hanging with in Alabama.  He was not anywhere in any box.  We began joking about where the photo was, and we even left a space on the wall for it.  Every day we'd check with each other to see if Bobby had surfaced, and every day was the same.   I even opened the Christmas boxes just in case.  no Bobby

This weekend, our goal was to go through every single picture or photograph, categorize them, and box them back up with labels, so that we know where everything is when we move out of our "flat" we are leasing now.  We are purging, and "Goodwilling" and lending, and tossing, even though we thought we had done that on the other end. 
 This move has definitely had its moments of frustration. For instance, the piano would not fit up these stairs and we had to make a quick decision what to do with it, and our entertainment center was too big to go through the door, so we had to put it into storage. (The TV is now sitting on top of a trunk, college style.)  And when we realized we had lost the key to the secretary, Clark decided to go to several antique shops and old furniture stores borrowing keys rather than paying for a locksmith, leaving the contents of the secretary all over the living room.  And the defining  sad Memphis moment: I found out bluebirds do not live in the city of Memphis but in the rural areas only, which led to another mini-meltdown.  But good ole Clark has held strong during this move, and has not wanted to show any disappointment, because I have needed his shoulder to cry on.   BUT I have seen it on his face every time we unwrap a picture that is the same shape and size as Bobby, and it is NOT Bobby.  So we have just looked at each other and have gone on to the next box and laughed about it.  But today it was no longer funny.  It was really bothering him.  So to add a little humor, we started singing Dion's song.   And then Clark noticed .....next to the couch.....was a box that we had overlooked-----for DAYS.  There were some items on top of the box so we had not seen it.  Clark grabbed the box, unwrapped a rectangular shape, and out came Bobby.    We made a big production of hanging him back among his friends, and Clark had the biggest grin on his face.  And then I started wondering, did he really admire Robert Kennedy that much, or did the photo remind him of all of those beautiful women in Senator Kennedy's office?  Either way, I'm OK with it because when I walk down the hall, I look at Bobby and smile.  

Memphis vs Montgomery

I've had a lot of time to think while I'm opening and closing boxes, so I decided to compare these two cities and see what I come up with.  I have not really considered everything in both places yet, so I will be excited to see which one in my view wins out.  So, let's start:
Beauty: Montgomery-not so much, but Wetumpka is pretty. Memphis is a pretty city, so that's a wash.  
Job: loved my job in Montgomery ; don't have a job here yet, so for now Montgomery goes ahead by 1. O-1
Proximity to family: Memphis wins hands down. Both of our parents are within an hour or so of Memphis and my sister, Peggy, and her family live here.  Clark's son, Sam, is based out of here, though he's in China for the next two years.   We're even. 1-1
Proximity to airport: Well, Montgomery has an airport, but I rarely used it. Both flights I booked out of Montgomery were cancelled , so I missed my connection in Atlanta twice.  We always drove to Birmingham or Atlanta to catch a flight, and driving home was usually late at night.  It will be so nice to jump on a plane to visit my kids and their cute kids right here in the same town.   Montgomery gets a big 0 and Memphis goes ahead by 1.  2-1
Proximity to outdoor activities: I was shocked when we moved to Montgomery, because they really do not have a good park system.  There are very few places to take kids and dogs.  Memphis has my fave, Shelby Farms, and because it is big, there are lots of places to hike, bike, and explore.  You also have to drive your head off to get anywhere in the mountains from Montgomery.  The beach is closer, but we prefer the mountains.  -lots of mountains closer to Memphis-Memphis goes ahead another point.  3-1
Neighbors: We have never had such fabulous neighbors as we had in Wetumpka.  I would find it hard to believe that there is a neighborhood as friendly as the one we left.  I'm talking: cleaning your house when you have people coming to look at it (because you are out of town), walking your dog every day when you are at work, surprising us with dinners and desserts , mowing the yard when we were gone, dog sitting too many times to count, feeding Clark when I was out of town, shooting an occasional copperhead or timber rattler, and jumping in to help us mulch---just to name a few things.  And this is from a bunch of folks on the street--not just one family.  So I'm going to have to give 2 points to the old hood here, and the score is even.  3-3
Restaurants and Entertainment: Memphis is delicious. And there's more to do, but that's a little unfair because it's a bigger place, but still......  Memphis 4 Montgomery 3
Residence:  Those of you who have been reading my blog know that I am in critical condition having to move away from my house, gardens, and critters deep in the Alabama woods.  We have plopped down right in the city, with its bars on windows, security men 24/7, beautifully coiffed yards, complete with chemicals of every kind, and noises---oh, the noise!  Maybe Montgomery would have been just like that too, but we chose to live out from town in the woods, so I have  to compare what I know---so we are all tied up. 4-4
Clark's job: 10 minutes and lunch at home eclipses a 10 hour round trip once a month. Memphis 5 Montgomery 4
SEC Athletics: I don't know where to start here.  If you live in Alabama and you do not pull for either Auburn or Alabama, you are a semi-outcast.  Aaaaaannd if you happen to have attended another SEC school, like, uh say, Ole Miss, who is performing poorly and is looking like the worst team in Ole Miss history, you are a joke.  Their football means EVERYTHING to them. -- really-- Flags are still waving on cars way after football season is over--in fact, it's never over in Alabama. It seems if there's a get together, the conversation always drifts to Alabama or Auburn football.  I wonder if they know they have other sports teams at their schools.  One time I complimented an Alabama alum on a big win for their tennis team by telling her, "Congratulations on your beating Notre Dame this weekend  in the NCAA championship."  And she said, "Oh, you must be mistaken; football is over."  and so it goes.......
And another thing--Auburn and Alabama HATE each other more than any other interstate rivalry I've ever known.  And it's not pretty.  at all
So we are so glad to be in a city where there are lots of Ole Miss folks, and we can cry on each other's shoulders. Because there's gonna be lots of crying this year.  Yep, football season was a good time for us slip out of Alabama.
Memphis 6 Montgomery 4
Church:  We never seemed to plug into a church in Montgomery.  There were very sweet churches in the area with very good ministers and wonderful folks.  I don't know why we couldn't plug in.  Maybe because we were gone so much on the weekends visiting family that we just couldn't seem to be consistent in our attendance.   But we are really excited to hear that Maxie Dunnam is interim minister at Christ United Methodist in Memphis, and because we have attended there before, I think we will like it a lot.  So Memphis goes up another point.  Memphis 7 Montgomery 4


And, I'll stop here.  Looks like Memphis, for us, is a winner!!  And that's a good thing, because we're here now.  What I've learned in all my moves is that sincere, kind, generous people are everywhere.  You just have to get up and find them.  And as soon as I get these boxes out of this house, that's what I intend to do.   














  

Chikma! (I hope you are well)

Chief Tishomingo

We've moved. We've come full circle. Clark and I started our marriage here 10 years ago and were transferred with his job to Greenville, South Carolina within 6 months.  After being there for 5 years, we moved to Wetumpka, Alabama (outside Montgomery) where we lived for 5 years until now.  I should be used to moving, but it just seems to get harder!  Anyway, we made the transfer of all of our belongings and the leftovers of our adult kids to Bluff City, and we have been up to our ears in boxes for the past 3 days.  I grew up about 70 miles to the north and Clark grew up about 80 miles to the southeast, so Memphis is not foreign to us like some of our other moves.  I came here quite often as a child and had my firstborn, Leah, in the Methodist Hospital a few miles from where we are now.  So I will always have a soft spot for this city.  Which brings me to the name of our new street:  Tishomingo 
Because my high school mascot was the Chickasaws,--sorry, I know it is not politically correct to name mascots for native Americans--but I swear we really did not know that it was a bad thing--I had heard of the name Tishomingo before.  So Clark did some research and found out that Tishomingo was a Chickasaw chief, and was probably born in or around what is now Lee County, Mississippi, where Clark grew up.  He received the silver medallion from George Washington for fighting the Shawnee in the Old Northwest, and served in the war of 1812.  Now I don't know if he wanted to do that or not, but evidently he did a great job and then went back to farming, which is what he was doing before all the fighting.  Now here is that terrible part that is starting to become redundant as far as we Americans go----he was forced off of his land, even after he served his "new country" well, and was made to walk to Oklahoma on the Trail of Tears whereupon he died somewhere around what is now Little Rock, Arkansas. Oh, but he got a county, a park and a street named for him.  (Also the capital of the Chickasaw Nation in Oklahoma).  But that's it folks---do what you are asked to do and you get kicked in the pants--for 500 miles, on foot.  

Why do we do things like that?  He kept his end of the treaty, and he got nothing....
  One of the first people I have met is the guy who is in our front yard right now, cutting down a 100 year old tree.   A huge part of the trunk fell on the car of another man who was painting this house before our arrival.  Apparently, it squished the entire car while he was inside painting and he couldn't even get insurance coverage because it was an "Act of God".  Oh, I forgot to mention it was his mother's car.  Looks like folks are still getting kicked in the pants around here.  But here is home now, and we'll take it on the chin, (or wherever) if it comes our way.  

Camera Shy

While I am packing, I am also thinking about pictures I would like to take of the house and the yard--you know--so I can remember how this place looks.  And I would love to take some shots of Ellie, our dog, with her friends, Bea,the beagle, and Bentley, the black lab.  But Ellie will have none of it.  I don't know if it's because she was in a cage somewhere for two years before we got her, or if someone banged her over the head with a camera her first two years of life, or what, but she will not let me take her picture.  I know you are thinking, well--she's a dog-just get out the camera and take her picture.  But it's not that simple.  I swear she knows when I am about to do it. I sneak the camera out and take off the lens cover in another room. I even turn on the flash manually and focus in the next room.  Then when I go back into the room where she is---------gone.  She has sneaked out of the room.  every single time
I have tried it outside, hiding the camera on the steps or on the porch.  I have even palmed my phone with the camera mode on and as soon as I try to click one off, she has her back turned and is headed in the opposite direction.  It's so frustrating.  Even our neighbors have tried.  nothing..... so the only way to get her picture is to put a choke hold on her with your arms, pretending you are hugging her.  
But I intend to outwit her; I just don't know how.  It's like she can read my mind!(or my body language)  

see what I mean?

Ellie is a beautiful golden retriever who we got from a rescue center in Knoxville, Tennessee four years ago.  She was in pretty bad shape when we got her, but we immediately enrolled her in Obedience Training and she came in second in her class and received a perfect attendance certificate.  (She's very proud of her work ethic.)  I am not kidding when I say that I had to literally drag her into the pet store where we took lessons, and she would hunker down and look pitiful until the last one or two sessions.  When Clark and I would take her for a walk on the street, she would cower down and pull on the leash for us to take her back home.  And she was scared to death of men, even Clark.  But now, we have neighbors who come and get her every day to walk her with their dog.  And she walks with this amazing gait with her head held high, actually a bit prissy.   And she adores everybody, especially Clark.  She is our baby, and I think she will miss our wonderful neighbors, especially Kris and Clayton and Kathy and Becca, who will probably miss her more than they'll miss us. 

Movin on up.....

to a deluxe apartment in the sky...and I'm not sure if I want a piece of that pie, but I'm getting it anyway.  
It's T-7 days till moving day, and we have just come back from Memphis where I had my first look at our house on top of a house.  Yep, it sounds weird and it is a bit weird.  But what it is is a huge house and I do mean huge---that was built in 1945 as two houses in one.  So it's a duplex, but not side by side-- instead it's upstairs and downstairs.  And we have the upstairs, much to my gardening chagrin.  
The first thing I did was to test the windows to see if they were painted shut.  I thought if I could get some air in there, I might be able to adjust more quickly.  Success there.  And the interior was freshly painted and clean and certainly roomy.  No complaints there.  So, not wanting to appear ungrateful, I am trying to keep a positive attitude.  But those of you who know me, know it's hard for me to hide my feelings--I'm just not a good faker.  I'm telling myself that lots of people do not have a comfortable place in which to live, especially in today's market.  And I am lucky that we have found a wonderful place in a beautiful, safe neighborhood. And Clark and I are blessed that he landed a great job after the company he worked for in Montgomery closed its doors after over 100 years. So I should be counting my blessings. But isn't it OK to be sad when you are giving up something you love?  The thing is, we knew we were not going to be here forever, I just didn't know how much I would like it out here in the Alabama woods.  I mean Clark can call an owl in, even in the daytime.   How cool is that?  
 And what about Rhonda the rogue deer, and Clyde the rat snake, and Maxwell and Maxine, the tree frogs who serenade us at night?  And our bluebirds?? We have watched around 3 nestings of babies fledge every year for the last 4 seasons which amounts to 2 dozen of those beautiful birds hanging around our house.  Oh, and our wild turkeys!  The only Wild Turkey I'll see is in the bars on Beale Street.  And don't get me started on all the flowers, shrubs and trees we have planted and enjoyed.  I'm missing my huge gardenias already.  
 I try not to get depressed thinking about fences and train noises and Poplar Ave. traffic.  When I was a little girl, I wanted to be "Girl" on Tarzan.  Heck, they had "Boy"; why not a small version of Jane swinging around playing with Cheetah?  And when I was little, I spent a lot of time in my tree.  So this makes perfect sense, right?   
Now let me say that I am also a fan of Memphis.  It has its problems,  but it is home to us, and we have family and friends there.  And just down the road a bit is our alma mater, Ole Miss, and our friends in Oxford.  And a huge plus is the airport is in the same city in which we live--not an hour and a half away--very good for visiting with my kids and grandkids.  So, I keep telling myself it will be fine, and I will adjust, and I will find something there that I will love doing.  
But I just didn't see this one coming either........maybe the bluebirds in Memphis will, because I'm going to our new place armed with my bird feeder and my trusty mealworms.

Maylee Girl is Two

I love this child.  I can identify with her because she is second in line with an older sister who she is constantly trying to keep up with.  I was in the same boat myself.  And like most second children, she's found a way to be just herself.  In fact, she kinda reminds me of me----guess that'll mean I'll let her get away with everything, but, hey--I pretty much do that with all of the grandkids.  She's feisty and good natured: two really good qualities that I hope she won't grow out of.  I love it when she falls out on the floor like Katie used to do and a few seconds later she jumps up and says,"I'm all done".   hard not to laugh..... I certainly didn't laugh when her mother did that.  I wish I could put her in a time capsule. 

Having had two girls of my own, I know what Katie has ahead of her, and I hope I am in good enough shape to help her.  She's gonna need it.  Happy birthday, Maylee Grace!  Thanks to Stephen Hunton for the cute pic

Five Years Ago

This time five years ago, Clark and I were glued to the television like everyone else. And like everyone else, we wanted to do something to help Katrina victims. We didn't hesitate to volunteer to go down to the Gulf Coast to help clean up with Frazer UMC a week after the storm hit. Because we had both attended Ole Miss, and Clark is a native Mississippian, we wanted to do our part.

But we had no idea. The TV did not do it justice. And I still can't believe what I saw. Because New Orleans was getting the bulk of the press, there were not very many people on the Mississippi Coast helping. I know. I was there.

We were housed on the floor of Vancleave UMC's Sunday School classes with outdoor showers (brrr), and I do not remember anyone complaining. That would have just been wrong.

The first house we were assigned to belonged to an elderly couple. The husband was at his son's house and his wife was sitting all alone in a lawn chair in their front yard sifting through what was left of her china tea cups. We couldn't understand how any of them survived, because not ten feet away lay what appeared to be someone's garage roof. There was also a torn up refrigerator, an air conditioning blade, lots of insulation soaked in salt water, and hundreds of pieces of people's belongings in the form of photographs, clothes, toys--you name it-- on her lawn. And the yard next to hers and the yard next to that one, and as far as you could see.

We were one block off the beach in Pascagoula, and there was nothing but big piles of people's lives from one end of the neighborhood to the other. Donned in boots and rubber gloves, we opened drawers filled with nasty ocean water and began to try to throw out even more stuff. It was daunting. The air inside the houses was still and hot and wretched. There was no where to begin and no where to stop. You had to take breaks and step out of the house --it was that bad. I had 5 feet of water in my own house for three days when the Pearl River flooded Jackson, MS in 1979, but that was not even close to the devastation on the coast.

The next day, we were assigned to another family a little further from the beach. They had family helping them rip out sheet rock and were in better shape. We cleaned their floors and the walls with bleach. The lady there was so appreciative of our help that she insisted I take a Christmas teapot from her house that I had admired. People were so genuinely grateful for the slightest measure of help, and they wanted to do something to show it even though they had nothing to give.

We went back about 3 weeks later on a chain saw mission. This particular family lived in a wooded area with trees down everywhere. Clark and Rudy Heintzelman cut, and I carried and stacked the wood. The father of the family was ill with cancer and the mother had just had a baby. You could not let these people see you cry. So appreciative, so proud, so not deserving of what was served up to them in the way life does.

We went back one more time to help with the clean-up and when I came home, my sister and I started a website for 3 schools and collected over 7,000 AR books for them. The picture above is of St. Martin Elementary, one of the schools we collected for. Katrina was a life changing event for so many people, including me. I just wish we treated each other like that on a daily basis. And I am reminded of it every Christmas when I get out that teapot.

Unforgettable

This week, just a short year ago, Milo was born to my sweet Leah. She called me in Alabama to tell me her water had broken, and I booked a flight to Austin that day. She and her husband, Paul, had arranged for the baby to be born at home with an extremely reputable midwife and her assistant. Uh, no hospital, no doctor, no epidural, no nothin.

I knew all of that going in, but on the plane ride over, I began to get nervous with all the "what ifs", and in the baby birthing arena, there are tons of those.

One of the things that I love about my girls is that they have their own ways of doing things, and I support and applaud them for that. After all, isn't that how they are supposed to be when they are grown up? But therein lies the problem. It is so ridiculously hard to realize that they really don't need you to weigh in on what they do, and how they do it. Now, I will have to say I was beyond thrilled that I was going to get to be a part of this home birth. (mostly to entertain Henry) But still, that Leah had asked me to come meant that I was included , and what mother wouldn't jump at that? I just wanted to arrive calm and collected and not ask too many questions ---just be the mom that she would want me to be. And I think I was. Well, mostly.

Katie, bless her heart, came over from Houston to be there for Leah, but as God would have it, she ended up being there for me. So when I even appeared to be weakening, worrying, and all prayed out, she would give me her look that only she can give. And I would snap to. After all, this was about Leah having her baby her way and not about me. As the time got nearer and the midwife came in and out of the room, I was so happy and excited for Leah--that she was able to carry out what she wanted for her birth experience. And..... relieved when I heard that first tiny yelp from her room signaling we could rush in. What a picture I have in my mind--Paul holding Leah, and Leah holding that fresh new miraculous life. Way to go, Leah. Unforgettable.

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

I try not to look at you at all.

Lately, I have become sadly aware that I do not look like the 30 something that I still feel that I am inside. I'm continually surprised when a young mother or father will reply to me with a "yes ma'am" or "no ma'am". I have actually looked behind me when someone has addressed me like that. My insides just don't seem to match my outsides.

I think my daughters think I am seriously older-- not just in how I look but in the things I do or say or forget. When I visit them and ask for directions, I better pay close attention, because I get the "I already told you once" look or the "remember when you were here last time?" awkward moment before they tell me again. I mean, I have always had a major directional problem. nothing new there- But I know they think I'm losing it already...just a little.....right girls??

Passing by a mirror used to mean a quick check: hair, teeth, eye make-up, etc. Now I just keep going and hope I don't catch myself giving a swift glance. It's just too disappointing. I don't think of myself as ridiculously vain. It's just that it's a small surprise to see the wrinkles, the aging neck, and the thinning hair. The person staring back at me is someone I'm just not used to yet. It's like it happened overnight, too. One day, I was holding my own, the next---well, you get the image. Speaking of images, Emma Kate calls the wicked queen a "yucky lady". When she asked me recently why I have polka dots on my hands, I felt like one. You gotta be thick skinned to be a mimi.

It Feels Like School

and I'm not there. I'm packing for Memphis instead. It seems weird not to be experiencing the back to school excitement, and yes, teachers get that too, unless you are in an undesirable school, and then it is back to school dread. I have experienced both. But the last four years, I have loved getting up (even if it was 5:30 am) and going to work.

I really didn't intend to be a teacher--when I was at Ole Miss, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do, and back in my day, my advisor didn't take time to discuss options like they do now. Teaching was my default vocation, because I really didn't know I could do anything I wanted to do. Girls were still on the cusp of going to college to find a husband, and I was a serious contender. bought it hook, line, and as I found out later.....sinker

I love kids--all kinds of kids--and that is a huge plus in teaching. You'd be surprised how many teachers really don't like kids, or they want to mash them into little quiet robots, which means stifling creativity. I tend to like the kids who are quirky, nerdy, and have something to say but won't say it...you know the ones--they sit at the back of the class and are minimally engaged. It's a challenge to me to get them going. I have to admit I don't like every single kid, but when I have changed my attitude about one I haven't liked---I'm talking I purposed to find something cool about that kid--over time I loved him. I guess you could do this outside the classroom with people too---well, maybe in some cases. But if I'm going to spend a lot of time with a child in my class, I should find a way to love that kid.

Anyway, I really miss teaching, and wonder if I will find something I love as much in Memphis.

HENRU

Before I brought Emma Kate back with me from Houston, I spent a week in Austin with my older daughter, Leah, and her two little boys. Leah's husband, Paul, was traveling to Colorado for the week, so I went to help out. Henry is 4 and Milo is 11 months, so we were quite busy. BUT somehow, I have the role of playmate in Henry's mind every time I go, so I am his partner in imagination.......and I do mean free thinking......We play for hours zapping bad guys with sticks, being rescued from the sewer via an ambulance or the police, and if we need more characters, he conjures up his imaginary friend, Henru to fill in where we need him. He orchestrates our plots, and we need to stay pretty close to his script. I sleep really well at Leah's , because I have been talking non stop, which is really not too much of a stretch for me, but in this case......... Playing with Henry is so different than putting on make-up with Katie's girls. love it.

Saying Goodbye

This goodbye was particularly hard for me because we are moving to Memphis from our little house in the woods in about 3 weeks. We found this house halfway completed when we moved to Montgomery about 5 years ago. The property is on about 2 acres in the Blue Ridge foothills north of Montgomery that used to be used as deer hunting property. We have resided with the wild critters you would expect in this type of setting, so it has been fun to sit on our screened porch and watch. I don't think Clark liked it as much as I did, but I really loved living out here. And what is so frustrating to us is that we have not been able to sell it! -- sign of the times I guess-- I dread going back to the city lights, noises, and locks. I never look over my shoulder unless it is at a bluebird. Emma Kate was the perfect little house guest---until her parents showed up with her little sister to take her home.

Eating our way East

Emma Kate and I managed to make it 11 hours in the car yesterday in our marathon drive from Houston to Montgomery. I think she handled it better than I did. We did eat more than our share of junk......gummy bears, animal crackers, juice, bunny crackers, and cereal bars---all organic, of course. I wasn't about to let on that there are much better versions of every single one of those--I mean, if you're gonna eat crap, you might as well eat the real thing. But I'm just the Mimi and I ate what her mommy packed for us. But I have to say the gluten free, wheat free animal crackers were hard to get down with a straight face.

Here's Emma Kate a few days before we left. There just weren't a whole lot of photo opps on I 10.

I am married to a genuinely nice guy. He was my first date in college, and we married 32 years later. Slight detour

My First Post

I am smack in the middle of wearing my grandmother hat right now. I have spent a week visiting with each of my two daughters and their kids. And I have two days to go. But it ain't over yet. I'm taking one of them back with me.