Once Upon a Time....never that lame.

                                                                  “Things worth telling - take time” 
                                                                            ― Nicholas Denmon


It was my good fortune to cross the ocean with my dog, and head toward my daddy's house for the weekend. It had been a busy day of running errands, and we had come home to relax and watch the evening news. As the sun lowered it's head in the western sky, Daddy looked at me and asked, "Hey, you gettin' hungry yet?" And indeed I realized it had been a long time since I had last eaten.

Going into the kitchen I fixed us homemade tuna salad sandwiches w/ crispy lettuce and home grown sliced tomatoes, then scooped a good sized amount of the tuna salad Daddy had made earlier that morning onto some freshly baked bread. I put some Hellman's on the one slice, patted the bread slices together, poured two cold Pepsi's for us, and we sat down to eat.

During the course of the sandwich, the taste was lost as I listened as Daddy began reminiscing of days long gone~ days of his growing up in the quiet town of Newton, North Carolina. Daddy had a younger brother and he said that they fussed and fought like heathens, and more nights than not he went to bed with his hind-parts on fire from another spanking issued from the hand of his daddy. Not far from where he lived, lived his maternal grandmother and grandfather, whom he yearned to "spend the night with" .....which often turned into staying the summer, or staying for several months at a time. His grandmother was my great-grandmother and I remember her sweet face like I had just seen her. Her given name was Hattie Yoder, and she married my great-grandfather named Homer Corpening. Everyone in the family called her "Two-mama" and Homer was nicknamed "Whack." Now Two-Mama was about 4'5" if she was an inch. I remember her in an apron and a dress every summer I'd see her when we left our home in Virginia to visit them for a week. Whack was a strapping man with a grey crew-cut and a red face (the product of too much liquor that was bought on payday.) I asked Daddy why in the world Whack was nicknamed Whack? Daddy said the man LOVED to cut  and chop wood, and from a very early age that is what Daddy called him, as he watched the ax slung into the air, coming down to split the wood with a thunderous "Whack!!" Daddy said the whole barn was loaded up tall with wood. Whack just enjoyed splitting wood, and would do it for the fun of it. Daddy stayed with Two-Mama and Whack to avoid fighting with his brother Perry, but mostly because it was his Utopia.

I remember being very young, most likely four or five years old, and being in awe at Two-Mama's house. It was an old Victorian that sat in the middle of town. A big front porch ran all the way across the front of the house, and I remember the wooden floor was painted gray. She had rocking chairs lined up so that there was always room for everyone to find a chair to rock in (with a table beside a few for cold glasses of lemonade) while we'd sit on the porch after supper. We would spend hours watching folks walk down the sidewalk in front of the house. We would always greet each person that walked by while listening to stories of family or townspeople that we knew. It was a time of catching up on everyone during the year we'd been back in Virginia. One thing that rings true in my mind to this day, is the deep Southern accent all my family had that lived there. I was just a young kid, but how I loved rocking back and forth, listening to the grown ups tell the stories of people I had come to know, simply through their stories. There was a white wooden porch swing that a couple of people would sit in, keeping the familiar rhythm that people find that swing together frequently.

Getting back to the kitchen table and  tuna salad sandwiches, Daddy (who LOVES to eat more than anyone I know of) would go back in time, remembering the fresh milk he would have at Two-Mama's house, and he said it was always topped off with several inches of thick cream across the top. Two-Mama and Whack always had a couple of cows and goats and some chickens. Two-Mama's daughter named Louise and nicknamed "Weesee" still lived at home when Daddy was a young boy and came to stay. Not only did he love Two-Mama and Whack, but he absolutely adored Weesee. He was her pride and joy, and between the three of them, they spoiled Daddy rotten. I understand exactly how Daddy felt about Weesee, because I did too. She was so beautiful in my eyes.....she had long hair that she wore at the back of her neck in a bun. She had the bluest eyes you've ever seen, and the sweetest, kindest smile. I thought Weesee was one of the sweetest people I'd ever met. I adored her. Being the pretty girl that she was in his childhood, she had a difficult time getting dates. Not because she wasn't asked often. More likely because Daddy would throw temper tantrums because he didn't want her to leave. She belonged to him, and he didn't feel the necessity of having to share her. So poor, sweet, kind-hearted Weesee, the catch of the town, felt pulled in both directions. Having a suitor over to the house wasn't the answer either. Then she had to deal with a petulant child who shot sullen looks at her and her date. And who refused to go to bed when he was supposed to. He couldn't you know. It was Weesee who walked him to his cot in the every-day-living room. Two Mama had a cot prepared with sheets freshly laundered, and soft blankets and quilts with a goose down pillow for him to lay his head on. Not only would Daddy not only go to bed, he wouldn't give Weesee and her fella any "alone" time. There he sat....a young child who seemed to be an immovable statue. Dating Weesee wasn't for the faint of heart.

When Daddy stayed with Two-Mama in the winter time, that was especially wonderful. Two-Mama cooked on an old  kitchen stove that was fueled by wood, that had a little pull out slat located at the bottom of the stove. There was a little wooden stool that they used to pull over near the stove, and Two-Mama would pull out the slat and have Daddy sit there and eat his warm oatmeal for breakfast, laced with the fresh milk she'd gotten from the cow that morning. She always saved enough of that top cream, to pour on Daddy's oatmeal that had been sweetened with brown sugar as well. Daddy would sit and eat his breakfast, enjoying the warmth from the stove, watching Two-Mama churn her butter that she made three times a week. Daddy would always want a turn churning, but his little arm would tire easily, and Two-Mama would smile at him saying she'd finish it up. She made her own cottage cheese out on the back porch-she'd gather the curds from the milk, and she had thick cheesecloth. Daddy said she'd wrap the curds up real tight in the cheesecloth, hang it from a line on the back porch, and let it drip the 'water' down into a bowl placed on a table beneath it. He said it was the creamiest cottage cheese he'd ever tasted.

Pete Corpening was Two-Mama and Whack's son, and he loved to hunt. Pete would go hunt squirrel and rabbits, and bring them home to Two-Mama. In Newton, the place to go for lunch in the afternoon was a drug store in town owned by Marie (pronounced Mare-E) and Coley. They were married to each other.Two-Mama would make two large restaurant sized pans of her homemade rabbit pies, and Whack would carry them down to the drugstore a couple times a week, and they would sell slices of her rabbit pies. Daddy said she used yellow chicken fat in there, and rabbit, and onions, celery and carrots and potatoes.He said everybody in Newton would climb on top of each other to get in line,  to buy a slice of that pie. Two-Mama would put an egg wash (from the eggs of her chickens that she'd gathered that morning) and Daddy said the shine to the crust would make you "want to slap your mama."

 Now Mare-E would get up in the morning and head downtown to open up the drug store. Coley would tell her he'd be there "directly." Problem was, Coley lived in slow-motion. And the real problem was, Coley was the only pharmacist there. While Coley was at home enjoying his morning breakfast, sippin' his coffee and reading the paper, people were lining up at the pharmacy wanting to get their prescriptions filled. Mare-E would be stewing, ringing up customers on the old fashioned cash register, waiting for Coley to arrive. When Daddy was a teenager and worked there after school and on weekends, Mare-E would give Daddy the keys to the Packard and scream for him to go and get Coley! Daddy would drive to the house, and tell Coley, "Come on Coley, Mare-E is having a fit-there's all these customers waitin' in line and you gotta get there to fill their medicine for them." Coley would raise an eyebrow, s-l-o-w-l-y look at Daddy and say, "I 'aint a-going nowhere til I am finished with my breakfast." Daddy would be as nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof, and beg him to come. After what seemed hours, Coley would s-l-o-w--l-y go to retrieve his hat and his coat. Daddy would tear down the road, trying to get to the pharmacy as fast as he could. Coley would shuffle on in, seeing a line a mile deep of irate folks waiting to get their medicine filled. I asked Daddy if anyone ever yelled at Coley for being so late and so slow, and he said "No, they knew how Coley was." How times have changed.  Once while working at the Drug Store as a teen, Daddy came back to Two-Mama's when he got off work and had a long face because Mare-E was busy and though it was pay day, didn't have time to pay him. Daddy walked in the door, and Weesee saw his face and asked "What's wrong?" Daddy told her that Mare-E didn't pay him for the week. Weesee's face, which was like the reflection of an angel asked why not. Daddy responded that  she was too busy. Two-Mama had just set dinner on the table, and Weesee told Daddy, "That's okay, don't worry about it. We'll go and get it after supper." After supper was eaten and the table cleared,  Weesee and Daddy got in the car and drove down to the Drug Store. Weesee went inside and gave Mare-E the "death stare" her face as still as a stone and told Mare-E to get out the checkbook and pay "David Lee." And she did. Mare-E never forgot to pay Daddy again.

Daddy used to love to go outside with Whack when he milked the cow. Whack had an old wooden milking stool he'd pull up beside the cow, and milk away into a tin bucket. One day Daddy had taken a sheet out of the house and used it as cape, but when he came alongside the barn, he put the sheet on over his head pretending to be a ghost. The cow took one look at Daddy, mooed loudly, kicked the milk bucket over, kicked Whack off the milking stool and Daddy took off running inside the house, where he was pretty sure Two-Mama and Weesee would prevent Whack from killing him.

Daddy said he pretty much grew up in church. Nana and Sug (Daddy's parents) and Two-Mama and Whack and Weesee all went to Beth Eden Lutheran Church in Newton. Nana would dress Daddy and his brother in their Sunday short pants on Sunday morning. If Sug thought that Daddy or Perry (his brother) were too restless or talkative, he would reach across with his hand and get a-hold of their flesh on their thigh and pinch the blood out of them. He would twist the skin sideways.... he didn't stop until there was a bruise. I asked Daddy, didn't that hurt? He said "YES! it hurt." I asked if he ever yelled out or cried from the pain. He said, "If you wanted to get out of there with just one bruise you KNEW you kept your mouth shut." Church was a serious matter to Sug, and he didn't put much stock in bad behavior from his sons.

Two-Mama belonged to the Women's Society at church, and the women would bring their quilting frames and get together to quilt once a week. Daddy loved that because he got to play in the church basement, and sometimes he'd play in the sanctuary all by himself. He looked so forward to going with Two-Mama while she quilted. He had fun entertaining himself in the room with the ladies, listening to them catch up with what had been going on in their lives, and listening to all the town gossip.   Maybe that is why, now today, Daddy enjoys meeting his cronies at sunrise for breakfast, catching up on all that everyone is doing. Reliving history.

Daddy is the BEST storyteller of all times. He used to tell me stories when I was a little girl. He never read to me--Mama did that. Daddy made up stories; the sillier the better. When I grew up and had children of my own, he told them stories. The first story he made up and told me was "Little Red-Riding Noodnick." And it was the first he told my children. When my son was three or four years old he would have me call Mama and Daddy. And he would keep Daddy on the phone for hours holding him hostage, Daddy telling him stories from across town. As Daddy sits down with me to sip a Pepsi, or to eat a sandwich, I will continue to document his stories to pass down to my children and grandchildren. These stories are priceless treasures-a piece of the puzzle that goes hand in hand with genealogy.  I am the last one who remembers Two-Mama, Whack, Weesee and the rest of the family I had in Newton. They have all died off, and though I have their families documented in a PAF file, dating back to 1725, that is just the cover of the book. The stories comprise the pages, creating Our Story.

  

           Fireflies, Jacks and 

             Betsy McCall

Listening to the children talking at my granddaughter's 5th grade graduation, the excitement of summer vacation right around the corner brought me back to my own childhood, realizing the glaring differences of when I was a young girl that age, and the girls now. 


When I was growing up, summer meant going on day long bike rides around our neighborhood w/ friends. We would go a-calling.....visiting the two elementary school teachers that lived in our neighborhood that taught at our local school (it never dawned on us that they were probably busy w/ housecleaning or that maybe they were HAPPY to be rid of us for the summer!). There were hours and hours of playing school w/ friends out in our garage w/ a black board nailed to the sheet rock, the "teacher" standing w/ a piece of chalk in her hand, explaining something to the "kids" sitting single file on the cool concrete of the garage floor. Somehow in this game, someone always ended up getting mad and going home, and for the life of me now, I can't remember why? Some days our parents would give us a nickel or a dime to walk up to "Bingley's Corner"-a store obviously owned by the Bingleys'. They made the best sandwiches in town, had rows upon rows of penny candy in clear glass jars, and had excellent butchered meat. We would hold tightly onto our sack that they put the penny candy in, talking about the interests in our lives as we made the mile long walk back home. Some days when none of my friends were home, I can remember mama carrying a blanket out to the back yard under the trees, and bringing out my coloring books and crayons.....I used to love laying on the blanket and coloring half the day away. Before I knew it, it was lunch time and mama would bring a paper plate down the hill with a toasted tuna salad sandwich on it, and a glass of cold grape kool-aid. I can remember thinking nothing in the world tasted as good as that tuna sandwich! After lunch I might color a few more pictures, being SO CAREFUL to stay within the lines, and then suddenly realizing how sleepy I had gotten. I would push the crayons and coloring books out of my way, and lay on my back, looking up at the sky and watching the different shapes of the clouds, as they rolled by me up in the sky. I was amazed that the clouds moved.....generally when you just look into the sky you don't realize it, but relaxing and just watching......they just rolled by, one after another, changing shapes all the while. At some point very shortly after I began watching the clouds roll by, I would slip into the most delicious sleep I have ever experienced. Is there anything more peaceful than the sleep a young child sleeps? No worries, no problems, no responsibilities to encumber their mind....just deep and peaceful sleep. 


There would be days when my friends and I would jump rope most of the afternoon. Daddy had gotten a big, thick rope from Cheatham Annex where he worked and brought it home to me, and as long as we had three girls, we could play jump rope until we either wore out, or someone's mama called "SUPPER!!!!" I remember going through a number of shoes during the rope jumping phase in my life. And my sweet little mama never complained about having to replace shoes so often.


Some evenings after supper, my girlfriend and her brothers and I would hook up in her back yard playing a heated game of softball. It was an exciting way to end our day spent in play. The hot Virginia heat along with the humidity was thick enough to choke a horse, but at that age, it never phased us. 


On the chance I would awaken to a day the heaven's opened and the rain poured from the skies, my world became exponentially smaller. All of my fun was contained to the inside of the house. Sometimes mama would help me cut out Betsy-McCall paper Dolls. Mama was so much neater using the scissors than me.  And when all the outfits were cut out, I would spend a good many hours playing "paper-dolls." 


Jacks were also a wonderful way to wile away the hours on a rainy day. I would sit on the floor of my bedroom, tossing the jacks, then using the little red rubber ball to retrieve as many as I could before making a mistake and having to begin over again! I would do this for hours. The shiny, slick hardwoods were a perfect setting for the jacks!


Occasionally when we would go to visit my grandmother and grandfather a short five minutes away, there were two girls in high school, much older than I, and they tolerated me, inviting me over for a game of hopscotch on the narrow little 2 lane road they lived on. They always seemed to have pink or blue colored chalk, and I remember one of the girls drew the hopscotch board on the street. We'd pick up a small rock, and play hop scotch until I heard mama calling me, knowing it was time to leave. I was just a young kid.....I can remember Mary Sue and Sandra talking about "teenage" things that were above my head on occasion. But mostly they remained down at my level. I remember thinking Sandra was beautiful, and thinking she had the prettiest eyes ever-kind of a beautiful mix of blue-green. All I'd ever seen in my house was brown eyes! Maybe that's the only shade I thought they came in-thus the surprise when looking in Sandra's eyes.


One of my FAVORITE play times of summer, came at dusk, with the sun setting behind the clouds, feeling the oppressive heat begin to cool for the evening, and watching mama go inside to bring me a mason jar w/ a lid and seal........mama and daddy would sit out on the patio and watch their only child run around the yard like a sprite, catching fireflies in the jar. Of course the jar had been prepped by me ahead of time pulling up some grass and lining the bottom of the jar w/ it. My favorite part of this adventure, was that I could go barefoot, feeling the cool green grass beneath my feet.  I would spend 'til dark watching all the area of our yard, running to catch a firefly and put it in my jar, anytime the little "light" went on. At the end of the evening, mama would take the jar and punch holes in the top of the jar w/ an old hand can opener that I can still remember like yesterday, with a dark red handle on it w/ a white stripe around the bottom. We would place the jar on my chest-of-drawers for the night, kind of guaranteeing me a living "night-light." 


On some days that the sun was shining, a group of neighborhood kids would gather at  my house, and begin to play "Red Light, Green Light" in my front yard. That was always good for an hour or two. After Red-Light, Green-Light, we'd end up laying on the ground, and rolling down the steep hill that rolled down to the street at my house. We'd climb the hill and continue to roll down once again, over and over and over.                                                                   


I was brought back to reality listening to one of the "little " girls mention how "BORED" they would probably be over the summer time. I was astounded.....BORED???? How can you possibly be BORED when your mama and daddy have bought you every toy that has been marketed by Hasbro since its inception! These kids have cell phones, hand held computer games, lap top internet ready computers, e-Readers, dolls that cost over a $100.00 that are made to "look like them".........as I get ready to end my day getting on my computer to talk to a few of these childhood friends I am still in touch with, there is a wistful sadness that covers me. I think back to the children of today, and wish them the peaceful, innocent life that I left behind on Penniman Road growing up as a child of the '60's. I don't remember ever saying "I'm bored." I was much too busy being happy, cutting out dresses for Betsy McCall, and playing jacks on my bedroom floor.

DOG Street, Revisited: DOG Street, Revisted

DOG Street, Revisited: DOG Street, Revisted

DOG Street, Revisted

Darlins'

     Down

          Dog Street

Today was a day I was looking forward to; my daughter who lives in Norfolk was coming to Colonial Williamsburg to have a day with just me. Today I didn't have to share her with anybody....we were going to browse through some stores in the restored area we hadn't been to in awhile. 


Apparently word was out that Colonial Williamsburg was decorated in it's Christmas finery-green garlands with red bows, wreaths hand-made and hung on the storefront doors, the Farmer's Market was taking place; probably the last until it begins again in spring. People were swarming our little town like flies! There were music makers singing old Christmas carols in front of the Trellis-an elegant place to dine for lunch or dinner. I looked around at the many dogs as they gravitated toward each other, hoping for a sniff to get acquainted. While waiting for Mandy, I thought I would take the opportunity to make a video of this festive area with all that was going on. I strolled along Duke of Gloucester Street, camcorder running on my phone, focusing inside the window of the Pewter Shop, The Precious Gem, The Toymaker Store....all of a sudden the focus of my attention was a young lady that appeared in a red Old Navy sweatshirt, telling me to never involve her in an activity where swarms of people flocked like starved animals to get a "taste" of this overly wealthy town, where people think it's okay to push and shove their way through your ribs and back, where their needs must be greater than your own...." Hello honey, I am filming what was a very lively, festive day in the restored area. Do you have anything else you would like to say before I discontinue filming?" Cheeks turning pink she smiled sheepishly, telling me she had to walk a mile from the parking garage to arrive here. 


We began our window shopping at Williams-Sonoma, admiring all of the very beautiful (and very expensive) pots, pans, Kitchen Aid mixers, soaps, dishes and the like. I admired a lovely enamel beige colored roaster, that when looking at the price tag, thought it must be a misprint priced at $390. Now that my little girl is all grown up, and has been working hectic, full-time, high stress jobs since graduating college, she is well aware of how much work would be required to buy any one object in such a "high end" store. I smile as we leave the store. Onward to another "high end" store across the street that sells women's clothes, shoes, jewelry...shaking her head as she eyes the ridiculous price tags attached to the clothing. Farther along down the street near the powder magazine, the horses were being attached to a carriage to clip-clop their way down Duke of Gloucester Street, passengers secured safely inside, looking at all the taverns, gardens and restored homes that date back to the 1700's. Hot apple cider is sold at the magazine in insulated paper cups to the tourists that are snapping photographs in rapid fire, sure to capture this lovely town left behind for centuries. Interpretures  in costume, tricorn hats dotting the landscape take you back to days where Thomas Jefferson and George Washington sat at the Raleigh Tavern, drinking their ale and talking politics. 


In and out of the Pewter shop, various galleries, and as my tired, aching, arthritic back and legs begged for a rest, we went to a local restaurant that we both like and rested while we had lunch. Sipping my iced cold Pepsi, I notice as we converse over our entrees how serious my daughter has become. She is a type-A personality....giving the word organized a new meaning. Efficient is very key in Mandy's world. Every minute, both at work as well as home, is tasked out. Not much time for relaxation. She is a dedicated wife, helping her husband who has decided to attend college full-time, work part-time, with the new life he is getting to know as "the grind." She was an excellent student in high school, as well as college. Again, the importance of managing her time while making excellent grades....and working too many hours, prepped her for the busy life she leads now. Throw into this mix, two adorable dogs (a Great Dane and a Boxer) that are their "children" for now. Said dogs are "sensitive." When they shred pillows when mom and dad are at work, there will be no fussing at them, because they become nervous and urinate all over everything. No losing tempers, because they are "sensitive" to that as well. Actually, no internalized anger is even tolerated by the pooches....as that too causes "accidents." Now if you cannot conceal the fact that you are about to spit fire, after attending classes all morning, working all afternoon, only to enter the house and notice that two rooms are covered in foam rubber from top to bottom....the pups become frozen in their steps "feeling" the fury that dad is trying his very best to suppress, as streams of yellow urine paint the carpet, the walls, their crates....and alas, their bodies as they wallow in it! Now, in addition to dinner, to laundry, to studying and writing papers, both dogs must be bathed because not only is the yellow stain all over their fur unattractive, it is rather unpleasant to have to smell. So as dad heads for the closet to retrieve the "Nature's Miracle" to remove the urine stain/odor from the carpet, "mom" is leading very gently so as not to add anymore stress to the canines, two buttercup yellow dogs to the bathtub. Lovely smelling shampoo and then conditioner are applied to their coats and if they haven't already used all of the towels cleaning up the mess and drying down the dogs from another evening's "mishap" they are patted dry and shining beautifully once again. My dog smells like a dog. Mandy's dogs do not. They smell like Paul Mitchell hair products. Upon coming to visit the house several night's ago, Mandy asked her husband if my dog smelled odd. "NO" he answered. She just smells like a dog. Mandy looked perplexed. "Hum" she replied. I told her that our dog gets bathed once a month. I have arthritis and cannot do Gumby poses straddling the bathtub, nor can I squat as I have two knees that stopped working properly ten years ago. When my dog gets bathed she smells lovely for a time, but the fragrance runs out before the next $25.00 is scheduled for payment for said bath rolls around again!  I smile as she tells me all about these doggies and the many stories that come with them. Mental note to myself....they are being prepared well by a Dane and a Boxer for parenthood!


After lunch on this beautiful day, we make a walk through one more extremely expensive store. Dark cherry-wood highboys, pewter, glasses and dishes with various insignia's indicating that the product is representing Colonial Williamsburg, we watch in wonder as so many of the tourists await their turn in line, flashing their Visa's, Master Cards, Discover and Am Ex cards through the machines like the cash that is coming out of the other end of the card, isn't really real. Colonial Williamsburg is quaint, charming, historical, gorgeous beyond belief......and very EXPENSIVE. 


We have seen the lovely world of the restored area and it's accompanying shops. Now it's time to "get real." "Would you like to browse around some of my favorite consignment shops before you head back across the bridge to Norfolk?" I ask.  Onto the more realistic places that are fun to shop around in. I love consignment shops. I love buying something that has a story. In fact, most things I've gotten for our house the past several years are from consignment shops. I took Mandy to my favorite shop first. She laughed, seeing the lady that owns the shop recognize me when we entered. I come here several times a month to see all of the new things that people have given up in their homes. I am amazed. Things that appear brand new to me. Upscale stores, not-so-cheap prices....I wonder how they could give up something that seems so new and lovely to my eyes? I am thankful that they do. Many times I am the beneficiary of their fleeting fondness to the lovely lamps, clocks, antiques that no longer hold their interest. The last consignment shop we browse through is located several doors down from my favorite Starbucks. Again my back, feet, knees and hip are screaming "ENOUGH!" I treat Mandy to a cup of hot green tea w/ honey to nurse a sore throat that is becoming more uncomfortable the closer it comes to the sun going down in the sky. 


We claim two of the lovely, well stuffed leather chairs sinking down and enjoying the pure bliss of their comfort. I can see the discomfort in Mandy's eyes. She never complains but I know. It's time to end our day. I still have an errand to run. She has a 45 minute drive over the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel sending her back home to Norfolk. I complain as she helps me up about the arthritis. She urges me to find another doctor. Granted, mine is a whack-job. He should've retired a decade ago. His age has long caught up with him. I tell her that I can, but that the arthritis is a trial I just have to live with....at this time, there is no cure. She tells me I still have another 25 years to live, at least! She can't bear the thought of the inevitable....whenever God deems it is my turn to go. She is so sweet. We talk about knee replacements. I tell her that as long as I can still walk, I choose not to have them replaced because I have no one to care for me during the period I can't "do" for myself. "I'll care for you!" she urges. I gently remind her she has a very full plate....she has her own life, more than enough responsibility, work than she can handle now. "I'll take off!" she replies. "Sweetie, you can't take off that long." "How long?" she asks. "I don't know-probably several weeks" I answer. "We can just plan to schedule it if I get pregnant and have it done while I'm out on maternity leave!" she cries. With this precious and completely naive response, I try my hardest not to let the tears flood my face. I tell her she has no idea how huge the transition is of becoming a mother for the first time. You instantly become a brand new person, with the first cry of your new baby. Hormones that are out of whack in the upcoming weeks. Exhaustion from  getting by with little to no sleep. Realizing how helpless you feel, because there is no manual telling you how to raise this perfect creation you've given life to, realizing that YOU are responsible for its nurturing, its knowledge, its guidance, its love, its clean clothes, its bathing and feeding and the million other things, both small and large that come along with being a mother.  In addition to this enormous responsibility, this sweet, giving, precious daughter of mine wants to nurse a mother who cannot walk for a time, back to health. I love her so much. She has no idea the depth of my love. She can't because isn't a mother yet. She will understand one day. And I see the despair in her eyes because she wants the arthritis to be "better."  She is such a choice soul. I thank God he has given her to me every day that i live. I tell Him that out of all the spirits waiting to come to earth to experience life, He picked the perfect, the most perfect of the spirits to give to me, as my daughter. We are one and the same, yet different. She knows me....really knows me. And I know her. I wonder if she realizes how proud I am of the woman she's become? How much I realize she gives her best to whomever she is with? How lucky her employer is to have such a perfectionist in their company? How hard she tries every day to do her job in the most excellent, efficient, moral way? I know her husband knows.....I think he is still rather amazed by her. So am I. I am amazed that God chose someone so ordinary as me, 
 to gift my life with. My cherished baby girl, as I look into your  eyes all the way into your soul, I "see" you. It is my feeling deep down into my soul, that you and I have been bonded through our hearts for eons of time. The moment I held you after giving birth to you, there was a comfortable familiarity the instant we touched. It wasn't necessary for me to get to know you....I felt like I already did. There is an invisible cord that is connected to me while still being connected to you. That cord will remain in place when I return to paradise, and you remain here. Not to fret....the only thing that will "separate" us for a short while, will be time. I will always be with you. I want you to know that. I will still be me-have I ever left you hanging? Nor will I then.


Thank you for a wonderful day today. I hope the green tea with honey and lemon will soothe the pain. I hope you enjoyed our time together as much as I did. I'll talk to you soon. From the person who loved your first. The person that loves you most. I loved you then, I love you now, I will love you forever~


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     

After spending umpteen hours researching blogs, looking at lay-outs, getting a feel of  what is interesting and what is not, and trying to get a few minutes without having a very spoiled rottweiler bring me a toy she has gutted every few minutes (she doesn't 'cotton' to the idea of me putting much time into anything but her).....here I am, at Inspiration Point. I guess this is where it all begins for each of us, right?  I am by nature a very organized, methodical person. I think things through. And analyze everything to death!  Everyone has told me, "just get to the keyboard-that's the hardest part. The rest is fun .....just begin typing." Beginning a blog feels like walking to the end of the high dive, looking down at the world before you, then realizing you are terrified of heights......and there is nowhere to go but down. One, two, three....
JUMP!!!!!

We live about twenty-five minutes outside of town, down a winding little country road, second house on the left. I've lived here since May, 1976. I'll bet that seems inconceivable to most of you, doesn't it? I guess I kind of grew up in this house. I was still a honeymooner...married a year to my Prince Charming.....had a three and a half year old son from my first marriage, and the three of us moved to the little house in the country. Has there ever been a time in your life when all the planets were aligned in perfect excellence, that the best karma ever had come to roost on your shoulder? That's how it was for me in that space and time. Life was perfect in Camelot....two years later we were bringing home baby girl to her nursery in the little house in the country. Now we were the perfect family. More love than the little house could hold, days filled with the life of a stay-at-home-mom and her children, dad coming home at 5:00. Dinners at the dinner table, with everyone happily discussing their day...with Daddy sitting in the "boss's chair." My son used to beg to sit in that chair, and we told him that was a very special chair that only Daddy's could sit in. What allure that seat had for a little five year old!  Nights were spent playing together as a family, building homes and cars and cities with Leggo's or Lincoln Logs, watching favorite television shows. Fast forward to December 1980. The tides turned.....an ice cold wind blew in from the north, and Prince Charming was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma. In that year he founded New Kent Little League, and umpired ball games for those boys until I didn't think his poor body would last to finish the game out. Eleven months later, we buried my Prince, the day before our sixth anniversary.

Life was dim at the little house, but we somehow persevered, and we made it. The "boss's chair" remained empty. My son was ten, daughter four. I didn't know much at that time, but I knew that I wanted to remain single and raise my children in the way that "we" would have wanted them raised. And I did. Now in between that time and now, there is a lifetime of memories and we will talk about them throughout this blogging experience.
Seventeen years after burying my prince, I remarried. Don't ask me how this happened, but the queen of the south married herself a man from up nawth! Well actually I will tell you how that happened. I was working two jobs at the time, and I met him while at my second job. He was a tour bus driver and brought a group from Boston down to Williamsburg to visit for several days. And that was that. We were together a year, and have been married 13 years now. He left the snow and the cold, family and friends and everything that was familiar to him, and packed up his things in his car and made his residence in Virginia. His northern attitude and accent are in tact. And we live in the little house down the winding country road, second house on the left.  His children/my children/our children are all grown. There have been weddings, there have been divorces. We are the fortunate recipients of wonderful, darling grandchildren. And we have two grand-dogs. Our first grand-dog was a boxer puppy named Samuel. We call him Sam-Sam. Our newest grand-dog is a harlequin Great Dane, named Parker. He is the baby at six months. Parker is a little spoiled, and "delicate". Our rottie-girl "Ladybug" or "Bug" as we usually call her, is totally and hopeless enamored by Parker. When they open their mouths to play, Parker's mouth is so large it can almost wrap 'Bug's head inside it! We are not certain whether 'Bug loves Parker like a child, or she is head over heels hopelessly in love romantically with him. 'Bug is four years old. Her birthday is September 7th. We adopted her from the Heritage Humane Society last October 31, 2010.......and it's one of the best things we've ever done! Glory! I love that girl. She has me so wrapped around her little finger....well, in her case I suppose it would be paws! 


'Bug is a little wide in girth.....we thought if we bought a large fence for the back yard, she would have room to run and play and be active. We debated committing to the expense, went ahead with it because we are both wrapped, and find it astounding that she has NO interest being out of doors, unless at least one of us is, as well. Running? Um, not so much. Has she lost any weight since we've purchased this prison yard fence for her? I don't believe she has lost a pound. However, it is nice to go outside with her knowing that she is safe,  walking around with her, at least getting some fresh air and sunshine. Never mind what the neighbors think of a six foot, black vinyl coated, chain link fence. With a chain that can resist seven thousand pounds, held together with a Brink's padlock attached to each of the two gates that enter into her compound. With the nation's all time high dog-napping going on, nobody's coming after our girl. She is registered with Smith & Wesson:)

And by the way, nice to meet you!