Disney Doubts

 

    Well, the dreaded trip to Disneyworld with the grands is almost here. I say dreaded because the weather forecast includes a heat alert and I haven’t been able to register for any help-the-old-lady services. 

     I’ve had a fear of this day ever since we carried our boys to the Magic Kingdom. Our trip was memorable, but so was my grandmother’s funeral. We tried to pack too much into our four days. We even used one day of the ticket after we had driven 10 hours in a mini van with no rear air and no DVD player. 

     Joe was a pro at reading Frommer’s Walt Disneyworld With Your Family. It was a step by step guide that assured the best possible place to be at the best possible time, even if you had to travel faster than a short layover in the Atlanta airport. 

      And to his credit we did see it all. The memories are wonderful even if the highlights on the VHS show a worn out 5 year old pitching one in the parking lot because he just couldn’t walk any more. Great fodder at family gatherings. 

    So I’m planning to hit the pavement tomorrow and make some new memories, heat and all. And I’m better prepared thanks to Amazon. I’ve got a bladeless neck fan, a personal handheld fan, an SPF50 sun hat, and a continuous mister. Better look out for the granny on the scooter! 

Thank you, Mother

 

A lot can be said about my mother.  She was eccentric, stubborn, persistent, loved sweets, never met a stranger, but most of all she had a heart of gold. 

I’ve never known her to hold a grudge. I don’t know if she honestly forgave them or if she just forgot, but she always saw the good in people. 

Most people think of her as very dependent on my grandmother and me, but I remember her as a divorced, single mom who managed to raise two children on a secretary’s pay and a little help from family.

She would do anything to help someone in need, sometimes against better judgment.

It is hard to think of my mom without a smile.  She was so cheerful, a little goofy and always entertaining.    She always made my friends feel at home even though she often embarrassed me.  It wasn’t until I was grown that I began to understand her and appreciate her for who she was.  She was just Betty. 

I will remember all the outrageous things about her—how she wore her hair on the top of her head, how she lived on Cheerios, how she “read”the cards, and how she loved her snacks.  She could be a little obsessive if she wanted you to hear a song or read a story.    

She and my grandmother were inseparable and I don’t think Mother was ever the same after my grandmother died.  Most of my fondest memories include both of them. Like the time Mother hit a cow on the way back from the beach and Mama thought lightning had struck us.   The time we were taking Matts car to get new tires and Mother aired up the bad one so much it blew out and the valve stem nearly hit Mama.  Or the time they stopped at a yard sale that ended up being a birthday party.  Now they can continue their antics in Heaven. 

I will remember many things about my mother but the greatest legacy she will leave is her faith in Jesus Christ.  Hers was a faith like a child.  She never questioned, she just believed.  When she had to live in assisted living she never complained, she just said “pray for me.”  When I would leave after a visit her last words were always “pray for me.”   I would sometimes become agitated and say “Mother, I always pray for you.”  I thought she was being selfish and only thinking of herself.  What I now realize is that in her childlike way she was saying “not my will but Thine be done, Lord.”  She couldn’t change her circumstances but through her prayers and the prayers of others she could make it through her pain. 

I miss my mother, but I thank the Lord for the model of faith she gave me.

A 2020 Christmas Miracle

    

     Thank goodness there is only one more month in this this horrid year of 2020. Chinese people have labeled this the year of the rat and I believe most Americans would agree. Fear, panic, stress all seem to go right along with words like pandemic, elections, racial tension, and toilet paper. 

     For me, it began on a positive note as my husband, Joe, planned a retirement for early March. We looked forward to a nice visit to see his brother in Arizona with a trip to the Grand Canyon…  on my Bucket list for years. We sensed the severity of the situation when we returned to a near quiet Atlanta airport only 2 days before the national shutdown.  Scary to say the least.

     Having lived through the drop in our 401K and the shortage of hand sanitizer, we became accustomed to the social distance stance and those dreadful masks. We added Zoom to our list of technology proficiencies and we became familiar with worship on Facetime live. I even joined several internet Bible studies that included women from around the United State, an experience I would not have encountered had we not been a country in crisis. For that I am grateful. Grateful that God would provide an outlet during a time when my only trip outside was to have groceries loaded in the back of my car by an essential worker at a food store.

      Yes, through all the negative events of 2020, there have been an abundance of positive actions as well. God is still in control. 

      Last night I had the privilege of witnessing one of those encouraging events in person. Santa paid a visit to my house with four little kiddos waiting anxiously for his arrival. 

     What makes his visit so remarkable lies in the past.  You see, we have not always been a family that would celebrate together. Like most families, we have had our differences. There have been hurts, accusation, even divorces, but for one night, just a few hours, we were able to set aside our differences and let four little children enjoy the magic of Christmas together, with no arguing, no harsh words, no accusations. Just the love of Christmas.

     I have been asking God to give me wisdom and tell me how to love others, even those who don’t always agree with my ideas. Last night He taught me a great lesson. Last night God showed up at my door and this time he was wearing a Santa suit.

Life Lessons from Liggy

     

   I lost my precious dog Liggy last night. She was one special Yorkie who did nothing but love me. She came to me through Rilynne’s other grandmother. Kristi was looking for a home for her and had originally given her to a neighbor but once I saw her, I fell in love with her. Kristi had said she was bringing the dog by for Rilynne to see but I thought she said it was Rilynne’s dog so I was attached to her immediately. We worked things out but Joe was not too happy about our arrangement. He thought it was too close to the time of losing our Bugsy and he wasn’t ready to make the move to another dog. But something about Liggy endeared me even more to Bugsy. They were both small dogs, both had a loving nature, and they both made that same Ewok sound.

        Her original owner had named her Little Girl but I just couldn’t call her that, after all we already had a Precious. I toyed with her name for some time and finally decided I would use the initials LG since my grandmother had said it was bad luck to change a dog’s name. Now if you said LG really fast it sounded like Liggy, so that’s what it became. She was my one-of-a-kind pal.

        The only other dog I had that was truly mine was a little dog I named Babs. Mother had taken my brother, Levi, and me to the Birmingham Humane Society to let us adopt an animal since we needed some comfort after she and our dad had divorced. I immediately fell for Babs and Levi adopted a beagle mix he named Daisy. Since we didn’t have a lot of money and the required visit to the vet was not a must back then, we brought the dogs home with just a basic deworming and shots from the Humane Society. Babs developed distemper and she didn’t last very long since she was a tiny little dog. I remember the day in junior high when my mother picked me up from school and said she had some news to tell me. I completed her sentence before she even had time. “Babs is dead, isn’t she?” I don’t think I ever got over that little dog so when Liggy came around it brought back some fond memories of the short time I had with a dog of my very own.

         Liggy was a year and a half old when we got her, so she was already house trained…well, not exactly. That is the one thing Joe disliked about her behavior. I made up excuses like, she ate too late, or she couldn’t help it, but I knew she only went out when she felt like it. She was a stubborn little pup.

          Liggy loved to taunt the bigger dogs. My son’s huge Rhodesian Ridgeback was terrified of my little 8-pound, barking, ball of fur. If Liggy came up during Vader’s free run at the church property, Jeff’s huge 70-pound mutt would make a beeline straight back to the car. I have honestly seen him shudder at Liggy’s “ferocious” bark.

           And our two new rescue dogs didn’t catch a break either. When I would give all three of them a rawhide chew, the bigger dogs would devour their treats in a few minutes which gave Liggy the perfect opportunity to wave her treasure in their faces. I loved to give them all a rawhide straw and watch Liggy carry hers in her mouth just like a cigar. She’d growl her Ewok growl when either canine came near.

            Most of all, Liggy loved to ride. She was just born that way. Any time I started to put on my shoes, she would start her barking tirade to go with me. She would prance around in a circle and give the most annoying yap until she got my attention. I took her everywhere I could. If she was not able to go, I’d simply say, “I’ll be right back,” and she’d know it wasn’t possible and stop her barking. I’d say that’s pretty smart for any dog.

            She loved to travel to the lake where she had free reign in the surrounding yards. Most of the time no one was home so she could go wherever she pleased. My only grumble was when she wanted out at night to do her thing. I was afraid to let her out by herself after Precious died so I’d have to stand on the deck and wait for her.

           Liggy loved riding in the boat, too. When we’d beach it to take a swim, she’s be right in there with us. She always swam toward me with her life jacket on since I didn’t fully trust her swimming abilities. She was on the upper end of a Yorkie’s weight range, just like her human mama (me).

            I certainly learned a lot from Liggy. There are life lessons we can all learn from our animals. In fact, the world today would be a much better place if we all could be a little more like our furry friends.

           One lesson I learned from Liggy was the meaning of unconditional love. If I was mad, she loved me. If I was sad, she loved me. If I screamed at her for having an accident on the carpet, she still loved me. I didn’t have to think like her, act like her, or be like her, she just loved me.

           Liggy taught me how to live in the moment. If I returned home, she was happy to see me. If I came back from the mailbox, she was happy to see me. If we went on a walk, she was happy to be with me.  She didn’t think about what I had done in the past, she didn’t care what I was going to do. She just loved me for what I was then and there.

          And Liggy taught me how to enjoy a meal and a good nap. She would bark for her evening meal between 7:30 and 8:00 every night. It didn’t matter if we were in the middle of a great movie, watching a weather alert, or if the Crimson Tide had just scored a touchdown, the girl wanted her meal and she wanted it NOW. Most any other time she could be found taking a nap on the blue blanket in her spot in the laundry room. I buried her in her blue blanket.

        So, life is sad for me now, and lonely since I had never realized how much my Liggy was my constant companion. I still cry now and then and I probably will for a bit longer. When I reach my final reward, I will have many questions to ask Jesus, but this one will be the first: Why do dogs only live such a short time? I find comfort in what the Psalmist wrote in Psalms 36:6 “Your righteousness is like the highest mountains, your justice like the great deep. You, LORD, preserve both people and animals.” NIV

         I am touched by what her groomer said when I text her. She reminded me of how sweet Liggy was and how honored she was to have been her hairdresser. In her words, “May God bring you comfort. He’s already granted her peace next to His side waiting for you till we are all together again.” And she added, “At least she went over the Rainbow Bridge with a fresh haircut.”

The Brick Lady

     
   I’m losing a family member today. Not one to be commemorated with a funeral but a member none the less. We are selling my mother’s house, my childhood homeplace, that has been a part of my memory for over 60 years.

        For years she has served as a protector of my family. First, she stood out in the middle of nowhere on a quiet dead-end Roe Chandler Road, but as of late she has been a beacon marking the entrance to Clay on Deerfoot Parkway. 

        Oh, the stories that brick lady could tell.  She knows about me falling into the space during construction. She has seen death, and birthday parties, New Year’s Eve celebrations and family reunions.  She doesn’t look to well today but, in the past, she was Queen of all the houses when she became the first full-brick home in Clay.

          The Brick Lady came into being in 1955. She sat in a clear field just south of the homeplace of my Mama Evelyn and my Grandfather Roe Chandler, Sr. She was strategically structured on my mother’s acre with a full acre between my mom and grandmother. That acre was designed to give me a place for my future home when I got ready to build. That never happened but I was fortunate enough to raise my boys in Clay. They loved the Brick Lady as much as I did.

          I’m not sure who designed her, but I do know a choice was made to make her all brick and give her a hip roof, two qualities that proved beneficial from a maintenance standpoint. She had steel cased windows which never rotted, but no one knew they would rust as bad as they did.

         My family loved to tell a story that happened during construction. Evidently, we had walked over for a daily inspection when I was about 18 months old. I had gotten ahead of the group and started up the stairs on the front porch. I must have walked too close to the edge of the steps because I slipped in to the 8-inch gap between the steps and the wall and got stuck.  I would surely have been an internet sensation today because my story was an oral legend that was retold at many family gatherings. 

         I learned today that my grandad dug the footing for the house with a pick ax and a shovel. This also included a one room cellar. My Great Uncle Frank, my grandmother’s brother, framed the house. He was an excellent carpenter. He had fought in the Pacific in World War II where he contracted some tropical disease during his stay, but he overcame his illnesses. He appeared frail because he was so underweight but somewhere in that frame was hidden muscle. My daddy used to tell about how Uncle Frank would pull himself up when they were building the rafters without the aid of a ladder.

       My dad learned many skills of the trade while working on the Brick Lady with Uncle Frank. They laid the subflooring with diagonally cut planks since there was no plywood available. The tongue and groove oak flooring was then cut by hand and hammered in place.  To the very end the hardwoods in my mother’s house never squeaked…not even a sound.

         Looking at her huge oak trees, it hard to imaging that the Brick Lady once stood in an open field. There was no brush, no trees, no privet hedge and no kudzu. I remember inquiring about the small patch of vines that grew in a pine tree across the road.  That was my first introduction to the strange foreign plant that would eventually take over parts of the South.

       The only tree on the entire acre was a mimosa in the back yard. The oaks were planted by my dad when my brother and I split the mimosa while trying to climb and play in her delicate branches. Daddy dug up the oaks and replanted them in the front and back of the house.  He nurtured and watered then with a determination to make them grow. I remember he placed a coffee can in the ground beside the saplings so that he could water their roots. They must have been planted in some great soil because they became some of the most beautiful oaks in this part of the county. The one on the acre in between daddy planted for me and my future homeplace.

       The Brick Lady saw many firsts in her time. She saw my brother scoot across the floor in an odd seated position. Levi didn’t walk until 15 months but he managed to manipulate his way with a unique method of travel. He would sit with his legs bent and his back straight. By pulling his legs toward his body he was able to “scoot” sitting up. The Brick Lady saw him take his first step by the mahogany coffee table in the living room.

        She must have been happy to see us upgrade to central heat and air because that huge floor furnace was an eyesore. Not only did the grate get hot to the touch, but we sometimes misjudged on the amount of butane left in the tank and lost our source for heat. Natural gas was not available for many years to come.  One benefit of the floor furnace was the fact that it could dry a load of laundry overnight. We just placed the clothes on the foldable wooden clothes rack and centered it over the grid.

         We left the Brick Lady for a few years in 1963. Daddy got a job in Huntsville and we relocated there for 3 years. The Brick Lady welcomed a new family who rented her for the time we were gone.  She must have been sad when the matron of the family fell ill and passed away in one of her bedrooms.

      We returned to the Brick Lady in 1967 when mother and daddy divorced. She welcomed us still the same, but times were different now. She must have winced when I painted my room that hideous shade of purple and hung posters of Jimi Hendrix, the Monkees, and Herman’s Hermits on her walls.

       My old bedroom now served as a den since we needed space for greeting our peers. Mother slept on a sofa in the den so that Levi and I could have our own bedrooms.  I wonder what the Brick Lady thought when she saw me come home from my first date and get my official first kiss?

         My friends all loved to hang out with the Brick Lady. I loved music and we had a huge stereo that played many a tune at full volume. I was one of the few teenagers with a single mom who made my friends feel at home, so the Brick Lady saw many parties and fun times with teens. We never drank or smoked pot, we just had fun laughing and talking, eating, and playing music.

        Occasionally Mother would invite adults over to the Brick Lady. I would stay in my room while she entertained. On one occasion, some of my friends stopped by but were cautious about coming to the door because of the adults in the living room. So, the Brick Lady and I invited them in through my bedroom window. 

        If she could I am sure the Brick Lady would identify the thieves who broke in and stole what little valuables we had. I remember losing my jewelry and a coveted coin collection my dad had given me.  One burglary took place just hours before a scheduled trip to Atlanta. I was excited about bringing a sorority sister home to visit briefly before we continued on to my dad’s apartment in Atlanta. We had planned an adventurous weekend trip for Sue who was visiting from Utah. We unlocked the front door and found a ransacked room that had been looted and practically destroyed. My brother stayed back to talk with police and we headed on our way.

       The Brick Lady probably snickered a bit when I tried to chase the bandits who had rolled my yard. Little did I know they had tied the garden hose to the bumper of my VW bug. I didn’t catch them but I managed to stretch the hose to three times its original length. She had to also know the names of the thugs who bottle capped my yard and then came back the next night and spread the contents of the cans containing the cleaned-up waste. She probably laughed the time the paper rollers came eyeball to eyeball with Mable and Lamby, the sheep we housed temporarily in the back yard. The Brick Lady witnessed the run-away horse that carried Nancy to Clay school and Bandit who opened the back door with his teeth and entered into the kitchen with his front two hooves.

      She probably saw what was coming when Joe washed his car in the back yard and drove over the mimosa stump left from the split. I’m sure she would have warned him about getting stuck if she could have. She was probably relieved when Mr. Vann came to the rescue with his tow truck.

      I bet she was sad when I left for college and the rooms were quiet; then, happy again when my boys brought new noises and laughter to the stillness. They loved to explore her secret spaces and find hidden treasures like anatomically correct frogs and Texas mosquitoes made from tumbleweeds. Nana was a packrat so there were new discoveries to be made with each trip to the Brick Lady.

     Those were the happy years for the Brick Lady with laughter, music, and youthful chatter. But things do change and so did the Brick Lady. My mother found herself unable to keep house anymore. She had to move to where someone could help her. She needed assisted living that the Brick Lady could not provide. So, the Brick Lady found her rooms quiet and her evenings dark. She was disappointed that no one came to see her or play in her halls or climb in her trees.  She realized things were not good when no one mowed her grass or cleaned her floors.  She recognized her time was short when the sign in her yard said “Sold.”  She knew.

      So, the time has come to say good bye to the Brick Lady. Too long she has sat vacant and unappreciated, hoping to be revived and put to use once again. Her shrubbery is overgrown and her gutters are beginning to fall, but still no leaks inside for the strong lady, no bats in her attic, or mice in her cellar. She has served well. She has fulfilled her duty. She has stood strong. But as with all thing, it is her time to rest. You will be missed, but your memories will live on. I love you, red Brick Lady!

Being a Grandmother

       I learned something today, something very valuable. It's one of those things that no one can teach you, you learn it by watching and listening ...and remembering.
      I had the chance to keep my granddaughter yesterday. Mom was sick and Dad was tired so MiMi stepped in. We did our usual snuggles and TV watching. We cooked Mimi's oatmeal exactly by Rilynne's directions. We mixed regular Coke with Diet Coke, and we ate the crust off the chicken pot pie, our usual routines.
      I began to clean up and place the dirty utensils in the sink. Rilynne asked if she could wash the glasses. I hesitated because they were glass and she has successfully broken a crystal candy dish given to me by my grandmother. After careful consideration and a few moments of begging, I consented to the challenge and moved her stool to the front of the sink.
        As she stood there with her hands in soapy water and her sleeves soaking, I realized that THAT is what being a grandmother is all about. I was letting her explore places that her parents would be afraid to chance. I know because I have been there with my own children. There was always too much to do... Cleaning, cooking, running the family. Back then, a child standing at the sink having fun washing dishes would have meant yet another mess to clean up.
         I watched as she discovered the joy in helping, in feeling valuable, in finding her place in the family.  I could not help but think of my own grandmother. She had so much love to give. Even when she had no money to give us grandkids, she let us make memories. There were no princess costumes when I was little, but my grandmother let us girls dress up in her lingerie. We would put on her slips, her costume jewelry and her high heels. Our outfits looked as well as any gown a Fairy godmother could conger.
          We built forts and hideouts in her living room and played beauty shop from our perch on the back of the sofa. Our imaginations were without limits in her confines. I learned how to sew and cook and make pot holders, all under her guidance and supervision.
           Some people have accused her of spoiling my boys as well. She did sneak money to them on occasion. But more importantly, she let them be boys. They climbed in her pair trees, they made camps in her hedges, they cut paths through her fields with the machetes she gave them. No mother would have bought a son a machete, but Mama did.
          Yes, I was very close to my grandmother, mainly because we had developed a relationship through the years, she let me be me. She encouraged me,  she supported me, she loved me. What more could I ask of a grandmother.
           I learned yesterday that being a grandparent is about taking a risk. Its about letting a child discover new things and take chances. It's about being there to encourage and nurture, even if things get broken along the way. It's about loving unconditionally. I hope and pray that I can be a good grandparent.

Getting Older

Getting Older
It’s not that I mind getting older; it’s just that I don’t see myself as aging. Sometimes I pass a mirror and wonder who that image is staring back at me. I was supposed to slow down and enjoy my forties and fifties. I wanted to travel, but now I just hope I can continue walking a bit longer. My knees are worn out and I hurt more in the morning when I get up than I do when I go to bed, but I still think of myself as that child of the 60’s and 70’s who grew up in one of the most turbulent but exciting times in history.
I do, however, get a little concerned when my family thinks I might be getting forgetful. Last week I misplaced my cell phone. After a long day, I hurried home to check the house. I had briefly scanned my room at school and since it was not in my purse, I had assumed I had left it at home. After a good hour of searching, I had found nothing.
My youngest son who is in nursing school joined me in my quest. He turned over couch cushions, searched the basement, even cleaned out my car-- still no phone. He reluctantly recalled that I had lost a drivers license and a set of keys recently. He even went one step further to suggest I have a brain MRI at my next checkup.
I spent the rest of the night reflecting on the situation. Did I have a history of dementia in my family? My grandfather had memory loss but he was 90. My mother had memory loss but she also had oxygen deprivation from smoking. Did I need to schedule a procedure ASAP? I spent the better part of my night contemplating.
After being dropped off at school by my husband since my son had to borrow my car, I entered my classroom. As I began to unpack my bookbag, I shifted a stack of ungraded papers. Underneath was my missing smart phone. A sense of relief enveloped me.
Now I am not saying that I do not need to watch my memory. I think scientists say we lose about 2% of our grey matter each year. I try to keep my mind sharp by playing scrabble and grading papers. I may lose my hair but hopefully not my mind after contending with 140 fifth graders each day. It could be that I need to have some tests or it could just be that I am a teacher, mother, wife, cook, laundress, tutor, grocery shopper, accountant, tax woman, chauffeur, therapist, interventionist, nursemaid, and friend. Regardless, I now have my cell phone.