Passage of a Woman

Scrapper

2010-07-08T11:42:00.007-04:00

My husbandTheTruckDriver is a scapper. True, he has been known to do his share of bickering, but it is scapping of a different persuasion to which I refer here. In short, he's a junk collector. Metal of all kinds, steel, aluminum, wire, copper, anything he can disassemble and transport to the recycling plant in exchange for a few bucks. In better days, the pile of debris behind our house between the shed and the woods was no more than an eyesore to me; in today's economy and state of rapid global deterioration, it is his little contribution to saving our pennies and saving the planet. He's not big time. You won't see him in a dilapidated pick-up bursting at the seams with mangled steel and rusty old water heaters. Just whatever he can fit in the back of the van, and whatever he has had time to deconstruct during his short lay-overs at home.

I took a trip to the recycling plant with him this week, and it was quite interesting, albeit rugged and dirty. There was a huge 3' high pile of what looked like aluminum shavings in one corner. Stacks of wheel rims and hubs in one area, radiators and other car parts in another, and a shelf full of metalware retrieved from the recycling bins - statues, bells, a goblet, perhaps for their collectible value. There was a huge, flat in-ground scale in the center of the warehouse, and beyond the doors in the gravel yard, numerous industrial dumpsters. First, the aluminum cans. 100 pounds worth, being pushed up and over the scale on a conveyor belt and into a crusher. Net: $4.00. But imagine all those cans in a landfill or strewn along the highways and riverbanks-500 years from now, they will still be discarded aluminum cans! That is money and energy wasted, not to mention the contamination of the landscape and the pollution of the waterways. It is a sad fact that Americans today recycle only about 50% of the 80,000,000,000 aluminum soda cans they use every year. It takes 95% less energy to make new cans from old ones than to produce new cans using virgin ore. Recycling only one can save enough energy to burn a 100 watt light bulb for about 4 hours or to run your television for three, and is equivalent to about 1/2 gallon of gasoline.

All the rest of the metal was just tossed on the in-ground scale by category, weighed, and calculated. To the cans, we added some sheet aluminum left over from a remodeling project and some pieces out of an old radiator MyHusbandTheTruckDriver stripped down in his spare time. Then some large rings of wire that he unfortunately hadn't had the time to strip. He would have found copper inside which would have been worth more than the unstripped wire; nevertheless, the scrap yard still took the wire and will undoubtedly strip it themseleves or send it off to yet another yard that will process it further. Then various parts from the old engine from our son's car. I don't know if they were steel, aluminum, or what, but the experts knew. Finally, some broken copper fittings and pieces of pipe. All weighed, totalled, and sorted into their respective bins. All the net of the rest of our recycled metals was $42. A nice chunk for our piggy bank, but it had a much broader impact on our world. In the US, recycling steel saves enough energy to heat and light 18,000,000 homes. Recycling copper uses only about 15% of the energy it would take to mine and extract new copper, and since mining and refining any metal produces gases and dust and requires enormous amounts of energy, recycling helps to conserve the world's supply of fossil fuels and reduce carbon dioxide emissions.

So, the next time you throw an aluminum can on the ground or even in the trash, or toss out that piece of wire or metal you pulled off the house or the car, why not think to recycle instead; not big business, but everyone doing their own part.

Have a blessed day.

Chatty Cathy and Her BFF's

2010-07-06T00:02:00.010-04:00

The Knoxville News Sentinel had an article last weekend about a doll collectors' meeting in the Knoxville area. It featured one woman's 400 piece collection of original restored Chatty Cathy dolls, one of the most popular favorite dolls of little girls in the 1960's. First produced by Mattel in 1959, she was the first "talking" toy and could repeat phrases such as "I want a cookie," and "Let's have a party" by pulling a string at the base of her neck. And "she's cute," quoted the article.

I remember my Chatty Cathy, and my older sister's, as we were always apt to get the same toys for Christmas, even though we were three years apart in age. She took much better care of hers than did I, as she was a much girlier girl than I. I seem to recall coloring Cathy's eyelids black and perhaps cutting off all of her hair. Maybe that's why I stopped getting dolls for Christmas. It led to much jealousy the year my sister got a lifesize (for an 8-year-old) bride doll, and I got some floppy stuffed baby doll that didn't do anything.

I'm pretty sure we both had a pre-Cathy Betsy Wetsy doll as well. Betsy ... you guessed it: she peed. Well, thankfully it was simulated pee, water from a miniature plastic baby bottle squeezed into a little hole in her mouth and coming out a little hole you know where. Of course, and also thankfully, they weren't allowed to make anatomically correct dolls when we were children. Nor would the baby dolls of our childhoods hardly be considered politically correct today: mostly fair-skinned with rarely an ethnic variety among them, and appropriate for teaching little girls how to become above all else dutiful and doting mothers, feeding, bathing, and changing their babies, and if the girl were lucky, pushing them along in little baby buggies (think Margaret of Dennis the Menace fame).

Could be part of the uproar over the newly emerging Barbie doll was that it threatened this idyllic role training of little girls in an era when women were beginning to have louder voices in the world. Inspired by Marilyn Monore with her curvacious figure pared down to more respectable proportions, the Barbie doll opened the eyes of young girls everywhere to the world of fashion, travel, and careers. I remember having had three Barbie dolls in my life (all given up by the age of 10): Barbie, her bff Midge, and Barbie’s sister, Skipper, all of whom had clothes, shoes, and accessories galore. My sister had, I think, every Barbie-clan doll made from the time they first appeared in the stores in 1960 until late into her teenage years. She finally gave them away, perfectly preserved, to a younger neighbor girl. My Barbies, on the other hand, lost limbs, hair, and all their clothes before they finally disappeared into the night. Like I said, I wasn't a girly girl.

I hope that decades from now today's little girls will look back just as fondly on their Baby Alive and Bratz dolls of this era, even if they do color their eyelids and cut off all their hair.

Fast Forward 30 Years

2009-10-27T08:02:00.005-04:00

Today, the doors of college open to me again for the first time since 1979. Perhaps not your typical student, this new season of my life finds me returning to college after 30 years to finish my education. I guess you could say it was on my “bucket list.” My goal is to obtain a degree in psychology with a concentration in Christian counseling, as I have deep desire to more effectively counsel hurting women, borne perhaps from my own life experience, growth, and recovery.

I am so grateful for the opportunity to study on-line as a distance education student, something not available to me as a young person, even had I had the direction and focus to pursue a degree through completion. I will be attending Liberty University, the largest and fastest growing Christian Evangelical university in the world, founded by the late Dr. Jerry Falwell, Sr.

I am studying Introduction to Christian Thought and Development Psychology.

My Review of Seersucker Women's Plus Size Bigshirt with Shirring & Pleats by Mainstreet Blues®

2009-10-07T11:38:00.002-04:00

Originally submitted at WomanWithin

Seersucker bigshirt with shirring and pleats looks so lovely. We provide the finest plus size blouses and plus size shirts for the price.

button-tab sleeves to roll up or not
patch pocket
shirttail hem
the highest quality casuals

Not My Favorite!

By Woman Within from Knoxville, TN on 10/7/2009

Sizing: Feels too large

Length: Feels too long

Sleeve Length: Feels too long

Pros: Comfortable

Cons: Poor Fit, Washes Poorly, Wrinkles Easily, Oversized Sloppy

Best Uses: Casual Wear

This was not my favorite and I was disappointed. It was oversized and sloppy, and does not have any shape because it is so lightweight. Wrinkles way too easily. Wore it once and won't wear it again.

Tar's Sunday Morning Offering

2009-05-31T18:49:00.007-04:00

Tar is a pretty lazy old dog. These days he doesn't do much but eat and sleep, so we were pretty surprised when we opened the door to let him in after his morning's constitutional this morning to find he had befriended a turtle on his way home. We were at first concerned for it's welfare, seeing as how it sat so still, head and limbs tucked securely inside its shell as turtles are apt to do. Closer examination revealed the turtle had fared quite well, no harm done; Tar must have carried him with care, although he guarded him on our doorstep as prey caught for the kill.

Gingerly placed back in the woods behind our house, surely the turtle will find his way back to his creek bed and Tar will eat his normal breakfast as usual.

For the Love of Chocolate!

2009-05-10T11:07:00.006-04:00

Do you feel this way when you eat chocolate? This is my grandson Drake at his first birthday party. His expression speaks for chocolate lovers everywhere!

Fish . . . or Foul? A My Town Monday Post

2009-04-13T00:01:00.006-04:00

This lovely, serene spot on Watts Barr Lake less than 1/2 mile from my Kingston, Tennessee, home might seem the idyllic place to rest, reflect, and fish.

We even caught these dozing turtles resting on a large log:

Then, we noticed the sign. Translation: Throw All Fish Back!

I wonder, were one to catch a catfish or a bream, would one risk eating it? Not I. Not even one meal per month. (The homophone in the title of this blog post was intentional; now you know why.)

Happy Easter!

2009-04-12T20:03:00.003-04:00

Drake had a fever so he couldn't join us. He stayed home with mommy. Still, he was full of smiles and giggles even with his pink cheeks!

Mud Bath

2009-04-02T08:44:00.002-04:00

I have heard that mud baths are great for rejuvenating and revitalizing the skin, total mind and body relaxation, and joint and muscle pain reduction. All the benefits of this luxurious spa treatment escaped me yesterday, however, when I took my own form of a mud bath.

That's right, just outside my front porch, I slipped in the mud and fell face down in the cold, gooey stuff. I was unable to stop the fall as my right leg slid out from under me, ultimately stretching as far as it would go before I hit the ground. When the shock wore off after a few seconds, I immediately felt the burning in the back of my right thigh, but I sort of dragged myself to the porch railing then limped up the stairs, chucking my muddy shoes on the porch before I entered the house.

What a sight I was! Mud from head to toe, I limped to the bathroom and put myself back together, but I was in pain. My dear, compassionate son, who's also a CNA, insisted on driving down from Oak Ridge (30 miles) to make sure I was okay. I was; no torn muscles, just overly strained (from never having been used, no doubt). Nothing was broken, either a testament to the soft muddy ground or my soft, flabby body. My thigh ached and I had to sit on the edge of the chair to avoid putting pressure on the bruised area. My son reminded me that he had suffered much worse traumas from playing soccer all those years.

I am better today; most of the pain has subsided and I can walk without limping. Now I can laugh about my mud bath. I don't think it's what Cleopatra had in mind. At least I can now say that I have learned to do the splits.

Don't expect pictures.

Mud and Wild Onions

2009-03-15T01:50:00.007-04:00

We drove all over East Tennessee today, it seemed. Through the pouring rain, low fog, and construction zones, I could still see spring blooming everywhere: daffodils in nearly every yard, yellow forsythia bursting on its branches, Bradford pear trees with thick white coats, redbud trees in purple bloom, and two-tone StuffMart potted pansies neatly encircling every little tree in every fast food restaurant and convenience store parking lot. Why, then, is my yard filled with nothing more than mud and wild onions?

It makes me yearn to garden, then I remember, I do not have a green thumb. I recall the Chinese evergreen my girlfriend bought me for Christmas. "Even you can't kill that," she said. Wanna bet? I forgot to water it -- at all; dead by February. Again, another case of sheer neglect. I'm so ashamed. I'd love to have roses, but I dare not.

Still, my yard looks awful--pools of muddy sludge and sprouts of wild onions growing taller with every raindrop, sparsely dotting the landscape (or lack thereof) in front of my house. I'll make a good effort as soon as the ground hardens a little bit; mow down the onions and spread some sod. I think I'll buy one of those roll-out flower beds and lay it down in front of my house to see if it blooms. Just my luck, the rain will stop and I'll be forced to remember to water it.

Trucker News

MyHusbandTheTruckDriver was headed home from Chicago Friday on I-74, on what should have been a fairly easy trip, getting him home by noon on Saturday. Just his luck, thousands of other people decided to converge at the Shelbyville, Indiana, exit just as he was approaching the area. So what tied him up for 3 hours or more and caused him to travel 5 miles in the same time frame he should have been able to travel over 150 miles? The long-awaited grand opening of the $200 million casino at the Indiana Downs racetrack. Somehow, he didn't feel it was worth the wait.

A Quarter Past Christmas . . .

2009-03-13T12:05:00.019-04:00

It's the middle of March already and my Christmas decorations are still up. Do you think that's sad? Or just a case of gross neglect? Actually, my Christmas boxes were in the storage room, and with everyone's busy schedule and having been a one-car family for the past 3 months, no one has taken the time to retrieve the boxes and bins. Now huddled on my living room floor, they beg to be filled. And my family begs me to put away the Christmas stuff, already; it's almost St. Patrick's Day!

Car Notes:

Aaron's car has finally started! I believe it to have been the power of prayer that made the engine hum when he turned the key yesterday. The new engine was installed two weeks ago, and no matter what my husband and my son did, they could not get it running, even when every system check they tried said it's a go. He is thrilled, and so am I. Now maybe I won't be so stranded, as I have been feeling lately, especially now that spring is teasing us with her buds and blooms.

I saw the most magnificent display yesterday. Bradford pear trees all in a row, their bulbous contours ablaze with their white blossoms thick as snow. For a brief moment they'll wear their dressing gowns, then don their comely raiment as a debutante presented in the spring.

I must put the Christmas stuff away!

Wordless Wednesday - An Oil Painting by My Dear Late Sister, Debbie

2009-03-11T17:10:00.004-04:00

click on picture to enlarge for greater detail

1₡ Per Word

2009-03-11T12:11:00.006-04:00

I'm not a professional writer. By many (probably most) standards, not even a very good writer, but I would like to be. In fact, with my children grown and MyHusbandTheTruckDriver on the road so much, I am contemplating finishing my journalism degree (started over 35 years ago).

That being said, I am beginning to build a portfolio and more faithfully contribute to my journal, more for myself at this point than any second-career, post-retirement aspirations. So I was initially pleased when I was accepted by a marketing firm to join them as a content writer. I thought it might be a way to add to my portfolio and gain a bit of recognition, and perhaps a few dollars, for myself.

The catch is, were I to join them, it would be as a ghost writer; I would have no rights to my words, would essentially be selling the rights to my articles to the marketing company and its clients. I would not be able to include my articles in any other form of print or publication or, I assume, use them in my portfolio. They want 400 word articles; they pay $4 per article. That's only 1₡ per word. One Cent Per Word.

So, my question to all you professional writers out there is: Is this a good way to start? What are the pros and cons of becoming (an underpaid, overworked) content writer? Yes, I could go read forums and subscribe to newsletters for feedback, but I thought this would make a good post. Comments welcome.

Note: Image created by me.

Bumper Cars

2009-03-08T14:55:00.009-04:00

Saturday was such a beautiful pre-spring day, with mild temperatures reaching 70 and clear blue skies, one might surely turn her thoughts toward visiting a local amusement park. I, however, had no such intentions. Imagine my surprise, then, when I found myself not once, but twice, a participant in an unintentional game of bumper cars.

The thing about bumper cars is just when you think you have a clear space to break away, the car behind you abruptly changes direction and lunges into your personal space. So it was with the silver El Dorado with the tow hitch that I watched pull securely into his parking space directly opposite me before I backed out of mine.

Now I will sheepishly admit that I am not the most alert driver, but I was watching where I was going. Clearly through my rear view mirror, I saw the El Dorado safely parked, lights off, as I slowly moved backward in my own vehicle. Then, without warning, just like that annoying little bumper car that comes from out of nowhere and rams you when you least expect it, thud! Seems the driver didn’t see me back up when he decided he had pulled in at an angle and needed to back up himself and re-park. Well, truth be told, maybe I didn’t see him all that clearly either, and it was a rather minor bump, although it left a 3” gouge in my rear bumper. The tow hitch was not harmed. It’s still amazing to me how all 50 cars in a parking lot the size of a small city find it necessary to park in the first 3 rows.

Business concluded, and having decided to continue to enjoy the gorgeous pre-spring day, I drove merrily on my way with a few more stops left before it was time to pick up my son, Aaron, at work. Carefree, on our way home at last, we made one last stop at the convenience store for gas and a paper. While I darted into the store, Aaron pulled between the car at the pump and the curb to park and wait for me. Then, it happened again; not a thud this time, but a pop. It must have been a little too tight a squeeze, for the right front tire scraped the curb just where its metal frame and concrete were broken and left exposed, jagged and rough. A non-repairable hole in the tire, oh my! And no spare.

AAA to the rescue, but at my expense for the new tire, and possibly the tow since the distance to the local StuffMart Tire Shop (the only retailer open at 6:55 p.m. on a Saturday night in East Tennessee, imagine!) may have been more than my coverage allowed. We’ll see. Fortunately, a call to the RegionalConvenienceStoreChainEmergencyManagementNumber promised retribution if I would call the office on Monday and report the claim.

Note to self: No more wild rides.

Trucker Notes:

Myhusbandthetruckdriver hit Chicago Saturday morning where he waits to pick up his next load. All weekend in the terminal is not so bad; at least they have a TV in the trucker lounge; it has better reception (usually) than the one in the truck. Monday morning he is off to Oklahoma; hopefully home next weekend.

Wordless Wednesday - Grandma's Angel

2009-03-04T07:35:00.002-05:00

Efficiency Vs. Security

2009-03-03T11:55:00.007-05:00

As a small on-line seller, I ship a lot of packages. Generally, I pay for postage and print postage-paid labels on line, so everything is ready to go when I take my parcels to the post office. While I expect pre-paying to save me considerable time at the post office, I do still expect to stand in line to have my packages received.

So, I was surprised yesterday when I was called out of a busy post office line and told I could simply leave my packages on the counter, and they would be handled. At first, I thought, "hmm, how convenient." I gratefully dropped my packages and departed on my merry way. Then it occurred to me that I had been allowed to simply leave a stack of sealed packages on a busy post office counter in the heart of a high-security-risk city.

Not that I am an alarmist, but I wonder how easy it would be for someone with less benign intentions to leave a possibly lethal package undetected as well. I'm willing to trade a little inconvenience for the sake of precaution. I promise to stand in line with a smile on my face and never grumble at the person behind the counter for taking too long (unless, of course, the line I'm in is one of the 4 open register lines out of 30 at my local StuffMart on a busy Saturday afternoon).

Wood Carver Extraordinaire - A My Town Monday Post

2009-03-02T05:37:00.009-05:00

Kingston is home to a local artisan. Don McMurray, an 82-year-old Kingston native, has a passion for carving wood. For 30 years he has been turning and shaping and carving pieces of wood into beautiful and intricate figurines and other pieces of art.

But he’s never sold a single piece, not because they weren’t marketable; he’s just never been inclined to sell his work. Don’s motto is, “If you charge a dollar, you lose a friend.” Still his pieces have become very popular in the community where they have been displayed over the years or given as gifts to friends and family.

Fond of carving caricatures, Don won a blue ribbon at the Tennessee Valley Fair in the early-90’s for a carving he dubbed “Knicker Knockers.” It was group of 4 golfers with movable heads wearing polos and golf pants and standing near their golf clubs.

One of his more popular carvings are those of Santas in all shapes and sizes and made from all different types of wood. When a local hardware store in Kingston burned some years ago, Don obtained some of the charred wood from the 200-year-old building and used it to make one style of his Santas. Those Santas aren’t painted, and bits of the charred wood can be seen on the statues. Don gave two of those Santa figurines to the Browder family (the founders of the hardware store that burned) and donated one to his church’s auction, bringing $340.

Once while being treated for heart problems, he met a lady in cardiology for whom he carved several wooden name tags that she could pin to herself. She was thrilled with the gift, and now that the woman, nicknamed “Shorty,” has passed away, McMurray muses that at least one of his carvings has gone to heaven.

While McMurray enjoys carving his more lighthearted pieces, he says he has more respect for his more serious carvings, such as the nativity which took him more than two years to complete. (It’s the only piece he has ever tracked the completion time on.) Starting with the Baby Jesus’ face, he was so dissatisfied with the outcome, he started over on the other end of the piece of wood. Always beginning at the face, which McMurray says is the hardest part, he laughs about it now and calls it “twin Jesuses.”

Most of his work can still be found displayed throughout his home, pieces such as ducks and Indian pieces, and a piece bearing the Kingston logo. The rest are stored in five boxes in the basement which is where his workshop is also located.

The craft that he loves comes natural to him. He has been doing woodwork all of his life, and a 4-poster bed in his home testifies to his skill and the quality of his work. He says he took up the carving hobby after he became a card-carrying member of the Smoky Mountain Wood Carvers group, and he hasn’t looked back since. The culmination of his years of work will be a public exhibit at the Kingston Community Center on March 9th.

And although he has slowed down a little over the years, saying he’s lost a little of the feeling and a little of the attitude, he’ll return to his work table often to finish those undone pieces. And sometimes, when the wood calls to him, he’ll even start a new one.

Photos courtesy David Doonan/Roane Newspapers

Sunday Morning Coming Home

2009-03-01T02:35:00.011-05:00

MyHusbandTheTruckDriver has been on the road for two weeks, but he'll be rolling in about dawn. Sunday morning and he'll be home for two days, then off again on Tuesday morning to pick up a load in Knoxville going back up north.

This run he's been to Florida, through the Carolinas, into Pennyslvania, then Chicago and Wisconsin, and back again. He was able to see his daughter in Georgia and his mother in Pennsylvania; I'm glad for that.

He'll be glad for two days without hot dogs or potted meat, and grateful for a king-size bed. Otherwise, his hometime will be uneventful by many standards. We'll run errands, do a little necessary shopping, see our children and grandchild, and rest. He won't have time to work on his project car or finish the new floor, and the weather is still too bad (too muddy) to work in the yard. We'll try to hold on to the next 48 hours together; they have to last us for two weeks.

March is here and winter will soon be behind us for another season. He keeps promising me I will go with him in the spring.

My Aunt's Recipes

2009-02-27T14:33:00.002-05:00

My dear Aunt Loraine of Cincinnati passed away in 2007. She was closer than a mother to me, and a large and cherished part of my life. I miss her dearly and am so grateful for the many fond memories I have of times spent with her over the course of our lives.

Among my aunt's possessions passed down to me I found a recipe book she had been maintaining for many, many years. Weathered, worn, and rubberbanded to hold the many loose pages and clippings, it contained handwritten recipes, newspaper clippings, printed and typewritten recipe cards on everything from cardstock to the back of old maps and sticky notes. I smiled as I browsed through them, as many of them she had received from me, and there they were, stuck in her recipe book in my handwriting or within a card or letter I had written her. Many more dated back to the years she was working as a secretary for Puncheon Engineering in Cincinnati (where she met her late-husband and my uncle, Otis), as they were typed on old Rolodex cards from the firm's files. A meticulous saver, I can't say how many she actually tried for herself, but certainly all of them left an impression on her and a thought that "she might try that some day."

In her memory, I have started another blog: My Aunt's Recipes. It contains all of her notes, recipes, and helpful hints as I found them in the book. More for myself and a tribute to the memory of Aunt Loraine, I am working on the blog as I have the time. Quite a few recipes are up already, and the link is here in my sidebar in case you want to take a look or try a recipe or two. We also have another family cookbook that my Uncle George has compiled and maintained (The Matthai Family Cookbook link also in my sidebar), and some of Aunt Loraine's recipes are in there as well. (Uncle George, you can add any you like.)

Enjoy as I share my memories and tribute with you.

Chicken Poop and Chasing the Furniture

2009-02-26T10:47:00.024-05:00

Don't get me wrong; I'm a fan of Craig's List (http://www.craigslist.com/). I've both bought and sold through it's venue. One can find quite a lot of terrific bargains, and it's fun to window shop as well. Of course, there are also those who believe it to be a fine, upscale mercantile through which they may sell their old, used, drooled upon, spilled on, soiled, 1990's Aztec/floral/geometric/wood-grain-like furniture for top-dollar because it's Ashley or Bernhardt and they paid $1800 for it originally. A good deal? Not so much.

But today I offer the lighter side of Craig's List: the ads that somehow make you giggle because you really don't know what in the world they are selling, or the grammar/spelling is so atrocious you actually have to read the ad to see if it's really something you want/need or not. For instance:

There's the ad selling CHICKEN POOP LIP BALM - $3. What in the world is chicken poop lip balm? I thought of my cousin Cathy (http://www.lifetimelearning.blogspot.com/) when I read this; maybe she'll know.

Chicken Poop Lip Balm is actually made of all natural ingredients (so chicken poop isn't natural?) like soy, jojoba, sweet orange, lavender, and beeswax. No chicken poop whatsoever. It goes on very smoothly with a hint of lavender aroma, and quickly works to soothe and soften chapped lips (or put it on your elbows, ankles, anywhere you want softer, smoother skin). A novelty item, to be sure, but effective and a hot seller right now.

So how did it get its name? A little girl from Kansas grew up, designed the product, and named it after her grandfather back home on the farm. Seems when she was child, every time she would complain that her lips were chapped, her grandfather would threaten to coat them with chicken poop so she wouldn't lick them. Have you tried it, Cathy?

I wondered what 5 LIGHT CANDLE OPERAS were and found someone was selling "beautiful 5-light brass chandeliers." Perhaps the seller simply couldn't spell candelabra, which is odd since in my estimation, chandeliers is a much more difficult word to spell. Or am I the one in the dark? Is candle opera an acceptable synonym for chandelier? Perhaps. I googled candle opera and received 7,410,000 results! Most that I scanned were either selling candelabra or extolling the renown of some singer I also never heard of.

Someone in the business section is trying to sell this SCAFFLE. According to The Urban Dictionary (http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Scaffle), to scaffle is to steal a small or insignificant object, or to steal something that belongs to someone who will not care upon discovering that the object was stolen. The definition denotes theft, but maybe not morally wrong theft.

"I scaffled a donut from Bob; he had too many to eat anyway."

Scaffle can also be slang or the street term for drugs and the drug trade. I don't think that's what this guy was selling. I guess a workman worth his hire doesn't necessarily have to know how to spell.

It's also very popular to sell a REFRIDGERATOR or FRIDGERATOR on the List, as well as CHESTER DRAWERS.

And for all the couch potatoes out there, one way to get your exercise is to get up and chase the furniture. You'll need this CHASE LOUNGE, of course!

And here we are: back at the poop again, poop of a different variety.

HORSE POOP FREE FREE FREE FREE FREE FREE! The writer says it's garden time, and he has a few stalls full of horse poop to give away, "if you need the poop." He cautions respondents to bring a shovel and plenty of muscle.

Like some of the ads on the List, it's getting pretty deep in here, so this is the end of this post.

Wordless Wednesday - Random Photos from My Cell Phone

2009-02-25T00:01:00.004-05:00

Fort Southwest Point - A My Town Monday Post

2009-02-23T00:01:00.004-05:00

Not unlike many key cities in the South, Kingston, Tennessee, has a famous fort. Called Fort Southwest Point, it is the only Federal era fort in Tennessee being rebuilt on its original foundation. Now completed are a barracks, a blockhouse, and 250 feet of palisades walls.

Fort Southwest Point began as a militia post known as the Southwest Point Blockhouse. The Blockhouse, which included a stockade, was built by militiamen in 1792 and commanded by Brig. General John Sevier. Constructed high on a bluff at the mouth of the Clinch River where it enters the Tennessee, it was located at the boundary of the Southwest Territory (Territory of the United States South of the River Ohio) and the Cherokee Nation, on the only east-west road between Knoxville and Nashville (known as the “North Carolina Road” or “Avery’s Trace,” constructed in 1788).

Sevier’s militia used the Blockhouse as a base from which to curtail hostilities between the Cherokee and Creek Nations and the white settlers heavily migrating into the Tennessee. In 1793, an attachment of regular Federal troops joined Sevier’s militia stationed at the Blockhouse; and by 1794, it was their duty to provide armed escorts for travelers journeying west through the Cherokee Territory from the Blockhouse to Nashville via Avery’s Trace.

With additional Federal troops being sent to Tennessee to control the escalating territorial disputes between the Euro-Americans and the Cherokee Indians, who still claimed the majority of what is now East Tennessee, Congress authorized the construction of much larger fort about ½ mile down-river from the Blockhouse. Completed in 1797, one year after admittance of Tennessee to the United States, the Fort was commanded by Colonel David Henley as agent of war and housed over 400 troops at its peak.

As the territorial wars were ended, the U.S. government shifted its role to that of protectionist with the Cherokee. The troops became the peace keepers as they escorted travelers across Cherokee territory, less in an effort to protect the migrating settlers from attack by the Cherokee and more to ensure the travelers did not illegally settle on Cherokee-owned lands. By 1801, the need for Federal troops was greatly reduced and Fort Southwest Point became the headquarters for a newly-appointed Cherokee Indian agent, Colonel Return Jonathan Meigs, who also served as military agent for Federal troops in Tennessee. By 1807, Fort Southwest Point had lost most of its more important functions but remained in use until around 1811, primarily as a supply depot for handling shipments passing overland from the east and then down-river to other posts along the expanding American frontier.

Fast-forward 150 years to the first archaeological investigations conducted at the site by the University of Tennessee in 1974 and 1975. The digs exposed portions of the foundations of six-foot buildings and netted a large cache of fort-period artifacts, as well as evidence of prehistoric habitation, including infant burial, storage pits, and sherds. The remains of a massive stone wall at the west end of the structure was also uncovered.

In 1984, the recon-struction of the Fort on its original site was begun as a cooperative effort between the Department of Conservation and the City of Kingston. As a result, the location of 13 buildings were positively identified and the Fort’s general plan was approximated. The most recent study done in 1996 by students from Roane State Community College along with the Department of Conservation revealed the details of a third major building, now known to have housed administrative and storage facilities.

Today one can visit the site of the reconstructed Fort owned and operated by the City of Kingston.

Situated high above the Clinch, Emory, and Tennessee Rivers, it offers spectacular views of Watts Barr Lake and the surrounding area. Visitors can picnic on the 30-acre site and see history come to life through candelight tours and period-dressed interpretations of life on the frontier.

An authentic 18th Century cannon is often fired at its events.

The Visitors’ Center examines the Fort’s vital
role in the westward expansion of America through an orientation video and many interpretive exhibits. The Fort today offers a learning adventure for all ages, with scheduled tours and special weekend events for the whole family; and it is free to the public (though donations are gratefully accepted).

And if you’d like a keener look into the past, keep your eyes and ears open for a ghost or two. Whether the spirits of some fallen soldiers on the frontier or the ghosts of some early settlers returning to stake their claims, they have at times made a surreal impression upon a few astute visitors who claim to have felt unseen presences or heard faint whispers and gunshots in the background.

“History of Southwest Point.” 21 Feb. 2009 <http://www.southwestpoint.com/>.

Smith, Samuel D. “Fort Southwest Point.” The Tennesee Encyclopedia of History and Culture. 2002. The University of Tennessee Press, Knoxville. 21 Feb. 2009 <http://tennesseeencyclopedia.net>.

"Fort Southwest Point." Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. 16 Jan 2009, 07:28 UTC. 22 Feb. 2009. <http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Fort_Southwest_Point&oldid=264422274>.

2002-2005 John Norris Brown. Part of John Norris Brown.com. 21 Feb. 2009 <http://www.johnnorrisbrown.com/paranormal-tn/sw-point/>.

*Fort sketch from:
Smith, Samuel D. (Editor) 1993 “Fort Southwest Point Archaeological Site, Kingston, Tennessee: A Multidisciplinary Interpretation.” Tennessee Division of Environment and Conservation, Division of Archaeology, Research Series No. 9., Nashville, Tennessee.

Handprints on the Window

2009-02-21T15:57:00.023-05:00

Both of my sons, now grown, were “day-care babies” since the age of 6 weeks. Necessarily a working mom as a single parent for most of their early-childhoods, I would drop them at the center or the babysitter as early as 6:30 or 7:00 a.m., and not return to pick them up until 6:00 p.m. or later. More often than not, they were the first children to arrive and the last to leave. It broke my heart daily, but I learned in the process that God gives his children an extra measure of grace in the midst of the more difficult circumstances of their lives.

I learned many other lessons during those first years as well, although the message was not always immediately clear. Yet every day, I found renewed strength to be both mother and father, breadwinner and caretaker, nurse, teacher, taxi driver, cheerleader and disciplinarian, and all of the other roles a woman fulfills in the lives of her children. I learned to trust God for that strength, for many days and nights I went to bed and woke up weary, uncertain of just how or when our needs would be met, but always assured of His faithfulness to meet them.

Still today, when I have a tendency to doubt or to try too hard to direct the course of my own life, God tenderly brings those early years to my remembrance, to renew my faith and to encourage my heart. He used one of those such childhood images recently to vividly illustrate to me His desire that I come to Him with the faith of a child. For as I sat lunching with a dear sister in the Lord the other day, recounting all of my difficulities with my health, our schedules, our one-car-ness, and fears of the economic downturn, I suddenly recalled the faces of my little children at the daycare center 20 years ago, especially Aaron, my youngest, who at the age of two had great difficulty adjusting to my leaving him.

Although Aaron would cry and wiggle when I dropped him off, I knew it was momentary since I regularly waited in the hall for a few moments until his tirades ceased. Yet, every day for what seemed a very long time, as I returned to pick him up, I would find him with his hands and nose pressed hard against the daycare’s window, earnestly watching and waiting for me to appear, totally immune to his surroundings. All of the play and activities and children behind and around him did not interest him as he seemed to desperately hold on to the windowpane, as if letting go would somehow prevent my coming. It was only when I walked through the door that he would release his lifegrip on the glass. As vivacious and precocious as Aaron was, it saddened me to think he had missed out on all of the other activities of the day and the fellowship of his playmates that he might otherwise have been enjoying in order to keep his solitary vigil for me.

Then, slowly, as the days and weeks passed, I began to notice that Aaron wasn’t always at the window when I arrived. Sometimes, he would be just near enough to either hear my car or see me out of the corner of his eye, and sometimes he would not notice my coming at all until I walked through the door. Eventually, though, I would daily find him well-immersed in his total daycare experience, and I realized that at last he had complete confidence that I had not left him alone and that I would, indeed, return to pick him up.

So it is with our Lord, Jesus. From the very day that God places us in this world, he leaves us in the care of others: our parents, our teachers, our families, our friends, and ourselves. Yet, He has not left us, and He promises to return for us. His Word says that he has left His children another Comforter:
16And I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you for ever;
John 14:16 (King James Version)
Jesus did not leave His children abandoned, as orphans to fend for themselves. Instead, He sent another Comforter, the Holy Spirit, the third person of the Trinity, one with Christ and one with the Father, to be our guide, comforter, advocate, counselor. Similarly, as I left my children in the care of others for a short while, those teachers and caregivers were all those things to my sons while I was away and until I returned for them. Over and over every day, my children learned to look to their daycare providers to meet their needs and to teach them. They learned to trust and depend upon them in my physical absence. And, they learned to rest in the assurance that even though they could not be with me physically, I was still with them and I would absolutely return for them.

1 Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. 2 In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. 3 And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.
John 14:1-3 (King James Version)

My children soon learned they did not have to be afraid; they knew I would come back and pick them up. They were able to participate in whatever the day held for them because they could rest in that assurance. God has promised His children that He, too, will return for them, to receive His sons and His daughters to Himself, and that they will live with Him forever. As children of God, we need not doubt. God is trustworthy, and we can rest in this assurance, regardless of our circumstances, our emotions, or the state of the world.

At my luncheon yesterday, God really wanted to drive this lesson home; the lesson about the faith of a child: the pure faith that allows him to giggle and play even though he does not have the means on his own to provide for himself and cannot understand all that is happening around him. That child is secure in the trust that he’ll be fed, clothed, and cared for, protected against harm, cherished and loved. He doesn’t have to press his hands and nose against the glass waiting for rescue with bated breath. Just as I longed for my children to enjoy and engage in their everyday activities while I was away, so God wants his children to work, and play, and minister while we are on this earth.

I have been in a holding pattern for nearly a year, on a shelf, so to speak, wondering what God has for me next, without a specific ministry for the first time in 20 years, without a full-time job, and often alone with my children grown and my husband on the road. It has been trying, at the very least, and I have been pleading with God for answers. Now I see that his answer is, “Wait, daughter, with the faith of a child.” He does not want to see me, his beloved child, with clinched fists holding on for dear life, anxious and paralzyed with worry or fear. No, he wants me to enjoy this season of waiting, and to get as much out of it as I possibly can. He wants it to be a season of refreshing, a time for my health to be restored, a time to pursue other interests long abandoned for the responsibilities of raising a family, a time for spiritual renewal through Bible study, prayer, and fellowship with other believers, and a time for personal growth.

None of that can happen if I’m stuck with my nose and hands pressed against the windowpane. With the faith of a child, I will do well to remember that God has a plan for my life, a plan for good and not for evil, a plan with a future and a hope. My medical problems did not confuse Him; He didn’t run out of resources when my job ended; and He was not taken aback by the state of the economy or of the world. Jesus has given me the Holy Spirit to guide, comfort, and teach me, and He will come for me again.

3 And he said: "I tell you the truth, unless you change and
become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.
Matthew 18:3 (New International Version)

My One Car World

2009-02-19T12:29:00.003-05:00

With my son’s car still on the outs, we remain a one-car family and this is my one-car world. My son Aaron has the privilege of using the family van since he goes to school all day and works all night, and I “borrow” the van when I have to go somewhere. Although Aaron hates the van, and definitely prefers his small, fast car to an old-people’s vehicle, he will deign to use it under these dire circumstances. He does feel that I am putting him out, however.

Tomorrow is a must-do-errands day for me, and I have a doctor’s appointment as well. Since Aaron doesn’t have school on Fridays, he works all day instead, so my first chore is to leave the house at 7 am and take him to work in Oak Ridge, some 35 miles away. Too far for me to return home (think gas prices!) and do my errands locally, I will spend the day in Oak Ridge and Knoxville. Maybe I’ll take in some thrift-store shopping and wander through Stuff Mart. Plus side, see my other son before he goes to work and have lunch with a girlfriend, get all the errands taken care of in one day. Downside, all day till Aaron’s quitting time at 6:30 p.m. away from home, and I’ll probably have to sleep most of the day Saturday to recover. (Of course, a lot of people would finding sleeping half the day on Saturday a blessing.)

Trucking News

My husband was home last weekend for 3 full days after having been out for 20 days. It was good to have him home, although he spent most of his “down time” trying to repair our son’s car, which still does not run and now sits. At least dh is heading south this run, to Central Florida, away from the icestorms and snow. He passed through Savannah yesterday and was able to have dinner with our daughter and son-in-law. We haven’t seen them in almost a year, so he was glad to be able to visit, brief as it was. Today he is heading back the way he came, and it’s getting colder by the mile.

Wordless Wednesday - Pepper Wants Out

2009-02-18T08:46:00.004-05:00

My Town Monday: Penmanship Lessons - $3

2009-02-16T11:39:00.010-05:00

In a digital age where flash-speed communication happens in the click of a mouse, the grace of a handwritten note or letter is almost just as rapidly vanishing. Emails, word processing programs, and texting have taken over.

Even in the public school system today, with increasingly demanding standards to be met and more emphasis being placed upon math and science, the importance of handwriting instruction is seen as negligible at best. While most students do have some form of handwriting instruction by third or fourth grade, still there has been a shift from the beauty of handwriting to writing efficiently. No more elegant lettering, precise loops and curves, and slant, but more of a modified printing called Italic. It is a style of handwriting that uses small “tails” to semi-connect printed letters. Yet most students, if given the choice, still prefer the computer keyboard to the pen.

So good penmanship, so important and defining of character when I, and perhaps anyone over the age of 40, was a child, is an all but lost discipline. And no longer vital to our successes in today’s business world, it is generally not featured in the course catalogs of institutions of higher learning or even adult education facilities.

Not so for the students of my town, Kingston, Tennessee, in 1857, who, according to an original document possessed by a Ms. Sandy Pierce, signed up for a commercial penmanship class. Ms. Pierce stated that the flourishes of the handlettering make the document at times difficult to read, whether the result of poor penmanship, hence the need for the course, or the extreme strokes of the Spencer method of handwriting.

(The Spencer Method was introduced in 1848 by Platt Rogers Spencer and became the basis of how all cursive handwriting was taught in the United States for the next 50 or more years—see the Coca Cola logo for an example. In 1894 Austin Palmer developed a less ornate but equally rigid method of cursive writing that became the norm for all public school students by 1925.)

But, I digress; back to our Penmanship Class. The registration document dated March 17, 1857, showed our mid-19th century students paid $3 each for 10 two-hour lessons in commercial penmanship. 21 students were enrolled in the class taught by a “J. C. (could be H.) Walker.” (It appears whoever prepared the document for signing needed the course as well.) That seems quite a large class to me. I could understand if it were “Windows for Beginners” or “Texting 101.” It’s all relative, I suppose.

I still prefer the cursive writing I learned as a child, even though I, too, have succumbed to the speed and efficiency of the keyboard for most of my own personal communications, save an envelope or a sticky note or two. I have actually received many complements over the years on how “pretty” my handwriting was (it has somewhat degenerated, I admit). I make it a point to send handwritten “thank you” notes and birthday cards, at least, so they are more personal than an email. Once in awhile, I will send a handwritten letter as well (it is a lost art I want to cultivate). And I have saved most every handwritten letter or card of any type I have ever received, and I cherish them. (When was the last time you received an email you cherished?)

. . . Then Comes Spring

2009-02-13T19:11:00.017-05:00

I am urging spring along. It doesn’t really need my help, for already it is prying at winter’s shell to see if it might poke through. Only last Friday the warmth of day and cool of morning breeze lifted my spirits in anticipation of what is to come. Spring is hope, as God intended. I’ll not mourn winter’s death as I go about seeking buds and blooms.

And here I have found them in my own backyard, expected yet surprising. Reddish-purple buds beginning to split at their seams, like half-popped kernels of corn. Soon the tree will burst forth with flower, then leaf. First the Bradford Pears, then the Dogwoods, will come alive in a brilliant display of white and pink blooms. Every other bud and blossom and leaf and flower will follow.

The neutral landscape weathered and brown, like an old photograph, seeks to shed its weighty blanket for light, and life, and breath, fresh and new like spring.

So it is as the wild onions erupt from the hardened ground, green and wispy and pungent.

No, spring can't hide for long. Her secrets have already been gossiped across the land, and blossom by blossom, blade by stalk by leaf, she will appear in all her glorious splendor.

"The year's at the spring
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hillside's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in His heaven -
All's right with the world!"

Robert Browning

A Bargain at Any Price?

2009-02-13T00:00:00.006-05:00

I saw this article on Yahoo! Sports today: Baseball granny cashes in big with sale of rare 1869 card. It first interested me because it was a Cincinnati Red Stockings baseball card (before they were just the Reds), and I’m from Cincinnati. Then, I noticed the card sold for over $75,000 on Ebay! Now why can’t I find something like that?

My husband is always watching Antiques Road Show, and he repeatedly says the same thing: “Why can’t we find that rare relic in our attic?” (We don’t have an attic.) Sometime ago we lived in a house that was nearly 100 years old and found the walls stuffed with newspapers from the early-1930’s, used for insulation I assume. They weren’t worth anything.

Some folks know I have a small Ebay store called The Whatsoever Shoppe (banner to the right). While I’d like to say I’m a Power Seller, I’m not; but it is fun, and I have made a buck or two. Once I bought a used autoclave for $100 from a permanent makeup artist friend of mine and sold it for $650. Not a bad profit.

Bought several Fitz and Floyd Glass Fishes at an auction for $3 each; sold them for between $15 and $45 each. And more recently, I sold two 1960’s Jim Beam “I Dream of Jeannie” bottles that I inherited from my aunt and uncle’s estate and they brought $26 and $36, respectively, on Ebay. More often than not, though, like I said, I make a buck or two.

I’m so glad spring is on the way and yard sale season is fast approaching; in fact, the parking lots and roadside stands are already filling up. Hunting through thrift stores and the like is fun, but there’s something exhilarating about the outdoor scavenger hunt called a yard sale. Yard-saleing is big business in East Tennessee, and I expect it to be an even busier season this year because of the economy. Buyers and sellers alike are cutting corners and employing thrifty measures to both make ends meet and to conserve less and less spendable cash. I, for one, like a bargain, and sometimes even bring home something for myself.

I Think I Saw that Movie

2009-02-12T00:01:00.000-05:00

Sometimes ideas just pop into my head in the middle of the night, so I get up and write them down, mainly because I have trouble sleeping anyway, but also because maybe I’ll think of something to say. Tonight it was movies—really old movies, the ones I saw as a teenager or very young woman a l-o-n-g time ago. As they flash before me, I realize I didn’t really understand most of them then, not the plot, the statement they were trying to make, or the storyline, really. It makes me want to watch them again, really watch them, with a lifetime of experience and perhaps understanding, and a little wisdom thrown in, behind me.

No reviews here, as that would require some extensive research since I don’t much recall the movies and this was meant to be a quick post. But I do remember certain scenes and images even if I can’t explain the plot.

Dr. Zhivago – Omar Sharif and Julie Christie starred in the original 1965 version of this epic saga of the life of Dr. Yuri Zhavago between 1912 and 1925, the years that span the WWI, the Bolshevik Revolution, and the Russian Civil War. It also starred Rod Steiger and Alec Guiness. I was only 12 when I saw this movie, a very adult movie for such a young girl, especially one who wasn’t even allowed to cross the street by herself at the time. I had never even heard of the Bolshevik Revolution then; no wonder I didn’t understand the movie. I remember the magnificent scenery in the Russian winters, the “ice palace” and the frozen lake, and the gorgeous costumes, especially the furs. And who can forget the the enthralling music, especially “Lara’s Theme.”

The Godfather – Francis Ford Coppola’s 1972 saga about the aging patriarch of an organized crime dynasty who transfers control of his clandestine empire to his reluctant son. With major stars like Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, James Caan, Robert Duvall, Diane Keaton, and Abe Vigoda, all I really remember is the horse head in the bed.

A Clockwork Orange – Directed by Stanley Kubrick in 1971 and technically a sci-fi movie since was set in futuristic London, it was billed as the movie “about the adventures of a young man whose primary interests were rape, ultra-violence, and Beethoven.” Starring Malcolm McDowell and Patric Magee, I fortunately don’t remember many violent scenes (I probably closed my eyes). Speaking of eyes, what I recall most vividly is the reconditioning of the young criminal by some new experimental aversion therapy that involved forcing his eyes kept open (with the use of plenty of eye drops) by some mechanical device as he was subjected to countless hours of violent images played before him. I never did understand the significance of the title; I might have been in a slightly-altered state of mind at the time myself.

Chinatown – Starring Jack Nicholson and Faye Dunaway, it was Roman Palanski’s 1974 film about a private detective who stumbles on to a scheme of murder that has something to do with water and leads to a dramatic showdown in Chinatown. I know I saw this movie, but I don’t remember anything about it, except wondering how they all ended up in Chinatown.

The French Connection – Gene Hackman played Jimmy “Popeye” Doyle in this 1971 film about a couple of New York cops in the Narcotics Bureau who stumbled onto a heroin smuggling job coming in from France (hence, the French connection). I remember the car chase(s).

I still don’t really like spy and espionage-type dramas…way over my head, or attention span.

Then there were the “in” movies of the 70’s, the ones that sort of defined the decade.

Annie Hall – Woody Allen’s 1977 film about a neurotic New York comedian Alvy Singer (played by his truly) and his love affair with the ditsy and equally neurotic Annie Hall played by Diane Keaton. My thoughts at the time: What could anyone possibly see in Woody Allen?

Saturday Night Fever – John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, 1977, scored by the Bee Gees. Already loved him; just wanted to see him dance. I have actually seen bits and pieces of this movie since the 70’s, so I recall more. Stuck in Brooklyn, the only way Tony Manero (John Travolta) feels that he can make something of his life is to become king of the disco floor.

Although I can still picture Travolta’s gyrations on the disco floor, I don’t remember the ending, but I do remember thinking how much my brother Jon (right) resembles him (still does).

The Goodbye Girl – By Neil Simon, filmed in 1978, starring Richard Dreyfuss and Marsha Mason. A romantic comedy about an unemployed dancer and her 10-year-old daughter who are reluctantly forced to live with a struggling off-Broadway actor. In a sort of practical co-habitation, they end up falling for each other, which two-time-loser-in-love hesitant Paula (Marsha Mason) resists (hence the title, goodbye girl). I’m not sure there were any memorable moments in this one.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show – A real cult flick made in 1977 starring Tim Curry as Dr. Frank-N-Furter, a scientist, and Susan Serandon, the heroine. Meatloaf was also in the movie. A recently engaged couple have a car breakdown in a isolated area and go to this bizarre mansion-castle for help. Transylvanians dance to the 'Time Warp', Dr. Frank-N-Furter, a mad scientist from the planet Transexual, builds his own man, a beautiful Adonis he names Rocky, and a whole host of participation for the audience to enjoy.

I was living in Miami, Florida, at the time, and I saw this with a group of straight and gay friends from work. While many fans went to the movie in full drag, my friends did not, at least not the time I was with them. (It was a movie to be seen over and over and over again, although I would not recommend it for a young person.) It was the audience interaction that was most fun as we took our bag of props with us to the theatre. For instance, you hear a loud “bang” and the couple’s tire blows, and at the same instant, everyone in the audience pops a balloon. The couple run through the rain to the castle while the audience squirts squirt guns at each other. Fans sang along with the songs and held lit cigarette lighters to light up the darkness. Ridiculous, eccentric, it was fun. The last lines of the movie as the castle and the aliens within it fly away:

And crawling on the planet's face

Some insects called the Ruman Race.

Lost in time,

and lost in space......

and in meaning...

Then there are the classics, movies I’ll love forever, and that I have actually seen many times but still want to see again.

Fiddler on the Roof – Made in 1971, with Topol as Tevye and Norma Crane as Golde, his wife. What’s it all about? One word: Tradition. Tevye sums it up in the first lines: “A fiddler on the roof. Sounds crazy, no? But here, in our little village of Anatevka, you might say every one of us is a fiddler on the roof trying to scratch out a pleasant, simple tune without breaking his neck. It isn't easy. You may ask 'Why do we stay up there if it's so dangerous?' Well, we stay because Anatevka is our home. And how do we keep our balance? That I can tell you in one word: tradition!”

The music is glorious, and even though this movie took place around the same time as Dr. Zhivago, in pre-revolutionary Russia, I loved the story line of a poor Jewish peasant who had to contend with marrying off his three daughters in non-traditional ways while antisemitic sentiment threatened his home. It is a beautiful story of romance with a glorious musical score and memorable characters.

The Sound of Music - Made in 1965 with Julie Andrews and Christopher Plummer, perhaps the best musical (or movie) of all-time. This is one you can hardly forget as it airs almost yearly now, like The Wizard of Oz, usually at Christmastime. A biographical saga about a nun turned governess who ultimately falls in love and marries a Captain with 7 children, it has everything: music, the stunning scenery, a basis in fact and history set in WWII Austria, romance, drama, comedy, adventure and suspense (a little). Loved it all, and will watch it again and again and again.

Cabaret – Bob Fosse’s 1972 musical starring Liza Minelli and Michael York. At the center of the movie is the Kit Kat Club. The club is the hub of Berlin’s lowlife during the rise of Nazism—an essentially immoral place where anything is for sale. While I do not remember anything more specific about the movie, I cannot forget Liza Minelli’s appearance in garter belts and bowler hat.

So many others, too many to mention, and you can see now why I just have to see them again—surely they all have much more relevancy than my memory alots them. Then, too, with the price of everything through the roof and the economy in such a slump, to put it mildly, good old-fashioned movie nights are an attractive alternative to nights on the town (not that I’ve had one in 20 years). Time to trade some DVD’s, pop some popcorn, and settle in for a family oldies-but-goodies movie fest.

Wordless Wednesday - The Queen City

2009-02-11T00:01:00.001-05:00

Valentine's Facelift

2009-02-10T11:08:00.000-05:00

I have a new blog layout for Valentine's Day.

Big Blue Truck

2009-02-09T12:04:00.008-05:00

My husband has been an over-the-road trucker for a long time. He’s away more than he’s home, and we’re glad to have his infrequent off-times. We place our faith in God for his safety and also trust his exceptional driving skills.

If anyone was born to be a truck driver, it is he. He has driven hundreds of thousands of miles over the years, to every state in the continental United States except California (I don’t know why). Yet, he never seems to grow weary of the drive—always alert and with rapidfire reflexes, I have seen him avert accidents that less conscientious drivers surely would have suffered.

Sadly, though, there have been times when he has encountered tragedies on the road. It happened just yesterday afternoon as he was headed northbound on Rt. 27 outside of Blakeley, Georgia, on his way to today’s Cincinnati delivery. The driver of the big blue rig carrying a load of hot dogs apparently fell asleep at the wheel. Either he hit the pickup truck who hit the backhoe, or the other way around, but the big blue rig ultimately hit a tree and turned over on its side.

My husband came upon the wreckage just as the dust was settling, with cars and trucks and cops and ambulances in a huge bottleneck in the middle of the freeway. Concerned with the two vehicles that were hit, everyone was crowded around the pickup and the backhoe, and the driver of the big blue rig was still inside. My husband quickly grabbed the tire thumper from his own truck and broke the driver’s window to help him out, without pulling, only supporting him, to prevent any possible further injuries. Fortunately, the driver appeared to be okay, and despite his protests, officials insisted he be transported to the nearest hospital. The pickup driver was also uninjured, but it was unclear at the time if the backhoe driver would survive. With traffic tied up for 2 ½ hours, my husband could do nothing but wait and silently pray for the welfare of the other drivers.

One hears so much about truckers failing to use safe driving procedures and causing accidents due to negligence, fatigue, or worse. But as a trucker’s wife who has heard years of first-hand experiences from her husband, I am certain that trucker-caused accidents, like this one, are not the norm. While twelve percent of all traffic fatalities in the United States are caused because of truck accidents, the truck driver is not usually the one who is mainly at fault. On the contrary, more than 75% of all truck accidents are caused because of an error of the driver of other smaller vehicles involved in the crash. In fact, take a look at truck accident statistics here.

Still, with 4669 fatal big truck accidents in 2003 (out of 58,512 fatal auto crashes), 25% of the 12% is still way too high. I pray daily that my husband will never be one of those statistics. In this case, foregoing safety precautions such as downtime and sleep, nourishment, speed limits, and preparedness in an effort to “go the extra mile” just isn’t worth the risk.

My Town Monday - Please Don't Drink the Water!

2009-02-08T00:01:00.007-05:00

On a recent MTM post, I wrote about the Kingston coal ash spill that occurred in December, 2008. Now over six weeks later, still entrenched in massive clean-up activities, residents and Federal authorities alike remain concerned about the water (and air) quality here.

Late last week, the EPA released reports showing elevated levels of arsenic in the Emory River on the day after the massive spill near Kingston, Tennessee. Its report also showed initial total concentrations of lead five times above normal and slightly elevated total levels of beryllium, cadmium, and chromium. As a result of this initial data, the EPA has found the TVA (Tennessee Valley Authority) in violation of the Clean Water Act.

Stanley Meiburg, the regional administrator of the EPA, wrote in a letter released on February 6th that it considers Kingston’s steam plant spill to be “an unpermitted discharge of a pollutant in contravention of the (federal) Clean Water Act." The TVA was ordered to turn in a correction plan ASAP, along with all relative data collected. As a Kingston resident, I suppose it’s comforting to know that more recent and continuing test results show air and water quality samples from the affected areas contain no contamination above regulatory levels.

Prior to publication of the EPA’s findings last week, Kingston Mayor Troy Beets spoke at a public briefing in early-January to discuss the state of the public drinking water in Kingston. In an effort to assuage the fears of Kingston residents, Mayor Beets, who has been a local resident for 40 years, assured the public that he and his family, including his grandchildren and great-grandchild all safely drink the water, and that he is absolutely confident they are not being harmed in any way. Not only have they drunk the tap water and taken baths at his Kingston home, but they use the Kingston tap water there to mix the formula for his 3 ½ month old grandchild.

And just to put his money where his mouth was, so to speak, Mayor Beets then held up a plastic cup filled that morning with tap water from his Kingston home. Finishing his drink in a matter of seconds, Mayor Beets then assured the public he was fine and no harm would come to him. He repeated he had complete confidence in the quality of Kingston water (despite the fact that the county’s [Roane County] school system has opted to begin using bottled water in its food preparation). However, this was before the EPA findings were released, so I wonder if that confidence remains today.

My family lives in the country, not so near the water in Kingston, and we have a private well that isn’t tied to the city water. So while residents with private wells or springs were first told to stop drinking the water, we were glad to learn that the most recent residential well sampling results also appeared to meet safe drinking water limits. Nevertheless, we are glad to have a whole house water filtration system, coupled with the bottled water we all regularly drink, so that leaves only bathing and washing the dog in the remotely contaminated water.

Meanwhile, the multi-million dollar clean-up continues and is not expected to be completed until the summer. How long, then, will it take to restore the natural beauty of the Emory River and its surroundings, as well as the aquatic and avian life – perhaps years.

All On a Morning's Drive

2009-02-07T16:43:00.011-05:00

For the past several months, we have been a one car family. Aaron has been using the van since he fried his engine due to an oil leak of which he was unaware until it was too late.

So, with his going to school all day (Roane State Community College) and working all night, I have been giving the van over to him until he is able to repair his car.

As a result, I have been all but stranded in the house, and with the cold weather and snow, such as it was, it was starting to become quite confining. Finally, though, I had a rare morning of freedom as Aaron doesn’t have school on Friday’s, so I thought I would take the van and run some errands, as well as stop and see my grandson. It was a beautiful day with warming temperatures and melting snow, and I was looking forward to the drive. Imagine my dismay when I found the van on empty, actually less than empty, when the little needle hovers between stationary and the 0 mark.

Given that the nearest gas station is 16 miles from my house, through winding, hilly roads with nothing on either side but farms and fields, I was praying all the way. I was sure if God could keep a jug of oil from running dry, he could keep my gas tank from running dry (1 Kings 17:8-16 NIV). I did make it all the way there, and relieved to have a full tank of gas, embarked on the second leg of my freedom flight. Then, midway to my son’s house, without a care in the world, I noticed the tell-tale tic, tic, ticking of an engine without oil. Oh my, we certainly didn’t need a second car with a blown head gasket!

Son No. 1 had a spare quart of oil and fixed me up, but it was bone dry. Perhaps if I bought another quart, son No. 2 could at least put it in. All in all , it was a wonderful restorative day, despite my hungry car parts. My grandson is growing by leaps and bounds, already 9 months old, and the fresh air and cool breeze gave me the hint of spring I needed to keep going. I’ll be hunting for buds now; spring tends to come early in East Tennessee.

Returning home, I filled Aaron in on the events of the day, unremarkable in his estimation. He always makes it to the gas station on empty, and he doesn’t think the ticking of the oil pipes, so to speak, mean anything at all. “Just because 19-year-olds are indestructible,” I remarked, “doesn’t mean cars are (your car, case in point).”

Well, new engine now in hand, hopefully Aaron will have his car fixed by next Saturday when dear husband returns home from the road for this 3-day off-time. My van, and my time, will be my own again; and while I’ll likely mostly just hang around the house, as I’m a real homebody, it’s nice to know I can get up and go when the walls start closing in.

My Town Monday - A Little Snow

2009-02-02T20:10:00.005-05:00

Given that Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow today, prophesying 6 more weeks of winter (or winter weather), I suppose it’s appropriate that Kingston would experience it’s heaviest snowfall of the season (I had a whole 2”). The average high temperature in Kingston for February 2nd is 48 degrees; our high today was 45 degrees at 7 a.m. and it steadily dropped throughout the day to the current temperature as I write this of about 34 degrees. A few more snowshowers through early-Wednesday, and we’ll be back up in the 40’s and 50’s by the end of the week, even hitting 60 on Friday.

Winter weather is very subjective, I suppose. Here in beautiful East Tennessee (except in the Smokies), snow is becoming more and more rare. So while today was a wonderful treat to us locals who considered it a winter storm, I’m sure in comparison it is laughable to my northern neighbors in Kentucky, such as my cousin Cathy and blogging friend Chuck, where ice and snow abound and power was out for days at a time, if not longer. Nevertheless, I had my own little bought with winter weather and power outage today, at least for a few hours.

See the slanted tree in this photo?

This is the end of my drive, and the tree just happened to fall and get caught on the power lines. The power flickered several times, possibly due to the tree bouncing on the lines, then went out. Hence, no computer and no timely My Town Monday post, yet fodder for my blog. The power went on and off several times throughout the afternoon until it was finally fully restored by around 4 p.m. Why the enormous bucket trucks had to drive all the way up my drive and make a 180” turn in my front yard—twice—I still don’t know.

The snow is already melting even though the temperature is again dropping, but the light flurries expected in the morning will hopefully cover the tracks made by the bucket truck so that I can enjoy the lovely white vista for a little while longer. I might even go outside and look for the birds I heard chirping so joyfully outside my office window this morning.

This is enough winter for me. I’m afraid I couldn’t be nearly as gracious about it as some others whose stories I’ve read recently. I was born and raised in Cincinnati, and lived for over 25 years in South Florida, both extremes weather-wise. East Tennesee is a great median with moderate weather nearly most of the year. And I do appreciate the occasional snow day, as long as it doesn’t last too long, especially when I know spring is right around the corner. Even if it is another 6 weeks, with temperatures in the 50’s and 60’s, I can definitely tolerate that!

Wordless Wednesday - My Mom, Circa 1949

2009-01-28T00:01:00.026-05:00

Book Meme - You've Been Tagged

2009-01-27T00:01:00.003-05:00

Okay, so I'm borrowing a fun idea from Always Wanted Four's blog, and if you're reading this, you've been tagged for a Book Meme. Since the rules are to grab the nearest book, my post is from New York Times Bestselling Author Karen Kingsbury's newest book, Every Now & Then, the third of her 9/11 Series.

Here is the meme:

The rules:

Grab the nearest book.
Open to page 56.
Find the fifth sentence.
Post the text of the next 2 to 5 sentences, along with these rules.
Don't dig for your favorite book, the cool book, or the intellectual book. Pick the CLOSEST!
Tag five other people to do the same!

My lines:

"My mom and I have a lot to work through, Holly. Try to understand."

She tried, and at first she figured he was in shock, the way most of the country and particularly the people of New York City were. But as the horrible days turned into weeks, his distance from her and the indifference toward her remained.

Whereas before the attacks Alex had spent most of his free time with her, afterwards he wanted only to come home and study, or run at the track.

So, I cheated on Rule No. 6. I'm not tagging anyone specifically. It's an open tag; whoever reads, please check in and show us what you're reading.

In the meantime, since I'm only on Page 24, I'll have to backtrack.

My Town Monday - Preserving History

2009-01-26T10:41:00.012-05:00

Kingston is home to one of the only 7 remaining antebellum courthouses in the State of Tennessee today. Affectionately referred to as the “Old Roane County Courthouse,” it is listed in the National Register of Historic Places and remained an active courthouse until it was replaced by the newer and current county courthouse in 1974. It is the oldest building in Kingston and comprises a downtown city square.

Built between 1854-1855 using native lumber and bricks made on-site by slaves, the original structure was raised using no nails. It served as a hospital during the Civil War and was used by both Union and Confederate soldiers. Still today, one can see graffiti written on its walls by the soldiers hospitalized there. For decades it was the center for dances, picnics, and courtroom trials, as well as hangings on the courthouse lawn. (There is a rumor that gallows were built inside the courthouse for indoor hangings. The gallows are there, but for decoration only; there were no indoor hangings.)

The courthouse has had many renovations over the course of the past 150 years, from having had a new roof put on in 1882 to the two-story rear addition that was constructed between 1936-1937. Now owned by the Roane County Heritage Commission, it has been undergoing a total reformation for some time. It houses the Roane County Museum of History and Art, which has preserved much of the history of Roane County’s early settlers, and the Roane County Archives Library.

Two of the rooms on the first floor of the courthouse house museum exhibits dating back to prehistoric American Indian times. Stone bowl fragments, grooved axes, and photographs of excavations reveal what Indian life may have been like in our area thousands of years ago. There are two large display cases devoted to Civil War artifacts, when Kingston was occupied by both Northern and Southern armies. Other displays exhibit mementos and historical photos documenting the founding and history of Kingston and other Roane County cities. The largely German heritage of Roane County is illustrated through black-and-white photos depicting everyday life of its 19th century citizens. Visitors can continue their walk through history from the turn of the century (20th) through WWII.

The Archives Library contains a large collection of original court papers such as marriage certificates and land records dating back to 1802, so rare in the South where so many original documents were lost during the Civil War and other causes, such as fire. (Amazingly, the old Roane County Courthouse has never experienced a fire.) As a result, the Archives have become very well known and draw genealogists and researchers from all over the world.

Outside in front of the courthouse stands the commemorative plaque denoting Kingston’s somewhat jaded distinction of having been the State capitol for one day on September 21, 1807. In a bit of political hokey-pokey, the City of Kingston entered into an agreement with the Cherokee Nation to become the capitol of Tennessee in exchange for its ceding Indian land that is now known as Roane County. Kingston honored the agreement on that date, but the Assembly resumed meeting in Knoxville the following day, where the capitol remained until 1926 when it was moved to Nashville.

Only the first floor of the old courthouse is used today due to current fire codes. The new renovations will include sprinkler and fire alarm systems so the upper two floors can be used as well. It will include a transportation museum showcasing Kingston’s importance as a crossroads of highway and river transportation during the westward expansion as people passed through its gates headed to Memphis and Arkansas. The museum will display historic photographs that document steamboat, early rail, and automobile travel in Tennessee. It is even expected to include the whistle from the Joe Wheeler, the last steamboat to make the regular run from Kingston to Chattanooga. The building will also have a visitor’s center and an elevator.

While the renovations and modern amenities to the courthouse will make it safer and more accessible, they will for me diminish some of its charm. There’s a wonder about it now as one walks the small rooms and narrow hallways, stepping into the past and experiencing the history of my home town first hand. However, merging old with new is the price for preserving history. The Old Roane County Courthouse and the history it continues to protect have withstood the tests of time, war, natural disasters, and the threat to turn it all into a parking lot.

Buying & Selling

2009-01-23T20:05:00.010-05:00

I have a small business buying and selling things, mostly over there on the 'bay. It's more of a hobby and a pasttime (same thing?) than a business, as I seldom net any cash when the books are reconciled. But it's fun, it's an outlet for me, and since I have a love of flea marketing and thrift shopping, it provides for storage in someone else's house rather than mine. I have enough clutter as it is.

Lately, I've used Craig's List locally in the Knoxville area. It's a classified advertising site which allows one to post all manner of ads for items being bought, sold, traded, or wanted, as well as community and local activities, resumes and job postings, business services, freebies, and personals (no porn or illegal activity, please). Best of all, it's totally free; no listing fees, final value fees, payment processor fees, picture fees, etc., etc., etc.

I have reasonably good luck. Once I sold a vintage 6' tall Chianti bottle (empty) to someone in California. (He said he googled Craigslist: chianti bottle and found my ad.) The man was opening an Italian restaurant and not only paid me my asking price for the bottle, but also $125 to have it professionally packed and shipped from Knoxville to Southern California! Last night I listed a 4' tall oak finished lingerie chest my husband found on the side of the road. It sold for $50 within 1 hour of listing it. I've also purchased a few things at great prices and even traded my living set for someone else's because I needed to downsize.

I'm also noticing that there are lots of folks disguised as buyers who really have other alternatives in mind. For instance, with many of the ads I post, I frequently get multiple responses that say something like, "Saw your ad. If it's still available a week from Friday, please contact me." Invariably, such ads include a signature line that lists several url's for various money-making and network marketing websites. Could it be they want me to click on one of the links, just in case I'm interested? Is this called spam? I usually simply delete them.

Last night, I received a phone call from a fellow who expressed interest in a capaccino machine I am selling. We ended up talking for an hour. Seems he was a long-distance truck driver (like my dh) who's just come off the road only to find his wife of 12 years was apparently "doing better without him." Now 38 and going through an impending divorce, I think he was more interested in having someone to talk to than the coffee pot. I was glad to oblige as I, too, was home alone and it was good to hear another human voice. Whether he was looking to Craig's List as a social networking option or not, I don't know. He could have found that in the personal ads on the same site, but maybe he didn't want to appear so obvious. Haven't heard from him since and he didn't buy the capaccino machine, so in either case, I guess he wasn't interested.

So what's my take on all this? While my ads remain pretty straightforward, I've come to believe there's a lot more buying and selling going on at Craig's List than meets the eye.

Wordless Wednesday - We Have Overcome

2009-01-21T00:01:00.002-05:00

Eating Snow

2009-01-20T07:26:00.004-05:00

Tar, a black Lab mix, was the cherished child of my late Aunt and Uncle, Loraine and Otis, who adopted him some 12 years ago as a puppy. I inherited Tar late in the summer of 2007, shortly before my Aunt's death. He hasn't seen snow since he left Cincinnati (we don't get much snow here in East Tennessee), so I imagine the light blanket of white stuff this morning was, indeed, a special tasty treat to him. Watch as he enjoys a frosty nip or two!

My Town Monday - The Watts Bar Belle

2009-01-19T18:19:00.012-05:00

The official logo for the city of Kingston, Tennessee, features the beautiful Watts Bar Belle, a true split wheel paddlewheel riverboat built in the year 2000 and operated by Skipperliner Industries of LaCrosse, Wisconsin. Formerly known as the La Crosse Queen V, it was acquired by the Watts Bar Riverboat Company in Kingston in 2005 and renamed the Watts Bar Belle. The Belle has since offered residents and toursits alike everything from historial and scenic tours to luxury dinner cruises and private charters up and down the waterways of the Clinch and Emory Rivers, which join together, and the Tennessee River, all part of Watts Bar Lake and forming two sides of the City of Kingston.

The Belle, docked in Kingston, lent an air of old-fashioned charm and true Southern style to the city that was once a major steam boat hub on the Tennessee River. It has been a fixture in Kingston for several years and, although a small family-owned business, represented a lot of business to a town of around 5000 people. How sad, then, to think of that big paddle wheel churning up the river to another location in search of cleaner waters. Why?

Although business was already slow, the pending move is primarily due to the toxic coal ash spill from the Kingston fossil plant in late-December, 2008, the result of more than one billion gallons of toxic materials bursting forth from a failed holding pond on its property. It is estimated that 400 acres of the beautiful Tennessee valleys and rivers were flooded with up to 6 feet of ash sludge, the byproduct of burning coal. Power lines were toppled, roads covered, gas lines ruptured, homes knocked off their foundations, and our beautiful waterways, rivers, and air quality all contaminated; fortunately, there have been no human casualties.

However, the damage to Watts Bar Lake and surrounding waters brought riverboat business to a dead standstill. Unable to operate since the December 22nd spill, the riverboat has been tied to the dock. Water from the Lake is used to cool its engines and a generator, and it cannot operate safely amidst the sludge. The Belle lost much revenue from two cancelled New Year’s Eve cruises and its sightseeing and dinner cruises are continuing to lose money because of the contaminated area. All around, its bad for business.

While massive cleanup efforts are underway by the TVA (Tennessee Valley Authority) and other agencies, The Watts Barr Riverboat Company cannot afford the operating losses for what may be several months or more. In order to keep operating, the company has decided to relocate the Belle to the still-clean Fort Loudon Marina, at least temporarily. The owners have notified Kingston City Officials that the Belle “still belongs to Kingston.”

Let’s hope so. Losing the Belle would adversely affect Kingston in far many more ways than just having to change the city’s logo.

The Rhinestone Pony

2009-01-11T12:40:00.009-05:00

In my treasure hunting this week, I found this beautiful vintage rhinestone pin in the shape of a pony. Made in a silvertone (radium plated ?) material with a brushed finish, my little pony has bright, shiny rhinestones outlining his body, ears, and tail, and a red rhinestone eye.

I noticed the unusual mark on the back which I did not recognize—a capital "H" inside an elaborate heart, and then the copyright mark. So, I did some research.

I found this is a Hedy pin manufactured in the mid-to-late 60’s by the Hedison Manufacturing Company of Rhode Island. Actually, this is only one of three of their marks, the latest mark used by Hedison until the company went out of business in 1985. Their first trademark was the word “Hedy” written in cursive, used until the late-1950’s. Later, the mark was changed to a capital “H” within a heart, and the “edy” portion of the name outside the heart. Finally, in 1964, the logo was change to just the capital “H” within the heart, as seen on my pony. This dates the pin to somewhere between the mid-60’s to the mid-80’s, still a vintage collectible.

The Hedison Manufacturing company was founded in 1909 by Harry D. Hedison, Sr., an Armenian immigrant whose family name had originally been Heditsian (meaning "from the" or "son of the" ancient village in Armenia where his family finds its roots). As with many immigrants, the name was “Americanized” upon arrival in our fair land, and the family’s surname was changed to “Hedison.” Mr. Hedison’s sons, Harry, Jr. and H. David, took over the family business in 1954 when Hedison, Sr. passed away. They continued the family business for the next 30 years.

Not only did Hedison manufacture and plate their own costume, gold-filled, and precious jewelry during this time period, but they made jewelry for many other companies as well, and also operated as a jewelry importer/exporter. Often, only their boxes were marked with their logo, leaving the jewelry inside unmarked.

Hedy jewelry has become highly collectible over the years. You may even have a piece of your own but don’t know it because there is no mark.

If you have an authentic vintage Hedy piece, send me a photo and I’ll post it here. In the meantime, you can see my Hedy Rhinestone Horse Pin, and all my other unique auctions, here: The Whatsoever Shoppe!

Stringfield, Dottie. "Hedy & Hedison Jewelry." Illusion Jewels Presents: Researching Costume Jewelry. 2009. 11 Jan 2009. http://www.illusionjewels.com/hedisonjewelryarticle.html.

Rain, Rain, Go Away (And the Mud from My Front Yard, Too!)

2009-01-07T10:35:00.002-05:00

A Desire Stronger Than Apple Pie

2009-01-06T17:59:00.008-05:00

There's a Dutch apple pie in my refrigerator. I bought it for my husband who is a truck driver and doesn't get home much. He was home for New Year's and planned to eat the whole thing by the time he left, this morning. Guess what? He didn't.

I longed for the pie for awhile, but I find I have a desire stronger than Dutch Apple Pie. It is my desire to get healthy and to get to a functional weight (notice I said functional, not "normal," whatever that is). I said good things to myself. I said, "I don't want the pie; I don't need the pie; I won't be sabotaged and I won't sabotage myself." I put my praise and worship music on and I delighted in my Lord today, for He is my food and drink! And His grace is sufficient for me!

I will leave the pie to see if my son eats it tonight. If he does not, I will throw it out. What? Throw out pie? Throw out anything? Yes, I will throw it out. And I won't feel guilty.

In fact, I imagine I will feel pretty good about it all.

3:54 a.m.

2008-12-28T03:54:00.004-05:00

What do you do on your computer at 3:54 a.m. when you can't sleep? I play this mindless game called Bubble Golden Pack Deluxe. I am on Level 5 tonight, but it's my 9th game of the early morning hours already.

My sons think it is a very lame game. It doesn't at all compare to the World of Warcraft or whatever other rpg (roll-playing games) they are playing on-line. They say it is because I am old.

If I could just make it to Level 10, maybe I could move on to something more accomplished. Or at least move from the Easy mode to the Novice mode . . .

Fa Ra Ra Ra Ra, Ra Ra Ra Ra

2008-12-27T13:35:00.012-05:00

Christmas dinner is a time-honored tradition. Undoubtedly like most Americans, I can remember childhood Christmases where we gathered the whole family for a huge dinner, turkey, dressing, cranberries, potatoes, candied yams, green bean casserole, rolls, pumpkin pies, the whole nine yards. Sometimes at our home, but more often at my aunt and uncle's home in another county in my home state of Ohio. Both my aunt and uncle were wonderful cooks and there was always an abundance of mouth-watering holiday dishes.

As the years passed, and cousins and siblings went their separate ways with their own families, my family carried on as many of the traditions as we could. But our fesitivities were always much smaller as we were generally living far from our Ohio homeland and unable to do much traveling. Funny how we always seemed to make the same amount of food, though, despite the fact that we had far fewer people to feed.

Now that my children are grown, our holidays are much simpler but just as delightful. This year, my eldest son and daughter-in-law and my grandson visited us on Christmas Eve. My grandson Drake's first Christmas--he is 8 months old.

What a joy to watch him, entranced as he was by the ribbons and bows and lights...more on that later.

We had our big Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve since we would all be together, the three of them, my husband, myself, and my youngest son who still lives with us. Same traditional foods, but I did manage to force myself to make just a little less than I had done in Christmases past. We had a wonderful time.

Christmas Day was uneventful for the most part; our youngest spent the day with his girlfriend's family, which left dh and I to fend for ourselves. With no big dinner to prepare for the first time -- ever -- we decided to go out to dinner with our dear friend Inez. I don't know about other parts of the country, but here in East Tennessee, NOTHING is open on Christmas Day. We had a choice between the local Chinese Restaurant and a Waffle House. We chose the Chinese Restaurant.

Do you remember the movie "A Christmas Story," made in 1983 with Darren McGavin? It takes place in a 1940's fictitious town in Indiana (filmed primarily in Cleveland) and centers around little Ralphie Parker's desperate attempts to convince his parents, his teachers, and even Santa, that the Red Ryder BB Gun would be the best Christmas present in the whole wide world. It's a wonderful movie filled with many of the wholesome traditions we all remember (but mine are from the 50's and 60's, not the 40's), shopping for a Christmas tree, standing in line to see Santa, presents under the tree, staying up late to put them together, and getting up early to take them apart, and most of all, Christmas dinner!

Unfortunately, those folks didn't get to eat their Christmas turkey because a pack of neighborhood dogs somehow got to it first, and as Ralphie explains in the movie, "The heavenly aroma still hung in the house. But it was gone, all gone! No turkey! No turkey sandwiches! No turkey salad! No turkey gravy! Turkey Hash! Turkey a la King! Or gallons of turkey soup! Gone, ALL GONE!"

Our trip to the Chinese Restaurant, Peking Buffet, reminded me of the next scene where Mr. Parker packed the family off to their local China Palace for a Chinese Christmas Dinner. What is tradition, anyway, without family? The togetherness in the celebration was what made it special. As was ours. Our Chinese Buffet was excellent and we had a wonderful time of togetherness.

Oh, but no one sang "fa ra ra ra ra, ra ra ra ra." And, thank goodness, I didn't have to cope with a Major Award, and there is no leg lamp, broken or otherwise, in my front window.

From Our Home to Yours - Christmas Blessings

2008-12-25T11:06:00.009-05:00

Sharing with you the Glory,

the Wonder, the Miracle

of this Holy Season.

Have a Blessed Christmas and

a Truly Rich New Year!

. . .the Rathmell Family

Wordless Wednesday - O Holy Night

2008-12-23T22:43:00.005-05:00

Wordless Wednesday - A Minor Weather Casualty in Our Front Yard

2008-12-17T14:54:00.003-05:00

Black Friday

2008-11-28T08:46:00.011-05:00

Today is Friday, November 28, 2008 - Many call it "Black Friday," the day after Thanksgiving. This causes one to wonder about the origination of the term "Black Friday," and why this particular day of all other days would be referred to as "Black Friday." (Of course, many don't care, but I was curious, so I did just the teensiest bit of research, and here's what I found:)

The earliest reference to "Black Friday" seems to have been precipitated by a failed attempt in 1869 to corner the gold market by gold speculators Jay Gould and James Fist, among others including President Grant's brother-in-law, Abel Rathbone Corbin. When government gold was released for sale to break up this conspiracy to drive the gold market by a few individuals, the premium plummeted within minutes and immediately ruined thousands of investors, including Corbin. (Isn't it interesting that Gould and Fist still managed to profit sizeably -- the rich get richer.) The date was Friday, September 24th, 1869. Since then, several other days of financial panic or any financial confusion or upheaval have been referred to as "black;" i.e., black Friday, black Monday, black Tuesday, etc.

Black Tuesday was October 29, 1929, when the stock market fell precipitously, causing the start of the Great Depression. Monday, October 19, 1987, when the stock market experienced the largest one-day drop (22%) in market history, has been referred to as "Black Monday."

A more interesting but debatable story involves a retail salesman by the name of Laurence H. Black who worked in the men's department of a large department store called Osberger’s Department Store. For over 30 years, he served the public proudly and with class, always wearing a black suit and a red carnation. He became well-known and well-respected over the years, and was often called upon to train new sellers in other store locations. Always the first to arrive and the last to leave, Mr. Black became a veritable fixture at Osberger's. But on November 27, 1964, the day after Thanksgiving, Mr. Black dropped dead of a heart attack. Mr. Osberger closed the store the next day (one day only).

The story goes that the following year, the day after Thanksgiving, all the employees at all Osberger's stores wore black suits or dresses with a single red carnation in honor of Mr. Black. Many other retailers supposedly followed suit, and so the day after Thanksgiving became known as "Black Friday." (By the way, it seems about fifteen mergers and acquisitions later, Osberger's becomes Macy's -- you've heard of them!)

Of course, there are now many more contemporary references to "Black Friday." I have heard that it is the busiest day of all for plumbers nationwide who receive the most service calls out of the entire year. The term "Black Friday" is also said to have originated in Philadelphia in reference to the heavy traffic on that day (traffic is always heavy in Philadelphia!)

But most Americans today now understand "Black Friday" to be the Friday after Thanksgiving, today! The official start of the Christmas shopping season. The busiest retail shopping day of the year. The day when retailers hope to see an drastic upswing in their financial picture, putting them "in the black" to close-out the year. (Before the days of Peachtree and QuickBooks, accountants used red and black ink on paper to keep their books--being "in the black" meant showing a profit.) The day when retailers do all sorts of magic tricks to manipulate consumers into their stores: price slashes, door-buster sales, midnight madness, free gift cards, coupons for percentages off, two-for-ones, media coverage, ads, ads, and more ads, and lots of pretty pictures for precocious and wide-eyed boys and girls to look at and dream about and pester parents about until they buy, Buy, BUY. Why else would someone line up in front of Circuit City at 4:00 p.m. on Thursday for a sale that starts at 4:00 a.m. on Friday? Why would someone have a sale at 4:00 a.m. on Friday, or go to a sale at 4:00 a.m. on Friday?

In essence, "Black Friday" is a day for retailers to make money and the general population to go bankrupt (fiscally and intellectually). I like the part about "being the black," though; so for me, I think I'll stay home today and keep my own books in the black.

Happy black Friday, one and all.

Have a blessed day!

Christmas Past

2008-11-27T00:26:00.002-05:00

Make a Smilebox photobook

Wordless Wednesday

2008-11-26T08:40:00.000-05:00

Wordless Wednesday - Still Life

2008-11-19T02:42:00.002-05:00

Beauty is in the . . . Nose of the Beholder

2008-11-18T13:23:00.003-05:00

Jessica Brown, who writes for Fitness, American Baby, and happenmag.com, reports that new research has revealed women can become more alluring or even “smell skinny” just by changing their perfume. It seems women can wear either cinnamon or lavender and be perceived by men as “more attractive, intelligent, successful, and trustworthy.” Both scents rather remind me of Laura Ingalls Wilder.

More interestingly, overweight women were perceived by men to be up to 12 pounds lighter when they wore spicy-floral fragrances. I’m not sure how quantity figures in the equation, but I have to tell you I don’t think I could fool anyone even if I doused myself in the stuff. Anyway, I’m allergic to all forms of perfume and cologne. Maybe that’s why I’ve never been able to lose weight, ya think?

Nothing fooled the women in the study, though. Guys with guts still looked like guys with guts, regardless of what they smelled like. I wonder if one of the scents used to test the attractiveness of men in the study was money.

Have a blessed day!

The Stick

2008-11-15T12:01:00.010-05:00

For all of you who are wondering just what to get your modern child for Christmas, here's a novel idea: Get him or her the wonderful, inventive, ingenious toy that was most recently inducted into the Toy Hall of Fame at the Strong National Museum of play -- the stick! Yes, that's right, the old-fashioned stick!

If you were a child prior to the electronic age, then you already know the power of the stick. Long before high-tech video games, computers, ipod's, and the like, there were cardboard boxes (also a toy inducted into the Toy Hall of Fame in 2005) . . . and the stick. The only accessory needed was our imagination. The stick could be a slingshot or a pistol if it was shaped just right; almost any old stick could be used for a sword or a baton, or an imaginary horse to ride on, and a good, sturdy stick was perfect for a walk in the woods and made an excellent bat for baseball or playing stickball. Add pets, and you could spend hours playing fetch with the dog or dangling a rope of yarn before a cat. The possibilities were limitless. Even if it got left in the wash, no real harm was done, except perhaps a pull or two on better fabrics.

I have to admit, they weren't much fun to play with while just sitting on the sofa or lying on the bed (think "pet rock"). They required active play and beckoned one to come running, in sheer defiance to a mother's frantic cries of "don't run with that stick!" Marketed properly, it's the ideal toy for today's generation of inactive, unimaginative, overweight children (and adults).

That gives me an idea. It might make me famous, or at least rich . . . I'll get back to you.

Have a blessed day!

Drake Elliot @ Lunch with Family

2008-11-01T20:50:00.002-04:00

Thrifty Friday

2008-10-31T17:15:00.002-04:00

For those of you who are into living frugally, you can probably appreciate saving 80% on your day's shopping as much as I can.

It all started with a $30 gift card I got a month or so ago for free from Rite Aid, my local neighborhood pharmacy. All I had to do was transfer a prescription from my former pharmacy to the RiteAid Pharmacy to earn this free gift card. It cost me absolutely nothing to do; the meds were the same price at both pharmacies, so this was found money in my estimation. Free money is almost always a good thing!

(If you're interested, RiteAid is continuing this promotion nationally until November 30, 2008. You can transfer up to 3 prescriptions and earn 3 gift cards, a total of $120 in free money. Well worth the effort, if you have 3 prescriptions. You are also entered in a weekly drawing for a chance to win a year's worth of free gas. Keep your transferred prescription with RiteAid and your name will be re-entered each week. Check it out here.)

Back to today's shopping trip: I saved the gift card, and combined that with today's specials on items I needed to purchase anyway, which included several buy-one-get-one-free specials and in-store promotions, and my total cash outlay today was only $12.o6 out of nearly $60 worth of merchandise. Why pay 100% when you can pay 20%? That's pretty frugal living.

Everyone's looking for ways to save today. If you have a tried and true method for trimming your monthly expenditures, post a comment and I'll add it to this blog. We'll call it "Thrifty Measures" or "Frugal Living," or some such thing.

Enjoy, and have a blessed day!

When the Frost is On the Punkin

2008-10-29T12:26:00.006-04:00

Okay, no eloquent prose here. I love autumn. I think it's my favorite time of year. Some would see it as an ending and, indeed, it is. The winding down of long, leisurely summer days, vacations, heatwaves, activity; the preemptor to the coming winter when life lay frozen in its midst.

To me, it is comforting, like warm blankets on a cold night or a tender hug. I can almost feel it wrap its strong arms around me and hold me close. A dear friend coming again to visit for a season, reminding me of friends and family and special moments. Stirring in me a childlike glee as we marvel at the majesty unfolding before us. We walk in the crisp autumn air, kicking at piles of damp leaves ever growing at our feet, gazing wordlessly as the green of summer fades to the vibrancy of autumn hues: gold and red and orange, all shades in between. We dance as God would have us to do as we delight in His handiwork.

I woke this morning to greet my dear old friend, Keats' "season of mists and yellow fruitfulness," as our first frost lay lightly on the grass outside my window. The crisp air filled my nostrils, the leaves were at their glorious peak; my heart and spirit stirred. Autumn brings nature's last hurrah before the winter settles in. It calls us to gather as the squirrels their nuts, the farmers their harvest; we gather close family and friends, and memories, and we anticipate getting together again and all the things we love to do in the fall: sitting around a campfire roasting marshmallows and telling funny stories, lighting cozy, warm fireplaces and snuggling together, walking in the woods, kicking at the leaves, opening our homes to kin and guests, family all the same, giving thanks, and some would say football.

Fall is the most special season for entertaining human folk and, as James Whitcomb Riley surmised, angels.

"When the Frost is on the Punkin"

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,
And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it's then the time a feller is a-feelin' at his best,
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here—
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin' of the tangled leaves as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries—kindo' lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover overhead!—
O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the cellar-floor in red and yaller heaps;
And your cider-makin's over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With theyr mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and sausage too!... I don't know how to tell it—but ef such a thing could be
As the angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me—
I'd want to 'commodate 'em—all the whole-indurin' flock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

James Whitcomb Riley. 1853–1916
(Louis Untermeyer, ed.
(1885–1977). Modern American Poetry. 1919. )

Have a blessed day!

Wordless Wednesday - Evening Autumn Sky in East Tennessee

2008-10-29T01:07:00.009-04:00

Vintage Cartoons

2008-10-23T11:54:00.018-04:00

We found these vintage cartoon/poems among my late uncle's possessions as we sorted through the remnants of his and my aunt's estate. I've never seen anything like them before, and find them most interesting, if not entertaining.

I've tried to research their origin to no avail. I've seen similar cartoon pages, but nothing quite like these; and most of the ones I've run across have been printed in black-and-white, with or without poems, mostly without. They probably also pre-date these quite a bit, perhaps the early 20th century.

So, where did these cartoons come from? Some sort of book or magazine? When were they published? By whom, and who is the artist/poet?

Why did my uncle keep these (besides the fact that he apparently kept EVERYTHING, down to dime store receipts and operator manuals from appliances long since discarded)? Did he find them personally significant, some sort of commentary on his own life or emotions? Did he just find them humorous, nothing more? Could it have been my aunt who saved them, and not my uncle? If so, the same questions apply.

If anyone knows anything about the origination and history of these or similar cartoon pages, please comment. It's a mystery I would like to see unraveled.

Have a blessed day!

My Handsome Grandson!

2008-10-19T10:53:00.001-04:00

Here's a photo of Drake at 5 mos. What a face!

Have a blessed day!

Freebies for the Thrifty-Minded

2008-10-17T11:27:00.005-04:00

Are you a bargain hunter? Do you like finding the best deal on a product or service for the lowest price? Why pay for something when you can get it for FREE…That’s right, you read that right…FREE.

How do you get free stuff, you ask? Through a new opportunity that is taking the Internet by storm with over 9,000 PAID members joining in the first 6 weeks! With yesterday's launch of the new Phase 3, the company is poised to double in the next 60 days -- so we all have the chance to get involved in the early stages -- which can mean huge teams in just a short time.

Shopping the vast list of "freebies" is similar to a rich, rewarding Treasure Hunt. And not only can't you keep your "fun finds" to yourself... you don't want to! You'll enjoy telling all your friends and family so they can profit, too! Then you'll soon feel that -- besides enjoying the FREE products and saving many dollars -- the potential to earn incredible residual income is like the "Pot of Gold" at the end of the Rainbow!

You can make REAL extra income by helping others learn how to get free stuff too. It's as simple as sending them to your personal (company provided) website.

Is it expensive? Hardly! At under $10 per month to belong, it's very affordable for the average person … and even those who would NEVER join a Network Marketing business are jumping on board. I've never seen anything like it!

Our compensation plan utilizes a forced 5X7 matrix, so after the first 5 positions are filled, all new members are automatically placed in under them, helping everyone's team grow!

Whether you just want freebies and bargains for yourself and your family, or you want a viable, honest, homebased business, take the tour on the website and check it out. You will learn all the details of this fabulous opportunity and the wonderful extra income you can make by sharing when you take the free tour at:

http://www.freebieforce.com/faraboverubies

Enjoy, and have a blessed day.

P.S. I'll be posting more to let you know about all my fabulous freebies and bargains I've received thus far, in only a few short weeks!

Your Kingdom for a Gallon of Gas

2008-10-01T18:03:00.011-04:00

Most of you who know me know that I am only in my early-50's. I've worked hard to get here, and I am glad to be the age that I am. It comes with certain scars, but also with some degree of wisdom, experience, and grace borne simply from having maneuvered the seasons of my life thus far.

That being said, I am not anxious to rapidly advance in age; time moves all too quickly as it is. I'll patiently work with it and wait it out, even though there are still some perks ahead it seems. Well, I've already joined AARP, as its qualifying age was lowered to 50 many years ago, and one need not even be retired to join. Some restaurants offer senior discounts, most of which start at age 55 or 60, so this looms in my not-so-far-off future.

Many grocery stores, too, offer senior discounts. Kroger, for instance, offers seniors age 60 or older a 5% discount off their grocery bills every Wednesday. No ID required; no verification requested. None of the red tape in which I would assume one becomes entangled when applying for, say, Medicare. A happy event to be afforded an additional 5% off your grocery bill . . . unless you are without question or the raising of an eyebrow mistaken for 60.

Needless to say, I was a bit taken aback when I saw the senior discount ring up on my register receipt this morning. I am so far from 60! I didn't know whether to be insulted or grateful for the additional $4.14 discount. Obviously, the young man behind the register must have granted the discount to my husband who accompanied me on the shopping trip, and not to myself, for I have been told I don't look a day over 45.

Yes, I estimated, the discount was for my poor dh (who is 2 years my junior); he is surely the one who looks 60. I, therefore, accepted it without comment and with the poise of a barely early-50's woman. And although dh didn't mind the affront too much, he likened the aging of humanity to save a dollar to the trading one's kingdom for a gallon of gas!

Have a blessed day!

Babies Don't Keep

2008-09-08T23:59:00.008-04:00

Well, here I am "retired," 20 years too late, and now that I could do whatever I want with no time schedule, I find there is nothing to do, yet still so much to do. If this were 20 years ago, my dreams would have come true. I would be a stay-at-home mom, I would be there for my two young sons, they would be the priority of my life as it should be, I would see their first steps, hear their first words, watch their first everythings. Instead, I missed it all, left it to the hands and hearts and eyes and ears of strangers. Not because I wanted to; not because I was out there climbing some insignificant corporate ladder; not because I was trying to keep up with the Joneses, but because I had to. My circumstances forced me to.

So now, here I am, semi-retired, no schedule, no deadlines, no walls, no bosses, but it's all too little, too late. Nevertheless, I'll log my days, my hours, my unevents; maybe I'll see a pattern, maybe something good will develop, even though nothing could ever take the place of, make up for, all the time I've missed and all the time my boys have missed with me. I'll never get over it, I'll never get it back, I'll never replace it, I'll never forgive it, myself, my circumstances.

Most people look forward to retirement. Perhaps they don't have regrets. Perhaps they feel as though they've done their part, they've earned it. Perhaps retirement means more when you can move to Boca Raton, take a cruise, buy a condo, fly to Paris, I don't know. I still have too much to figure out. Too many things I wish I'd done differently, too many years I wish I could rewind and relive.

There's a timeless poem that reminds us "babies don't keep." I heard it many years ago, and it's been the lament of my soul since my children were small. The mother in this poem is not worried about the appearance of her home, her undone dishes, her unmade bed, laundry half-done; she has more important tasks at hand. She knows that in an instant her children will be gone--her boys, men; her daughters, grown. Her job is eternal, and her tenure fleeting.

Oh, how my heart ached every day I had to go out to some office somewhere and leave my children behind. At night, I cried; not from the sheer exhaustion of it all, but because I had to do it over again the next day, drop my little boys off at some daycare center at what seemed like first light, not being able to pick them up again until dusk. It didn't seem fair.

They grew so fast. Now they are men, gone their separate ways, and the days I missed and the days they missed cannot be recovered. All the jobs I've ever had sooner or later went on without me, I never got richer, or more important, or more renowned, never got a bigger house, finer things, yet it's 20 years later and I'm left wondering where all the time went and what it was all for.

Because I had to work, I had no choice. I wonder.

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth

empty the dustpan, poison the moth,

hang out the washing and butter the bread,

sew on a button and make up a bed.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?

She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue

(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

Dishes are waiting and bills are past due

(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).

The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew

and out in the yard there's a hullabaloo

but I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.

Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?

(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,

for children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.

So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.

I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

Have a blessed day.

Theresa Lillian Matthai

2008-09-04T11:33:00.009-04:00

Just realized that my cousin Cathy submitted a new comment on a previous blog entry of mine which I wrote this past birthday. Noticing that I had referred to my mother as Theresa Lillian Matthai, Cathy stated she never knew her name was Theresa and asked why she had always been called "Lilly." My Uncle George, Cathy's father and my mother's brother, had also mentioned to me sometime back that he would like to see me write more about my mother since he felt he hardly knew her, at least in those early years of our lives as he was away in the Navy and she was so much older than he. It also occurred to me that perhaps Uncle George did not know my mother's first name was actually Theresa, so let me explain.

Indeed, mom had always been called Lil or Lilly, and for most of her life believed her first name to be Lillian and her middle name to be Theresa. That is what she had always been told and, of course, had no reason to doubt it. The story went, as she related it, that my grandmother loved the name "Lillian," but my grandfather, Karl, wanted mom to be named after his mother, Teresa, still in Germany. They couldn't agree so, mom was told, settled on the name "Lillian Theresa" (spelled with the "h").

Mom had always hated the name "Lillian;" and, in fact, while growing up and particularly in high school and her early adult years, refused to be called Lillian at all. She went by her "middle" name and all of her friends called her "Terry," short for Theresa, but not nearly as pretty. Somewhere along the way, she dropped the "Terry," and went back to Lillian, as I do not ever remember my father, grandmother, or aunt or uncle calling her anything but Lil or Lilly. Perhaps she outgrew the novelty of it all. (In my youth, I changed the spelling of my name from R-o-b-i-n to R-o-b-y-n because I thought it was cuter.....but, I digress.)

So, mom was Lillian to most of us and certainly to Grandma. Here's the twist: After Grandma passed away in 1977, mom found her own original birth certifiate among other of Grandma's important papers and personal effects. Apparently, mom had never had occasion to look at her birth certificate before because she was certainly surprised to find that her name was listed as "Theresa Lillian Matthai" on the birth certificate, not vice versa. It seems Grandpa Karl had had his way after all! Mom was a bit perturbed to say the least, as she spent all those years remaking herself into "Terry" when she was "Terry" all along.

I personally can't picture her as "Terry," or "Theresa" for that matter. She just seems like a Lillian to me. I miss her.

As an aside....did you know that Aunt Loraine was always adamant that her name was misspelled as well? I believe her name is "Lorraine Roselle Matthai." She always insisted that "Loraine" should be spelled "Lorain" (one (1) "r;" no "e"), but to compromise, she kept the "e" at the end of her name, although she refused to keep the two (2) "r's." Uncle George, did you happen to find HER birth certificate among all the paperwork you recently had to sort through?????????

Have a blessed day.

This Week's Fabulous Finds...

2008-07-13T10:44:00.012-04:00

This is a new weekly article I am going to post on my blog to--well--promote myself, and of course, my fabulous finds.

Look at these gorgeous handcrafted and mouth-blown exotic glass fish from Fitz & Floyd's "Glass Menagerie" Collection. They were very difficult to find as, I believe, they are all retired. They come in their original burgundy oval box.

They're just so pretty. You can find them in my Ebay store, The Whatsoever Shoppe, here:

http://tinyurl.com/67gno6

Enjoy, and have a blessed day.

When the Bee Stings....

2008-07-12T10:43:00.006-04:00

When the dog bites,

when the bee stings,

when I’m feeling sad,

I simply remember my favorite things,

and then I don’t feel so bad.

This song was written for such a day as yesterday! Alas, Julie Andrews, or rather Maria VonTrapp, I am not; so I just cried.

I woke up feeling quite ill, and the nausea lasted for at least an hour. Managing to pull myself together and walk out the door at 8:30 a.m., already half an hour late for work, I picked up my very large traveling coffee mug by the lid--which to my dismay was not screwed on--and was splattered with 20 ounces of hot coffee, as was carpet. On to change....

At work, I am currently doing a large scanning project to close out our year-end files. Shortly into the day's scanning, a jam somehow caused the scanner drivers to disappear from my computer. The restore disk didn't work--oh NO! Some time-consuming web research finally led to a download link for new drivers. So, by 11:00 a.m., I was at last able to resume my work.

At least my husband picked me up on time. Unfortunately, though, unbeknownst to us, there was a large bee (or giant killer vampire wasp) in the van. I suddenly felt a little prick on my neck, then some severe itching, but saw nothing but a little red welt. Hmmm, where did that come from? As I brushed my hand against my neck, I was struck! The big, killer, vampire wasp of a bee stung my finger and sent flames of fire through my fingertips. DH stopped the van so I could jump out, and there it was--sitting on my shoulder. Quick as a fox he brushed it off and crushed it beneath his boot. Thank Heaven for steel-toed work boots! Oh, the pain....

A little benzocaine and a few tears, and the trauma subsided. I needed a rest.

I think I'll join my cousin Cathy in Australia.

http://lifetimelearning.blogspot.com/2008/07/junosmoms-no-good-very-bad-night.html

Have a blessed day!

I Remember

2008-07-10T12:42:00.012-04:00

I just now read the story my Uncle George wrote about "the olden days" called "How Many Remember This" (see his blog at http://gematthai.blogspot.com/2008/03/how-many-remember-this.html). I wish I'd read it sooner. It seemed to center on shopping in downtown Cincinnati and touched on the stores, the modes of transportation, where we ate, all fondly remembered by George, and many of us who read the article as well. I too remember most of the people, places, and things he mentioned, although I am quite a bit older than his daughter, Cathy, my cousin, who commented that she could recall such sites and experiences as well.

I particularly remember going downtown with grandma (Nora), and it was always an all-day excursion on the bus and back. We always went to Woolworth's and Neisner's and Shillitos. I do not remember elevators with elevator men (I assume they were all men), but I do remember what George mentioned last in his article, escalators. In those days they were very, very narrow and steep, a bit frightening to a little girl who thought she might get caught if she didn't jump off just right!

We always ate at the lunch counter at Woolworth's, one thing I dearly miss and recall very distinctly. We always sat in a booth as well. (I think Grandma was too short to sit on the bar stool.) I also remember the basement; we always went there as it was called the "bargain basement." Since Woolworth's and other such stores in those days were called "dime stores," I don't know how much more of a bargain there could possibly have been found there. I suppose they were akin to today's "dollar stores."

Stroll down Memory Lane for more history and pictures of Woolworth's at this blog:

http://expolounge.blogspot.com/2007/01/woolworths-lunch-counter.html

An egg sandwich was $.30. Imagine that!

Cathy, I, too, remember the candy counter: we often were treated with candy necklaces--little candy "jewels" on elastic string--or candy strips--those wide pieces of paper with about 4 "dots" of colored candies neatly spaced in row upon row; or my brother's favorite, tiny wax "Coke" bottles, 4 to a tiny carton, with juice inside. One just had to bite off the top--and spit it out :) -- to take a drink. And what about the candy "cigarettes?" Sticks of pure sugar with a red-painted tip; we surely looked grown-up with those hanging out of our mouths!

Get it all here at Nostalgic Candy.com http://www.nostalgiccandy.com/index.asp

I was always most impressed, though, by the Tyler Davidson Fountain in Fountain Square. I know it's changed so much over the years, both the fountain and The Square, but it always stood out as a most amazing site! (Photo courtesy of HelloCincinnati.com)

There was no air conditioning on the buses (do they have air conditioning today?), and the windows were always open in the summer. They only went down half-way as I recall; perhaps a safety feature? The buses were loud and hot and crowded, and they stopped at every block. We couldn't wait to pull the string when we were nearing our stop and always bickered over whose turn it was.

I still can't really say, "Those were the days," but there will always remain some fond memories. Thanks for the story, Uncle George!

Have a blessed day!

Welcome Baby Drake

2008-04-30T21:43:00.002-04:00

Make a scrapbook - it's easy!

1954: The Year in Review (Happy Birthday to Me)

2008-04-12T10:29:00.019-04:00

In 1954, the movie “On the Waterfront” with Marlon Brando won the Academy Award for best picture. Also in Hollywood, Marilyn Monroe wed Joe DiMaggio. The first of the Godzilla series of movies was released in Japan.

The first color T.V. was manufactured by RCA in 1954. It cost $1000 for a 12” screen. We always had a black and white T.V. when I was growing up. It was in a great big console and had a small roundish screen. I believe we got our first color T.V. in the early-70’s. It was still in a large floor console, but it had a bigger screen. The first Miss America Pageant was aired on television. Seizing the opportunity of a lifetime, American Gerry Thomas invented the T.V. Dinner in 1954.

Bill Haley & His Comets recorded “Rock Around the Clock” in New York City. On July 7, 1954, WHBQ in Memphis became the first radio station to air an Elvis Presley record, and rock-n-roll was about to change the face of the American teenage culture.

In the medical realm, the first mass vaccination of children against polio began in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I remember polio vaccinations, and the day my brother and sister and I first received ours. It seems to me they used a needle that rather scraped the vaccine into your skin; I don’t think it hurt but all children are afraid of “shots.” It was the initial polio vaccine developed by Dr. Jonas Salk. Salk’s vaccine was a “killed” vaccine that prevented most of the complications of polio, but did not prevent it altogether. (I still have the scar!) Later, probably in the early-to-mid-60’s, we received an oral vaccine as well, developed by Dr. Albert Sabin, a renowned medical researcher. I vaguely remember my mother having personally known Dr. Sabin due to his affiliation as head of Pediatric Research at Cincinnati’s Children’s Hospital and his association with my mother’s boss, Joseph Kanter. I must have thought this familiarity quite impressive at the time, as I can still recall it. During that same year, the first kidney transplants were done in Boston and Paris.

The Nobel Prize for Physics was won by Max Born & Walther Bothe; for Chemistry by Linus Carl Pauling; for Physiology or Medicine by John Franklin Enders, Thomas Huckle Weller, & Frederick Chapman Robbins; for Literature by Ernest Hemingway; and for peace by The Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees.

The Vietnam War was brewing, and President Dwight D. Eisenhower authorized the creation of the United States Air Force Academy in Colorado. On Flag Day, June 14, 1954, the words “Under God” are added to the “Pledge of Allegiance.” Most people think these words were always in the Pledge. I have always known them, that’s for sure!

Sports Illustrated was published for the very first time. I wonder if they had a “swimsuit issue,” and what parts of the anatomy those swimsuits covered? Roger Bannister of England was the first man to break the 4-minute mile. West Germany won the 1954 World Cup in Switzerland, defeating Hungary. Radio was giving way to T.V. as the last new episode of "The Lone Ranger" was aired after 2,956 episodes over a period of 21 years. The first transistor radio was developed for the public and cost around $49.95 ($300 in today’s money). They dropped significantly in price when they became more popular and mass-produced in the 60’s.

Nash and Hudson merged to form the American Motors Corporation (AMC). And who didn’t want a 1954 Chevrolet Corvette or a Lincoln?

As I recall, we didn’t even have a car till the late 60’s when my mother learned to drive. It was a 1960 white Rambler, something like this:

A chapter in American History closed in November, 1954, when the main immigration port-of-entry in New York Harbor at Ellis Island closed. The U.S. sent back to Mexico almost 4 million illegal immigrants. Brown vs. Board of Education made segregation in U.S. public schools unconstitutional. Rosa Parks' arrest in Montgomery, Alabama, set the American Civil Rights Movement in motion. The Boy Scouts of America desegregated on the basis of race.
The first Hyatt Hotel opened in December, 1954. It was the Hyatt House of Los Angeles, and was the first hotel built outside of an airport.

Average prices in 1954?

House - $22,00

Average Income - $3,960

Ford Car - $1528 - $2415

Milk - $.92

Gas - $.21 (yes, per gallon!)

Bread - $.17

Postage Stamp - $.03

Swiss Cheese - $.69 a pound

American Cheese - $.55 a pound

T-bone Steak - $.95 a pound

DelMonte Catsup- (2) 14-oz. bottles $.25

Post Grape Nuts Cereal - 10 oz. package $.19

Clorox Bleach - 1/2 gallon $.19

20 Gallon Gas Water Heater - $75

Semi-automatic Kenmore Washer - $154.95

The Dow Jones Industrial Average closed at an all-time high of 382.74.

Not so notable: Howard Stern was born on January 12th, Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. on January 17th, Oprah Winfrey, January 20th, Bill Mumy, John Travolta, and Christie Brinkley in February. Patty Hearst, American heiress and kidnapping victim, was born on February 20th. Ron Howard, Jackie Chan, Dennis Quaid, and Jerry Seinfeld, were all born between March and April. Other births in 1954 were Freddie Prinz, James Belushi, Barry Williams, and Scott Bakula, and Al Sharpton, American politician and minister. Chris Noth, most notably from the Law and Order series, was born in November, and in December, Stone Phillips, American television journalist, and my favorite actor, Denzel Washington.

And on April 11, 1954, I was born. Robin Ann Roach to Theresa Lillian Matthai Roach and John Joseph Roach of Cincinnati, Ohio. 3rd of 7 children. Happy Birthday to me. I’m 54!

Have a blessed day.

Spring Butterfly on My Porch

2008-04-06T15:22:00.003-04:00

Drake's "Coming Out" Party

2008-04-06T11:17:00.002-04:00

Make a slideshow - it's easy!

Mugs

2008-04-04T18:53:00.003-04:00

We just got new mugs, the first sure sign that we are taking on a new identity! From Robin & Dave to Mommy and Daddy, and now oh so suddenly, we are Grandma and Grandpa. Here in East Tennessee, many folks of our status are called “mamaw” and “papaw,” or even “meemaw” and “peapaw.” Grandma suits me fine. I’m not sure what Dave prefers, or if he’s avoiding the title altogether right now.

My mug says, “Blessed are those who raise children well, for they shall eventually be called Grandma.” It’s a lovely sentiment, although I’m not sure how much raising them “well” has to do with it. Children seem to grow up and have kids of their own in spite of their families. My son says he thinks he had a pretty good childhood though, and he was raised in the nuture and admonition of the Lord. That, after all, is the measurement that matters most.

God has a sense of humor. Dave’s mug says, “Grandchildren are God’s way of compensating for growing old.” I think he can somehow relate to this, although he won’t admit it. I tell eveyone I’m a grandma, and refer to baby Jake (yet unbirthed) as my grandson, my grandchild, my “grandsugars.” Dave refers to him as David and Amber’s baby, but I’m sure Drake will grow on him! I can almost see them at the lake, fishing rods in hand.

Amber is not due for about 6 weeks, mid-May, but all appearances predict quite an earlier birth. We do hope she carries little Drake a few more weeks at least. In the meantime, I’ll be shopping. I’ll soon need one of those wallets that has a 20 sleeve fold-out accordian picture file; it holds 40 pictures in all. And a bumper sticker.

Let me tell you about my grandchild . . .

Have a blessed day!

Diaper Cake

2008-03-30T13:03:00.022-04:00

This was so much fun!

This is the diaper cake I made for my daughter-in-law Amber's baby shower. It is made of 80 newborn diapers and lots of ribbon and bows.

It's held together with sticky dots, straight pins, and rubber bands and decorated with all nature of little baby toys and toiletries. Since they are size 2 diapers (12-16 #), maybe she can keep it together for a week or two before the baby needs this size diaper, although she can use the toiletries right away.

Not bad for my first attempt, if I do say so myself!

Have a blessed day!

Christmas Dinner with the Bezanis' Family

2008-01-06T16:11:00.000-05:00

Make a scrapbook - it's easy!

Not Another Diet...

2007-11-17T12:35:00.000-05:00

Although I am not new to "diet" plans, I found a program that I believe will finally work, because it's promotes a healthy lifestyle change. I am so excited, because like so many of us, I have tried everything, including in-patient treatment and every diet out there. I am now well over 300# and only 5'3", but I'm so excited that I found this program. Having just started, I alrady know it's something I can do because it's fits me and it's easy preparation. No complicated recipes and menus to follow (unless I just want to).

I was thrilled to find all the Thanksgiving recipes I needed right here on their site, so my first week won't be sabotaged by "Thanksgiving." I can make the yummy recipes I'm used to, lightened up, which is not only better for me but for my whole family. Whether one needs to lose weight or not, healthier menues and foods are good for all of us! I can fit these recipes right into my meal plan and not have to sacrifice the foods I enjoy on such a special holiday because I'm yet again "on a diet." This is so important to me. And because my meal plan includes snacks and mini-meals, I can eat a little, and then save some for snacks, etc. when I'm ready. I'm counting on success!

I wanted to comment on one thing, that maybe some others have encountered. I have always been one to take care of everyone else "first," me last. So sitting down for a couple of hours today and reading through all the meal plan material, preparing my menus, and making my shopping list was almost excrutiating. I could hardly get through the time it took to do this. Not because it took so much time (because it didn't), but because I was spending that time ON ME! I had to keep telling myself "I deserve two hours," "I deserve to eat healthy," "I deserve to feel good." Suddenly I was out of the "victim" mode and into the "success" mode. What a difference. I will let you know my success, because I thoroughly expect it.

Have a blessed Thanksgiving, everyone!

First OB-GYN Visit

2007-10-04T12:20:00.000-04:00

My son David called today to report he and Amber had had their first OB-GYN visit here in Knoxville. He advises they were able to hear the heartbeat, and a sonogram was done. The baby is now the size of a peanut! Expected due date: May 15, 2008. Names: Drake Elliott for a boy. No girl name selected as yet. Anticipation rises!

Some facts courtesy of http://www.prolife.com/
(Note: Photo is not their actual sonogram; it is also from prolife.com)

Day 1 - conception takes place.
7 days - tiny human implants in mother’s uterus.
10 days - mother’s menses stop.
18 days - heart begins to beat.
21 days - pumps own blood through separate closed circulatory system with own blood type.
28 days - eye, ear and respiratory system begin to form.
42 days - brain waves recorded, skeleton complete, reflexes present.
7 weeks - photo of thumbsucking.
8 weeks - all body systems present.

Have a blessed day!

Coffee with a Cream Chaser

2007-09-20T11:16:00.000-04:00

As you all know, my son Aaron is now in Clarksville, Tennessee, at Master's Commission. Here is a video of their initiation. Each student apparently has one of him or her doing this: swallowing a scoop of coffee grounds followed by a dry creamer chaser, and then throwing up! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh, college life!

Click on the link to see the video. Enjoy!

http://myspacetv.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=18446441

The Announcement

2007-09-15T23:51:00.000-04:00

Somehow it seems appropriate. There is a crispness in the evening air. The slightest whisper of color has already begun to softly kiss the leaves of the Bradford pears. The Dogwoods will follow, then the hills will come alive with the firey oranges and reds, yellows and golds of autumn in full-spectrum. The view will be spectacular, breathtaking, awe-inspiring. Perhaps this is God's apology for ending summer all too quickly. I rather believe, though, that it is yet one more example of His magnificent grace that eases us into another season, one that has the potential to be too harsh to bear were it not for some joie de vivre in the transition.

To many, autumn is a time of ending. Ending summer, warm days, carefree lifestyles, vacations. One might miss the glory of autumn altogether and only dread the coming of winter, when life seems to stand still and frozen. I have likened my own life these last few weeks and months to such a time of ending as I have wrestled with this thing called "empty nest syndrome." How suitable it seems that my youngest child would go off to college at this time of year, when leaves begin to fall and the earth appears to die. It is, indeed, the end of a season of my own life, and just as the falling leaves and cooler air declare a change has come, so do the remnants of boyhood my son has left behind: a nearly-empty bedroom with only a few posters still clinging to the walls, a basket of worn-out clothing in the corner, and a paintball gun perched upon the corner of his desk. Poignant reminders of a vibrant youth who has embarked upon his manhood.

For days, weeks on end I've only dreaded the winter and almost missed the autumn entirely. I've not trusted God to make the transition for me, just as he transitions the seasons of nature in such splendor and magnitude. Already, even before the departure of my son, the transition was underway. Some months ago, through a series of circumstances none of us predicted, my brother and his wife came to stay with us, along with their two-year-old daughter, my niece Anna. Our home was suddenly overflowing with giggles and tea cups; away with you, you fear of lonliness; no time to lament some future grief.

My son has adjusted well to his new life away at school, and he makes me proud. Autumn is not an ending for us, either--only a change, and no doubt we'll both have many adjustments to make in the transition. He'll have new responsibilities, new friends, new opportunities; I might use his room for a workout room! He'll come home at Thanksgiving and Christmas, and we'll have loads of stories to tell each other. There will be fervor in the transition.

And lest I plunge into dread of winter all over again, I need only look to the God of the Universe whose timing is perfect and whose love is immeasureable. For just as a small child finds delight in gleefully dancing through piles of damp colored leaves, I find it hilarioulsy wonderful that my eldest son and daughter-in-law have decided to move back to this area from North Carolina. We had dinner with them this evening and they presented me with a small gift. How delightful! Knowing I have a passion for Ebay, they gave me the largest "Ebay for Dummies" book I have even seen, but as my son pointed out, it was only a cover, for there was another tell-tale gift wrapped in tissue inside the bag. I gingerly unwrapped the packaging to find a small rectangular teddy bear photo frame in lovely pastel colors playfully announcing, "Grandma and Grandpa's Little Angel."

So as autumn is a transitional time of year, this is a transitional season of my life. God has sent me children and grandchildren, not to take the place of my own two cherished sons, but to fill the void that their having grown up and created adult lives of their own has left behind. And just as the seasons are perpetual, winter will give us pause, and spring will come again. In it I will see trees and flowers bloom, hear birds sing, and hold my first grandchild for the very first time. Aaron will come home from college for the summer and we will all go on as God intended.

Have a blessed day.

Tar

2007-09-14T20:03:00.000-04:00

Tar has come to stay with us. He is my aunt and uncle's dog, but circumstances have caused him to relocate. My dear uncle passed away not too long ago, and my aunt's ill health for some months past had made it impossible for her to care for Tar any longer prior to her own recent home-going. One doesn't just abandon family, so we brought Tar home.

Tar is actually Tar, Jr., Tar for short. Like Tar, Sr. (my aunt and uncle's previous canine companion, though unrelated) he is a black lab mix. He is very gentle (generally) and user-friendly, although in his old age (just turned 12) he is quite set in his ways. For instance, he is so accustomed to having "bites" of people food at every meal, one can hardly deny him. He will steadfastly stand at the edge of the table very patiently waiting. He knows not to beg until he hears the words "Want a bite?" at which time he nearly leaps for whatever morsel one might be dangling between finger and thumb. Though he eats dry dog food, it must be fresh. He will not eat leftover food; indeed, he would apparently rather starve.

Tar is most content these days to lie down and rest, but does like to be near one of his people. Unless he is sound asleep, he will follow his people hither and thither, then again lie down at their feet. He enjoys a good rub and a scratch behind the ears, but if no one is near, he will happily scratch his own back by rolling around on the carpet, all 4 paws in the air, growling with glee all the while! A little treat will warrant a "shake-a-paw," and he loves to go outside whenever the door is opened (though he'll quickly come back in).

After having lived all but the most recent 6 months of his life with my very sedentary aunt and uncle and seldom ever encountering a human of the toddler persuasion, it must have been quite a shock to him when Anna (my 2-year-old niece) came to stay with us. He was bit finicky and jittery when she first arrived, never having had to deal with anything that moved as quickly as a 2-year-old. Soon, though, he became her protector and guardian as Labs are apt to do. Anna can now play with him, comb his tail, and lie on his belly without his so much as flinching. She once even stepped on him in her efforts to climb over the girth of his midsection, yet he took it all in stride.

Still, Tar is quick to come to Anna's rescue at the slightest risk of danger. He has been known to intervene with a snarling low growl as her father tickles her. Apparently, Tar views this as a confrontation and is prepared to attack; Anna's father (my brother) views this as an opportunity to instigate hilarious trouble. His sense of humor is rather wry.

We do feel very safe with Tar around, however. The bare hint of an unfamiliar presence near our property will set Tar in ready mode. Again, the low snarling growl, as if to say, "Beware!" followed by very grown-up barking until whatever predator that threated us has turned away.

There must still be some puppy in Tar somewhere. He loves to play and has a whole dishpan full of toys of all sorts, balls, pull toys, rags, and other rubbery things. Tug-of-War is surely his favorite game. It makes him look quite vicious as he growls and snarls and drools, but we all know he is really very gentle and doesn't have a chance of winning. It is quite funny to see this 80-pound dog sitting on my brother's lap and laughing, though!

Yes, Tar is a good old dog, and we're glad we adopted him. He's all the more precious to us now that Aunt Loraine has gone home to be with the Lord. We hope Tar will be with us for many more years but he may follow her soon, as Labs tend to have a shorter lifespan than some other dog breeds. When he does, though, we know Aunt Loraine will be thrilled to see "her baby" again.

Have a blessed day!

How To Take Your Son To College

2007-09-08T04:46:00.000-04:00

A bittersweet lament, sung to the tune of "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover," Paul Simon, circa 1975

You just clean out his space, Grace

Pack up his gear, Dear

You just get in the van, Jan

And get your son gone.

Drive on out to his school, Jewel

(Cry inside as you go, Flo)

One last hug and a kiss, Miss

And get your son gone.

Drop him off at his crib, Lib

Let your boy become a man, Fran

Drive back home all alone, Joan

And get your son gone...

Get your son gone...

Get your son gone...................

Have a blessed day!

Happy 18th Birthday!

2007-08-24T15:54:00.000-04:00

Following is the text of the ad I wrote to commemorate my son Aaron's 18th birthday. It appeared in our hometown paper, The Clinton Courier, on that special date, August 8th. The ad itself is also below. Happy 18th birthday, baby!

"Happy 18th Birthday to Aaron Alexander Rathmell (a.k.a. Xander) of Lake City!

Aaron is the youngest son of David, Sr. and Robin Rathmell and the brother of David Rathmell, Jr., of Fletcher, NC. He is a 2007 home schooled graduate of the Tennessee Regional Academy for Christian Education (T.R.A.C.E.) in Clinton.

Aaron has a heart for God and a passion to fulfill God’s call upon his life, wherever that may take him, although he hopes to become a youth pastor. Aaron will further his ministry pursuits this fall when he will be dually enrolled as a first-year student of Master’s Commission in Clarksville, Tennessee, a 9-month intense discipleship program, and the Certified Level of the Berean School of the Bible. On completion of the program, he will receive an accredited Certificate of Ministry from the Berean School of the Bible and a diploma from Master’s Commission Clarksville.

Mom, Dad, David, Jr. & Amber, and Uncle Jeff, Aunt Sharon, and Anneleisa all wish Aaron an awesome 18th birthday and God’s abundant blessings as he takes these next steps in his life’s journey!

In Only 9 Days...

2007-07-30T12:59:00.000-04:00

In only 9 days, my youngest son Aaron will turn 18, and I'm going through a phase. I'm sure it's one of those transitions from one season of my life to another, but knowing what it is makes it none the easier to accept.

In only 9 days, he will suddenly be a man by some worldly standards, yet not quite "man" enough by others. He will no longer be a minor and will fall off my health insurance plan (unless he attends college full-time and I submit countless signed and notarized forms to my insurance company verifying I still provide his primary means of support). He will be able to sign a contract, buy cigarettes (he doesn't smoke), and vote. He will not be able to obtain a CDL (unless all OTR driving is done in the State of Tennessee), purchase firearms, work in a bar, or drink (thank goodness!), yet he can go to war and offer his life for this great nation of ours. Maybe I can still claim his as a dependent on my taxes.

Some distinctions are a little more subtle. He has undoubtedly been marking the days to freedom, that magical point in time when the imaginary bars of childhood fall away and adulthood presents itself with all its limitless possibilities. He'll be leaving home to start college in the fall. It's a good and natural parting, one for which we raise our children, one every parent might expect at such a juncture in their children's lives. But he'll be living with another family and a roommate, and they'll be replacing me, at least in the central arena of his life.

I've been through this before, so why is it so hard? My eldest son is almost 24; I've already survived his graduation, his marriage, and his moving away. It must be that "empty-nest" syndrome sneaking up on me again. It causes me to reflect, reminisce, and pull out old pictures.

18 years ago, Aaron was born on August 8, 1989. His brother David was 5, almost 6. What close brothers they would be, I thought. They would stick together like glue. (I didn't know much about sibling rivalry, little boys, or what a difference 6 years' in age could make at the time).

I only knew they were the joy and light of my life, precious and remarkable gifts from God! Raising them was not easy, as I was a single parent for most of their early-childhoods. But they made every day worthwhile, every sacrifice effortless, every joy more intense, every moment more dear, every milestone more memorable.

They had both been in "school" since the tender age of 6 weeks, the standard maternity leave at the time, as I recall. My heart was broken daily as I left them in the care of others: teachers, ministers, babysitters. It seemed they were always the first to arrive and the last to leave their temporary shelters, not because I was busy climbing some purposeless corporate ladder, but because I had to pay the bills. I think it was harder on me than on them, though, because David told me recently that he thought he had had a pretty good childhood. I cried a silent tear of thanks, for God had taken care of my deficiencies.

He had provided all that we needed, and what I saw as lack, my boys apparently never missed. We celebrated the special times, their accomplishments, their birthdays, friends, family, worship, and Christmas!

We traveled to Cincinnati one year with all of their gifts in the trunk of the car. They wondered how Santa had found them at Aunt Loraine's and Uncle Otis'. How delighted were there little eyes when they awoke to find the small tree in the window surrounded by brightly wrapped packages! Indeed, there was no shortage of presents that year; and more importantly, no shortage of love. They played in the snow (a wonderful oddity, since they were Florida boys), and Aaron played endless games of table top pool with Uncle Otis, until he wore him out (Otis, not Aaron). Even the dog got a bone!

They've grown together over the years, had their differences, their battles, and their victories, and surely they will face the future head-on. They will always be brothers and will be there for each other, regardless of where their paths may lead. They are headed down different roads, each with their own goals, dreams, and vision, and a good foundation. They have been raised in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, for they are His, loaned to me for a season at their birth.

It's been a few years now since I've had to consciously let go of David. Now I must make every effort to do the same with Aaron. As I committed David to the Lord, I commit Aaron also. God has a wonderful plan for his life, and I release him to fulfill it.

We'll make the transition together, although I think he'll run faster than I. He's been way ahead of me since we took that first step together almost 18 years ago. Well, I still have 9 days.

Yes, in only 9 days, Aaron will be 18. I suppose I'll survive this, too.

Have a blessed day!

The Mud Puddles Are Waiting

2007-07-15T10:52:00.000-04:00

I have two sons, David, Jr., age 23, and Aaron (a.k.a. Xander), age 17 ("but I'll be 18 in 24 days..."), so I know about getting dirty! They cleaned up well, though, and I'm very proud of both of them. They are very handsome young men.

Yes, it's been awhile since they've wallowed in the mud. I'd almost forgotten. Forgotten how cute dirty children look when they are innocently making mud pies and swirling leaves in puddles on the ground. Forgotten the delight on their little faces as they squish the mud between their chubby little toes, and the squeals of joy as they toddle up and down rain-drenched garden paths, stomping as hard as they can to make the water splash around their ankles.

Then came Anna. Anneleisa is my niece and she's two. She and her mother and father, my brother and sister-in-law, have come to stay with us for awhile. They worked on the yard today, and Anna promptly found the puddles.

Anna seemed so very content exploring the dirt! Why not; here she was in her own private park on a hot day in her underwear (diaper). She was oblivous to all the raking, mowing, and planting going on around her as she ran her binky (pacifier, but she calls it her "lee-lee") up and down the garden rail like a Matchbox car.

Funny how life gets so busy and complicated over the years that we forget the simple pleasures, especially as our children grow up. God has a way of reminding us, though. He's funny that way. Here I am contemplating becoming an "empty-nester," and along comes Anna, for however long that might be. To thrill me with her tiny giggle, her butterfly kisses, and her cuddly hugs.

I'm sure there will be many more days to enjoy watching her playing in the mud puddles. Of course, I'll have to slow down a bit or I'll miss it. I think I'll put off thinking about tomorrow for awhile; the mud puddles are waiting. And her mother can give Anna her bath!

Have a blessed day!

A Red Hat & A Purple Dress

2007-07-14T12:52:00.000-04:00

"What gives with a red hat and a purple dress?" my uncle asked me a few days ago in response to a recent email. I had referred to the possibility of my someday writing a blog, once I got a red hat a purple dress. Apparently, he had not yet heard of the Red Hat Society.

I sent him this link:

http://redhatsociety.com/info/howitstarted.html

and hoped he would read all about it. Surely he would get the joke. After all, I was certainly not a candidate for the Red Hats. Or was I?

As a matter of fact, I have been getting advertisements from AARP for a good 15 years now, and am about to find myself an empty-nester, come September when my youngest heads for college. Indeed, they have only one basic rule: that is, one must be a woman of 50 or over. Well, I've reached that milestone, but I certainly don't feel like a woman of 50 (or over *grin*), at least not emotionally. Maybe I could slide in with a pink hat instead (women under 50), like my girlfriend, Kim.

Some of my classmates celebrated our 35th high school reunion this past June (I didn't attend; in fact, I haven't attended a single high school reunion). My dh and I just just recently celebrated our 26th wedding anniversary in May by watching "Law and Order," eating ice cream, and going to bed at the wee hour of midnight. My eldest son will be 24 in November, and I can now order off the "senior" menu in some restaurants, although I doubt I'll ever do that, even to save a dollar.

It seems the years are adding up though, doesn't it? So why don't I feel 50-something? Could it be because I am stuck in time somewhere, never having grown out of some childhood trauma or misadventure of my youth? Does one require certain experiences that I have never enjoyed in order to feel as though they have earned the age of 50?

Perhaps I simply need to change my mindset: when I was young, 50 seemed so old, and in fact, 50 used to be older than it is today. Think about it. The median age of grandparents in this country is 57. My grandmother was 75 when I was 18! We in our early-50's are the tale-end of the baby-boomers. The world seems to be at our feet. Advertising is aimed at us for everything from health care and wellness to insurance and travel. We are a large portion of the population, and according to recent statistics, senior citizen population will grow faster than all others in all 50 states by the year 2030. Wow! No wonder "they" are all trying to get our money. The upside is much of it is geared toward helping us to look young, feel young, and stay young.

I have heard the old adage, "you're only as old as you feel." And since we choose our own feelings, I will choose to feel young, even at 50. Is it okay, after all, to "not feel 50."

Not only must I change my mindset, but also the words that come out of my mouth. Negative words ("I feel so old.") reap aches, pains, and curses. Praise and positive words reap strength and blessing:

1. Bless the LORD, O my soul: and all that is within me, bless his holy name. 2. Bless the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits: 3. Who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases;
4. Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with lovingkindness and tender mercies; 5. Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things; so that thy youth is renewed like the eagle's.
................................................Psalm 103:1-5

So, here I am: 53 years young, and writing my first blog. I wouldn't go back for anything, although I have learned, grown, changed, and suffered a lot. I have also gained so much more. As my aforementioned friend Kim says, "I wouldn't trade my ____ years' worth of wisdom for anything."

But, I'll not yet buy a red hat and a purple dress. Not even a pink one.

Have a blessed day!