music and memories

Last night I attended a performance by the North Carolina Symphony in Raleigh.  The entire performance was music by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein: selections from "Carousel", "Oklahoma", "South Pacific", "The King and I", and "The Sound of Music".  They were assisted not only by two fantastic vocal artists, both with Broadway experience, but also by the narrative comments of Oscar Hammerstein III.

It occurred to me how big a role music plays in our lives, especially in sparking memories.  Certain songs make us laugh or cry (or both), some stir up social commentary, and some bridge time and space with instant connections to people, places or events.  We cannot hear "Oklahoma" or "The Surry With The Fringe On Top" without feeling joy.  I, personally, cannot hear "You'll Never Walk Alone" without tears - it is and has been a favorite for many years.  How can we hear "Shall We Dance?" without wanting to jump up and dance (and picture Yul Brenner dancing)?  "South Pacific", set in World War II, makes me think of my father, and, while there is romance, it touches on the social issues of racial bias.  There are many memories connected to "The Sound of Music".

I remember seeing the movie version of  "The Sound of Music" and being absolutely transported to another time.  I also remember taking my siblings to see it later and, sadly, almost ruining it for my brother by telling him everything that was going to happen before it happened and by singing along with the score!  It was a joy last night to hear Oscar Hammerstein's grandson inform us that we had the right to sing along - and the audience did!  Tears flowed again at the last number: "Climb Every Mountain" as we are encouraged to overcome obstacles in our lives.

Mr. Hammerstein related stories of the background of these musicals, and I never knew how big a role history and current events played in their success.  Men going off to war filled theatres to hear "Carousel", and left hoping that everyone could be redeemed like the "hero".  "Oklahoma" was basically about patriotism and uniting the cow man and the farmer, at a time when the entire country needed unity.   "South Pacific" and especially the song "You've Got To Be Taught" addressed bias at a time when the country was being more divided than ever.  He was an excellent speaker, and I wished I could sit in one of his classrooms and hear him talk more about the role these musicals played, as well as his grandfather's role in their creation!!!

I came home with music in my head and a song in my heart. 

Forty-Five Years Ago

 Forty-five years ago today, on a crisp, sunny Saturday, October 10, I took a walk that changed my life.  There, in the Presbyterian Church where I had attended since age 12, I took my Dad's arm (wondering how in the world I could leave this man I had loved all my life to go live with another man), and walked down the aisle toward my new life as Mrs. James Mitchell Wilson.

It had all come about so quickly (in some ways), even though we had been dating about two years.
A few weeks earlier (about 6 weeks), Jim was about to graduate from the SBI Academy, which was held at that time at the Institute of Government at Chapel Hill.  He preferred to stay closer to the western Piedmont or mountains of North Carolina, so he had requested any placement west of Raleigh.  Then he called me one night with the disappointing news that he was being assigned to New Bern, which was about as far east as they could assign him!  He knew nothing about the area, and I pointed out to him how close it was to the beach, about Tryon Palace being there, etc.  His reply was, "well, I don't think I want to go down there alone..." and hinted that he wanted me to go with him.  I  warned him not to say anything he didn't mean, to which he replied, "okay, but we will talk about it this weekend."

The next thing I knew, wedding plans were being rapidly thrown together.  He was graduating and would have to report to his assigned area by mid-October, so time was a premium. We went to Madison and picked out a diamond together.   Thanks to my Mom and Aunt Maxine, dresses for maids of honor were made in record time.  My beautician loaned me her wedding dress and veil.  The florist, which had attended church with my family for years, gave a discount on the flowers.  The dry cleaner cleaned the wedding dress for free. Since my minister couldn't work in counseling, Jim's former minister worked us in and talked at length with us about the seriousness of this decision.  The next few weeks were a whirlwind of activity with showers, cookouts, rehearsals, etc.  Electing to do a small reception with family and wedding party after the rehearsal, we were saving the cost and details of a big reception following the wedding. Jim's father had gone down to New Bern and arranged for a rental house, furnished, for us to move into.  My dad went with us with a rental truck to take what few furnishings etc. to the house.

The wedding was small but beautiful.  Fall flowers, attendants in shades of deep green or yellow, and beautiful weather contributed to the day.  In a rapid blur, the ceremony was over, and suddenly we were on our way to our honeymoon.  I had been somewhat sad that the annual fall trip to the mountains would be missed, but Jim surprised me with a trip to the mountains for the honeymoon.   Whether it was happiness or just an  especially beautiful fall, the few days were indeed special.

Staying at the Hotel Roanoke in Roanoke, Virginia, was an experience.  The next morning, as we were leaving the room to go to breakfast, we encountered one of the Shriners that had been convening in the hotel.  He hoped they had not disturbed us with their partying.  Jim embarassed me by replying, "It's okay -  we are newlyweds and didn't plan to sleep much any way."  Breakfast was at the grill across the street, which was frequented by the retired engineers from the Norfolk and Western Railroad.  We nearly choked to keep from laughing as they repeatedly commented on which train was coming in and whether it was on time or late.

After a couple of days touring caverns, riding along the mountain roads, and enjoying the fall weather, we stopped by and visited both sets of parents before heading to New Bern.  There the tone of our marriage was set right away when he was called in to work earlier than originally planned.  I would learn not to cook or plan anything without consulting with him from the first day there on. I would soon learn to do lots of things around the house by myself, learn to go places alone, and enjoy what time we had together.

 After a year or so, we began trying to start a family, which, it turned out, wasn't as easy as we anticipated.  By the time Jimmy was born we had been married nearly seven years, and that time included a move to Greenville, a miscarriage, and the loss of Jim's mother.

Sitting here tonight, thinking back on those events, it seems impossible that it was 45 years ago. 
Those years included various physical problems, the loss of Jim's father, my father,and a couple of beloved aunts, and a few weddings to attend.  Jim lived long enough to see Jimmy graduate college and attend one year of law school, and he, thankfully, had met and gotten to know Karla.  He would pass a few months after our 30th anniversary, so he was not around for their wedding.  Nor would be be around for the births of three darling little grand girls, who he would have spoiled worse than I do.
I guess the moral to all this musing is: cherish every day, for the time flies by more quickly than you know.  

Love and Loss

I've been thinking a lot about love and loss this week, due in part to the calendar flipping to May.  Tomorrow, May 2, marks the 20th "anniversary" of my father's passing - hardly seems possible it has been 20 years.  Being the first born, and being a female, I became and, in some ways still am, a "Daddy's Girl".  We shared several common interests, one of which was a fascination with the newspaper business, particularly the actual printing process.  My first job was proofreading at the same newspaper where he worked, and I dearly loved sneaking down to the press room when time came to "roll the presses"!  How I loved the sound of those presses running despite the loudness of the noise.  He would see me there and grin that absolutely wonderful grin of his and there was just a magic moment between us.  While I have always been close with my mother, there was just something truly special about my relationship with my father.  I remember the night I graduated from high school (something he never got to do between economic necessity and then the war):  as he tearfully looked at my diploma, I remember saying "I would give it to you if I could" and he hugged me.  This man with only a middle school education managed, with the help of my mom, to bring up four children in a Christian home, see that they were healthy and happy, and then saw all four graduate from college (although I, as the indecisive one, managed to wait to do it until age 45, and, of course, he was there to cheer me on when I graduated).

May 10 brings another sense of loss, for that is the date, now 14 years ago, when my beloved Jim passed away.  While we knew the status of his cancer, neither of us expected it to take him quite so fast, and I still look back on the six months between the diagnosis and his death as the shortest six months of my life.  Jim (Flip) was one of a kind.  Slow of speech and slow to react, he often seemed shy or hesitant, but he was, instead, sly as a fox, thinking about every word before he said it.  He was great at detail and observation, which made him really good at his job. He worked long, hard hours and was a natural caretaker, whether it was taking care of his family or his yard or his garden, which he dearly loved.  While he was not one given to public or outward displays of affection, he was a truly loving man, and I miss him every day.  One thing that came out of his passing was a change in my relationship with my mother.  Now both sharing the label of "widow", we have a new bond the last 14 years.

Adding to the sense of loss is May 20, the day my beloved grandmother passed:  the woman I adored
and revered.  I think of her often now that I am a grandmother myself, and I even see a similar bond between my first-born granddaughter and me that reminds me of that relationship.  Even though I was only 10 (about the age of my oldest granddaughter) when she passed, I still think of her often.

Now, this week, I add another loss to my calendar.  The gentleman who became an important part of my life the last few years has now decided he cannot deal with the geographic distance and the lack of commitment on my part.  Citing that he is "tired of hurting", he has decided to end our relationship.  While my brain logically understands the situation, my heart is broken.  We had a wonderful, loving friendship that lasted several years, and I hardly know how to get through a day without talking to him.

It is said that to open yourself to love is to open yourself to vulnerability and pain.  I think of the Garth Brooks' song "The Dance", in which he states that even if he had known at the start how it all would end, he still would not have missed the dance.   I have had some loving dance partners, and I would not have missed their dances, even if there was eventual pain.

Sunny Days and Roses

Finally!  We have some truly warm, sunny days!  It seems to me that winter lingered longer than usual this year, with so many gray and rainy and cold days that I began to wonder if we would ever see the sun again!  Today had all the qualities of late spring/early summer:  heat, light breeze and lots of sunshine.  It made me want to think about potting plants, buying and placing lawn furniture on my patio, maybe buying a bird bath, hanging the bird feeders, etc.  I know that by August I will be fussing about the heat and wishing for some of those cooler days and maybe even for the rainy ones, but right now, I'll take the sunshine!

In addition to the summer-like weather, my roses are blooming.  The "knock out" roses are hanging full of red blooms, and will, hopefully, bloom until almost frost in the fall.  But the one I am excited about is the antique rose, rooted from the original plant that was at my grandmother's house.  My mother brought the cutting to me as a housewarming gift when I moved into this house.  I worried all winter that I would kill it, but it is full of  buds and bright pinkish red blooms.  How exciting to see a plant that goes back a couple of generations blooming again.  Just one more example of the circle of life, I guess!  I remember seeing that rose bush as a child (and I remember the vast number of thorns on it, too), and to see it blooming in my yard is truly special.  Grandma's house no longer exists, but her rose bush lives on! 

I was thinking with some disappointment again this spring of the tulips in the flower bed in Greenville (the bulbs were planted by my husband in the fall before he got sick) - those tulips bloomed every spring and always cheered me up.  It was almost like he was telling me "hi" every time I saw the colorful display.  I asked someone in Greenville the other day if they had noticed if they were blooming, but they had not seen any color so maybe they hadn't.  By now they should have been dug up, split, replanted, etc., so they may have suffered. 

So, in the absence of the tulips, it is a real joy to see Grandma's rose blooming in the glorious sunshine!

It's Rainbow Time!

Every morning that the sun is shining, I sit in my living room and enjoy "rainbow time" - a myriad of rainbows scatter along the walls and ceiling cast by the prisms in my window.  Today, as I also listen to the construction of three, yes three, houses next to mine, I wonder if the new houses will block the sunlight and block or diminish my rainbows - hope not!

What is it about rainbows?  The science teacher in me knows that the prisms (just like raindrops) refract or bend the white light coming from the sun into the spectrum of colors that make up white light: or as we learn in school ROYGBIV (Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet).  Right now I see all those colors vividly in no less than 15 rainbows!  When conditions are right after a rain we see the arc of a rainbow caused by the light being bent by raindrops - so it is just science, right?

But rainbows are also Biblical - God places one after the flood in the Old Testament to symbolize His covenant with the people.  So, seeing rainbows can be a beautiful reminder of God's promises and His presence with us.

My love of them, however, is much more personal.  I received a prism from a "secret sister" during the time my Dad was hospitalized, had surgery, and died in 1995.  All that summer, and in the subsequent years of springs and summers, every afternoon when I walked into my kitchen I was greeted by scattered rainbows, bringing a smile.  It was like they reminded me that, although I was sad and grieving, there was also joy in remembering pleasant times.  Over the next few years, I obtained more prisms, so that no matter the angle of the sun at various times of the year, at least one prism would catch the light and break it into the glorious colors.

Then, when my world totally changed in late 2000 and the spring of 2001, the rainbows added another pleasant association.  Jim could not be outside during the sunny part of the day due to the chemotherapy, but he loved being outside.  He began "following the sun" every day inside the house.  He spent mornings in the living room on the East side of the house, enjoying the sunlight.  Then, after lunch time, he moved to the den on the back side (West) of the house, so he could enjoy more of nature's glory safely inside.  By mid-afternoon, when I returned home from school, the prisms in the windows were splitting that sunlight in its spectrum of colors.  As I walked into the house, on every sunny day, he would shout, "come on in, it is rainbow time!" So now, every morning, when it is my own "rainbow time", I feel like he is with me, reminding me of more pleasant memories.

 

It's that time of year again - the temperatures rise and fall like a roller coaster, sometimes cool and crisp, sometimes downright cold, and other times almost as hot as a summer day. The shadows are getting longer as the Earth shifts from Summer to fall and the shorter daylight and cooler temps have stopped the photosynthesis in the leaves, changing the greens to fall colors. Now some of the trees are ablaze with reds, oranges, yellows, and variations of those colors, and some of the leaves are already scattering the streets and lawns. This is my favorite time of year, not only because it is my birthday season, but also because it is like all Mother Nature is raging against the impending winter by lighting the world with color. Soon the trees will be bare, and the winter winds will blow the leaves everywhere, and the world will be darker with shorter days and longer nights. I miss the maple tree in the backyard in Greenville - the tree transported from Madison and transplanted there as a sapling. Every fall it reminded me of Moses' burning bush, completely and gloriously aflame in hues of red, orange and yellow. I do have a few seeds from that tree, and may eventually try to plant them (although I really don't have enough yard for it - maybe Jimmy and Karla could plant one in their yard). I do hope it is putting on a show for the new owner and brightens his fall as much as it always did mine!

What A Difference A Week Makes!

After a busy day of sitting with the girls while Karla had a doctor's appointment, running errands, unpacking some of the myriad of boxes I still have, making beef stew, taking out the recycling for tomorrow's pickup, I realize how quickly I'm settling into a routine in the new life I've begun.

It is hard for me to believe that a week ago I was frantically packing and facilitating the loading of a moving van, and that one week ago tomorrow I moved into this new house! The decision to move came about very quickly, and I could not believe how fast the deposit was secured, the mortgage was arranged, and all the other pieces of the puzzle came together. After all, I only saw the house for the first time in November, and here I was, closing on December 28, starting to move a few things in a couple of days later, and then throwing my entire life onto a moving van a couple of days after the New Year came in!

Watching those rooms empty was more painful than I expected...it brought back memories of seeing that house for the first time, empty, 37 years ago when Jim and I toured it before deciding to buy it. Since we had rented a furnished house in New Bern, this was our first real home together. It was the house we set up real housekeeping in. It was the house where I miscarried our first child. It was the house we brought Jimmy home to when he was born. And it was the house that Jim died in. I got through the day pretty well until time to leave right after the moving van pulled away. Suddenly there wasn't enough time to properly say "good-bye" to the house, no time to say "thank you" and "see you soon" to my friend who has given me so much help and support, and no time to go by the cemetery to say "good-bye for now" to Jim...I had to get on the road in order to get to Jimmy's by dark. Needless to say, I cried off and on all the way to Raleigh.

Now I'm settling in at the new house. I've been too busy to be sad - there's just too much to do to get unpacked and organized. The house is coming together and is beginning to look and feel like home. Later, in a couple of days, however, I have to go back to Greenville to pick up a load of things (items the movers wouldn't take and I had no room for last week) to bring back to the new place...I almost dread going back into the house because I know it is going to be hard. There will be other trips back, I assume, until the house sells. This is a good move, and I am happy with my decision. Already I'm enjoying the closeness of Jimmy, Karla and the girls. But I guess that, in order to say "hello" to new beginnings, you have to say "good-bye" to old ways.

Lists!

I HATE making lists...always have...just prefer to "fly by the seat of my pants" most of the time. Yeah, I know that I get more done when I make a list, prioritize, and check off the items one by one! And, yeah, I always advocated making lists as a strategy to help my students, but I really hated doing it myself!

So, what does it say now that I'm retired, with "all the time in the world", that I find myself making lists more frequently? There is housework, of course, to be done routinely. But more importantly, there is the "other stuff"...the fun stuff like crafting, sewing, reading, watching movies, etc. Now I find that if I want more time for the "fun stuff" I have no choice but to make lists, get things done, and then do what I really wanted to do. Of course, it doesn't help that I have a really bad habit of procrastinating and another bad habit of dreaming up projects that may or may not ever get done!

Right now I'm sitting in my office/sewing/crafting room and looking at a long list of unfinished projects: several baby quilts for various friends, curtains for a friend's new office, afghans to crochet, sundresses I planned to make my granddaughters last summer still not done, several cross-stitch kits to finish (some started already, some not touched), three scrapbooks for my granddaughters that haven't been updated since the fall (I do, at least, have the photos organized, dated, etc. so that will be easier!), lots of supplies that are out because of the various projects that need to be put away, a couple of Christmas projects for next Christmas, and lots of paperwork to file/go through/throw away, etc. as well as the tax stuff to get to the accountant (it is basically ready except for one piece of information I'm waiting on)...

Whew! I'm retired...why does this overwhelming list look like WORK???

Fall & Memories

Finally, it is beginning to feel like autumn! Those hot, humid days well into October have not felt at all like fall. Thankfully, we've received enough rain and a few cool nights, so the trees are beginning to show their brilliant colors... and it's about time!

The most beautiful tree is a maple in my back yard. That tree, a mere sapling at the time, was hand-picked by Elsie Wilson when Jim and I moved into this house. She marked it with a ribbon because of its beautiful range of colors so Doc would know which one to dig up to bring to Greenville. Every fall, that maple, which stands gloriously tall now, resembles Moses' burning bush... it is aflame with gorgeous yellows, oranges and reds. And, every fall, I have a few moments of sweet, sad memories of a mother-in-law who took such care in making sure we had a tree from "back home" that was beautiful. I've actually been agonizing that, if I move in the near future, can I get a cutting rooted so I can take a piece of the tree with me? I'll have to check with my yard man to see...because I'm not sure I can do without that tree every fall.

Autumn was always my favorite season, partially because of my birthday, but also because it seems like the whole world puts on a full-color show right before everything goes dormant for the winter. Growing up, my family always took a trip to the beautiful North Carolina mountains in the fall on a weekend near my birthday. We took a picnic lunch, including a birthday cake, and rode around admiring the myriad of colors of trees in the "hills". Often we stopped at a roadside stand and bought apples and apple cider before heading home. In 1970, when Jim and I got married, I was a bit sad that I wouldn't get to do the annual trip because of our wedding. How wonderful it was when I discovered that he planned our honeymoon in the hills of Virginia and North Carolina, giving me another reason to make fall my favorite season. It has been many years since I've taken such a pilgrimage, but I find myself thinking about it every fall.

One fall, only a year or two after my marriage, Jim and I were in Madison for a weekend. Elsie was up late on Friday night pre-cooking some of the meats and preparing the vegetables. Saturday morning, a fire was built under a huge cast iron pot in the back yard, and, with the help of Doc, Jim, and Hopper, we combined all the meats and vegetables, many of which came from Doc's garden, in that pot. I can still remember the cool, crisp air combined with the smell of wood smoke and brunswick stew...the best I ever tasted. And, as cool as the weatherman says it will get tonight, a big bowl of homemade stew would taste wonderful!

Having been a science teacher, I know that the shorter amount of daylight coupled with the cooler temperatures causes the chlorophyll in the leaves to stop working and changes the leaf color. I prefer to think some kind of magic has been performed, and that the trees are refusing to go quietly into the cold, dark days of winter. They rage against that prospect with all the fire and emotion they can muster, and I love it every year!

My Own Little Palace of Versailles

Back in the '90s, I accompanied my son and his classmates on a trip to Europe during spring break. It was one of those whirlwind trips during which we covered Paris, a couple of cities in Switzerland, and a couple of cities in Germany in ten days. One of the most memorable parts of the trip was a visit, on a Sunday morning, to the Palace of Versailles, just outside of Paris. Lately, that beautiful palace has been on my mind, especially in the mornings. Let me explain.

The Palace of Versailles was initially built by Louis XIV, the "Sun King", of France. Good old Louis had the palace built so that one side faced east and the other side faced west, and he had many windows installed on both sides so that the house was brightly lighted all day. So, the "Sun King" was the center of the sun's light all day, waking with its brilliance in the morning and watching it sink into the west every evening. Perhaps it was a bit egocentric of him, but apparently the sunlight was very important to him. (I don't know that his heirs had the same feeling for the sunlight. While they added onto the palace, including building enormous English-style gardens, the symbolism seemed lost on the later generations. And, I won't comment on the attitude and downfall of Louis XVI and his young wife Marie Antoinette!)

Why the history lesson, you may ask. Well, coincidently my house, though much smaller and less grand than the Palace of Versailles, is situated such that the morning sun shines on the front and the evening sun lights up the back. Almost every morning when I get up, sunlight is streaming through the beveled glass oval of my front door, creating a beautiful pattern on the living room and den floors. Since I had a screened porch added on the back of the den, the French doors (again, how coincidental) line up with the front door in such a way that light travels straight through the house. At the end of the day, when the sun is sinking in the west, the den is brightly lighted, and, again, light travels through the house to the front room. Okay, so what's the big deal? Well, it may not matter at all to some people, but to me, that sunlight has become very important.

I've always noticed the difference in mood between a sunny day and a dark, overcast one. Even when I was teaching school, it was obvious that moods changed on those cloudy, rainy days. I did not know, however, how important that sunlight was (perhaps even medicinal) until my husband was fighting a terminal bout with pancreatic cancer nine years ago. He began, as he called it, "following the sun" every day. With chemo, he was restricted from being out in bright sunlight, so he sat in the living room in the mornings, enjoying the brilliant sunlight, and then moved to the den after lunch when the sun began pouring into the back side of the house. It was as if the sunlight kept his mood positive and uplifted him.

A week or so after his death, I visited my physician to get a "doctor's note" allowing me to stay out of work the rest of the school year (2-3 more weeks). Along with his supportive and caring manner, he made a surprising suggestion (a non-written prescription, if you will): "open the windows and doors and let the light in...for if you don't I'll be treating you for depression in 3-6 months!" I immediately began opening the blinds and the doors, instead of "hiding" in the dark feeling sorry for myself. Within a few days, I not only felt better, I found I actually "craved" the sunlight... could not get along with it!

Now, nine years later, I get up every morning, reveling in the pattern of sunlight coming through the front door, and I begin my "rounds". The blinds in every room get opened, one by one, until light is pouring in on the front rooms of the house. The blinds on the French doors are opened, allowing me to see the beauty of the trees in my back yard, some just kissed by the morning sun. Soon, when the threat of pollen lessens, I'll begin taking my newspaper and my breakfast out to the screened porch every morning, where I'll enjoy the sights and sounds of the world waking with the sun. (Needless to say, I suffer greatly on the dark, gloomy days which do, by necessity, occasionally occur!)

It occurred to me recently that, of all the things I have listed in my mind that I'd have to have if I relocate to Raleigh or Greensboro, that I had forgotten the most important: lots of windows and sunlight! Wherever I eventually live, I must have lots of natural light. Like Louis XIV, I need to be in a position to see the light at all times of the day. So, the next time I'm thinking about moving, I'll add lots of windows and sunlight to the list of property features. I can't afford the Palace of Versailles, but I can have a taste of its features wherever I live!

Counting Blessings

In the movie "White Christmas", Bing Crosby sings a song about counting your blessings instead of sheep when you have trouble sleeping. Today I'm thinking it's a good idea to count our blessings any time, but especially during the Christmas season and as the new year approaches.

I am blessed to be part of a wonderful, loving, and supportive family. My mother turns 87 today, is in good health, lives on her own still, and is as fiesty as ever. My siblings are "good people", the kind everyone wants to have as friends. This year we've rejoiced at successful surgeries, recovering from heart attacks, the birth of a new grandchild, and the wedding of another son. The family is getting larger and happier every day.

I am blessed to have had the love of a good man for over 30 years, a man who was by nature a "caretaker" who, 'though he's been gone nearly 9 years, still seems to be watching over me. Through his planning and stewardship, along with my own investments, I have been blessed with the gift of retirement and the joy of being able to enjoy my life without having to go to work every day. His greatest gift to me was our son, who continues to be a blessing every day. He has blessed me with a beautiful and intelligent daughter-in-law and, so far, two wonderful granddaughters with number three due in January.

I am blessed to have increasingly good health, due in part to the decision to get control of my weight and my life. The highly capable surgeon who did my gastric bypass, as well as the friends and family who helped and supported me during the initial recovery, are also counted among my blessings.

It was a blessing this week to learn that a friend of my husband's, fighting a rare form of cancer that is probably the result of exposure to Agent Orange in Viet Nam, is in remission. So far his surgeries and the chemo and radiation have worked...praise God! It is always a blessing to hear when someone actually wins over the "Big C"!

I am blessed to be a Christian, and to know that God is always there for me. I am blessed to be a part of a loving, caring church, which, even when I haven't been attending regularly, has been shepherding and supporting me. Their prayers and visits during my recovery from surgery, their constant inquiries about my son and his family, and their genuine friendship have been invaluable to me.

I am blessed to live in a country where I can worship and move about freely. Even when conditions and politics are troubled, it is a place where people can question and discuss and brainstorm solutions without fear of recrimination.

Most recently, I am blessed to have a second chance at love. I am very aware that we are lucky to have found true, honest love even once in our lives, and I am sometimes a little overwhelmed to be given another chance. While he has been and still is my best friend, he has become so much more, and I cannot imagine my life without him in it.

While I am sure there are many more blessings I could count, I'll stop there. As the season for rejoicing over the birth of Christ approaches, I hope everyone stops to count their blessings. As the old year rings out, I hope everyone receives even more blessings for the new year!

Elvis did a movie called "Girls, Girls, Girls". In "West Side Story" one of the characters sings about enjoying being a girl. In "South Pacific", the sailors sing "There is Nothing Like a Dame". Can you tell I have girls on the brain??? Today my son and daughter-in-law learned from an ultrasound that baby #3 is another girl (which is what they have believed all along). That's a bunch of females in one house! And I love it!

This event has reminded me of an incident that occurred when my son Jimmy was very young (5 or so). I was explaining to him that the reason he didn't have a brother or sister was that some people just didn't have babies as easily as others. In the course of the conversation, I happened to mention that "I sure would have liked to have a little girl, too." He looked at me with those big brown eyes and said, in all the seriousness he could muster, "One day I'll give you a little girl, Mommy".

The day in the fall of 2005 when they had the ultrasound for their first child, Jimmy called me at school to give a report. "Remember that promise I made years ago? Well, you're going to get your little girl!" While I was excited about the news, it was the fact that my child remembered a promise made at age 5 that truly touched my soul. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I promptly went to the "pearl lady" at my school and ordered a set of white tiny baby pearls for my first granddaughter.

Katherine Elizabeth arrived in January 2006, and I entered a world of pink and lace and princesses, which was far different from Match Box cars, Star Wars, and G. I. Joe. Having a little girl to spoil was so much fun. We decorated the nursery with pastel colors, a green and white toile of Mother Goose rhymes, and yellow and white walls...and it was a thrill to sew some of the bedding and curtains.

Then, a little over a year ago, my son called again to tell me the results of the ultrasound for baby #2: it's a girl! Conferring with my "children" (because I truly think of my daughter-in-law as my child), I plunged into sewing red gingham and ladybug bedding for the second arrival. Naturally, I again conferred with the "pearl lady" and ordered another set of tiny pearls, pink this time. Margaret Josephine arrived in October 2008, and now I had two little girls!

Now, today, I've learned that baby #3, due in January 2010, is another girl! Just think of the tea parties to host, the doll houses to furnish, the doll clothes to make, the fairy tales to read, and "meals" to cook with three of them! And, yes, I've already called the "pearl lady" to order another set of tiny pearls, lavendar this time, for the third girl.

I am on Cloud Nine, and I just had to share my feelings!

Jimmy's Birthday

I'm feeling a bit nostalgic today because 32 years ago today I gave birth to my beautiful son.

The year before I had carried a pregnancy about 10 weeks and miscarried, and this pregnancy was filled with joy, excitement and anxiety. We knew that this might be our only chance for a child, short of adoption, so we were nervous. The pregnancy was as "textbook" as it gets, with movement, positioning, everything happening exactly on time. It was so perfect, in fact, that we came to believe that it was a gift from God.

On June 28, a horrible accident occurred a few miles away, a ruptured gas line causing a house to explode, killing one of ECU's coaches and his wife. For several hours I was involved in various phone calls with Athletic Department personnel about the accident and about one of the athletes, a wrestler, who was badly injured by the explosion. Naturally I was a little "keyed up" when I went to bed and had a hard time sleeping.

Around midnight, I began having occasional contractions (not at all regular) and having frequent trips to the bathroom. By 3:30 AM, I was sure something was happening, so we set off for the hospital. While they determined that I was not in steady labor, they did decide that my water was leaking, so I was checked into the hospital.

Officially, labor did not really begin until after 6:30 AM, and it progressed quickly. By 9:20 AM I was definitely in some sort of transition. When nurses determined at 9:30 AM that the baby had crowned and "I can see the hair on its head", I was wheeled to delivery. A few pushes later, I heard the loud cry of my son. The time was 10:04 AM, and it was not only his due date, it was almost exactly the same time he was conceived months earlier (yes, I knew exactly when he was conceived). Since there had been no drugs administered, he was wide-eyed, alert, and very angry about being so rudely handled!

The next day I was requested to meet someone at the end of the hall (he could not come onto the Maternity hall). It was the wrestler who was injured in the explosion, sharing some of his flowers with me and congratulating me on my new baby before he went home to recuperate.


Over the next years, my son became a dominant part of my life, perhaps more so than some because his dad had to work so many crazy hours that I was often mother and father. Was he a perfect child? Definitely no. Was he a good child? Most of the time. Was he a challenge? For sure, especially in the teen years! Was he the most precious gift I ever received? Absolutely.
And, when my husband died, my son truly became a man, being strong and supportive for me.

Now my son is a mature, responsible man with a wife, two beautiful daughters, and another child on the way. He is a good husband and father, a respected and well-liked member of the district attorney's staff, and overall a good man. He is the joy of my life and well on his way to being the man his father always thought he would be.

The Swing

The day was uncommonly warm for early March, even in the South. Bright sunlight, brisk winds, and temperatures in the high 60's had tempted her out onto the screened porch to have lunch. As she ate, she surveyed the yard from her comfortable chair, intent on curling up with a good book and staying where she was all afternoon. Her plan changed, however, when she noticed the swing moving slowly in the wind.



Long past needing a coat of paint, the porch swing hung from the metal A-frame that once supported a child's swing set. Shaded by a sprawling pecan tree, its chains were rusty, and the boards were faded white. There it sat, gently rocking in the wind, seeming to be inviting her to come over.



Putting lunch aside, she decided to accept the invitation, so she crossed the porch, walked down the steps and across the stone patio, and stepped out onto the grassy lawn. With no ceremony, she plopped herself down in the center of the bench seat and gave a small push with her feet, putting the swing in motion again.



For a few moments, she was content to sit just as she was, gently swinging back and forth. She looked up to see a jet flying high overhead, its contrail cutting a sharp white slash across the Carolina blue sky. An occasional fluffy white cloud floated by, and she remembered the joys of the childhood game of finding objects in the shapes of the clouds. She watched with amusement as a cloud frog turned into a dragon. Wanting to feel the warmth of the sun on her face, she twisted sideways, placing her back and head against the chains and stretching one leg out on the seat. The sun was warm, but it hurt her eyes, so she closed them. The wind ruffled her hair and tickled her face, causing her to smile. Between the warmth and swaying movement of the swing, she relaxed.



Lulled by the gentle rocking of the swing and the combination of sun and breeze, her senses seemed to sharpen. All around her, nature was playing its symphony. Bare tree limbs clicked and clacked, leaves on the magnolia whispered, a variety of wind chimes tinkled in different octaves, birds called to each other, and squirrels chattered as they chased each other up and down the pine trees. The quince bush was blooming, its salmon pink flowers brightening the corner of the yard. Her neighbor's Bartlett Pear was heavy with white blossoms. The lawn, which had been so brown all winter, was beginning to turn verdant green. The dogwood and pecan trees wore the fresh light green of early spring. The air was sweet with the smells of new grass and flowering trees. She smiled again as her senses picked up each sound, each sight, and each smell.



As she absorbed all the sensations around her, the swing continued to move slowly back and forth. It reminded her of the pendulum on a grandfather clock, marking time with each cycle. Suddenly, she was transported in time, seeing her life flash by as memories flowed around her.



She saw the yard 34 years earlier when she and her husband met the real estate agent and toured the property, nothing like it looked today. Moving day had been hectic, more so because her husband had been called in to work, leaving all the supervising to her. Their dog had explored and surveyed every inch of the yard, staking his claim to his new home. As that spring moved into summer, the yard witnessed many cookouts on the grill, evenings spent discussing decorating, landscaping, and their future.

Months later, they were gifted with some plants, dug up in her husband's home town and transported to them by his parents. The magnolia had been only six feet tall when planted, but it was now over 50 feet high. The dogwoods in the front and back yards had also been barely saplings, but now they were taller than the house. The quince and forsythia bushes had been, likewise, scarcely more than potted plants then. Her favorite was the maple, a tree marked by her mother-in-law the previous fall with a ribbon because of its flaming colors. It was the highlight of her autumn each year to watch that maple turn into glowing reds, oranges and yellows.

Time fast-forwarded to a June a few years later when she sat in the yard, anticipating the birth of their child. A year earlier she had miscarried, so she had been nervous as the due date approached. She remembered an evening cookout when she told her husband of a dream she'd had the previous night in which she had seen their child, a boy, so clearly she could describe his face. Only a couple of days later, they brought home their son, carrying him around the yard to introduce him to his home.

The swing continued its rocking motion, and time again shifted. She saw wading pools, water slides, squirt guns, and tiny friends celebrating birthdays in the yard. The swing set was a gift from a grandparent on one of those birthdays. In later years, the yard and the swing had witnessed many birthday parties. The yard became a galaxy far, far away for several years in a row, while boys dressed as Star Wars characters saved the universe. One year the yard had been an island where blood-thirsty pirates roamed, searching for hidden treasure, conveniently buried in a freshly tilled flower bed. Another year, a war had been fought with teams of boys opposing each other in their G. I. Joe gear. An Indiana Jones party resulted in the backyard being transformed into caves to crawl through, a sandpit of snakes to leap over, and other obstacles to maneuver.

During the next few years, the yard and the swing had become important parts of every day, whether it was playing in the sandbox, splashing in a wading pool, or swinging on the swing set. She saw her son on the glider he loved, soaring high into hyperspace in his Millennium Falcon. She saw him in red Superman boots, splashing in rain puddles. She saw him building roads for his Tonka trucks or landscapes for his G. I. Joes in the sandbox. She saw him trudging through snow deeper than he was tall, just to get to the swing set which was buried in snow.

Back and forth she rocked in the swing, taken completely over now by the memories rushing over her. There was the autumn of the "invalid" cookout, due to the fact that her husband and the next-door neighbors had all had accidents the same week and were in a variety of casts and slings, attracting avid attention by passing motorists. There was the pig pickin' held to celebrate her belated college graduation at age 45. And, of course, there were prom and high school graduation parties when their son reached those milestones. Sadly, two beloved dogs were buried under the pecan tree, near the swing. Somewhere in that time frame, the swing set had been replaced by a porch swing as a gift one Mother's Day.

Clouds began blocking out the sun, and she shivered as the swing continued to move back and forth. Her mood chilled as she began remembering the time several years earlier when this swing had been shared nearly every afternoon with her husband. Chemotherapy kept him from enjoying the sun, but he loved sitting in the swing in the shade of the pecan tree. She would come home from her teaching job, throw down her things, and sit with him in the swing. His time was short, and they both knew it, so this was precious time, holding hands, sometimes talking, sometimes silent, and rocking back and forth in the early spring.

Vividly, she recalled the day in May when, shortly after the funeral, friends had gathered at the house. One young couple, who seemed to instinctively know what she needed, had handed over their young son. Cuddling him close, she had walked away from the others and sat in the swing. For a few moments, she cradled him in her arms, feeling the warmth, the life, in him. In the midst of her loss, she found comfort in rocking the baby to sleep in the swing.

How many days in the following months, she wondered, had she sat in that swing, feeling her husband's presence beside her? Sometimes she talked to him, hoping he could hear as she struggled with the loneliness, the pain, the loss of serenity and peace of mind, and the decisions that had to be made. Other days she shared joys with him, like the day their son proposed to his future bride.

Two years later, she went to the swing again when she returned from the out-of-state wedding of their son, sharing the moment with him. Again, she went to the swing when their son became a father. And, it was only natural that, when the young family brought their new arrival to Grandma's house for the first time, she would take that beautiful new granddaughter to the swing, introducing her, in a way, to her Grandfather.

The swing continued to sway, and her memories leaped forward again to another time when her serenity and peace of mind had once again been shattered. She had returned home from errands to find an intruder in the house who not only robbed her but pointed a gun at her, turning her house and her life upside down. No longer did she feel totally comfortable in her own home. Pressures overwhelmed her: pressures to put in a security system, pressures to sell the house and move closer to family, and pressures about testifying in court. All the pressures hovered over her like a dark cloud.

The sun disappeared behind clouds that darkened with the threat of rain. Opening her eyes, she shivered with the new chill in the air. She shook off the memories and roused herself to present day. As the first raindrops fell, she got up and slowly walked across the yard and back to the screened porch. She glanced back at the swing as its pendulum motion continued. Who would have thought, she mused, that a faded, rusty old swing could become a time machine?