Christmas crunchies

Lets see, Brent would have been 20 months old at this time.  As you can tell from the photographs it was Christmas time.   I decided to include this first photograph so you can see how the Christmas tree ended up being decorated.  You will notice the distinct lack of ornaments on the lower half of the tree.  The tree is decorated in this manner because I came down the hall from the back of the house to find him sitting in front of the tree EATING the ornaments.  He was eating the GLASS ornaments!  I was frightened to death.  I was sure this was going to kill him.  I scooped him up and took him to the doctor.  This was the one time in our early life that I actually had a car at home to use.  Rob had a motorcycle that he drove to work so I had the car to use in this emergency.  Thankfully the doctor did not think this was going to hurt him as it appeared he had done an excellent job of chewing up the glass.  Although his mouth had cuts in it they were not serious enough to worry about, I just had to watch to be sure there was no blood in his diapers and move all the glass ornaments out of his reach.  You will notice there are ornaments, but the ones you see are actually made of yarn.  I have always said Brent would eat anything if it didn't eat him first and this may have been where it all started. 

This was only his second Christmas and he was very excited.  In the picture at the top of the post you will notice he got a car hauler, a "motorcycle", a horse to ride on and yes that is a doll but it is one of those that teaches you how to zip, button, tie shoe laces, snap, and etc.  The photograph just above is Brent opening a gift, he's pretty cute for 20 months in his little footy pajamas. 

Lesson Learned!

When my oldest son was less than two and I was pregnant with my daughter we were living in Montgomery, Alabama.  We lived in a nice large three bedroom home where the den and kitchen were at the back of the house.  The side door to the house that led out onto the driveway entered through the side of the kitchen.  The door was one of those that has a window in the top, there were curtains hanging to block anyone from seeing in; directly next to this door stood the refrigerator. 
One evening after I had gotten my son to bed and had my husband all settled I thought, "I better get the dishwasher unloaded before morning, it will be easier."  I let Rob know I would be unloading the dishwasher and took off towards the kitchen to take care of it.
The living room in the house was at the front of the house and in front of the den and kitchen.  There was a doorway at the end of the hall not visible from the kitchen and the second doorway was at the other end of the room that went into the kitchen.  Little known to me Rob had snuck down the hall, through the living room and into the kitchen and was hiding next to the refrigerator just out of sight.  I never noticed him enter because I was concentrating on the job I was doing so I was ignorant of his position or intent.
Rob had this morbid need to scare the life out of me.  Nothing seemed to give him more pleasure than to scare me so bad that I screamed and jumped out of my skin.  He had planned this moment carefully, or so he thought.
As I was unloading the dishwasher I began to unload the utensil basket placing the knives, forks and spoons in the drawer directly next to the dishwasher.  Then I came to the huge, extremely sharp knife I had used in preparation of the evening meal.  I pulled it out of the basket, crossed the kitchen to put it in the cabinet next to the refrigerator and just as I reached up to place it in the cabinet (out of reach of my son) Rob decided to jump out from behind the refrigerator.  He got his desired scream all right but what he wasn't counting on was the knife.  In my fright I brought the knife down with a swift swing and came within an hairs breathe of stabbing my own husband by accident.  Guess who screamed then?  There we stood, both of us gasping for air from our fright.  I started to cry and he felt guilty and relieved since he was still alive.  Lets just say he never stopped frightening me half to death, still does it to this day, but he NEVER frightens me when I am unloading the dishwasher!  Lesson learned! 

I love Science

My Science class was really fun.  Science was and is my favorite subject.  I cannot remember my teacher's name, I can only remember it was a man and that he always seemed happy.  He seemed just as curious about science as I.  One of the things we were learning about that year was rockets and rocket fuel propulsion.  To help us better understand, we were required to design and make a rocket from balsa wood.  It had to be dynamically sound, and we had to make it ourselves with no help from anyone.  The rockets had to be six to eight inches long.  We bought these tiny CO2 canisters to insert into the bottom of the rockets.  The teacher tied string from the school building out to a pole located far away from the building.  Our rockets had small eye socket screws along the top of them.  We placed the rocket on the string and slightly punctured the CO2 canister and boy would that rocket take off.  Each student flew their rocket horizontally, it was somewhat of a competition to see whose could travel the greatest distance.  Because the rocket was on the string it was an easy retrieval for multiple launches.  This class was some of the most fun I ever had in a Junior High School classroom.

Knicker Knockers

 One of the big fads when I was in eighth grade was a thing called "Knicker Knockers" or "Clackers", everyone had them including myself.  If I recall accurately mine were green.  They consisted of two colored glass balls about the size of plums.  The balls were suspended on a string about twenty four inches long and doubled over and tied like those in the hand drawn picture  at the bottom so you had a handle. 
You played with these by knocking

the balls together hard enough to have them bounce again at the top.  That force was hard enough to cause them to hit again at the bottom of the arc.  The object of the game was to see who could keep them going the longest without stopping, in this manner.  This fad lasted only a short time, although they were great fun, it was determined they were actually dangerous as the glass balls could chip or sliver, and had on occasion blinded a few people.  My parents made me throw mine away.          

     

My klutzy sister

Vickie was famous in our family for her klutz attacks.  We used to tease her that she could trip on a hair laying on the carpet.  One major klutz attack that happened at the Radnor road house happened in the backyard.  Someone, and it was never clear who, left my fathers scathe in the back yard lying in the grass.  This meant that a razor sharp foot long blade was lying exposed within the grass.  Vickie somehow managed to step on the up turned blade.  Thankfully, only her pinky toe was caught on the blade though cutting it nearly off.
Vickie ran into the house trailing massive amounts of blood as she ran.  My parents, upon seeing the blood, asked no questions, dad just picked her up and ran to the car with her.  Both my parents got in the car and left.  I watched after my younger sisters and cleaned up the blood in the house. It was very frightening.  Our neighbor came over after a while to watch after us and make us supper while we waited for a parent to return.  Finally, late in the evening, my father came home and told us Vickie was doing ok, they had stitched her up and stopped the bleeding but they had to keep her in the hospital.  People at that time frequently died of blood poisoning or "lock jaw" brought on by rust or dirt and the hospital had to be careful that Vickie did not develop either.
After a few days in the hospital Vickie came home using crutches.  She was unable to place her foot on the floor at all as it caused the stitches to burst open.  It took a very long time to heal but it finally did.  Vickie has always been accident prone and never had your average accidents.

Fifth grade graduation

At the end of my fifth grade year, attending Arrowwood Academy in Norfolk, Virginia, the school made plans for "graduation".  It was a special thing for me at the time, I felt so mature and I remember being so proud.  My mom took me shopping for a new white dress, shoes and hose.  I couldn't believe I was going to get to wear hose.  You have to understand that my father was very funny about things like that.  I can recall thinking how pretty I was wearing my new dress, fishnet stockings and white patent leather shoes.  My hair was still blonde at the time so I am sure I looked very springy.  We, the fifth grade, gathered on the risers facing our parents on the front lawn of the school.  We sang the song "Up, up in the air, in my beautiful balloon".  I thought it quite beautiful at the time and was very proud,  I now realize as an adult it was probably more "cute" than beautiful. 
My fellow students and I received our "diploma" and any recognition for outstanding achievements.  I received an award for my safety patrol service in addition to my diploma.  It was a happy time, my parents attended and smiled with pride. 

A trip with granddaddypop.

Me and Great Aunt Martha Siler

Great Uncle Ralph and Granddaddy Pop Siler

Nanny Siler

I went to Memphis, Tennessee with my grandparents, Elesa (Nanny) and Joe (granddaddy pop) Siler, my Aunt Noresa (My father's adopted sister).  We went to visit my grandfathers brother Ralph Siler and his wife Martha.  We took our time getting to their home and did some sightseeing along the way. 
Remembering that I am chlosterphobic while I tell this story will help you know how I felt about certain stops we made.  I love nature and find great pleasure in seeing it in all its many forms.  While on our way my grandparents decided to stop at a cave that I cannot remember the name of.  Within this cave there were many beautiful things to see, I had difficulty concentrating as we went deeper within and the walls got closer together.  At one point we literally had to crawl through a hole that opened up into an underground lake.  When I came to the hole I told my grandmother I could not do it.  Now Nanny was not the kind of person to put up with any nonsence or phobias so she grabbed my hand and literally pulled me through the hole.  I was panicked but had no choice but to stand there with my grandmother inside an enormous "room" within this cave.  Inside this room there were small glass bottom boats to take tourists out onto the lake.  The water was so pure you could see to unfathomable depths.  There were underwater Stalagmites and very unusual fish.  It really was beautiful, I concentrated very hard, trust me, and was able to enjoy the experience.  It is not an experience I would not repeat for myself but I would recommend it to others.
On this same vacation we stopped at Rock City and Ruby Falls near Chattanooga.  While in Memphis we went to the Zoo.  I do not remember anything specifically at these places I do remember enjoying them.
Once in Memphis we all stayed at Uncle Ralph's.  Aunt Martha was an unusual woman.  She was perhaps the first person I met in my life that had obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD).  The first night I was there I asked where the towels were so I could take a bath before bed and I was given, a washcloth, a towel, Comet and a scrub brush.  She gave me the instructions to literally clean my way out of the bathroom after having bathed.  I ended up smelling like cleanser when I was done, so there was really not much point in a bath, but then if you did not bathe you would be in worse trouble.
For breakfast the next morning Aunt Martha cooked eggs.  You know how some eggs have little white things found in the clear part of the egg?  She called them "ickies."  So she would dig them out before she would cook the eggs.  She was constantly cleaning and straightening.  I loved her from the moment I met her, along with her husband, they were such fun and happy people.
Granddaddy Pop's mother lived nearby Uncle Ralph's so Noresa and I walked over to visit often during our vacation.  Mrs. Siler was quite elderly, very sweet and had the longest hair I have ever seen.  Her hair was whitish-grey and was so long it literally drug the floor when it was let down.  Normally she kept her hair in a tight braid.  At her advanced age she was rather sickly and was having horrible head aches.  Noresa asked if she could wash her hair for her which was a major task given it's length, so she consented.  Noresa carefully unbraided her hair and lowered her head over a huge deep sink she had in her kitchen.  She washed the hair then towel dried it and began to brush it out.  As she brushed it our she commented on its beauty.  Noresa braided it back and then without notice to anyone suddenly cut the braid off at the shoulders.  Mrs. Siler had never cut her hair in her entire life.  She screamed like someone had stabbed her.  Noresa laughed, I nearly fainted and was very sorry for the woman.  I could not believe Noresa had done such a thing.  Poor Mrs. Siler cried hysterically for quite a while, we finally left the house to go back to Uncle Ralph's, once there I quickly told him what Noresa had done, I was worried about her.  The adults flew out of the house to check on her.  Mrs. Siler could not be consoled and Noresa was totally unrepentant.  She felt she had helped Mrs. Siler with her headaches.
We left Memphis a few days later (earlier than originally planned) without an invitation for Noresa to return.  As a matter of fact all of us were angry with her and yet she kept her smug satisfied face.  Mrs. Siler kept the long braid to be  buried with her; to her it was a matter of shame to have had her hair cut. 
  

Me, Aunt Noresa and Great grandmother, Mrs. Siler.  Notice Noresa is the only one smiling.

1960's

During the civil rights era in the United States I lived in Norfolk, Virginia.  Vickie and I attended Willard Junior High School.  There was so much tension between races at that time and our school was no exception.
Being white I could never go to the bathroom at our school.  The black students "owned" the restrooms.  If you were white and went into a bathroom you literally took your life in your hands.  Many white students were injured just for entering the bathroom.  No one ever tattled on who it was that attacked them because that meant a really heavy serious beating.  The school tried to control the violence but it was so prevalent that they just didn't have a chance.
At my school it was common for the black students to push the white students down the stairs, hard cement stairs.  Students would end up with injuries ranging from bruises to broken bones.  The black boys would stand at the bottom of the stairs and look up the dresses of the white girls and whistle and comment.  You would think well, just wear pants but at that time girls were not allowed to wear pants to school.
One of my least favorite experiences that actually happened to me was while walking by the busses the black boys hanging out of the windows spitting large, gross, spit wads into the hair of white students passing by.  I have a very lively gag reflex and when this happened to me I vomited repeatedly with those boys laughing their heads off until my Uncle whose turn it was to pick up us children came and found me.
My sisters, Sharon and Kathy, were in elementary school at the time and they were no strangers to the violence either. Once in Sharon's class a student took a pair of scissors, reached around her to stab the  student in front of her.  This same school's principal was the victim of a mortal stab wound from a black student whom he was reprimanding for his behavior in class.
This was the last straw for my parents.  My father sought and received a transfer to Texas, away from the violence connected with Civil Rights. 
One thing I will say is that my sister, Vickie, had a black male friend whose nickname was "Peaches".  I never knew his real name.  He was the nicest fellow.  He, like we, believed in the principles of Civil Rights, just not in the violence.  He protected Vickie and me at school.  He would also attend all the schools activities and keep us safe while we attended.  To me Peaches was like a protective big brother.  He put out the word that nobody touched Vickie or me.  I must say, I still could not bring myself to use the school restrooms.

Celia, what a bag of wind!

These photographs are in color but they were taken with a Polaroid camera in 1970, that makes them more than 45 years old.  The first three photos are of businesses in Portland, Texas, the fourth is of our backyard.  You will notice that there are fence posts in that fourth photo but no fence.  The roof laying on the ground is that of our neighbors.  The part of our roof that was missing... who knows whose yard it lay in.  Celia was a hurricane with winds of up to 200 mph. 

She blew through with tornadoes wrapped within her.  Her destruction was horrific and frightening.  After all was said and done the damage in 1970 was $309 million worth.  Our home suffered severe water damage, the water even came in through all the light and electrical fixtures.  The sliding glass door was bowed so far in that we just knew it was going to shatter, though it never did.  A log came in through the living room window and one came through the dining room as well.  A board or something

exploded the garage door, went through the cars' front and back windshields then through the back garage door.  When the board went through the back door it took with it most of the family's childhood pictures and all of our 8mm movies.  All those memories lost, it was very sad.  During the storm the house was constantly pelted with debris.  We were not even sure we would live through it.  It was an experience I hope to NEVER repeat in this life time. 

There was no electricity or water in our part of Texas for over a week.  My family had a freezer

full of meat and a travel trailer with a propane tank.  Thankfully, although the trailer was destroyed the tank of propane was not nor was the stove within.  My parents decided to cook all the meat in our freezer and share with everyone in the neighborhood.  The meat was going to be wasted otherwise.  We kind of had a party, celebrating that we had all made it though alive. 
Helicopters dropped carbonated water donated to us from the coca cola plant in Texas.  We had no drinking water so this was a life giving service.  We were unable to get out of our city, all the roads were blocked with debris, it was over a week before we were able to leave.  Thankfully we had food we could eat, mostly crackers, chips and peanut butter, but it didn't matter we were grateful to be alive. 
We had been shocked at the severity of the storm as we waited out the first half.  When the eye of the storm came my father ran outside and used wood from the pieces of houses that was in our yard to board up our windows and the sliding glass door.  We had originally taped the windows which normally would have been sufficient but not with this storm.  When my father lifted a sheet of wood over the sliding glass door in the back of the house he did not see the long nail sticking out and as he lifted it the nail kind of scooped under his knee cap and nearly took it off.  Blood was everywhere but he would not slow down in his process of making us safe.  Later when my father finally came back in the house my mother did her best to doctor his wound.  It was bad but he was determined to do everything he needed to keep us safe.  Because we could not get out of our little city my father never did have stitches or a doctors care but my mother took care of it and it healed, ugly, but it healed.  He bore the scar the rest of his life.  I have actually been in many hurricanes and even tornadoes but this was the worst experience I have ever had.  I can still feel the walls of our house trembling under the strength of her winds. 

Gasoline

My sister Vickie tended to be accident prone.  While living at the Radnor Road house my sisters accident proneness nearly got her killed.  My father was working on our family car, he always worked on our cars, he was a skilled mechanic and saved our family tons of money by doing the work himself.  The Radnor Road house had a two foot high side porch on it directly next to the driveway so it was convenient for my father to line his tools up along the edge of the porch while he worked.  We children often played on our side porch and we did that day.  Dad was bad about putting gasoline in cleaned out drink bottles to use for cleaning engine parts while he worked on the engines of cars.  This day my father had chosen a "Nehi Orange" drink bottle to put the gasoline in. 
Gasoline, at least at that time if not now, had an orange appearance to it.  My sister decided to take a good swallow of the orange drink she saw sitting on the porch without asking first.  She believed it to be a drink my father was drinking and not the gasoline it actually was.  She managed to gulp down a few swallows before realizing it was not an orange drink.  She began screaming and choking at the same time so my father quickly turned around and assessed the problem immediately. 
Our car was not put back together yet so my parents had to have the neighbor take my mom and sister to the hospital.  People at that time normally only owned one car in a family. 
In the end Vickie was ok, the hospital took proper care of her.  She had no long term effects and my father somehow survived my mothers' scolding which was severe.   Dad no longer stored gasoline in drink bottles.  Lesson learned (the hard way).

Stilts

There lived across the street a Preacher and his family.  It was a large family and not particularly well to do, but they were a happy, active family.  I had a crush on one of the older boys, he was eight I think.  He was very kind.
Once when I was visiting the young boy decided to teach me how to walk on stilts.  The preachers back porch was about three feet off the ground, so he had me take the stilts to the edge of the porch and put them over.  I then stepped out onto the small shoe platforms and staggered out into the yard.  By practicing all day I eventually became quite adept not only at walking on the stilts but at stopping and standing still without falling off and hurting myself.  I was about six years old when I learned how to walk on stilts.

Grandma Hazel

My maternal grandmother lived with us when I was a young child.  She had breast cancer and had had a double mastectomy.  The surgery was done differently in those days, things were not so neatly done and a woman was never quite the same afterwards.  She had radiation treatments after the mastectomy.  Her wounds from the surgery never healed so my mother, who had once been a surgical nurse, took care of her.  Although grandma was never able to fully recuperate from the surgery, she loved her grandchildren none the less.  She spent a great deal of time playing with us and spoiling us.
Grandma, as I recall  made THE BEST apple turnovers.  I can remember her smiling and chattering to me as I stood at the edge of the table in a chair watching her make these delicious treats.  My mouth watered the entire time as I asked her millions of questions.  These are pleasant memories.  As I recall that my grandmother never lost patience with me and all my jabber, nor with my sisters.
My grandmother did not live very long after her surgery; it was not a time of cures for those with cancer.

Mrs. Cabbage

There was a woman across the street from where we lived whom I called "Mrs. Cabbage."  The woman's name was not Mrs. Cabbage; I know I must have tagged her with it because she always had a vegetable garden.  I recall that on her side of the street the yards backed up to woods.  Between her home and the woods Mrs. Cabbage grew a large, in my five year old eyes, huge, vegetable garden.  She was generous and very kind.  I remember she would listen to my chatter as I "helped" her in her garden.  I can imagine my "help" caused her a great deal more work but she never complained and was always willing to let me "help" her.  She talked to me as if I were an adult while I held some of the vegetables she would pick and she would always send vegetables with me as I skipped along home after a pleasant visit.  I wish I knew her real name, I know I called her Mrs. Cabbage to her face as long as I knew her.  I never saw a child or a husband at her home, perhaps she indulged me for that reason.  Dear sweet Mrs. Cabbage.

Say What?

I have a tendency to talk with my hands.  I have to say I do not do it as much now as I did when I was young.  There must be some Italian blood somewhere in my family for sure.  I used to vigorously swing my arms and use my hands constantly as I spoke.  My hands flying as I spoke used to drive my father crazy.  I have to admit I was a talker when I was young, so my hands constantly flew because I constantly talked. 
One day in the middle of one of my long running stories my father shushed me and told me he had something of a challenge for me.  Being a teenager I took him up on his proposed challenge.  My father, tired of hearing me talk that day, challenged me to sit on my hands and keep them under my legs the entire time while I continued to tell him my story.  Well, that seemed an easy task so I accepted his challenge. 
I promptly put my hands under my thighs, smiled at my father, who had a funny grin on his face, and began to think where I had left off on my story.  Remembering my spot I started to take up the story.  The odd thing was, I immediately became tongue tied.  I honestly could not speak!  I noticed that I had to concentrate to keep my hands under my thighs.  This was NOT EASY!  I sputtered and stuttered and didn't seem to be able to tell my story in any organized fashion.  Eventually my father told me that I could take my hands out from under my thighs and wha-la  my power of speech began to improve immediately.  We tried this a couple of times and I learned that I could not speak without the use of my hands.  My father found this to be tremendously funny, I found it to be shocking.  I was quiet the remainder of that day as I pondered my hands.  Needless to say I made an effort from then on to not use my hands so much when I speak.  I honestly cannot tell you if I use my hands now or not.  I know I improved tremendously but I don't know how well I am doing at this point as I do not even think about it now.  It was enlightening years ago though, I had no idea how important the use of my hands were to my ability to speak. 

The little ballerina

 

This is my little ballerina.  She is so graceful and lovely.  She has been in ballet for five years and has learned well.  It was a joy to attend her Revue.  She and one other girl were the most talented ballerinas. 

After the Revue Rob, Mom and I, Mere, Grey, Warren, Hana, Hana's aunt Callie and Callie's step daughter, Granse and Charles went out to eat at a Mexican restaurant here in town.  Since there were so many of us it took a while to have our food delivered to us.  Grey and Mere became exhausted.  Since both children were sitting on either side of me they laid down on their wooden chairs, placed their heads on my lap and promptly fell HARD asleep.  I had a difficult time waking either child, I believe they would have slept through the night had I not insisted they wake up to eat. 

 

 

Grammy's left leg

 

 Grammy's right leg

 

Monopoly

My family played games together all the time.  We played outside games such as "500", any type of tag, kick ball, baseball, etc.  We also played tons of games inside as well.  We played any number of board games, card games and such.  I loved all the games we played except one:  Monopoly.  You may think that I did not like it because I lost often but that was not the case.  As a matter of fact I tend to win at games for reasons I can't really explain. 
I hated Monopoly because it turned my family into crazy people.  My father, my mother and my sisters would become vicious human beings all trying to out wit the others and not in a congenial way.  This game was not about fun it was about blood thirsty crazy people.  When someone would petition to play Monopoly I would vote NO!  We played anyway.  It seemed we never finished the game in one sitting, it always took two days or so.  The fussing was not worth the game.
When I married Rob I discovered he liked to play Monopoly so we bought the game so we could play.  I thought perhaps playing this detested game with my new husband would be a positive way to learn to love it.  Um, I was wrong.  It seems, if it is possible, he was more competitive and vicious than my own family.  Oh my gosh, I could not believe it.  I had a cow and refused to play the game, period!  I figured since I had my own home I could set my own rules and those rules would include NO MONOPOLY!  It worked for a while but I did not throw the game away.  After having children and those children growing up we began to play the game again.  Oh my, the legacy continued.  Tears, fussing, quitting, hurricanes and natural disasters became the name of the game.  To this day I would rather have a root canal than play one game of Monopoly.  Sorry Milton Bradley! 

Shakeys Pizza

Growing up one of my favorite places to eat was Shakeys Pizza.  I thought it was so cool, partly because when you walked in the first thing you saw was pizza being made.  As soon as you entered there were windows you could look through and watch the pizza makers do their job.  As a child I thought this was so amazing.  My parents would place their order and we would go into the dining area and sit at picnic tables to await our pizza.  They had televisions you could watch, pinball machines you could play and other entertainment, for some reason it was always a fun place to eat and the pizza was hot and perfect!

Blood and gore

I attended Arrowwood Academy for a few years.  It was a private school in Norfolk, Virginia.  The school had a pool, something very uncommon in those days.  This was a private school so when you paid your yearly tuition you had access to the pool and playground year round.  The school would have school sponsored pool parties.  I was not a great swimmer but I could swim enough.  I wanted to learn to dive so with the help of my friend I decided that was the day I would learn to dive.  I got brave enough to get up on the diving board, which took some doing in and of itself.  I slowly made my way to the end of the diving board, as I approached the end of the board I slipped and slid right off the end and into the VERY chlorinated water.
When I slipped into the water I scraped off several layers of skin from my shin.  I scrapped it deeply the full length of my shin.  When the scrapped shin hit the water the chlorine was like acid on the wound.  I literally screamed under the water.  When I made it back to the surface I noticed I had a trail of blood following me in the water (good thing pools do not have sharks, lol).  I was so embarrassed for my ungraceful entrance into the water and for the trail of blood that followed me that I got out of the water as fast as I could, dried off and headed to the nurses' office where they called my mother to come and get me.  I do not remember ever returning to that pool again.
That was not the only injury I received while attending that particular school.  Once while out at recess I was playing on the metal merry-go-round.  When my turn to get on came again I reached out to grab the bar while it was still going around at a pretty good clip.  This was not a good idea.  The force of motion when I grabbed that bar flipped me onto the floor of the merry-go-round, thrusting my front tooth through my lip and chipping the tooth a little as my mouth hit the metal bottom of the merry-go-round, of course I screamed followed by a good deal of crying.  That was my last time to play on that merry-go-round.  As you can see, I never liked to take the chance of a repeat performance.

Skinny minny

Years ago when I was a child schools had real nurses and a nurses' office.  Schools tested sight, hearing and basic health.  My turn came to go to the nurses' office for my check up.  My eyes were tested and we learned that I needed glasses.  I had a lazy eye that needed strengthening and glasses would do the trick.
The nurse then weighed me and administered a Tuberculosis test.  My TB test, read a few days later, showed positive.  It was determined the results were an "exposure" positive, meaning I had been exposed to Tuberculosis by being around someone with it.  I had not known before that time that my paternal grandmother had had Tuberculosis before and had been in a sanitarium long before I was born, even before my parents had married.  This information came out as we tried to determine where my exposure had come from.
While the Tuberculosis was explained my low weight was not.  I was very thin for my age.  My being underweight seemed to be a problem although not to me.  Only being in fifth grade I didn't understand the concern.  It did not appear to affect my athletic abilities, comfort or health in any way so I did not understand the problem.  The school nurse saw it as a serious problem and called my parents up to the school and required them to take me to the doctor and return to the school with a report, which my parents did.  The doctor gave me some pills that would increase my appetite and help me gain weight.  I don't recall it ever working and even if the pills had increased my appetite I didn't (don't) like meat, starches were few in my diet and my first love was (is) fruits, vegetables and cheese.  It would take a lot of fruits, vegetables and cheese to gain the weight I needed to.  My parents did make me milk shakes nearly every day.  I began to dislike them as a child because I had to drink so many and it never worked anyway.  I could not gain weight while I was young.  I graduated high school at the height of 5' 61/2" and weighing only 85 pounds.  I was a walking bag of bones.  I wore a child's size 16; it was very difficult to find clothes so I made my own.  It wasn't my choice to be so small; it was just how my body was.  I was healthy and happy.  There appeared to be no need to worry, so, I did not. 

Chuck the wagon

 

My father brought home a frame one day; it was a trailer frame complete with wheels, tongue, springs, everything needed to build something on that could be pulled along behind a car or truck.  My father and I built a number of things together and so he called me and told me his plan for this frame.  We were going to build a chuck wagon.  My father drew out the plans, bought the wood and paint and we started the project.  We needed a large well for storing the tent, gazebo, lawn chairs and miscellaneous large items; that would take up one full half of the frame.  We needed shelves for food, drawers for clothes, games, toys and hygiene.  We needed a bike rack for our six bicycles or two motorcycles.  in the picture you will find the layout of the "chuck wagon" as my father dubbed it.  We kept the tent, gazebo, lawn chairs, sleeping bags, clothes, hygiene, dishes, toys, games and certain other items in the chuck wagon at all time so we could just leave when we had a hair crosswise.  Only food, bikes or motorcycles would have to be added and they could be put on or in within fifteen minutes or less.  We were always ready for fun!  We kept this chuck wagon for a number of years, we got rid of it when my parents eventually bought a travel tailor. 

Computer in the 1960's

My father had been working for Smith Carona Marchant, SCM, for a good while and was excellent at repairing type writers and calculators.  My father worked on machines in the area where we lived. The main office of SCM was in Richmond, Virginia at the time.  SCM had developed a computer in the 1960's while my father worked for them at their Richmond site which was housed in a space of about 2000 square feet.
It is funny to think about cell phones having more power than that old quatrain system back then that took up all that space.  I remember my father bringing home the punch cards that the system produced for us to play with.  It seemed odd to me that the computer could understand what all those cards with holes punched into them meant.  Dad had worked on that computer and was offered a job to help to develop and work further with the computer system in Richmond but my mother did not want to move to Richmond and did not want my father working for that particular division so my father did not accept the job.  Funny to think about that now.  My father had the opportunity to be on the ground floor of the computer age.  He had helped a little but did not have the opportunity to continue to develop with the system.  Fun fact.

Dads birthday

This is a birthday celebration for my father.  This particular birthday he had just come home from a trip to Texas where he joined the United States Customs Agency.  He brought gifts home for our family.  You can see the pink poncho I am wearing and the colorful vest Sharon has on, these were a few of the gifts he brought us as he announced we would be moving from Virginia to that far away illusive state of Texas after a training period where he would be gone alone.
In the picture you will see in the far back from left to right, Paula Grimes and my mother.  In the "middle" row  you will see left to right, Tommy Grimes, Russell Grimes, my father, my sister Sharon, my sister Vickie (unfortunately the photographer decapitated her).  My sister Kathy is sitting in my fathers lap and in front left to right is me and my cousin Julie Grimes.
We moved to Texas about five months later for my fathers first assignment. 

Caring for your tent

Once when camping we had to pack up our campsite when it was raining heavily.  It is never wise to pack a damp tent away as it causes horrible mildew.  Our tent was very large and made of heavy canvas as all tents were at the time.  We had a very large Gazebo tent as well which we set up at out campsites along with our tent.  It too was made of heavy canvas on top with screened in sides.  The entrance side had the zipper encased in the heavy canvas.
Because we left our campsite in the middle of a rainstorm the tent and the Gazebo were packed away wet, so the next day, at our house, when the rain finally stopped, my parents, ever conscious of caring for what we had, set up the tent and Gazebo in our backyard to dry out in the warm sunshine.  They had been up for hours sunning when my cousins, sisters and I decided to play freeze tag.
Freeze tag was a game we played often.  You would choose one person to be "it" and that person would chase all the other players, if they touched you you froze immediately where you were and how you were until one of your free team mates touched you to unfreeze you.  The object of the game was to get all the participants frozen if you were "it".
We were all running around in many directions.  Although I do not remember who was "it" I remember running between the tent and Gazebo.  At the time tents had stakes which were made of metal and were quite sharp.  I somehow managed to step on one of those tent stakes with my bare right foot and nearly ripped my pinky toe off my foot.  Down I went and blood poured out of my pinky toe.  I didn't want my parents to take me to the doctor (for fear of stitches) so I didn't tell them but doctored it myself instead.  It needed stitches to be sure but it managed to heal anyway without the stitches.  That pinky toe on my right foot has always been touchy, if I stub that toe or step on something with that toe you nearly have to peal me off the ceiling.  I am guessing I did some nerve damage and since it wasn't properly taken care of the nerve ending didn't quite heal correctly. 

Global pain

I was over at the Grimes' house who lived directly next door to us and we were bored.  Russell, my "cousin", had a broken metal globe sitting in the floor of his room.  The globe was in two halves that were joined together to make the full globe. I began to play with the globe.  There was a small ridge on the half I was playing with.  I had been spinning the metal circle as fast as I could and then watched as it spun wildly to a stop.  I was waiting for Russell to get ready to go outside and play with me.
I spun the globe several times with no ill effects, then I spun the globe one last time.  As is sped around my cousin called that he was ready to go outside and play.  I reached out my hands to stop the globe from spinning; as soon as my left hand touched the spinning metal edge I realized too late it was a mistake.  That metal neatly sliced the flesh between my pointer and middle fingers on my left hand.  It stung like all billy heck and was pretty deep.  Needless to say I went home rather than play.  Just one of my klutz attacks. 

Sleep walking

My older sister was a notorious sleep walker.  She walked in her sleep several times a week.
This is a little story of one incident where she walked in her sleep.  This night apparently she got up to go to the restroom and never became fully awake enough to make it to the bathroom.  The silly girl went over to our dresser, we shared a room, opened the bottom drawer where my clothes were kept, pulled down her undies , sat down and peed all over my clothes and the dresser drawer.  She claims never to have realized it.  She often walked in her sleep and did some crazy things.  You never knew when you might meet her wandering in the night completely asleep.
My oldest son was a horrible sleep walker when he was young.  He never did anything like my sister but he would get out of the house while sleep walking.  His favorite thing to "do" while sleep walking was to chase the "star".  It seemed most often that he would be chasing a star or searching for it. He walked in his sleep until his late teens then he finally out grew it. 
Sleep walkers are kind of creepy because they have their eyes open and can look right at you without seeing you at all.

Peas please.

When I was young I had eating issues, I forgot to eat often and even when I did I didn't eat much.  because of this I had a difficult time gaining or keeping weight on. 
Once we were visiting with my Nanny Siler and we stayed for supper.  You have to know that when my father was growing up he was locked out of their food cabinets and refrigerator with padlocks, therefore, he ate anything that was placed before him because he was always hungry.  He never tolerated wasted food very well.
I was fairly young when this visit happened.  Nanny served English peas as part of our supper that night.  I, apparently would not eat them, I can remember by father telling me to eat them or wear them.  I continued to be stubborn and would not eat any.  My father, true to his word, picked up the bowl of peas and poured them over my head.  I remember being so shocked I couldn't even cry or protest but I was not as shocked as my mother. 
Mom got mad, however, because of the mess it caused and not because he followed through with his word.  She got me out of my chair and took me into the bathroom so she could wash my hair.  She washed it all right, hard, she was spitting mad at my dad but my head paid the price.  Needless to say I do not ever remember having food poured over my head again nor ever seeing food poured over the heads  of my sisters either.  I am willing to wager that the conversation between my parents that night was quite interesting!

Can you spell that please?

I attended Bay View Boulevard Elementary School first, second and part of third grade.  My mother did not like my third grade teacher, she said the teacher was particularly mean.  I don't remember that she was any more mean than any other teacher I had had but my mom said she was.  If I forgot my lunch money at home the teacher would put me next to her at lunch and while I didn't eat anything she would eat her lunch right in front of me.  This may seem like it wasn't a big deal but I was a VERY thin child and had issues keeping my weight on.  My mother had requested that if I forgot my lunch money to let me eat and she would bring the money up or send it the next day.  Neither the teacher nor the school called my mother or sent a note home letting her know about my missing lunch.  Apparently, I was a forgetful child because according to my mother this happened frequently.  I do have to say that eating never mattered to me, I never  thought about food.  I could miss a meal without ever thinking about it.  I often forgot to eat.
My mother was also concerned with the rate at which materials were presented in my classes.  She felt that the school was behind.  I was in third grade and the teacher was more concerned with making me spell my middle name than teaching me cursive writing.  My middle name is "Coulier" but is pronounced coo-yea.  Virginia taught phonetics so you can see that spelling my middle name was certainly a challenge.  This teacher insisted that I write my full name, including my middle, on every paper.  My mother lost patience and removed me from this school and put me in a private school called Princess Anne Academy in the middle of the school year.    

J F K

While I was in the first grade at Bay View Boulevard, I recall having a television set in our classroom.  Looking back that must have been some major electronics because at that time not even every home had one single television let alone a school having one in a classroom..
I recall a teacher, or someone coming to the door of our classroom crying and telling my teacher to turn on the television, which by the way was a black and white, there was no such thing as a color television at the time.  My teacher had us all gather around the television in the corner of our classroom and watch as the news replayed the presidential motorcade of President John F Kennedy.  My teacher was crying and seemed scared.  The commenter on the television said the President had been shot in the head.  It was hours, literally, before we were told he was dead.  I remember feeling oddly overwhelmed.   We did not return to our school work that day. 
President Kennedy was well loved so it was a very emotional time for our country.  The entire country was mourning, devastated by this horrific loss.  I remember being sad, but I think it was because I could feel my teachers' and parents sadness an not because I actually understood what was going on.  This was an important piece of history and I had been a part of it. 

Bathing beauty!

This is one of my granddaughters, "Rach-m-h".  This was last year at Orange Beach.  This is my idea of a bathing beauty!  Isn't that a beautiful face?  That is her father in the background in the surf.  We had so much fun.  She did NOT like the sand but loved the water.  I spent hours out in the water with her.  We will be headed  back again this summer.  More fun in the sun. 

The Judge

I visited my son at the court house in Elmore County on Monday.  In case you can not tell, he is a Probate Judge.  He looks mighty handsome in those Judges robes doesn't he? 

He is a naturally funny person, he can make you laugh with all his "antics."  He teases and goofs and can see the funny in all things.  He has a great laugh too.  I often shake my head at his silliness and fun but I do so with a smile on my face. 

That is true only at home!

Several months ago I visited his court room while he was hearing a commitment case and was amazed and intimidated by the Judge sitting in that room.  While hearing the trial he looked intense because he was carefully listening to all that was being said.  He takes his responsibility very seriously.  He understands that what action he takes makes a difference in peoples lives.  He brooks no ill, if he asks a question he expects an answer with no run around.  The particular trial I attended he asked a simple question to a witness who tried to skirt it so as to not have any legal responsibility either way in the outcome of the trial and "the Judge" asked the same question multiple times.  When the man clearly was not going to answer the question my son began to ask several questions that were yes or no that ultimately led to a complete response to the original question.  Once the answer was established the witness received a firm lecture on his responsibility in testifying truthfully, promptly and accurately.  By the look on the guys face he felt the censure. 

After the trial we headed out to lunch, some great Mexican food and there was my son, the funny guy that often makes me laugh.

I am proud of all my children.  I have raised three fine individuals who are a credit to me, my husband and my Heavenly Father.  They are all kind, thoughtful, productive people.  I am happy and proud to call each one my child.

Only in the South

As I was driving to my sister's house on Monday to pick up my mother to bring her home after she visit with my sister.  I passed a familiar  landmark along the way.  That landmark always gets a chuckle from me, it is a street name, "Hog Walla".  I have to laugh because this is the spelling and you would only find a name like that in Alabama, well perhaps Louisiana or Mississippi but only in the Southern states for sure.  I started to think of a couple of other cities in the area where I was and there is "Slap Out", where one of my daughter-in-laws lived as a young girl and then there is "Flea Hop".  Don't you wonder about the settler or the city council that chose those names?  Sometimes I wonder if it was originally a joke that stuck.  It never fails to amuse me.  There are plenty of Indian names in the state of Alabama and those I can understand since there were Indians inhabiting the state before whites came but, "Hog Walla, Slap Out and Flea Hop"?

Extra parts

I used to drive a Ford Falcon, I cannot remember the year but suffice it to say it was not current even at the time I drove it from 1972 to 1975.  My father, a mechanic by nature and trade, kept it in good repair. 
Once, my car was running a little ragged and I told my father that I thought it needed a tune up.  My father, as usual, said he would take care of it.  Since I rarely drove my car it was not important that he get on it immediately.  One day when I came home from school my father was home from work and told me to go look under the hood of my car, so I did.  I nearly stroked when I lifted the hood and all I saw was the cement of the driveway below.  Where in the heck was my engine?  Daaaaaaaddddd!  Laughing, he told me he decided to rebuild my engine while he was at it.  I have to admit it made me nervous to start with but frequently when I would come home from school a little more of my engine had returned. 
Eventually one day my father said he was done and had me take the car on a test drive, it drove better than it ever had.  I loved how well it drove!  Once I returned home from my test drive and began thanking and complimenting my father until he showed my all of the "left over" parts.  There was a pile of nuts, bolts and parts that "weren't necessary" according to him and it was quite a pile.  I was rather concerned but I trusted my dad and that car drove perfectly with no problems, it was later sold because I would not need it at college since I would be living on campus. 

Ted Bundy, serial killer

I attended Brigham Young University straight out of High School.  I bagan in June directly after having graduating high school in May.  I chose to have a double major; Interior design and Architecture.  I chose these majors because I knew whatever course my life may take I would be able to support myself from the comforts of my home.  These tow majors took many "tools", most of which were available at the campus bookstore.  There were a few items that had to be purchased off campus.  I did not have my car in Utah.  While I attended school I had a ten speen bike, I rode a bus or walked where I needed to go. 
This particular day I had to purchase some large tools off campus.  I originally walked to the little strip mall where the store was located.  It turned out that the walk was a lot farther than I originally thought.  I did my shopping and bought my "required" item and of course bought a skirt and some shoes because they were cute.  The package numbers and size made me give concern for the extremely long walk back to my dorm room;  I chose to wait for the bus.  Not knowing the bus schedule I decided to sit on the bus  bench and just wait.  The mall area was rather deserted and I began to worry that the last bus may have already run.  After waiting a long period of time a little yellow Volkswagon beetle pulled up in front of me.  There was a fairly nice looking fellow at the wheel with a cast on one arm.  The fellow smiled and told me he was from around that area and knew that it would be a few more hours before the last bus came.  He said if I lived fairly locally he would take me home. 
My father always taught us to trust no one no matter how nice they appeared to be, so I politely declined his offer.  He talked a little longer and renewed his offer a few more times but after a few more times of politely and firmly declining his offer he went along his way.  I was not exactly friendly but pointedly polite.  A few hours later the bus did indeed come and I wrestled my packages onto the bus for the ride back to my part of town.  Mission accomplished.
An odd incident a few months later upset me.  At the time I was dating a tall slender fellow who was a returned missionary.  Tom wore his old missionary trench coat at night when it was cold.  Late one night when Tom and I returned from a date and stepped into my apartment to say goodnight the police energetically knocked on my door.  When I answered a breathless officer asked Tom who he was and why he was there.  Tom told him and I vouched for him.  After the police spoke to Tom a little longer he left and told us to lock our door behind him.  The officer told Tom to stay for another hour before leaving for my home, which he did.  We both found the situation oddly unsettling but complied.
Years later there was a special on a mass murderer named Ted Bundy; I was going to be up late waiting for Rob to come home from school so I watched the program.  As I watched the confessed murderous spree Mr. Bundy had perpetrated, I noticed the fellow looked familiar.  It turns out that he had been in Provo Utah in 1975 trying to pick up a victim.  He was driving a yellow Volkswagon beetle and had a fake cast on his arm.  He said the cast tended to make women feel safer.  He picked up a BYU co-ed from the very strip mall I was waiting for the bus.  He said he spoke to a few women before he got one to accept a ride.  It occurred to me that he have targeted me but as I did not go with him he found another young lady that did go with him and he killed her in an horrific manner. 
It also turned out that it had been him the police were searching for in my neighborhood the night the police stopped Tom and I.  Ted Bundy had been running  through my neighborhood wearing a dark trench coat just like Toms.  He was built similarly to Tom as well and had the same hair color.
I researched his murderous trail and realized I ended up having two VERY close encounter with Ted Bundy not knowing at the time who he was or that he was a serial killer.  True story!  How thankful I am that my father taught me to never accept rides from strangers and to be firm but polite about it.  I think it may have saved my life!  

The Spaghetti Bowl

Guess where I learned to drive?  Yes, Houston Texas, in the "spaghetti bowl" as it was called.  I was a sophomore at J Frank Dobie High School and was required to attend driver's education classes so that my car insurance would be less costly.  They showed us all types of gory films and slides of real accidents.  I believe they were trying to frighten us out of wanting to drive.  That kind of thing was never going to work with teenagers, we are invincible!  The one film I remember to this day was in 1971-ish, seat belts and car seats were not required.
The officer that was working the scene was crying.  He had investigated the car accident directly after it had happened and found a tiny human eyeball.  He said he knew then that a baby had been involved in the accident so he set about looking for the child.  He later found the baby many feet away from the car.  Next the camera had the officer holding the infant up to his shoulder dead, the officer crying.  The impact of the accident had caused the eyes of this child to exit before the child had been thrown through the windshield.  Of course the baby was instantly dead.  The officer stated he was crying because he had an infant about that age at home.  That film nearly got me, but... being a teenager I managed to convince myself I would never have an accident.
When it was time for "behind the wheel" we had to choose partners for driving.  My boyfriend at the time, Gary Brown, was in my class and immediately signed me up to partner with him.   I thought that would be fun but that did not turn out to be a great choice, for me at least.  I was a very careful driver (imagine that).  The diving coach complemented me frequently on my ability.  I think because I was afraid of the power involved in an accident I was very, very careful.  Gary on the other hand, who was one of the most level headed careful people I had ever known, was scatter brained when it came to driving.  That boy would make a left hand turn in front of a car five feet away from him.  He always seemed to be surprised that coach and I were screaming for our lives.  He never seemed to notice stop signs, red lights, you name it.  It got so bad that the poor boy was booted out and had to re-take the course.  I was never so happy to be rid of a driving partner in my life.  I passed the class with flying colors, Gary..., well lets' just say for the next year of our dating relationship.. I ALWAYS drove! 

Rain, rain, flood away.

While living in Houston Texas there was this horrible rain storm.  The storm was long and severe, the rain heavy.  It didn't take long for the rain to overwhelm the drainage system and begin to back up into the streets.  My parents became concerned as the water began to rise at a rapid rate.  My father put our family car up the driveway into the garage.  Dad had a van home from work.  It was one of the cars he used in his undercover work, it was a Volkswagon bus, white with a side panel doors, there were no seats in the back of the van.  Dad moved this vehicle further up the driveway behind our personal car. 
The rain continued to pour and the water continued to rise and before we knew it the water was literally lapping at the  front door of our house.  My other brought a broom to the door and swept the water out of the house as fast as it came in. 
I don't remember why but my father came up with the memory that Volkswagons actually float.  My dad decided to take the van for a "boat ride."  He attached a pipe to the tail pipe as this would be required to allow the car to "breathe."  After doing that he let me and a couple of others ride in the back as he drove down the street.  We went a good ways down the road and it actually worked.  We laughed and laughed at our success.  You have to know that VW vans did not have side windows at that time just all side door panels.  Since we couldn't all see out the front window we asked the fellow in the passenger seat to check to see where the water line was on the side of the van.  After being assured that the water level was below the sliding door we all made the decision to open the sliding door.  We did okay for a minute or so then a "wave" came and sent, what seemed, the smallest ripple of water into the van... and we promptly sank.  It was such a shock we all screamed although there was no possibility of anyone drowning.  When the tires his the pavement beneath us the engine cut out, never to be revived.  We had to walk/swim/wade back to our house laughing and being ribbed by anyone who saw us or knew what happened.  It was a fun experience while it lasted and the water took a long time to recede.  It was truly a flood.  

Trust

When I was a senior in high school my father had been on a "stake out."  Remember that my father worked for the U.S. Customs service in the drug enforcement area.  He did a great amount of undercover work.  This particular time he had confiscated a pickup truck load of marijuana.  When the confiscated drugs back in 1974 they would destroy them by burning them.
As a side note, one that is funny to me, they used to burn them at their facility in Nogales, Arizona.  There is only a fence that separated the United States from Mexico.  Half the city is in the U.S. and the other half is Nogales, Mexico.  There was a hill that rose up just across the border in Mexico; it lay across from the "customs house", it was a relatively small hill and uninhabited.  Whenever customs would burn any contraband the hill would fill with Mexicans, usually men.  They would sit sniffing the air.  I would watch occasionally when I happen to be in Nogales with my dad on a burn day.  The wind tended to blow in Mexico's direction as a general rule.  It was funny to me, as a youth and even today as I envision the men sitting on that hill breathing in the smoke from the burning drugs getting high.
Back to my original story, my father had brought the pick up truck home from work that had held the marijuana; inside the truck bed was a great deal of the dried weed and seed.  Dad asked me to sweep up the remains and put it into a trash bag.  When finished I brought the bag in to my dad and he locked it up in the cab of the truck.
It happened at the time that I knew of a young man whose father was in the same unit as my father at customs and I knew that the young man was quite the drug dealer.  My father knew of this situation as well because I told him about it.  I think my father really validated his trust in me by asking me to do this and not asking me if I "got it all in the bag."  He knew I would do it and that he needn't worry.  His trust was not misplaced.  I still think it's funny to this day that he asked me to do it and that I just went out and casually did it without a second thought. 

Great Great Great Grandfather

Currently their are riots happening in Baltimore, Maryland in the name of "protesting" the death of a black man by the hands of police (most likely white, I haven't heard).  While I think it is tragic when and if any person is wrongfully killed by a police officer or anyone else I do not think it is ok to display violence in this manner. 
My husband and I visited Baltimore last summer looking for my third great grandfathers grave.  He was buried in a Jewish graveyard there.  The day we came into the city we ran behind time due to tremendous traffic and confusing roads.  The directions we had received to the Jewish museum were inadequate but we managed to finally make it to our destination very late in the day.  At the museum we discovered that my third great grandfather was in fact buried in Baltimore, we were given his exact location so we could visit the grave.  We also discovered that my third great grandfather had actually attended the Synagogue two doors down from the museum.  I was thrilled and amazed to know he had actually walked where I was and attended church just two doors down.  Unfortunately because we arrived so late the Synagogue was already closed for the day.  Our schedule did not allow me to stay an extra day to tour it the next day so I had to plan to return as soon as time and budget allows. 
Currently there are riots happening in Baltimore, Maryland in the name of "protesting" the death of a black man by the hands of police (most likely white, I haven't heard).  While I think it is tragic when and if any person is wrongfully killed by a police officer or anyone else I do not think it is ok to display violence in this manner.  I hope the Synagogue and my third great grandfathers' grave survives the rampage of ignorance going on at this time.  These people are not protesting anything, they are proudly acting out their need for violence.  They are destroying the lives and livelihood of black and white alike, of their own neighbors!  The rioters do not deserve to be heard, they deserve to be prosecuted.  To call this a protest is a gross inaccuracy and an excuse.   

SNOT KING!

I can hardly think of this incident much less write it down.  I will do my best to write it but know that as I type I gag.  While I attended Princess Anne Academy and was in the third grade I believe I had the MOST horrific incident.
We always had a glass of milk for lunch, there were no other options.  I hated sitting by this one boy for lunch, he was always a snotty kid, always snorting up his snot.  I had never known anyone to be so full of snot like this boy.  Since I gag easily I could never stand to be near this boy.
We sat on bench seats at our lunchroom tables.  This day he sat down next to me pretty much as usual.  He was sniffing as usual, grossing me out, when all of a sudden he sneezed.  Snot... more that I have ever seen in my entire life, went straight into his glass of milk, FILLING it up with his perpetually green snot in the white milk.  It literally made the milk spill out.  The snot was all over him and the table as well.  I gagged and heaved so much I had to be dismissed. It was a horrible day.  I was never able to sit near that kid again and I never drank milk again until I was 25 years old!  Now my grandchildren will understand why I gag every time they snort up their snot.  Shiver, shiver.  They may notice too that if they have super snotty noses I do NOT drink milk.  Yeesh!

Mmmm Brownies

My Nanny, my paternal grandmother, and Miss Juanita were my Brownie Girl Scout leaders.  We had such a great deal of fun.  My troop met in an empty clapboard, antique school house at first.  The place was so cool and amazing.  Later we began to meet at Miss Juanita's house.  She raised geese and ducks, had woods at the back of her yard and tons of craft products.  Nanny and Juanita were best friends and great scout leaders.  It was a fun and exciting experience for a little girl.  I learned so much while having so much fun.
Through the years I earned my way all the way up through Cadets.  I sang, camped, sold cookies, hiked and did many other things over those years with multiple leaders and troops.  The first "girl scout" song I learned was at Brownies and it goes like this:

There is something in my pocket,

It belongs across my face,

I keep it very close at hand,

In a most convenient place,

I'm sure you couldn't guess it,

If you guessed a long, long, while,

I'll take it out and put it on,

It's a great big Brownie (girl scout) smile. 

Head on!

I was a young girl but I do remember that my father worked for Smith, Corona, Marchant or SCM; it was a typewriter and adding machine company which was very popular at the time.  Dad often had to go aboard ships docked at the naval bases in Norfolk, Virginia in order to do repairs on their typewriters while in port.  The above photograph shows my bather aboard ship repairing an adding machine. 

The particular day I remember my father had been aboard ship doing repairs while my sister Vickie and I had remained in the back seat of our car waiting for him to finish.  Vickie and I were drawing, writing in notebooks and talking as we waited.  When my father returned to the car and stowed his tools we started to return home.

We were on Little Creek road just outside the naval gate when a man heading in the opposice direction apparently fell asleep at the wheel he crossed the median and hit our car head on.  My father tried to dodge the car coming at him but it all happened too quickly.  My sister was writing something when the car struck us and the pencil she was using ended up jabbed into her knee.  I was thrown forward into the back of the seat in front of me and sll my front teeth, top and bottom, were knocked loose. 

My father slammed into the steering wheel and was knocked unconscious.  When my father woke up he checked my sister and me before he checked on the person in the car that had run into us.  The man in the other car was in bad shape. Somehow I mostly remember crying and being very afraid.

Bickie had to have the pencil removed and stitches put into her knee, I had to wear some thing they put in my mouth to keep my teeth from falling out and my gums were bruised.  Dad suffered seizures for years after that from the head trauma he received.

This was the first accident I was in ad for me it was a very traumatic experience. 

Hiking lessons

Yesterday I hiked in a state park with my oldest son and his family and two other families who are friends with my son.  There were eleven children age eleven and under plus six adults.  The trail we hiked surrounds the lake in the park.  Because we had so many small children we chose a path of only three hours walking and a little wider than the others there.  Our group ended up spread out over 1/4 or 1/2 mile apart, the two oldest children far ahead on the trail.  The oldest boy in the group hikes often with his family and though only eleven did not feel the need to stay too close to the main group.  My oldest granddaughter trusts this young boy completely, as though he was more knowledge than average.  Being of a little age I was unable to keep up with the lead group and fell somewhat behind with the younger group.
As the trail continued I noticed this young boy would stray off the trail into the sparse woods.  He would take a cut down a hill or such whenever the mood struck him.  Alabama has rattle snakes and water moccasins that come out this time of year so to go off the safe path actually, literally puts your life at risk.
The parents of the young boy were closest to that group of children and in my opinion should have requested they stick to the trail or at the very least warn the boy and my granddaughter of the possible dangers of being off the path but they did neither.  You must understand too that Alabama has a lot of poison Ivy and other types of plants similar in nature.
The boy and my granddaughter continued to hike off the trail in random places.  The thought entered my mind how my granddaughter had misplaced her trust and by doing so actually exposed herself to deadly danger in ignorance.  She happily followed her friend in blind faith because he acted confidently.  His confidence, however misplaced, gave her the courage to follow unfettered by concern.
Soon, the two children kept themselves far enough ahead that no adult could see them.  A shrill scream rang out and it nearly frightened me to death.  I was afraid the children had met with one of the aforementioned snakes.  The parents in the lead group, the boys parents, quickened their pace slightly to check out what it was about, not seeing the children they assumed all was well which, thankfully, it was.
Later in the hike I noticed they boy begin to take his metal walking stick and beat on trees hard enough to knock bark off and to expose the bright insides of the tree, not a healthy prospect for the trees.  Again the parents said nothing, no explanation of how he could hurt or damage the trees.  Eventually he had beaten enough trees hard enough that his metal stick bent into a hook shape.  As he stopped to beat more trees my group caught up with them and my granddaughter.  Again the older two ran ahead, this time the boy saw a small tree whose trunk was not very large and whose height may have been about eight feet.  He began to beat the small tree with his hooked stick, he encouraged my granddaughter to join in which she eventually did.  They cut down the little tree with their blows.  I rounded the corner just in time to see the tree fall, a sad sight to see.  The only response from the boys father was, "I guess I'll have to pay a ticket."  The boy received NO reprimand, not even a comment.
My son, his wife and the littlest children were perhaps 1/2 mile behind and never saw the behavior.  I was not near enough to stop it although I called out.  Again I found the experience aggravating.
My granddaughter placed her trust in someone who was unworthy of it.  He put her in harms way because of his false confidence then he grew bolder and hurt other of Gods creations.  He grew bolder in his actions with no respect for the Fathers' creations and not only destroyed one but encouraged my granddaughters help in doing so.  In his ignorance and in the name of fun the tree was destroyed.  The boys guiding light or his parents did not stop him.  My voice from far away was not heard.  In fact that final act was not even acknowledged by his parents as wrong. 
The moral I took from my day at the park was, stay true to the path of righteousness.  It is tempting to investigate areas not on the path but we need to stay true.  Don't encourage others to stray and whatever you do take responsibility for yourself and for those that may follow your example.  Only encourage good choices, spare pain, suffering and destruction to others as you can.  Live by the Law of God.  Yes, even a hike can teach you life lessons.

Field of flowers

After a couple of hours of hiking in the state park we came across this field of flowers.  The older girls picked bouquets of wild flowers.  My beautiful big girls.  I love to watch them run and laugh and pick flowers.  I love to watch them grow.  Of course before the day was over I received a huge bouquet of wildflowers from this very field.   

Teeny tiny bloom.

This tiny little flower was given to me yesterday when I met up with my oldest sons family for a day of hiking.  My granddaughters always pick flowers for me when I see them.  It makes them happy and it makes me feel special.  When we got to the park the first thing we did was have a picnic in a sort of muddy field next to the lake.  I guess because of all the recent rain and because the field was so muddy there were not many flowers, in fact the tiny little flower was the only kind growing in that area.  My dear pixie girl wanted to be sure I had my flowers however and she picked what she could find, this tiny little flower.  She brought it to me with all the love and pride as though it were a bouquet of rare stems. 

I love that she thought of me even in the evidence of so few flowers.  I had to photograph it because it would not last too long.  I love her for her precious gift.  I have the most wonderful grandchildren in the world, each and every one!

Christmas.

I was thinking about my childhood Christmases and how wonderful they were.  My parents were always the kind that made sure that we had amazing Christmases.  I have so many happy memories from Christmases past.
One of the yearly activities we did when we lived in Virginia was to go as a family to find a Christmas tree.  We bought our trees from the local tree lots.  We would all hop into the car and go as a family to search for the perfect tree that all of us agreed on.  Sometimes we would have to search a number of tree lots to get to the perfect tree.  Our favorite tree was the Blue Spruce, I can smell the fragrance of that wonderful tree as I type. 
After we purchased our tree and we headed back home where my mother would ALWAYS make us hot chocolate and serve Krispy Kreme donuts.  Dad would bring in the tree and spend the needed time to get it set up properly as we all watched the process.  We would be so happy watching and sipping our hot chocolate.  It was dads responsibility to put the lights on the tree.  Back when I was young it was the large HOT lights that were put on the tree.  Once the lights were on the tree it would be lit up and we would sing carols and just enjoy our family time.  When I was young mom decorated the tree while we slept.  She draped tinsel piece by piece on each of the tree limbs.  I loved the tinsel, it swayed in the breeze as you walked near the tree. 
I can remember laying at the base of the tree looking up through the branches at the lights and lightly blowing my breathe up into the tree to make the tinsel dance and shimmer.  It was certainly magical to me as a child.  Christmas has always meant family and I love it.

Let me sew that right up.

I grew up in a time when sewing clothes was a special skill.  Many people chose to make their own clothes for various reasons.  You could make your clothes fit your body properly for one.  I was extremely skinny and tall so making things fit me was an excellent reason.  I loved choosing my favorite colors and patterns in fabrics as well.  I have always loved bold colors and making my own clothes allowed me to put my favorite bold colors into current fashions and have them fit perfectly. 
When I first learned to sew my parents made a deal with me.  They told me that if I made all my own clothes they would buy me any amount of fabric I wished.  They had no limit as to how much I could buy  or spend as long as I was making the clothes.  We girls had a clothes budget we were given to purchase our clothes with, so this new deal was really amazing.  I could have as many clothes as I wished, what a deal for a teenage girl.  Needless to say I took them up on this offer for many years.  I was always dressed very well.
Even while I was in college the deal stood.  I took my sewing machine and basket with me to college and would call my parents to put extra money in my bank account for a fabric run.  I made everything I wore including my formal apparel. 
My older sister wished to have the same deal but couldn't sew a straight line to save her soul.  She wanted to have "tailored" clothes too so she asked me to sew for her.  I have to tell you that I did make some of her clothes but I charged her for the fabric and my work.  She never minded as I was an excellent seamstress and she loved having her clothes fit her so perfectly.
When I had my children, even the boys, I can tell you they wore a great many home sewn clothes.  I made their winter coats, jean jackets, skirts, dresses, shorts, pants, shirts, pajamas, even dolls, doll clothes and toys.  Later when our bills got tight I took up sewing for other people who liked to have tailored clothing.  I made fairly good money doing this but really didn't like sewing for others that weren't family, so as soon as the bill was paid off I quit and went back to sewing for my family.