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Browsing Tag: #family
He called me Pilgrim. We shared a love of peach milkshakes, pickles, peanut M&M’s, home grown tomatoes, blueberry anything, and we’d fight over Shirley Pitner’s stack cake. He taught me how to throw a frisbee, cast a line, shoot a variety of weapons, train a dog, clean my glasses, and identify trees in any season. Oh, and the best advice he ever gave me that I evoke multiple times a day (and it shows): “Eat all you can, every time you can, ’cause there ain’t no tellin’ what might happen before you can eat again.” We listened to Rush Limbaugh and Patsy Cline when I rode in his truck. We watched Star Trek and The Twilight Zone when I stayed with them when I was young. He bought me a microscope, and my first sleeping bag, but not the My Little Pony kite from McDonalds. And we have never let him forget it. My first (and last!) deer hunting trip was under his watchful eyes and sharp tongue. I couldn’t do anything right, but he’d sometimes concede that I was doing alright for a wimpy little girl. This was said in jest, and primarily to get me riled so I could do whatever it was I thought I couldn’t.He thought I should wear heels to work every day and that I should stay redheaded.He mowed my yard and…
Today I pray for one of the kindest, most understanding souls I know. I know she’s this way because of what she’s lived through. She was adopted at age 7. Think on that. I don’t know her all that well, really. But I know her husband and that counts for something. He has told me the story of her adoption, and how things came about for her. Today he shared a little more. She is in her late fifties, so if you think foster care and orphanages are depressing and underfunded now, imagine what it was like sixty years ago. Imagine being a little girl in one of these places. Imagine Annie, if you can’t imagine anything else. Luckily for this little girl, a Daddy Warbucks did come along. And he and his wife took the little girl to town and bought her lunch, and ice cream, and a trinket. Imagine it being the first time you ever had a notion of being spoiled. But really it was just being cared for. The sun was on your face and you walked hand in hand with a pretty lady in a flowered dress and hat and heels. And imagine your joy when you came back to the home and the big man declared he was taking you home, to go get your things. Home, as in his home. YOUR new home. That simply wasn’t done. But this was sixty years ago…
A year ago, when I took my new job, I began working in conjunction with a girl who’s about my age. I suppose “girl” would be a stretch, as we’re much closer to 40 than 16. Much, much closer. We also have the same last name, and almost the same first name. It could be very confusing to people who have never met us. While we maybe even favor each other a little bit, she and I could not be further apart when it comes to personalities. While she plays close to the vest (I still don’t feel like I know her that well, despite all the talking we do), and follows the rules to the letter, y’all know me–if it goes through my head it generally comes out of my mouth. Or at least onto this screen. And rules? Who needs them? I’ll read them after the fact if I need to. One thing we do have in common is being particular. Although she hems and haws about speaking up about the way she prefers things are done, I say “do it like this, or just let me do it”. She’s an excellent, patient teacher. I would really be up a creek without a paddle if she weren’t around to explain things and show me how to navigate. She has a decent sense of humor, which is uncommon in…
So there’s this family I know, & they’re not normal. Allow me to explain. I’m scrolling through all the pictures of smiling faces & homemade cookies & well wishes on Christmas Day. Being as that I have no children to clean up after, I had a fairly relaxing day & could spend it mindlessly trolling the internet, looking at y’alls madness & mayhem. I got to a picture of a home I know, a home I’ve visited, a home that belongs to a family I love. In the picture was a modest tree, decorated with traditional colored lights & homemade ornaments, nothing flashy or showy about it. The tree sat on warm hardwood floors, polished to a shine. Nearby, perched on a low table, was a glass of milk & a plate of cookies. Other pictures revealed stockings hung on the chimney (with care, I imagine). The pictures themselves weren’t perfect, either, kinda blurry. Nothing was staged. But it was perfect in my eyes. I looked closer. And I saw something there. Or rather, a lack of something. Underneath the tree were just a few presents. Maybe six. Maybe there were a few more that didn’t make it in the frame. I was puzzled. Houses with children are usually overrun with presents. Even here, Johnny & I are terrible & have all of ours under the big tree in the living…
Day 2: Earliest Memory Hmmm. While I do have a vague recollection of going to the circus as a toddler & bringing home some sort of inflatable creature…Bugs Bunny? Whatever it was, I remember racing across the basement & straddling it across the sides of my playpen. However, I realize this doesn’t make for very entertaining reading for my evening armchair readers (I recently learned I have a following that logs in just to read my stuff!), so I will share a little more. I remember going out once a week with my mom and great-grandmother, “Mamaw”. She couldn’t drive, & depended on someone to cart her here, there, and yon. We would go to Howard’s, which was kind of like a Kmart. It was across the road from Kmart, as a matter of fact. (Where Nova or Avalon or whatever it is is now). They had My Little Ponies priced at $4.99. My weekly allowance was $5; I could generally coerce someone to contribute the tax. In this way, I accumulated a pony a week. More if I lost a tooth or made straight A’s on my report card. I also scored an extra one for having a tee-tiny mole removed off the tip of my ear. Mom promised me if I didn’t cry I could have the one I’d been coveting, a “baby pony” complete with playpen and bottle. I didn’t cry, but the way she…
Sometimes you meet people & think, “Wow. They are so nice. I could never be that good hearted.” This also brings to mind the saying, “Wouldn’t hurt a fly.” That sums up my step dad. He is humble, soft spoken, & good natured. He is gentle, kind, & loving. Not at all like me or the woman he married!!! I still can’t believe our good fortune! Haha. Now, he’s not perfect. He’s slow as molasses in January…slow as Christmas…slow as a herd of turtles stampeding through peanut butter…but good things come to those who wait! Love ya Scott. Happy Fathers Day. Happy Fathers Day to all the DADS out there. Happy Fathers day to the MOMS who have to be both. Happy Fathers Day to all the men who helped me grow: Uncle Dale, who patiently explained to me about fish guts & species of trees, Carroll Adams who claims me as his, Richard Montgomery for not killing me & Megan when we used his golf balls for creative purposes…and stole his convertible Mercedes to drive to a class in Morristown…and the old gentlemen I’ve met at work who counsel me day to day. There are many. And Johnny, who’s a disciplinarian to our naughty naughty dogs. Lol. I’m also thinking and praying for the fathers overseas who would like more than…
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl with long golden hair. She met & fell in love with a handsome young man. They were wed in the middle of Crawford’s Notch by Jimmy Temple. The little family grew, & soon they had three wild mules running around the house & over the hills. They had a swimming pool, but preferred the pond. Theirs was a picturesque farm on the river, in the middle of town, with beautiful horses grazing in manicured pastures. As the mules grew up & formed relationships with others, these friends were welcomed as family. Their home was always full to brimming with an ever growing group of people. There was much laughter & fun & plenty of tasty food. We sought counsel many times over the years & found understanding in their eyes and a big hug at every turn. The family remained strong & close knit as the years went by. They gathered every Sunday morning at the main home for biscuits and gravy at 9:30 sharp. It was the one time a week everyone was expected to convene together as a whole. They believed in agriculture, & they all worked hard to keep the Sevier County fair going so it would always serve as a special memory for all the kids of the county. They brought it out of a black hole & made it the best one in the state. And we were proud. This family was loved…
I reckon since its my mommas birthday I better be thankful for her, lest face her wrath, which is wide & encompassing. So I will be thankful that she brought me into this world (because many, many times she has threatened to take me out), thankful that she hasn’t killed me by now (because I know she has wanted to lots of times. She probably won’t admit it on here, much preferring to be seen as angelic but let me get her riled, you’ll see), thankful she’s always been a hard-working woman (she has held a full time job since I started school but also volunteered at the school all the time, &never missed a play/ special performance/etc. And she works on her yard like Jose or Hose-B). Thankful that between her & my grandmother, they tried their best to bring me up a well-rounded lady (well, they got half of it right, haha) by enrolling me in every lesson coming & going (baton, clogging, guitar, swimming, modeling). But she let me be a little redneck girl at the same time, tromping through the woods & riding horses bareback when I thought nobody was lookin’. Thankful that she catered-and still does to my book obsession. Thankful that she married a good man, my stepdad Scott, instead of someone who would have treated me like last month’s garbage. I’ve picked up that…
